#now I want threads with her accidentally scaring muses by speaking down to them from the tree

[a-earthssprout]

a real random & separate place from where my last reply was ... I like to think that Ari's adventurous little spirit means that she loves to climb UP trees; she certainly has the courage to try & get as high as she can ( which might be difficult when considering her dyspraxia [🌷] but definitely not impossible, I don't think ? 🤔 ), sometimes even lucky enough to reach the tippy tops ! but then ... this courage is countered with a fear of climbing down 👀 maybe it's harder for her to find her way down than it is to move up ?

so, with all things considered, I guess this means that Ari spends a lot of time getting stuck in trees ... 😭

[star-spangledstud]

ALL THAT MATTERS

Pairing: Frank Castle x (female!) reader

Warning(s): angst

Summary: he’s all that matters to her. Is she all that matters to him?

"How many times have I told you to be careful out there?" You ask, allowing the back of your hand to rub against your tired eyes.

"Every time." Frank mumbles, looking down at his feet while he allows you to gently tend to his injuries.

Truthfully, you don't even remember when or how it got started. It was initially Karen who asked you to keep an eye on him and since you owed her a big favor you complied, but that debt’s been paid long ago and the late night nursing hasn’t stopped. You don’t even question Frank anymore at this point, because you know damn well what he gets up to on nights like this one.

He stumbles through your front door with a trail of blood on his heel and a deep scowl etched onto his face, which is mostly covered in caked blood and bruises.

It scares you every time, knowing what he’s is capable of. You always wonder what the other guy looks like after a run in with The Punisher, but more often than not, Frank's injuries imply his opponent has either bit the bullet or is wishing that they had. You know he’s killed people in the past, and that he still does it all the time, but you still help him. Whether or not that makes you an accomplice is something you'd rather not question. Instead, you stitch him up in silence.

You are scared of his capabilities, but not of him.

You can hear the low rumbling of cars outside while you scoot closer to Frank so you can get a better look. He’s currently seated on the edge of your queen-sized bed, the fresh linen sheets a crumpled mess beneath him while his hands grip the soft material tightly. His eyes are screwed shut while you thread a needle through a superficial stab wound near his shoulder. Frank doesn’t make a sound. Instead, he bites his tongue, allowing you to focus on what you’re trying to do. 

"I'm getting really sick and tired of your shit, Frank." You grumble through gritted teeth while pulling the wire through his irritated flesh.

He grimaces when you tie it into a small knot to secure it, but his face changes completely when your eyes meet his for the first time since you broke out the seeing kit.

He grins down at you, causing the streaks of dried blood across his nose and temple to crack into little broken lines that remind you of cracked face paint on Halloween. 

You hate how much you enjoy it when he smiles because it’s a rarity to find Frank with anything but harsh words and a scowl, but you can’t help the warm sensation spreading through your lower abdomen when he does smile. Frank's smiles are more rare than blood diamonds, that you’re sure of. A man like Frank might've done a lot of smiling when his family was still alive and well, but those days are long gone and anger is all he has left now.

"That right?" He asks, his eyes lingering on your face while you continue to clean him up.

Drops of heavy rain and gusts of wind roughly hit the window panes, creating a melody of pitter-patter and whistles that echo softly throughout the room. The clock on your nightstand hit 4 a.m. ten minutes ago and you should be fast asleep at this ungodly hour, but your priority is the man in front of you. He’s always the priority.

"Damn right I am." You say, taking a pause to look back at him.

Frank’s wet clothes are soaking through your white sheets, which are now nearly fully covered in a mixture of fresh mud and blood that leave the air with a coppery scent. Frank knows you'll get over it, you always do, and frankly, he wonders why you even bothered to purchase such expensive linen in the first place. The first time he tried to pay you back for ripping them accidentally with one of the knives he had sticking out of his jeans, you'd politely told him to fuck off and that you'd take care of it. He never brought it up again, even though his hands itch to give you money for all the trouble he causes every time he finds himself leaving your apartment after a nightly patch-up and a glass of whiskey.

Frank’s come to understand this isn’t a business transaction for you anymore. You don’t see him as one of the animals you’re paid to treat during your daytime veterinary job. He isn’t just some sick little puppy looking for treatment. He’s a broken man, looking for understanding in a world he can’t understand himself and somehow, he found something it in you. You don’t take pity on him. You just do what has to be done and he admires that, because he does the same.

He slowly sips the whiskey you gave him when he first came in and stares blankly at the black screen of the television that hangs above your dresser. He’s the one who hung it up for you. He did a good job, he muses. Perfect height, perfectly straight.

You suddenly notice a piece of glass sticking from the top of his abdomen. With a gulp, you grab the whiskey glass from Frank’s fingertips. Before he can object, you down it, allowing the sting from the alcohol to heat the back of your throat as the liquid slides down. You don’t think he knows you hate the sight of blood, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting him fixed up.

You rise from your chair after taking a lukewarm washcloth and dabbing it across the scrapes and cuts on his hands. Giving him a once-over, you take in the work you just did, subconsciously counting the bruises that stain his tanned skin in the process. You’re exhausted, terrified to turn around and look at the clock at this point in time, but you’re too persistent and set on making sure he’s okay to really care.

Letting out a breath you'd been holding in, you absentmindedly nod. Frank’s eyes, dark and restless, scan your face slowly, taking in every feature from the blue circles underneath your droopy eyes to your rose colored lips and strands of hair that always fall out of the messy bun atop your head. 

"Why do you keep doing this, huh?" He asks suddenly, voice gruff and thick with sleep.

You lift your shoulders and bite your lower lip, afraid to speak. He notices the wrinkles in between your brows when you frown ever so slightly and he sighs. With both hands placed on the bed, he makes a move to get up, groaning when you instantly shove him back down.

"Can you like, not rip out your stitches? Just this once, I'm begging you," You huff, your hands pressed firmly against his chest to make sure he doesn’t move again, "Just because you're The Punisher doesn't mean you're immortal. You need to rest as much as the next guy."

You slam the first aid kit shut and tap on it with your fingernails, anything to keep yourself distracted after tossing your dirty gloves in the bin next to the dresser. He smells like musk and expensive cologne. You didn’t notice it until he got so close to you.

"Hey," he says, grabbing both your hands and holding them tightly in his, "You don't need to do this, alright? I won't bother you anymore if-"

"Shut up, Frank." You say curtly, cutting him off before his statement could fully pass his swollen lips.

You don’t want him to say it, because you don’t want this - whatever it is - to stop happening. You’re emotionally invested and breaking it off now would do more harm than good. You think he secretly knowsleaving you will fuck you up, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

"I'm serious, girl." He said.

"Look, I get it, alright. You're a bad man, Frank. The kind of man I'm supposed to have nightmares about. The kind I'm supposed to stay away from so I don't get myself into trouble or get myself killed," You roll your tired eyes, "but I don't believe it for a second."

"Believe what?" He asks genuinely, rolling the pad of his thumb along your soft fingers.

"That you're bad, Frank. Sure, you have shitty ways to go about things, but I refuse to believe you're a bad person. Karen doesn't believe it and she knew that I wouldn't believe it either. That's why she sent you to me." You sink down on the bed beside him, feeling the dirt and sand rub against your bare legs.

He wants to leave in this moment, get the hell out of your bedroom before you get in too deep, but the look you’re giving him tells him that ship has already sailed and there is no way for him to get rid of you. He knows the people around him always manage to get hurt because of him and as he’s sitting there, watching you in completely silence, Frank realizes he’d rather die than watch you get hurt. You've been taking care of him for months, never question his motives, never complain when he goes off the radar for weeks on end. He needs someone like you in his life.

He needs a woman like you in his life.

"Then what am I?" He asks finally, breaking the heavy silence between the two of you.

"I don't know," you say frankly, "For now, you're alive. That's all that matters to me."

The words leave your mouth before you can silence yourself. Heat rises to your cheeks when Frank inhales sharply at the sound of your voice, sweet and soft and so much the opposite of his own. It isn’t a confession of undying love, but it confirms his suspicion. You care for him beyond the formal patient/nurse relationship you two share.

His heart begins to involuntarily hammer in his chest from the thought alone.

He wants it, to be close to another human again, more than he ever thought possible after what happened to his family, but he doesn’t trust himself enough to make a sound or move an inch. When he looks at your bare arm and notices goosebumps rising all along your skin, he finally moves.

"You cold?" He asks in a raspy tone of voice, allowing his crooked nose to momentarily bury itself in your naked shoulder.

You shudder at the feeling of his hot breath against your skin and you nod silently, your ear making contact with the side of his head. Your heart aches for him and you wish so badly he would just make a move, anything to let you know your feelings are reciprocated, but he remains idle beside you, leaning against you in the glimmer of gentle candlelight.

Your body finally jerks up when he presses a long kiss to your temple, your eyes screwing shut in a painful frown while his do the same. His hand clasps around your back and squeezes it, but before you can even let out a content sigh, the warmth of his hand disappears, and all that remains is cool air coming in through the draft from underneath your bedroom door.

He picks up his stuff, the guns and ammo he keeps on his person at all times disappears in his pockets while you watch him trudge through your bedroom. His dirty shoes leave footprints all over the cream colored carpet, his fingertips leave stains on your furniture. The speed with which he moves through your safe space painfully tugs on your heartstrings.

He looks at you once more after swinging open the door, a sad expression painted on his face in blood and words he can never say on the tip of his sandpaper tongue. When he catches your face, eyes misty and mouth quivering, he needs to bite his lip to stop himself from punching a hole through the wall. Frank leaves without another word, forcing you to listen to the sounds of his weakening footsteps and the front door that closes silently behind him.

You don’t see him again for another four months.

[dolldirector]

Fallen Realm Playlist Masterpost

Big infodump under the read more, if you like my OCs and/or agree with my flawless music taste this should be interdasting

1. MUSE - Thought Contagion

Vampire stuff, punk vibes, a nod to thriller, all of the above fit the mood of a FR show + the song is genuinely very good and I could see it being used on stage easily.

2. PAIN - Call Me

Absolute banger. But that's besides the point. I see this as being the bassist Jez/Jamie's song (with a side of Deuce as the second vocalist). Jez is a fairly quiet lad who generally keeps to himself but I always imagined that he’d be secretly very flirty and cheeky, but would mostly only really express it via music. I actually wrote a lil short story where most of FR's band (minus Rex and Isabella) find themselves in some dive bar after a show, and end up performing in the place of the no-show band that was meant to be there that night. That band ends up being the very same one that kicked Jez out, so it’s a bit of a revenge story for him. This short is on my discord by the by.

3. Emigrate - Eat You Alive

Oh boy, this is a strong one. Basically, just watch this video but pretend that Axl is Richard (the frontman). That’s it. That’s the explanation.

Being serious though, RZK is and always has been a huge influence for Axl's visual design, mannerisms and on-stage behaviours. On top of that, this is 100% the type of music he'd listen to, and the lyrics may as well just be plucked right outta his brain. Are the words meant to be aimed at Valeriya in a threatening way? Or is it a cheeky flirt with Trinity? Both? Neither? We’ll never know.

Also, completely unrelated I’m sure, here’s a wip you may or may not be able to force me to finish on stream via channel points soon...

4. Axel One - Out of the Dark

Can't exactly say much about this one cause it's spoilers, but I will say it's less about the song itself and more about the video, and that it does concern the one FR character who is already dead when the story begins.

5. Lord of the Lost - Raining Stars

Just seems to me like a real good song to perform to. I can imagine seeing acrobatic stunts in slow-mo to this track. That’s it for this one, just “I just think they’re neat”. Gorgeous song and video by an amazing band anyway though.

6. Oomph! - Supernova

Kinda the same deal as the Emigrate song, you can just insert Axl into this one in Dero’s place, along with Jez, Vlad, and Thatch. Once again the style and lyrics fit him perfectly, and this one earns bonus points since Dero is actually Axl's canon voiceclaim - specifically in this era of Oomph!’s music too.

7. Die Kreatur - Kälter als der Tod

At the risk of this thread becoming Oops All Axl TM - AH YES. This one is perfect for the point where Axl finally gets the fuck over himself, and stops being horrible to Vlad because of guitar jealousy, and they become bros.

Realistically, I doubt that Vlad - the clueless human vampire fanatic - will ever realise that Axl is a real actual vampire, but he'd be so glad that they seem to have this ~shared interest~ in them, and he'd by hyped as heck to do a performance like this with his guitar buddy. By the way, Vlad wonders to himself, isn’t it odd that he’s never seen Axl putting his fake fangs in?? Weird

As for the girl on the altar, there are a couple ideas I’ve toyed with. Random audience member for fun. Trinity but Axl gets mad jealous even though he thought and said he wouldn't. (No sharing!! Not even for jokes.) Valeriya but the poor thing is scared to the point of tears because this is just a little too close to a real experience for her and Vlad just can't figure out why. Axl insists she’s just being dramatic. Rex has to rescue her because she’s too shy to put her foot down.

Or perhaps Isabella would wanna join in, but she can't take it seriously and keeps laughing which just causes a chain reaction every time with even Axl cracking a smile. There are like a million cut takes now. Send help.

All in all a fun crossover to think about.

8. Adelitas Way - Still Hungry

This one is just Diesel’s anthem. This is the story of a young punk who can’t stop, won’t stop, never gives up and needs more. Right kinda music for him too.

9. MONO INC. - Shining Light

100% a full-cast song. I feel like the lyrics apply to a number of different things about various members of the circus' backstories, and their found family vibe together - if you think about them in super vague terms, at least. I liked to consider the vocals a duet between Rex and Isabella, being the two singers, but there are a couple lines that are kinda too adult for Bella and would make the duet sorta odd so ehhh 90% of it can be that, let’s say. (This is baring in mind that Isabella is an orphaned minor and Rex is like a father figure for her - as he kinda is for many of the members of the circus)

I also did a doodle of this. This one will also be on the force-me-to-work-on-this-WIP-live pile.

9.5. Lacrimosa - Lichtgestalt a.k.a the original version of Shining Light

Same song, just German and carrying a much darker, creepier tone. It fits in new, fun ways.

10. Oomph! - Viel zu Tief

OOPS ALL AXL TM

Lyrics are very important for this one. Once again, music is the right style, Dero is still his voiceclaim, and Axl actually speaks German in canon (and NO I didn’t do that just so Oomph! songs fit him better, shUT UP)

11. Pet Shop Boys - It’s a Sin

Bit out of left field for this playlist, sure, but with all the controversy and extremely shakey morals in FR's world and with its characters, this one just seems fitting. Plus I'd want em to cover it for a show. Banger.

Honorable mention goes to Ghost’s cover of this song. I don’t even listen to Ghost but my reaction upon finding out this exists was like “lmao yes, of course, why wouldn’t they”.

This song in general I associate instinctively with Vlad, purely because its 80s and campy and I feel like he’d be the type to listen to Ghost.

12. Destiny Potato - Lunatic

Very strongly feel this is a performance song featuring Isabella. This song fits the character - and in particular her tragic backstoryTM pretty well. I’d even go so far as to say the singer would be a pretty good voiceclaim for her if her voice wasn’t meant to be more robotic in canon. This is pretty close to what I imagine, though. Strong n sweet.

13. Nightwish - I Want My Tears Back

One of the first songs I imagined to go well with stage performances. This one for sure would be a duet between Rex and Isabella.

Plus at about 3:10 there's a long solo with a bit of back-and-forth between the guitar and hurdy gurdy (I think?) that I could 100% see Axl and Vlad doing on guitar and keytar respectively.

14. Lord of the Lost - Drag Me To Hell

Yeah this one is just Axl @ his ex

15. Lindemann - Steh Auf!

Bleib nicht liegen, es wär schade - Zirkus ist heut in der Stadt

So, this would be from Isabella’s perspective. Did I mention she was orphaned? Yeah. I guess this one is a little dark.

16. Otetsu & GUMI - Disordered Self-Restraint Girl

The song itself seems to be the story of a child who is trying to coax their parent/guardian into getting up and doing things, not realising that parent had passed away from a drug overdose. Drugs isn’t the way Isabella’s parents died, but the rest of the song fits that part of her backstory imo. Plus, it’s German, and Isabella is German, so yay!

Uh oh, vocaloid.

For a long time I've associated this one with Valeria, and her feelings towards the circus in the early days. After she's accidentally turned by Axl, Val gets effectively kidnapped by FR, taken in before she can even regain consciousness and completely against her will, since it would be incredibly irresponsible of them to just leave a fresh new vampire out in the world so they kinda don't have a choice. While she eventually finds her place and elects to stay after some time has passed, there was a period of time where she definitely would have felt trapped.

This is without even going into the fact that she's now stuck travelling and living with her would-be murderer, and - due to the fact that half of the circus don't even know non-humans exist, let alone what actually happened to Valeria - many of the people around her don't seem to care, or simply do not understand why she's so scared and stressed. It leaves her, at times, feeling like she could be killed tomorrow and nobody would give a shit.

Showtime, katanamochi bunbun furimawashi kubi kara ue hanetobashite mo - ashita ni nareba minna motodoori, waratte yurushite

Translation: Showtime, even if a sword wielder slices my head and makes it fly off, tomorrow everything continues as usual, smiling, forgiving

(Don't worry, in reality Rex, Diesel, and Thatch are there for her & understand the shit she's going through. I promise the folks in the circus do actually care. It's just hard for her to see it in this period of time.)

(There will almost definitely be more songs and doodles added here in the future, but for now that’s all folks!)

[jincherie]

intermission • iii | moonchild

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 4.6k • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: rabid old ladies and tree-climbing shenanigans • ☽ — notes: another intermission! this is my last part for now, miss zee will be writing the next two and then we will see my return!!!! but until then, please indulge us n show miss zee some love!! she works hard for it :’< also because with zee’s next chapter... we see a bit of a twist arise!

— posted; 09.06.2019

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterlist | prev | intermission iii | next • —

— some time in first year —

 The afternoon air is cool and the sun is a soft, comforting warmth against the exposed parts of Kim Namjoon’s skin, chasing away the slight bite of the cold that lingers in the breeze due the transitional season as he walks home. He’s just finished fulfilling his third ‘help wanted’ poster duty of the day, collecting the sheets, both handwritten and printed alike, from shopping mall billboards like Pokémon. He has a thick wad of them folded up and wedged in his back pocket (he’d forgotten his trusty messenger bag this morning that, despite being two snapped threads away from falling apart completely, has always managed to see him through the day) and a comparatively much smaller wad in his other back pocket, of the odd jobs his managed to complete through the week.

His rationale for being such an upstanding citizen and going out of his way to help anyone and everyone he can? Two things—experience, and references. He knows it’s a harsh world, and to succeed you have to prepare yourself as much as possible for everything to come. So when the time comes that he steps into the adult, working world after graduating… he doesn’t doubt he’s going to be one of the best prepared people they’ve ever seen.

Plus, sometimes the little old ladies and distraught pet owners he helped gave him a few dollars as a tip. Unnecessary and not something he asks for, but Namjoon isn’t one to turn away a gift when it could do wonders for his loose change jar. It satisfies him to see the little glass thing with a cork lid get fuller and fuller each weak. He blames the deep, primal part of his monkey brain that likes seeing a big collection of shiny objects like coins. It sparks joy, one could say.

The odd job he’s just completed was a little dryer than the rest, if he’s being honest. It was much simpler than the ad for it had made out— just helping some fellow uni student as clueless as him fix their broken toilet roll. All he had to do was find the screw that came out and the student gave him, like, a whole box of frozen chicken patties in return. Which… isn’t so bad but also, Namjoon considers himself an intellectual and while he may be bought by food he still longs for a mental challenge. So despite how usually he gets in about three a day, on a good day, but even thought this is his third one he’s still… hungry for more. He’s also hungry in the literal sense; the last job made him miss lunch and now his stomach is performing an acapella version of ‘feed me, feed me, you bastard’. A classic hit, one he is especially familiar with. He’ll have to rifle through the papers in his back pocket and suss out whether any of the posters seem the type to provide food for the help.

He’s still toying with the idea when he happens across an unexpected scenario that seems to have been dropped into his path by the fates themselves. Along one side of the footpath are suburban homes and their small front yards and cute little mailboxes, and to the other is the occasional tree and then the plain asphalt of the road. About a yard in front of him, just far enough that he can’t really see even with his glasses on, there seems to be a bit of a commotion occurring near one of the larger trees lining the street.

Excitement probably shouldn’t be his first reaction, but it is, and Namjoon hurries his long-legged gait so that he can reach the spectacle sooner. He doesn’t know what he looked like but walking like this, he feels a bit like those spiders with the tiny bodies and disproportionately long, spindly legs. And here he is, going to help out like the friendly neighbourhood spiderman. He slapped his thigh, eyes wide. He might be an iron man enthusiast at heart, but damn that’s a good line for his resume.

The closer Namjoon gets to the commotion he’d spotted from afar, the more he realises he might have hit jackpot. The source of the loud yelling and frantic movements seems to be a woman, a little on the elderly side, with her wild salt and pepper curls defying gravity in some places and clumping in others—it takes Namjoon a moment to realise that she’s actually attempted to tie her hair back and that’s why it looks a little bit deformed from the distance. As he draws closer, he notes that she looks a little unhinged. His reaction to such a thing should be caution, and he should feel wary, but all he can think is hell yes this woman clearly needs help and he is going to help her, damn it.

“Pudding, come down! Please! I’m sorry for calling you fat, Pudding! I didn’t mean it!”

As soon as he’s within earshot, he hears the woman sobbing hysterically as she claws at the thick trunk of the tree. She’s too small to reach the lowest hanging branch, and has taken to draping herself pitifully against the leaning trunk as she scrabbles against the bark with her nails. The woman wails, pitifully, voice piercing the air like a siren, or a banshee, “Pudding!”

Confused as he may be, he’s sure that as soon as he asks the lady what happened, he’ll be as clued in as possible. Namjoon clears his throat and composes himself, before stepping forward and speaking loud enough that the woman can hear him over her own loud weeping.

“Excuse me, ma’am, is everything alright? Do you require assistance of any kind?”

The lady spins around, a crazy glint in her eye, and belatedly, Namjoon begins to feel a little wary in addition to the wave of concern that seems to have caught up to him from where he left it in the dust.

“My pudding,” the woman wails, lurching and attaching herself to Namjoon like he is the tree she’d just been attempting to scale. Her nails dig into his arms, and the male is suddenly thankful for the long sleeves of his shirt and jacket protecting them from being punctured by her claws. “My pudding is stuck in the tree.”

A few beats of silence sound in Namjoon’s head, before finally a thought spawns into being. This woman…. Did she fling her dessert into the tree? God, it’s worse than he thought. He never expected to walk upon such a tragedy.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, ma’am,” Namjoon says, sincerely sympathetic. Being prone to trips and falls as he is, he has been victim many a times to accidentally flinging food all over the place. His heart goes out to her, his hands coming to pat her forearms with only a little hesitance (distantly, a part of him wonders if the crazed look in her eye is due to rabies, and the whiteness of what he assumes is snot all over her face and mouth makes him a little nervous). “Would you like help? I can get the pudding down from the tree, and then you can go on ea—”

“Oh, would you, dear?” the woman’s grip tightens like a vice as she cuts him off, wide, glassy eyes gleaming with hope. Is she starting to froth at the mouth a bit? Namjoon chooses to ignore that observation. “Please, please get him down. He’s the fat bastard on the second highest branch, and he -hic- must be so scared.”

Namjoon resists the instinct to make a face just barely— is she referring to her pudding as a he, and did she just call her pudding a fat bastard?— and instead follows the old woman’s shaking hand as it point to the top of the tree. Realisation slaps him in the face.

There, sitting right on the thickest part of the second highest branch near the trunk and somehow still managing to bow it, is both the fattest and the ugliest but most oddly endearing cat Namjoon has ever seen. At least, he thinks it’s a cat. It’s a cat until proven otherwise, he decides.

“Oh,” Namjoon says, staring at the cat. The cat stares back, and Namjoon gulps at the sudden goblin energy it seems to be radiating. “Pudding.”

The woman, still babbling incoherently while Namjoon creates a half-assed sort of mental plan for how to proceed and reach the top of the tree, starts shaking him slightly in her distress. Being a music major doesn’t prepare him for shit like this, he laments. This lady better have some food on the table for the trauma she’s currently inflicting.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get pudding.” He gingerly brushes her grip off him, surprised she let go with such little convincing, and makes his way to the trunk of the tree. The cat stares him down the entire time, lidded yellow eyes peering into the depths of his being and pulling out his innermost fears. Namjoon feels like this cat is the kind of thing you peer under your bed as a child and see balled up in the corner, hissing, with big fangs and ominous man-eating energy. This cat looks like the second Namjoon is within reach he’s going to claw his face off or eat his ears. A shiver rolls down his spine, but he pushes on. He’s going to climb this tree, make this cat his bitch, and bring it back down for the crazy old lady who has started breathing extra heavy the closer he gets to the tree. Distantly, one of his braincells knocks around and whispers that this feels like when Hansel and Gretel got tricked by a witch and her candy house— except in this situation the candy house is Namjoon’s incredible need for good references and experience. Annoyed at the errant brain cell, he flicks it away mentally and tries to think of a way up the tree when he reaches the base.

Well, he supposes he’s just gonna have to go up branch by branch and see which ones he can reach with his long noodle legs. He has to bring his foot up past his ear to clamber onto the first branch, and amongst the pain of essentially doing the splits he feels oddly proud of himself. Kim Namjoon; outstanding citizen, academic, genius music major, now gymnast. It has a nice ring to it. Perhaps he should consider broadening his horizons and extending his athleticism.

Scaling the tree is actually much easier than he anticipated. None of the branches are too far or too high to reach, and he’s satisfied with the effortlessness this job has taken so far. This will look fantastic on his record— he can’t forget to get a written statement from the rabies lady.

Before he knows it, he’s come face to face with the cat. Up close, it radiates even more demonic goblin energy, and Namjoon feels his knees quake slightly in response. It doesn’t meow, doesn’t even growl, merely bares its teeth in greeting, and the male gulps. Alright, time to make this cat his bitch for a moment and save that old lady’s day.

“Hey puss,” Namjoon greets, a little rusty on his cat conversation etiquette. “Come here puss, here, tch tch.”

The cat, fearing neither god nor man, merely sits and looks at Namjoon as he makes kissy noises in an attempt to lure it. ‘You think you can control me?’ It feels as though the cat says to him, with its apathetic, golden-eyed stare, ‘I belong to no one, fool. I will perish before I move at your will.’

Alright, seems like he’s just gonna have to scoop him up and go. Hopefully his nature is a docile as the name Pudding implies and his intimidating outside is just a farce.

Namjoon leans against the trunk of the tree as he reaches for the cat and takes it into his arms successfully— it’s too fat to put up much of a fight, and for that the male is thankful, even if it now feels like he’s holding a boulder in his arms and they’re going to fall off if he doesn’t deposit it soon. What does that lady feed this cat?! Cement?!

Having secured the old lady’s bag, Namjoon directs his gaze downwards and goes to embark on the next step in the plan to climb the tree for the cat and then climb down with the cat— as expected, it’s time for the latter. Wait, speaking of—

A ladder? God he wishes he had one of those right now, because he’s just realised that he has no idea how to get down. The cat’s belly gives an almighty rumble and, expectedly, it throws Namjoon a little off balance. The old lady is calling out hoarsely several many feet below them, and Namjoon feels a little overwhelmed as he considers possibilities and analyses paths down.

Gulping, he makes a calculated decision— unfortunately, he was never that great at maths.

x x

An afternoon stroll through the streets surrounding your dorm is just what you need, some fresh air to sooth your tired, university student soul and refresh your mind.

At least, that’s what you decided like ten minutes ago. Currently, you’re not sharing the same sentiments as past-you so much. This is mostly due to the abundance of unhinged elderly and zombified youth that seem to have had the same idea as you and that are now milling about unchecked. You accidentally stepped off the footpath before and stepped maybe ten centimetres onto someone’s lawn. That someone happened to be a short, stout middle-aged couple that had matching outdated hairdos, and they were not happy about you ‘messing up their lawn’. Before embarking on this walk, you could have proudly said you’d never been chased down the street by some screaming woman with a broom before. Now though, you’re no longer a virgin to that particular experience. You’re not going home as the same woman you were when you left.

The street that you’ve just turned onto, on your journey back to your dorms, is remarkably less chaotic than the rest and you feel yourself letting out a breath of relief. Finally, you thought you were going to combust from the stress alone. As relieved as you are though, you don’t let down your guard; you’ve been burnt before, thank you very much.

Not even three houses down the street, your reservations are proven right. There is an elderly woman, who appears afflicted with a sickness of some sort if the fluids all over her face are anything to go by, who is sobbing and moping at the base of a tree in what you hope is her front yard. Confronted with the strange situation, a part of you instinctively wants to help her— the other part tells you to turn tail and go down another street because this could be one of those traps where they trick you with a crying child or old lady and then mug you, taking all your money and any candy still surviving in your pockets.

Ultimately, the more empathetic side of you wins out and you hesitantly begin to walk closer to the woman clawing at the tree and screaming about desserts.

“Uh, excuse me ma’am, are you o—”

You don’t even get to finish before there is a sudden series of snaps and cracks from the tree above you and a mass comes hurtling down from the foliage. You scream, the sheer blood-curdling nature making your throat ache, and just about shit yourself as you launch away. Where you stood, a shape smacks into the ground with a hearty thunk that shakes the earth a little beneath your feet. You were right, you’re about to get mugged!

“AHH FUCK WHAT THE FUCK FUCK OFF I KNOW KATANA!”

The mass on the ground groans and you blink, watching with absolute dumbfoundedness as it shifts and suddenly the fattest cat you’ve ever seen is parting from it and running towards the woman in hysterics by the base of the tree. For such an absolute unit, it moves fast, and barely a moment passes before the massive load of a cat is wrapped firmly in the old lady’s arms.

“Pudding,” she weeps into his coat, the cat pinning you and the lump at your feet with an ominous, dead-eyed stare over her shoulder. “Oh my sweet, fat bastard— don’t you ever do that again, okay? Oh my sweet baby—”

She turns, mumbling into the fur of her cat as she begins to depart from the tree and make her way back to the house that you presume to be hers. For a moment you forget about the lump at your feet, until you hear it let out a pathetic whimper.

“My reference and commendation…”

You let out another scream, for some reason not at all expecting it to speak words. When you look down, however, you instantly feel guilty.

The thing that fell from the tree was a man and he landed right on his ass.

“Oh wait holy shit are you okay?!” Now that you’re over your fear of being mugged, you run over to the man and pop a concerned squat next to his curled up form. “What the hell were you doing up there? Did you steal that crazy lady’s cat?!”

The male at your feet groaned, bereft. “No, I was helping her get the cat down. Holy shit, my buns…”

You turn your gaze to his heinie, realising that with how hard he hit the ground he very likely has broken something. God, now that you think about it, he could have broken his tailbone. You have a friend that did that in highschool— it wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t pretty. And the thought that this poor man who fell from the tree and scared the absolute shit out of you might have done the same… oh, you felt for him. He attempted to roll and let out a pathetic groan. Oh yeah, he definitely broke it.

“Wait, don’t move! I think you broke your tailbone when you fell! Don’t move too much.” You hurry to halt him, and all he can muster in response is another sad groan.

“God, I- I can’t see…” he dropped his head against the earth, eyes shut. “The light… it’s growing closer.”

“H-hang on!” You panic, hands flying into the air. “We need to get you help! We need to get you to a hospital! Please don’t go into the light!”

The male groans again, and you flounder— you have to get him to the ER! It’s more serious than you thought. Panicked, you scramble for a way to get him up and mobile. Finally, an idea occurs to you, and you survey the man’s lanky form to try and assess how well it’s going to work out. A grimace finds its way to your face.

You’re going to be so sore later.

x     x

For forty minutes, you carried the long-limbed male on your back like nothing but a pack mule. Twenty minutes of that you spent walking, feeling like that Atlas bitch carrying the heaviest thing imaginable on your back and shoulders; and the other twenty was spent taking (read: waiting for) public transport. By the time you arrived to the hospital and got the man on your back checked in (you learned his name is actually Kim Namjoon and he’s a student, much like you), you felt as though at any second you were going to pass out. You still feel like that, actually, as you sit in the chair along the wall across from the male’s bed, which has the curtains drawn as the doctor inspects him, and attempt to recover. You’re sweaty, and gross, and desperately want a coffee. You even considered slipping some of the paper from the mysterious wad in his back pocket before you realised it isn’t money. You didn’t get to see what was on the papers, since you lost interest as soon as you realised it wasn’t cash.

You don’t get to lament too much about it before the curtains are being hauled back, a brightly smiling man greeting you; the doctor appears just as exuberant and overjoyed as when he first walked in.

“Well, good news and bad news!” he chirps, tucking his clipboard under his arm. His nametag reads Dr. Lee Minhyuk, and you can’t help but think that your new friend Sera would probably be frothing at the mouth at the mere sight of him. You catch sight of Namjoon adjusting himself on the bed behind the doctor, cheeks red.

You send the doctor a probing look, knowing he is waiting for a response. He beams, delighted at your acknowledgement.

“Good news first!” the Dr. Lee clicks his heels together before shifting his stance, gesturing his arm widely to Namjoon. “His tailbone is not broken! Thanks to the uneven distribution of his ass cheeks— ahem, sorry, his buttocks— all of the force of impact was absorbed by the, uh, dominant butt cheek, if you will. His tailbone is fine!”

Namjoon chokes behind him at the words that come out, and a part of you is mortified for him but the rest of you finds that too funny to even begin unpacking everything else yet. One of his ass cheeks really pulled a hard carry and did the lord’s work and absorbed all the impact. The power… A sigh of relief escapes you at the doctor’s words, though, and you go to speak up your relief when the doctor cuts you off.

“Whoops, actually I take that back! That’s the bad news— his tailbone isn’t broken, but it is bruised.” Dr Lee clicks his tongue, taking out his clipboard to scribble something short down. He then turns to Namjoon. “I kind of have to go— since you came in through the ER but this isn’t an actual emergency— but I’ll send a nurse in with directions for you on how to manage this, and after that you’ll be free to go. I recommend not climbing any more trees for a while! Also I hope you don’t sleep on your back, that might be a bit difficult like this.”

With that, he clicks his heels once more before saluting you both, and then he’s striding out of the room, off to tend to actual emergencies, you presume. You’d gotten an earful earlier for bringing him to the ER when it wasn’t a life-or-death emergency, but you stand by your decision.

There are a few long moments of silence in the time after the doctor leaves, and you decide to break it by standing and moving to the table beside his bed, where you’d left your phone like a fool. Avoiding his face (he’s still blushing so it’s a courtesy, but also because while sitting and waiting for the doctor you’d realised he really is quite good looking and your mind is having trouble associating that with the man who fell out of the tree earlier), you reach for the phone amongst the water cups and chocolate wrappers, from when he’d emptied his front pockets. He’s a nervous drinker and a hoarder, it seems.

“Wait,” His hand shoots out, long fingers wrapping around your wrist before you can grab your phone. Your heart jumps, perhaps in fright. You look to him with wide eyes. “I’m gonna need you to sign a non-disclosure about what you just heard.”

“I…” you give him a pained look. “Please, tell me you carry them with you at all times. Please. If you don’t tell me, I really might die.”

Namjoon lets out a great, big sigh, releasing your wrist somewhat petulantly. “I don’t… please hold your tongue until I can print some more.”

More? You’re having a field day with the implication that he has had instances where he’s needed to hand out non-disclosure agreements before, but he seems a little sombre. So instead of mocking him, as per your first instinct, you decide to try and make conversation. You know the nurse is coming soon, but you would feel bad leaving him alone until then. You feel like, having carried him on your back for miles and miles, almost an hour, you’ve really gotten closer and crossed the bridge from strangers to acquaintances.

“So…” you begin, tapping your fingers against your thighs. You search for another nearby chair before grabbing it and pulling it over, flopping down. “What do you study? Where?”

You feel like a new language learner asking questions using only the limited vocab you have, but Namjoon is unphased and answers as though you’d asked him something much more natural.

“CCU,” he says, fingers picking at the threads on his blanket, before he looks up to glance at you. “I’m a music major.”

Surprise filters through you at that, a noise of wonderment escaping before you can really stop it. “Oh! Hey, me too! I think you’re in one of the years above me, though, because I haven’t seen you in any of my classes before.”

Namjoon, who had been somewhat withdrawn and had put up a wall of sorts between you since entering the hospital and regaining control of himself (and a donut cushion to sit on), seems to do an absolute one-eighty at your words. “Oh, your major is music as well? Where are you specialising?”

You tell him with an eager smile, and he responds with one of his own. Just like that, the two of you fall into a conversation that comes much easier than anticipated, talking about your majors and music inside and outside of school. The nurse takes forever and you spend a good amount of time there, just talking to this upperclassmen who happened to fall out of a tree while you were walking past. Eventually, he confides in you about a rough draft of his, something he has really high hopes for. It’s a song called Moonchild, and it’s barely half done but he drums and beat boxes the rough rhythm out for you and you feel your cheeks heat in awe as you listen. That’s amazing, you can’t help but think, and it’s all him. You don’t think you’ve ever liked the demo of a song as much as you like that one.

The afternoon passes with the nurse eventually visiting, and all too soon you’re waiting with the long-legged noodle man at the drop-off and pick-up zone, watching with a note of sadness as a car pulls up and some mint-haired twink that looks vaguely familiar sticks his head out and calls for Namjoon. Namjoon thanks you for your help and bids you farewell, and then he’s climbing into the car with an abrupt wail of pain— he forgot to put his donut down first— before the doors shut and the car is pulling away, disappearing into the dusk and leaving you by your lonesome. You stand a few minutes, before letting out a huff and turning to leave yourself.

The whole way home, and throughout the rest of the week, you can’t help but think about the beautiful tune of moonchild and how it rings serenely through your mind when your thoughts quieten just enough. You hope you get to hear it again, someday; you hope you get to hear it when it’s finally completed and Namjoon’s name is on the credits.

— • masterlist | prev | intermission iii | next • —

{let us know what u think!! who are u rooting for?? who do u think is the muse?? hit us up!! & thank u for reading, btw!}

[ambershadowed-moved]

famous last words

Send ‘famous last words’ for my muse to say goodbye to yours | No longer accepting

(I apologize in advance for this, because the first thing that came to my mind was an AU of that first thread of ours where things went wrong,,, because honestly it very easily could have happened if I hadn’t wanted things to go relatively okay dJDKJDJKDKJ)

- - -

“Rapunzel- Rapunzel, I don’t think there’s- there’s anything you can do about this.” Varian was injured. Badly. It had been bound to happen, as many near misses as he’d already had. The boy just kept accidentally triggering the rocks to react to him, and this time he hadn’t been as lucky to get out of the way unharmed.

He hadn’t been impaled. Instead it had more or less grazed him, but it still wasn’t good. At the angle it hit him at, it ripped a gash all the way up his leg, which was now profusely bleeding with no way to easily stop it.

Sitting on the floor, he kept his eyes fixed on Rapunzel and not on the injury or the blood, trying to avoid fainting just from the sight of it. But he was starting to feel like he was going to anyway for a different, scarier reason.

Watching the princess frantically try to help him, even though he knew there was nothing she could do made him feel a little bit sick. It was guilt, he realized, that he’d legitimately thought she didn’t care.

“Please just stop.” He whispered, looking down a bit, and shutting his eyes tight as he briefly caught sight of the brutal injury that had been inflicted on him. Taking a shaky breath, he laid down on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

He was tired. He had been the whole time, honestly- he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually properly slept. But this was different. And it scared him. But he didn’t show it, stubbornly bottling up his fear. Just like everything else.

His gaze traveled back to Rapunzel, and again, he felt sick from guilt. It wasn’t her fault. None of it was. He’d gotten them into the situation they were in. It was his fault he’d been hurt. It was his fault his father was trapped to begin with.

“… Rapunzel?” He said her name, voice quiet and weak. “I’m sorry I got us into this mess. I’m- I’m sorry for all of this.” There was a lot he wanted to say to her, now that he was thinking about. Now that he was letting himself think about it.

Too bad he didn’t have the time to say it all.

“I-I told you I didn’t know how I felt about you… other than- other than still being mad. That… wasn’t a lie. Not- not really. But I can tell you that I-I don’t hate you. And I don’t- I don’t blame you for this.” He motioned vaguely around them.

“I don’t…” He trailed off. It was get harder to speak. He was out of breath, a little bit. He lowered his voice further, and continued. “I don’t blame you for any of it. N-Not anymore. It wasn’t your fault.” He paused, taking a shaky breath.

“… It was mine. I-I’m just.. I’m just sorry I won’t be h-here long enough to fix it. G’bye, princess. Pl- Please don’t blame yourself for this.”

[dj-yukio]

EAD: Doll part 2

AO3 link to part 1

Doll (Hanten)

It was to a muffled sob that they first awoke.

“Please let that work... please be fixed...”

A bright light surrounded it, and everything was a bright blur. Perhaps if they had been able to blink, they would have.

Why couldn’t they blink?

The blur cleared a bit as their eyes soon adjusted to the much too bright light, and the figure of what they supposed was their creator sat before them, face puffy with glistening trails left behind by tears. A desire to reach out to dry those tears formed briefly before they stopped themselves. They couldn’t do that.

...why couldn’t they do that?

What was stopping them-

“I...I could only fix one of you. So I just combined the two of you.”

Two of them? The doll thought for a while, trying to remember something. Everything was a mess as they tried, and before long, a wave of exhaustion washed over them before they stopped trying. Their head seemed to droop, as if responding to that particular feeling of theirs.

The shaking that followed after was the only thing that kept them conscious.

“Hanten? Please, I know you can... just, say something, anything!”

Something in them told them that they shouldn’t, that they ought to keep silent, and they were inclined to agree. They were so tired... and they didn’t know why. But their creator had asked for them to say something, so with all the strength that she could muster, they called out, going against their instinct as they tried.

And failed.

Something had stopped her from saying anything to reassure their creator.

They must have been just so tired, he convinced her.

Their creator’s eyes narrowed in concern before they darted wildly, and soft hands lifted them up.

“Maybe... You can’t? But I’m sure... I’ll just put you on the bed then...”

So they gave into sleep, getting the much needed rest that they deserved on that soft bed that felt both so familiar yet foreign at the same time.

That they shouldn’t have needed in the first place.

———————

Bits and pieces of their memory had slowly returned to them, almost like they were haphazardly trying to solve a puzzle.

A little girl that looked like a younger version if their creator was playing on the swings, almost all alone if she had not been carrying them around. A hushed voice reading a story to them. Their excited creator smiling brightly as she finished them before showing them to... themselves?

It didn’t make much sense until they had taken into account how she had said two of them. They had been two separate entities, and now they were merged to form one by their creator. Her name was Olivia, they remembered.

One of them cared for her very much and the other held only curiosity towards her. They had not exactly come to a conclusion what they now felt towards her.

Their name now was Hanten.

Then they were woken up by the sound of a one sided argument. It was soft, just barely audible from where they were, but it was enough to wake them up in their immobile state. Something about who did what, they weren’t too sure.

They took the time to look at themselves. From their memories, they remembered a red shirt and a black suit, but now they were wearing a normal green jacket that was unzipped. Looking as far down as they could, they could see why there was that option. The stitching had been done in a flurry, and the thread that didn’t match their fabric colour was holding them together. No wonder she could only fix one of them. Must have had limited materials.

-

Then it hit them.

She gave his materials to her.

She gave her his materials?!

If Hanten could sigh, they would have.

What a headache.

They turned their attention back towards the room, just in time for them to see their creator closing the box before bending down. They presumed that it was to slide the box under the bed.

The box wasn’t in her hands when she got up.

Why was she putting him away, they mused, before the answer came to them. Olivia had said something about him killing people.

Wouldn’t that be fun, a dark thought from him surfaced before she brushed away the deep seated resentment. Olivia had been scared, she reasoned, and thus couldn’t do much for them.

He rebutted that their creator was a coward who was useless. What was the point of a creator if not to protect their creations?

That caused a bit of fighting between the two entities, and Hanten huffed at the major headache that they were getting.

Nevertheless, they did have a question in mind that had yet to be answered, and that calmed the argument, if momentarily.

Dolls couldn’t kill people. How had he managed to do that?

How interesting.

They felt quite useless, now that they thought about it. Their existence was a kind of quiet one, where all sorts of things could happen to them and all they could do in response was to just suck it up.

They already hated that existence just by thinking about. Why were they ever content with it before?

Maybe that was what drove him to kill. To interact with their world in whatever way he had.

And now he was under the bed.

He... yes, they remembered. It was Sullivan. They could have sworn that there was a tussle, and he had been sticking out of the bag before everything was torn apart. He cared much for Olivia, that they knew, from how he thought himself to be her actual father.

So why was she putting him in a dusty old box under the bed, they wondered?

They wanted to know.

Was it because she didn’t want them to be like her? Only the humans could create them, so to be like them would be like trying to play god?

One of them was created to be a friend, and the other was created to be curious about their world.

Was it possible for them to be like a human?

The two entities thought about that, and both agreed for different reasons that they had to get under.

No matter what it took, for one of them.

———————

It was with much luck that they found their way to the floor.

Olivia had somehow woken up late, and in her bid to quickly get ready to rush to school, accidentally knocked over everything on the bed onto the ground.

Including them.

-

Sullivan

I was just trying to protect her... the bullies, they... so I...

They paused to consider the statement.

-

I saw you get torn to pieces, Sullivan muttered, barely audible from inside the box.

-

Why should I tell you? He sniffled. I’m stuck in this box, I can’t see Olivia, and you can’t do anything to change that.

They thought for a while before an idea came to them, and they were sure that if they could grin, they would. What if we could get you out?

A moment of silence passed, and Hanten wondered if Sullivan had even heard them. But before they could repeat their statement, Sullivan finally responded.

What do you mean?

They snorted, amused at the whole set up. You could always waste away in that box, and never get to see the light of day again. Or you could tell me, and you can bank on the hope that once I understand it, I’ll be able to get you out.

It was just in a spur of the moment, he answered.

-

———————

And so Hanten took what little information they had to heart.

They started small. Just moving short distances on bed. They would try to get a rise out of themselves, focus on their motives, and see if they had any changes in their position.

The other dolls sitting on the shelves judged them, only keeping silent about their activities out of sheer curiosity and to keep the promise that the two sides had made.

Don’t all of you feel tired of just sitting there? They had said, and no one responded to that audacious question. Unable to do anything, always having to sit and stay still, and there’s nothing you can do but accept your fate when... incidents happen.

No one answered, but Hanten knew that all eyes were on them. So they continued, and he influenced her words to reach out more to their silent audience.

If dolls had hearts, they were pretty sure they were tugging on quite a few heartstrings.

And finally, they agreed. Their ‘research’ to find a way for them to interact with their surroundings were to be kept secret (not that any of them would just outrightly speak to their creator, only Sullivan who had committed a grievous crime would have that opportunity), in exchange for any information of that research coming to fruition to be told to the rest of them.

-

It looked bleak, only able to move for short distances.

Then their lucky break came when Olivia brought a friend home, about a few months after that incident.

A spirited brown haired girl, they remembered.

-

And it must gave

Get out of her bag. They just had to get out of the bag.

Then the feeling of falling

-

What was a few people in their experiment to gain a body? Wouldn’t what they would be able to do be worth that few people? Why, he tried to persuade her, once they had a body

And reluctantly, she agreed.

—————————

They waited.

And waited...

And waited.

...Something in them told them that there was no going back if they actually did this.

But wouldn’t it all be worth it, they thought as they waited in the dark corners of the alley. To be able to be real, to stop living the cursed life that all dolls had. In that state, they could do nothing. Not moving, not eating, not any of the things that normal humans could do.

Like protect themselves as they had been unable to do before.

Dolls were so much more fragile than humans. One rip across their body, and that was the end of them. One rip across a human body, and they could just patch themselves up because they had that red liquid running through them.

Did that mean that if they had that red liquid, they would be able to last longer?

In either case, he argued, they would still stand to gain.

Oh, they could hear footsteps now. They were uneven, almost like they were swaying from side to side. They couldn’t quite make out what it was, not from where they laid.

Then the shadow of a drunk man passed by on the wall, surrounded by the dim orange light provided from the street lights.

They pushed away any conscience that had been holding them back prior as they willed the shadows.

It was fascinating to watch as their shadow warped and grabbed the man by the neck.

“Ah? Ah-argh!”

If they could smile, they would have. They wanted people to feel exactly what they had felt, and most of all, know exactly how pathetic they were.

He was dead before his pieces dropped on the ground with a thump. The red liquid continued to spill all over the floor and moved towards them before seeping into their material.

It wasn’t enough, however.

-

Their shadow warped around the humans, seemingly soaking up whatever was on the ground.

-

They had a body now.

-

Something in them told them to pick up that now soulless doll and keep it close to them. It felt strange in their hands, that husk much softer than what they had expected.

They stuck it into the pocket of their newly formed jacket and zipped it up to hide the discoloured scars.

-

Then a new question hit them.

Where were they?

-

They wanted to go home.

But... their creator would send them to that accursed box under her bed if she found out.

-