#the first time I ever played obey me I was set off by the jittery sprites

[devildom-doll]

3D LEVI JUMP SCARE

[klovenhooves]

Johnny Lawrence and the Five Love Languages, Chapter Two: Acts of Service

Johnny felt like he’d been living in Groundhog’s Day. Every day he woke up, and it still wasn’t the weekend yet. He was constantly tapping his foot, jumping his leg up and down under the table, as if willing time to speed up. He wasn’t used to feeling so jittery about something – Miguel commented knowingly that Sensei Lawrence had overdosed on caffeine when he fidgeted too much during training.

 He got some extra push ups for that, not that he minded, the little twerp.

 And then, suddenly, it was Saturday morning, and he was jogging out to his car, keys jangling like his nerves, trying not to think about how eager he was to get to the beach. This time they would be without Robby, without Anthony, alone in the ocean.

 Maybe Diaz had a point with his little love language thingy.

 At least, that’s what he thought at ten in the morning. By noon, he was pretty sure the love languages thing was bullshit, because he was still waiting for Daniel to show up, and he was about to admit to himself and his stubborn pride that he wasn’t coming. He scoffed, pushing himself off the hood of his car and into the driver’s seat, trying to stifle the ripple of disappointment that ached a little like embarrassment.

 He was a high school kid again, playing games with the pretty girl and hoping she knew the rules. Except this time, he was the one who didn’t know the rules.

 He grabbed his phone from the cupholder beneath the radio where he’d left it to keep the sand and salt out of it. He almost didn’t look at it. What would he find there, but another avenue to hurt his feelings? Daniel probably hadn’t called.

 He sighed and pressed the top button. There were five missed calls on it, and a text from Robby.

 “CALL ME NOW,” it said.

He obeyed the text message, thinking ironically that whatever shit was about to hit the fan would at least distract him from Daniel LaRusso.

 “What the hell did you do?” Robby’s voice was hoarse, tired, like he’d been yelling for a while already. Johnny’s hand twitched around his keys, itching to turn them in the ignition, to find his son, find the problem. He stuck his hand under his thigh and forced himself to stay still.

 “What did I do?” Johnny repeated. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

 He could hear something in the background, deep sounds of wood hitting wood, and running water. “Cobra Kai never dies, right?” Robby sneered. “Isn’t that what you say?”

 “Yeah…” Johnny trailed off, trying to put together too few available pieces of the puzzle. “Look, I don’t know what –”

 “Cobra Kais trashed Miyagi-do last night,” Robby spat.

 Suddenly, Daniel’s absence made sense. “Send me the address,” he said firmly, speaking over Robby when he could hear his son preparing to deliver another painful blow. “Now.”

 ***

 He could see the devastation before he even got out of the car. “Cobra Kai Never Dies” seared into his vision from the side of LaRusso’s favorite yellow vintage car, black and stark and painful to look at. He grimaced, shoving the door of his car open and listening for the approach.

 It didn’t take long for Daniel to find him.

 “Get the hell out of here, Johnny,” he snapped from the porch, and even from a distance, Johnny could see that he was sunburned, sweaty, exhausted. “Before I call the cops.”

 “I didn’t do this,” Johnny answered, holding his hands up in the sign of surrender. “I swear. I would never.”

 “I don’t believe you.”

 That hurt more than Johnny thought it would. He blinked and looked down at the worn earth beneath his feet, almost sand. They should have been at the beach right now. They could have been having fun.

 He steeled himself. As much as he didn’t want to, he was going to have to swallow his pride if he wanted to convince Daniel of his innocence. More than that, he wanted to convince Daniel so completely that he would never again believe him capable of something like this.

 Because what man would love someone capable of something like this? Whoever had done this had stomped into Daniel’s sanctuary, his shrine to his dead teacher, and crushed it under their boot without remorse. Even when he was blindingly angry, drunk, miserable, Johnny would have never dared wreak havoc here.

 “You don’t have to believe me,” he said. “Just tell me what needs fixing.”

 Daniel took a step down from the porch, eyes intent on Johnny, so sharp that Johnny wanted to flinch away from them. “What?”

 Daniel was itching for a fight, Johnny could see it in his gaze. He wondered if that would make him happy, and considered giving it to him.

 But no, he would be selfish, and deny Daniel their personal brand of intimacy. Let this be a new one. “Let me help,” he said softly. “What do you need me to do?”

 Daniel furrowed his brows, eyes roving over Johnny’s face like he would find the truth in the lines around his eyes. Johnny let him look, content to suffer under his gaze, waiting to be sent away.

 “You really didn’t do this?” He wanted to believe him, Johnny could see in the sad downturn of his mouth.

 “LaRusso, if I wanted to torture you, I wouldn’t resort to vandalism,” Johnny replied, tilting his head, giving Daniel a genuine smile instead of his typical smirk. “This has teenage kid written all over it.” Then, without thinking, he blurted, “We aren’t teenagers anymore.”

 Daniel clenched his jaw, the bunched muscles protruding from the pressure. “You’re right, we aren’t.”

 ***

 Taking Johnny through the back gate brought the initial shock back; Daniel could see the wreckage as if through his eyes – the broken pots and tipped over plants, the shredded punching bag, the toilet paper all over the trees, the spray paint. He had been trying to clear it up for three hours, at least, and it still looked like he hadn’t even started. It almost made him turn around and leave – though what he would do when he left, Daniel couldn’t tell. He was stuck between wanting to fix everything, put it all back the way Miyagi had it and going to a bar and getting wretchedly drunk.

 “Holy shit,” Johnny breathed beside him. Daniel spared him a glance, enough to see that he was clearly still dressed for the beach, and felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t called to tell Johnny he wasn’t coming – that felt like the closest thing to a courtesy he could give him when he saw the dojo. He had stood there, where Johnny was standing now, trying to reconcile the Johnny he had been thinking about against his will all week with the one who was callous enough to send his students to do something like this.

 He didn’t dare hope that Johnny had nothing to do with it, lest he be wrong.

 “Where do you need me, boss?” Johnny asked when Daniel didn’t answer.

 “Uh,” he stammered, looking around the yard. “We really just need to get the trash picked up first.”

 “Cool,” Johnny said, turning away and yanking toilet paper out of the tree beside him. “Go get some water, LaRusso, you look dead on your feet.”

 “I don’t need –”

 “You do,” Johnny interrupted, and there was that unfathomable softness again, apparent in the wrinkles around his eyes, in the set of his mouth. “Go get some water, and get some for my kid, too.”

 Daniel stared at him for a moment, trying to replace the hardened, angry face of Johnny Lawrence in his mind with this almost reasonable one. He sighed, feeling his muscles ache with the breath, and nodded. He returned a few minutes later with cold bottles of water, holding them up for the kids to see. He could feel Johnny watching him as he passed them out, cracking his own open and drinking greedily until the bottle was empty.

 When he looked back, Johnny gave him a self-satisfied smirk and kept cleaning.

 Daniel felt like he was being constantly barraged by epiphanies about Johnny Lawrence lately. He remembered keenly the understanding he felt when he stood next to him at his childhood apartment.

 “A nice house doesn’t mean nice things are going on inside.”

 The words made so many unexplained details about Johnny make sense that Daniel kept catching himself thinking about it weeks after. No wonder Johnny had been so angry as a teenager – no wonder he’d adapted so well to Kreese’s teachings. No wonder karate had always been so important, and such a dire skill to learn.

 Now, he was seeing new facets, like Johnny surfing, still boyish and energetic in the ocean, familiar and knowledgeable in the way Daniel always wanted to be about anything.

 And here he was, slaving away under the hot sun, to prove to Daniel that he hadn’t trashed his dojo.

 Daniel wanted to comment that he didn’t think a rich boy from Encino could work so hard, but he found that he was unwilling to break the easy peace they’d found. Instead, he helped Johnny unhook the punching bag from its hook and carried it inside with him.

 “I can tape it up,” Johnny said, surveying the cuts critically. “That should hold it for a while, depending on how much you wail on this thing daily.”

 Daniel nodded. “I’ll get the tape.”

 He ended up kneeling across from Johnny on the wood floor, his hands holding the different gashes together so Johnny could tape them closed, his hands both careful and sure.

 “I will find out who did this,” Johnny said after a while, peeling another piece of duct tape free. “I didn’t teach them –”

 “I know you didn’t,” Daniel interrupted, and he could see Johnny turn his head to see his face more clearly. “No criminal worth his salt would stay to clean up the mess.”

 Johnny chuckled, a genuine laugh under his breath, and Daniel smiled. He didn’t think he’d ever heard that laugh before.

 “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Daniel muttered, ducking his head lower, closer to the punching bag so Johnny couldn’t see it. “I should have.”

 “No,” Johnny muttered, pressing the duct tape into the gash Daniel was holding closed, his fingers brushing over Daniel’s as he secured the tape in place. “I wouldn’t have called me either.”

 Daniel looked up at him, accidentally catching his gaze and holding it. There was a sadness in Johnny’s eyes that Daniel could feel, radiating from him like he was trying to warn him away. He wondered why that was. He could feel the edge of Johnny’s hand, pressed onto the punching bag right near his own, warm and soft.

 “John –”

 “Dad,” Sam blurted, trotting up the stairs and into the house. “We need more hands to pick up the statue.”

 Daniel tore his eyes away and found his daughter, face red and hair frazzled. “I’ll be right there,” he said.

 “Let’s go,” Johnny said, picking up the punching bag, his voice a forced replica of his usual tone. “I’ll help you.”

 Daniel was left to gape after him as he carried the heavy bag by himself back to its hook and replaced it.

 ***

 Johnny couldn’t explain where his strange feeling of hope came from, but once it settled in, he couldn’t shake it. Something about working with Daniel to fix that punching bag, the way they spoke plainly, even if they said it while looking at the punching bag instead of each other, felt important, like Daniel was starting to see him as something other than an immature bully.

 He followed Daniel and Sam to the tipped over statue, where tracks in the grass told him that Robby and Sam had already tried to pick up the statue themselves and stumbled. He could tell just by looking at it that it was too heavy for the kids to pick up by themselves, and maybe even too heavy to himself and Daniel to pick up.

 “Robby, can you get me those two broken fence planks?” he asked. Robby furrowed his brows at him in confusion but didn’t argue, trotting off to grab the planks.

 “What are you thinking?” Daniel asked, stepping closer to him, close enough that Johnny could smell that he was wearing sunscreen. He was reminded, again, of their plans to be at the beach.

 “If we can use those rocks and the planks to get the statue just a few inches off the ground, we can probably get it the rest of the way ourselves,” Johnny said. “I had to do this at a landscaping job I did about ten years ago. Some rich Encino broad –” he caught Sam’s close gaze out of the corner of his eye. “Some rich Encino…woman…insisted that she wanted slabs of marble sticking out of her garden in the back yard, and one of them fell over. I was the only one there, so I had to get creative to get it back up.”

 “You did a landscaping job?” Daniel asked as Johnny passed him a plank.

 “You’re the white-collar guy here, LaRusso,” Johnny remarked, shoving the plank under the statue. “Not me.”

 Daniel didn’t answer him, but mirrored his movements, setting his own plank underneath the statue and looking to Johnny for his cue.

 The statue was heavier than he expected, but after a few seconds of struggling, it started to lift off the grass. Daniel huffed a surprised scoff, too out of breath to do anything else, and Johnny grinned at him.

 Robby and Sam slipped in and took hold of the statue, Johnny and Daniel following, and after some clumsy struggling, the statue was upright again and looking as sturdy against the fence as it had before. The kids cheered, high-fiving first each other, and then their fathers.

 “Alright, you two, why don’t you go cool off in the shade and drink some more water?” Daniel said, his eyes landing only momentarily on Johnny. They obliged without argument, trudging off toward the house with heavy feet.

 Johnny could feel Daniel’s eyes on him in the wake of the kids’ absence. He turned away from him and surveyed the garden, far more tranquil than it had been when he arrived. He could hear the running water and the deep sound of the wood chimes that he’d heard when Robby called.

 He could understand, in quiet moments like this, why Daniel was so protective of this place.

 “I want you to try something,” Daniel’s voice broke through his reverie. Johnny turned to see him, a smile just barely quirking his lips upward, his hair tousled and messy from the wind and the work. The sun was starting to sink behind him, leaving gold behind in strands of his hair, his skin supple and dark in the sunlight.

 “Is this when you tell me you have weed?” Johnny replied.

 Daniel rolled his eyes and led Johnny to the edge of a pond where a round platform floated in the middle.

 “Torture device?” Johnny asked.

 “Get in the pond, Johnny,” Daniel said, toeing off his own shoes at the edge.

 “Are there fish in there?” Johnny asked, peering in.

 “There aren’t fish in there,” Daniel laughed.

 “Are you sure –?”

 Before he could finish, Daniel had grabbed him around the middle and pulled him into the pond with him. The water was ice cold when he went in, so cold he felt the shock ricochet through his body. And then he felt Daniel’s arms around his middle, just barely releasing so they could find the surface safely, and the cold didn’t matter.

 He broke the surface, spluttering, and found Daniel grinning at him, trying to hold back his laughter. He launched himself in Daniel’s direction, catching him around the shoulders and shoving him into the water, yanking him back up only a moment later, hand tight around Daniel’s upper arm.

 “You don’t want to play that game with me,” Daniel said warningly, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, grinning like a fool. “I’ve been almost drowning my cousins since I lived in Newark.”

 “I grew up in the ocean, LaRusso, a body of water intent on drowning you without any help,” Johnny retorted, still holding tight to Daniel’s arm. “I think I can handle you.”

 Daniel raised his eyebrows at him, and before Johnny could think of another witty retort, Daniel’s leg was snaking around his and yanking his feet out from under him, sending them both below the surface of the water.

 Beneath the surface, Johnny could see the stones on the bottom of the pond, recently scraped clean of algae, if the little green spots in the cracks of the rocks were any indication. Daniel, beside him, was untangling himself from Johnny’s legs, swimming toward the surface again. Deftly, without any struggle, Johnny waited until he broke the surface, gave him time to take a breath, and wrapped his legs around Daniel’s waist, pulling him back down below again.

 Daniel glared at him, his eyes almost black under the water, and pushed them both to the surface.

 “Okay, okay, time out, we’re actually going to drown each other,” Daniel said, one arm sliding around the small of Johnny’s back to hold him up in the water.

 It wasn’t until Daniel’s hand settled on his hip that Johnny realized he still had his legs hooked around Daniel’s waist. He just assumed Daniel would break free of the hold when he made his way to the surface.

 His surprise must have shown on his face because he could both hear and feel Daniel chuckle.

 “Thank you,” he said, and if Johnny hadn’t been so close, he probably wouldn’t have heard it. “For today.”

 Johnny didn’t know what to say. Brushing off Daniel’s thanks would feel like he was cheapening what they had accomplished today, which, based on their track record of working together, was unheard of. But he didn’t really feel like what he did required thanks when really all he wanted was to prove to Daniel he hadn’t trashed the dojo.

 And then he remembered one of the love languages that Miguel told him about.

 Acts of service.

 Perhaps this was the one that would work.

 He watched, as if in slow motion, Daniel’s gaze drop to his lips. There was still water running down his face, settling at the point of his chin, dripping in the silence, harmonizing with the chimes at the back door to the house. He could lean in – he moved to unhook his legs from around Daniel’s waist, but Daniel’s arm around him tightened and stilled his movement.

 “Tighten your legs,” Daniel said quietly, the same words Johnny said to him last week, and Johnny’s gaze snapped up to his eyes, deep, soulful brown in the shade, eyelashes still wet.

 He could lean in – he watched Daniel lick his lips and reached up to grab onto the side of the pond, steadying them both against the side. He leaned in, just a fraction –

 “Dad –”

 Immediately, Johnny released Daniel’s waist and moved away, far enough that he bumped against the platform floating in the pond.

 Daniel’s eyes were still on him, dark and unreadable. “Yes, Sam?”

 “Sensei Kreese is here.”

[logansanderslove]

Logan 3.0  (7/?)

CO-AUTHOR: @demented-dukey

Summary: Remus is an incorrigible flirt, and Logan can only bear the innuendo for so long until something has to give. Passions erupt, but there are more lasting repercussions than either could have predicted, including a significant transformation to Logan himself! How will these new changes affect the delicate balance of Thomas’s mental state? When a new dark side threatens the lives of several of the other sides, will Logan and Remus’s love be strong enough to save everyone, including Thomas?

Ships: INTRULOGICAL

Sanders Sides: Logan, Remus, Thomas, Roman, Virgil, Patton, Deceit

Fic type: Drama, Romantic, Action, Flirty

Trigger Warnings: no character deaths, but a lot of very close calls. Consensual knife play and bloodplay, and lots of bloody fighting and monster attacks. If you’re sensitive to unsympathetic characters, some parts flirt pretty close to that, but there’s also a lot of extenuating circumstances to explain the situation, and there’s a happy ending once you get through the angst and misunderstandings. Self-harm and references to such, and suicidal tendencies.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 7: Broken

Remus puttered around his room for about an hour or two, doing his own version of “tidying up”. He stripped the bed, carefully folding the blood-stained sheets into a special keepsake box in his closet before remaking the bed with fresh linens. He cleaned and sterilized the knife he’d shared with Logan, putting it back into his nightstand - he’d considered leaving the knife bloody and framing it above his bed as a memento but decided he’d rather have the option of using the knife repeatedly than risk it being a one-time occasion.

He spent a little time collecting any dishes that were growing their own subcultures, along with any other obvious health concerns - he didn’t mind it himself, but now that it looked like Logan would be a frequent visitor to his room, he wanted to minimize the health risks. When he was done “cleaning” there was still quite a bit of trash spread around his room, but the overall result was a slightly less-soiled mess, so Remus was pleased.

He checked the clock - several hours had passed since Logan had gone to meet with Patton, and nobody had called for his presence or come by to bother him. Probably a good sign. Remus felt a little lonesome but quickly shut that feeling down - he was fine! He didn’t need any company! If the other sides didn’t want to hang out with him, he was fine hanging out without them! He had plenty of experience at making his own fun, after all.

Too jittery to do quiet activities like watching a movie or “creating” something new in the imagination, Remus defaulted to his old favorite method of killing time: “killing” more of the creatures that lurked in the subconscious. Grabbing his trusty morningstar, he headed out the back door of his room and down a dimly-lit, steeply curving stairway. 

Remus was extremely familiar with the Subconscious - most of his earliest memories involved exploring their depths. Time didn’t work right in the deepest parts of Thomas’s mind, and Remus still had no idea how many minutes or centuries he’d spent that very first night wandering around and screaming in the dark before Deceit had found him, shown him how to escape the subconscious, and how to find the dark sides’ rooms. These days the darkness greeted him like an old friend, and Remus loved sifting through the detritus that had been cast aside from the other Sides before winding up in the sewers and trash heaps of the subconscious.

The subconscious was not without its dangers, however. Creatures lurked in the shadows, nightmare beasts and unchecked fears. Roman was often careless with his creations, and many of the creatures he made and forgot about found their way to the subconscious, breeding with the monsters there to create new beasts full of nasty, big, pointy teeth and claws. Remus had faced countless horrors in the darkness and had learned that nothing down here could be judged by its appearance - he’s almost lost an arm once to a “cute” and “innocent”-looking rabbit that had possessed razor-sharp fangs and a thirst for blood.

But today, when he reached his usual hunting grounds, he heard the cry of something new. A roar, unlike anything he knew… or that he thought he knew. After hearing it again, he smirked, his eyebrows turning down.

"Ah, Roman, let one of your pets out to play again, didn't you?" He muttered. Roman was constantly making Dragon Witches and letting them loose in the Mindscape, a lot of the time setting them after Remus. But he had done away with hundreds of them. What was one more? He knew his morningstar couldn't hurt them, so he manifested a sword and a mace, hands tightening on the grips. Slowly venturing further, he eyed the overcast sky until a darker shadow streaked across in almost a fraction of a second. He heard the roar again, and he flipped his sword around in his hand. "Come out, come out, wherever you are..." He muttered in a sing-song voice.

The shadow swooped lower and Remus planted his feet, watching his target. "Gotcha." He drew back his arm and threw his sword, watching it fly through the air, then a loud screech brought a triumphant laugh from him. "HAHA!! I got you!!" He heard a thud on the ground far off, and he ran to retrieve his sword and admire his win. A smile was on his face as he pushed back branches to reach a small clearing, full of weeds and knee-high grass. He raised his eyebrow, looking around as his smile faded. He saw no body of the dragon anywhere, but he knew that this had to be where it had landed. He slowly started across the clearing, then the smell of blood hit his nose. Fresh and pure. But...it didn't smell like Dragon blood…

He continued, using his mace to push some thick areas of grass out of the way, then up ahead he saw a flattened down area as if something had landed. He kept on his course towards it, then he raised his eyebrow when he saw the shape that lay motionless on the ground. It wasn't like any creature he'd ever fought... it looked like...a man? He lifted his mace onto his shoulder, walking forward with a curious face. "What the hell..." He muttered. As he got closer, he could see that it was indeed a man, with all black clothing and spiked hair and sharp...glasses…

Remus' breath hitched in his throat as he saw the moonlight glint off of the small star charms cuffed to the man's left ear. "Logan..." The mace fell from his hand and he sprinted to the fallen man's side, lifting him up in his arms. "LOGAN!" Remus' eyes widened further than he thought they could when his gaze fell on the large wound that slashed across his chest, blood soaking his dark clothes. The same crimson liquid ran from Logan's mouth and down the side of his head from another cut. His breath was faint, eyes closed, head hanging limply over Remus' arm.

Remus shook his own head slowly, barely able to breathe. "No...no, no, no..." He murmured, then he rose to his feet immediately with Logan in his arms, flashing back to the Dark Side common area. Laying Logan on the couch gently, he brushed his hair, tears running down his face. He had done this... why had Logan been in the Mindscape Subconscious in the first place, and how in the hell had he been a Dragon?! But none of that mattered. All that mattered was making sure that Logan stayed alive. Remus started to call for someone, then froze in fear as he realized that if he told the truth about what actually happened, he'd never be spoken to or looked upon again. They would make sure he never saw Logan once, and his life would be back to the miserable mess it was, attempting suicide again and again. So he thought of the only lie plausible and then screamed for the others. "VIRGIL!! ROMAN!! PATTON!!! DEE!!! HELP!!!"

Virgil was the first to appear, Remus’s panic already bleeding through the mindspace and warning the Anxious side that something was wrong. His eyes widened, taking in Logan’s bloody and limp form, and he rushed over to check for a pulse. Roman appeared shortly after, sword brandished and looking for something to fight.

“What’s wro-” the sword vanished as Roman stumbled over next to Virgil. “Is he-?”

“He’s alive,” Virgil said, “But just barely. Go keep an eye on Thomas - if anything is going to send him into a horrible, dysfunctional breakdown, it’d be this.”

“You can count on me,” Roman said, sinking out.

A creak of a door opening and Deceit was stumbling out of his room dressed in a robe, his nightly facemask already on. “What’s the emergency?” he yawned, somewhat used to Remus randomly screaming when he got too bored, but he stopped as he saw Logan bleeding out on their couch. “Get the others,” he told Virgil, who nodded and vanished. Deceit's outfit morphed back to his typical daily attire, then he manifested some bandages and pressed them to the gash across Logan’s chest. Using short commands to avoid being misunderstood, Deceit said, “Apply pressure,” to Remus, who quickly obeyed. Deceit then checked Logan for other obvious wounds, finding a cut inside his mouth where his teeth had sliced the inside of his cheek, and another cut on his head that was quickly swelling into a tender knot.

“What happened?” he demanded, knowing that they had only moments before Virgil would return with the others. “Tell me, Remus, now.”

Remus bit his lip, not wanting to tell the lie to his best friend but feeling that he had no choice. "I found him in the Subconscious. He must have been attacked by a monster." He said, his voice cracking. Technically, Remus thought bitterly, it wasn’t a lie at all. Only a monster wouldn’t recognize their lover in any form. Who else but a monster would attack another side so viciously?

Deceit’s eyes narrowed, but if Remus was lying, it was a fib close enough to the truth that he couldn’t detect it. He knew that Remus spent an exorbitant amount of time in the subconscious, so it was plausible that he could be telling the truth. Deceit decided not to press him - as long as Remus wasn’t outright deceiving him, he would let it slide in favor of more pressing matters. Manifesting a pair of scissors, Deceit began to cut away at Logan’s shirt so they could better access the wound on his chest. Lifting the bloody fabric away, Deceit noticed less-fresh cuts spanning across the width of Logan’s chest, forming an intricate pattern. “Your work, I presume?”

“He-- I--” Remus stuttered.

Deceit shook his head, “Doesn’t matter.” He took over from Remus, applying pressure on the bandages. “Kitchen bowl. Warm water,” he said, and Remus leaped up, sprinting to the kitchen to fetch the required items.

Gathering the items Deceit asked of him quickly, Remus was on his way back to the couch from the kitchen when he heard another frantic voice.

"Oh my goodness, WHAT HAPPENED?! LO!!!"

Remus flinched at Patton's screech, running back in. He knelt next to Deceit, handing him the bowl then turning to face Patton.

"It...it's going to be okay, Pat. We're gonna help him. I'm not going to let anything happen to him."

Virgil knelt next to Deceit and manifested a washcloth, using the warm water to wash away the blood. Deceit was still holding the bandage down tight, but he’d manifested a few extra hands so he could balance the bowl of warm water while also keeping a finger on Logan’s pulse.

“He was supposed to be reading! In his room!!!” Patton exclaimed, waving his hands wildly as he freaked out. “What happened??”

“I… I found him in the Subconscious,” Remus explained again, sticking to the lie he’d told Deceit. “There’s a lot of monsters down there… he must have been attacked.”

“What was he doing down there?” Patton gaped at him in astonishment, “Did you see what attacked him?”

“No,” Remus shifted guiltily, “It was too dark to get a good look.” He took Logan's hand in his own, closing his eyes as he felt the very faint pulse running through his paling skin. "C' mon, Lo...just hang on..." He begged, then under his breath he muttered, "I'm so sorry...I didn't know it was you..."

Virgil suddenly jerked, his head shooting up to meet Patton’s gaze. “Thomas is calling - it must be more than Roman can handle. Pat, can you-” he was going to ask Patton to go comfort Thomas while he helped Dee, but a worried Patton would probably just make Thomas worse. Instead, he handed the washcloth to Patton, “-take over for me here, while I go see what Thomas needs?”

Patton nodded and began cleaning Logan’s wound as Virgil sunk out. Remus bit his lip, counting the seconds until-

“Wha-what are these?” Patton stroked the washcloth gently over the cuts forming the chemical formula. He looked up at Remus, who couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Not important.” Deceit said firmly. Patton stared at him for a moment, about to object, and then thought better of it. “Can’t you… not… heal him?” Deceit forced out, the double negative tripping up his tongue.

Patton hesitated, wide-eyed, “I… the last time I tried, it hurt him!”

“He is… not… gravely injured already,” Deceit grimaced. “Worth… a try…”

Patton frowned, biting his lip, then he nodded. His hands hovered over Logan for a moment, then he slowly placed it on Logan's chest, hoping it would work.  "Please..." He whispered, then Logan jolted, moaning in pain, his breath becoming short and ragged. Patton drew back quickly, eyes wide and ready with tears. "I...I don't understand!! Why can't I heal him?!" He cried.

Deceit didn’t bother trying to comfort Patton, there was no time. “Remus!” he snapped, and the side’s head jerked up. “Try.”

“But,” Remus said, looking between Logan to Patton and back to Deceit, “I can’t- it’s not- healing isn’t one of my powers! I can’t even heal myself!”

“TRY.” Deceit growled again, his voice reverberating.

Remus gulped, nodding. He copied what Patton had done, placed his hands gently on Logan’s chest, and closed his eyes. He tried to focus on anything good he possibly could. Unicorn porn. Gay rainbows. Sex. With Logan. But that last thought just brought him more visions of knives and all thoughts of any type of healing left his head completely and were immediately replaced with blood. And as much as he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about them. After all, there was no way to force intrusive thoughts out of his head. He knew that better than anyone.

He took his hands away after his head started to hurt, dropping it forward with a sigh. "I can't..." He said quietly. "I'm sorry..." His voice was broken, and Deceit could tell that Remus was hiding something. He had told a lie. He didn't know where, but he knew that something was off about the Duke.

“Get Thomas.” Deceit hissed, before focusing back on Logan. He was out of ideas, but maybe the host could do something. If they lost Logic… the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.

Quickly sinking out, Remus rose up in the Real World, where Thomas was huddled on his couch, shaking and hugging his knees while Roman rubbed circles into his back. Virgil was perched next to him, trying to talk him through breathing exercises, but it didn’t appear to be helping.

Roman looked up at Remus’s entrance, hope fading as he took in the expression on Remus’s face. “Damn.” he muttered, causing Thomas to look up.

“Wha-?” Thomas noticed Remus, noticed the tears marring his eyeshadow, and the blood staining his sash and turning his shirt an even darker black. “You’re all bloody,” he mumbled.

Remus glanced at Virgil, who sighed, “Logic… isn’t working right now. Obviously.”

Thomas' eyes went wide. "What...what do you mean? What happened to him?"

“Logan got hurt. Really bad.” Remus said, avoiding the details. “We… we can’t heal him. Dee’s hoping that you can.”

“I...I don’t know how,” Thomas fretted, wringing his hands. “Roman… Virge… I don’t… What do I do?”

Roman stood up, holding out a hand to pull Thomas to his feet. “You come with us, back into the mindspace. Patton will show you what to do, and together we will save Logan.”

Thomas nodded shakily, biting his lip. "O-okay..." He took a deep breath as Virgil and Roman sunk out with him.

Remus stayed topside for a minute, praying to whatever he could that he hadn't messed everything up. That Logan wouldn't die...well, it wasn't really possible for him to die...At least, he didn't think. He then began to worry. 'Maybe...since Lo is completely different than us...he can die?' He thought painfully. What would happen to Thomas without Logan? It's impossible to live without Logic...you need it to breathe and to think! He couldn't die!! He couldn't!

Remus clenched his fists, ready to tear himself apart, just like he had told Roman that he would if he ever hurt Logan. But if he did, and Logan survived, then he'd be leaving Logan alone and he'd never get to see him smile again because the others would know it was Remus' fault. Either way, Remus felt like his whole world was collapsing around him. He knew that getting close to someone was dangerous. He knew that he should have called it off. But he was happier than he had ever even dreamed of being when he was with Logan…

Happy. What an abstract concept. Did Remus believe that he'd ever feel happy again? That everything would be fine? Hardly. What was the point of hoping if you just get let down? He'd had too much pain in his life already, and now he had caused the ultimate mistake... he had attacked his love. Remus felt the tears begin to roll down his cheeks, sniffing as he tried to wipe them away. But they wouldn't go away. He knew they wouldn't. Why should they?

Pain. Pain was good. Guilt. It was Just. Rage. He hated himself. Sorrow. He was losing everything. Gone. He opened his eyes finally, not even realizing that he had sunk to his knees. Gone... 

"They'd be better off without me... They were all so happy before I showed up again..." Remus muttered. He wanted to leave. He wanted to make sure that they never had to deal with him again. He'd go to the Subconscious and stay there. Alone. Just like he should be. So he couldn't hurt anyone else.

But...something kept telling him he had to stay. And he knew what that something was. Logan. He had to make sure that the others didn't lose Logan. As soon as he knew he was okay, then he would leave. He knew it would shatter his heart into a million pieces, and he knew that it would possibly break Logan's heart too, but it was for the best... Logan would mend. He was the type of person who was strong enough to come back from something like that. Remus wasn't. He hadn't been strong enough ever since he and Roman split. Something inside him had broken that day, and it never put itself back together. And he knew that keeping his broken self locked away from the others to keep them safe was the best thing he could do. It was the only thing he could do.

Nodding to himself, Remus wiped the tears away with his sleeve. He had a plan now, and he knew what he had to do. Sinking out, he reappeared in the Dark sides’ common area.

“Where have you been?” Patton grabbed Remus’s sleeve, dragging him forward. “Thomas is going to try to heal Lo, and we all have to help him if this is gonna work.”

Thomas was kneeling next to the couch, eyes closed, with his hands on Logan’s chest. The other sides formed a semi-circle around him, each with one hand laid on Thomas’s back, providing him strength and energy. Remus and Patton completed the semi-circle, and together they connected to Thomas.

The circuit complete, Thomas gasped, his head thrown back as the power of all the sides coursed through him and into Logan. Light filled the room as Thomas began to glow, casting rainbows that danced and sparkled across every surface. The light flowed from Thomas’s hands into Logan, and the logical side shuddered.

Everyone held their breath.

Slowly, like watching a timelapse of a sunrise, the wounds began to heal. Blood seeped back under the skin, and all the wounds knit back together before their eyes. Remus felt a pang of loss as the chemical formula he’d so carefully etched into Logan’s chest vanished, leaving unblemished skin behind.

Logan jolted, the last of his wounds healing, gasping as his eyes shot open.

Patton's eyes widened. "LO!!" He threw himself down with a bear hug, shocking the intellectual, who caught Thomas' eye. 

"What...what just happened?" He asked, his words slightly slurred but still understandable. He blinked hard, clearing his throat, a signal for Patton to get off. Morality let go and sat back with a sheepish smile. 

"Sorry."

Thomas laid his hand on Logan's shoulder. "You were gravely wounded, and we all worked together to help heal you.”

“Remus said that he found you in the Subconscious, that you must have been attacked by a monster," Patton explained, and Logan put a hand to his head.

"Yeah...I had gone there so I could just fly around, y' know? Night Fury, always night time there, and it's really freeing. But then I was hit by something, fell out of the sky, and that's the last thing I remember." He shrugged. "It must have been one of the Dragon Witches or something that Roman keeps forgetting he makes that then go dark."

Roman crossed his arms. "HEY!" 

"It wasn't a Dragon Witch."

Everyone turned to see Remus staring down at the floor, rubbing his arm. "It wasn't a monster, either." He scoffed. "Well, that could be debated." He said, sounding like he was holding back tears.

Roman raised his eyebrow. "Re, what do you mean?" He asked. Logan sat up behind him and eyed his boyfriend with concern.

"Remus? Are you okay?" He asked, standing up and taking a step forward before Remus held his hand up. 

"No, Logan. Don't come any closer." He said, Logan freezing with wide eyes. 

"What?" He saw a tear run down Remus' cheek, then the Duke finally raised his head to look at everyone, facing their curious stares. 

"It...it was my fault..." He said shakily, the eyes of everyone suddenly widening. He wrapped his arms around himself. "I went to the subconscious to go monster hunting like I usually do, and I thought I heard one of Roman's Dragon Witches. It was really dark, and all I saw was the shadow, but still I threw my sword, and... I heard the dragon fall." His breath became short as Logan stared at him with the largest eyes. "When I got closer to where I thought it had landed, I didn't see anything at first...  then I saw someone lying in the clearing, and as I got closer... I saw it was Lo. The second that I saw the wound I knew that it had been me who did this." Tears streaked down his cheeks, and he took a step back. "Y-You're all safer without me." He choked out.

Logan shook his head. "Remus, please. Don't say that. I forgive you. With all my heart. If anything, I'm at fault. I hadn’t had a chance to tell you I could morph, so you had no way of knowing the Dragon was me, nor could you have expected me to be out in the Subconscious in the first place. So please. Don't do this to yourself."

Remus clenched his fists. "Don't you get it, Logan?! I could have killed you!!" He screeched, tears pouring now. He shook his head. "You're in danger anytime you're near me! I'm not a good person. I'm not!! I told you the first time we ever talked civilly and when we first started dating that you can't fix a shattered mirror without getting cut. This is my fault!! I'm worthless!!! What purpose do I even serve?! I'm never needed, and when I do show up, no one wants to see me. Why would they?!" He laughed sadly, shaking his head. "I don't blame you all for hating me. I mean, what am I but filth?!" 

He looked at his brother, who held the expression of someone who was being stabbed through the chest. "You're the good brother, Ro. You're the real hero, and you're the one everyone deserves. You're better than me. You always have been. You make them happy, and I'm glad for that. I'm glad that you have people who care about you."

Logan started towards Remus. "What do you mean?! I care about you, Remus!!! I LOVE YOU, for Newton's sake!!" His lip was quivering, although barely noticeable. The others could hear the tears in his voice. "I love you..." He choked out.

Remus nodded, meeting Logan's eyes, getting lost in the deep ocean they held just like every single time he stared into them. "I know. I love you too. And that's why I won't let you get hurt again because of me." He closed his eyes with a shaky breath. "Goodbye."

Logan's eyes shot open. "NO, REMUS, WAIT!" He shouted, but Remus disappeared before his eyes, and the room was dead silent as Logan stood, his hand outstretched to where Remus hand been standing, frozen in pain. His chest tightened as his shoulders started to shake with silent sobs.

"Remus..."

Logan began to sink out, trying to follow Remus even though he didn’t have a clue where his (ex? No, don’t think about that) boyfriend was headed, but Virgil grabbed him around the waist and hauled him back up, muttering, “Dude, you can’t-”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT I CAN’T DO RIGHT NOW!” Logan screamed, shoving Virgil away to land in a sprawl on the couch.

Virgil leaped forward again, grabbing Logan by the wrist and holding on firmly, “You almost DIED, Lo!” he shouted back, “I’m NOT going to lose you again, not after we just got you back!”

Logan glared at him and Virgil glared right back, the others in the room too frightened to say anything lest they make the situation worse.

“At least stop and think,” Virgil said at last, “Use that big brain of yours. Remus has probably gone back to the subconscious, and you aren’t going to fix anything by blindly running after him. I doubt you even could find him if he wanted to stay hidden - nobody knows that part of the mind like Remus.”

“That’s true,” Roman admitted. When the others looked at him curiously, he elaborated, “Re and I used to play hide and seek, once upon a time. He always knew the best places to hide.”

“This is all very fascinating,” Deceit drawled, “But if the crisis is over, I’m not going to go back to bed.”

“Dee!” Patton yelped, scandalized, “The crisis isn’t over! We have to figure out how to get Remus back!”

“Or,” Deceit shrugged nonchalantly, “You could not respect his decision. Remus isn’t a grown man and he certainly can’t make his own choices.”

“They’re not his own choices if they’re hurting Thomas.” Virgil snapped.

“Does Thomas look hurt to you?” Deceit said, and all the sides turned to look at Thomas, who patted his chest self-consciously.

“I… I don’t feel hurt?” Thomas admitted. “At least… I feel a lot better than I did a few minutes ago when Logan was…” he trailed off.

“See?” Deceit said, “Remus is definitely a primary function, and Thomas is obviously affected by his departure. Unless something else is wrong, please do disturb me again.” He waved off their protests, going back into his room and shutting the door firmly behind him. Letting the careless facade fall, Deceit quickly crossed the room and exited out his own back door, taking a shortcut around the edge of the subconscious and hoping he wasn’t too late.

~*~

Remus was in his room, shoving clothes and weapons into a duffle bag. He knew from past experience that the longer he stayed in the subconscious for any given length of time, the weaker his powers would become, and after a few days, he’d usually lose the ability to conjure more than a bit of food and water to keep himself going. A few days after that...

He worked fast, afraid that one of the others would follow him and wanting to get as big of a headstart as he could. He pulled drawers out of chests, dumping the contents into his bag before tossing the drawer aside and moving on to the next. What little he’d managed to tidy up that morning was long undone, his room now looking like a tornado was passing through it.

Remus pulled the drawer of knives out of the nightstand and was about to dump them in, too, when his gaze caught on the knife. The knife Logan had used to cut him, the same knife Logan had let him return the favor with. He touched the blade, drawing a small pinprick of blood from his finger, and gasped as the tears threatened to overwhelm him again. Gently setting the knife back down on the top of the nightstand, he dumped the rest of the blades into his bag and closed the zipper. He wasn’t worthy enough to keep any mementos, and soon it wouldn’t matter anyways - he’d wander the subconscious until he was too weak to fend off the nightmares, and then he’d be killed and probably reabsorbed into the ether from which he’d been created. Any belongings he left behind would either be re-absorbed into Thomas’s mind or re-assigned to another side. Tossing the strap of the duffle bag over one shoulder, he headed out the back door of his room and made it down the steps before a voice in the darkness stopped him in his tracks.

“Leaving so soon?” Deceit hissed from the shadows.

Remus jumped, spinning around with wide eyes to stare at the snake-faced man. 

"D-Deceit...." He gritted his teeth. "JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!! NO ONE NEEDS ME! I'M USELESS AND ALL I EVER DO IS HURT PEOPLE!!" He pursed his lips, holding back tears. "I'm doing everyone a favor." He turned and started to walk away again.

Deceit shook his head, dropping his lies that he had never needed with his friend anyway. "Are you that desperate to kill yourself, Remus? Your boyfriend is about ready to jump ship, too, because you just broke his goddamn heart!!" Deceit yelled, stopping Remus in his tracks. 

He had never, ever, heard Deceit yell. And that tone was absolutely terrifying. Whenever Deceit was really serious about something, he would cut all his lies. And he just had.

Remus rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, sniffing. "He...he's better off without me, Dee. I told him that when he first told me he loved me. I told him that I was just too dangerous and something was bound to happen. I wanted to just accept that we had feelings for each other and move on. I never expected to actually stay with him. I never...I never thought that he'd actually love me."

Remus blinked back more tears. "Dee, I'm giving up all that I've ever wanted and all that I've ever had to keep them safe. Now, they may think that I'm a Dark Side, but that doesn't mean jack shit. I care about the lot of them, especially Logan and my brother. So, just let me be! Let me fade away and never bother anyone ever again." He turned his head away. "Please."

“Make me a deal,” Deceit demanded. Remus paused, not turning back, but not walking away either. “One week. There’s a… bomb shelter, for lack of a better term, in my room. No one else knows about it. Stay there, for one week, and if you still feel like killing yourself, I’ll let you run off on your fool’s errand.” Now Deceit was lying through his teeth - he would do whatever was necessary to stop Remus - if he had to, he’d knock Remus out and lock him in the bomb shelter for years without his permission, but it was easier for everyone involved if Remus submitted willingly. “I won’t stop you. But give me this. For old time’s sake. You owe me that much.”

Remus sighed, and Deceit knew he’d already won, “...one week?”

“Yessssss.”

“And then you’ll let me go?”

“Of course.”

“...fine.”

Deceit led the way back to his room, making sure Remus followed close behind and didn’t run off. Entering his room, he checked to make sure none of the other sides had come in while he was gone and then set to work. Remus watched askance as Deceit walked over to what looked like a window made with a stained yellow glass mosaic. Dee pressed several shards of glass in what appeared to be a random order, and a panel on the wall slid away to reveal a large button. Dee pressed the button, and what had been a normal section of the floor mostly hidden by a rug lifted up at an angle, revealing a set of stairs. “After you,” Deceit gestured to the stairs.

Remus wasn’t sure why he felt more nervous descending into Deceit’s “panic room” than he did heading towards oblivion in the subconscious, but he swallowed down the uneasy feeling and headed down the stairs. His movements triggered lights to come on, and the stairs opened up into a wide underground area set up like a studio apartment, filled with enough food and entertainment to keep him busy for months. Books lined the walls, movies and games were stacked next to the TV, and since he was still in the mindscape, Remus could always manifest toys and games to keep himself busy. “Try not to wreck the place,” Dee said, knowing it was a futile request.

“No promises,” Remus said, flopping onto the couch and burying his face into the cushions.

Deceit turned to go, “The door will lock behind me, and it is programmed to open for me alone. Text me if you need anything.” Remus waved him off, and Deceit left him to it. Once he was back in his room, he made sure that the trapdoor in the floor was fully concealed again, with no sign that anything was amiss.

Finally allowing himself to sprawl face-up on his bed, Deceit let himself relax for what felt like the first time in hours. Logan was healed and safe for the moment, and Remus was tucked away for his own good. He had a week to work on changing Remus’s mind, as well as keeping Logan from killing himself as he scoured the subconscious for Remus. The next seven days were going to be hell, but at least he had time to try to fix things. Rolling over on his side and cuddling his favorite snake plushie, Deceit let himself drift off to sleep.

[aikatxt]

in the shallows, my reflection showed me ophelia, drowned and free

I dream of drowning most nights, waking up with water in my lungs and gasping for breath. The feeling of being pulled under is familiar, and the weightlessness that comes from the jump is addicting. Perhaps I am some reborn tragedy. It's hard to tell much of anything when the days are as dark as nights and the world only speaks in whispers. My mind is filled with holes. I remember a smile, but cannot recall who is belonged to. What is real and what is dream? Is it the love, or the dying? When I was little, I saw my home as a dark stone castle. My father carried a sword on his waist, but when I asked him about it, he laughed at the imagination of a young girl playing princess. I don't tell him I was never a princess. I was just a pawn. Eventually, I learned to still my tongue. Silence protects me. Nothing else will, after all.

If I were a romantic, I would call myself a reborn Ophelia, dressed in flowers and clinging to a dead love. I know better; even in her death, Ophelia was used for the sake of men. Her one act of freedom -- her drowning -- turned into beauty and desire by men who held a paintbrush in their grasp. Tell me, where is Ophelia, hair wild and skin streaked with dirt, fists full of torn flowers, screaming, "Oh heat!" as a consequence to the actions of others. I wait, endlessly, to feel the clarity flee me, turn my mind into a numb, unknowing mess. But it will not be today. I won't die yet.

"How have you been? I've missed you more than I can bear." His voice is honey-sweet, and I, the foolish fly trapped in it. He's a lovely as ever, but there's a glint of something mad, something desperate in his eyes. He doesn't know, or maybe he does, that I've seen him before, in the days he returned to this old town with his friend in tow. Is this a trick? Some way to use me to hide himself? My heart is stuck in my throat. I don't answer. I just look away. "Come, won't you spend a day with me? It's been years since we had any time together." I go, because I never learn from my mistakes. He chatters about anything and everything, but says little about himself. His words are tossed into the air in an attempt to fill the silence. I know we're being followed. He must know too. Our fathers trail after us in the shadows to make sure we don't do anything we're not supposed to. I guess they haven't figured out yet that we don't love each other. "Tell me," I say, breaking my silence for the first time that night, "Why did you come back?" He stops and stares into the pansies. "What do you mean?" "You wanted to get out of here so badly. Spoke about it non-stop. Did whatever you could to get into a college on the other side of the country. Why did you come back?" "I was homesick." It's been years, yes, but I still know him well. "This isn't home. Not really." His father isn't dead. There's no tragedy that could have dragged him back here, into this small town of old money, where scandals pop up everyday and are swept under the rug the next. It's all a power play, and leaving means running away. It means you're not fit to have any power at all. "They want to marry us," he says suddenly. Off-topic, but he rarely does things without reason. I wait for him to continue, pulling my hair off my shoulders and throwing it behind my back. "Threatened to disown me. They control everything, you know. My cards, my education, my job. If I didn't come back I'd be tossed to the streets like trash." "Take what's yours then. But leave me out of it." I leave, and it only hurts a little.

My father asks me about it, of course. Asks if I've spoken to him, what I feel for him, mentions wanting me married off. Whatever boldness I had before is gone. I don't speak before my father. But when he stands to leave, having said his piece, I toss a cup off the table and watch the glass shatter on the floor. He's too shocked to stop me from leaving. Some of the glass digs into my feet, leaves bloody footprints behind me, but I feel nothing through the panic and satisfaction coursing through me. A helpless damsel gets tired of the routine eventually, after all.

They try to threaten me next, of course. It's always the next step to them. Persuade, trick people into accepting their terms. If that doesn't work, threaten them to fear coerces them into it. My potential husband is jittery, and his friend looks out the window and pretends he's not in the room. It seems I'm the only one who knows they're dating. Our fathers leave to let us "think it through". I stand the moment the door closes and straighten my dress. "I didn't listen to a word they said. Was it anything important?" "They threatened to disown us and publicly humiliate us so we have no future. Aren't you scared?" "They could do worse," I smile. "Come on, start packing." His friend turns from the window. "You're very different from who I expected to meet." "And who did you expect in my place?" He shrugs, taking a moment to carefully consider his words. "Someone more timid. Someone who lets others walk over them and follows orders without a second thought. But you're much stronger than that. Sometimes you're quiet and do as you're told, and other times you refuse and ruin things to prove a point. Why?" I pull out a suitcase from the closet and and pass it off to them. Why indeed. I'm sure they all tried to recreate Ophelia in me, create a timid and weak pawn who hurt others if ordered to. Maybe they succeeded, to some extent. I dream of drowning and of pulling flowers from my ribcage. I live without feeling love, trapped in this little town with people I would rather watch burn. How much of what I do is survival, and how much is surrender? But maybe they didn't know much about Ophelia at all. I am her, she is me, and the world still doesn't understand us. "I grew up here, unable to leave. Did you think they'd let me go to college when they want a perfect trophy wife to sell to the best suitor? I obey and I disobey. This is just how I am. Both the grandiose and the depressed, the best and the worst, always at the mercy of my unfit mind. I oscillate between more suffering and less suffering. It's all I know. I don't think I'd know what to do if I ever lived a day free of pain. I don't know who I am without tragedy flowing through my veins. I'm sacred to live away from this even if it's all I want." They share a look at my words, but say nothing. It seems my silence is contagious. "Pack and leave at one in the morning. I'm going out to destroy the gardens."

My childhood best friend and his boyfriend are gone the next day. As is the garden, once grand and beautiful. Now, it lies ripped apart, flowers throw into stone paths, bushes set on fire, statues defaced. My punishment is one of the harsher ones I've had in a while: locked in my room, one small meal a day, for the rest of the month. I tie together all my bed sheets and curtains and dressed and use this makeshift rope to climb out my window that night. I run barefoot through the town as I hear people shout behind me. The barking of hounds follows me through the forest as I run, feeling free and wild and alive. I leave no flowers behind me. They don't deserve to have any piece of me. And when the river comes, I jump in without hesitation. The current pulls me under, dragged me down it's length, harsh and unforgiving. Ophelia died in a quiet lake; drowning is the same in either place. It would be scary if it wasn't an act of freedom. I want to laugh, but water rushes in and chokes me. My heart pounds so hard I am sure to find bruises on my chest. I kick off my shoes and swim up until I'm pulling myself onto the opposite bank. The lights of the town, of my old prison, is gone. I look ahead, and walk on.

[dirtyahs]

Kinky Little Secret. Edward Mott x Reader

I didn’t realize I wanted kinky sex with edward mott until one of my friends brought it up lmao

WARNINGS: rough sex, dom!edward, sub!reader, not explicit consent, power play

Your eyes opened at precisely 5 o'clock in the morning. Just like yesterday and just like tomorrow. It was part of your everyday routine. Wake up early, make breakfast for the house, but for Edward specifically, and tend to whatever he asked you to do for the rest of the day. 

You were his favorite though, so he never made you do anything too terribly difficult. And you always got to stay inside. It was time however for you to pull yourself out of bed, and make your way upstairs. You slid on your dress you wore every day, and did your hair in a thick braid down your back. You made your way up the stairs from your room in the basement and into the kitchen, opening the large windows and began cooking breakfast for Edward and the rest of the house. Once breakfast was finished you walked down the hall, knocking on everyone's doors to wake them up. But one plate was in your hand, and at the end of the hall, you turned the corner and made your way upstairs to Edward's room, tapping the door lightly.

"Come in." You heard his voice from the inside, firm and demanding. He was always demanding of you, but as said previously, he took care of you. Him being a bit controlling was a small price to pay for such good treatment.

"Good morning, Mr. Mott." you smiled, pushing the door open and setting the plate on the dressing table.You opened the door to reveal him shirtless, without his wig.

"O-oh, sir I'm sorry..." You said, immediately averting your eyes from the sight, as much as you wanted to stare.

"Don't worry dear, I'm not going to punish you for coming in when I told you to." He said, chuckling a bit at your shyness. You obeyed though, looking up at him slowly, a withdrawn smile on your face.

"Will you do me the favor of running the bath? I'll get in after I eat breakfast - it looks lovely." Edward said, stepping towards you smiling close to your face before stepping past you to the dressing table and picking his plate up.

You nodded your head, 

"Yes sir." You walked through the doorway leading to the large beautiful bathroom he had built for himself. He really did live a life of pure luxury. You did the whole process of retrieving the water from the well and boiling it to the perfect temperature you knew he preferred. You brought the water upstairs to the bathroom and finally filled the tub, you were bent over to make sure none of the water splashed to the floor - Edward hated that. 

You heard the door close and felt a pair of hands on your hips, immediately making you jump.

"Shh, it's just me." you heard Edward whisper, his large hands gripping your hips with ease.

 "Mr. Mott..." he brought his hand up to your mouth, his finger brushing along your lips to silence you.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've seen." you felt his breath on your neck, your head tilting to the side instinctively to make more room for his lips.He pressed a few kisses into your neck.

 "There's nothing more amazing than having such a spectacular looking woman waiting on me." he emphasized the last part, forcing you to turn around.

"You might take this as a shock, but I want to take care of you now." his voice got louder and louder until he pushed you onto his bed, crawling over you, straddling your hips. You couldn't help but be surprised but your heart was racing and your fingers were jittery.

You smirked at him, 

"Mr. Mott wants to sleep with a lowly servant?" You teased him, your voice low. His face went dead and his jaw locked. He stood up, grabbed your ankles and pulled you to edge of the bed with no words.

"Bend over." His voice was loud, and thundered over you, forcing the smirk right off of your face. 

You did as he said, he wasn't one to disobey when he was angry. His hands immediately untied the back of your dress and slid it down to reveal your body, taking no time to crash down onto your ass, making you cry out in pain.

"Don't you forget your place!" he yelled at you, almost loud enough to make the walls shake.

"You are still here to serve me!" he spanked you hard, over and over, and over again, leaving your ass bright red and throbbing. You loved it though. It hurt so badly, but coming from Edward, you couldn't help but love it.

"I'm sorry, sir. I know my place, I'm sorry!" you whined, looking at him over your shoulder, your eyes locking with his.

"That's what I wanted to hear. Know your place." he hissed, sliding his trousers down before flipping you onto your back and crouching down between your thighs. 

He took no time in roughly attaching his lips to your clit, flicking his tongue over it repeatedly, making your thighs tremble in his hands. You couldn't help but hiss his name through clenched teeth, your eyes rolled back in your head. His tongue had you so close to your climax, and he could tell. You felt him smirk against your thighs before he looked up at you. He leaned up, a cocky look was plastered to his face.

Your chest was heaving, and his hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you to your knees in front of him.

"Open your mouth. Don't close it unless you're trying to be punished." you did as he said, opening your mouth for him, almost immediately forcing himself in. You heard him moan instantly which instinctively sent chills down your spine. His hand was tangled in your hair, holding your head still as he fucked your throat roughly, watching you with an intense eye. You felt tears well in your eyes, simply because of how hard he was slamming his cock down your throat. You loved it.

"Good girl..." he moaned before pulling out of your mouth abruptly, finally allowing you to gasp for air. He pulled you up by your hair and pulled you in close to his face. Edward pushed you up against the wall harshly, his hand holding your face tightly.

"Fuck me..." you begged quietly, looking up at him with desperate eyes.

"Louder." his lips were touching yours softly, making you want him even more.

"For God's sake Edward, fuck me!" that was the first time you'd ever called him by his first name. He chuckled a bit and shoved you against the wall harder, grabbing one of your legs to wrap around his waist. With one quick move, he buried his dick deep inside you, making you arch your back against the wall.

"What do you say?" he hissed, slamming into you slowly, but incredibly hard. "Thank you!" you whined desperately. You needed him so bad. You couldn't believe this was even happening - the owner of this amazing house and your employer was fucking you senseless in his bedroom. With your words, his pace quickened and his face was twisted with pure ecstasy, but your eyes stayed locked.

He didn't stop. Not for a long time.

 He kept fucking you until you were a soaking wet mess, unable to even form words to tell him you were close.You two finished together, and he finally kissed you.

 He pressed his lips to yours - almost lovingly. Almost. 

You didn't want to jump to conclusions.You smiled at him once he pulled back.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning to do this again." he kept you pressed to the wall for a moment before stepping back and getting dressed. With that, you slid your dress back on and redid your braid - it'd gotten rather messy.

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Mott." You gave him a flirtatious smirk, closing the door behind you.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

[captainblogit]

Short story time!

The Princess in the Tower --Prologue-- Once upon a time, there was a King and Queen who lived in a magnificent castle. One day, the Queen gave birth to a baby girl, who they named Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s beauty drove the King to tears, for she looked just like his beloved Queen. Her eyes sparkled like stars, and her dark curly hair sprung around her flawless ebony face whenever she moved. But the King and Queen knew that a prince will pursue her one day. The last thing parents want is for their kids to be unhappy, so they raised Elizabeth to be independent. She could wield a weapon as well as any royal guard, could ride like any royal knight, and her knowledge far surpassed that of the Kingdom Library. The King and Queen were very proud of their daughter.            When Elizabeth came of age, her parents called her into the throne room and told her that suitors will likely start courting her. ‘What will you have me do?’ Her parents exchanged a look before the Queen spoke. ‘Do whatever you see fit to find the right partner.’ The princess stared down at her slippers, thinking back to her countless hours in the library. A strange clarity filled her eyes and her cheeks glowed. ‘Father, Mother,’ she sang, ‘may I take up residence in the tower?’ Her parents frowned at each other, but they knew their Elizabeth is no fool. They agreed, and gave Elizabeth the key to the tower. The princess made all her plans in private; not even the King and Queen knew what she was up to! But they trusted their skills as parents and their daughter’s undeniable intellect to not interfere. Part One: Soon, the first suitor arrived at the gate. ‘Open the gate, my dear King! I am here to win your daughter’s hand!’ His white horse pounded the ground fiercely, seeming just as proud as its rider. The King, biting back the things he would have liked to say to the entitled prince, simply repeated what Elizabeth told him to say: ‘Oh brave prince! I’m afraid the princess is in peril! A wicked dragon stole her last night and is holding her captive in the tower! If you can save her, you will have her as your wife.’ The prince puckered his lips at the inconvenience, but said nothing as he turned his steed around, heading for the tower. Elizabeth had just finished the last of her preparations when she heard the thundering gallop of a horse’s hooves. Leaning out the window, she plead: ‘Oh brave prince! You must slay the dragon!’ The prince heard her cries of distress and stormed the tower, sword drawn. As he pulled open the door, smoke engulfed him in darkness. The stench of burning cloth made him gag. But the princess is said to be the most perfect of them all, and he shall have her, he decided. He continued up the tower before hearing a threatening rumbling. ‘Who dare challenge me?’ Just like the King said, a dragon was guarding the entrance to the princess’ prison. Swallowing hard and trying to still his hands, the prince bellowed: ‘Release her, foul beast! Or you shall taste my blade!’ The dragon barred its teeth and inhaled. The prince jumped for cover just in time to not be incinerated. His cloak, however, was not so lucky. The prince returned to the King empty handed. Soot covered his once spotless uniform and only half of his priceless cloak remained. Although the King did not say so, the prince’s despair pleased him. ‘Oh my!’ The King faked concern, ‘why, what happened?’ The prince glared up at the King. ‘The dragon nearly killed me, you oaf! No woman is worth getting burnt for! And I hope you know that you will get a bill from my tailors soon! Hmph’. With that, the prince rode away. ‘Good grief, no daughter of mine will marry such an ass’. The King spun around. ‘Esmerelda, you must not say such things!’ The Queen smiled widely. ‘I was just saying what you were thinking, darling.’ His anger melted away, and he laughed with his wife. Part Two: A day passed and two more suitors appeared at the royal gate, both astride horses. The King could have sworn that one horse seemed aggressive while the other looked timid. As before, both princes wanted the princess’ hand, and again the King acted his part. Seeing them ride towards the tower, the King’s curiosity grew. Whatever could his daughter be up to? No, he thought. He must trust her. Elizabeth once again heard galloping hooves approaching her tower. Again, she ran to the window and yelled down at the princes. ‘You must slay the dragon!’ Although one of her suitors kicked down the door and muttered something profane under his breath, the other suddenly got cold feet and stumbled back to his equally jittery horse.            Once the rude prince finally reached the dragon, he swore at it and demanded it get out of the way. The dragon flashed its teeth in anger. Never has it experienced such disrespect. ‘No.’ The prince grinded his teeth and spewed out more unsavoury language. Yelling, he stormed the dragon, sword pointed towards the beast’s heart. The dragon reared and head-butted the prince with all its strength. With a howl, the prince tumbled all the way to the bottom of the tower stairs. He struggled to his feet and rode away as quickly as his horse could carry him. Part Three: With every new day came a new lot of suitors, each with their own flaws. The King, like before, acted his part and pointed them all to the tower. What happened there, he did not know, but he did see every suitor ride away in terror. He sighed, wondering if his Elizabeth wasn’t being too picky with the bachelors, but his wife reassured him that their daughter knew what she was doing. One rainy day, only one suitor showed up at the door. Even more peculiar, he was on foot. ‘Your Highness! I’m here to rescue the princess!’ To the King’s astonishment, the voice was that of a woman’s, and lacked any of the traits of the other suitors. The fact that she knew about the dragon told him that word has gotten around…perhaps that is why there is only one today? Nonetheless, the King played his part and saw the new suitor depart.            The suitor’s boots left fresh mud caked on the stairs and water dripped down her armour. Smelling something earthy, the dragon lifted its head, ready to face the new prince who dared challenge it. What it saw, however, startled it. The figure standing on the stairs looked…ordinary. No showy cape, or shining jewellery, not even a clean pair of shoes! ‘Who goes there?’ It whispered, its overwhelming voice making the very floor tremble. The stranger swallowed before speaking. ‘I’m Camille, and I’m here to rescue the princess.’ The dragon tilted its head. Camille? That is not a name of any prince it has ever heard. Camille slowly lifted off her helm as to not spook the creature, revealing a perfectly shaven head and mesmerizing hazel eyes. Her skin was the same shade of dark caramel, like the princess’. ‘I mean you no harm, mighty dragon! I just want to return the princess to her parents!’ The dragon’s eyes widened. She…doesn’t want to marry the princess? How…peculiar. With a thud, it placed one front talon on the other. ‘And if I decide to burn you to a crisp instead, what will you do?’ Camille straightened her back, although she was shaking. ‘Dragon, please! I don’t want to hurt you!’ She drew out a small dagger from her belt and kicked it down the stairs. ‘See? I’m unarmed!’ The dragon continued to glare through her. ‘Show me some respect, child.’ Camille obeyed, kneeling before it. She dared not move despite hearing a series of shuffling. ‘Congratulations, Camille. You’ve passed my test.’ The voice is one she’d never heard before. It sounded refined, gentle and…royal. Looking up, there was no dragon bearing her way, but a breathtaking young woman. Her eyes sparkled like nothing in this world, and her dark hair was tied up with a silk ribbon. Getting to her feet, Camille looked around her. ‘Where…where is the dragon?’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘I was the dragon.’ Camille’s jaw dropped. ‘My parents warned me about being courted soon, so I set up a little act to test the mettle of my suitors. They all failed…except you.’ Camille blinked rapidly. ‘But princess, although you are the most beautiful being I’ve ever laid eyes on and your mind is simply brilliant, I am not here to marry you.’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘I understand. Let’s go to the palace. You need some dry clothing.’ Camille obeyed. Upon hearing their daughter’s adventures in the tower, the King and Queen embraced her. ‘Brilliant! Simply brilliant,’ the King chanted. Camille stared on at the royal family, feeling a strange emptiness inside her. Soon, she will have to go home, alone. Although she did not know Princess Elizabeth for long, she felt happy seeing her smile. Her energy and intellect made her hard to dislike; she’d make a fine ruler. | Just as Camille was about to leave, a realization gripped her. She’s never been in love before, but this feeling in her stomach was hard to deny. She spun around. ‘Princess!’ Elizabeth came back to the door. ‘This is madness, and I understand if you don’t want to, or if you’re not allowed to but…but…’ Elizabeth tilted her head. Camille just about yelled her next words. ‘Will you marry me?’ Elizabeth smiled, pulling Camille into a hug. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ --Epilogue-- Not a single eye was left dry at the royal wedding, which was held under a peach tree at sunset. The King and Queen happily welcomed their daughter’s wife to the family and could not have been more proud of Elizabeth’s actions in the tower. The princes were invited too, but not out of respect, the King assured the couple, but out of spite. Only a handful of them accepted the invitation, while the others probably threw tantrums in their royal chambers, alone.

[247krp]

— Rejoice, little lambs! We have recovered our own Choi Hyunchul, spotted prancing about in the Northwest Side. I don’t remember seeing him with any clique back in high school, but I’m not here to spill yesterday’s tea. So straight to the rundown: can you say winsome and hard-working? Apparently now he spends time as a sales assistant at Book Culture and a host at Su Noraebang, and keeps skeletons buried at Bukdong Apartments, 201. But those won’t stay hidden for long, if you and I have any say on it. Welcome back, Shorty; we missed you so.

TW: implicit mention of pedophilia, implicit mention of sexual harassment, cross-dressing, implicit mention of ADHD 

In case you don’t remember the devil’s name, here’s to refresh your memory: 

head bowed and hugging books to his chest, hyunchul roamed the halls of cheongnam high as a presence that wanted to remain unseen. inside his backpack slung carelessly around his shoulders lay papers he’d stolen from the teacher’s office, answer sheets to three upcoming tests for maths, english and geography. the books in his hands were not just textbooks but comics hidden within the pages. choi hyunchul was a boy nobody expected to cheat or lose attention in class. he had an angelic face, a shy personality and was so damn obedient, even the teachers pitied him. a gullible, naive boy with a history no one dared to imagine. slipping into the male’s restroom, hyunchul walked towards the very last cubicle in the room before slipping his backpack from one shoulder, opening it and taking out the porn magazine he’d been told to collect. crouching down, hyunchul slid the booklet underneath the door, where it was instantly snatched up. without looking back, hyunchul readjusted his backpack and left. cheongnam high’s errand boy did not speak much, at least not to strangers. he was an excitable boy among the few friends he had, with twinkling eyes and a cheerful smile. he played football for the school, and those were the only moments students seemed to cheer him on. in class, hyunchul was the kid who sat somewhere in the middle but always at a different seat. a place that was easily overlooked and forgotten. he’d sometimes make jokes, or pull a prank, but it was known that the boy had troubles concentrating so eventually people started ignoring his antics. just the weird kid with an attention problem, it was muttered. that hyperactive shorty. hyunchul lacked focus, was disorganised and often made mistakes. he missed social rules, was easily distracted by trivial things and incredibly forgetful. mostly about daily activities. more than once, hyunchul sat in the cafeteria, twirling his pencil to have something to hold onto as his friends ate their lunches, which hyunchul had forgotten to bring. but the students did not forget hyunchul. it wasn’t easy to do when the boy yelled during football practise, for example, unable to contain his excitement and jumping up and down on the field. choi hyunchul was an errand boy. the shorty with secrets while keeping those of others as he walked the school. 

Nevermind the memory lane though, the present is always the ripest fruit:

now, choi hyunchul is still that shorty only without the urge to cheat. he’d finished high school, graduated with okay marks which he couldn’t feel proud about because they hadn’t truly been his effort. he was no longer an errand boy and had been forgotten by most of his acquaintances from school as they no longer saw a use for him. it was just as well, since hyunchul wanted a fresh start. he didn’t go back home. his mother’s attention had been sweet but suffocating. she adores him and always clung to him as the only son she could raise, who was there to be raised instead of being carted off by his father like hyuk had been. but hyunchul needed to find his own way in life. not going back home may also have had a little to do with the fact that he felt a disappointment to his mother, who would have loved to see him go off to university, and his inferiority complex. hyunchul did not wish to see his father. while having grown up a little, hyunchul still remained a naive boy and still far too trusting despite having learnt that not everyone is trustworthy. he obeyed orders and worked diligently. hyunchul was kind and compassionate, but unable to grow close to another so romance could blossom. hyunchul still chased his dream of becoming an idol and trained in his free time but doubt has started clouding his mind whether he will ever achieve his goal. so hyunchul keeps selling mangas and collectibles, keeps smiling kindly to customers and entertaining them and keeps facing his fear of the dark whenever he goes out to indulge in his greatest passion in life: dancing.

But we are nothing if not open books – my job is to ensure you get to the best pages: 

“and then, and then-! mizuki-chan went baaang! totally knocked out the dude that-!” “shut up!” silence. choi hyunchul stared wide eyed into the annoyed face of his father as the man reached out to grab his glass of beer, tipping the rim to his mouth and letting the alcohol glide pleasantly down his throat. the boy swallowed when his father did and bowed his head, blinking rapidly as he stared at the fried chicken on his plate. it had gone cold already. hyunchul had been too excited, talking about one of the latest mangas he was reading and it never pleased his father when he did. hyunchul got too loud, was the man’s comment. too excited. too crazy. the man sighed dramatically, setting his beer down before reaching over the table to gently pat his son’s head. hyunchul resisted a flinch. “good boy, now tell your mother about your school work hmm? hyuk-ah, have you been doing what i asked you? those scouts-” and hyunchul drowned out his father’s voice, the murmuring of both his brother and father background noise. hyunchul hated dinners. he hated dinners with his father even more. he hated dinners where his mother would shoot him sympathetic looks, and throw his father longing ones. he hated dinners because it involved stiff conversation, where his brother was the ultimate subject of attention and hyunchul should not speak of anything that interested him. hyunchul hated dinners because- “ah hyunchul, have you thought about what i told you yesterday?” last week, dad. “yes, dad..” “and? you know you got to work those arms and legs son. look at your brother, a fine young man! disciplined! how about i sign you up for some practice lessons hmm? they’ll make a man out of you yet.” hyunchul remained silent, staring blankly at the flower patterns in the table cloth. tacky roses with leaves, daisies and a bunch of other flowers hyunchul couldn’t name. he might have known once, but information didn’t stick. “forget all that silly nonsense hmm? what was it- animation? interest yourself in the teachings of martial arts. don’t let me down, hyunchul.” “… husband, darling, would you like some more kimchi?” hyunchul was different. unfortunately different wasn’t accepted. not by his father anyway. the man was obsessed with his brother, wished the boy to take the same path as he had done in life. hyunchul’s mother, a devoted wife, was a frail little thing, beautiful but servient. she stayed at home with hyunchul, who from a very young age, had been left to his own devices. he did not know his father well because hyunchul had taken after his mother, in both appearance as personality, and that which was distinctly hyunchul weren’t traits which pleased the man. the second son in the choi household was shy, a jittery boy who only came out of his shell long after he became acquainted with someone. hyunchul was a dreamer; a geeky boy who lived in his own fantasy world. he disliked violence, unless mildly depicted in mangas. hyunchul had high hopes and dreams that soared. at a young age, hyunchul and his father drifted apart but choi hyuk was an important presence in hyunchul’s life. the boy adored his brother, did not blame him for their father’s obsession with the oldest choi son. whenever he could, hyunchul would follow his brother everywhere, excitedly telling him stories and when those stories turned into nightmares overnight, the second son always ran to his brother’s bedroom and slipped underneath the covers because hyung would always protect him. unfortunately hyunchul was proven wrong at age eleven, when his brother was nowhere in sight as a man hyunchul had come to love and trust as a second father figure took the boy away to unsavory places. hyunchul’s lips have remained sealed to this day. the only thing about hyunchul which somewhat pleased his father was his talent in football. hyunchul loved to play the sport, if only because it made him feel free. that he was tackled and pushed every now and then was something that came with the territory, or so he would cheerfully tell the nurse whenever she had to tend to his bruises and a sprained ankle. football was hyunchul’s escape when he was thirteen and his uncle deemed him too old for their games. dancing was the boy’s passion. it was the only thing he could concentrate on perfectly. he would dance for hours, practise hard and then sneak out at night to perform on the streets with like-minded people. his parents never found out about his nightly escapades, not that they cared in the first place. hyunchul’s lithe body twisted and turned, moved gracefully. to dance felt like breathing. to become an idol was hyunchul’s prerogative. after graduation, hyunchul did not go home or enroll into university. instead, he remained in seoul and took up a job at a small manga store in town. when that did not pay all the bills of hyunchul’s shabby apartment, he applied for a job as a host at a karaoke bar. working two jobs, hyunchul made ends meet. and he still danced.