#i was stood on a chair to dust the empty cobwebs out

[c0smiclatt3]

SATORU GOJO: SAY DON'T GO

i said 'i love you,', you say nothing back.

☾₊ ⊹ TAGS: angst no comfort, friends to lovers, reader and satoru were classmates, reader defected, post-suguru's death, not proofread yet pls be patient w me i just had this in my drafts for too long

after ten years, you meet again; only this time he's here to kill you - whether he can bear to face you or not.

wc: 4.3k (woah)

You look the same as you did the day you left, and Satoru really wishes you didn’t. Maybe this would be easier for him if your days as a curse user and Jujutsu Tech defector somehow disfigured you beyond recognition. If you’d taken advantage of some other curse user you knew and donned some glamour or disguise.

But no. You look the same as he remembered you. Your name rung in his ears when he saw you from his vantage point atop the abandoned school building, echoing just as it had haunted him since he left.

She’s here. She’s here. She’s—

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“She’s gone.”

Satoru felt like he was going to choke. The door to your dorm was ajar, Shoko standing beside it somber, an unreadable expression on her face.

The door hinges squealed as it slowly slid open. Lo and behold: A half empty bottle of tea on your desk. Empty bags of your favorite chips in your desk trash bin. The curtains fluttering in the open window like they always did because you liked the breeze while you slept. Your bedsheets made, just as they were every morning when you four set off for the day’s missions and drills for the last few years.

And your uniform, folded neatly on your bed, unworn.

Satoru’s mouth went dry, his hand went slack, uncurling from the fist he’d locked it in as he stormed over moments prior. “No. She’s coming back, she left her tea—“

Shoko interrupts him, "Satoru."

“She wouldn’t just up and leave, she—“

“Satoru-”

“Did Suguru rope her into this? Shoko, you haven’t seen them talking have you? Sure I was a bit preoccupied but maybe—“

“Satoru,” Shoko said, firm but resigned. “She’s gone.”

The longer he looked the more it set in: your bag missing from its hook. Your things missing from your desk. A photo of all of you Jujutsu sorcerers beaming at the camera unpinned from your cork board and fluttered to the floor, wrinkled at the corners from drops of water.

“I see.”

Shoko slipped a hand into her coat pocket.

Satoru turned on his heel and walked off down the hallway.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Goodbye.

That’s a word he’s said so much of in the last few years that he doesn’t remember anymore how to say hello. What does he say? What does he say, knowing the reason he was here now — that he was sent to kill you for once and for all?

Satoru had tracked you all the way out here. You’d gotten sloppy after Suguru’s death. The higher ups didn’t think a dirty defector like you had the capacity to mourn like that - they were convinced it was bait. It's why they sent their silver bullet himself. But Satoru knew otherwise. He knew you were too careful, too sharp to make a mistake like that any other day, and here he found you - in an abandoned school building in a small town by the countryside.

You sat in the crumbling classroom, knees to your chest on a rickety chair covered in cobwebs, tracing patterns on the dust on the desk surface. You look up, your expression neutral. You weren't surprised to see him here, like you expected him, even knowing that meant certain death. It almost made him want to laugh.

So you were feeling nostalgic, huh?

It was sunset on a quiet late summer evening, the clouds streaking along the horizon like pink and golden brushstrokes against a violet sky. What a beautiful day to die, you think to yourself. Pink. Gold. Violet.

And there he stood, silhouetted save for his eyes.

Blue. Stunningly blue.

Perhaps this is mercy, then.

You speak first.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Hands at your side, you bow deeply and snap back up to attention. Your mother coached you extensively before you departed for Tokyo on how to be respectful to the city folk, and you rehearsed the self-introduction she taught you to a tee. Fresh-faced, thirteen and bright-eyed, from the moment the train stopped at Tokyo station you put on your brave face.

The boy standing in front of you, however, was not terribly impressed. He stared at you blankly for a few moments.

“Right,” he mumbled, before turning on his heel to walk away.

“H-hey!” you go red in the face, “I wasn’t done-“

He holds his hand up. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard enough.”

You scoff at his bluntness. Well this was no way to start off a relationship with someone she was meant to call her classmate. “You’re not going to bother telling me who you are?” You call out after him. He stops.

“… You’re being serious?” he looks at her over her shoulder. His eyes flash blue - blue enough to rival the hue of the sky above them. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen eyes that blue before.

“… Well yeah-“

“Damn,” he turns back around, though rather than venom in his voice there's almost a sense of amusement and curiosity. “They weren’t kidding. You really are a country bumpkin.”

Regardless, you felt a burning in your chest as you clenched a fist. “I’ll show ya a country bumpkin,” you muttered.

“Huh? Couldn’t understand your accent, country girl,” he called out over his shoulder. You grit your teeth.

“Oi!” you call out after him, “At least give me your name so I know what to call ya while I kick ‘yer ass!”

There was something endearing to him about someone who actually didn’t know who he was for once. Who didn’t approach him like some god or some weapon. He mutters your surname to himself. He remembers Yaga-sensei telling him something about how you came from an insignificant family of sorcerers in the countryside. Out of your entire lineage, only you turned out with a technique that could actually be useful. Of course you wouldn’t know much about Jujutsu clan politics or the heavyweight names. Alright. He’ll bite.

“Won’t need it. I’ll have your ass in the dirt first, kid.”

“Who ‘ya callin’ kid!” Your fists clenched at your sides. He raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna punch me, kid?”

“I’m the same damn age as you, don’t act cocky!” In your twintail braids and with your tiny stature it was hard to take you as a serious threat.

“You’re a little thing. Why would I be scared of you?”

You threw a punch. You didn’t know what would be coming next - of course you didn’t. Your hand hit an invisible wall and you yelped, withdrawing your hand back and feeling the stinging pain in your knuckles. You look at him with a sense of challenge, but also a sense of amazement. Who the hell was this guy?

“You wanted my name? Well, here it is, kid—“

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“Satoru.”

As if understanding just how his name coming from your lips made him feel, the clouds parted to allow a stream of sunlight to illuminate you like a spotlight. The doomed antiheroine of today’s tale, in all her tragic glory, looking up listless like the soul had long been drained from her eyes.

Why, oh why did you have to say his name like that?

“I think we both know why I’m here.”

You nod. You look away from him. You’re not sure if you can bear to look at him now. “It’s been a while since we’ve sparred, Satoru.”

He swallows. “That it has.”

“Maybe today is the day I finally catch up to you after all these years.”

He shrugs. Somewhere in that nonchalant shrug is the unbothered kid you knew all those years ago. “You can try.”

But you both knew how this ended and somewhere deep inside you knew you deserved it anyway for your sins.

You can’t stop yourself from cracking a bitter smile. “Well, then,” you drop your satchel to the ground, laying out your knives before you, and as if pulled by strings they rise around you on guard. “One last spar. For old time’s sake.”

Satoru’s lips curl into a smirk.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“You’re on.”

You crack your knuckles. The other Jujutsu sorcerers may underestimate your technique, you remember your mother saying. Don’t let them. You put your hands on your hips and grin.

“Don’t underestimate me, though!”

“Can’t make any promises, country girl!”

You raise your fist and Satoru stands at the ready —

But your fist slams on the window behind you instead, shattering the glass. Satoru looks at you, confused —

And then the shards begin to levitate, forming a circlet around you.

“You think some stupid glass is gonna protect you?” Satoru scoffs. “You’ve got no idea what you’re up against here, squirt.”

You grit your teeth, close your eyes and concentrate. The shards go flying at Satoru. He’s got his eyes on you, his eyes on the shards —

And then your figure flickers. It flickers then it’s gone. He looks around, sensing that the cursed energy thrumming in the shards has grown stronger, almost humming with immense power. One shard passes just in front of his face, another just behind him, but rather than his own reflection in the glass he sees you.

You and a proud smile. You flicker behind him, and—

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

The first punch is thrown.

His movements are fluid. Graceful. Like conducting the orchestra of life and matter itself. He’s gotten even better since you left. You didn’t even know that was possible.

Your glass knives go zinging around him just as he remembered, but your technique was no match for a man who could see everything. All you had to do to try to keep up was to be faster. Faster. Faster.

But you were fighting a hopeless battle and you knew it. This was Satoru Gojo and at the end of the day you were a curse user. You knew how this ended. At this point the back and forth was just a formality.

His punches landed like they always did, the familiar blasts of red and blue that you learned to dodge all those years ago — only something was different. Something was off. His punches just barely you, just close enough to feel the breeze around his enclosed fists. He was holding back. You knew him well enough to know that.

Your grit your teeth, “Don’t go soft on me now, Satoru.”

“Who said I was?”

What a horrible liar.

“Terrible time for you to suddenly grow a conscience,” the quips are bittersweet in your mouth, rolling over your tongue like the tooth-rotting sugar of a childhood candy. Something in this back and forth felt nostalgic. Something in this back and forth made your heart lurch. Something in this back and forth made you feel as if any minute now you would dust the dirt off your pants, sigh in defeat, and walk off with him and. the rest of your class for a popsicle at the 7-eleven nearby. But this wasn't what this was. Suguru was dead. Yuu was dead. You defected years ago. And Satoru was sent with a mission that he was going to finish, no matter how much it pained him to. You just prayed it would be over quickly.

You grit your teeth, "I thought I was fighting the strongest!" Another blast just barely misses you.

"You are," his palm extends outward, a thundering force tunnelling along the concrete to your position, stopping just there before your feet.

God, this would be easier for you if he could just kill you like a cold-blooded killer. If in the last few years since you left the Satoru you knew had been successfully replaced with the sharpened knife the higher ups spent their whole life training him to be. But the hesitation in his attacks said otherwise in the most heartbreaking way possible. The words left unsaid over the last ten years came through in every missed attack, every pulled punch. Even now, even after everything, he was protecting you.

"Then hit me like you mean it!"

Like you mean it. If Satoru did anything right now the way he meant it this would be going a lot differently. If he could do this the way he meant it he would've stopped a long time ago. He would have extended his hand, flashing that arrogant smile he knew annoyed you to no end and helped you back to your feet.

But you want a fair fight and you'll get it. It'd be an insult to the sorcerer you'd grown into for him to hold back now at this crucial moment. All those hours, all those extra missions you took on while you were peers, all those promises and challenges, if you were going out you wanted to go out right. That was the least he could give you after all, wasn't it?

And so what did it mean when his attacks began to ripple through the concrete, forcing you to jump and weave around his blasts until you could feel your legs giving out? When his attacks forced you to concentrate all your energy into whizzing around between your blades, the sheer focus of reading his attacks and focusing your cursed energy draining your mind? That he acknowledged you. That he would fight you here and now as the sorcerer he respected. As the sorcerer he admired.

Your movements are angles, refractions, jets of blinding light and flickering reflections against his tremendous power. Slivers of light streams shooting between each blade - here, then here, then here - distributing your cursed energy across them so it would be more difficult for him to detect, David against Goliath. A battle of light against matter.

Until you shattered.

You lay on the concrete and hear the crunching of Satoru's shoes as he walks toward you. He walks slowly. He's giving you more time on purpose and you can tell, as if willing you to get up and fight, if only to prolong the inevitable. So he could avoid it for just a minute longer. He could have killed you long ago. But he hasn't.

The ground seems to simmer, rumbling with the sheer intensity of Satoru's cursed energy as the dust clears. He'd shot you down to the ground and here you were again.

"Barely even a scratch and you're on the ground already?" The quip is obviously meant to get a rise out of you but his voice is tinged with sadness. Get up. Get up, please.

You cough once. Twice. You feel something warm trickle from your lips and the taste of iron. "Cut the pleasantries, Satoru. We both know how this ends."

The sun sets below the horizon as he walks over, casting a shadow on your crumpled figure. You spit blood onto the concrete and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, lip stained scarlet. You're the picture of a pathetic and battered curse user, and you hope that the sight he sees before him now would be alien enough to him, that he wouldn't prolong this torture any longer. That his muscle memory would activate seeing something cowered before him and he would lift his hand and finish you off sooner or later. You hoped this way you wouldn't need to face him in this state, wouldn't need to get a torturously close look at the man you could have known in some other life had you chosen a different life.

The man you could have had.

To your anguish, he speaks. "I didn't want it to end like this."

You look away. You can scarcely bear to look at him right now without your heart aching. "...I know."

"I always hoped you'd come back on your own."

But that was wishful thinking. A sorcerer like you, after all that you' had done, would never be allowed to waltz right back into Jujutsu society, to return to that world and it's secrets and privileges as if you had never done the things you did when you followed Suguru all those years ago. No matter how much you might have daydreamed about it on occasion, no matter how many times you found yourself stopping by those campus gates and wondering what would happen if you walked your way back inside. Whether the key you kept in your pocket, a useless memento now, would still slot into your old dorm room. If your pictures would still be up on the wall, the hung up receipts from weekends out at the mall with Ieiri and Iori, the sticky notes Satoru had thrown at you in the middle of classes, ticket stubs from past missions.

And Satoru would be lying if he didn't say the same, if he didn't spend the first few weeks you left stopping by the freezer on his 7-eleven runs to reach for your favorite ice cream before remembering there was nobody to hand it off to. If he didn't learn a new trick or technique and didn't run to the dorm building to show you before stopping himself. If he didn't watch his students sparring from the bleachers, wondering if you would have been sitting by his side watching them too.

"They'd send me straight for the execution chamber and you know that-"

"You never should've left," he speaks bitterly, regretfully, as if his voice was straining just saying the words, "You should've stayed at Jujutsu Tech, you should've been there with the rest of us, we could've-"

You cut him off before he keeps talking and makes either of you ache any longer. "It's over now, Satoru."

"It didn't have to be, I -" he looks down, his mouth fumbling for words he can't find. His mind scrambles for any idea he could possibly have for bringing you back, and just as quickly as they come they form they dissipate, like a fistful of powder.

He squeezes his eyes shut, his voice breaking. "What am I supposed to do with you now..."

Your next words are spoken with finality. "Exactly what you were told to do."

The words make your throat tighten, make your arms tremble and struggle to hold yourself up. You keep your head down.

After a few moments he finally mutters a few words. "You're making this difficult."

"I'm sorry."

"Why," he whispers, "why did you do it?" His voice breaks. "Why did you leave me?"

Your face burns. You don't have the heart to tell him that when Suguru spoke, he spoke so convincingly. That after you saw the dead eyes of Riko Amanai in her shroud, young enough to be your classmate, young enough to be your sister, then walked back out into the swarming Tokyo streets wondering what she died for you wanted to throw up.

When you saw Satoru walk around like a living corpse, when you saw him have to force himself back into his usual self, that life had to somehow go on after all that had happened, you felt sick - sick.

So in your youth you thought that Suguru had found an answer. Some way that would bring us anywhere but here. Some world where you and everyone you loved wouldn't have to live and die like this.

"I thought I was doing the right thing-"

"You were one of the few good things I had left."

A silence settles between you two. Your eyes meet his.

Once upon a time he looked at you with the twinkle of a challenge in his eye, waking up in the morning looking forward to whatever stupid shenanigans you and the rest of your classmates would get up to that day. The way he looks at you now, with ten years in between your last meeting, since the last time you saw those eyes truly full of light and hope, he looks at you with the eyes of a dead man.

You couldn't live. You shouldn't. Or those eyes would haunt you forever.

When people look into the eyes of Satoru Gojo, they practically look into the eyes of God. The man who holds the balance of life in his very sight. Jujutsu sorcerers and cursed spirits alike cowered under his icy gaze.

But just as you had all those years ago, when you looked at him you only saw a boy. A boy whose heart left with you ten years ago.

You reach your hand up, sliding your fingers between his, and before he can even process it, his hand gently squeezes yours.

Please. Please.

For a moment he is quiet. For a moment his pulse jumps in his throat. For a moment he almost believes all those delusions in his head, that there was some way for you to return to Jujutsu. Return to him.

Your fingers fold around his, sliding and twisting his hand into a point directed straight to your forehead. You close your eyes.

"Satoru."

His name sounds devastating on your lips, the way you speak his name knowing it may be one of the last things you say and, God, if there was the right final word let it be his name.

Your name passes from his lips like a whisper in return. You two refuse to say anything more. You know if you say what you want to you run the risk of cursing him, and your shadow has loomed on him for long enough. Yours and many others'.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The words sit, shapeless on your tongue. You don't dare speak them - for his sake. As much as it will kill you. As much as it would kill him either way.

Those unspoken words hang in the air, and Satoru breaks the silence.

"I-"

"Don't."

"Please-"

"I said don't-"

HIs voice begins to rise. "Please just say it, say something, anything-"

"You know what would happen if I do."

"I do! And does it look like I give a damn?! Don't leave me again, God, don't leave, stay with me this time. Give me that much, just don't go-"

"No," you say firmly, and you want to crumble when you feel the way he winces at your interruption. "... Please."

Satoru's hand trembles.

He swallows.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“Another win for yours truly,” Satoru grinned, his hand held out to you. “Seriously, you’d think in three years you’d learn a thing or two,” he pouts pitifully.

“I’ve learned you’re an asshole!” You cross your arms over your chest, rolling onto your side. You huffed, a puff of dirt rising as you did. You hated meeting his eyes when he was gloating, he was always so full of himself after a match.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he throws his head back laughing as he leaned over you, nudging you with his hand, “get up and let’s to already. You’re covered in dirt, country girl. I mean look at yourself,” he picks up one of your glass shards and holds it up to your face so you can see your reflection. He sticks his tongue out and mock gags. “Uuuugly.”

“Shut up, Satoru!”

He laughs again, a sound warm like the sunshine itself.

“Come on, come on. I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

You turn onto your other side and huff again. He rolls his eyes, exasperated, but smiles at your stubbornness. He shrugs and lays down beside you. “Or is the dirt that comfortable?”

The two of you lay there for a moment under the setting sun, wrapped in the warm of the golden hour. His eyes meet yours and he’s stumped into a pause. It’s been three years since you arrived at Jujutsu Tech and you both have grown since then - him into a young man and you into a young lady of your own right. The light strikes your eyes just so, making them glitter like the sunlight on the sea. Had your eyes always been so beautiful? Had your hair always fallen perfectly around your eyes? Had the little sun freckles on your skin from your childhood in the fields always been so endearing to him?

His heart flutters.

His silence stuns you too. Satoru Gojo was never quiet. When you turn over you see his perpetually smug expression soften, lips parted, eyebrows relaxed, opening those famous blue eyes to you. A breeze passes, the wind rustling the trees above you, and you realize your so close that some of your hair could brush his cheek from here. His silence makes you feel compelled to whisper.

“Satoru?”

In that moment he almost feels compelled to say something stupid. So stupid. With your face this close to him his head is filled with stupid questions. Stupid thoughts.

Instead he flicks your forehead. You yelp and your hand flies to rub that spot.

“What in the world was that for?” you cry out.

“For making me lie on the dirt when it actually sucks.”

“I didn’ make you do anythin’!” There was that little accent slipping out again. He laughs to himself as he gets up and stands over you again, waiting for you to join him. You look up at him and look up at the sky.

"One day," you huff, "one day we'll settle this for once and for all. And I'm gonna win."

He smiles down at you. "I'll be waiting."

writing masterlist | bot masterlist

☾₊ ⊹ AN: omg about time i got this out of my drafts. i wrote like 80% of this on the plane and then had no idea how to actually end it, so i sat on it for a few days and hopefully this ended up working out idk. this is definitely longer compared to the other stuff i've done so i really appreciate it if you did end up reading all this way. byyyye!

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

I'd like to request some spicy time with a rough, yandere Malleus. Pretty please? 🥺👉👈

Oh, dear guest. This was so much fun to write~ I do hope you enjoy!

Title: The King’s New Toy

Characters: Yandere!Malleus x m!Reader, Lilia Vanrouge

Contains: Dark Themes (Yandere), rough sex, bondage/restraints, toy usage(vibrating dildo), sinful magic usage, orgasm denial, orgasm control, Diasomnia has a dungeon, Malleus has two dicks

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

Rain gently pelted the tall windows of the castle dorm, keeping Malleus’s attention from the book in his hands. The fireplace he sat by was crackling with flame, warming him and the area with its faint glow. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting like that or how he ended up so distracted. It was Lilia bringing him a nightly cup of tea that shook him out of his thoughts when it was placed onto the table beside his chair.

“How long as it been?” Lilia asked, gazing over at the clock as he wrapped his arms over his chest. “I hadn’t seen you return.”

Malleus checked the same clock, noting the current time while reaching for the tea cup. “Almost two hours. An hour and a half it seems.”

“Kheehee~ My, he must be an absolute mess by now.” A playful smirk resided on Lilia’s face from the mere thought.

“I’ll pay him a visit shortly,” Malleus explained, sipping the warm liquid. “It’s a punishment after all. He will learn that his actions have consequences…”

———

Another thirty minutes had gone by before Malleus descended the dark stone steps of Diasomnia’s dungeon. Reaching the floor, a row of cells were before him, empty and gathering dust and cobwebs. A faint sound echoed toward him, and a sinister, teeth bearing smirk grew on his lips. It sounded like whining, whimpering. Anyone else may not have understood what it was, but Malleus was well aware. Walking down the hall, the sounds only grew until he reached the last cell, and inside was a lovely sight.

Near the back wall sat you, on your knees and riding an enchanted toy that Malleus had conjured himself. Your arms were behind you, wrists shackled with a chain leading to the wall. Your head hung down as the toy vibrated deep inside, your mouth slacked open as your weak moans bounced off the cell’s walls. Malleus gazed over at your twitching erection, how it stood full mast and ached for release. He chuckled darkly, catching your attention.

Your head shut up, and a look of desperation filled your eyes as you leaned your body forward. “M-Malleus! Malleus, please, I can’t take it anymore! This toy, i-it kept stopping when I was about to…p-please just let me finish! I need to cum!”

The toy was something Malleus concocted himself, having taken a standard vibrating toy and projecting a magic onto it that would sense when a person’s body is about to release. It would increase in strength ever so often, only to shut off when it felt the body about to cum. Such a toy drove you wild, as it not only denied you, but has also given you ruined orgasms as well.

Malleus pulled out a ring of keys, deliberately checking each one slow and precisely just to watch you squirm more on that toy. When he found the key he wanted, he opened the lock of the cell, letting the door open with a creak. “Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”

Ah, that’s right. The whole reason you were in here was because he suspected you of seeing the other students behind his back. Though as false as that was, he was adamant on you not choosing him, so he resorted to other methods, methods he were sure would persuade you.

You nodded quickly. “Y-Yes! Yes I’ve learned my lesson! I won’t see the others anymore! I promise! I-It’ll just be us s-so please! L-Let me cum, and I’ll be all yours!”

Malleus raised his palm up and slowly lifted his hand. The toy followed the hand placement, increasing in speed and strength. Your moans followed, increasing in pitch and volume as your hips rocked back into the device.

“Y-Yes, yes yesyesyesyesyes!!”

You were so close. So very close—

—until it stopped.

Realizing once again you were robbed of your orgasm, you let out a frustrated cry, leaning forward and tugging at your restraints.

“Malleus! Malleus, please!”

“You poor thing. So desperate for release.” His voice was dark, sounding like it was laced with poison. “What makes you think you deserve it?”

“B-Because I’ll behave! I swear I-I’ll listen!” Your voice was full of panic and desperation. Your body needed to release or you swore you’d go mad.

As Malleus approached you, the sounds of his shoes clicking felt like heavy lead in your stomach, but your heart fluttered when he knelt down and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Do you speak the truth?” he asked coldly. “Do you swear to abide by my wishes?”

You swallowed dryly, nodding. “Y-Yes, Malleus. I swear. I-I swear.”

He paused for a moment before looking at the chains restraining you as he stood. With a single flick of a finger, one of the links broke, sending you forward and resting your torso on the ground. Your ass hung in the air, the toy sticking out as if it was begging to be grabbed.

Malleus would do just that, grabbing the base of the toy before slowly moving it in and out. “Two hours of such torment. I’m surprised your body has lasted this long.”

You couldn’t answer. The only you could do was moan into the ground, the friction so much more delightful than the intense vibrating. You gently rocked your hips back, attempting to get more, but Malleus scowled, gripping your hip with one hand to still you before pulling the toy out.

“N-No! P-Please…” You whined into the stone floor. You were about to beg him to put it back when you felt something hot prod at your ass.

“One more time, dear…whose wishes do you abide by?”

You gulped once more, having to wrack through your recently clouded brain. “Y-Yours. Your wishes.” Then, as a, hopefully, bonus, you added, “I-I abide by my king’s wishes. I-I serve King Malleus Draconia.”

That seemed to do it, much to your surprise, as you felt your hole stretch to an unbelievable size. Such an action caused you to let out a shriek as your eyes rolled back, your body visibly trembling from the sensitivity of being played with for hours.

Malleus leaned down over you, his chest flush with your back as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“O-Oh yes,” he breathed. “Th-This was definitely ready for me~ S-So tight~ Great Seven, I should have grabbed you s-sooner~”

Having waited until you were a bit more adjusted until he began to thrust, his dual cocks grazing all the right spots deep inside of you and riling you up more than you already were. His thrusts, at first, were slow, using the movement to stretch you more before or lost himself to his own desires. Your stomach bulged from his dicks stretching you internally, the stretch of your skin moving in tandem with his movements. Everything was enough to make you scream, which you did when he hit a special spot deep inside.

“There!! Right there!! Please!!”

He didn’t need to be told twice, as when he finally hit that spot, it was all he hit, making your mind turn to mush as you became nothing but a mere toy for the king.

“W-Wanna cum…please…! I-I wanna come, Malleus!”

Having you in that held position, he hoisted you up, one arm around your waist and the other on your neck, supporting your weight as he never once stopped fucking you. His cocks swelled with anticipation, throbbing with his own climax approaching.

“Who do you belong to, child of man?”

“M-Malleus Draconia! I-I belong to the G-Great King, M-Malleus Draconia!”

Satisfied with the answer, Malleus growled in your ear. “Cum, child of man. Cum for your king…~”

You didn’t need to be told twice as almost immediately, ropes of your seed shot out in streams as your mouth hung open in a silent yet strangled scream, body twitching and spasming as it finally saw the release it had been yearning for for so long. White clouded the edges of your vision, until your eyes shut, your body falling limp in his arms as your chest slowly rose and fell.

The guilt that Malleus should have felt was instead pride as he gave your cheek a gentle kiss, feeling more than proud with himself for having ruined you into exhaustion like this.

“You’ll be the best little toy for me, (y/n)~” he said as he gently brushed your hair from your face, giving you a kiss on the forehead before magically breaking the rest of the restraints and carrying you toward the steps.

[shadowqueen402]

The Maiden And The Huntsman: Chapter 6

(Meanwhile, back with Princess Aria)

The princess found herself out of the forest after following the Tims. But she was far away from the kingdom. Rather, she was travelling over a couple of hills. The sunlight was rather welcoming as compared to the darkness of the forest. But suffice to say, Princess Aria was relieved to be out of the forest.

After some time, the Tims and Princess Aria crossed over a stone bridge only to stop. In the distance was a cottage. The princess had to admit that it looked rather cozy.

"Oh!" Princess Aria was rather surprised. "You believe I can stay here? But I'm not exactly sure who lives in that cottage… I must knock first before entering." The princess and the Tims approached the cottage with curiosity.

Princess Aria gave three gently knocks onto the wooden door. Then she waited for a response. Much to her dismay, nobody answered the door. "They must not be home…" She guessed before she tried to see if the door could open.

Surprisingly, it wasn't locked. Princess Aria opened the door wide open and looked around inside.

The cottage, despite not being colorful or elegant, appeared to be rather cozy. In front of the princess was a fireplace. On the right was a long table and wooden chairs that was enough to fit eight people. But on the table was dirty laundry. On the right was a tub filled to the brim with dishes that had yet to be washed and cupboards that were almost empty.

"This place looks pretty comfortable," Princess Aria said to the Tims as they all entered inside. "But it could use some tidying up, wouldn't you all agree?" The Tims all chirped in agreement. Princess Aria grabbed a broom that stood in the corner for so long that it had cobwebs attached. "Perhaps, if we tidy up the place, whoever lives here will let me stay."

The princess started to sweep the wooden floor. Several Tims started to dust the windows, tables, and chairs. A few other Tims started to wash the dishes. Outside, some Tims were washing all of the dirty laundry. Everyone was practically really busy with tidying up the house.

(Meanwhile, in a diamond mine)

Seven individuals were inside a diamond mine, digging up a bunch of diamonds. "What exactly do we dig up these gems for?" Gangle, a ribbon-like creature with a tragedy mask for a face asked.

"I wish I knew," Leo replied, swinging his pickaxe at a rock to free a diamond. "But we dig these diamonds anyway. I guess you could say it's a hobby."

Pomni struggled to push a wooden cart filled with red, blue, and green diamonds. "How many diamonds are in here!?" She asked with an exhausted huff.

"Oh, let me help you with that, Pomni." Kaufmo rushed over and pushed the cart, much to Pomni's relief.

Somewhere in the mine, Phil was checking to see if the diamonds that were minded were real or not. Bianca was disposing of the fake ones whereas Clem was cleaning all of the real diamonds.

The clock started to go off, grabbing everyone's attention. "It's finally time for us to head home!" Leo called to everyone.

One by one, the seven young individuals grabbed their pickaxes. They all left the diamond mine just as the sun was setting. Now that their day of mining is complete, they can finally go home and relax…

…Little did they know that they would be encountering a royal guest…

Aria belongs to me.

Phil, Clem, and Bianca belong to @sundove88

[punches-and-cream-puffs]

13. Confluence

She had hung onto his stories of his home, just as surely as she clung to the arm that held her on his lap, pulling her into a loose hug as he wove a world of words for her. Sometimes, if she focused, she thought she could remember the warmth of those days long ago, cradled in safety. When she was so much smaller, and her world was just as small.

His stories were of his home far from the Ring, far from Home. Where there were green grasses and an ocean of the things he had named trees, where the flowing waters he called rivers had met, two looping around his home and merging into one. Stories of a wooden cabin, look; he'd bade as he'd built shapes with pieces of straw. A house was this shape. Woven bits to make a river. A straw construct of a tree. An entire world in dried tarnished gold, easily swept away by a hand when the torchlight outside drew too near.

It'd taken her time to find it, the right confluence tucked away in the Shroud, time to decipher the scraps of stories she could remember and compare them to places seen in her wanderings. Where the flowing waters became one, where the straw depictions became reality. Once pale yellow pictures on a dusty stone floor were now moss and ivy laden wood, sproutlings growing from the thatch roof. A place he'd once loved, had spoken so fondly off, slowly being reclaimed by nature. He'd mentioned a garden, but the plots had long since been consumed by cornflour and dandelions, soft blue skies and tiny golden suns dotting the lush green grasses that surrounded the cabin.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected to find here, as she pushed in the door with a broken lock. Dust and cobwebs adorned the interior, a mantle of years of solitude and peace in the absence of people. A hearth long quiet, a kitchen empty. A crib silenced and on it's side, the moth-eaten remains of a stuffed Opo-Opo still resting against the wooden bars. The shelves were barren, long since emptied of their valuables, tables and chairs broken in a struggle unseen.

Sadness clung to the air; it was easy to imagine this place as warm. As filled with life and love as it had been in all those stories. But the cabin was silent and cold, evidence of it's cataclysm evident in what little remained. She tried to remember, tried to remember if he'd mentioned anything of what might have happened here, but the stories were muddy, blurred images in her mind and distorted by the passage of time.

She wasn't sure when she'd fully stepped into the cabin, but she was aware of the feeling of eyes on her as she moved, quietly tucking flowers into the skeleton of a home. A bundle of baby's breath by the fireplace, by the broken furniture, a small bouquet of lillies by the forgotten doll and overturned crib. Daisies found themselves tucked into an old jug on the stone oven, and forget-me-nots placed at the unopened bedroom door. She paid the feeling no mind, not until the dust was dotted with color.

"...I'm sorry for intruding." Words spoken quietly to the empty front room she stood in, her back to the open door. "...I just... I wanted to thank you. For everything you did, and everything you tried to do... I just...." Grieving wasn't something she'd ever really allowed herself, or been allowed, to do. A punch to the thigh, a momentary tear, but then she was supposed to get over it. Let the dead rest, But...

"I wish you were here. I wish you could have been there when we finally made it out. I wish...I wish you could see me now, you know? I've learned so much, and I've grown so much...." She paused, swallowing hard as she tilted her head back, trying to blink back the stinging, prickling she felt at the corners of her eyes. "I know you were never given a grave, so...I thought I'd bring the flowers here. You spoke so fondly of this place... I figured if the sentiment would reach you anywhere, it'd be here." Her head dipped forward, golden strands falling forward as sadness tinged the smile she fought so hard to keep.

"I hope wherever you ended up, it's warm and peaceful. You deserve a good rest, yeah?" The air felt electric, charged, buzzing across her skin. But she paid it no mind; she felt no malice, and she trusted her gut.

"....Thank you. For everything. Rest well, and travel safely wherever you ended up." One last statement before she left, turning to slip back out to the woods and the waiting hounds, closing the door on the shadow that stood amongst the flowered remains of a home.

[voiceswithoutlips]

Fallen - Chapter One

— pairing: OT7 x Reader (F) — genre: Fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Soulmate AU, Fluff, Eventual Smut, ANGST , Poly!BTS — word count: 2.8k — Rating: M — warnings: minor character death, slight gore — beta: Thank you so much @taegularities​ and @unoriginal-username15432​ for all you feedback <3

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— chapter summary:  

The people you killed, they haunted your dreams. They would say to you, “What you do always comes back to you, there is no escape from this miserable life.” It was true, there was no escape. In your world there was only darkness, sorrow, fear, hate and death, always death.

— A/N: It is I, your idiotic author. Welcome to my blog <3

Ch. 2

The sound of rain was like a roaring beast. It was almost midnight and the roads were lonely. You stood there in an alley facing a madman, uh, mad-vampire. His eyes were glowing red; he was wearing a dirty grey cloak on his rag like cloth. His brown hair had gotten messy when he’d run away from you but there he was, still as a dead body, waiting for you to attack. There were thick walls on both sides of the alley and behind him was a dead end. He was trapped.

“Lockham, why don’t you come back with me? That way I won’t have to kill you,” you suggested to the psycho killer vampire who stood a mere ten feet away from you. There was no way for him to run so maybe he would attack. You weighed your options - fight? That would’ve been nice; at least your body would’ve gotten some exercise.

He laughed. “You think you can win? Destiny is waiting for you Hunter,” he said in an impressive voice. Another one of those ‘destiny’ believers. Apparently the Goddess had a plan for us all, not that you had much faith in it. Gods don't care about who kills whom or who eats what, they’re more concerned about their own entertainment. You’d never put much faith in any higher power, God or not, nobody gave a shit.

“You’ve killed people Lockham, you’ve been a very naughty vampire and now it’s time for your punishment,”you said as a teacher would say to a naughty kid. He took a step back.

“Who are you to punish me?” he mocked, showing you his blood covered teeth. He was just having a meal when you found him and then you two had a nice chase. You were glad that he ran, you wanted to stretch out your legs anyway.

“Exactly, I’m no one,” you said and took a step forward; he took a step back simultaneously and vanished. What? Vanished? How? You walked forward to investigate and sighed. How careless of you. There was a hole, he fell into the sewer. He must have used cloaking so that it would look like he vanished. The only thing he forgot was to close the hole. You shook your head,  you hated wet places! You jumped down and landed lightly on your feet, without making a sound, perfect.

You were getting bored of chasing him, it was almost dawn and you needed your beauty sleep. You took a deep breath and pulled out your silver dagger. It was your favorite weapon. Silver was deadly to vampires. It was very pretty with a finely carved snake on the handle with emeralds where the eyes should be; a gift from someone you had known a long time ago.  You closed your eyes and let your mind wander through the tunnels. Just like your immunity to silver, your telepathy was stronger than centuries old vampires and you could perform magic. You were a half-witch after all.

You found him running through the tunnels. As soon as your mind touched him, he froze. You were inside his mind now. Reading someone’s mind was nothing like watching a movie or reading a book. It was like waking up from a dream, you don’t remember what you saw or heard but the thing that you remember is the feeling, the essence of the dream. Every being has a certain essence, unique to them. Like walls that you can’t see or touch, but you know they’re there. You could clearly see the tunnel before you, but it was like a distant memory, you were no longer there.

You were in a room, an old room with cobwebs and dust. It smelled of something rotten, like a thousand dead rats. There were worn out clothes hanging from the ceiling - correction, there was no ceiling, just clothes hanging midair and swaying with the wind, except there was no wind. At one corner sat two rusty iron chairs. The window with broken glass showed a full moon. 

There was an old cupboard on the wall with the yellow wallpaper. It was white as if someone had carved it from bone. There were noises coming from the cupboard, screeching, screaming, the cry of a baby, the soothing voice of a mother, someone’s last words. A shudder ran through your body. I will never ever do this again, you promised yourself. 

You heard a creak from behind and you swiftly turned back. There he was, sitting in a corner, the little boy. He held a tattered grey cloak in his hands. His body was folded at impossible angles. He was white as a sheet, there was no blood in his body. He was thin with brittle bones. Dull brown eyes in a sunken face held unimaginable terror. 

He looked up at you. “I’m tired, I want to sleep,” he whispered and quickly stole a glance at the cupboard.

“Then why don’t you sleep?” you whispered back, clearly not wanting to wake anything in there. Yeah, getting into someone’s mind was a nice thing, you could get full control over them... but there was a catch. If something went wrong in that mind or if you failed to escape in time, then you’d be trapped there forever, or die. You were pretty sure that you didn’t want to be trapped in this mind, not here.

“They don’t let me sleep, they keep me awake so that I could bring more and more food for them,” he replied, pointing a finger at the cupboard. Slowly, you understood what he was saying. ‘One without a soul feeds on other’s souls,’ the thought crossed your mind, not a good one.

“What if you don’t bring them food?” You already knew the answer but you asked anyway, maybe just to confirm it.

“I’ll go mad,” he whispered back with horrified eyes.

“Come to me, I’ll help you sleep.” The words left your lips, the real ones which were still attached to your face. Lockham turned back and slowly walked towards you. You could hear his heavy footsteps in the tunnel.  At last he took the last turn and there he stood right in front of you. His eyes were blank. It was like there was no soul in his body, no life. You had him entirely under your control. If you told him to do ballet, he would dance like a professional, but you weren't a sadist. Life had already tortured him enough. 

“Come forward,” you said softly, the sooner it ended the better. He walked forward and your silver dagger slashed through his throat, severing his spine, killing him in a second. Blood splashed and soaked his body. It was a merciful death, you had seen worse. There are worse things than death in this world. Death was just an easy escape.

You stood there for a moment, looking at him, wishing that the outcome would’ve been different. Were you feeling sorry for him? No, you were feeling sorry for yourself. You were a fifty year old vampire and in all your years as a hunter you’d killed hundreds of criminals, but you had never been able to save one. 

People knew and people talked. Some said that you were cursed; you were the representative of death, the spawn of darkness. As a result, the council only gave you high profile cases, criminals that were too far gone to be saved. It was always death. The people you killed, they haunted your dreams. They would say to you, “What you do always comes back to you, there is no escape from this miserable life.” It was true, there was no escape. In your world there was only darkness, sorrow, fear, hate and death, always death.

You pulled out your cell phone and called the police. They would take care of the body. You bent down to leave a tracker near it, so they would find it easily. Lockham’s eyes were wide open, and you closed them. “At least one of us is at peace,” you whispered. 

“You’re home!!” little Lilly exclaimed happily as you walked through the door. Your  family was sitting in the dining room, having supper. You were the firstborn, the eldest of your father’s children. Your father was the Duke of Serafino, the City of Snake; one of the two warrior cities in the Vampire Kingdom. He was a nice man with brown eyes and hair, fair complexion, nicely built but a little short. 

Your stepmother was a beauty; she had blue eyes, fair complexion, sharp features and hair spun like gold. Her children took after her, all cream and gold. They all hated you, except for the little one, Lilly.

“Yay, I’m home,” you said sarcastically. It was hard not to be nice to the little girl who looked at you with wonder in her eyes; she was so full of life. To no one’s wonder you had blood on your clothes and your darling step mother eyed it with a look in her eyes that said filthy. For you, it was like an invitation. You were planning to have supper in your room just like any other day, but you sat down at the end of the table. Your father was seated at his normal seat which belonged to the head of the family. The chair right across from him was the place for his wife, but that was your mother’s place and now it belonged to you. 

Your mother had died in childbirth, you had her amber eyes and olive skin. Her name was Katina. People told you that she’d been a beauty; you had some of her pictures and sometimes you would feel her close beside you. It was a weird feeling, but not bad, not at all. You weren't a person who put her feelings on display, heck you hadn’t even cried in like twenty years! The only permanent feeling you had left was emptiness. You felt numb, like a shell, nothing inside, no love, no hope, not even sorrow after all these years. It felt like you were dead and it was true, your heart was dead.

“I would like some blood sausages Charles and don’t forget the wine,” you said cheerfully to the butler. He was a nice guy, always talked politely. You suspected that he was in love with the cook, Ms. Glen; it would be nice to have some love in this house which felt like living in a coffin.

“How was your day, Y/N?” Lilly asked, her cheerful eyes trained on you. You wondered for how long this child would be allowed to keep her innocence? When you’d been her age ...you shied away from that thought. Thoughts bring back memories and your memories were like old corpses, one would never want to dig them. Instead you took a bite of your sausage - man, they were delicious.

“It was almost nice, Bunny. I played who-can-catch-me with a friend and I won!!” Bunny was the nickname you had given her because she was never still. Everyone paused for a moment; it was really weird and funny at the same moment. You loved how all the eyes drifted to you and back to Lilly. She was beaming because you had won the game. You gave her a small smile.

“Oh that’s wonderful!! Where is your friend now?” Curious little kid, everyone paused again, including you this time.

“You see, we were playing on a bet. He lost the bet so he had to …go to another city.” You were very good at lying, but her beaming eyes and pure innocence made it hard. It was impossible to lie to that child.

“When would he come back?” she asked, and you sighed. Your plate was half empty and the looks everyone were giving you just killed the hunger inside. You stood up with the wine glass in my hand.

“Chew your food, Bunny,” you replied and left the room.

Your room was a mixture of blue and gold. The wallpapers were straight lines of different shades of blue. The furniture was of mahogany wood with fine carvings. The round rug was golden on the edge and blue in the middle, it looked like a pool of water. All the linen was blue and gold as well. Your bed was round and big with golden bedposts and curtains. You had a balcony of your own with a little fountain with a sculpture of a mother and her child. You had spent a lot of time taking care of the blue roses in your garden. 

The front wall was covered with your music collection. You found peace in music, it was the only time when you could just forget everything and float. You quickly changed and crawled under the sheets, picking up the remote from the side table and pressing the play button. It was Mozart’s duo. What an amazing symphony! It helped you drift back to your happy memories.

Unlike your half brothers and sisters, you were raised in Tiria. It was a small town on the edge of Serafino. You were raised by the Countess of Tiria, a very kind woman. She had grace, beauty, and wealth but no children. She showered you with love and pretty gifts. You had excellent teachers for your education. You learned everything from crochet to fencing. 

The manor there was old and beautiful. It had a beautiful garden and a whole forest around it. You would often go into the forest, just to explore it. Those were the happiest days of your life. Until your tenth birthday - the day the Countess died.

Just like the symphony, your thoughts turned darker. You’d been happy that day; the maids had told you that you were going to have a big birthday party. The Earl had been there for two weeks now. Your innocent mind had thought that he was there for your birthday. That morning you were out in the gardens, picking up some red roses for the Countess, it was something you did every day. You would just run into her room to put them on her side table, she loved that. You held the bunch of roses in your tiny hands, running through the house to her room. You were wearing a very pretty white dress with laces and pink ribbons. Your bare feet softly met the stone floor as you ran to her room and pushed the door, happily calling to her.

The Countess was there, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. There were bruises on her body and a sword, stabbed right through her heart. The handle of the sword was in the hands of the Earl. He twisted the blade with a cruel smile in his eyes. Then you screamed. The flowers falling from your hands, red roses into red blood - they were the same color. Your pretty white dress was now red. You backed away still screaming, leaving little red footprints on the floor. The maids came running to you and held you tight as you screamed and screamed. You don’t remember for how long you were screaming or what happened later.

You drifted off to sleep. 

It was a beautiful forest. The trees were so thick that sunlight barely touched the ground and everything was covered in moss. You were standing there in front of a giant wolf. It wasn’t a werewolf, it smelled like a  regular  one but just giant, like a direwolf. It was growling at you, baring his teeth. You had no weapons with you, you double checked. You looked around for an escape, you could kill him with your teeth but they weren’t as sharp as they’d used to be. You looked at your nails, they were fragile. Heck! You were human!!

“Y/N, wake up!!” the wolf suddenly spoke in a girly voice. It didn’t make sense, really.

“Are you a girl?” you asked the wolf who was ready to kill you. Talking to an animal, guess you had finally lost your sanity.

“Y/N!!” Someone was shaking you, trying to wake you up without much success. Then you realized you were sleeping under a bunch of blankets and pillows. It was three in the morning; you could tell by the smell of the air. You peeked at the person who had dared to disturbed you. It was Lily.

“What is it, Bunny?” you asked sleepily. It was good she had practice understanding you while you sleep talked, if it was anyone else, they would’ve thought you were talking gibberish.

“I had a bad dream,” she said with a puppy face. You knew what she wanted; she wanted to sleep with you. 

“Me too,” you replied and ran your tongue over your teeth, yup, still vampire. “Come here you,” you said, grabbing her and stuffing her under the pile of blankets and pillows. You loved a warm cozy place to sleep. You held her like a teddy bear and dozed off again. She was so soft in your arms and she held tight onto you. Protecting someone was a good feeling. You went back to sleep as if  you had never woken up.

NEXT

[ifeellikeameowster]

Raise Hell - Creativitwins and Darkside!Roman Fic

Fic Summary: After a brooding session in his room after the events of SVS2, Roman decides Fuck It! and visits his brother Remus' room. As the two brothers reconnect, Roman ends up making a startling decision.

Warnings: Roman Angst, Self Loathing, Self Deprecating, Darkside!Roman, Gore, Violence, Weapons, Sexual Innuendos (Basically Remus just being Remus)

Pairings: None!

Wordcount: 7k+ (almost 8k)

Author's Note:

I started writing this fic immediately after SVS2 so it's canon complacent until after that, where it branches off into this AU! This was before both Flirting With Social Anxiety and Working Through Intrusive Thoughts came out, so please just consider this an alternate "What If?" scenario! (Also this just goes to show you how much I procrastinate when it comes to writing whoops lol.)

Roman sat curled up on his bed. Sitting in the same position that he had been for the past two days or so. He couldn't exactly recall how long he had been there holed up in his room, actually.

The only thing he could recall was the disappointed looks on their faces, their harsh words whether intentional or not, and the feeling of his whole world seemingly crumbling down around him. It was all too much too soon, and after his outburst he had sunken into a numb state of suspension. Waiting to feel anything other than anger, grief, and disappointment. All three of which were mainly pointed dangerously at his own self like a bunch of daggers repeatedly striking where they knew it would hurt most.

Patton had stopped by shortly after he had first sunk out, yes. But Roman could hardly hear what the fatherly side was saying to him over the ringing in his ears and his own rapid heartbeat constantly reminding him it had been recently struck through. Something about everything being okay, he thinks? Yet how could Patton have said that when absolutely nothing was okay right now? In fact, he doubted anything could be okay ever again. Not after…well, after he had apparently messed up again.

It was starting to become a habit now, all of these stupid mistakes. And how could such a perfect prince as him make such mistakes? He was supposed to be a paragon of perfection! An idol for all aspiring heroes alike! The pinnacle of heroism and all that is good in the world! Instead he was just...just wrong. Always wrong. Always wrong no matter who's side he took or who he believed in or what he said or didn't say. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

But if he wasn't a perfect prince...if he wasn't a hero...if he wasn't right...then what exactly was he? What was left? Well, nothing, really. He had put all of his eggs in one basket and now the littlest breeze had apparently sent it toppling over.

Wait a minute...If he had nothing left, then that meant he had nothing left to lose, right? Which meant all of his old restrictions on himself, all of his walking the fine line and all of him staying on the right side of the fence- All of it was meaningless. It was doing nothing, just like him.

He slowly unfurled his body from it's curled up position and turned his gaze towards the closet on the far side of his room. The door was dingier compared to the rest of the elegant and ornately designed bedroom. Scratch marks marred its greyed, wooden surface and a sign was tapped loosely and half-hazardly to the middle. "Danger: Nightmare Zone. Keep out!" It read in bright red lettering.

"Keep out, huh...I must have been really mad when I wrote that." Roman glanced down to his hands, which he had clenched. "But now I'm just empty...so what's the use in obeying a stupid sign that I put up there myself?" He unfisted his hands and looked back to the imposing closet door. "What could be more dangerous in there than staying here and stewing in my own thoughts?"

He slowly stood up, his legs tingling from being in one position for far too long. He made his way over to the closet door. Slowly. Cautiously. Glancing over his shoulder as if someone was going to walk in on him at any moment. As his hand grasped the handle, he felt himself gulp. Did he really want to do this?

"…"

Well, what else was there to do?

He pushed the door open and stepped into the closet full of old clothes. All of his new princely adornments were actually being stored in a mahogany wardrobe beside his nightstand. These clothes were...they belonged to...Well, someone who didn't exist. At least not anymore. He pushed his way through dusty and moth-bitten clothes as if he was pushing through the undergrowth of a dense jungle. As he neared his destination, the place grew darker and smelled more and more of mold.

He finally arrived at another door. This one was more well kept than the last, with golden trimmings and an intricate door handle. He took a deep breath to steal his nerves before pushing it open.

He stepped out into another bedroom. This one had moss in the corners, cobwebs on the ceiling, and ivy climbing it's walls. Even still, it was much tidier than he had been expecting. It gave off more of a wild feeling rather than a dirty one. Just as he was about to take another step to inspect further, there was a mace in his face.

He hadn't even flinched back, he was so tired and dazed. Roman sucked in a nervous breath and looked to the wielder of the weapon.

Remus was standing frozen in place, his face flickering between emotions. Eyes twitching. It appeared like he had intended to knock him out again...just like last time in the living room...but something must have made him pause.

"You've been crying." He hissed, less of a question and more of an accusation.

Roman blinked, confused, before reaching up to poke the skin underneath his eyes. Sure enough, it was puffy. He bet if he looked in a mirror they'd be red-rimmed as well. But he didn't even want to see his own face right now. He huffed out in irritation. "So what if I have?"

Remus' face flickered once more before settling into a firm stare as he slowly lowered his morning star mace away from Roman's head. He was being oddly still and slow in his motions, and the difference between this and his usual rambunctiousness was making Roman's skin crawl with nerves. "Why?"

"Why?" Roman repeated after him, bristling, "Why do you even care why?"

Remus blinked, seeming to come out of his previous mood. "You tell me Prince Smarmy! You came into my turf." He rested his mace behind his shoulders and started rocking back and forth on the heels of his boots.

"I…" Roman's gaze fell to the ground. "I don't know. It's just the last place I could go, I guess?" He shrugged before waving a dramatic arm, "But if you don't want me here either, then just say it to my face!"

Remus tilted his head curiously before leaning forward "Oh, I can do way better than that, brohide." And with that, he snapped his fingers and the room flipped upside down.

Roman gasped as they fell through the air. The room seemed to twist and morph around them. Until finally, he had landed roughly on his own fluffy white floor rug. Remus, however, had fallen through the fancy canopy of his bed. Tearing a large hole through it and landing in a heap on the covers.

"Hey, my bed!" He shouted, offended beyond belief.

"Oh tough titty." Remus chastised as he picked up a golden laced, red silk pillow. He started plucking at it's loose threads. "I bet you have a ton of those ugly tent things."

"They're called canopies, you uncultured swine!"

Roman got up in a huff and dusted off and straightened his rumpled clothes. He sent a glare over to Remus as he did so. "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?~" He sing-songed annoyingly back.

"Teleport us in such an unruly manner!"

"Hmmm…" He flopped over on to his back and started doing snow angel motions. "Why'd you go in my room?~Huh? Huh?"

"Wha- I- I asked you first!"

"I asked you second!!" He rolled over on the bed to grin up at Roman, still clutching the poor, abused pillow.

"Ugh, fine!" Roman threw his hands up in the air and moved to grab his vanity chair. He pulled it over to sit in front of the bed. "I just didn't want to be in my own room right now, okay??"

Remus frowned with pursed lips and sat up, scooching forward on the bed. "But it's your room, numbnuts."

"Well maybe I don't want to be near me right now…Um, wait. That doesn't make any sense, does it?"

"Probably not! But-" He cupped a hand over his mouth and loudly whispered conspiratorially, "I can rip your head off your body and throw it to the side for you so you're not close to it anymore?"

"No that's...That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Fucking party pooper!" Remus threw his hands up then abandoned the pillow he had been holding to riffle curiously through the rest. "Do you not keep a dagger under your pillow??"

"What? No, of course not! Who would do that?"

"Me, duh! For security reasons, bitch boy."

"Well I'm obviously more sensible than that. I keep swords under the bed like a sane person."

"Wait, really?!" Remus threw himself over the side of the bed to look underneath it. "Holy shit, nice!" He rustled through them for a moment before grabbing a sleek black flamberge by it's blade and pulling it up. "I'm keeping this!"

"I would protest that but you've already gotten your filthy blood all over it and that sword is a particular bitch to clean."

"Sibling souvenir!" Proclaimed Remus as he stabbed it into his stomach for safe keeping.

"What on earth are you doing? Why would you stab yourself??"

"To make sure it doesn't go anywhere! Oh, and to test it's stabby powers."

"You know in hindsight, I shouldn't have even asked."

"Speaking of askings of questions-ing, why did you visit my room of all places? Needed to get rid of some trash? Because I'm taking if you're offering. I could always use more decorations!"

"Remus, you rat bastard, I saw that your room was cleaner than you let people believe it to be. If you did take any of my trash you'd probably organize it into the proper bins and everything."

Remus gasped and put an offended hand over his chest. "How dare you! My room is perfectly and gloriously trashy and stinky, just like me."

"Mhmm, sure it is."

A shuriken flew past the side of his head and embedded itself right in the face of one of his many Disney posters.

"Just answer my question!!"

"Okay, okay jeez!" Roman raised his hands placatingly before dropping them to grip at his knees nervously. "I, well, I didn't want to be alone anymore…"

"And? You couldn't just visit the other lamo light bitches in the living-dead room?"

"They, um." He sighed before looking over at his posters. Prince Charming smiled brightly back at him, even with a weapon digging into his forehead. "They don't want to be around me. They don't want me. Not anymore. If they ever did. They have him, after all. Both of them."

"Him. Them. Stop playing the pronoun game already and get fucking on with it!"

"He has Janus now! Thomas chose Janus! Patton chose Janus! They chose Janus! They both chose Janus...over me…" Roman blurted out. The words were spilling out now, unstoppable. He sniffled as he felt the tears threatening to fall once more as well. He didn't even realize he had any left to cry. "I chose Thomas. Thomas chose Patton. Patton chose Janus. No one ever chooses me! No one ever takes my side!"

"Apparently, I'm always the one in the wrong..." He ran his shaky hands over his cheeks, desperately trying to push any tears that appeared away. To keep them from falling anymore. Hadn't he cried enough? "I was wrong about Virgil. I was wrong with how I talked to Logan. I was wrong about the breakup. I was wrong about the wedding. Now I was wrong about Deceit- no, Janus- ugh...Everything I do is wrong!"

He lowered his hands again to dig his fingers back into his knees. Roman drew in another shaky breath, trying to calm himself after the outburst. He glanced nervously up at Remus to gauge his reaction to his brother's crazed rambles.

Remus had leaned forward to hear him better over his sobs and shaky voice, almost tipping over the edge of the bed. He had his nails digging into Roman's comforter, and Roman was afraid he was about to rip holes into it. He already had a canopy to replace after all, he didn't want to have to replace that as well! They stared at each other in tense silence for a few moments more, one at a loss on what to say next and the other trying to process the onslaught of new information. Finally, Remus let go of the comforter, slid off the bed, and sat on the floor in front of him with his legs splayed out.

"So what you're saying is...wait, Jan Jan the Banana Man actually told you his name?"

"Well, he more so told Thomas and Patton it and...I just happened to be there too?"

"Huh. Never thought he'd tell anyone else. Well, not after Virgil…was Virgil there?"

"No. Unfortunately Virgil wasn't there to back me up. If he would have even taken my side at all...And Logan was...there in textbox spirit?"

"What'd nerd-a-lerd say?"

"He…well, I wasn't really paying much attention to- I was panicking okay! But I heard enough." He looked to the side, feeling shame well up in himself again. "Enough to know that he was taking his side, just like everyone else."

He heard a mumbled "Damn pronoun name again-" before Remus clapped his hands together with a loud boom that echoed through the large room. "Okay! And I can't believe I'm saying this but- tell me the whole story. Top dick to bottom butt."

"Ew." Roman wrinkled his nose up in disgust.

"Just tell me already!!" Annnddd another shuriken whizzed past his head. This time it embedded itself in his dresser. He hoped it hadn't cracked the wood too much...

Thus Roman spun the entire tale, starting at Janus' first appearance and ending with the absolute fiasco between the callback and the wedding that had occurred a couple of days ago...or had it been several? Time had muddied itself in his reclusion. He would take several breaks in his storytelling to go off on self-deprecating tangents that sounded an awful lot like dramatic monologues from some tragic play. More often than not these tangents were cut short by Remus, who would hurry them along with crude nicknames and threats to get back to the main story.

Somehow during this storytelling process both of the brothers had ended up splayed out side by side on top of Roman's fluffy white floor rug. As if they were kids gossiping on the floor at a sleepover. Remus had busied his hands by pulling out locks of the fur from the rug while Roman's own hands gesticulated wildly with the ups and downs of his tale. As he neared the end of the story, Roman curled up to lay on his side so he could face Remus and see his reaction.

"...and then I decided to go to your room. Because I had nowhere else to go. I didn't want to stay in my room with my own thoughts any longer...but I didn't want to see any of the other sides, either."

Remus was laying on his stomach, fiddling with the rug and swaying his feet in the air. At hearing the last bit, his feet fell back down to rest on the floor. "...But you wanted to see me?" His voice was the softest Roman had ever heard him speak. It was incredulous and almost...hopeful.

"I-I don't know. I-" Roman diverted his eyes across the room, sweeping over the damage done by them earlier and eventually landing on the dingy and scratched up closet door. He stared at it for a moment in thought before looking back over to Remus. "Do you ever…Ever miss sharing a bedroom?" He murmured.

Remus wrinkled his nose and glared at him, likely upset that he had dodged the question. "Not really. Your taste in stuff is far too Gucci-Gucci-bougie for me."

"No, not that!" Roman dismissed with a wave of his hand, " Not the furniture or anything like that. Just the…the feel of someone else being there too? Knowing that someone else is always there? Someone who's kind of like you but not really? Someone you can talk to when you have no one else?" Roman ran his fingers through his hair in distress. "Does that make any sense???"

Remus was still glaring at him, but now his eyebrows twitched with an unseen emotion. "Being brothers?" He hissed.

"What?"

Remus reached over to grab Roman's shoulders and shake him silly. "What you're describing. Is being brothers. What I wanted to be. What you didn't let us be. What you rejected. Shoved into the darkest corner. Placed under a Do Not Enter sign-"

"I'm sorry, okay! I didn't mean it!"

Remus paused in his shaking, several emotions flashing across his face. "Didn't mean it?"

"I know I-" Roman placed his hands over Remus' on his shoulders but didn't push him away and lowered his head in shame. "I acted rashly and perhaps a tad extreme to our new circumstances at the time. But it was for what I thought was the best. I only ever wanted to serve Thomas. I only ever wanted to please them. I never thought- I-" He looked sincerely back up into his brother's eyes. "I never thought about what that would mean for you. What that would do to you. What that would do to us. And for that, I'm sorry."

Remus loosened his grip but didn't let go entirely, staring intensely and attentively at Roman.

"I never actually wanted to push you away. I was just doing so because I thought- Well, okay admittedly I wasn't thinking much at all really but-" His eyes briefly flickered back to the closet door "I didn't want to become a dark side too! I didn't want to not be able to see Thomas. Or to be rejected by the others. I-" He laughed then. A dry, helpless laugh. He shifted to put his head in his hands. "But I guess that happened anyway, didn't it? What sick irony, huh? Maybe it's what I deserve… Maybe it's karmic retribution…"

"..."

"I shoved you away... And now they're shoving me away! I lost a brother so I could keep everyone and everything else in my life but now- now I've lost that, too- Now I have nothing. Now I am no-"

Remus tightened his grip on Roman's shoulders again and pulled him towards himself. He ended up knocking their heads together in the process-

"Ow! What the hell are you-"

-of wrapping his arms around Roman and hugging him to himself.

"You-You're hugging me?"

"You didn't lose a brother…" Remus pouted, as if he was a petulant toddler, "I've always been right fucking here if you'd open your stupid eyes for once."

Roman let out a shuddering breath, feeling an entirely new type of tear prickling at the corners of his eyes. He buried his head in Remus' shoulder and gripped onto the back of hid brother's clothes as if he was his last lifeline. He probably was.

Sure the hug was the most uncomfortable one he'd ever had, what with the hilt of the sword in Remus' stomach poking him in his own and his forehead still ringing with the pain from where Remus banged them together, but somehow it was still nice. It still felt like...home.

"...But I thought you hated me?"

"What gave you that idea?"

"You're always calling me names and hitting me with stuff!"

He felt Remus shrug. "You do the same thing."

"You do it first!"

"Eh- that's just what siblings do~~"

"With medieval weapons?!"

"Says the guy with a stash of swords under his bed!~" Remus sing-songed teasingly.

"Oh like you have room to talk- You said you keep daggers under your pillow!"

"Shouldn't everyone? You should keep some under yours too, Mr Whiny Prissy Pants!"

"And there's the name calling again."

"Hey now, you know it's the older siblings job to pick on the younger-"

"But I'm the older sibling! I manifested my form first!"

"Eh, semantics-schmantics! Same diff!"

"You're completely unreasonable!"

"And you're too stuck up!"

Roman let out a growl and smacked a hand over Remus' face, pushing him away and breaking up the hug. Remus let out a huff and reached over to slap the back of Roman's head in retaliation. This caused them to descend into a full on slap fight, looking like a slapstick scene straight out of a comedy movie.

They roughhoused like this, like a pair of bickering elementary schoolers, until they eventually tired themselves out and flipped gracelessly back onto the floor. They both stared at the ceiling for a few silent seconds before bursting out into fits of crazed laughter.

"That was the worst hug ever! Hahaha!"

"Hey! I don't have much practice! Heeheehee!"

"Haha! We must look like a couple of insane people lying here!"

"Haha! I knooowww~~ You're room is sooo trashed!~Heehee!"

"Hey! You're the one that trashed it! Hahaha!"

"Well you're the one who invited me here brozilla! Hahahoo!"

"You're the one that brought us here! Hahaheh! I wanted to be in your room! Heh!"

Their laughter eventually died down. But just as Roman was about to drift off into sleep from his position lying on the floor, he heard Remus ask, "Do you still want to go to my room?"

Roman blinked his eyes open. He sat up and looked forlornly around his own bedroom. The thought of staying here seemed lonely, now that he'd finally reunited and reconciled with his brother. And the pictures and posters adorning the walls just reminded him of past memories that only hurt to think about right now. "......Yeah. Yes, actually." He turned to Remus, who had also sat back up, " I know, I know it sounds crazy but-"

"I like crazy!" Remus grinned and raised his fingers in preparation to snap, causing Roman to have a flashback to the previous time he did it.

"Wait! Don't turn the room upside down again! We can just sink through the floor like we normally-"

"Sink through the floor? Okay, if you say so!" His grin widened maniacally and he snapped his fingers.

The floor started to shift and cave in on itself, causing Roman's furniture to all move closer to the center. A hole slowly opened under where the brothers had been sitting that pulled them down into it. Roman screamed as they were both sucked into the abyss.

His scream ended abruptly as he was flung up into Remus' room, the hole now acting as a geyser of sorts. Roman landed in an unruly manner and was knocked out of breath while Remus landed swiftly on his knee before rolling up into a standing position.

"Home, Smelly Home!" He proudly declared with his hands on his hips, either unaware of or uncaring towards his brother's struggle to get up from the floor.

"Shouldn't have opened my big mouth..." Mumbled Roman as he dusted his clothes off and tried to straighten his appearance, only for his work to be completely undone when Remus yanked him into his side and rustled his hair with his elbow. "Hey! Stop that! Do you have any idea how long it takes to do my hair?"

"Eh, it was already messed up anyways." Remus slapped Roman's shoulder, "Now come on slowpoke, I'm gonna give you the grand tour!" Remus then ran off further into his room, causing Roman to have to chase after him in order to keep up.

Remus showed him his bedroom first, which had a mirrored layout to Roman's, but the furniture was darker and more rustic. The decorations looked more like something out of a haunted mansion than a grand palace, like Roman's did. Remus then stopped by his weapons closet, where he finally removed the flamberge sword from his stomach and tossed it haphazardly inside. From what Roman could make out before Remus had shut the door again was that the room looked bigger on the inside than the title 'closet' would suggest. Remus then pointed out a few more small areas of note before eventually leading Roman to the back door.

Every side's room had a front door- where the other sides could enter their room, and a backdoor- where each side could go out of their room and into their own personal section of the mindscape. Most sides referred to it as their 'backyard', of sorts.

Roman followed Remus out of his backdoor and onto a balcony overlooking a dark, twisted forest. The balcony itself was the same design as Roman's own balcony but was made up of black marble instead of white. There were a few cracks here and there, yet it was overall fairly stable. English Ivy crept along the rails and crawled down the side of the castle. There were no stairs in sight, unlike with his own balcony, leading Roman to wonder whether Remus would take the time to climb down the Ivy or simply jump off of the railing in order to enter his backyard.

Remus spread his arms out in a grand gesture before spinning around to sit backwards on the railing, facing Roman. "So, what do ya' think? Badass digs, right?"

Roman, lost in thought and not expecting the question, blurted out the first thing to cross his mind. "We have similar balconies."

Remus raised an amused brow. "No shit, Sher-cock. We're in the same castle. Same castle, same floor plan. Duh."

"Wait, the same castle…?"

Remus shrugged, leaning far enough back on the railing to have Roman worry about him falling over the side of it, "It split when we did. We still share a room and space... it's just-" He waved around a hand dismissively. "Halved, now."

"Ah...so that's the reason we can visit each other without going through our front doors…" Roman walked up to lean forwards on the railing, right beside Remus. "Wonder why I didn't question that sooner?" He rested his chin in his hand with a sigh. "All this time, we were even in the same castle...the same area of the mindscape...and I never- I never even bothered to visit-"

Remus, who had grown bored of the conversation and had started to pick his nose, interrupted Roman's spiral by flicking boogers at him. "Hey now, none of that. You did enough moping back in your own room, you cry baby.*

"Ugh! Ew!" Roman sputtered indignantly and pulled out a doily to wipe his face. "You're disgusting." He huffed.

Remus stuck his tongue out at him and laughed. "If you start saying sad shit again, I'll give you a wet willy." He then leaned towards Roman and started wiggling his fingers menacingly.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me, bitch!"

"Well, if you do that, then I'll- Then I'll shove you off of the balcony!"

Remus faked a scandalized gasp and placed a hand over his chest while the other draped across his forehead. "You'd murder your own dearest brother?!"

"It wouldn't kill you, you overdramatic oaf, sides can't die!"

"You're calling me overdramatic?" Remus abandoned the pose to lean forward with a knowing grin. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black."

"Oh shut up." Roman pushed Remus away, before turning around to sit beside him atop the railing.

Remus' eyes widened. "My goody two shoes brother is sitting precariously on a railing? Since when? Is it opposite day? "

"What do you mean? I do dangerous stuff all the time!"

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

Roman gestured wildly, "I slay the dragons! I defeat the monsters! I save the people! I...fight the bad guys…" Roman deflated as his hands fell beside him to lock the rail in a death grip. "But I guess I failed at all of that, huh? So much for being a goody two shoes…"

Remus hummed in thought, nails tapping against the black marble. His legs swayed back and forth as they both looked up at the night sky above them in companionable silence. Roman eventually let out a forlorn sigh and relaxed his grip on the railing. Suddenly, Remus let out a loud gasp and clapped his hands together, startling Roman who in turn almost tipped over the edge of the balcony.

"I have the best idea!"

"Oh no, you're planning something. That can never be good."

" No, no! Really, really! Listen, listen!" Remus smacked Roman's arm and shoulder excitedly in-between each word.

"Okay, okay! Just stop!" Roman slapped Remus' hands away. "Tell me then brother, what is it?"

Remus beamed and jumped to stand back on the balcony. "Okay so, you're saying that the other sides are shutting you out, right? And that they made you feel like a stinky doodoo head?"

"Gee, thanks for reminding me. Totally helps me feel better." Roman grimaced with a sarcastic thumbs up as Remus paced back and forth.

"Right! So, they're starting to treat you like a villain. And J-Anus as a good guy?"

"I- I guess? That's like the bare essentials of what happened...I mean, that's what it seems like--Ugh, just what are you getting at?!"

Remus stopped pacing to spin towards Roman and spread his hands out. "So why not just be a villain?"

"......what?"

"Join the dark sides with me!" Remus then awkwardly faked a modeling pose. "We have great fashion! And weapons! Lots of weapons!"

Roman scoffed. "I know, I saw your weapons closet." He slid off the railing to stand in front of his brother. "But what makes you think I'd want to be a villain?"

"Well, they made you feel fucking awful, right?" Remus leaned forward with a menacing grin, "So why not give them a little hell in return?"

"What, as in revenge?! I'm supposed to be a purveyor of justice!"

Remus shrugged and started circling Roman. "Where's the justice in always shutting you out? Of always telling you that everything you do is wrong? Of splitting us apart?" He stopped to put his hands on Roman's shoulders again. "Aren't you tired of trying to be a good guy all the time? Don't you just want to let loose and raise a little hell?"

Roman bit his lip and wrung his hands together. He looked down at his feet as his brother's words rang through his head. Where was the justice in that? He had always tried to do the right thing before. To be the good guy. To be the hero. But no one ever appreciated his efforts. Instead they always, always focused only on his mistakes.

The other sides' voices chimed off in his head.

"Roman, you can't do that." "Shut up Roman." "That was wrong, Roman." "Stop being so dramatic, Roman."

He pushed those invading voices furiously away and tried to reorganize his thoughts.

Him, joining the dark sides? Could it even be done? A light side had never switched over to the dark side before... Well, unless you counted the original Creativity and their split. Where a part of that Creativity had...had been pushed to the dark sides and…

Roman's eyes widened in realization as he looked back up at his brother. "You too." He breathed out.

Remus squinted his eyes and scrunched his nose at him. "Hah?"

"Always being shut out. Always being told everything you do is wrong. Being forced to split apart." Roman grabbed the hands that were on his shoulders to move them down and squeeze them reassuringly. "You experienced all of that too. Even more than I did…Don't you want to raise hell too?"

Roman grinned in a very in unprincely manner and released Remus' hands. He swept his arms aside in a grand motion. "Let's raise hell together, brother. What do you say?"

Remus stared at him blankly for a moment before breaking out into a shit eating grin of his own. "Hell yeah! Hell mother fucking yeah!" He jumped up and down excitedly and clapped his hands. "Oh! We're gonna have so much fun! Those butt holes have no idea what's coming."

Roman chuckled fondly at his brother's enthusiasm. He felt lighter than he had in years. Free of responsibility. Free of expectations. Free of limitations. Free to do whatever he wanted. Speaking of which…

"You mentioned fashion earlier, didn't you?" Roman pulled at the hem of his shirt in thought before smirking up at Remus. "I believe for me to officially join the dark sides, a makeover may be in order."

Remus nodded and grabbed his brother's hand to drag him back inside, chanting, "Makeover time! Makeover time!" The entire way while pumping his fist victoriously into the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, in Thomas' living room.

"-and a part of taking care of yourself is to not self-deprecate." Janus was explaining, standing next to Logan.

"Yeah, you've gotta compliment yourself sometimes, Thomas!" Patton added happily.

Thomas scratched the back of his head nervously. "I don't know guys... isn't that a little…"

"Conceited?" Virgil cut in, glaring over at Janus' before looking back to Thomas. "What if we end up doing that out loud in front of others? What if people think we're stuck up?"

"Well, it's better than always thinking so negatively of himself." Janus spat out.

"Janus has a point, Virgil. It's been proven that constant self-deprecating behavior can have a wide range of negative effects on one's psyche and mental health." Logan chinned in while adjusting his glasses. "Which could also lead to eventual negative effects on one's physical health, including-"

"Well, I mean yeah!-" Virgil rushed to interrupt, "He shouldn't think too badly of himself...but he shouldn't think too highly of himself, either!" He uncrossed his arms and gestured towards the empty space where Roman usually stood. "I mean, what if Thomas ends up as stuck up as Princy here, huh? What would you do then-"

"Wait-" Thomas interrupted him, "Where is Roman? Has anyone seen him lately?"

The sides fell silent as they all looked curiously towards the empty spot.

"I haven't seen him since Janus joined us... Patton, didn't you check up on him or something?"

"Well, yeah! Of course I did kiddo!" Patton nodded then pouted, "He didn't seem to want to talk to me though…"

"Has anyone actually talked to Roman in a while? Where is he?"

The sides gave Thomas varying degrees of shrugs and noncommittal answers in response.

Thomas sighed, "Really, guys?" He then looked towards the corner again and called out, "Roman! Are you there? Are you listening? If so, come on up! You should join us!"

They waited in awkward silence for a while for Roman to appear, or to at least respond to Thomas' call...until they heard a deep chuckle emanating from behind the tv.

"Join you? Nope! Not possible~"

Hands crept out from behind the tv, grabbing onto the wall, causing everyone in the room to immediately be alert. They remembered the last time they saw hands there...this couldn't be good! Something was wrong! Sure enough, Remus slowly emerged, climbing up the wall as if he was a lizard. He then twisted his head around, causing Patton to almost faint from fear. Thomas, meanwhile, backed away as far as he could without falling over the couch.

"I'm afraid he's already joined someone else!~"

Remus jumped off of the wall to land in Roman's designated spot. His head and body shifted back to their original positions and he grinned at the others with his arms spread out. Now, the others could see that along with his usual attire, he also donned a crooked and cracked silver crown atop his head. His purplish eyeshadow was gone, instead replaced with a messily applied sparkly silver eyeshadow. Some of the glitter from it fell down the sides of his face to freckle his cheeks as well. The wide grin of his lips was painted in a deep green lipstick.

"Me!"

"Remus…?" Janus breathed out, confused.

"I didn't call for you! I called for Roman!" Thomas shouted once he had regained his composure from witnessing such a horrifying sight.

Virgil bristled and stood up from where he had been leaning against the stairs. "Where is he? What did you do with him?" He bared his teeth at Remus as if he was an agitated guard dog.

Remus put his hands on his hips and threw his head back with a laugh. "What did I do to him?" He leaned forward with a smirk. "What did you do to him? Huh?"

"Wha-what do you mean? W-we didn't do anything..." Stammered out Patton.

"Also, did he change his makeup?" Muttered Thomas, "It actually looks kinda good…"

"Focus on the main issue here, dudes!" Virgil snapped his fingers at them both before turning back to Remus. "Okay, whatever. It doesn't matter wherever you put him, just give him back!"

Remus chuckled and stepped to the side, "You hear that, dear brother? Sounds like they're ready for you to come out!~"

At that, the tv seemed to flicker to life. A colorful error screen appeared and started to crackle and fizz. As the glow from the tv lit up the room, the rest of the room started to glitch along with it.

The sides glanced around nervously, fear creeping into their bones once more.

"What's going on? What's happening to the room?!" Thomas panicked.

Logan placed a hand on his chin. "These types of spatial effects seeming to happen in Thomas' physical living room instead of just inside the mindscape...could it be?"

"No…" Gasped Janus, "No, it can't be!"

"Oh but it can!~" Announced another voice from inside the tv.

Hands reached out from inside the error screen to grasp the sides of the tv. A form slowly climbed out of the tv and stepped into the living room.

"......Roman? What on earth are you wearing?!" Virgil waved a hand incredulously at his new get up.

Roman, now fully standing beside Remus in his usual spot, smirked at Virgil and flicked his cape. "It's called fashion, Midnight Query."

Roman's usual outfit was now black in all of the areas it used to be white. On top of that, he wore a red velvet cape with a white and black spotted fur trim. On his shoulder laid a skull where the cape connected and clasped shut. His upper eyelid was decorated in sparkly gold eyeshadow and thick black eyeliner which spread out into a cat-eye look. His smirk donned blood red lipstick and a crown identical to Remus' was atop his head, except his crown was golden and not crooked or cracked at all. He looked like he had stepped right out of a fairytale…but as an evil king instead of a noble prince.

"Perhaps you should try it sometime, Dark and Dreary. It might make you look less…" Roman made a point of looking Virgil up and down before waving his hand at him with a scowl, "Drab."

"Roman! Where have you been? I missed you. Your makeup looks great!" Patton rambled ecstatically.

"Missed me?" He sneered, "Ha! I bet you all didn't even realize that I was gone." Roman then looked down to check his meticulously manicured nails with a bored expression.

"Of course we did! That's why I called you!" Insisted Thomas.

Roman tsked and shook his head. "Oh Thomas, Thomas. Always the peacemaker." He moved the hand he had been checking to flip his cape over his shoulder. "But I'm not here to make peace. We're here to raise hell. Isn't that right, brother?"

In response, Remus summoned a pitch black flamberge sword and stabbed the blade into the ground. "Hell yeah we are!"

The area of the floor that he smashed cracked open to reveal an eerie green and yellow glow. Small shadow hands emerged as little demons started crawling through the cracks.

Roman summoned a longsword with a ruby embedded in its hilt and slashed at the wall. Red and orange flames burst forth from the rip as even more shadow demons started to join them.

The glitching of the room from the tv screen grew at an alarming rate, some of the glitches covering entire pieces of furniture.

"What on earth is happening!?" Thomas screamed, gesturing wildly at, well, everything.

"Roman, you need to stop this now!" Virgil growled, slipping into his Tempest Tongue.

"Yeah kiddo," chuckled Patton nervously as he tried to wrestle his hoodie away from a demon that was currently trying to steal it. "Isn't this a tad bit extreme?"

Roman laughed darkly, raising his sword into a shrug. "And why should I?"

Remus rested his elbow on Roman's shoulder, "We haven't even begun to have our fun yet!"

Janus narrowed his eyes at Remus, "Remus, this is not what I meant when I said-"

"Blah blah blah!" Remus mimed a mouth with his hand. "That's all you are, anacon-don't. All talk, no action!"

"What's going on?! Why isn't anyone answering me?!"

"Well, Thomas, it appears that Roman and Remus have initiated-" Logan started only to get interrupted by Virgil.

"They started Daymare Mode!" Virgil shouted as he angrily threw a demon that had been crawling on him into the wall, knocking it out instantly.

"Daymare Mode? What's Daymare Mode?!"

"It's a combination of Daydream Mode and Nightmare Mode." Janus explained while shaking a demon off of his hat with a sneer, "It's a state Creativity can only achieve when it's whole…"

"So, what? They can affect the real world now that they're working together?!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Thomas." Chastised Logan, "You're technically just hallucinating-"

"I'm hallucinating?!"

"Yes, that is what I just said."

A demon tugged at Logan's pant leg only to be sent running away in fear by a well-placed harsh glare.

Patton, finally having gotten his hoodie free, tied it back around his shoulders and clapped his hands. "Okay, you two! That's enough. I'm not sure what's gotten into you today, but-"

"Oh no, no, no." Roman waved a finger at him, "I'm afraid we're not going to be listening to you anymore, padre."

"We've got our own plans, Daddy DingDong!"

"Oh yeah?" Hissed Janus, "And what exactly are those?"

"You can't do them, whatever they are!" Virgil yelled out as he stomped on another demon's tail, sending it hopping away in pain. "We won't let you. I won't let you!"

Remus and Roman exchanged amused glances before turning back to the others.

"You don't have to let us do anything," Roman hummed, "We're the kings. We shall do whatever we want." He waved a dismissive hand.

"Hear ye, Hear ye! The Twin Kings of Creativity!" Hollered Remus, as both twins raised their swords triumphantly in the air, "We take no shit and kick some ass!"

"To us!" Roman high fived Remus' hand, then turned to grin menacingly at the others, "And now, time for you to go to hell."

"To hell?!" Thomas gasped, looking desperately back and forth at the other sides.

Logan's eyes widened, having figured out what they were planning to do. "Roman, if I'm correct- and I always am- then I'd advise against-"

"Too late, Deuce Banner!" Remus shouted triumphantly as he and Roman clashed their weapons together. The sound from the clang resonated in all of their heads, making their vision blurry.

Thomas gripped the sides of his head, trying to get the ringing to stop hurting his ears. His head felt like it was splitting open. And then, there was nothing. Just a fade to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thomas gasped for air as he woke up. Wait, woke up? Had it all been a dream? Thank god-!

"Well, well, well. It's about damn time." Drawled Roman.

"We thought you were never gonna come to!" Laughed Remus.

Thomas jumped up in surprise from where he'd been laying on the floor, only to immediately regret moving so harshly as he felt his head swim. "Ow ow ow." He gripped his forehead and peered around, "What-"

"Welcome, welcome!" Roman proclaimed as he spread his arms out in a grand gesture. "To the Kingdom of Creativity."

Thomas looked up to see Roman and Remus sitting side by side on twin thrones, one gold with red cushions and one silver with green cushions. Roman sat up straight with impeccable posture and one leg crossed over the other. Remus lay sideways across his throne, kicking his feet and tossing what appeared to be a grenade up and down as if it was a baseball.

"...What? Where am I?"

"We just told you." Scoffed Roman, "You're in the Kingdom of Creativity." At Thomas' confused frown, he continued, "You're in our room, Thomas."

"Your room?" Thomas looked around at the ornate throne room. "It doesn't look like my living room, like the others' did."

"That's cause we're not as boring as the other sides." Sighed Roman, "We have much more pizazz." He gestured at the room around them. "We did some redecorating recently, actually. What do you think, hmm?"

The throne room was mainly black, with silver and gold furniture giving the darkness a stark contrast. Banners of their two symbols hung on opposite sides of the room in correspondence with each side's throne. Overall it gave off a majestic yet eerie feel.

"It's- Um." Thomas finally stood up from his position on the floor and glanced around nervously. "It's certainly something. But um, where are the others…?"

He had long since noticed that it was just him and the twins in this room. The others had seemingly vanished into thin air. Their continued disappearance was making him more and more uneasy as each second ticked by.

Remus huffed and casually threw the grenade over his shoulder and out a window, causing an explosion to be heard outside. "What's wrong Thomathy, our room not up to snuff with the others? You prefer Daddyo's and Scene-Kid's rooms? Huh?"

"What? No!" Thomas raised his hands placatingly, not wanting to anger the two currently volatile sides, "You're room is fine! It's great! It's just they were here and now they're not here and I was just wondering-"

"They're off on their own adventure right now, Thomas." Roman butted in. He leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "That doesn't matter, though. What matters right now is us. Don't you want to stay here with us, Thomas? We can show you around the castle~!"

"Um- No, that's fine... No thank you." Thomas smiled as his voice shook. "I'm sorry, I can't stay here... I need to find the others."

Roman's pleased smile immediately fell into a scowl, "Fine, then. You want to see the others so badly?" He stood up from his throne and gestured for his brother to do the same. "Then why don't you just join them already!"

The both summoned their new weapons again, causing Thomas to start to panic. "Wait! Don't! Not again!"

"Too late, Thomas. You should have accepted our gracious offer."

"We could've had so much fun together!" Chirped Remus.

"And we will! You're just not ready yet, it seems." Roman sighed with a disappointed frown, "Now, for the time being~"

"Have fun in hell instead!~" The twins chimed in unison as they clashed their swords together for a second time.

The clanging rang in Thomas' already aching head as everything fell into the blackness once more.

[lady-amethyst18]

The Sodapop Incident

Leo and Emma liked visiting the Balan Theater every time it dropped by. Most people left with no memory of going inside, but with them, there was an exception. They couldn't forget their old friend Balan. How could they? They seemed to be one of the only two people that really touched his heart. With that, he allowed them to drop by anytime they liked. And what luck! The theater was just through a narrow gap between two buildings. It also helped that the tims led them there.

Emma and Leo stood at the large mahogany door as the neon lights shined brightly as ever. Seeing this place always brought them joy. How they helped all those people balance their hearts and all the fun shenanigans Balan had to offer... Oh, there was Lance too, but he mostly kept to himself.

"You sure it's ok if we drop by unannounced?" Emma questioned, looking at Leo. He just shrugged with a smug grin on his face. "Balan said we can drop by anytime we like. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we hung out just for a minute or two. After all, besides Lance, I think he likes the extra company." Emma smiled at him, agreeing that Balan would've liked to see them again. With that, they opened the theater doors.

The lights flickered on as the door creaked open. It looked just the way they remembered it to be. The side-to-side mirrors that looked like they went on forever to the sleek floors and velvet carpet. They wandered deeper inside, looking for the top-hatted maestro. Upon making it to the lobby, they were surprised to see it empty. "I guess he's not here." Emma declared. "Well, he's got to be around someplace. I don't think he or Lance can leave the theater... Can they?" Leo questioned. Emma's only response was shrugging her shoulders.

They continued to search until a tiny little yellow puffball approached them. Chirping as a way to greet them. Leo turned and found one of the tims. "Hey there, little guy!" Leo said as he picked it up. "Hey, Emma! I found one of the tims!" Emma looked over and jogged to his side. She wiggled her finger as she lightly tickled its cheek. "Hi there, little fella. Do you know where Balan is?" She asked. The tim jumped out of Leo's hands and lead them down the hallway to the auditorium. It made the teens happy knowing that Balan was still inside.

The little yellow tim dragged them both to the stage. They looked around and saw Balan floating in the air with a feather duster and a mask over his mouth. "Balan!" Cried them both. Balan paused and looked over his shoulder to see who was calling him. To his surprise, he saw Emma and Leo and bowed respectively. "Leo, Emma! How good to see you face to face! If I knew you were coming earlier, I would've tidied the place." He said. "Looks like you already got started." Leo snickered.

Balan landed next to the teens, taking the mask off his face to reveal his large grin. "We didn't come at a bad time, did we?" Emma asked sheepishly. "No, no. I'm glad you two came here. I'm never too busy for you, my dear. I was just cleaning the stage today. A clean theater is a healthy one, I always say." Balan said. "Do you need some help? Me and Leo don't have anything going on today." Leo wanted to oppose. He came to have some fun, not to do chores. But after looking around, it did look like it could use some love. "Uh, yeah. what she said." Leo added. "I'd be more than happy if you lent a hand. Cleaning this place is too much, even for this man." She said as he handed them some masks and gloves.

Leo took the vacuum while Emma took the sponge and bucket. He cleaned up around the floors while Emma scrubbed the tables. As for Balan, he dusted around the box seats, cleaning up the cobwebs. Sometimes even the tims helped by squeezing underneath the chairs to get out the hard-to-reach stuff. Seeing them all dirty and covered in dust made them laugh.

After half the work was done, Leo decided to take a break. He took off his gloves and mask and went over to his backpack that was sitting in one of the chairs. He unzipped it and pulled out two cans of soda. "Hey, Emma!" He called. "Want to have a soda break?" Emma took off her gloves and mask and scooted towards him. "Sure. I'll have some." She said as Leo handed her another soda.

Both the teens were enjoying their beverages until Leo looked up to see Balan still dusting. He looked at his can of soda and back at him again. He had a thought. "Emma, do you think Balan has ever had a soda before?" He asked. She took another gulp before answering. "Uh... I don't know. Honestly, I don't even know if he needs to eat at all." "He's working hard too. Don't you think he deserves it? Besides, you and I both know he wants to really connect with us... Uh... Humans, I mean." Emma stood silent for a minute, thinking over what Leo was suggesting.

"Well... Don't get me wrong, Leo. I think offering him one would be nice. But at the same time, I don't think it'd be good for him." She said. "Why?" Leo asked. "Don't you know that soda is nothing but saturated sugar? With Balan being as high energy as he is, I don't think he could take it. That stuff could send him running down the hallways like he was on fire. Again, as nice as it would be, I don't think it'd be good for him. I'm just saying." She took the final sip of her drink and threw it in a trash bag she had by her, continuing to clean up the stage.

Leo, not finished with his yet, sat and thought about what Emma said. What harm could come if Balan just drank a small can of soda? It's not like it would kill him, right? After all, with him being so energetic, how could he get more hyped up than he already was? Part of him was saying not to do it. But on the other hand, he just had to see for himself.

"Hey, Bal!" He called. Balan looked over and landed towards Leo. "Leo, my boy. Is there something wrong? You haven't been standing here for very long." "No, it's nothing really. I was just wondering if you care to share a soda pop with me." Balan cocked an eyebrow. "Soda pop? This I have not heard. Tell me, what is the meaning of this word?" Leo reached into his backpack for another can. "Soda is a kind of drink. It's carbonated, so it's kind of fizzy when it goes down. But it's pretty good. Here, I've got another one for you." He handed Balan the can of soda. He looked confused at first.

"I just figured we needed a break from this cleaning for a minute. Go on. Have some." He insisted, opening the can for him. He heard it fizzle in the can and smelled it. It didn't smell like anything he's tried before, but it didn't smell bad. "I'm always one for trying something new. Tell me, Leo, is this ok with you? I'd hate to take something that would be yours. Especially for working so hard with all the chores." Leo snorted light-heartedly. "Please, I have more back at home. Besides, you've been working hard too. I think you deserve it." There was a three-second pause before Balan finally decided to take a drink. "If you insist, Leo. I'll give it a taste. After all, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste." He held it up to his lips, taking a big slurp from the can.

Emma looked over to see what was going on with the two. She looked over another angle to see what Balan was drinking... Uh oh... "Wait! No! Stop!" She yelled, but it was too late. Upon taking that huge gulp, Balan's eyes showed a weird expression. Leo was confused. Did he not like it? "Uh... Bal... You ok?" He asked. In less than a second, Balan started running around the auditorium. Literally bouncing off the walls.

Both Emma and Leo ducked and dodged to avoid being hit by their friend. He was like a pinball bouncing around everywhere, trying to hit as many things as he could to get the highest score. The teens both hid underneath a small corner in the stairs. Even the tims ran away to hide somewhere. "What have you done!" Emma yelled! "I told you it would get him all riled up!" "I didn't think he'd be going crazy like THAT!" Leo tried to defend. "I was just trying to be nice!" They sat in that corner as they continued to watch the maestro run around like a speeding bullet.

It took at least 25 minutes before Balan finally slowed down. He landed on the ground very dizzy until he fell on his back and passed out. The teens ran over to make sure he was ok, as well as the tims. "Balan? Balan!" Called Emma. She lifted up his head and rocked him around to make sure he was still conscious. To her relief, he woke up. She helped him sit up as he held his head to re-orient himself not long after he jerked his hand to his stomach. "What happened? I don't feel so good... Maybe I shouldn't have drunk that much as I should." He said woozily. The maestro covered his mouth to hide a belch.

"Leo gave you a can of soda. I warned him not to do it, but he didn't listen." She gave him a sharp scowl. "I was just trying to offer you something nice. I didn't expect you to go nuts... I'm sorry, Balan." Leo said with a sigh. He really did feel guilty for making Balan feel sick.

"It's ok, don't feel bad. I don't blame either of you. I didn't expect that beverage to make me go cuckoo. At least we all learned something in the end. Though I think it's best if I didn't have that drink again." He tried to stand up, his hand still clenched to his stomach. Leo and Emma got concerned when his face turned a slight green. "Bouncing off the walls made me feel uneasy. Though I think it's that soda that's making me feel queasy."

"I think you should take a rest, Bal. You don't look so hot." Leo pointed out. "I agree. You should relax until your stomach settles. We'll take you to your room so you can rest easy." Balan wanted to say he was fine, but his stomach said not to argue. So the teens lifted him up and held him steady until they got to his office.

The maestro tried to silently cover his burps as they walked to his room. When they finally arrived, they sat Balan down on the couch. The tims hopped up, chirping with concern. All he could do was smile, reassuring them that he was ok. "I'm sorry about that, Balan. That was my fault." Leo said, rubbing the back of his neck." "Now, now, my boy. There's no need for shame. These things happen all the same." He didn't want to make the boy feel bad.

"Ok now," Emma started. "You're going to stay right here until your tummy settles down. I promise you, it won't last long." "Yeah. You'll just feel a little gassy for now." Leo added. "We'll finish cleaning up the stage for the trouble we caused. Let us know when you're feeling better." Emma ended as she and Leo left his room. "Thank you for the kindness. I appreciate you two. If you need anything, I'll be there to help you." He said as he laid sitting up on the sofa.

Meanwhile, Emma glared at Leo. She opened her mouth to say something but was stopped by him. "Yeah, yeah. I know what you're going to say. It's my fault, I shouldn't have done that, I'm stupid, and blah, blah, blah, blah." He lifted his hand like a puppet as he spoke. Emma's glare softened. She couldn't help but giggle. "I'm not mad, Leo. But maybe next time, think twice before you offer something like that. I know you were trying to offer something nice, but maybe that wasn't the way to go." "Yeah, I know. I always gotta see things the hard way, don't I?" "Well, at least you learn a valuable lesson in the end. Come on. Let's finish cleaning. Then we'll check on Balan." They re-entered the auditorium and continued to finish what they started.

Art is welcome and appreciated

[chipsfics]

part 6 2/2

2/2 is finally here! sorry for the long wait!

rated: PG-13 for swearing and crying.

Down in the basement. It's dark, musty, and everything is still covered in cobwebs. Once Tissues flicks on the light, the only thing that changes is the "dark". His brain is buzzing with activity- What could go there, what could he put here? So much wasted space in the hotel- and he was 99% sure that nobody else had been down here in a long time. He had to try and avoid being suspicious- But he'd already pretty much failed when Trophy caught him tiptoeing down the stairs to the basement at 7pm on a Wednesday. He went over to the covered-up couches and the chair surrounding the television set and small table- He carefully lifted up the sheets as if they were going to fall apart like wet paper towels. Underneath, the couch was the same dull orange-ish color as the rest of the hotel's furniture- probably a spare put down here. The furniture was suprisingly in pretty good shape, although the covers were kicking up a lot of dust that made his nose itch. He stifled a sneeze. The TV was tiny and old, but still a flatscreen- Looked like from when Meeple HQ was just dipping into television production. The small, outdated meeple logo on the power button confirmed his suspicions.

He picked up the cord attached to the back of the TV and plugged it into the small, dusty, offwhite outlet. Surprisingly, the TV almost immediately turned on with a loud startup jingle that just about made Tissues jump out of his skin. He walked over and looked at the screen, which had the old Meeple logo spinning on it's screen as it tried to boot up. Once it finally finished the startup sequence, the screen was on an empty DVD selection menu. "Hm." Tissues scratched his head as he continued to explore the area. What else could he fit in there? And more importantly, how would he get it down the stairs? 

Tissues sat down on the couch and a puff of dust fluffed out of the cushion. He sniffed... sniff... achoo-! Tissues sneezed. Tissues pulled out his phone and started to browse online for something to buy to fill the room- He had a little extra cash, because despite being eliminated first, he was still compensated for participating in II. That, and the lawsuit against Mephone that OJ pulled a while ago got him enough money to last for a long time. A minifridge, a new game console, a recliner... too many options! He wanted to make this basement space absolutely perfect. 

The more he thought about how hard it'd be to order all of this stuff and not have OJ- or god forbid, Trophy- notice what he was up to was leaving him puzzled as well. Maybe he needed to call in some backup... Or just do all these activities at night (although that'd be even sketchier if he got caught.) In a moment of frenzied impulse, Tissues loaded everything he was pining after into his online shopping cart and purchased them all at once. He turned off his phone and rocked back into the couch, processing what he'd just done. It was a bad idea, he knew that, but something about it was so thrilling. His heart was pounding- It was like he was making the hotel into his home, cozy underneath the earth, exciting and secret and all his. He was giddy.

After that brief moment of happiness, Tissues paused as he realized something. Oops. How was he going to pull this off? He scratched his chin, and another lightbulb went off above his head. To find someone to help him... He went back up the stairs, clinging to the handrail as he tried not to look backwards- He /has/ to find a way to get up the stairs without having to scale them. Yinyang was, of course, busy that day (with some kind of... event? He didn't say), so his only option was... sigh.

Cheesy was in his usual spot- loudly unwrapping and eating fun sized candy bars on the couch, throwing the candy wrappers on the floor after he's done with them. Tissues waved to get his attention. 

"Hey Tissues, what's up?" Cheesy said, and looked around. "Where's your boyfriend?"

"He's not my-" Tissues sighed. "And he's doing something today. Listen, Cheesy, would you be willing to help me with something?"

Cheesy narrowed his eyes. "Like what?" 

"Something... against the house rules," Tissues said. "It involves snacks! And TV," 

"I'm interested," Cheesy said. "I'm always down to cause some trouble. What exactly are we talking about here?"

"So." Tissues looked around. "There's a place in the basement that's completely unused, and already has chairs and a couch and stuff, and i'm planning to fix it up into a kind of secret hangout spot?"

"Hmmm, interesting..." Cheesy nodded. "Sounds fun! But how're you gonna pull that off?"

"That's what I need you for," Tissues said. "I ordered a minifridge, some video games, and a couple other things that i absolutely can't carry down the stairs myself- That's where you come in." 

Cheesy looked deep in thought for a couple seconds. "I'm in. But you have to let me hang out down there too," 

"Of course! Just don't tell anyone, ok? Especially OJ." Tissues said.

"No problemo, Tissues." Cheesy said, winking. "Until then, do you wanna play Space Bubble with me? I need a player 2 to complete this level." 

"Seriously?" Tissues said. "You wanna play video games with me?"

"Sure, whynot. It's not a huge deal," Cheesy said. "You seem like a cool guy."

"Ah, really? sorry, ehehe, It's just that, people don't usually want to be around me... on purpose," Tissues said bashfully, smiling, and grabbed the second controller. In his head, he was wondering when Yinyang was getting back. This game would be really fun with 3 players...

----

The next morning, Yinyang was still nowhere to be found. It'd been like this a couple times before, and Tissues wasn't too worried- They were probably just sleeping in or taking an extra long shower or something. He figured he'd be able to catch up with him later. Although, the thought lingered in the back of his mind- something was wrong. Was it him? Did something bad happen to his friend? He pulled himself out of bed all at once, stumbling a bit and catching himself before he fell, sniffing and sighing. Down the elevator, no Yinyang. Into the kitchen, no Yinyang. Past the living room, Trophy was sitting in Yinyang's usual spot. Trophy sneered at him, but Tissues was too busy with too much on his mind to really care. 

Tissues took a deep breath. Into the basement. It'll clear his head. Stairs, step, step, stumble- whoops, back on his feet and step, step step again. Flick on the lightswitch. Vision blurs a little bit. Stress or vertigo? Doesn't matter.

Someone was sitting on the old couch, twiddling his thumbs, looking upset. 

"Yinyang?" Tissues said, and he jolted up and looked.

"Tissues," He said, his voice was shaky. 

"What- uhh, What're you doing down here?" Tissues said, sounding concerned, walking over and sitting next to his friend. "Are you... alright?"

"Umm.." Yinyang shifted in his seat, getting more choked up. "I... well."

"It's okay, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Tissues put his hand on Yinyang's, and he immediately melted into the gesture. "D-do you need a hug?" Tissues smiled sheepishly.

Yinyang wordlessly nodded and pulled Tissues closer into a soft embrace. He was shaking really bad. Clenching and unclenching his fists, gritting his teeth. Tissues pat him on the back. "Is there anything I can do to help..?"

Yinyang didn't respond. He was crying. They stayed in that hug for a long time before Yinyang stopped shaking.

Tissues pulled away, his eyes sparkling with sympathy. He pulled a tissue out from his head and handed it to Yinyang. "Here you- sniff.. go, buddy. Please feel better... It hurts my heart to see you cry." 

Yinyang laughed. "You..." He sniffed, smiled, and wiped his face off. "Have to stop being so kind to me. I'll just end up disappointing you, or hurting you," 

"Wh.... no way..!" Tissues' eyes widened.. "I think- I... you're the only real friend I've ever had..! I love you and- and I really do care about you!" Tissues was getting choked up..

Yinyang laughed again, tears rolling down his face. "Dammit... this is what I'm talking about." Yinyang sniffed. "You're the only one who's ever cared about me, and it hurts- it hurts because I know that I won't ever be able to let you go." Something about Yinyang's voice was so sad. 

"Stopp it- sniff, you're gonna make me cry too..!" Tissues wiped his nose, and paused for a moment... "and... sniff... You're gonna have to try really hard to get rid of me. I'm already imprinted on you like a baby duck you know like in the cartoons where-"

"Tissues, what the hell are you even talking about-?" Yinyang laughed. "You nerd...!" He punched Tissues on the shoulder. 

"Aahhh, ahaha, oww.." Tissues smiled. There was a moment of silence. "Are you feeling any better... do you need to talk about anything else, i mean..?" 

"ah.... Tissues." Yinyang sighed. "I'm so scared of scaring you away. But... there's something I need to tell you... I. How do I say this..." Yinyang took a deep breath, and seemed to have regained some of his composure. 

"It's okay...! You can tell me anything..!" Tissues put a hand on Yinyang's shoulder, and he shivered. 

"Tissues. I've never said this to anyone so ... i apologize if we mess up. But... I think I'm in love with you." Yinyang looked away in shame and embarrassment. 

Tissues stared at him, wide-eyed, his face red. "W-wait. that's a funny coincidence, because.. Nobody has ever said that to me. Yinyang, I..."

"It's okay if you don't-" Yinyang sniffed, "Feel the same or, whatever. It's been forever since we were able to agree on anything, and it's kind of... terrifying. But i love you. We love you. And..."

"I love you too!!" Tissues stood up on the couch suddenly. "I was so worried you thought that I was hitting on you because I was and I was scared that you didn't like me like that and I just realized that i like liked you a couple days ago and-" Tissues rambled on and on...

"Shut up." Yang said. "Hey!" Yin scolded. "Now is not the time," 

Tissues laughed. "Sorryyy... I just got- really excited, and emotional, and I've never been in a situation like this and-..... just, wow. What does this mean? How does this work, are we like, boyfriends now?"

Yinyang blushed. "I dunno, probably. I'm too busy fighting with myself to learn how relationships work..." Yin laughed. "It's not... can we just... hang out down here for a little while...? I'm... still kind of processing. A lot of stuff."

"Of course..!" Tissues scooted up next to him and cuddled up to him. "I'm so scared, and happy, and worried, and sad, and just... emotional. Everything is changing."

"We're in it together," Yin grabbed Tissues' hand. "Thank you... for a lot. for everything," Yang added. 

"I love you," Tissues smiled. "I love you too." Yinyang said.

Hotel OJ was a vague silhouette on the horizon when the sun finally set- millions and millions of uncertain years stretching before them, as inperceivable as the distance between stars.

[sneakykpopblog]

A written doodle: In which Hoseok meets piano ghost Yoongi, based of course on the 2022 season’s greetings thing

Maybe, Hoseok thought as he stood shivering in the doorway of the dusty hotel lobby, maybe he should have stayed in his car.

Wasn’t that what they taught you in Driver’s Ed- if you get stuck in bad weather, don’t leave the car or you’ll get lost and freeze to death? Usually followed by a story of some poor soul who hadn’t stayed put and was never seen again? But surely if you were right in front of a hotel with lights on, it was okay to leave your car then?

Hoseok looked back. Truthfully, it had been much farther to the entrance than he’d realized, and his car was now invisible in the darkness. The light of the candles burning in the lobby illuminated a few of the falling snowflakes, but beyond that he could see nothing. Which would have been fine, if the place hadn’t been so ancient.

Cobwebs dripped from a darkened crystal chandelier in the center of the room. Masses of pale wax clung to fixtures on the walls where candles burned down to their last nubs. Floorboards creaked as Hoseok stepped inside, the thick layer of dust turning to mud under his snow-sodden shoes. Other than the candles, there was no other source of light, and the room felt nearly as cold as the outdoors.

Hoseok wondered who lit those candles- probably whoever was playing the piano in some other room. He definitely should have stayed in his car.

That wasn’t an option now, though. He’d never be able to find his way back through the dark and the snowstorm, and without any cell phone service, he was stuck. He shivered, and it didn’t have much to do with the cold this time. This all felt too much like the beginning of a horror movie. Hoseok didn’t even like horror movies.

Shutting the door quietly, he scoffed at himself. He was scared in the dark and the storm, that was all, and the piano-player was surely just a musically-inclined fellow traveler who had had the same idea as him. That didn’t explain the candles, but he pushed that out of his mind for the time being.

The music was coming from a room off to one side of the lobby, probably a lounge of some sort. It was soft, sad, maybe a little bit eerie, but surely not something you’d hear in a horror movie. Just a mildly spooky movie, perhaps. Hoseok crept toward it, wishing he could muffle the creaking of the floor with every step.

He peeked around the doorframe, and his breath caught in his throat. A blond man sat with his back to him, playing a dusty upright piano while a metronome ticked softly beside him. The rest of the lounge was empty, except for a few tables and chairs, rough with age, and the same gasping candles on the walls. A bracket of three new candles sat upright on the piano, illuminating the man’s pale hair as he played, his long hands never faltering over the keys.

Hoseok had never really believed in ghosts, but he had never not believed in them either. Stranded in an old and seemingly abandoned hotel, with a man dressed in clothes that made him look like he came straight out of some time at least a century ago playing a sad song on an old piano with no regard for the cold, Hoseok was inclined to believe in them now. His cold fingers ached from holding on to the doorframe, but he didn’t dare move and make any more sound.

“Hello.”

Hoseok jumped, and his heart kicked into overdrive.

“I know you’re there.” The voice was low, somehow soft and raspy at the same time, easily heard over the piano despite the fact that the man hadn’t turned around or stopped playing. “Come closer.”

Shaking slightly, Hoseok forced himself to walk forward. The only thing more dangerous than meeting a ghost was angering a ghost, or so he’d heard in stories. The instruction had been unfortunately vague, however, so Hoseok made the decision to avoid being told twice and walked right up to the side of the piano bench.

“Hello,” said the man again, who had stopped playing to look up at him. He seemed oddly softer than Hoseok expected: catlike eyes, light hair framing his forehead, and cheeks that looked- Hoseok reprimanded himself for his mental choice of words- very squishable. His skin was pale.

“That was beautiful.” If he really was talking to a ghost, Hoseok guessed polite flattery was surely a decent option.

“I’ve been practicing for a long time.”

“Ah.”

The metronome was loud in the quiet.

“Did you get lost in the storm?”

“I couldn’t drive in it, and from the road it looked like this place was open. I’m sorry if I’m intruding.” Hoseok hesitated. “Sir.” It was a strange thing to add, but this was a strange situation.

“Not at all,” said the man or ghost or whatever he was. “Tell me your name.”

“Jung Hoseok, sir.” He bowed.

“Yoongi. Drop the sir.” Yoongi studied him, eyes soft but gaze nearly enough to make him squirm. “You seem cold, Hoseok.”

“Freezing,” Hoseok admitted with a small laugh.

“Pull a chair up next to the fire.”

“I-“ Hoseok turned confusedly toward the cold fireplace, where a comfortable blaze now crackled as if it had been there all along. “Oh.”

“Something the matter?” said Yoongi, and had Hoseok not been so alert, he would surely have missed the barely perceptible upturn of one corner of his lips.

“N-no. Thank you.” He bowed quickly and scurried to drag one of the old wooden chairs, now mysteriously free of dust, close to the fire. His fingers tingled as he held them out to the glowing heat.

“You should really wear warmer clothes if you’re going to go out in the snow.”

Hoseok nearly jumped out of his skin when Yoongi spoke right next to his ear. He had made no sound on the creaky floor.

“I didn’t expect to get stranded,” he said once he’d recovered. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”

Yoongi hummed, seeming satisfied with the tactful answer. “Have some tea to warm yourself up.” He held out a steaming mug that he surely had not had any time to get from anywhere. “Your hands will hardly work.”

Hoseok’s hands (and the rest of him, too) were indeed still too cold for any very coordinated movement, but he managed to accept the cup from Yoongi without incident. He didn’t drink it, however, not yet; if this was some kind of spirit world that he had stumbled into, there was a chance eating or drinking anything could trap him here, or so some stories said.

“Are you afraid of me?” said Yoongi, voice soft and, Hoseok thought, possibly a little sad.

He looked over at the man- ghost- being now sitting in a chair that he hadn’t seen him bring over. He looked harmless enough, slightly shorter than Hoseok himself and having acted only quietly helpful so far, but one could never be sure about something so strange. “Should I be?”

Yoongi cocked his head to one side as if actually considering. “That’s a good question.”

A cold weight settled in Hoseok’s stomach, while his heart continued thudding with every heavy click of the metronome on the piano.

“What do you think?”

Now that was a loaded question if Hoseok had ever heard one. “Well, I don’t know you,” he began carefully- surely that was safe, unless Yoongi was some long-dead distant relative who might be offended at not being recognized by his own kin. “And I’m alone, and you… you can do things that I don’t understand.”

Yoongi regarded him thoughtfully. “I suppose that could make a person nervous.”

“Please Yoongi-ssi, I don’t mean to be rude, are… are you a ghost?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” One side of Yoongi’s mouth pulled up in a proper smirk. “I am.”

Hoseok had suspected as much, had been operating as if it were true, but knowing for a fact that he really was in the presence of a ghost was… it was a lot. Still, nothing horrible happened. Yoongi didn’t fly at him to devour him, the room didn’t reveal itself to be full of other terrible spirits, Hoseok’s soul seemed to still be in tact. He took a shivery breath. It wasn’t like every ghost automatically had it out for the living, after all, surely.

“I’ve never met a ghost before,” he admitted.

“I can tell,” said Yoongi. “Drink your tea. I don’t want you freezing to death. I’d be stuck with you then.”

“We’re not in the spirit world, are we?”

“Something else would have snapped you up already if we were. Instead, I’m trapped here in your world.”

“I’m sorry.” Hoseok took a sip of the still-warm tea. Of course it had magically stayed warm. This place was so weird.

“I’m not,” said Yoongi. “I like to be alone with my music.”

“You’re good,” said Hoseok. “Were you a pianist before?”

“Yes.”

“It’s lucky you’re still able to play. I didn’t know ghosts could.”

“It is lucky.” Yoongi gazed off into the fire with such a sad look in his eyes that, ghost or not, Hoseok kind of wanted to hug him.

“I don’t know how to play any instruments. My friend tried to teach me guitar, but I was so bad- so bad, Yoongi-ssi.” He laughed, leaning companionably toward the ghost in hopes of taking his mind off whatever was hurting him. “He said he started learning guitar because it’s hard to make it sound really awful, but he’d never heard me play. It made a noise like-“ Hoseok screwed up his face and let out an ungodly screeching-groaning noise, cut off in the middle by his own laughter.

Yoongi stared at him, mouth hanging slightly open in utter confusion, before his eyes sparkled to life and he laughed. It wasn’t very loud, but it seemed to fill up the room with warmth all the same. Hoseok watched him, a little taken aback, but pleased with himself all the same.

“Do you practice that sound often?” said Yoongi.

“Only when anyone asks why I don’t try guitar again,” said Hoseok brightly.

“What are you good at, then?” It was an oddly blunt question, but Hoseok imagined Yoongi didn’t get many chances for conversation with the living; maybe ghosts were more to the point with each other.

“I like to dance. Can ghosts dance?”

“I suppose they can. I’ve never seen it.”

[loganscanons]

uf short fics

Context: Some short fics featuring UF friendship duos. The first is Precious and Helena, the second is Paige and Orthanach, and the third is Tulio and Zelda.

Precious walked into the morgue with her head down, focused on the paperwork Fil had just handed her. When she looked up, opening her mouth to ask Helena a question, she stopped dead in her tracks, her expression shifting from neutral blankness to surprise, her eyebrows raising.

“Helena, what are you doing?” Precious asked. There was a sharp edge to her bewildered tone, like she was too caught off guard to be sure if she should be disapproving.

Helena sat on the autopsy table, her legs folded like a pretzel, bent forward as she scrolled on her phone. At Precious’s question, her shoulders tensed, and she looked up, though she wasn’t sure why she seemed to be in trouble.

“It’s my break!” she said defensively.

“But why are you on the autopsy table?” Precious’s black heeled boots clicked against the floor as she neared.

Helena’s shoulders relaxed, realizing that the reason for Precious’s outburst was about an arbitrary matter. She looked down at the metal slab, and then back to Precious. Not much thought had gone into sitting on the autopsy slab; it was a surface on which she could sit, so she did.

“Oh, uh, cause it was the closest thing when I decided to sit down,” Helena said.

“The autopsy table is not a chair; it’s for decedents. Get off,” Precious said, and she swatted Helena’s knee with the thin stack of papers in her hand. 

“I cleaned it first!” Helena defended, though that was not what Precious was concerned about.

“So?” Precious asked. She figured Helena had cleaned it. She wasn’t sloppy with her work. “It’s for dead bodies, not for you to use as a chair during your break, Hel.”

“I’m a little bit dead,” Helena chirped as she unfolded her legs and hopped off the table.

“Aren’t we all?” Precious said dryly. “When you’re all the way dead, you can sit on the autopsy table all you want.”

---

The Oak & Swan was abuzz with cheerful chatter and laughter, the air saturated with a mood of giddy celebration. The proposal that Rhonda had put so much thought into had been a success, making Teale cry her tearless cry from happiness. When they left the private room, Teale was greeted with another surprise. The company of her friends ready to celebrate.

Sitting alone at the bar, Paige observed the festivities with a small smile. As she watched Divina trying to teach Anastacia the steps of a modern dance, a large figure leaned forward next to her, his arms resting on the bar. She turned her attention to the man, and he smiled, his crooked teeth showing and his golden eyes shining. 

“Hey, why’re you all by yer lonesome, Paigey?” Orthanach asked, nudging her with his elbow. 

“I’m fine,” she said. “I like watching.” 

Orthanach gazed around the room, slowly taking in all the smiling faces, then looked at the ceiling, where music played through speakers. Then, he turned his attention back to Paige. 

He folded his arms on the bar and rested his chin on them as he looked up at Paige. “You should come dance with me.”

“Oh—I-I don’t really dance,” she said.  

Nach sat up, his eyebrows raised in disbelief, but his eyes still twinkled. “Yer tellin’ me ya grew up goin’ to Bates and Rachkov events and ya never learned to dance?”

“I don’t like dancing,” she said, shrugging. 

“Don’t like dancin’? Dancin’ is a great way to have a good time!”

“I don’t like people looking at me dance.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding understandingly. He looked around the pub again. He wanted to convince Paige to let loose and have a little fun. She was so uptight and serious.

He turned his attention back to her, “How ‘bout ya dance with me now? And if anyone looks I’m sure they’ll be lookin’ at me bein’ ridiculous and not at you. And if ya hate it, I promise I’ll never ask again. Unless I’m very drunk, and I forget I made that promise, but jus’ flick my forehead or somethin’ if that happens.”

She hesitated. He was fae; his promises had weight to them. If she agreed to dance this once and didn’t like it, he would keep true to his word.

With a gentle smile, he said softly, “If you don’t want to, that’s okay, Paige. I won�� hold it against ya.” 

He stood and took a step back, then held out his hand to her, his palm up. “Whaddya say?”

For a few seconds, she said nothing, staring at his outstretched hand. Then, she smiled and placed her hand in his. A grin spread across his freckled face, and moments later, they were whirling around the pub. A laugh escaped her lips as he loudly sang along with the song playing through the speakers, prompting Grant to join in, and tried not to collide with any tables.

---

Zelda craned her neck as she took in the enormous factory and it’s high ceilings. She and Tulio had been wandering the abandoned building for at least ten minutes, passing slowly among the old machines coated with dust and rust. Cobwebs hung in the gaps of the machines. Patches of the factory were illuminated by moonlight coming through the broken windows. The atmosphere certainly wasn’t welcoming, but it didn’t provide any indication of ghosts.

“I thought you said this place was super haunted,” Zelda said. She squinted at movement in a pool of moonlight. It was just clouds passing over the moon.

“I didn’t say ‘haunted,’” Tulio said. “I don’t really like that word. It has such a negative connotation, and most ghosts don’t mean to haunt people; they just haven’t been able to pass on.”

With quick strokes of her forefinger, Zelda drew her initials in the dust covering one of the machines. She wiped the dust on her finger off on her pants and asked, “What would you say instead?” 

“Inhabited?” Tulio suggested. He pointed the large camera balanced on his shoulder toward a sign of movement. It was Zelda’s shadow as she wandered away from him. 

“Okay, I thought you said this place was super inhabited,” Zelda said. “That doesn’t sound as cool.”

She brought the camera that hung around her neck up to her eye and snapped a picture of the shattered glass, yellowed from age, that let in the moonbeams.

“This isn’t about being cool, Zee,” Tulio said with a small frown. “We’re here to help spirits pass on to the other side. And it does have a lot of spirits. Old factory not up to code, unhappy workers, accidental deaths. It’s bound to lead to some angry spirits.” 

She was right that the equipment for finding ghosts was unusually quiet. Tulio chewed the inside of his cheek, then said, “They might not like the camera. Some spirits don’t like being filmed.” He cleared his throat and announced to the seemingly empty factory, “To anyone who resides within this factory, I’ve turned the camera off. We respect your privacy. See? The light isn’t on anymore.”

Silence.

Tulio glanced and Zelda, who was still holding her camera up as she looked around with wide eyes. He whispered, “Zelda, put your camera down.”

“Oh, sorry!” she said. 

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, a translucent apparition of a bloodied, torn-up man appeared just feet away from them. 

Tulio, startled, jumped back and yelled, “AHH!” at the same time that Zelda gasped.

He clutched his hand over his heart and took a deep breath, “Oh, you startled me.” He shook off his fear and addressed the spirit, “Hello, sir. My name is Tulio, this is Zelda. If it’s not too much trouble, we want to talk to you.”

“About what?” the ghost asked in a raspy, thin voice.

“Your life, any concerns or last wishes you had, things like that,” he said with a comforting smile.

“And how you died!” Zelda interjected. Tulio glanced at her, wide-eyed, and she added, “If you’re comfortable with that.”

The ghost made an unpleasant sound that was somewhere between a growl and a moan. “Oh, I’ll tell you how I died. We said things like this would happen,” he gestured to his missing arm and torn up chest. “But did anyone listen? Nooo.”

Zelda and Tulio exchanged a look, Tulio’s eyebrows knit together, and Zelda with a delighted smile.

“Maybe we should find a place to sit,” Tulio suggested.

[pastelwitchling]

Michael had no idea what happened.

One minute, he was in his bunker, tinkering with the spaceship, thinking about his latest argument with one particular airman (Michael had just about lost his temper when Alex reminded him that he was an Air Force captain, and that Michael didn’t scare him because he’d dealt with a lot worse). He had hit the console a little too roughly, and the next thing he knew, there was a bright light, a lot of wind, and he was suddenly sitting in a bunker that was his and not his at all. His schematics and graphs and calculations were all gone, the empty food containers had vanished, and – worst of all – his spaceship was nowhere to be found.

“What the…?” he looked around, expecting some evildoer to be standing behind him, their arms crossed and a wicked grin spreading across their lips.

“Aha!” they would’ve said menacingly. “My brilliant plan worked! I’ve totally confused the alien!”

But there was no one but the dust covering the walls and the molding cardboard boxes in the corner littered with cobwebs. This place had clearly been abandoned a long time ago.

Michael climbed the ladder up, and opened the hatch to find that his trailer was gone, too. He closed the hatch just as Sanders came trudging out from behind a car. Michael narrowed his eyes. Something about the old man looked different.

“Sanders!” he called, and Sanders jumped. His one eye widened as Michael approached him, arms out. “Where the hell’s my airstream?!”

Sanders suddenly held up his large wrench, his scowl vicious. “You hold it right there, boy,” he demanded. “I may look old, but I will beat you to the ground with one swing.”

Michael raised a brow. “Yeah, okay. What’s going on with…?” he trailed off as he took in Sanders’s appearance. There were strands of dark brown in his hair, his wrinkles weren’t so defined, and he stood a little straighter than normal. He looked… younger.

“How’d you get in here anyway?” Sanders demanded. “I didn’t see you come in, and I always see who comes in.”

“Sanders,” Michael said slowly, pushing down his irritation. After his fight with Alex, he couldn’t really bother with patience. “I. Work. Here. Now, you wanna quit messing around and tell me where my house is already?”

Sanders stared like he was sure Michael was crazy. “You drunk or somethin’?”

Michael huffed and tried reaching for Sanders. “Walt –”

               But he was cut short as Sanders swung his wrench. Michael barely managed to dodge the hit, falling to the ground. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!”

               “You’re the one spewing all kinds of crazy, boy!” Sanders said. “How the hell do you know my name? I’ve never told no one! And don’t you even think about lying to me, I’ve seen the news, I know about West Mesa. I ‘aint playing around no more!”

               “What are you… wait. West Mesa? You mean the murders? Your old goat, those were eleven years ago!”

               Sanders scoffed. “More like eleven days ago. How much have you had to drink anyway?”

               Michael frowned, his brain working quickly. The flash from the spaceship, the bunker as empty as it had been the day Michael settled in, the missing trailer, a younger Sanders not knowing who he was.

               He sat up slowly, a lump in throat. “What… what year is it?”

               Sanders blinked and turned his back on Michael, grabbing something off his worktable. “You really are out of it.” He tossed a newspaper at Michael’s chest. Michael grabbed it and looked for the date. He froze.

               “It’s 2009,” Sanders tilted his head. “Why? What year is it supposed to be?”

               Michael expected Sanders to be outraged at his blatant lies, a disbelieving quirk of his brow, maybe even a scoff. But as he told the old man everything that had happened, everything he knew about his past, his plans to adopt Michael, how that had failed, his history with Nora, Sanders turned more and more silent.

               “Well,” Sanders sighed when he was done, “I thought you looked mighty familiar. Time travel, eh? That’s a thing in the future?”

               “No,” Michael said. “It definitely is not. So either I’m brilliant for discovering it, or something in the spaceship malfunctioned and blasted me back here for some reason.”

               “‘Brilliant’ is not the word I’d use here, kid,” Sanders sighed, leaning his wrench – which he had yet to let go of – against a stack of tires. “Time travel’s dangerous. You so much as touch anything, and it’ll change the future forever.”

               “How do you know so much about this?”

               “Your mom was the careful kind,” Sanders said, rubbing his face. Michael very much doubted this was how he imagined spending his morning. “Never left anything to chance. You pick up a thing or two about caution.” He sighed. “But why 2009? Why not sooner? Why not to the time Miss Nora was here?”

               Michael shook his head. “I have no idea.” He crossed his arms and slumped back in his chair. “But the console resets whenever it’s been damaged, so… I don’t know, maybe whatever this is will wear off soon?”

               “You don’t seem too concerned.”

               “One problem at a time, Walt,” Michael said on a sigh. “Right now, I’m just worrying about messing up the future. Not that it’s not plenty messed up already.”

               “No, no, no!” Sanders stood. “Don’t tell me, don’t say anything! The least I know, the better.”

               “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I’ve watched Avengers. The future might not change unless something really important happens.”

               Sanders huffed. “The who?”

               “Oh yeah,” Michael grinned. “Forgot.”

               “Why were you beating the spaceship anyway?” Sanders scolded. “Don’t you know better than that?”

               Michael’s smile faltered. “My ex. Said he didn’t need me. I got a little bit angry.”

               “A little bit, huh?” Sanders scoffed. “He an alien, too?”

               “Nope,” Michael said. “Air Force captain. He enlisted right out of high school.”

               Sanders said nothing for a minute, then, “Because of you?”

               Michael looked up. “How’d you know that?”

               “I know that look,” Sanders heaved. “That is the look of a guilty man.”

               Michael searched Sanders’s face and pursed his lips. “It’s a long story,” he said. “I just… he suffers a lot in the future. His whole life is one big war that never ends. And it really starts when he enlists.”

               Sanders grunted. “So soon, then.”

               “What?”

               “Soon,” he repeated. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you – teenage you. The high school term’s almost over.”

               Michael’s eyes widened. Alex enlisted at the end of high school. In 2009. He scrambled around for the newspaper, ignoring Sanders’s questions. His eyes fell on the date, and his heart turned to stone and fell into his stomach.

               “Tomorrow,” Michael whispered. “Alex enlists tomorrow.”

               I leave July 1st. I need you to be there, Guerin. I really need you.

               Michael let the newspaper fall as he ran. Sanders was calling after him, warning him not to do what he was thinking of doing, but it was no use. Michael would burn the world down to keep Alex safe, and the military was what ended up killing him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do. And this time, he had to stop Alex from enlisting.

               Finding his way to Alex’s house wasn’t hard. It never had been. Michael even had a way of knowing when Alex wasn’t home, so when he came running up the familiar road, he slowed to a still. It was noon already, and it was a Saturday. Alex couldn’t have been home, and he couldn’t have been with Liz either, not after Rosa. Maria was still mourning her friend, too, and Michael – well, teenage Michael – was probably drunk and fighting somewhere.

               Michael ventured to the toolshed. The last time he’d seen the damn place, it had been destroyed by him and Alex. Now it stood, a blatant reminder of everything that had happened. He couldn’t imagine Alex had gone there to find any comfort. No, his dad had seen to that. But Alex never was one to try to comfort himself.

               Michael swallowed as he rested his hand on the knob. Even when they were younger, Alex liked to stay focused, driven. The only way to do that was to remind himself of what he’d lost and what he could never lose again, no matter how cruel his methods.

               That was why, when he opened the door and found Alex curled up in the corner, his face buried in his knees, he was not surprised.

               Alex didn’t look up. He was hugging his legs, his grip on his arms so tight that the skin was bleeding. Michael swiped a hand across his mouth.

               “Go away,” Alex said, his voice hoarse, as if he’d been either screaming or crying for hours. “GO AWAY, FLINT!”

               Michael shut the door behind him, but Alex seemed just as tense.

               “Alex,” he tried, and Alex looked up with a frown. When he saw Michael, he gasped and stood, backing against the wall. Michael couldn’t believe it. There he was, seventeen-year-old Alex with his chipped black nail polish, his ruined eyeliner, his gothic clothes and jewelry, and – Michael might’ve teared up – both of his legs. “Alex.”

               Alex’s eyes were wide. “Guerin?”

               Michael huffed a chuckle. Of course Alex would recognize him. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “It’s me.”

               “W-Why do you look so different?”

               “I can’t explain now. Listen,” he crossed the distance between them, startling Alex and grabbing his arms tightly. “Don’t enlist in the Air Force. Okay? Don’t do it.”

               Alex’s eyes widened. “How’d you know I was –”

               “Listen to me, Alex,” Michael said, shaking him slightly, desperately. “Forget about the military. You’re gonna lose your leg, and you’ll be under your dad’s rule for the next ten years, and it’s going to ruin everything.”

               “Are you insane?” Alex squirmed. “Get off me!”

               “You and I will never be together, is that what you want?!” he demanded, and Alex turned silent, shocked. “You’re gonna spend the next decade fighting in a war you never wanted to fight.”

               “S-Stop it –”

               “You’ll never sleep again because the nightmares will never leave you alone!”

               “You’re crazy!” Alex tried to push him away, but Michael held on. “You don’t know what it’s like here, what he’s like! You don’t know what he’s done!”

               “I do know!” Michael said, and Alex shook his head as his eyes instinctively fell on Michael’s left hand. He froze.

               “Your hand,” Alex whispered. “It’s healed.”

               Michael looked down. The cloth around his hand had come undone to reveal perfectly healed skin. Alex fought himself out of his hold.

               “You’re not Michael, get off me! LET GO!”

               “Alex, please!” Michael held on tighter. “I’m from the future, I came back here to warn you.”

“Greg! Help!”

“I’m trying to save you, Private! The Air Force ruins everything between us.”

               “No, you’re lying!” Alex screamed. “Guerin doesn’t care about me! He’s just like everyone else – he doesn’t care what happens to me!”

               Michael stared. “You don’t believe that. Alex, I love you.”

               Alex managed to shove Michael back a few steps, but Michael pulled him along with him. “You’re not the real Michael!” Alex screamed. “He wouldn’t try to save me again, not after what happened! And if I stay here, it’ll keep happening!” He tried uselessly to free himself. “I have to get stronger, I have to.”

               “But you’re strong enough –”

               “I couldn’t save him!” Alex cried, and Michael stilled. “Not against anything!”

               “Alex –”

               “You know where he was the last time I saw him?” Alex demanded. “A cell, drunk out of his mind and so bruised he looks like someone used him as a punching bag. It’s all because I couldn’t protect him.”

               “You’re going to get hurt fighting,” Michael said, but his voice sounded more desperate now than anything. “Don’t you get that?”

               “I love him,” Alex said, his tone almost insulted. “I’d get hurt a million times over if it means I can be sure that he’ll never be hurt again.”

               Michael clenched his jaw. “I won’t thank you for it. I never do.”

               Alex searched his face, his own streaked with tears. When he spoke, his voice was cold and steady. “Well, you’re not my Michael.”

               Michael released him, staggering back as if he’d been hit. Alex seized his chance and ran past him out the door, calling to his brothers. Michael barely managed to turn and call Alex’s name when the world around him turned to white, and the next thing he knew, he was back in his bunker. He was sprawled on the floor against the wall, as if he’d been blasted backwards by the console.

               It took him a second to get his bearings, and he spotted his phone on the worktable. He checked the date. According to the time, he’d only been gone a few minutes.

               Michael hurried up the ladder. He expected to find an apocalypse waiting on the other side, but everything looked the same as always.

               “You done in there?” Sanders barked from across the junkyard. “We’ve got work to do, boy!”

               “Sanders!” he ran up to him. “Listen. Do you – uh – remember seeing me eleven years ago?”

               Sanders sighed. “What?”

               “Seeing me, like this,” Michael said, gesturing at himself. “I told you about time travel, and coming back from the future?”

               Sanders said nothing a moment, then he smacked Michael across the head. “No more day drinking! You’re too young for it!” he grumbled as he walked away.

               Michael considered his reaction while his chest ached with a heavy feeling. Had he really been thrown back in time? Or had the spaceship just knocked him out and made him dream the whole thing? He scratched his jaw.

               It made more sense, and he knew it would be stupid to check, but something in him yearned to see Alex now, to make sure he was okay. He told Sanders he’d be right back, and, despite the old man’s shouting, he got in his truck and drove as quickly as he could.

               His heart hammered the whole way, and when he parked in front of Alex’s house, it was almost leaping into his throat. He swallowed and stepped out. He knocked on the door and waited.

               Alex answered in his sweats and pale gray sweater, his hair windswept and his cheeks rosy, and Michael wondered if he’d crashed the second he’d gotten home after their little fight.

               Michael almost reached out, wanting so badly to hold him. All the anger he’d felt was gone, replaced with the longing and yearning that usually kept just below the surface of everything he did and said.

               “Hey,” he said, his voice unsteady despite himself.

               Alex frowned. “Hi. Did something happen?”

               “Do you remember me coming to the toolshed the day before you enlisted?” he said in one breath.

               “What?”

               “Crazy guy,” Michael clarified. “Looked a lot like me? Told you not to enlist?”

               Alex crossed his arms. “I think I would remember if you told me not to enlist, Guerin.”

               Michael swallowed. Dream it is. “Would that have stopped you?”

               Alex’s expression softened. “I don’t think so.”

               “Wasn’t I enough for you?”

               “Maybe I just wanted to be enough for you.”

               Michael pursed his lips, his eyes falling to Alex’s leg.

“I love him.”

“I’d get hurt a million times over if it means I can be sure that he’ll never be hurt again.”

               “Well, you’re not my Michael.”

               “Alex.”

               “Yeah?”

               “Thank you.”

               Alex’s shoulders fell, his brows furrowed as tears filled Michael’s eyes. Alex had never stopped thinking of him, had never stopped fighting for him, for them. Michael remembered the day he’d enlisted, the day he’d made sure he’d get arrested. He couldn’t bear say goodbye, not to Alex. Never to Alex.

               “Hey,” Alex said softly, closing the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Michael’s shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay.”

               Michael hugged Alex’s waist, burying his face in the crook of the airman’s neck. His hands trembled, and he held Alex tight enough that it should’ve hurt, but Alex never moved away.

               Michael inhaled his scent, kissing his shoulder before pressing his face against his neck again, all the while Alex comforting him.

               “Everything’s okay,” he quietly promised, protecting Michael in all the ways that mattered, just like he always did.

[rebrandedbard]

The Music Box (1/3)

A porcelain figure on a music box sits alone in an abandoned attic until one day he is granted the gift of life. He strikes out on a quest of self discovery, giving himself the name Jaskier, and learns about what it means to be living. As he goes about playing his music, he hopes one day to find the one who made him, and learn why destiny should give him a soul and wait so long after to grant him the blessing of life.

Alt - Jaskier used to be a figure on a music box before wishing to be real.

(wc: 3232)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  Music drifted into the attic, soft and mellow, rambunctious and spirited, earnest and poor. Children’s poems and great ballads of adventure and love lit up the forgotten corners, clearing the shadows from them if only for a moment. At such times, the emptiness and forgetting and damp disappeared. The cobwebs became gossamer curtains. The dust was nearly like snow. For the length of a bar or two, there was life in the abandoned place.

How long ago had it begun, the little porcelain figure wondered? When the music played in the world beyond, his little heart stirred to life and reached out longingly to be a part of it. When did he first have a heart to stir? He thought it must have been long ago, a century or two. It was impossible to tell the passing of the years.

He thought it must have been then, when the little boy turned the key on the box for the first time. The little boy had stared up at the figure in wonder as it sprang to life, spinning round on the lid of the box. Tinkling music, sharp and sweet and sure poured out from inside, enchanting. The little boy asked someone, an old man he thought, if the figure might be a faery in disguise, and if he’d had wings the figure would have fluttered them with joy. He would like to be a faery. He thought he might have seen them in some of the far markets, their eyes shining brighter than they ought. If he were a faery, he might dance or play. But no. He could only ever turn, and only ever in one direction, never singing or dancing. Never playing.

As the years passed and he was exchanged in colorful paper wrappings from hand to hand to hand, he’d grown tired of his song. Always the same notes over and over, without even words. He envied the harp. He hated the violin. The flute mocked him, for they had no such limitations. And oh, how he might shed tears to listen to the people singing! How could any one instrument play so many songs? He could not cry, and he had no voice—why should he have a heart to ache and break for such things at all?

But now, alone in the barren waste of things packed away and left to rot, he wished he might have the company of his song again. He’d been in the attic so long, he’d forgotten the very last of the notes, and there was none to wind his key. Even if he had no music, he might at least be allowed to turn. It was not true dancing, but he could pretend. He did not know why he was allowed such a blessing as to pretend or to feel, but he tried so very hard to use it.

Outside, it was coming on evening. A nightingale perched somewhere nearby, singing its song. Hateful pest! He wanted to rip the heart from his chest and push the broken pieces back together, but his hands would always remain poised. One lifted above his head, and one so tauntingly to his chest. His mouth would always be open to sing, and he could never utter a sound. And here came the nightingale once more to mock him, singing pretty verses and trilling in the fading light.

Once, long ago, a nightingale had flown in the open window to nest among the abandoned rafters. It sang and sang as it built its nest, and there were two. How dare anything come to this place, throwing freedom and music and love in his face, flying and parading around him! He wished they might have the mercy to fly low and knock him from his perch. If he might fall and break, perhaps he might then die and be rid of his longing.

It was a joke. Perhaps he’d watched a faery too closely and it had cursed him for it. He would always live with longing, never dying. For the sin of seeing too clearly, someone in Faerie had cursed him with unfulfillment. He was only a toy, just a simple, decorative knick-knack. He must always look wherever he was turned. He could not help staring.

The night came, bringing darkness with it. He was afraid of the dark, for it was so much quieter when the sun went down, and he knew he was truly alone. He was grateful for clear nights when the moon and stars offered their comfort. Though he was surely faded by exposure to the light, his clothes turned white and grey by the dust, he was the more fortunate for being left uncovered, allowed to see through the small attic window into the heavens. It was his spotlight, bathing him in a single ray of warmth when the sun was high, a pale beam of silver light when the moon rose. It asked him to perform and fill the room with life, and he wished to comply.

The house had long been empty, no audience to perform for. He wondered what had happened to the family. Had they moved on? Had they died? The corner of the roof sagged from years of heavy snow, and the beams creaked in the wind. He wished the house might have ghosts at the very least, but it was depressingly without haunt. There had once been rich furnishings beneath the dost cloths, he remembered. The attic was quite expansive. Maybe the family had been comprised of peers, turned out during some great revolution. He thought of such romantic stories often to pass the time, and it made it difficult to remember. Surely he would have heard the fuss of fighting below. He fancied the rebels would have tried to burn the house down and that only the attic was spared the flames. He would like some looter to come scavenging in his lonely domain. Perhaps then he might be taken and sold, then he might at least see something new of the world. Even the patch of sky outside his window had become too familiar.

Then, there came something new. A brilliant streak of light across the sky. His heart leapt at the sight and he knew if for what it was. A shooting star.

His left hand always reaching, for once in his life he felt it was with purpose. He wished to tangle his right hand in his shirt, for his heart ached with a terrible hope. He reached with his left, beseeching, for once he’d been owned by a little girl who wished on such stars, and he knew the most earnest came true in stories.

He wished. Oh, how he wished!

Living. I want to be living!

He wanted to leave this place. He wanted to sing and play all those instruments that taunted him before, show them who truly knew the depth of music. Who knew music better than the figure on a music box? He wished to taste those songs on his own tongue which the people sang and hummed and whistled! He wanted to frolic! To dance! He wanted to just once—only once!— turn counter-clockwise.

The star disappeared before his eyes and he waited, staring up at the place where it had been. And he waited. In the deafening silence, his heart began to beat painfully in his chest and he willed the star to return. He outstretched arm trembled and he wished to call it back. The attic blurred, tears prickling his eyes. He sobbed, knowing the star would not return, and brought his knuckles to his eyes, wiping away the hot tears as they began to fall.

He stopped.

He slowly tilted his head down and looked at his hands. They glistened in the moonlight, wet with tears. They’d moved. He moved them again and found he could. Quickly, he looked at his feet and saw not a box, but the bare floor below him. His heart beat again—it was beating! What a wonder!—and he laughed, felt the smile on his lips for the first time. He wobbled as he attempted his first step and fell onto the arm of one of the old chairs. Giddy with joy, drunk on this sudden euphoria, he ripped the dust clothes and threw them into the air. At long last, he could move! He danced around the room, exploring all that he could never dream to touch or feel beneath his fingers. In an old chest, he found beautiful festival costumes. He threw off his old tatters and dressed in them. How long had he envied the birds for their changing plumage? Or humans for their ever-changing clothes?

He found a mirror and stood awhile, watching himself so full of life. He smiled, frowned, scowled, and made a hundred funny faces. “Hello!” he said, then he tumbled back from his reflection, startled by his own voice. He’d heard something like it in his own mind, but it had never been anything so loud or concrete. Very quietly, he whispered, “Hello,” again, peeking up at the edge of the mirror from his knees. Shyly, he waved back at himself.

On shaking legs, he stood again. He made a courtly bow. He’d been on the mantle once of a great room in some manor, and he’d seen many a bow and curtsey. It was clumsy at first; he did not yet know how to move properly, but his heart was full to bursting for joy. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said, and his words were almost steady. “And what is your name, good gentleman?”

Here his fun came to a halt, for he had no answer.

“Oh. I … who will name me?” he asked. He had no mother or father. He did not even know who had made him and his box.

His box!

He turned round, searching for it. How odd a thing it was to be able to look from this new perspective. And there it was, where it had always been, sitting on the old end table among the clutter. He picked it up, turning it over and over. On the bottom there was writing, but he could not read. He’d never had the chance to see it, though he’d known it sat beneath this feet. It was carved and painted with wildflowers, gilded on the edges. There was some chipping here and there, and the color had faded, but he could not help loving it, for it had so long been a part of himself.

The mechanical bits clicked as he wound the key. He bit back a sob as the music poured out once more. It had been so long. The notes came to him at once, though they stuck now and then, and he could remember how they’d sounded once so very long ago. The little platform on top turned round and round, empty. He turned, spinning very slowly in the opposite direction as he clutched it to his chest. When the spring had wound down, he wiped his eyes and leapt to his feet. He scrambled to the window and threw it wide, reaching out into the night sky.

“Thank you!” he called. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

One day he would find the words with which to express his gratitude. He swore he would put his heart and soul into such an expression of thankfulness, and he would bless the sight of the generous stars until his dying day! Could he die? Did he eat? There was so much to discover!

He finished his exploration of the attic and collected a bag and change of clothes. Belongings. He had belongings now. There was something grand about owning things. He carefully wrapped his box in a bit of cloth and put it into his bag. When the sun rose in the morning, he’d be off on a journey. Very soon, he’d be part of the world. What song would be the first to greet him? Through the window, he’d seen the beginnings of spring. A seasonal ballad, he hoped.

He explored the rest of the house, going from room to room to examine this strange place that had been his home, so detached from what he’d known. It was a grand house, full of once-fine furniture, walls covered with portraits and intricately patterned and peeling wallpaper. He bent to feel the carpets, excited to touch everything he came upon. He discovered a velvet couch, a silk table runner. He ran his finger along the rods of a carved banister, listening to the gentle thump as he did. In another room there was a lamp with a beaded shade that clicked wonderfully and jingled when disturbed. When he realized the short heel of his boots made a clomping sound, he began to tap them as he walked, skipping now and then until his feet had carried him to the most wonderful discovery of all.

It was a music room. There was a great harp in the center of the room, standing under an old chandelier. He eagerly stroked its strings, only to find it horrendously out of tune. Still, he played to hear the sound. One by one he explored the various instruments. It was not such a vast collection, but it was more than he’d ever seen, and he was filled with the sudden desire to take one for himself. But which? He would play them all until he might make his choice.

The pipe was too shrill for his ears, still so sensitive to such noise. He liked the drum well enough, but it made no more than one or two sounds beneath his beating hands. He’d enjoyed the harp, but it was far too bit to carry. Then, tucked in the far corner, he found a lute. He plucked experimentally at its strings and knew he had found his instrument.

He pulled the strap over his shoulder, his heart aflutter. A great mirror lined the wall and he turned in it, admiring himself. Yes, from here he would make something of this new life! With this gift, he would give something wonderful to the world! He would give music that which none had ever known, and all the Continent would sing his songs!

When the sun rose, he stepped out of the lifeless house and into the wider world. Things were beginning to stir, birds rising, wind waking. Even the flowers seemed to turn up their heads to look as he passed. An hour’s walk saw him in a bustling hamlet, men and women going about their morning work. He scurried up to the first person in reach, tapping the man’s shoulder.

“Excuse me—good morning. What is this place called?” he asked.

“Lettenhove,” the man replied, eyeing the brightly-dressed traveller.

“And what,” he asked, “is that house there beyond the fields?”

“The old Pankratz estate, but you won’t find any work there, bard. The last viscount was taken by pox several years ago. The nearest courts are in Falla.”

Bard! Might that be his name, he wondered? Before beginning his great quest, he must find himself a name. He remembered the writing on the bottom of his box. Would it be some name?

“Can you read, sir?” he asked. “Or might you point me in the direction of one who can?”

The man sniffed and stood straighter. “I can read,” he said gruffly. “Trying to make fun?”

The bard shook his head apologetically. “No, never! I have something that needs reading, and I cannot make it out. Would you help me?”

The man looked at the bard’s flashy clothes doubtfully. Such colorful songbirds were surely educated in reading and writing. Though he quite clearly felt he was being made part of some joke, he held out his hand and asked to see the bit of writing.

The bard unwrapped the music box and handed it to him with delicate care. “The, uh, writing is too small. I’ve lost my spectacles,” he excused, feeling a fool. He’d never been taught to read, but he knew there were some who read with spectacles on their noses.

The man looked more friendly at that. “Well, it’s a poem,” he said, observing the writing on bottom.

“Will you read it to me?”

With a shrug, the man recited the short verse:

With the turning of the year

Little friends shall gather near

In the Spring they shall appear

The lovely yellow bloom, jaskier

The man hummed and said, rather importantly, “The rhyme is good, but the spelling of the last word doesn’t match the pattern. It doesn’t rhyme to the eye.” He smiled and stroked his chin, looking very clever.

“What’s a jaskier?” the bard asked. It was a lovely word, he thought.

“It’s … ” the man looked around, then he stooped down to pick a flower from the grass by the road. “It’s this. Do they call them something different where you come from?”

The bard reached for the flower as it was offered to him and made no reply. He did not know where he was from. He decided it might as well be here.

As he turned the music box in hand, the man admired the flowers on the sides. “Ah, here they are as well. It’s a very pretty thing. May I have a listen?”

The bard nodded and the man wound the music box, listening to the tune. At last the bard could hear words in the notes. When the song finished, the man returned the box and the bard wrapped it once more, tucking it in his bag.

“Thank you,” the bard said.

“Julian!” someone called. The man turned over his shoulder as the caller waved him over. “Julian, move your sorry ass along! We’ve got deliveries to make, you lazy bastard!”

“Stop your whining, Alfred, you old cow! If you didn’t walk so slow, I could make the deliveries in half time!” He turned back to the bard and patted his arm jovially. “Well then, that’s my time run out on me. If you’re still around this afternoon, you ought to play for us at the pub,” he suggested.

“Thank you, but I’ve got to be going. I have a delivery of my own to make,” said Jaskier Julian Alfred Pankratz. He’d found a name, found several in fact—spares, just in case he might lose one—and now he had a new quest in mind. “I’ve got to deliver this music box to its owner.”

“Did you need the address read?” the man asked.

“No, thank you,” Jaskier replied. “But if you might point me in the direction of the nearest market, I’d be much obliged.”

“Thataway. Happy travels.”

“The very happiest!” Jaskier exclaimed.

And he was off in the pointed direction, a spring in his step, and an old song in his heart made new. He hummed as he went, then whistled. And at last, the market in sight, he began to sing the little verse aloud. A spectator tossed a coin into his hat as he stopped to bow to her on his way, sweeping his hat politely from his head. His very first wage, his very first song, his very first morning out in the world!

“Oh, destiny,” he sighed. “At long last, you are a loving thing.”

[undertaker1827]

Maybe #14 and #19 with Undertaker~

Absolutely! And I’m so sorry you requested this such a long time ago and I’ve only just written it. I’m a disaster. Anywho here you go! Prompts in bold

❗️Warnings; fear/suspense ❗️but there’s fluff later I promise

Masterlist

-

You groaned dramatically as you arrived at the funeral parlour, dropping your bag on a coffin and then collapsing next to it. You allowed your body to go completely limp and tried to breath deeply. You had slept terribly the previous night and then had a ridiculously long day and you were more than ready to block out everyone in the world, with the exception of a certain mortician. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you considered the fact that he had not appeared yet. He usually couldn’t wait to see you, barely letting the door close before he engulfed you in a bear hug. Reluctantly, you raised your head to look around the front room, taking in the dust and spider webs spanning the corners and ceiling, his old, slightly damaged oak desk, the chair behind it empty. The door leading to the back rooms was also closed; he had a habit of leaving it open after the shop closed for the day. You sat up properly now.

“Undertaker?” You questioned, peering through the relative gloom. He had allowed the candles to burn down further than usual which only served to darken the room. A carriage raced past outside and the metal candle holders rattled, their flames flickering dangerously low and dropping into the molten wax. Strange shadows reared up over the walls and an eerie green glow was being emitted by the oil lamp on the mortician’s desk. A dull shaft of moonlight shone through a lighter patch of grime in the single front window, highlighting the floor tiles by your feet and twisting your own shadow into something dark and menacing. A chill snaked its way up your spine as you heard the floorboard directly above your head creak loudly, shattering the silence around you. A gust of wind pounded against the front door, roaring through the keyhole and sending a shock of cold through the room which caused the metal latch to click every so often.

Your breathing started to pick up and you took a few steps into the middle of the room, the sound of your shoes against the tiles seeming loud as thunder and giving away your position to anyone within earshot. You strained your ears as well, only to find all you could hear was the wind howling around the corners of the roof several floors above you. Your mind wandered inevitably to the corpses Undertaker would have been working on earlier that day, no doubt still in the parlour somewhere. You couldn’t help the shiver that overtook you at the thought. His work was never something you were overly concerned about, but with the legion of candles slowly dying one by one, it wouldn’t be long before you could barely see your surroundings at all. You had no clue where he kept his matches, though you suspected the kitchen, but even if you could find one, where would you get a candle from? You considered leaving the parlour all together, but it was dangerous enough to have made the journey here alone, in the dark, and you didn’t fancy risking it twice. Someone might have seen you the first time and still be waiting out there, after all. A crash resonated suddenly from behind the door leading to the rest of the house and you jumped violently, heartbeat pounding in your throat. A longer, slightly quieter but no less jarring sound followed, indicating a metal container spinning on the floor somewhere you couldn’t see. Another gust of wind buffeted the door frame and three candles went out in one go.

Squinting fiercely, you desperately tried to make out something, anything around you that might help. You didn’t even know what would. You took a careful, quiet step forwards, only for something low hanging to cover your face. You tripped backwards, spluttering and raising your hands to your features, pulling them away to find you had simply walked into a cobweb. You froze suddenly, slightly crouched as you thought if anything else was in here with you, it would now know where you were. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you took quick, panicked breaths, turning desperately as you tried to see. You flew around to face the door as could swear you just heard someone knocking it, only for a set of footsteps to move past. You backed away slowly, in the direction of Undertaker’s desk, reaching for the green oil lamp as the last candle flickered and died. You all but clutched the lamp to your chest in an attempt to ward off anything that might come your way. You flinched violently as your heel hit the leg of the desk, then moved sideways to avoid colliding with it again. You took another step backwards then felt your blood run cold. One of the floorboards on the stairs had creaked with enough force that only someone stepping on it could have produced the sound. Hands shaking so badly the lamp’s handle rattled, you stood completely still. There came another creaking floorboard, further down the stairs this time, and soon enough there were footsteps approaching the door which was now right behind you. Paralysed with fear you couldn’t so much as turn to look at the door, merely tracking the movements behind it as the metal handle shrieked its protests at behind turned, the hinges groaning as the door swung wide and a single footstep entering the room - -

“Hello, love!”

You screamed bloody murder, heart hammering out of your chest and cold sweat tracing your spine as you dropped the oil lamp and leapt over it, making a break for the single exit. You’d rather face whichever murderer who was waiting for you outside than whatever the hell was behind you. You hit the door with enough force to propel yourself straight through it, but the lock wouldn’t budge. Your ears were ringing and you were sure there were noises coming from behind you, but you didn’t dare glance over your shoulder. Your last resort of pounding the door and begging for someone to open it was all you’d got left, so that was exactly what you did. You shrieked again when you felt something cold land on each of your shoulders and were then forcefully turned around, your back pressed against the door you were so desperate to get out of. It was only when you picked up on the pair of luminescent green eyes glowing at you through the gloom that your ears finally picked up on what you could hear.

“Y/N! Y/N, it’s me! Listen to me Y/N, look at me!!” Your eyes were now wide and locked on those in front of you, mouth open as you gasped for air but you couldn’t form a single word. In your blind panic, you still hadn’t registered who was standing there. They threw a hand out to the side and you watched in shock as all of the candles flared to life, flames almost reached the ceiling and burning away a few of the cobwebs hanging down from it. It was then that you looked back to the person and finally recognised them.

“Undertaker!” You exclaimed in relief, before throwing yourself at him. He caught you easily and held you to his chest, hands running over your shoulders, back, sides, anything to ground you. His eyebrows were drawn in some amount of confusion as well, not that you could see it, at why you had reacted this way.

“Y/N,” he murmured after a few minutes of you all but wrapping yourself around him, fear causing your grip to be so tight that even he felt the sting of your nails on his back through his clothing. “Why are you trembling?” Trembling, he thought, was the understatement. Your entire body was quaking like a leaf in strong wind and you were quite clearly petrified, but the reason behind your terror was utterly unfathomable to him. You spent almost as much time in his parlour as you did your own home, with and without him there, and he had never seen you react like this before. As far as he was aware, there was nothing about the parlour tonight than any other night.

When you said nothing, he prompted you to explain, which you did. After you told him everything that had happened from your perspective, your fear was easy to understand. As you spoke, he moved his hand to cradle the back of your head, protective as always. He peppered a few gentle kisses on your hair as you grew more confident in telling your story, though you still flinched when the next carriage drove past the shop.

For all his kind words and comfort, he couldn’t help but mentally chuckle just a little at how scared you had gotten over him knocking a kidney dish off the counter by accident, as well as the fact that he’d forgotten to replenish the candles. Later, much later, he brought the incident up again to tell it from his point of view - he had left the front room for all of two minutes to grab some extra teabags, having anticipated your arrival. He laughed so hard at his own dramatization that you couldn’t help but join in. You had then proceeded to affectionately dub the whole affair as the Scary Teabag Incident, much to the dismay of anyone who heard you talking about it.

[dabis-girl]

Mine | Dabi | Smut 18+

Summary: You are a third-year student at U.A with a dark secret, your boyfriend is a member of the league of villains and he has special plans for tonight.  

Warnings: SMUT/18+, exhibitionism, fingering, rough sex. It’s smut people what else do you want me to say.

A/N: This is my very first published piece of fanfiction, let alone smut so if you happen to stumble upon it be nice. Let it be known that all characters are of age. But without further ado let’s get to it. 

It was around 4am when he’d popped in your window whisking you away. You only saw him at night because that when it was safe, a promising young third year at U.A and one of Japan's most sought after villains. A deadly paring.  He had asked you before if you’d wanted to meet his friends and you’d thought that would be the last time, but the league had seen something in you. Whether it was the way that you used your quirk with great accuracy or that you had been training in mixed martial arts and acrobatics since the age of three making you amazing in close range combat, you were high demand in the underworld.

“Dabi where are you going?” You whined as you trigged a few steps behind him.

“ You’ll know when we there. “ He but back at you. His demeanor was off and the fact that you hadn’t seen each other in days because he was off ‘working’ made his brash behavior seem even odder. Usually, when the two of you were separated he couldn’t wait to get back to you and get his hands on you, but now he wouldn’t even slow his walking pace so that you could keep up with him.

The two of you approached a seedy-looking bar and he held the door open for you walk in and he followed behind finally taking your hand in his to lead you up a staircase to the actual bar. You could feel the ease of your heart quicken upon entering the bar and them all again. Dabi squeezed your hand as he felt it grow clammy. This wasn’t the place you met them the first time, it was an abandoned warehouse that was dim and riddled with dust and cobwebs. This place a bit cleaner and more well kept. Of all the faces you remembered his the most as it was hidden and still is, behind a disembodied hand nonetheless. All you could make out is a glaring red eye peering through the mess of fingers and long shaggy hair. Dabi leads you to a couch where the two of you were seated across from him and sat next to you pulling you into his lap because he could pick up on the energy in the room.

“ The rest of you leave.” The creepy man ordered as he snapped. Leaving you, Dabi, the warp behind the bar and himself.  “It’s nice to see you again.” He said leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his drink. You shivered on Dabis lap as a chill ran down your spine causing you to jump. Dabi placed his warm hands on your bare shoulders to warm you up. “ Where are my manners?” The creepy man chuckled and the sound echoed around the now empty bar, “Kuroguri. Bring our guest a cranberry juice.” He snapped.

A short glass of cranberry juice was sat in front of you and you immediately looked back at Dabi silently asking for permission, and he nodded. This exchange intrigued the man sitting across from you. He leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees waiting for more.  The two men watch as you gulped down all of your beverage and shakily sat the glass back on the table.

“ So this is our little hero?” The man said. “ What do they call you again?” He said. Your breath hitched as you realized that he was talking to you and that his questioned required answers.  You swallowed as you felt your cheeks heat up, once again you turned to Dabi. He was being his usual standoffish self but it hurt that he seems disinterested in you even as you sat in his lap in your short uniform skirt unconsciously teetering back and forth at the lack of attention you were receiving. Clearly annoyed at your silence the creepy man lashed out at Dabi for your disrespectful nature.

You felt a hand tangled in your hair before pulling you back with such force that your mouth fell open, instinctively your knees pushed apart from each other exposing a hint of the red lace covering your sweet core. Dabi chuckled at your motions and the fact that you had exposed yourself to a stranger, a villain nonetheless. It was a sight for sore eyes you, a student enrolled in a hero course at a world-renowned hero academy sitting betwixt two members of the league of villains with a fist in your hair and your legs open.

“Answer the man.” Dabi aids his warm breath hitting the side of your face as he whispered in your ear. “ You’ve already exposed your self to him a little slut, you might as well tell him your name.” He continued letting go of your hair so you could look his colleague in the face.

“ My hero name is 8-ball.” You felt you face flush once more as you hung your head.  Dabis hand moved to caress you chin lifting your head his other hand trailed down your body until he reached your core, covered in red lace he dipped his finger between you folds feeling your slick coat his finger even through your underwear. You flinched as you were aware that the man sitting across from you had being to palm himself through his jeans at the spectacle that you were putting on.

“This is my boss Tomura Shigaraki, you two have met,” Dabi spoke giving you the formal introduction you craved. He began to trace his finger down your slit once again causing you to let out a small moan. “Do you want to show him?” Dabi asked. “Do you want to show this hungry little bastard how good I make you feel?” He said as he moved your panties to the side and plunged a finger into your slick folds causing you to throw your head back in ecstasy.  “ He’s been eyeing you since you walking in the door princess.” He desperately groaned into your neck as you squirmed on his lap.

Dabi had managed to slip in another finger stretching you out in preparation for him. His fingers curled inside you to reach that special spot while his thumb circled your clit. As you rock your hips back and forth on his lap feeling his erection through his pants he couldn’t help but moan with you as your release approached. He knew that you were close because you started to grab at his thighs, your fingernails piercing through the fabric of his pants and you squirted all over him and yourself. Dabi withdrew his digits form your sopping cunt and plunged them into your mouth as you struggled to catch your breath.

In your haze, you saw Shigaraki still sitting across from you but now he was palming himself through his pants as he sat wide-legged and his eyes were glued to you as you sat on your boyfriend's lap exposing your self to him.

“Get up,” Dabi ordered. The moment you stood from his lap he flipped up your skirt and rolled your panties down your legs and once you stepped out of them he threw them to Tomura. “ Keep these you nasty bastards, because that’s all you’ll ever get of her.

Dabi had you bent over the arm of the sofa and your skirt had ridden up your waist exposing you to the cold air of the room he stood behind you. The sound of him unzipping his pants excited you even more. He lined himself up with your entrance and teased you slightly.

“ You’re so wet for me princess.” He cooed teasing you and you pushed your hips back slightly just to feel him finally dip inside. “Don’t tell me that this future pro hero is that desperate for me a villain.” He teased. You knew what he was doing he was going to make you beg, you whimpered while pressing your hips back towards him. “ Ah uh princess, you have to ask for what you want.” His fingers tangled in your hair forcing you to look the man sitting across from you pleasuring himself at your expense. “ Tell us what you want,” Dabi said as he stood behind you.

“ I want you to fuck me D…” He didn’t let you finish before plowing into you not even giving you a chance to get used to him.

He rutted into you from behind so hard that he pushed the sofa slightly with every thrust. One of his hands gripped hastily at your wrist and the other still held a fistful of your hair forcing you to keep eye contact with Shigaraki as he jerked off while watching you get fucked and sniffing your dirty underwear. Dabis hand found its way to your clit and began massaging it with rough circles. As he approached his climax he thrust became more erratic, causing you to climax and your walls contracted around him as he finished inside of you.

“Come on (Name), gotta get you back the dorms before daylight,” Dabi said as he landed a slap on your ass and you heard him zip his pants.  You stop and flipped your skirt down, the feeling of both men watching you fix yourself caused a wave of embarrassment to wash over you. “Don’t worry she’ll be back,” Dabi told Shigaraki as he pulled you out of the door.

[remsmoonlight]

Title: safety net

Pairing: daryl dixon / original female character

Chapter: one

Summary: In a world designed to test your humanity, a woman fights to keep hers. But she walks a fine line between staying human and welcoming death and darkness. [ S2 - S4 ]

The light coloured gaze that belongs to a lone female almost darkens in frustration as she notices the sky beginning to dull and bleed into beautiful tones that always signified the oncoming approach of the night and the glistening stars that could only be seen more prominently ever since the world had passed its very own death day. Light pollution has become a thing of the past. Cassie hadn’t meant to stay out so late, but she had wanted to prove to herself and members of the Greene family that she was able to survive out in the town as she scavenged for things that would be useful to them.

Maggie had made many trips into town, always refusing Cassie’s help. Now, whether or not that was because she couldn’t trust her friend to hold her own, she doesn’t know but this was something that would only bring concrete proof that she was able to survive. She lets out a sigh at the whole situation, digging into her backpack for the half full bottle of water that she’d managed to ration very well -- you couldn’t be too careful those days. Such as when you lose track of time and end up staying out hours later than you should. They’re so gonna kill me later Cassie mentally remarks to herself, she thought it would be a quick trip but she’d gotten too distracted by trying to be useful.

The woman drops the bottle back into the backpack as she drags her feet along the cooling dirt that had suffered the heat from the punishing Georgian sun. She scans every building in her line of sight, call her a perfectionist but all she can see are the defects with the potential safe shelter. Are you trying to die out here? she asks, as she thinks negatively to herself. Too many breaks in that window, that door looks weak, not enough exit routes. The slow dragging of a pair of feet and snarls causes her to turn suddenly, she hates this part. Cassie knows she can handle herself, she’d done so with those things before she’d found refuge at her old school friend’s farm but it isn’t something she enjoys. It wouldn’t even be the first thing she wished to do, but it had to be done.

I don’t have to like it but I’ll do it.

Gripping the knife, Cassie slowly advances to meet the dead being halfway, studying its movements intently  -- a few seconds and it’s over. She pulls the knife from their head with little less fight than she was used to, I’m getting better at this she comments to herself in her mind, though a heavy feeling soon begins to settle in her heart as she realises that this person used to have life. They used to have friends and family, they used to have bills to pay, they used to have favourite songs to sing along to. They were human. Cassie doesn’t want to believe that she disregarded their humanity so easily in favour of thinking about herself and how well she was able to cope.

This is what you were afraid of. You’re losing yourself faster than you thought.

She pushes herself up harshly with a verbal shudder, tears beginning to build. She rubs her eyes with force to banish them away and sniffs. The young woman needs to collect herself before she finds herself in a situation she can’t get out of. One of the things she has feared ever since killing the first of those things was losing her humanity.. even before the world turned she knew how despicable people could become. She didn’t want to think about who she could become if she survived this world, Cassie didn’t want to lose her light or her life -- the world was dark as it was.

As if planned perfectly, her eyes settle on an aging liquor store.The cobwebs and dried spray paint were visible from the distance she sadly stood. I remember that, she mused fondly. It was when she and some friends were caught trying to convince someone to buy a bottle of alcohol for them as teenagers - before her father forced them to move out of the town to the next one over. It was a strange sight to see, how these places that held so much life now dead and silent.

Still, the stone walls and bars on the windows are perfect and wash a warming comfort over her entire body, it was safe enough to spend the night in. She only prays silently that  trouble doesn’t follow in her path.

A small grunt of effort is dropped into the open air from her parted lips as she dedicates little energy and force to open the doors into the building. People had been there before her, the assumption is only confirmed when she makes her way through the door and scans the area - everything, empty. A disbelieving chuckle erupts from her. The end of the world where the dead roam the Earth and what do people go and do? They leave the shelves bare from bottles of alcohol. When you need your wits about you and they want themselves inebriated, Cassie didn’t want to believe it. Human nature was still a surprising thing.

With a bicycle lock secured to prevent anything or anyone gaining entry into her temporary housing, the woman allows herself some steady breaths before she overturns one of the few chairs from it’s upside down position on the floor to sit down on it. There isn’t much effort when she lifts the bag to the table, not much was left to scavenge. Cassie is happy with what she did get however, smiling to herself when she pulls out dried food that would be beneficial in the long run and the batteries that would be needed soon. There were a few other trinkets that may or may not be of use but she proved something to herself -- and for that, she learnt something about herself.

Despite laying herself on the floor to sleep, it doesn’t come easy. Her mind is too preoccupied with the noises from the outside of the building, sometimes they were too close to be able to tell if they belonged to the living or the dead. She tries, however, to give a mighty fight with her own mind to fall asleep by scrutinising the dust that littered the creaky floors but it’s a fight she’s destined to be defeated in. When she finally spots sunlight beginning to break through the clouds to fill the dirtied room, Cassie makes no hesitation in deciding it is a good enough alarm clock. She swiftly realises that she isn’t  going to be getting anymore sleep and she’d rather be back at the farm anyway.

There’s an energetic spring in her step despite the lack of sleep she had been able to get but that doesn’t matter, she’s happy to be home soon. The nagging thought of Maggie and her family being furious with her lack of notification of her whereabouts lay heavily on her soul -- though she was good with confrontation though, her patience was almost never ending.

Her heart beats rapidly as she spots a group of people she had never laid eyes on in her life, they surrounded one of the wells on the property, standing out against the warm shades of the ever growing grass and oversized bushes that were everywhere. The only solace granted to her weary soul is that Maggie is standing with them and does not appear to be in any distress by their presence. She cautiously steps closer and closer to the scene, mentally placing the pieces to make a puzzle -- yet even then it’s as if her fingers are trying to force pieces that do not fit together.

“ Maggie! What’s going on? “ she calls out to her friend, closing the distance between them with each growing second.

“ Ca- where have you been ?! “ Maggie shouts, ignoring the question put to her. Maggie storms forward to her friend, eyes have been ignited with a growing fire as she sets her sight on the other woman.

“ I went out on a run, I .. I just lost track of time, I guess. “ Cassie shrugs effortlessly with an upbeat tone despite the tense atmosphere.

“ How do you lose track of time? “ scoffs Maggie, she could feel the panic merging with the pain in her veins to form a melted pot of furiosity. “ You didn’t -? We didn’t know where you were! Cassie, Otis is dead. “

The optimistic glow that had powered her journey back to the home is instantaneously diminished until it’s no more than dying embers as she allows the words Maggie had just spoken to her to soak in completely. The bag that she held on one shoulder fell to the hay covered grass with a flat thud as she moves closer to her friend to embrace her. In the time Cassie had known the man, he was nothing more than a gentle giant. She can physically feel her heart break into pieces at their loss, the woman clinging to Maggie as she disregards the others who watch curiously momentarily.

“ Mag’s.. I’m so sorry. “

“ Come on, let’s get you back. “ Maggie speaks, pulling away from Cassie. She tries to paint a lighter image on her features as this. She was grateful that her friend had not suffered a fate that is a mirror image to that of Otis. “ Everyone will be happy to know you’re here. “

“ What happened to him? Who are they? “ she asks with curiosity, as she’s led back by her friend with an arm around her shoulder.

“ They showed up last night, one of their guy’s with an injured kid on our doorstep. '' the two walk up the steps of the large house, facing one another. “ Couldn’t exactly say no. They showed up after. “

A storm slowly battles its through the woman’s features as she tries to come to terms with how inverted their situation had quickly become in the hours she had not been present, she doesn’t want to shed her tears in front of strangers but you never expected to lose your friends or family under such circumstances. She brings both of her hands to wipe her face - as if to wash the pain away until it was no more than a ghost across her image.

“ He died gettin’ equipment dad needed to help their boy. “

Cassie is hardly looking forward to any lecture that every Greene in the household probably had for her absence. She admits to herself she should have told them that she was going but her stubbornness prevented her, to her, it was just a quick trip. However quick trips were not to the corner stores now, but what used to be people’s own homes. Their sanctuaries that now have become their graves.. providing they were not graced with the blessing to escape from one nightmare into another, one they had more control over.

Her knees bob up and down at a brisk pace as she watches Hershel walk into the room from her seated position on the plush couch in the living room.

“ What you did was very irresponsible, Cassie. We wouldn’t have been able to send anyone out after you. Between the boy and Otis.. “ Hershel’s tones are filled to the brim with disappointment, especially as they had the little boy to deal with.

The eye contact shared is broke harshly, she’s unable to hold the connection under the burden of his disappointment.

“ I’m sorry, I mean it. But you guys wouldn’t let me out! Even with Maggie. “

“ You must understand there’s a reason for these decisions. You might not understand now, but down the road. “ Hershel replies gently, his voice is a step above a whisper. He’d known the woman since she was a child -- Maggie and her were both so close as children.

A cynical laugh hangs in the air over those in the room, she hates to be so disrespectful to the family who has handed her security with the seclusion the farm provides. On a rare occasion she would find herself forgetting that the world had collapsed into itself, the serenity providing her a peace that was often a missing part that her soul craved from time to time. Cassie certainly doesn't want to offend anyone but she needs them to realise that she wasn’t naive as she may present herself to be, she knows how the world works.. though his denial would prove a burdensome load on that plan of hers.

“ I understand! I mean it that I’m super grateful for everything, but you need to realise. It’s not what you think! “ she argues, feeling a tingle in the very ends of her fingertips from the emotion she felt.

“ I don’t want anyone in this house getting sick, that was the risk that you took without consulting us and it’s something that I can’t allow to happen again. “

Guilt begins to overwhelm her shuddering body, she knew she did wrong and it was the circumstances that really threw her plan of independence into the deep river of inconveniences but it was a battle she would lose and she knows it’s best not to argue. She truly does feel bad that she had added onto the Greene family’s stress those two days, she prefers not to burden people after all -- knowing there had been incidents in the past that had been out of her control yet she brought down the spectacle from time to time. However, within the dark corners of her mind she yearns to intently to yell at him, to scream they’re not sick but rather they are dead. Hershel was a man in denial, and there was nothing harder to break than a man who cannot confront the truth that is right in front of him.

“ You’re right, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. “

“ Look -- “ Hershel leans forward, and clasped his hands together. He could see both of her parents in her. “ I promised your father you would be safe here, and if you’re not here that can’t happen. “

“ May I be excused? “ she asks the man, inching towards the end of her seat.  

Hershel simply nods, he’d also rather wash his hands of the situation, especially as they had bigger things to worry about now. The new additions to the farm did not taste so sweet on his tongue and the sooner the boy was ready and healthy, the sooner they could leave.

As Cassie stands before the declining state of the mirror, small particles of dust lining the mirror as a light blanket she washes the cooling liquid running from the tap over her face. She can hear the voices from the unknown new arrivals from the open window, needless to say she was curious of the new situation but, there was also a sense of dread clawing its way from her gut. She had a bad feeling that a storm was on its way.

AN: okay this is the first time writing for twd and im nervous and excited, especially as i'm not used to writing in this style! but i hope this will be something you will like soooo just let me know what you liked or what could be done better! we'll be having team family interactions next!

[yeojaa]

SUGAR HIGH, chapter iii. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary.  You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags.  angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional bagge, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating.  general (for now?)

word count.  ~2300

chapter 3.  Stay with Me

You fall back into old habits but nothing is the same as it was.  He is sunshine and honeycomb digging into your molars, sending you on a sugar high.  You are a heart covered in rust and cobwebs and every minute with him is too good to be true.

You were busying yourself in the kitchen by the time he'd stood up, shifting weight from foot to foot as he pressed his hands together above his head.  Crack, crack, crack came the sound of his spine, realigning in relief as he straightened up.  

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Jungkook studies the apartment, trying to remember what's changed.

The rug on the floor is the same - sunflower yellow and fuzzy.  He'd vetoed it when you'd originally bought it in your first year of university, insistent that it would clash with everything else.  He's reminded he'd been wrong.  It fits just right here, in this little piece of your personality brought to life.

There are photos tucked beneath the glass panel of your coffee table, slotted between lacquered wood.  There's a few of the two of you - one being a Polaroid with his signature scrawled across the bottom in silver Sharpie.  You'd asked him to sign it a few years ago, claiming you'd be able to sell it for thousands of dollars when Bangtan had taken over the world.  You'd only faltered when he frowned, pressing a kiss to his cheek and smearing mint-flavoured lip balm over the skin there.  "I'm kidding, Jungkook.  I'd never sell anything so priceless," you'd murmured, a twinkle in your eye. His heart swells at the memory, a symphony within his chest that suddenly feels too warm.

The far wall houses a painting that looks like it was done by a child - or Jackson Pollock. It's a white canvas with contrasting colours strewn across it with little rhyme or reason, vibrant coral blending among faded green and stark black.  Messy scrawl in the bottom righthand corner looks suspiciously like Jungkook's signature. 

Being here, among your things, feels like home again.  So it's easy when he gathers his backpack and disappears down the hallway into your bedroom. 

He's walked this same path a hundred times. 

He tosses his bag at the foot of your bed before dragging his shirt over his head and tossing it into your laundry hamper.  He figures you'll do it with the rest of your clothes and then conveniently forget to give it back, as you've always done.  Not that he minds.  Not that he's ever minded.  It means he'll always have clothes around for times like this, means his designated drawer will never be empty.   

It shouldn't make him as happy as it does - the fact that the drawer still exists.  

You'd proclaimed it as his one afternoon when he'd dropped by in between vocal lessons.  You'd been rummaging around in your drawers when he'd barged in - he'd had a key then, before all of this - two iced coffees balanced in a cardboard tray per your request.  You'd hardly looked up when he'd settled into your computer chair, aware of his stare digging into the back of your head as you sorted clothes into two piles. 

"What're you doing," he'd asked curiously, watching you study an oversized grey shirt in your hands.

"I'm giving you a drawer.  You have too much random stuff here.  I can never find my own things."  You'd said it so matter-of-factly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  Of course Jungkook would get a drawer.  He deserved a place here in your home, just as he did in your heart.  He was your best friend.

You'd felt more than heard him creep up behind you, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as he settled on his knees.  God, he was so boney.

"You know this means you'll never get rid of me, right?"

You'd laughed at that, the sound bouncing around the room like a hyperactive pink bunny.  He remembered how your eyes had crinkled at the corners, little wrinkles forming around your nose as you turned to meet his stare.  

"I think I figured that out a long time ago, Kookie."

Crouching beside the drawer in question, his fingers brush the polished metal of the handle.  Would the contents be covered in dust, long forgotten when you'd moved out?  He pauses for a moment before some invisible string is urging him forward. 

The drawer slides open with little resistance and he realizes he's holding his breath.

Relax, Jungkook.

Nestled among the wood are neatly folded shirts and a few sweaters.  Further back are a pair of sweatpants and, hilariously, a pack of unopened boxer briefs.  

It's with some satisfaction that he notes everything seems freshly laundered - or at the very least, recently handled.  (Other than the boxers, that is.)  The scent of your detergent - the one you both use - lingers on the fabric. 

He can't help but smile as he plucks a heavily worn sweater and the semi-familiar sweatpants out before tearing through the pack of boxers.  He tosses the articles of clothing on the bed, only hesitating when he catches your familiar scent on the collar of the sweater. 

You must've worn it recently.  He hopes so.

You're leaning against the counter, hip resting idly upon the cool top as you wait for the batter to crisp up.  Your fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt - twisting the cotton this way and that as you worry the inside of your cheek.

For once, you're not thinking of him, of the past.  Instead, you're focused on making this first pancake perfect (even though you know the first one is always a write-off).

Jungkook hasn't had your cooking in a while and the last thing you need is him making fun of you.

Humming to yourself, you poke gently at the batter, pleased when it pulls from the pan with little resistance.  A little noise of triumph slips between your lips, pleasure etched into every line of your expression as you shift back once again.  You know it's silly to derive such happiness from something so small but when everything feels a little too heavy, this is a welcome reprieve.

You'd slept well for the first time in days, your best friend was home, and you were alive. 

Sure, it wasn't the lottery, but it was something. 

"Smells good."  His voice steals your attention and you turn to see him sauntering into the kitchen, crossing from the hallway and into your personal space in only three steps.  His hair is fluffy, just barely wet still and swinging to and fro across his forehead. 

You beam, proud as can be, as you turn your attention back to the kimchijeon.  "Thanks - I tried."

You miss the way he stares at you with a tenderness that would stop your heart.

He's wrapping his arms around your shoulders, careful not to rest too much of his weight on you.  He draws you back against his chest, his own feet carrying both of you backwards until he's leaning against the sink.  He allows another little yawn to slip past his lips.

"Want to watch a movie while we eat?  Or after?"

You want to tease him, make a bet that he'll fall asleep five minutes in - he often does - but instead you hum an affirmation.  He feels it reverberated through his own chest.  "Whatever you want, Jungkook-ah," you agree finally, gently jostling his hold on you as you slide the pancake from pan to plate before ladling out another scoop of batter.  

The words you don't verbalize speak volumes.  He knows you'll agree to anything he says because he feels that same countdown he does, a reminder of his limited time with you. 

You know he'll always make time for you but this feels different - clandestine, special.  Maybe because it's the first time it's just been the two of you in a very long time. 

Whatever it is, you want to hold onto it for as long as you can before he's pulled away by obligations once more. 

So you allow yourself to be held by him, to be cradled against his chest like you belong there.  You don't even complain when he accidentally knocks your left hand, causing you to drop one of your chopsticks.  You simply huff a little sound - loud enough for him to hear but gentle enough for him to know it's all in good fun - and grab another from your cutlery drawer. 

"Can you grab the beer?"  You ask once you've finished the last pancake, carefully sliding it atop the others while simultaneously flicking off the stove. 

He's ahead of you, grabbing the bottles from the fridge while snaking the plates you've just finished.  He calls over his shoulder as he disappears around the corner, framed in the kitchen nook like some kind of boy-next-door dream come true.

"You choose the movie."

You'd decided on one of the Avengers movies, partially because it was mindless entertainment and partially because you couldn't resist the look of disappointment you'd caught darting across Jungkook's face when you'd swept past it. 

Settled into the loveseat, you nibbled languidly at a crispy edge, careful to avoid dropping crumbs into the crown of the boy beneath you.

You really weren't sure why he'd opted to sit on the floor, sprawled between your knees, rather than in the seat beside you or the more spacious chaise perpendicular to you.  You weren't complaining, though.

"Your English is getting better," you muse.

Beneath you, your best friend preens at the praise, gaze darting from the screen to your face.  He doesn't even falter when he thanks you.  "I've been practicing a lot with Namjoon. He thinks I'll be able to talk more during interviews."

You can't help but snicker at the way he pronounces his hyung's name in the unfamiliar tongue, the ah taking on a curiously nasal lilt. 

"What!"  He's challenging you, broad chest pushing against the front of your knees as he twists around, seemingly forgetting about the movie that plays behind him.

"You're just so cute, Jungkook-ah." 

This catches him off-guard, the adjective somehow sounding so much more when it isn't in his mother tongue.  For a second, he curses you for having one-upped him.  Damn you and your time abroad.

He mumbles something unintelligible as he turns around once more, allowing the weight of his back to rest fully upon your legs once more.  He hopes you don't catch the way his ears burn when thin fingers part his strands, gently musing the downy softness with unbridled affection. 

For his sake, you pretend not to notice.

By the time the credits roll, you can tell he's half-asleep, head lolling to the side as he does his best to keep upright.  You feel his breath, hot through the material of your sweatpants, as you shift behind him, shaking him awake as gently as you can.

"We should go to bed.  I know you'll have to be up early tomorrow."

It's only a guess but when you've been with him the better part of a decade, it's as educated as can be.

"I'm sleepy," he returns, though it comes out more like a whisper.  He's nothing but a big adorable baby as he readjusts, single arm curling around the line of your calf.  If you could take a picture of this moment right now, you would - but you're terrified of stealing him from whatever half-remembered dreamland he's currently in.

"I know, I know."  You all but coo as you move to stand, dragging his fingers from your hand in an attempt to haul him to his feet. 

It's futile, of course.  He's a good ten centimetres taller than you and undeniably heavier than you.  You'd hardly move him on a good day and certainly not when he's near deadweight.

"Come on.  Get up."  

You're surprised when he does, surging to his full height without any further urging.  You're even more surprised when he brings you with him, sweeping you into his arms as if you were nothing but a bag of feathers.

A squeak parts your lips, settles into the collar of his shirt - truthfully, your shirt, considering how often you wear it - and you lean into his hold.  You tell yourself it's so you don't bring the two of you crashing down by flailing.  He doesn't mind, either way. 

Jungkook is happy - over the moon, really - as he makes his way to your bedroom, pausing by the hallway to let you switch the light off.  He's careful of your head, making sure not to knock your pretty little crown of (grown out) blonde as he navigates in the dark.  It's not hard, but he finds himself taking extra time, enjoying the weight of you in his arms.

When you reach your bedroom, he deposits you into bed like you're priceless, carefully tugging the unmade sheets up to your chin.

"Sweet dreams, jagi."  There's a pause, the briefest uncertainty, before he's pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.  

Your skin burns where he'd touched you, each nerve ending alive with something you can't quite place.  It almost distracts you from the fact that he's slipping away, almost out of reach.  "Where are you going?" 

His head cocks as it always does, rounded lips pulling into something like confusion.

Before he can speak, you're pulling your blanket down, patting the other half of your bed like it was made for him.  "I don't have germs, you know."  You mean to sound light and breezy, noncommittal, but there's something just beneath the surface that belies the truth.  A quiet despondency that only reveals itself in the dead of night.

You don't want to be alone again - and he could never say no.

So he slips between the sheets, ignoring the staccato rhythm of his heart as he lays his head down.  All around him is you - your face in muted light, your smell in the sheets, the heat of your body from no more than a hairsbreadth away.  It's hard to focus with you so close, an appreciative smile spread over your cherry mouth.  When your hand finds his in the dark, though, it doesn't matter. 

All that matters is you, and him, and this little piece of paradise.

notes.   that was really just a lot of fluff. fluff fluff fluff. but i'm thinking it's going to get rocky...