#we take a perhaps much-needed break from vee for a bit now

[pileofsith]

Nameless Part Six - Provocation Page 2/7

The Grand Inquisitor is luckily not beneath an awkward 'hello'.

Note: text in angle brackets is speech in Utapaun language.

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[98prilla]

Shifted

Thomas decides to see what all the Side’s animal forms would be. It does not go so well for Anxiety. 

This is set pre accepting anxiety, and diverges a little from the cannon of that episode, fair warning.

He is terrified. His heart is pounding as he pulls further back into the shadows, hiding under the couch. He can hear the others out there, talking, laughing, having fun. This isn’t fun.

“An owl? Really, Thomas, owls aren’t even actually smart, their eyes take up much of their cranial cavity.”

“Come on, kiddo, they are symbols of wisdom. And those wings sure must be nifty! I’m having a pawsome time myself!” A groan at the pun.

“I always thought Logan was a bit bird brained.” Roman mutters. “But seriously, a dragon? While the scales are quite flattering, it is a bit strange, considering I usually fight them.”

“I don’t know, Roman, I guess cause you’re always talking about questing I just settled on a fantasy creature. It is pretty cool." He rolls his eyes at the huff of pride he can hear as Roman no doubt puffs up his chest, flares his wings.

“Speaking of strange, where's anxiety?” his ears flatten against his head, pulse picking up again. They’re talking about him.  

“He should be here. I did summon him.” Thomas, confused. He curses his inability to sink out in this form.

“Perhaps he has taken the form of a smaller animal and is hiding.” He almost hisses, could Logic shut up for once?

“Aw, maybe we should look for him! He’ll probably be so cute!”

“Please. That weirdo is probably a venomous spider or a little parasite. Who cares, where he is?” yes, thank you Roman, for once being not a moron.

“Patton, if you’re worried perhaps you can sniff him out. You are a cat, after all.” No. Nonono. Logic, shut it!

“Good idea, Logan. Give it a try!” and he is outta here before he even knows what he’s doing.  

His terror skyrockets and he shoots out from under the couch to the startled yelps of everyone else. Everything is big, huge, compared to him, the living room seems endless.

The stairs, he just needs to get to the stairs and he'll be able to physically enter the mindscape, he’s so close-

Then there is the flap of wings, a victorious shriek, and talons are digging into his shoulders pinning him down.

“Well, what have we here?” He shoves aside his fear, proud as his voice comes out just as scathing and steady as ever.

“Get off, you overgrown lizard.” He bites out, Roman’s scaled head coming into view. He glares at Roman’s laughter.

“Anxiety, kiddo? Is that you?”

“No, its Joan, yes it’s me, Patton, now get off, Roman!” His heart is beating fast, too fast, and his words are wavering. He is afraid, afraid, afraid. He hates this, hates it, he just wants this to be over.

“Hmm. I don’t think I will. Think about it, Thomas. We have the opportunity here to get anxiety out of our way for good.” His stomach drops, his blood goes cold, he is shaking.

“Roman, what are you suggesting?” Logan, he can’t be considering this, please no, please!

“I mean, we don’t need to vanquish him. We can keep him like this. Put him in a cage, or something.”

“I'm not a pet, you idiot, and you can’t keep me like this forever.” He hisses out.

“Oh contraire, little mouse, we can keep you weak enough you don’t have any choice.” His heart lurches as he is lifted up, Roman's wings buffeting him, they are in the air.

“Roman, put me down! I… please! Pleasepleaseplease…” he is crying now, begging, because he can’t, this can’t be happening, they can’t actually intend to keep him locked in this form, weak and powerless, in a cage.  

The floor seems so far away, and he feels sick, from the altitude shift or what is happening or both, he can’t tell. The anguished terror is filling him and he lets out a broken, choked sob.  

This is what he gets, for thinking he could ever be accepted, for thinking he could ever be tolerated, much less liked. All he’d ever done was his job, and this is his reward.

“Logan, what-" he lets out a squeak despite himself as a blur of gray rams into Roman, sending him spiraling off balance.

Then he feels the talon’s grip slip, and he screams. He is falling, flipping through the air. From this height in this form his bones will break, shatter, with his luck his neck will snap. He has time to cry for help, before he impacts.

“Gotcha!” The halt is jarring, and he is shaking, instinctively flattening himself to make as small a target as possible as he tries to get ahold of himself. He realizes it’s soft, the ground.

He looks up and nearly screams again, instead flattening further. Patton has caught him, sitting on his back haunches, he is caught in Patton's front paws.

“p-p-put me d-down. Please.” His voice is a whisper, trembles making him stutter, but Patton instantly complies, much to his relief.

He hears a shriek and looks up, just in time to see silver talons coming right at him, then they crash into him and he feels a ripping pain in his shoulder.  

He can hear Patton yelling, Logan screeching, Roman growling, and it is loud so loud and all he can think is he is about to die-

“Enough!” Thomas yells, and suddenly the ground isn’t so close, suddenly he is stumbling to his feet, lunging for his normal spot on the stairs, reaching it in two strides. He lets out a relieved sob as he clutches the bannister, looking back at the others.

Logan has landed in a heap on the couch. Patton and Roman are tangled around each other on the floor. Patton's gaze meets his, worried.

“kiddo, you’re bleeding.” He lifts his hand numbly to his shoulder, mildly surprised as it comes away sticky and red. He lets out a broken, bitter laugh.

“Gee, wonder how that happened. Not like someone was trying to kill me, or worse hold me captive and torture me for my whole existence." His voice is raw and instead of biting sarcasm, it comes out as an almost whisper, red rimmed eyes glaring at the floor as he shakes, from latent fear and pulsing anger.

“Anxiety-" he half successfully chokes back another sob, harsh laughter tearing at his lungs.

“no, know what, it’s fine. It’s fine, Thomas. I always knew I wasn’t wanted. I was an idiot to hope you might… might ever actually change, actually want me around. Hell, even care about me like I care about you and keeping you safe.” He can barely stand, he doesn’t know if it’s from the pain and blood loss or the adrenaline fading or the panic attack he can feel pressing against him, tightening his chest.

“Kiddo…” he shakes his head.

“Y'know, if you really wanted me dead, all you had to do was ask. I would’ve done it myself.” He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t see the pained shock on Patton's face, the suspicious surprise on Roman's, the horror on Logan’s. The pain on Thomas's. Instead, he flips up his hood, hugging himself as he wordlessly sinks out.

He managed to lock the door before he collapses to the floor. His chest feels like it's being squeezed by a boa constrictor, his ribs crushed and all the air shoved out of his lungs. His vision narrows to a dark pinprick, gaze unseeing as he sees Roman's talons again and again, falling and splattering against the floor, bones shattered, bars, a cage, closing in, pressing him tight, he can’t breathe, he’s choking, he’s dying, god, he’s going to die here. Why not? He laughs hysterically, that’s what they want, may as well give it to ‘em.

“virgil, no. It’s not what we all want. Come back to me, stormy. Focus on my voice. You can do it, Virgil.” Virgil. None of them know his name. Only, only…

“Dee?” he chokes out, blurry vision focusing enough to see Deceit, holding his hands in his lap, rubbing circles on his knuckles.

“There we are. Hello, dearest.” Deceit reaches up, softly wiping away his tears, brushing back his hair.

“I’m an idiot. I’m a stupid idiot.” He mutters.

“No. Virgil, you’re not. It’s ok.” He hisses in a breath of pain as Dee places a hand on his shoulder, vision going speckly at the slight contact. Dee pulls away, eyes wide, face darkening to fury.

“You’re hurt. Vee, you’re bleeding" he just shrugs, another sob clawing its way out of his throat.

“Doesn’t matter.” He whispers. Deceit hisses, and pulls him onto his lap.

“It does. Even if they don’t care, even if they don’t love you, I do. It matters to me. You will always matter to me. You’re my baby, Virg. Even if you’ve left the nest, you’re still my little rain storm. Got it?” He feels Dee's extra arms removing his hoodie, then all six are cradling him against Dee's chest, holding him tight and safe and secure, letting him relax and melt into the touch, knowing Dee will never let anything hurt him. He feels Dee press a kiss to his head.

“you’ve wiped yourself out, love. I'll take care of that nasty shoulder gash. Get some sleep, dearest.” Weakly, he clings to Dee's shirt. He doesn’t want him to let go, he doesn’t feel safe, if Dee lets go.

“I’m staying, darling. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

“remus-"

“can rain down all the hell he wants. Until you’re better, they deserve it.” He finds he can’t argue with that. He falls asleep to Dee humming softly, stroking his forehead and holding his hand, his other arms working to gently bandage his shoulder.

Deceit sighs as he hears a crash. Looking up, he sees Remus kick in the door, eyes aflame.

“who hurt him? Who’s ass do I gotta beat until it falls off?”  

“hush. I just got him settled.” Dee replies. In three strides, Remus is beside him, head cocked unnaturally far to the side, like a snapped neck.

“He’s ok?” Remus asks, neck snapping back to a normal position with an audible click.

“yes. Keep an eye on him, please?”

“What? Where're you going?” Remus asks. Deceit’s eyes flash.

“I am going to go see what exactly those half-witted buffoons did to send him spiraling. Then I am going to determine whom it is I need to beat the shit out of.” Deceit growled, stepping away from the bed.

“Boo, you never let me have any fun.” Remus pouts. He instantly stops as Virgil lets out a small sound, immediately climbing into the bed with him and spooning around him. Virgil curls against him immediately, stilling as he clings onto Remus.

“Thank you.” Deceit murmurs from the doorway. Remus nods.

“I'll take care of our little stormy night. You go teach ‘em a lesson, Dee.” Remus replies, relishing the sharp fanged smile Deceit flashes him, before sinking out. As an afterthought, he snaps, replacing the door, before turning his attention to Virgil, trying to mentally send him all of his love. Virgil is more of a brother to him  than Roman has ever been, and he hates seeing him hurt.

“hang in there, vee. Dee'll fix everything.”

“I highly doubt he wants to be called right now.”

“But he was so scared! We have to help!”

“I don’t know Pat, seeing us might make it worse.” He clears his throat. He meets three sets of surprised eyes with steel. Thomas yelps and falls backwards, catching himself on the wall.

“Who is that?!”  

“Deceit, you scurrilous snake, what are you doing here?” his eyes narrow at that.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Roman, was I not wanted here at this exact moment?” his voice is a perfect mimicry of Virgil's, and to his satisfaction it makes Roman flinch.

“Thomas. This is Deceit. He is responsible for the lies you tell not only others, but yourself. I am puzzled as to why you have appeared now. To my knowledge, no lies have been spoken.” Logan explains, and his hands ball into fists.

“Oh, truly, why ever would I be here? It'ssss not like Anxiety returned bloody and injured, in the midsssst of a panic attack, talking about how nobody wantssss him and it doessssn't matter. I’m sure that hassss nothing to do with it, Logic.” He hisses out, spitting Logan's title like it burns his tongue.

He can see Patton's guilty face out of the corner of his eye, knows whatever happened, it wasn’t him. But Roman… yes.

“So Thomas, dear, care to explain what happened?” He asks, sickly sweet, turning his gaze to Thomas, who has a slight frown on his face. As an afterthought, he notes that Thomas isn’t afraid of him, despite his scales and sharp fangs. Interesting.

“I thought it would be cool to see what everyone’s animal forms would be. Logan was an owl, Pat was a persian cat, and Roman was a dragon. But we didn’t see anxiety anywhere so we thought he was small and hiding and maybe too scared to move. Pat was gonna find him, then a mouse shot out from under the couch and Roman…” Thomas trails off, eyes shifting away, but it’s enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Roman. Care to continue?” Roman meets his ice cold gaze imperiously.  

“gladly. I captured the fiend in my claws. Hurting him was an accident. I merely meant to catch him while he was small and couldn’t hurt us and contain him. Keep him small, so he’d stop bothering Thomas. It’s not like we need him, anyways.” Roman scoffs.

Rage is filling him. Because Roman truly thinks he is in the right, truly thinks he didn’t do anything wrong, and his voice is proud as he speaks about traumatizing Virgil, who is the youngest, the smallest, the most vulnerable to start with. How dare he?

Before he can think, he has crossed the room, he rears his hand back and slaps Roman hard enough to send him reeling backwards.

“You are a heartless, soulless bastard. I told him not to come, I told him he’d get hurt but he didn’t listen. You know why? It’s certainly not because he wants to be included, he doesn’t yearn for your acceptance, it doesn’t break him a little more each time you all dismiss and send him away unwanted. He definitely doesn’t just want to be liked! He never has a hard enough time just being himself, being afraid, all the fucking time, and you have certainly helped make him feel right at home.” He hisses, ignoring the tears stinging at his eyes as he whips around, facing the rest of them.

“And you’re no better. How do you think it feels, knowing the person who conjured you doesn’t even want you? How terrified would you be, surrounded by people who have never showed you kindness, who have admitted their distaste, small and defenseless, being threatened to be put in a cage? His worst fear is something happening to Thomas and being unable to reach him, to react and help. It’s his job to protect Thomas, and you were threatening to keep him away, to put Thomas’s own safety at risk for your own stupid biases! You were threatening to make his nightmare real, and not a single fucking one of you said otherwise, did you?!” He yells, slowly looking at each of them in turn. No one will meet his eyes now, not even Roman.

“you don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve his name. No wonder he hasn’t told you. You’re a bunch of ignorant bullies. And you’d say I’m the bad guy. You all picked out the most vulnerable and pounced.” He shifts his head, turning to Thomas, a curling, empty smile on his face.

“It was a fucking pleasure, Thomas. I’ll be taking my leave.” The lie is bitter and acrid on his tongue, tasting of ash as he sinks out.

He returns to Virgil's room, immediately hurrying to his bedside, because he is crying, despite Remus's attempts to soothe him.

“Vee, what’s wrong?” he asks. Virgil glares at him through his tears.

“you said you were gonna stay!” he lets out a soft breath, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I know. I just had to check on something. But you know Remus would never let anything hurt you, right?” Virgil nods, leaning back into Remus's arms.

“That’s right, starshine. You’re safe.” Remus whispers, rocking Virgil gently, who responds by pressing his face into Remus's chest.

“You’re staying now, right?” Virgil mumbles. He smiles, slipping under the covers.

“I am. No lies this time.” He murmurs as Virgil lays down, curling into him. He reaches out with all six arms, pulling Remus closer, hugging both of them and sandwiching Virgil in warmth and safety.

“What was it?” Remus asks lowly, once Virgil is out again. He sighs.

“Shapeshifting, animal forms. He was a mouse. Roman was a dragon. Threatened to keep him locked up. It got physical.”

“You mean Roman was a bitch and attacked Virgil unprovoked.” Remus's voice is flat, and he shoots him a soft look, one of his hands slipping into Remus's.

“I’m going to kill him.” He squeezes Remus's hand.

“Later. We can work on murder plans later. Right now Vee needs us.”

“Anxiety, it’s dinner time!” Patton's voice trills. He opens his eyes with a groan, freezing instantly.

This… isn’t his room. It isn’t even the commons. He’s laying in soft bedding. He realizes he’s in a little plastic hut. His heart speeds. He looks down at himself, human, good.

He flinches as the house is lifted up, leaving him exposed. His breath catches in his lungs, Patton is looming over him, he is giant. He skitters back, realizing his back is pressing against metal wire. Cage, he is in a cage, he is tiny, in a cage.

He scrambles, trying to claw his way out, trying to bend the wire enough to wriggle out.

“hey, now. None of that kiddo.” His stomach flips as hands squeaze around his waist and he is lifted into the air. He is barely as tall as Patton's ring finger, he is so high in the air as Patton places him down on his palm.

“patton please, please, just let me go, please!” he begs, feeling tears slipping down his face.

“Aw, I know kiddo. But this is better for everyone. This way you’re still around but don’t bother Thomas.” He stumbles as Patton places him back in the cage, doubling over and choking on sobs as a small food dish is placed inside, the shadows of bars shading his face.

He is still begging, pleading, screaming, for Patton, for anyone, to let him out, let him go, but he knows no one is coming, and the bars are pressing in, and soon there won’t be any more space, any more air.  

“hush, stormy, shhh. It’s ok. It’s ok, lovely.” His eyes fly open, and he clings to Dee, feeling all of his arms cradling him tight as he sniffles into his shoulder, sobs shaking his thin frame.

“Just a dream, Vee." He feels Remus's hand on his, feels the terror and residual fear draining out of him as the nightmare is removed from his mind. The pros of dark creativity. Remus can steal other people’s bad thoughts, bad dreams, but then he experiences whatever the thoughts were. He hears Remus's sharp inhale as he sees it, feels his hand tighten it’s grip.

“thanks ree.” He manages, his voice hoarse and sore.

“Virgil, love, we should talk about it. I only got minor details from them.”

“what’s to say? They were going to keep me in a cage, they d-didn't want me.” Dee draws back a tad, looking down at Virgil's face, eyes hidden behind his bangs.

“did anyone help? Surely not all of them went along with this.” He shrugs, taking a deep breath.

“R-roman g-g-rabbed me in his talons and st-started flying. But he yelled… I think L-Logan tried to stop him. He was an o-o-owl. I think he rammed Roman and made him drop me. P-p-patton c-caught me. And… and he put me down, right away, when I asked. I… I don't think they woulda let Roman k-keep me.” He mumbles out, shaking. Dee feels his heart breaking, can feel the murder on Remus's face.

“That's good, Virge. They were trying to defend you.” Virgil shakes his head.

“but they didn’t. Only p-patton even cared I was h-hurt. Thomas… Thomas didn't say a-anything.”

“but he changed you back.” His brow creases as he looks out from Dee's arms at Remus's words. “if he agrees with Roman, he wouldn’t have changed you back.”  

“He's right, lovely. Thomas doesn’t hate you. I know that. That is fact.” He sighs.

“Doesn’t feel like it right now.” He mumbles.

“I know. And that’s ok, Virge.” Dee kisses his head softly. He startles at a knock on the door.  

“Remus, see who it is?”

“If it’s princey stab him for me.” Virgil mumbles, making Remus chuckle and ruffle his hair.

“Gladly, stormy.”  

He throws open the door, leaning in the doorway with a cocky grin, teeth sharp and eyes glinting.

“Well, well, hello there Daddy. Have I been naughty?” he teases, moving to block Patton's view of the room.

“Remus… what… what are you doing here?” Patton asks nervously.  

“Apparently playing the butler. Y'know, Patton, in the movies the butler is always guilty of murder.” He tilts his head slowly, relishing the fear that races across Patton's face. “Now, what are you doing here, daddio?” Patton fiddles with his sweater sleeves, a frown settling on his face.

“I just… I know he probably doesn’t want to see us right now, heck, maybe ever, and I don’t fault him for it. Today… today was bad. Really, really bad. I just want to make sure he's ok. And apologize. We… we chewed out Roman. His actions were unacceptable. Just… I would never let that happen. He’s not… he’s a person, and I don’t always agree with him, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to take away his voice or opinion. Can you just… pass that on, for me? Please?”  

Remus looks back at the bed, softening as he sees Virgil uncurling from Dee, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, leaning against Dee, who has an arm around his shoulders. Virgil looks up at Dee, a silent question.  

“No lies.” Dee murmurs, and Virgil bites his lip. “You wanna let him in?” He asks softly. Virgil hesitates, but nods.  

“If he means it... yeah.” Virgil mumbles.  

“He does. Remus, stop playing. V- Anxiety says he can come in.” He calls, catching himself before using Virgil’s actual name. Remus sighs, but steps aside.  

“Well? Come in then.”  

Hesitantly, Patton steps inside the dark room, taking in the soft, dark carpet, the dark to light purple gradient painted on the walls. There are also posters for bands carefully hung in frames, and a few posters for movies that Anxiety must like. He sees fairy lights strung across the ceiling that sparkle like stars without the main lights turned on.  

He lets out a soft noise of hurt as he takes in Anxiety, knees pulled to his chest, his shoulders hunched. His eyeshadow is smeared all over his face, his eyes red and puffy. He glances at Deceit, not as surprised to see him here, tilting his head. Deceit nods minutely, and he sits down next to Anxiety, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him, to give him space.  

“hey kiddo. How’s your shoulder?” He asks.  

“better. Dee helped. It still... still hurts.” His voice is quiet and unsure and hoarse.  

“Yeah. I think it would be pretty strange if it didn’t. I’m glad you’re going to be ok, though. Even if it hurts now, it’ll feel better eventually.”  

“will it?” He is surprised as Patton pulls him into a hug, startled, but after a moment he leans into it, tucking his chin against Patton’s shoulder.  

“I have never wanted you to die. I have never wanted you to leave. You’re one of my kiddos, kiddo, and that means I stand up for you when something hurts you, no matter who or what it is.”

“i’m scared. I hate... I hate being small... I hate... it’s so big, everything... I could drown, in a puddle, I could be crushed by a book, I could be stepped on, I could be crushed, I could get hurt and no one would know, no one would realize or find me. I could be caged...” He chokes out, fear flooding through him again. “I could be caged and my influence squashed, and then no one would protect Thomas, look out for dangers, keep him... keep him on task, keep him motivated to d-do better. I c-can't... trapped, and b-bars and it-it's too much... too small...” He is shaking again, on the edge of hysteria, but Patton is rocking him, holding him.  

“Oh honey... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We didn’t know you were gonna be that little. I’m sorry we didn’t ask permission first, we weren’t thinking. I promise, promise,” he pulled back so Anxiety could see his eyes, tears spilling down his own cheeks, “that I will physically fight anyone who suggests we do that again, who even dares to mention putting you in a cage. I nearly did fight Roman, Logan had to hold me back.” That gets a weak laugh out of Anxiety, imagining Logan holding back a kicking and spitting furious Patton. “I love you, kiddo. I really, really do, and if anyone has a problem with that, has a problem with you, they’ll have to go through me first.” Patton’s voice is fierce, and he doesn’t have to look at Dee to know that he isn’t lying.  

“T-thomas-”  

“Is worried about you, kiddo. I came to check on you cause he wanted to make sure you were gonna be ok. What you said... really, really scared us, but we didn’t wanna summon you, because we knew you probably didn’t want to be summoned. He’s sorry, too. We all are.”  

“Even Roman?” He asks, bitterness in his voice. Patton hesitates, sighing.  

“I don’t know. I think... I think he’s sorry he got yelled at, sorry he got in trouble, sorry we didn’t agree with him. But I don’t think he’s sorry for what he actually did to you, said to you. Which makes me angry, because he should be sorry, but he isn’t, and if he isn’t, I can’t change that. What I can do is make sure you are going to be alright. I can learn what else we shouldn’t do without asking your permission. I can be better at speaking up when Roman threatens or takes jabs at you, and eventually, hopefully, his attitude will change as he learns none of us are going to enable him anymore. I’m sorry it went this far.” He blinks, surprised. He didn’t expect Patton to acknowledge Roman’s inability to see his own wrongdoings. He didn’t expect Patton to admit to his own shortcomings. He didn’t expect Patton to be... honest.  

“What would you like us to do for now, Anxiety? Clearly, you have two people who love you very much helping your right now, so I feel ok leaving, if you like. I just didn’t want you to be alone, when you were so upset. Thomas... all of us, want to speak with you about what happened, to try and make ammends, but we’ll do that on your terms, so there’s no rush. Just, whenever you’re ready to talk, we’re ready to listen.  If you like, I can bring you meals, if you don’t wanna leave your room for a while. I wanna keep you healthy, and I know if I leave you to your own devices it’ll be chips and soda for every meal.” He lets out a little snort at that, because Patton is right, of course, and he’s already calmed down so much because Patton is being so nice, and he knows Dee would have told him if Patton had lied.  

“that all sounds good, yeah.” He mumbles, shifting out of Patton’s hug, pulling his knees to his chest once again.  

“ok. Is there anything else you need, or would like me to do?” He bites his lip, thinking.  

“Just... just let them know I’m ok? If they’re really that worried about me.” Patton squeezes his non injured shoulder once as he stands, smiling gently.  

“Will do, kiddo. If you ever need anything, or just want some company, don’t be afraid to call me up.”  

“I... might.” Patton smiles again, soft and warm.  

“I love you, Anxiety.” Patton turns away, but before he sinks out, Virgil steels his courage.  

“Virgil!” He shouts, and the room seems to freeze. Remus is staring at him in wide eyed surprise. Deceit has stopped rubbing his back, and Patton falters mid step, before turning to face him, something akin to awe on his face. “That’s... my name. My name is Virgil.” A huge smile blooms across Patton’s face, his eyes light up with tender joy, and he sniffles, wiping away tears.  

“Virgil. I think that’s a lovely name, Virgil. I know I'm usually a blabber mouth, but it when it counts, I can keep a secret.” Patton winks, sending a smile flashing across his own face as warmth blooms in his chest. With a wave, Patton sinks out, and he collapses back against Deceit with a long, low sigh.  

“You sure about that, Virg?” Remus asks, from where he’s leaning against the wall, having simply observed everything.  

“yeah. Yeah I... think I am.” He feels Dee press another soft kiss to the top of his head.  

“Proud of you, lovely.” He smiles, closing his eyes as he feels Remus settle on the other side of him. He is still scared and afraid and knows the nightmares won’t leave him alone for ages, now. But he also knows that at least Patton is on his side. And Patton is almost more of a mama bear than Deceit. If the two of them are looking out for him, he knows nothing will hurt him like this ever again.

[stuffthatbard]

Good Puppy

Tags: Jaskier/Yennefer, Puppy Play, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Collars, Cock Cages, Butt Plugs, Vibrators, Multiple Orgasms, Forced Orgasm, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sub Jaskier, Dom Yennefer, Humiliation, Omorashi, Watersports, Breathplay, Aftercare, Praise Kink, Spooning, Consensual Kink

Ummmm prompts sitting in my inbox? What prompts haha

--

When Yennefer first suggested it, Jaskier thought she was kidding. Pretending to be a dog? Like a kid playing make-believe? He didn’t understand how anyone could find it arousing, but the idea did intrigue him, and so he agreed to try it out.

He hadn’t expected to like it quite this much, but something about the way she treated him—loving, yes, but somehow still beneath her—got him off like a rocket.

And even beyond that, beyond the fact that a sighed “Puppy,” could have heat curling in his gut immediately, he found that he quite liked the submission of it as well—whenever they played, he didn’t have to worry about anything. He only had to be a good boy and listen to her—or, if he was bad, to take his punishment. But he was rarely bad—pleasing her earned him praise that he desperately craved.

And one day, when they’re lying together in bed, sweat cooling on their bodies, Yennefer brings up something more. “What would you say,” she muses, fingers curling round his hair, “to being my puppy all the time?”

“All the time?”

“Only at home,” she amends herself. “The rest of the world doesn’t get to see you like this. Only I do,” she purrs, tugging at a lock of his hair, sending a shiver down his spine.

He bites his lip. It’s a daunting thought, but he can’t deny that he’s interested. “What would that mean?” he asks.

“The same rules would apply—you would always wear a collar, and you wouldn’t be allowed on the furniture, and you would sleep in your crate—unless you’ve been good and I let you join me in bed,” she says.

He hesitates.

“You can say no. We can keep doing this, only playing occasionally.” She pets a hand over his hair, inadvertently reminding him exactly why it is he loves this.

“I want to,” he blurts out. “I want to try it.”

Settling into life as her puppy is much easier than Jaskier thought it would be. The only challenge is this: When Yennefer is at work, and he’s left home alone, he can’t quite settle into the mindset. He supposes he doesn’t have to, not while Yennefer isn’t here. He can’t sink fully into being her puppy, but it feels wrong not to, and so he’s caught in a sort of in-between state, with all the desires of a human being and none of the restraint to stop himself from acting on them.

He doesn’t think twice about pleasuring himself while she’s gone—she won’t be home for hours yet, after all, and he’s so horny he could cry. Surely it won’t hurt much if he rubs one out, right? He has needs, after all, and if she’s not there to help him fill them, well…

He hops up on her bed, buries his face in the sheets that have her scent on them, and starts rutting against the mattress, thoughts of silken skin and sharp nails filling his mind. He’s close, so close, on the edge of coming—whimpering and gasping—

He hears the door open.

The shock of being caught by Yennefer summons his orgasm immediately, that wicked little exhibitionist streak he’s always had rearing its head. But it’s not as satisfying, ruined by the sudden thought that she’s seen him breaking the rules.

He stares at her, breathing heavily, and she stares back. He expects yelling, he expects her to grab his collar and drag him off the bed, berate him—he expects anything except what actually happens.

“Aw, did puppy make a mess?” she coos, walking over and dragging a finger through the cum painting the sheets. He whines, face burning in embarrassment, burying his face in the sheets so he doesn’t have to look at her.

“None of that now,” she says sternly, but her fingers are gentle when they scratch behind his ear. She coaxes him to lift his head, tugging gently at his collar until he looks at her. “It’s alright, I should have known you couldn’t control yourself.”

He perks up a bit—does this mean he’s not in trouble?

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for his punishment to come, but she doesn’t do anything that night. Is it a test? Is she leaving him waiting in anticipation, to make it all the more intense when it finally comes?

He’s almost forgotten about it by the time she comes home the next day—later than usual, and carrying a shopping bag, though from this angle, he can’t see what’s inside it. Curiosity is eating him up, but puppies can’t ask questions—and he’s determined be good for her, not wanting to remind her of his recent transgressions.

He greets her enthusiastically, nuzzling into the vee of her legs—maybe she’ll even let him apologize the way he knows best, until she’s shaking with pleasure.

She catches on immediately—of course she does. She’s a good owner, always knows what her puppy wants—though that doesn’t mean she gives it to him, of course. “Do you want to say sorry?” she asks, reaching down to pet his hair.

He whines and nods, eager to earn her forgiveness.

“Go sit on the bed,” she instructs, and he leaps to obey. He’ll show her just how good he can be, and secretly he hopes that he might be rewarded for it.

Antsy with anticipation, he fidgets in place, though he doesn’t dare get up and pace. She doesn’t make him wait long—she follows shortly after, carrying the same bag, which she sets aside. Though he’s burning with curiosity about what’s inside it—and whether it’s meant for him—his attention is pulled away by her shutting the door and beginning to strip, revealing skin that he’s itching to taste. If he had a tail, it would be wagging right now.

She climbs atop the bed and leans back against the headboard, looking every inch the regal queen despite—or maybe because of—her nudity. Her legs part, revealing a glimpse of her cunt, already starting to get wet.

As much as he wants to leap into action, kissing and licking, he’s been trained better than that. He waits until she pulls him in place with a finger hooked around his collar, nudging his head down, before he starts to lave his tongue over her.

His licks are sloppy, uncoordinated, but no lesser for his eagerness. Slick drips down his chin, mixing with drool as he salivates, relishing the taste of her sweet cunt.

After she shakes apart on his tongue once, walls clenching around nothing, she tugs him up by the collar, and he shifts his attention to her clit, licking and sucking until she’s moaning, legs trembling with another orgasm. He knows better than to stop, and returns to licking between her labia, dipping his tongue inside as she shudders.

He flutters his tongue, teeth just barely grazing her clit, and she grinds down, smothering him, though he doesn’t complain. He laps up the slick that gushes forth like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, licking her clean until, oversensitive, she pulls him away with two fingers hooked in his collar.

“Good boy,” she croons, once she catches her breath, and pulls him into a kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. “Apology accepted.”

His heart soars. He’s been forgiven, and he’s been good! He whines with pleasure, nipping gently at her lips until she pushes him away and sits up.

He watches as she leans over and pulls the bag closer—he’d forgotten, and his heart drops when he sees the first item she pulls out. “Oh, don’t be like that,” she coaxes upon seeing his face. “This is to help you be a good boy. You want to be good, right?”

He whines. He does want to be good, but this—a cock cage? Forget a reward, this is perhaps the worst punishment she could give him.

Will she ever allow him to come again? And what about—he gulps—what about when he needs to piss? He trusts her with his life, but not enough to trust that she won’t delight in making him squirm.

But he doesn’t stop her when she leans forward and fits it around his cock and balls, the cold metal making him flinch back. “Stop that,” she admonishes, flicking lightly at the head of his cock, and he yelps.

It’s a painful few minutes as she waits for his erection to go down enough to fasten the cage closed and lock it, tucking the key away. “There we go,” she coos. “Now we shouldn’t have any more accidents.”

He whines again.

“And,” she continues, “I have a treat for you.” He perks up as she pulls another item out of the bag—a tail plug, and his eyes go wide in arousal when he sees it.

She laughs, but not meanly. “Turn around and present.”

He does, holding his cheeks open the way she taught him to allow better access—and because ‘it makes such a pretty sight,’ according to her.

He jumps at the first press of a slick finger at his hole, but leans back into it as she works him open, little whimpers making their way out of his mouth. The plug slides in easily, popping past the tight ring of muscle and settling right up against his prostate. The fur of the tail brushes against the inside of his sensitive thigs, and it sends him half mad with sensation.

He feels a sudden sharp sting on his ass—she’s spanked him, just to see the way he yelps and clenches around the plug, yelping again when it drives the plug further in, pressing just so against his most sensitive spot.

He forces himself to settle, consciously relaxing his muscles and giving himself some relief. Experimentally, he wiggles his lower half, the tail swinging side to side, and earns an appreciative hum from Yennefer. “Do you like that, puppy?” she purrs. “I certainly do.”

He nods, turning around and nuzzling up against her thigh. She really is good to him.

“Wait until I show you the best part,” she says, rummaging around in the bag once more. Jaskier hears a small click, and then suddenly he feels the plug start to vibrate, forcing precum to weep out of his caged cock, which is valiantly trying to get hard again despite its bonds.

His fingers scrabble against the sheets, trying in vain to find something to cling to as he rides the waves of vibrations. He whines, thrusting his hips forward into the sheets by instinct, but he can’t get any stimulation on his poor caged cock. His desperate humping is as useless as his cock is now.

He buries his face against her leg, whining still, and she takes pity, switching the vibrations off. “I’ve put you through a lot tonight, I know,” she murmurs, petting his hair. “We’ll play with that later.”

He remains frustrated and unsatisfied until he falls asleep, but he’s at least grateful to be forgiven and even allowed a place in her bed.

When he wakes up the next morning, he expects Yennefer to take the cage off. Maybe this was just a brief punishment, a test, and she’ll let him come since he’s been so good.

But she just laughs at his hopeful look—“Silly puppy. This is for your own good, remember?”—and leaves it on. And to make matters worse, he knows that she’s going to be busy all day today—she’ll be home, but most likely locked away in her office while she works.

The sole consolation is that she won’t have the time to torture him with pleasure, something she delights in doing whenever they’re home together. But she won’t be giving him any attention, either.

He dozes for a bit, whiling away the morning, until he gets too bored and goes searching for anything else to do. He would jerk off, but, well, that’s not an option anymore. He considers going to bother Yennefer, but even before thinking about it he knows it’s a bad idea. And he’s trying to be good, after all.

It’s around noon when the urge to pee gets really bad. He’s been holding it all morning, ignoring the steadily-growing urge, but it’s truly undeniable now. Hanging his head, he goes over to her office, scratching at the door to get her attention. The door doesn’t open, though. Heart clenching, he whines, knowing that she’ll be angry with him for disturbing her, but he’s desperate at this point—good boys don’t have accidents, after all, and he’s perilously close to one.

His bladder is straining, almost as if he can feel the piss sloshing around inside. After a wave of need hits him particularly hard, his hands fly down to his cock, squeezing as firmly as he can despite the cage in the way. He needs to go.

He starts to cry, tears of frustration and desperation falling down his face, hiccupping whines making their way out of his mouth. “Jaskier, stop whining. I’m busy,” Yennefer calls from the other side of the door.

So she knows he’s there, and she won’t come to help. Jaskier knows, then, with absolute certainty, that he’s going to piss himself. He’s going to piss right here, right on the floor, through his cage, and it’s going to get everywhere, and Yennefer is going to be mad, and—

He’s peeing before he can even finish the thought, hot piss hissing against the bars of the cage, dribbling onto the floor into a hot puddle, soaking his legs. The relief is great, but it’s overpowered by the intense guilt and shame of the action. He’s pissing on the floor. Like an untrained puppy.

Though his eyes are squeezed shut, he hears the door to the office open. He whines, not meeting her eyes, shoulders hunched up.

“Bad puppy,” she admonishes—the exact words he feared. “What have I told you about making a mess?”

He whines, but it’s cut off as she wraps a finger around his collar and pulls him after her. He rushes to catch up, limbs uncoordinated, weak with relief and heavy with dread. She drags him to the bathroom, has him clamber into the tub, and turns the faucet on full blast. He yelps, the water stinging his skin—at least she’s using warm water, rather than cold. It’s still not something he was expecting, and he’s left dripping but clean in the aftermath.

She towels him dry, rough but not painful, except for when she tweaks his nipples or yanks at a strand of hair or tugs at his tail. He stifles his yelps, though, not wanting to anger her more, even as she clicks her fingers at him to follow her to the bedroom.

He makes as if to jump up on the bed, but one stern glance from her has him reconsidering. Right. Only good boys are allowed on the furniture. He sits at her feet, head bowed, waiting for his punishment.

She bends down and brushes a finger under his chin, lifting until his eyes meet hers. “How can I help you learn this lesson, hm?” she asks, thumb stroking his lips. “I don’t think pain will work—you’re too eager for it,” she mocks. “But pleasure, well—my dirty little hedonist, I think I can teach you about too much of a good thing.” She leans in close, her breath mingling with his. “I’m going to make you mess your cage until you run dry.”

She switches the vibrating plug on. He sucks in a breath, hips jerking forward and almost touching her leg, but he wrestles himself back under control. Don’t make a mess, he coaches himself, his hips twitching as if to drive himself back further upon the vibrator. She laughs delightedly. “Good boy, you’re learning already.”

He whimpers, caught between the dual pain of his flesh pressed against the cage and the pleasure of her praise and the wonderful vibrations. With the plug pressed directly against his prostate, he’s rapidly barreling towards an orgasm—except his cock is kept forcefully soft, weeping through the bars and pooling on the floor. He whines upon seeing it and, without a second thought, leans down to lick up his mess.

Her hand comes down in his hair, at first caressing, but then she shoves him down, nose ground against the floor. “That’s right. Clean up the mess you’ve made,” she says, not letting him up until every drop has been licked clean.

The vibrations keep rocketing through him, assaulting his every nerve. He bites his lip, feeling an impossible orgasm approach. Even confined in a cage, he can feel it building, building, until it overtakes him in a wave, dragged out of him in a slow oozing drip. He pants, riding it through, his panting turning into a steady whine as the plug doesn’t stop.

His oversensitive nerves jump with every sensation, his fingers curling into fists, sweat beading and dripping down his skin. He risks a glance up at Yennefer, silently begging her to stop, but she just raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to be good, puppy?” she asks, and he does, he does want to be good, but it’s almost painful now, a second orgasm forcing its way through his body.

He’s right on the edge—but he still needs something to push him over, something to pull him through the wall of oversensitivity and bring him to ecstatic pleasure. He gets it in the form of her sharp nails pricking at his skull, yanking his head up, and her other hand tugging at his collar and twisting. He gasps, air cut off, hands coming to scrabble at his neck, eyes rolling back in his head—and comes like a fucking fountain, cum spurting between the bars of his cage, all the blood rushing from his head, stars filling his vision.

He slumps down, gasping in a breath as she releases his collar, her deceptively strong arms catching him before he can fall into the puddle beneath him. She lifts him up and places him in bed—like a good puppy, his hazy mind tells him—and he slowly comes back to the feeling of her scritching her nails lightly behind his ear in the way that always drives him mad with pleasure, and the sound of her murmuring praises.

“Good boy, Jaskier, you were so good for me,” she coos, and he feels her jostle the cage between his legs. His eyes shoot open and he scrambles backwards with all the urgency his lazy limbs can manage. He can’t handle anything more right now, not with his poor wrung out cock so sensitive. His safeword is on the tip of his tongue when she speaks.

“I’m taking it off, that’s all,” she promises, and he settles down, letting her unlock it and ease it gently off, noting with a whimper the dark lines the cage has gouged into his flesh. “Oh, poor thing.”

Next is the tail plug, and he knows not to jerk back from the slight tug at his stretched rim. There’s a brief flash of too-much as the widest part of the plug exits, followed by the alien feeling of his hole gaping around nothing, fluttering weakly in the plug’s wake.

“Lovely,” Yennefer praises, looking at his hole as if she’d like nothing more than to devour him. Mercifully, she leaves well enough alone, and nudges him over until she can fit on the bed next to him, pulling him into her arms. He goes with a happy sigh, glad his punishment is over and basking in her closeness. “Good boy,” she praises him one last time before sleep claims him. He really does love being her good puppy.

[insane-control-room]

Not Over Yet

for @writingdispenser based on their amazing fic, I’m Gonna Like the Way You Fight

ao3 link here

Sometimes the best laid plans are disrupted.

It was supposed to go perfectly. They had planned for everything and anything, even bringing packs of food and drink just in case they got stuck. The plan itself was flawless, two utterly brilliant men conjuring the smartest and most untrackable idea, a mix of minds that was so impenetrable that Spy knew that it had to have been an inside job. Had someone seen their movements and subsequently gave them away? He could have sworn that he heard the tell tale clack of high heels behind him right before Engineer’s yelp and the bat blinked in his vision moments prior to it all going dark. Yet again, it all happened too fast for his liking. 

He groaned and let his head lean back. His arms were sore and unable to move, as were his legs. Whomever it was that caught them must have known who they were dealing with, and made sure to tie him up tight. Was Engineer in the same situation? Where was Engineer, in any case? Spy could not see him, eyes darting left to right. Trying to speak and call out for him failed too, his mouth dry. 

He cleared his throat painfully, about to try again, when he heard him talk first, a weak, “Spy…?”

“I am here,” Spy quickly assured him. “Are you alright? I am afraid that my good looks are a little off kilter for the time being, as my nose feels like it is broken.”

“And I,” Engineer replied slowly, as if forming words into comprehensive lines was a strenuous task, “Might have a little bit of a concussion.”

“Oh,” Spy winced. “That… does not sound good.”

“No, no it doesn’t, I’ll reckon,” Engineer conceded. “I’m right sure that it sounds pretty bad.”

“Are you tied up?” Spy asked, trying to gauge their situation. Engineer hummed an affirmative. “Well, ah, let’s think of our options.”

“I don’t have my wrench,” Engineer muttered. “Can’t teleport out of here.”

“They must have known about it,” Spy hissed, trying to wriggle himself free. Everything felt strangely stiff and heavy. “Is it somewhere around this area, though?”

“I think it’s on a table just a bit away,” Engineer answered. “I’m going to try to get to it.”

When Engineer moved, Spy realized why it was so hard to do anything.

They were tied to each other.

Engineer seemed to reach the same conclusion at the same time.

“This is both better than I expected and worse,” he commented. “If we’re tied together, maybe we can work together to get up and move. Did you ever have to get up with a partner in a gym class?”

“What the hell are you talking about,” Spy snapped, losing his patience and growing agitated in worry. “Non, I have not.”

“Okay, so what we gotta do is,” Engineer leaned against Spy. “We need to push against each other and get into a vee shape with our legs. On the count of three, one, two, three!”

It took a bit of time, but eventually the two men found themselves on their four feet, panting and groaning from the exertion. 

“On your feet?” Engineer asked between breaths. Spy could only nod. For a mercenary he thought this would be nothing difficult, especially not for a spy, but he supposed that being knocked out and with a concussed partner would make things a bit harder. “Good, good. I think that the best way to do this is to get the wrench in one hand for both of us.”

“Are we retreating?” Spy asked, almost disappointed. He wanted to continue on. Engineer paused, shoulders sagging down. “We can continue. This is just a… small setback, that is all.”

“I-- I want to agree with you,” Engineer said slowly. “But….”

He looked to his feet. He did not know how to word this. 

I don’t want you to get hurt? Your safety and preservation is important? 

“We’re a team. We decided to do this together, and if things are goin’ south as they are, then maybe it would be smart to back up and regroup. To come at this with fresh eyes,” Engineer decided to say. “Maybe that way they wouldn’t think of us as a threat anymore.”

“Or maybe they’ll block off our access point and increase security, which will happen whether or not we stay,” Spy pointed out. Engineer grew silent. “Let’s think about the moment. If we go, we might lose our ability to go through with our plan.”

“You’re right,” Engineer admitted. “I guess I’m a bit worried.”

“You, worried?” Spy snorted. “The man who snuck over enemy lines to place a sentry right by their respawn? He who set up camp directly above the RED respawn?”

“Okay, yes, I might have done some pretty risky things,” Engineer huffed, trying to look for Spy’s knife so they could cut themselves free. “This is different.”

“How so?”

Those, he did alone. Those, he could plan for and escape in the blink of an eye without worrying about anyone or anything. This, in an indescribable way, was different.

However, bringing that up brought an idea to his mind.

“Spy, you can use BLU teleporters, right?”

“Yes, cher, and what does that have to do--”

“What if we get out of here, and watch for when they lax up security again,” Engineer began, and Spy, figuring out his plot, finished for him, “And teleport in while their guard is down. Brilliant.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Engineer hummed. “But we still need to get untied and I need to set up the teleporter somewhere they wouldn’t think to look. And I don’t think that my brain is working enough to determine a place like that.”

“First things first,” Spy soothed, also unable to locate his knife. “Getting out of these ropes.”

“Y-yeah. That’s probably a good start,” Engineer mumbled. It was hard to concentrate. “Do you have any ideas for how to do that?”

“We could try stretching it out and hoping it will loosen,” Spy offered. “Or find something rough to saw it off.”

“Would a buzzsaw work?”

“Yes, I-- where do you see a buzzsaw?”

“Right in front of me.”

Spy craned his neck, and sure enough, there was a circular blade sitting on the table beside Engineer’s wrench. Operating it would be tricky, and not cutting off their fingers would be trickier, but with calm concentration they would be able to use it to their advantage. 

Then there was a pause.

“Wait a second.”

“What?” Spy heard a curious noise in Engineer’s voice, almost as though he was holding in laughter. “What is it, Engineer?”

“Hold my right hand, no, the other right,” Engineer instructed him. “Tight.”

When Spy did so, he was greeted by the unnerving sense that all was not as it seemed within that rubber glove. Sure enough, he could feel the Engineer twist his wrist, bend his elbow, and leave his hand in Spy’s grasp. 

The rope, no longer holding them, fell from Spy’s wrist. They turned to face each other, their other hands still bound. Spy awkwardly held out Engineer’s hand for him to take, staring at the place it should have been on the man’s body. A mechanical base was at his wrist, and Spy quickly realized that he was holding a prosthetic. 

“Did you build it yourself?” he asked, curious. Engineer nodded. “That is incredible.”

“Thank you,” Engineer accepted, blushing just a tad. Spy found it a bit exhilarating to be the first to discover this-- or at least, it felt like it, and that was how he would hold it in his mind. Engineer, breaking away from staring at Spy, turned to fumble with undoing the knot on their still bound wrists. “Uh, do you want to pick where I put the teleporter? Somewhere that we both can reach it, and where it wouldn’t be noticeable.”

“Let’s scout out this hall,” Spy offered. “Perhaps we will be able to spot somewhere of interest. I’m sure that this place is rather dull, as they put us here expecting us to find nothing.”

“True,” Engineer nodded in agreement. “But let’s be careful when we go out. Our only weapons are… a wrench and a buzzsaw.”

“Not exactly ideal, but workable,” Spy commented. “Still, it doesn’t seem like they were expecting us to be able to escape at all, seeing as they did not put any watch over us.”

“Don’t jinx it, Spy,” Engineer warned him. “We don’t know that, maybe whoever was on our watch just stepped out for a smoke.”

“I will backstab them if they did,” Spy told him bluntly. “And yes, with the buzzsaw.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Engineer tried not to laugh. It brought a smirk to Spy’s face, and the man picked up the blade, weighing it in his hand. It was battery powered, which would be quite helpful against any enemies they might encounter. They made their way out into the hallway, glancing around corners to see no one, but if they strained their ears, the sounds of a patrol could be heard in the distance. “Do you want to go left or right?”

Spy pondered for a moment. Left was closer to the central hallway, right seemed to lead to a dead end.

“Let’s go left,” he whispered. “Just with caution.”

Engineer nodded, and the two crept along the path. Glancing along the hallway, they were able to tell that the floor was sloped, and down probably meant where they needed to go. 

They signaled to each other, and Spy slipped into the shadows to find the nearest nook to hide in. Soon he returned to Engineer, and once a guard marched past them, the pair stealthily made their way to a room, the lock already picked by Spy. It was a bit difficult with Engineer’s vision pulsing at times and confusion attacking his senses, but Spy kept him steadily on their goal. 

After repeating this several times, and getting an approximate two miles into the facility over the course of an hour, they finally heard signs that their escape was noticed. Grinning at one another, they were able to make much faster progress now, as the guards of GRN and YLW were going up the hallway slope instead of down, expecting them to have retreated. Soon, they reached a door that was electronically sealed, and Spy frowned. 

“Should we go back now?” he asked Engineer. “So I could get my sapper.”

“Or we could wait for someone to open the door for us,” Engineer replied, but that course of action became disproven as someone did go through the door in a moment-- and it left no window of opportunity to slip through, opening and closing immediately. “Sapper it is.”

They back tracked two rooms to determine where to hide the teleporter. A shelf was brought into question, thought it would be rather annoying to deal with, seeing that it was close to the ceiling and would force them into a stoop, and possibly break their backs. 

“Wait a moment,” Spy reached out his hand to stop Engineer from climbing up the shelves to look around the room. “If, as I think, it was an inside job that gave us away, then they will be expecting us to come back in from above, as that is your rather signature maneuver. So perhaps, a wiser move will be to come from below.”

“What about that there grate?” Engineer asked, pointing at a relatively man sized hole. Spy realized that was a way further into the building. Spy mentioned it to him quietly, and they slipped within. Crawling along quietly, they dropped down into the next flight, and edging into the room, they sighed with relief as no one was around. They crossed the hall into the room across, too many people marching by to be comfortable with going any further without any of their, especially Spy’s, gear. 

They set up the teleporter, and then Spy found himself in a tight hold, Engineer’s face inches from his own, and then there was a strange sensation similar to teleporting, and they were back at spawn-- BLU spawn, to be precise. 

“Medbay, now,” Engineer grunted, hauling Spy over his shoulder much like one of his toolboxes. The medical bed under his back was strangely comfortable, and the healing rays sinking into him felt like a blissful blessing as well. He suddenly was assaulted by smells, now realizing that he had been unable to due to his nose having been swollen. He sighed and relaxed, his eyes closing out of instinct. The Engineer smelled of sweat and hard work, but more importantly, safety, and it let him drift….

“Spy, don’t pass out on me again, now,” firm hands shook his shoulders. His eyes snapped open, and he tried to ask him what he meant by ‘again’, but his mouth was too dry. “You awake now? Good. Good. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Spy replied, rubbing his eyes. The scent of the Engineer was again in his nostrils, this time awakening him rather than putting him to sleep. “I… I didn’t realize. It was very soothing.”

“Ah yeah, I know,” Engineer huffed, sitting next to him and leaning against him under the tranquil rays of the medbay’s medigun. “I wonder if this stuff can fix up a concussion….”

“We’ll see,” Spy mumbled, leaning against him as well. The change of plans, at first a painful poke at his pride, now seemed further away than he could have dreamed. And, he decided, as an arm wrapped over his shoulder, soft muscle embracing him in a half hug, that he preferred this outcome, in a strange, sentimental way he thought he had shed many years ago. His own arm snaked behind Engineer’s back, and the two of them sat there, silently inhaling and exhaling, glad to be alive and with one another. Spy, stirring out of his trance and growing a touch embarrassed, coughed, and then asked Engineer: “Do you think we should infiltrate again in the dead of night or in broad daylight? Both will have the advantage of surprise.”

“Right now, I can’t think much about that,” Engineer told him in response.

“Fair enough,” Spy answered with a slight smile and shrug. “Are you feeling any better, though?”

“It feels like my brain is being remolded,” Engineer replied, rubbing his forehead. “It hurts a little, but I hope it will get better soon.”

“Aw, poor Engie,” Spy crooned, and began rubbing circles over the man’s temples. “Is this helping at all?”

“Yeah, it is,” he sighed. “Thank you.”

Spy said nothing. He did not feel like there was anything to say. Instead, he rubbed his temples for a few moments longer, and then leaned back against his strong hold. They breathed in unison as their bodies and minds rested and healed.

Looking at each other when they finally got up, they both grinned, reinvigorated.

The game wasn’t over until they called it.

[caravagest]

Customer Service

5K words - Short story - Sci-fi

Warnings: mentions of homophobia, transphobia and abortions

“I never much liked those Areedans, myself”, Morrey said, not for the first time since Vidan had known him, and probably not for the last.

Vidan, for one, thought Morrey ought to have been used to them by now. He was the oldest worker at the station, and had been there the longest – going on sixteen Vanetan years in service, and, probably, looking down the barrel of another couple decades there. At Morrey’s ripe age of forty-seven, career re-orientation wasn’t exactly an easy prospect. Eventually, Morrey would grow old at the same post he had always held, behind the same stained counter, under the same sickly neon lights. Around seventy, if he had enough money put away, he’d retire, and head back home to Vaneta to die planet-side. Vidan could see it happening, could almost picture Morrey’s face when the still slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes grew into deep crevices and the skin of his cheeks gave way to gravity and dropped into waxy fat under his jaw.

For now, though, Morrey was still full of just enough youth and energy to brew coffee, hold a broom, wipe down tables, and sneer at aliens, who made up perhaps half of the clientele of the station, maybe even more. Vidan himself regarded them with curiosity, if a safe amount of distrust, but not with the contempt Morrey held them in. Perhaps it had come with his time at the station, or perhaps he’d always been that way. His wasn’t an uncommon stance on Vaneta. Non-reproducibles weren’t popular with the Church, and as such, they weren’t popular with the people. It was bad for tourism, but Vanetans didn’t care for tourism so much as they did for conquest.

“I heard they can listen to your thoughts”, Vidan mumbled, and tried not to stare too hard at the four-armed man browsing the dry snacks on the other side of the station. “So maybe you shouldn’t think that too loud.”

“I heard they see them”, Morrey said, in a quiet tone, but not so quiet that he made any great effort to spare the customer the conversation, should he give it keen attention. “He’s not looking this way, is he?”

“They don’t see or hear thoughts”, Shelvore piped up from his chair. He was on break, but he never did like to take them outside like Morrey, who left the station every chance he was given to smoke a cigarette and drink a half of coffee away from the clientele. Shelvore liked to stay seated inside and read his books. He was never much for conversation, except for when it allowed him to show off where he knew more than his coworkers. Even though he was a young man, Shelvore dressed like someone twice his age, read printed books far after it had went from retro to ridiculous, and always liked to show off his knowledge, especially when no one had prompted it. Aliens were a strong suit of his; he was from Santina, where the Church had no hold and inter-species exchange was common.

“It’s a sense we humans don’t have. They perceive thoughts in their environment, it’s neither seeing nor hearing. Trying to picture it is like a man born blind trying to imagine sight.”

Shelvore had a strong Santinan accent, with his vees sharp and distinct from his bees and a clipped quality to his thees. It made him sound a bit snobbish, Vidan thought.

“Well, can this one”, Morrey asked, nodding towards the purple-skinned man, “hear what I’m thinking right now?”

“He can’t hear–”, Shelvore started, but apparently decided it was pointless. “I don’t know”, he admitted. “I don’t know if he needs to look your way, or how close he needs to be. It’s hard to understand how their telepathy works.”

Morrey scoffed, and turned his back to Shelvore, digging into his pocket for a candy bar. Vidan, though, kept his eyes on the tall alien. The man had been staring at the same selection of snacks for quite a few minutes now. It made him uneasy. There were only so many types of fried eggs and legume chips. Vidan wondered if the Areedan was, in fact, only pretending to look at the snacks – if he truly was consulting their thoughts, how ever he in fact did it. He tried not to think of anything offensive. Of course, trying not to think of it only brought it up, and he immediately started to wonder if it was true they expelled excrement from their mouths and had no anal cavity. He figured Shelvore would know, but he also figured he wouldn’t much like to casually ask him if Areedans really shat out of their mouths.

Vidan looked around helplessly for a distraction, and automatically gazed down at his wrist, to his data chip. A press of his thumb against it and his retina implant flared up, a blue sheen overlaying his vision. He wasn’t supposed to look at the networks during work, but, well, it was a slow day. He thumbed the data chip to scroll through news articles he couldn’t bring himself to care about. Through the luminescent letters and images, he could still see the Areedan.

The alien had stopped browsing the dry snacks, finally, and had selected a small bag of overpriced vinegar toad eggs – Fried In Adiga Oil, claimed the packaging, though it was really just regular sunflower oil with less than two percent adiga. Now the Areedan was looking at the drink selection, which was otherwise more diverse than the dry snacks. Considering how long his first choice had taken him, he might still be here a while.

Vidan continued to fail to read an article about the Center Council’s new bill on interplanetary animal transport, and, finally thumbed his data chip off. The blue screen on his vision disappeared, with the usual worrying squeak that let him know his ear implant needed changing. He leaned forward, put his forearms down on the counter, and watched the alien.

The Areedan had long, black hair – all of them he had seen did – and two of his arms were crossed behind his back elegantly. Vidan thought, not for the first time, that there was something graceful, something very pretty about Areedans, even the male ones. It was a guilty thought. He imagined it was brought on by the novelty. Vidan had only worked at the station for a month and he hadn’t gotten used to the aliens yet.

Finally, the customer leaned down to grab a soft drink and turned to the counter, and Vidan averted his gaze quickly, as if to prevent him from reading, or seeing, or hearing, or whatever it was they did with thoughts. It was probably useless.

If the Areedan had witnessed anything he’d been thinking about – about how pretty he was, or maybe about whether he defecated from the same hole he ate from – he made no show of it. Vidan figured telepaths probably didn’t get offended that easily; it would take up too much of their time.

Since Morrey was still unhelpfully nibbling on his candy bar (probably on purpose, the bastard), Vidan slid behind the register and put on his best customer service smile, focusing on the thought be polite to the customer, be polite to the customer, be polite to the customer, in hopes it would prevent the alien from seeing any of his less flattering ones.

“Find everything okay?”, he asked. Be polite to the customer, be polite to the customer.

“Yes thank you”, said the alien, very flatly, with no particular intonation to his voice, and handed Vidan his items.

Vidan scanned them quickly – be polite to the customer, be polite to the customer – and returned his eyes to the massive, empty scleras watching him. Maybe watching him. It was hard to tell with the lack of pupils but the general inclination of the alien’s head led him to believe he was being looked at. At least, the Areedan smiled back. Vidan liked it better when there was some overlap in facial expression. Some aliens he’d seen he couldn’t decipher the body language of at all.

“Very nice station”, said the alien, again in this toneless voice. “You are of very good service.”

It occurred to Vidan that the alien probably didn’t get to use much Common Tongue, and wanted to exercise it. Be polite to the customer, be polite to the customer, be polite to the customer.

“We try our best”, Vidan agreed and kept the fake smile stretched tightly on his face.

“You do”, said the Areedan, still smiling, and shot Morrey a look. Morrey stared back, unabashed.

Be polite to the customer, Vidan continued to repeat desperately, trying very, very hard not to picture what said customer’s bodily waste functions looked like.

For a beat there was silence as Vidan realized he was definitely, absolutely picturing it.

“It is more liquid like when your kind vomit water”, the alien said. He never did stop smiling.

Vidan tried to figure out how to apologize, but already the man had grabbed his snack and his drink and was headed out, giving him a polite nod as he walked out.

Morrey scoffed as they both watched him walk back to his transport.

“What was that?” He scoffed again, louder. “Did you see how he glared at me? What, he’s not satisfied with my service? Well, I don’t – I tell you, those nonreps – Well, they don’t have manners like we do.”

“Areedans are always honest”, Shelvore spoke up again, not looking up from his book. “There’s no point lying when you can just read each other’s thoughts, right?” And, to Vidan: “Were you wondering about how he shits?”

Vidan didn’t look at Shelvore. His cheeks, which had started to go hot when the Areedan spoke to him, were burning now.

“They shit out their mouths, don’t they?”, Morrey asked, much like Vidan had himself, in the relative privacy of his mind.

“Like he said, it’s more of a regurgitation.”

“D’you think I offended him thinking about it?”, Vidan asked.

“Probably not. They do it out of their faces, so they don’t really think it’s dirty.”

“I pick my nose out my face and people think it’s gross”, Morrey went, grabbing a sponge and starting on some spare dishes. They usually waited until more piled up before washing them, but it had been an idle day. There was nothing else to do.

“Like I said,” finished Shelvore, “they don’t really keep secrets. It’s not a big deal to them.”

With that, he turned his eyes back down to his book. His break would end in a dozen minutes, and he didn’t seem to want to spend any more of it talking to his coworkers.

Vidan kept thinking about the Areedan even after his transport had taken off and disappeared from the station’s artificial atmosphere. He was only the second one of the species he’d ever seen in real life. It seemed they didn’t come off Areeda very often, especially not to venture into mid-sentient territory, like Vaneta. Shelvore had told him once, on one of those occasions he felt like sharing his wisdom unprompted, that to high-sentients like the Areedans, communicating with humans and other mid-sentients was like a grown adult talking to a young teenager. They might get along well enough, and there was definitely enough comparison in their experiences that they could form some bonds or friendships, but eventually there was too much of a discrepancy in maturity, in experience. High-sentients preferred to remain within their own circles.

“They don’t see us like we see low-sents”, Shelvore had explained. “It’s not like when you see a dog, or a baby that can’t speak yet. You can definitely communicate pretty well with them. But it’s a bit like if you’re talking to a kid who only knows about kid stuff, like  school crushes and homework. You always kind of have to dumb things down a bit so they get it. And if you’re a normal adult, you don’t spend your time hanging out with kids.”

It made Vidan a bit uneasy. He didn’t like to think of himself as equivalent to a child in the eyes of other species. To the Church, humans were the superior race – the one chosen by the Eye. Some alien species had a secondary role as chosen – reproducibles, who could bear some offspring with humans, were considered worthy, though still to a lesser degree – but all high-sentient species were non-reps. Shelvore, though, wasn’t of the Church. Human superiority was a risible concept to him.

“Come off it”, he’d once said, rolling his eyes, on a night he and Vidan were alone at the station and engaged in yet another sterile debate. “If you’re so special, why did your god give those ‘non-reproducibles’ abilities you don’t have? It’s so self-centered.” Vidan had given him the general platitude about the Eye reserving some of its gifts only for the ultimate fulfillment of its wishes, keeping the full extent of its power for the truly worthy once they had proven themselves, but he had mostly tried to veer the conversation off the topic. Religious talk with Shelvore never went all that well for him.

He was torn away from his thoughts on high-sents by the chime of the door, sliding open for a new customer.

The new customer was a Cratean. Vidan had seen quite a few of them, and not just because they hailed from Karfue, a relatively nearby planet. In recent months, there had been an epidemic of them, ever since they had won the Center Council debate to establish their medical clinics in orbit around Vaneta. It had been a feverish and drawn out battle. On the one hand, Vanetan government fought tooth and nail to keep them out of its airspace. While the Crateans claimed to offer multiple medical services, there was no hiding that their main attraction was free, anonymous abortions – deemed sinful by the Church, and, therefore, a crime on Vaneta. On the other hand, the Crateans argued that they orbited just far enough off Vaneta – nowhere near the atmosphere – that they remained within the free market range and should be able to operate freely. Vanetan government argued back that a free medical service didn’t qualify under business dealings, but, eventually, Crateans had won the case with a simple loophole: adding a minuscule fee to their service to claim profit.

Ever since the ruling, Vanetan government had doubled down on reminders of the law, of the harsh punishment for baby murderers, of the harsher still judgment of the Eye for those that disrespected its will… And Crateans had been all over the nearby airspace.

Vidan could just about tell them apart enough that he could tell it wasn’t always the same one, but they all still looked very much alike to him. They came in different heights, with more or less fat on their long torso and somewhat diverging shapes to the nubs on their neck, and some of them looked to have lighter skin than others, but overall he felt there wasn’t much diversity in their looks. He figured perhaps it was a result of their parthenogenetic reproduction. When they came of age to reproduce, the tail of a Cratean would fall off and a new, small alien would grow from it. Vidan figured that didn’t make for a lot of genetic changes.

This one was somewhat short for their species, and tall for a human. Lanky, with skin the color of their planet’s desert sand and the same white blouse he’d seen on all the other ones. It seemed they’d taken to dressing up as doctors to legitimize themselves in the eye of the Vanetan population. Vidan doubted it worked very much.

Much like the Areedan previously, this customer had a wide smile plastered on their face, but unlike with the Areedan, this one didn’t seem at all genuine. Vidan knew that Crateans didn’t have natural facial expressions. They’d apparently taken to shaping their face into a facsimile of a grin whenever in the presence of humans, surely in an attempt to appear friendly, but so far the consensus seemed to be that it was creepy and unwelcome. Crateans, who couldn’t hear, see, read, or do much of anything with other people’s thoughts, seemed blissfully unaware of that fact.

“What can I do for you?”, Vidan asked as the alien approached the counter. This time he didn’t try too hard to stop his mind from running free. The rumors about Cratean abortion doctors – that they really were in it to sell human embryos as a delicacy back on their planet – were outrageous, but Vidan thought he might believe them. It was true Crateans enjoyed eggs and fetuses, both of which were a bit of a novelty on their parthenogenetic planet. It wasn’t too far-fetched to assume they weren’t wasting their time, knowledge and resources on providing a free medical service for a smaller, generally xenophobic planet which detested them for it just out of the goodness of their hearts. There had to be something to gain from it. He still couldn’t quite tell what he thought of it.

“45 cubes of oxygen, please”, said the Cratean. They had a soft, bright voice, and nearly no accent. Clearly their Common Tongue was very practiced. The only trace of their own language Vidan could hear was the odd inflection all of them had to the end of their sentences – an inappropriately cheerful rise that hardly fit the context. They handed Vidan a data card, which he took and swiped on the payment terminal.

“Right away”, Vidan said, and grabbed his bright yellow safety vest hidden underneath the counter. Morrey, who had finally finished his candy bar, cracked his neck and went for his coat.

“Well, I’m off for today, boys”, he went, ignoring the customer as he always did when Crateans were around. Morrey wholeheartedly believed the fetus-eating rumors, and he didn’t like them at all.

As Morrey headed for the back door, Shelvore checked his data patch for the time and remarked his break was indeed ending. With a sigh, he closed his book, put it into his messenger bag, and came back behind the counter.

“You still read on sheets”, said the Cratean, again with their same gleeful inflection.

“Yes”, Shelvore said in the curt way of a man who had had this remarked upon many times.

“If you’ll lead me to your vehicle”, Vidan offered. He knew Shelvore wasn’t much for small talk with customers.

“Of course”, the Cratean beamed, or at least appeared to, and the two of them headed outside.

The gas station was an entirely man-made satellite, but still, the owners had seen it necessary to plant grass and trees all over it, to make it look more welcoming – and perhaps also because it helped recycle the expensive oxygen in the costly artificial atmosphere. In the sky, Vaneta hung over them, massive, green and ochre. Vidan was slowly getting used to the sight.

He and the Cratean rounded the building to where their ship was parked in the back. Cratean ships had none of the sharp edges of Vanetan design, and none of its delicate lines, either. They were blunt, purposeful, clean, to the point: large, rounded white things, smooth all over. The lowered walkway was a gentle slope onto the marigold grass.

“What model is that?”, Vidan asked.

“A 3-26.” There were only so many types of Cratean ships, and their Common model matriculations were short and to the point. As Vidan recalled, 3-26s had their gas ports on the front end of the ship, just past the walkway lock.

Thankfully, the ship was parked right next to the oxygen tank, which meant he wouldn’t have to drag its heavy gas tube too far. He found the port easily enough, twisted it open, grabbed the handle of the tube and pulled it out. The Cratean watched, quietly, the forced smile still on their face. It made Vidan feel uneasy.

He had a bit of trouble screwing the port into the oxygen tank, but finally, he managed it. With a swipe of his data chip against the tank’s reader, he accessed the menu and selected 45 cubes.

“It is very costly, all this oxygen”, the Cratean said, apparently hoping to get a conversation going.

“I bet”, Vidan said.

“I am bringing it back to the clinic ship”, said the Cratean. “Your people breathe it so fast. Constantly I need to get more!”

“I’ll say”, Vidan said. He wasn’t too in the know of what Crateans breathed, or if they did, or how they generally sustained themselves, and he didn’t feel like asking either.

“We see many a human, in the clinic. A lot of business.”

“Mmm-hmm”, Vidan acquiesced, watching the number of cubes on the terminal slowly go down as they pumped into the ship.

“It is all that two-party reproduction. So very interesting. Do you have a-” the Cratean seemed to taste the word for a moment “- girlfriend?”

Crateans, who had no genders, always seemed delighted to discuss them with humans.

“I do”, said Vidan automatically. It was more of a lie than it was a truth. He’d met his “girlfriend” in a parlor in the underground of Vaneta’s Capital Island, one of those illicit bars were people partook in all the sin-crimes they could – drugs, excessive drinking and homosexual activities. Erevin was born a girl, he said, but he never felt like one. He never wanted to dress like girls did, or wear his hair like they did, or be pregnant like all fertile women were expected to on Vaneta; but he felt like himself, he said, when he could live a few hours as a man in the bars, where nobody questioned him. He’d told Vidan about it while they drank their souls out in a tiny, cramped booth of the E-767 Area parlor. Vidan didn’t get it, not really, but Erevin chopped his hair really short and wore trousers and men’s blouses, and he called himself a man, and so Vidan saw a man, and a handsome one at that.

But when he took Erevin to his family, he had to show off a girl. There was no other way they could be together in public.

“We don’t have to”, Vidan told him once, in the privacy of his room while they were home alone. “I could say we broke up, you wouldn’t have to act like a girl in front of them.”

Erevin had shrugged, looked at him with that sly smile he had sometimes.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t be a man on Vaneta. No matter how I dress, or how I wear my hair, they can see it in my data chip, in my records… Someone would find out if I tried to pass for a guy anywhere but in a parlor. If I have to call myself a chick I might as well show you off.”

And then, leaning closer, and putting his hand on Vidan’s, he’d told him:

“When we make enough money, we can go off Vaneta together. We could go to Santina. They have – those hormones, there, and surgeries. I could look proper.”

And, surely, Erevin had to know he didn’t need Vidan to do that. He could make his own money, and go to Santina himself, get the treatments he needed, live the life he wanted. But he had to know, too, that Vidan wasn’t where he needed to be either. Because he liked men far more than he ever did women, and he’d never had a real girlfriend, only the fake girlfriend Erevin played out, and if Erevin left without him, in a few years he’d be miserable with a real wife in a pretend marriage. Maybe Santina was a way out for him, too.

So he’d taken this job at the gas station, while Erevin worked at a daycare planet-side, and they were putting away their money, biding their time. Soon, Erevin said when they met on their rare common days off. Soon.

“Is she” - the Cratean started, paused, again tasted the word - “pretty?”

Vidan hesitated – looked back towards the station, saw Shelvore still behind the counter, at a safe distance – and, in confidence, before he could try to stop himself, he said:

“Yeah, he is.”

The Cratean elongated their neck, in the way they did when they were pleased by something.

“I thought”, they said, curious, “that your girls people used the she, and your boys people used the he.”

“Typically so”, Vidan said, failing to find how to explain the situation he himself didn’t quite understand, but the alien just bobbed their head, seeming pleased with his answer.

The tank chimed the end of its delivery, and Vidan unscrewed the gas tube and brought it back into the ship.

“Well, here you go”, he said. The Cratean bobbed their head again, their neck elongated far enough that they were rather looming over him. He never liked when they did that. “You’re all set. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Nothing”, said the alien.

“Thank you for coming to the Mercurial Air gas station”, Vidan recited with his best customer service smile, “we hope to see you back soon and bid you a fair trip.”

“I will be back!” the Cratean confirmed, before they turned to the walkway, head still bobbing.

Vidan walked back around the station to the front, went behind the counter, and put the safety jacket back in its place. He felt a little dazed from his admission – to a complete stranger! To a customer! To an alien! - that his girlfriend wasn’t really a girlfriend. Perhaps it wasn’t how the Cratean had interpreted it – still, it felt like it. Never had he said it to anyone – certainly not his family, or any of his friends, but not anyone else either – no one he talked to on the data networks, and not even the people in the parlors who, surely, wouldn’t mind at all.

The expression on his face had to have been off, because Shelvore noticed.

“Did they say something weird to you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re making this face.”

Vidan considered it. On Santina, he knew, homosexuality wasn’t a sin-crime. Nothing was a sin-crime there, in fact; the government was separate from the Church, or any religion for that matter, and the crimes there were were only crimes, cut off from the notion of sin, of a god, of a judgment above humanity. Vidan sometimes wished Vaneta were the same. How good it must feel, he thought, to commit a crime and know the only wrong is a human moral, decided for human reasons, that you may freely disagree with, that you may debate.

“You have homosexuals on Santina”, said Vidan, tentative.

“Here we go”, Shelvore sighed, rolling his eyes. “Listen, I’ve had this conversation with Morrey already, alright – yes, it’s legal, no, I don’t have a problem with it, no, I don’t get why you do, yes, I think it’s dumb that you do. I don’t want to fight about it, so we can just go back to work.”

“I didn’t want to fight.”

“That’s what you Church people always say, but you always do want to fight. You just don’t want to yell.”

“I have a boyfriend”, Vidan said, very fast, like if he spit it out fast enough Shelvore wouldn’t hear it, or wouldn’t really get it.

There was a pause, a moment of silence in the empty station. Vidan’s heart fell into his stomach, and for a moment he knew – he knew Shelvore would report him to the station management, and they’d report him to the Church police back on Vaneta, and then he’d be investigated, and they’d find out about Erevin, and the two of them would be prosecuted, and they’d never go to Santina, and he had ruined it, not just for himself but for Erevin too, just because he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut–

“You do?”, Shelvore asked.

“I – Yes.”

“You told me you had a girlfriend.”

“I lied.” He looked down at his feet. But Shelvore didn’t seem upset, or disgusted – mostly just intrigued.

“No shit. How long has it been?”

“A year in two weeks.”

Shelvore nodded, thoughtful.

“What brought this up, then? Why tell me?” The remark we aren’t exactly close hung just under the surface.

“The – The Cratean, they asked about him. I told them.” And, so Shelvore could understand the gravity of the situation, he added, “It was the first time.”

“Congratulations”, Shelvore said, gave him a gentle clap on the shoulder. Shelvore wasn’t much for physical contact, typically. “I’ll buy you a soda.”

“We’re going to leave Vaneta.” Now that he’d started to tell, he had to get it all out. There was a gleeful need in him to spill it all out, to make it exist outside of the little sphere of Erevin and him and their lonesome intimacy. “We’re going to put money away and move to Santina, and he’s going to get those surgeries he needs to look like a guy.”

“Where are you planning to move?”, Shelvore asked as he made his way to the drinks selection. It felt like he was being too casual – like he didn’t get how enormous, how life-changing, how incredible it was to tell someone all this. He probably didn’t.

“I- I don’t know, yet. Wherever we can.”

Shelvore nodded. “You have my data, right? If you need… Well, I could help you find a place to stay.”

He hadn’t expected Shelvore to be anything but grossed-out – supportive hadn’t even crossed his mind. Vidan had thought they were only coworkers, perhaps friendly ones, but no more. Suddenly he found he was getting teary-eyed, and he tried to blink it away.

“You like Fizz-Risk, right?”

“Can I get an ice cream sandwich?”, Vidan said, instead of bursting into sobs.

Shelvore looked up at him, and smirked, and nodded again.

“Yeah, I’ll get you one.”

He grabbed one out of the freezers, and came back behind the counter, handed it to Vidan. It was very cold in his hands and he couldn’t resist the urge to press it to his burning forehead. His eyes were still wet, but thankfully his cheeks stayed dry.

“Thanks”, he said. Shelvore nodded, sat on the counter (they weren’t supposed to, but no one was there).

“No problem”, he said, and then he paused, looking for words. Finally, he gave Vidan one of his rare smiles. “Thanks for telling me, anyway.”

Vidan wanted to thank him for listening, and for being nice about it, and for wanting to help, but he knew he’d garble up the words – so he unwrapped the sandwich, and started eating.

[vindicatedvirgil]

only fools rush in / part seven: performance anxiety

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six

summary: Virgil feels anxiety towards multiple things, including the upcoming performances and his intimacy with Roman.

TW: anxiety attack, mention of suicide attempt, blood mention, lots of self-doubt, vague sex mentions, mentions of scars

also more Wicked: The Musical spoilers.

---

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?

-

Virgil stood off stage, hands wringing as he watched the final scenes of the dress rehearsal. Roman was in his scarecrow outfit then, and he reached down into the hatch under the stage to pull up the actress who was playing Elphaba.

“Fiyero! I thought you’d never get here,” the actress said, embracing Roman tightly, touching his face.

“Go ahead, touch. I don’t mind,” Roman breathed deeply. “Ah, you did the best you could. You saved my life.”

“You’re still beautiful,” she said, and Roman laughed lightly, looking down at the ground.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he responded, and Virgil chewed on his lower lip, watching their foreheads press together.

“It’s not lying… it’s looking at things another way,” her voice wavered, and Virgil knew she’d be the one receiving a standing ovation on opening night. Still, he turned on his heel; he couldn’t bear to watch Roman kiss her again. Fiyero kisses both leads, and Virgil tried to avoid watching those moments every single time; though, he had accidentally seen the kiss between Roman and the actress who plays Glinda earlier, and it was now the only thing he saw when he closed his eyes. When he was called on stage to join the curtain call, he held Nessarose’s actress’ hand lightly, not looking to where Roman was situated between those playing Glinda and Elphaba.

Later, he sat in the green room, wiping off the silver makeup of the Tin Man, his mind and heart racing. Perhaps playing a character like Boq was starting to affect the way he thought, the way he was reacting to his relationship with Roman.

Things were so new between them, but the feelings were so strong. Roman had started saying he loved Virgil more frequently, and he wondered if the shorter man was expecting him to say it back soon. He wasn’t ready to say it, though. Maybe he felt it, but the words were like lumps in his throat that he couldn’t bear to get rid of yet.

Virgil’s parents never once told him that they loved him. The first person to tell him those words was Janus, and even after being best friends for so long, Virgil only said those words to the other on very rare occasions.

What did that one song say? Only fools rush in.

Virgil didn’t want to be a fool. He didn’t want to rush. He wanted to take his time, but it was so hard when Roman was so… perfect. Perfect Roman bringing over flowers from Patton’s mom’s floral shop, taking him to sit under the stars or in the sunshine, bringing a smile to his face and kissing his cheeks–

It made Virgil want to burst into tears. No one other than Janus had ever paid him this much attention. Every single time Roman leaned up on the tips of his toes to kiss Virgil’s lips with as much love and passion as the first time, it made Virgil weak at the knees. It made him want to latch onto Roman and never let go.

And he wondered if Roman kissed the actresses the same way. If he gave them the same amount of consideration and gentleness as he did when Virgil was feeling anxious, if the girls could taste Roman’s cherry chapstick or the lingering flavor of the iced coffee that the couple would share during rehearsal breaks. Virgil only had to kiss the actress playing Nessarose on the cheek, and even so, they hadn’t done it in every rehearsal.

The character of Boq– so in love with Glinda, only being with Nessa because he felt bad for her, because he thought that if he was kind to her then Glinda would pay him attention– was not the kindest character to play. Was Virgil like him?

Or, was Roman like Fiyero? Staying with Glinda to keep up appearances but secretly in love with Elphaba, until the two eventually run away together and let everyone believe they are dead?

-

Janus slid out of bed to get more water from the kitchen. He glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that it was nearing four in the morning. When he passed Virgil’s room, the light shone under the door and he could hear scribbling and crumpling, and concern shot through him. Janus knocked once at the door, peering in.

“Vee? You alright…?” Janus was always hesitant to walk into Virgil’s room; sometimes, he got flashbacks of the day that he found Virgil on his bed, the blood seeping through his clothes as he rushed to care for his best friend. Janus shook his head, trying to shake the thought from his head as he saw Virgil sitting cross-legged on the floor, notebook open but many crumpled pages scattered around. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Can’t sleep. Need… I need to figure this out,” Virgil’s voice was hoarse, and when he glanced up at Janus, his eyes were red, the dark circles underneath deeper than they’d been in a while. Janus settled on the floor beside him, glancing at the words he was writing down.

-Virgil Similarities to Boq: weak weak weak weak weak weak no heart

-Roman Similarities to Fiyero: is he cheating on me does he love someone else does he even care is he kissing someone else

Janus frowned, then took the notebook out of Virgil’s hands. “Hey, look at me, right now. You two are not your characters, okay? And you are not weak, Vee.” He set the notebook down and took Virgil’s shaking hands in his own. “Talk to me.”

“I just... Roman kisses the leads, and I’m offstage watching, and I can’t, I can’t do it,” Virgil shut his eyes tightly, trying to hold the tears in. “I’m not good enough for him, Jan, I can’t be.” Janus’ frown deepened, and he rubbed his thumbs against the back of Virgil’s hands.

“Breathe with me, Vee. Hey. Look in my eyes, and breathe,” Janus ordered, and Virgil met his eyes, the tears spilling over the edge. The two sat and breathed deeply together, Virgil following Janus’ lead, for several minutes, until the shaking stopped and the tears were dribbling down his cheeks instead of streaming down them. Eventually, Virgil clambered into Janus’ lap, the way he had so many times on those difficult nights during high school.

Janus ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair with one hand and rubbed circles on his wrist with the other, like he always did. The tall man’s tears slowed to a stop and his breathing fully evened out, but Janus could still tell that Virgil was anxious about the situation. He’d known the other man for so long that he could feel the emotions pouring out, even if they were both sitting in silence.

“Virgil, I’m going to call Roman, okay?” Janus’ voice was smooth, and instantly, Virgil was sitting up, panic crossing his face.

“No, please, he can’t see me like this, Jan!” Virgil pleaded, but Janus shook his head. “I need you, no one else. Please don’t force me out or make me someone else’s problem!” Guilt tore through Janus’ body and he held back tears, taking Virgil into his arms again.

“That isn’t what I’m doing,” Janus started to explain, regret filling his bones. “I just… I see how much Roman helps you and how he makes you feel. If you’re going to remain with him, then he does need to see this, he needs to know how to help you.” Virgil kept shaking his head, and Janus sighed, his fingers lacing their way back through the long hair. “Do you love him?”

“I… you know how I feel about saying that,” Virgil’s voice was hoarse again, his heartbeat uneven. Janus nodded at this, but didn’t say anything. “He loves me, but how could he continue to feel that way for me if he sees me like this, sees me doubting him? What if it scares him off?”

“Well, then he’s not worth your time or your love,” Janus said very matter-of-factly, and Virgil whined aloud at this revelation. The sociology major sighed, his fingers twisting in the other’s hair a bit. “In all honesty, Vee, he won’t get scared off. He loves you, and he only wants to be there for you.”

-

“I’m here for you,” Janus said softly, sitting in the chair next to the main tattoo chair. It was Virgil’s 18th birthday, and he decided to celebrate by getting his first tattoo. Janus happily joined him, but Virgil was starting to get a bit nervous. “If you want to leave, we can, okay?”

“No. I need to do this,” Virgil had decided that once he turned 18, everything would change. And that started with doing something for himself that his parents would never want him to do. He laid on his stomach, holding Janus’ hand tightly as the tattoo artist did his job; a storm cloud on the back of his left hip. Virgil didn’t know what it was about that spot or that tattoo, only that after storm clouds, things get better. Rainbows come. He didn’t know when to expect his rainbow, but he hoped it would arrive soon.

A few months after the storm cloud tattoo, he got gauges in his ears to commemorate moving into the apartment with Janus. At the time, he thought that was his rainbow.

-

Roman was over at the apartment in record time. When he saw Janus’ name on the screen, at 4 in the morning, of course only the worst possible scenarios ran through his head. Roman had thought of every outcome before Janus could get out the words. Virgil was anxious about the play, about the characters the two of them had taken the roles of, and about the kiss scenes. And so Roman grabbed his coat and slipped into his sneakers, then ran the few blocks between apartments, all while in his pajamas.

When he arrived at the apartment, Janus was sitting at the dining table, his head in his hands, a mug of tea in front of him. “He was dozing off, but you should go in there,” he had said. Roman thought that Janus was going to fall asleep right there, but said nothing as he made his way into Virgil’s bedroom.

And he was dozing off, back against the foot of the bed and legs curled up underneath him. Roman sat down next to him, pulling the taller man into his arms, pressing soft kisses to the unshaven face. “Hey, babe, talk to me. What’s going on?” Virgil’s eyes focused on Roman’s face, and then he crumpled, pressing his face into the other man’s shoulder.

“I-I-I’m so weak, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Virgil hiccuped after saying these words, and Roman just rubbed circles on his back, waiting for the psychology major to elaborate. “I just, I can’t bear to see you kissing them, because what if you kiss them the same way as you kiss me and I’m not special and I mean nothing to you and–”

“Whoah, whoah! Okay, babe, you need to listen to me,” Roman took a deep breath  before continuing. “You. Are. The. Most. Special. Person. In. The. World. Okay? I love you. So fucking much. And you know what? You mean everything to me,” his voice was firm and confident, and Virgil sniffled into his shoulder. “I give them pecks, that’s all, and before we had our first rehearsal I told them both that it would be nothing more than that because I’m with you and no one else.”

“B-But what if I’m not good enough, and you hate me because I’m such a mess–” Virgil cut himself off, not wanting to continue the sentence. Roman’s voice was there again, though, grounding the anxious man.

“Virgil, can I kiss you? If you’re feeling too uneasy for that I won’t, but I want to show you how much you mean to me.” He made no movements, but Virgil pulled away from his shoulder and nodded, wiping the snot and tears off of his face with his jacket sleeve. Roman smiled a bit at this and then leaned in, pressing their lips together in much the same way as that day that they first kissed; sloppy, a little rushed, but so full of adoration and love.

“Roman, you’re my rainbow.”

-

Virgil and Roman sat on the edge of the stage, their hands linked as they listened to the director make announcements for the next week of rehearsals. They’d have the rest of that day off to rest, but then there would be full rehearsals the following three days, leading up to their final dress rehearsal and then opening night.

Ever since the night (or late morning, depending on your view of time) that Roman came to comfort Virgil, they had been spending every night in Virgil’s bed, Roman comforting and holding his boyfriend close, talking him through anxiety attacks and running their lines until one (or both) of them dozed off.

The others had started to wonder if they should all move into one of the apartments and sell the others, but six guys and one bathroom was not an ideal situation. Logan had decided that he would try to locate a home with enough bedrooms and several restrooms for them to move into at the end of the term, but until then, everyone was spending most of their time with their partners.

That night, though, Roman and Virgil went back to the apartment that Roman lived in with Logan and Patton, because Roman needed to get some more clothes from his closet. He explained it to Virgil as “I’ve got to slay everyday”, and the taller man didn’t argue, even though he did wonder if Roman got tired of his constant black jeans, t-shirts, and hoodies.

As they entered the building, they ran into Remy and Emile, who they hadn’t seen for several weeks due to how busy they all had been. Emile tried pulling Virgil in for a hug, but the tall man just shook his head, looking down to avoid seeing the upset look on the cartoon lover’s face.

“Virgil, are you studying for your exams properly? Grades are important if you want to get into the doctoral program someday,” Emile’s voice was cheerful, but it only made Virgil want to sink into the floor. “I could help you study next week if you’d like.”

“Uh… not next week. We have performances and rehearsals every day for the next two weeks, but… after that I could use some help, maybe,” Virgil’s voice was low, and Roman said nothing, but the two excused themselves to go up to the apartment. He wanted to say something, but Virgil just pulled him to the bedroom, passing Logan who was at the kitchen counter, working on assignments.

When they got into the bedroom, Virgil flipped the lock and kissed Roman suddenly, roughly, albeit a bit awkwardly. Roman didn’t have time to protest, he eased into the embrace and kissed his boyfriend back with vigor, wrapping his arms around Virgil’s neck.

“Tonight?” Roman managed to get out between kisses, and Virgil nodded, his hands trailing to push Roman’s jacket off of his shoulders. The two had discussed taking their relationship to the next level… physically, that is… for a few days, and while Roman was eager for whenever it would be, Virgil was, of course, anxious about it. Roman decided to turn off the thinking part of his brain, though, and kissed down Virgil’s neck, unzipping the hoodie and pulling it off.

“Tonight. Now. We’re going to be so exhausted the next few weeks, and I don’t want to wait until we’re done with performances,” Virgil’s voice had taken on a husky tone, and Roman nodded, pushing the two over to the bed. They kissed on the bed, Roman straddling Virgil’s hips, for several minutes, Virgil trying to grind up into the touch.

Roman pulled his own shirt off and then his hands dove under Virgil’s t-shirt, making the other flinch. He pulled his hands back, eyes full of concern as they met Virgil’s wide-blown pupils. “Virge? Are you okay?”

“I-I don’t know…” Virgil bit on his lower lip. He didn’t know why he was suddenly feeling his throat constrict at the thought of Roman pulling his shirt off; they’d made out topless in the past, and had been sharing a bed for several weeks. Maybe it was the knowledge that this moment was different. Virgil had never done this before. “Roman, I’m… a virgin. I don’t know how to do this, I feel so nervous. I don’t know…”

“Hey, shhh,” Roman leaned down to kiss his cheek. “We can wait as long as you need, even if it’s weeks or months from now. I’m in no rush. I love where we are now, okay? Not doing this tonight won’t change how I feel about you.” At those words, Virgil felt a surge of emotion, and he wanted to say those words, he felt them bubbling up again, but they didn’t come out. He couldn’t say those words yet.

Roman slipped his shirt back on and moved up on the bed, arms open for Virgil. The two snuggled close for a while until they decided to change into their pajamas, and once they were under the covers, the lights out, Virgil let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

-

Virgil was standing in the cafe on campus, waiting for his order of an iced coffee for Roman and a caramel macchiato for himself, when he felt a hand clap onto his shoulder. He jumped, glancing over to see Emile’s bright and shining smile. “Please don’t startle me like that.”

“Sorry, kiddo. I was just excited to see you here! Remy works here, and he’s just about to get off of his shift, maybe you wanna go to dinner with–”

“I can’t. Rehearsals,” Virgil muttered watching as Emile’s smile fell. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

“I thought you were a psychology major, Virgil. Why are you spending so much time on something that you’re not going to pursue in the future?” Emile’s question surprised Virgil, who crossed his arms.

“I am a psychology major, but I’m also a theater minor. I love doing this stuff, please don’t judge me,” Virgil had had his fair share of doubts on the subject before. “I can focus on both.”

“I’m not saying that you can’t kiddo, it’s just… well, you seem distracted.” Virgil glared at Emile over these words.

“You don’t know me, please don’t start acting like you can see right through me with all of this. I’m not distracted. I’m focused.” Virgil said nothing more before grabbing the two drinks from the counter and heading out the door and towards the theater, where he knew Roman would be waiting with a kiss and a hug.

Was he distracted? Was Roman distracting him from his education? He had been performing well in his courses and rehearsals, he hadn’t missed any assignments. Virgil didn’t think that he could be distracted, but… theater had become something more important to him, and a big reason for that was Roman, his rainbow.

And he’d do anything to ensure that the rainbow stayed, because he didn’t know if he could bear the storm clouds returning.

---

teaser for part eight: of flowers and freeing words

It had all happened so quickly; from the moment they met, Patton was in it. Their first date was unlike any other he had ever had, because they both broke down their walls. And as they grew to know each other more, as they progressed physically and emotionally, Patton wanted more and more to believe that Remus was the one he was made for. That, perhaps, Patton Hart, in his mother’s womb all those years ago, was being crafted just so that he could be held tenderly by Remus Creative.

Part Eight will be posted on Sunday, August 30 at 12PM PDT

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part eight | part nine | part ten

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taglist (to be added please send me an ask!)

@winterrose42​

@are-you-even--real​

@shaded14space

@lallyphant​

@deceits-left-glove​

@aricana8​

@pixelated-pineapple​

@starstruck-xavier​

@thiel​

@sophiexteresa​

@cemmy​

@toadink2005​

@eeveeeclair246​

@i-cant-find-a-good-username​

@pansexualpuppet​

@morgan-leaf​

[sailorquinn]

『 hunter schafer. twenty one. trans girl. she/her. 』 oh heavens, is that SAILOR QUINN from MAIN STREET i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them - GREEDY & - IMPULSIVE. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool WAITRESS AT SUNRISE DINER AND LOCAL PSYCHIC and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been + WARM & + QUICK WITTED. i hope i see them around again! 『 pepper. twenty four. est. she/her. 』

ABOUT THE MUN. the 2000 claymation film chicken run radicalized me hi, hey, hello, everyone my name is pepper and i am at work 😔 but i am also currently slacking off from work to write this 🤠 we love to see it. the duality of man. a bit about me is that i would lay my life down for hunter schafer !!! i am so excited to finally play her this has been my dream since i laid eyes on her,,, that and to take her hand in marriage but i digress. fun fact number 2, i have just started skins at my big age and i hate tony with a passion!!! i’ll fight that little punk i swear !!! fun fact number three, i have an irrational fear of humanoid beings with gills, looking at you sharkboy !! thanks for traumatizing me as a kid buddy, someone had to do it !! this fear also includes the deep from the boys, that weird fish guy that that one lady banged in that oscar nominated movie, and gill from kim possible. all of these fish men all my living nightmares, thank you for coming to my ted talk 😌 (honestlee,,, why is this such a common trope in media. who started this,,,why do they hate me). and finally, the most important thing you need to know about me, is that as a child i thot that god looked like king trident from the little mermaid. i think we can all relate to that, right? right. okay moving onto the love of my life, ms. sailor quinn.  

BIO. winks with my third eye 

everyone in mapleview knows about the quinns. the family has been here probably nearly as long as the town has and is pretty well known for their eccentrics. let’s just say the quinns were definitely, understandably, some of the first women in the history of mapleview to be accused of as being witches, an act of which they made the good ol’ mapleview history books for. this is a fact that sailor often looks back on with pride. honestly, it was one of the only things that made going to history class worth it, because despite how painfully boring the class was in general, sailor could never get tired of the startled looks of her classmates whenever her ancestry was brought up.

nowadays the quinns are arguably living a less exciting life than the good old days of being accused of sorcery. instead, they’re psychics. fortune tellers, if you will. you can find their family shop on main street, and if you’re ever feeling particularly divinely inspired you can stop by for a reading and a few charms or some crystals (they also offer sagings and exorcisms) . the third eye has actually become a bit of a tourist attraction actually, well, as much of a tourist attraction as you could find in mapleview, due to the actions of sailor’s mother. 

to put it simply, sailor’s mother had plans bigger than mapleview could offer. around the time the she was eighteen she left the town for hollywood. now, you would think based in this information that venus quinn had big plans of being on the big screen maybe. or that perhaps she had the voice of an angel and wanted to sing on the radio. you would be wrong. 

sailor’s mother became a reality tv show psychic. as you can guess, the psychic community loves her. that is, if love involved a myriad of curses being put on you and maybe a bit of voodoo. okay, she’s universally despised by psychics pretty much everywhere. i think it’s to be expected. 

sailor was born into this legacy. as you can guess, it was a pretty heavy cross to bear. she was born into a b-list fame that meant her mother had to call her own paparazzi, that sailor herself simply had to be homeschooled to avoid the ‘mobbing’ of perhaps fifteen avid fans max, and that every morning in their grand living room her mother would let her hate mail fuel their fireplace. sailor would occasionally have her face plastered on tlc, or her voice would be heard as her mother made a ‘heartwarming call to her family at home whilst on tour’ but to put it bluntly, sailor was more of a prop in her mother’s fame than anything else. and it was bargain shop fame at best. but apparently still enough scrutiny that her mother felt the need to take her out of the public eye when she came out and began to transition. 

sailor came out to her mother at the age of nine and before she could even reach the age of ten, her mother had shipped her halfway across the country to mapleview to comfortably transition in a town of strangers and in a household of people she’d only ever met at argument fueled holiday parties. her mother swore up and down that this was to make sure that sailor could transition outside of public scrutiny, so that she could have her privacy in this time and not have to deal with the media hounding her down during such a vulnerable period but sailor couldn’t help but feel abandoned by the whole situation. it felt like her mother was hiding her away, like some sort of dirty little secret. it felt like she was ashamed of her, even if the woman swore up and down that she accepted sailor as she was.

sailor moved into the top of the third eye with her her aunts and grandmother and was welcomed into this clan of women with open arms. as mentioned earlier, most of sailor’s experience with her aunts and grandmother has been brief exchanges between her aunts screaming at her mother for being a sell out, her mother hollering back about them not supporting her, and her grandmother pretending to cast a curse on her mother from the head of the dining room table. you know. normal family gatherings, but not enough for you to truly get to know somebody. but it is within the quinn women’s household that sailor finally found her footing. she finally felt like she belonged. her aunts and gram taught her everything they knew and nurtured her lovingly throughout her transition. they gave her her first job working front desk at the third eye, made the place she felt like her mother abandoned her feel more like home than her mother’s place ever had. and she is painfully loyal to them for it. when her mother finally reached out to sailor at the age of sixteen, finally inviting her back home, sailor simply refused. and she’s been here in mapleview ever since.

a few years ago sailor’s mother moved back to mapleview to attempt to repair their relationship. to put it frankly, her views were plummeting quickly, and along with feeling some amount of remorse for her deteriorating relationship with her daughter she also thought that perhaps making her show a mother daughter act would bring some of the attention back to it. sailor has pretty much refused to speak to her, but she lives around sycamore way in a large house on a hill. 

despite sailor having no plans to break into the reality tv business, she really has no idea what she would like to do instead. she is currently content to just continue working at her family shop, and occasionally take up a few of the shifts at the diner as well. she likes money, and she certainly has ambitions to make more, the how is simply up in the air at the moment. honestly, life would be a lot simpler if she could see her own future. 

or well, anyone’s at all. 

HEADCANNONS.  are you a virgin? why are you planning a sacrifice?

 this is the song that inspired sailor, no i cannot explain why. 

sailor’s mother name is venus (vee), her aunts name is persephone (percy), her other aunts name is circe (cece) and finally her grandmother’s name is luna. both her aunts are unmarried and her grandmother is widowed. 

that said, sailor does have a father despite the fact that i didn’t once mention him djsdjk he is an artist and he loves her mother to death honestly. their relationship is almost completely based off of the relationship of cassie’s parents from skins, so yeah they can’t keep their hands off each other and sailor’s father kenneth often paints her mother nude. most of these paintings could be seen on display in her old household, so sailor really did just grow up seeing her mother butt ass naked every day. sometimes it be like that i suppose. 

sailor has three black cats. she calls them the muses and their names are calliope, clio, and urania. basically, whenever there is a black cat at the pound sailor makes it her mission to them home because the stigma against black cats that keeps them from getting adopted?? wack. sailor will adopt everyone of them. 

is currently still living above her family shop is kind of interested in finding an apartment to move into instead. is in the market for a roomie or like three!! all interested parties please apply. 

is actually kinda a con artist. honestly, her whole family kinda is but shh, don’t tell nsdkjsdjk none of them can actually see the future but aunt percy (who says she can see the future, but honestly while sailor does believe her aunt percy is also a bit loony so sdjhsdj who knows what the truth is?) and her grandmother. cece, vee, and sailor tho?? all faking it until they make it. honestly sailor is pretty good about it, although she doesn’t actively see the future she does believe in everything she practices for the most part, and it shows. that says, since she is frankly, a magpie when it comes to money and literally anything mildly expensive she will offer rich people tarot readings without any hesitation and proceed to make the whole thing up as she goes along. if sailor judges them to be bad people (aka rude, the kinda people who don’t tip, snooty, assholes) she will give them a horrible reading to instill the fear of god in them and charge them extra for some good luck charms to ward off their impending doom. but if she likes them she will read the cards as they are and do her best to give them good advice based on her gut. her only saving grace is that she has pretty good intuition anyways, so a lot of what she says tends to be right even if it’s just shots in the dark. (her aunt cece is worse though, she looks up all her clients online before they come to see her dskjdsjk all of her predictions are educated guesses based on her research)

the type to crush and crush hard. falls in love every other week, and gets her heart broken just as often. honestly, sailor tends to fall for anyone who is nice to her, or gives her attention, or whose attention she wants. she is constantly on tinder mostly for fun. tends to treat the app more like a game than anything else, goes out on one night stands a hookups at least ??? 3 times a week. will make cast a love spell for the guy who told her to stay dry when she left the grocery store or the girl who smiled at her on the bus. 

cannot drive but has a license. if you see sailor behind the wheel, duck. she drives a cute little sky blue bug though. it has eyelashes on the headlights. 

colours her hair whenever she is even mildly stressed. by default at the moment it’s a pretty silvery blonde, so she tends to colour the ends often depending on her mood. 

actually can sing unlike her mother, you can probably catch her at any open mic nights in town. she has a little guitar that she’s covered in flower stickers and named aphrodite.

that little frowny face florence pugh was making throughout the entirety of midsommar,,, unhappy sailor content. thank you for coming to my ted talk. 

the type to go to church and pretend to be overcome by the holy spirit just because she’s bored on a sunday sdkjsdj 

your girl is vegan and bisexual, we love to see it. 

PERSONALITY. feeling cute today. might commit acts of hubris

CHEEKY. 99.9% of the time sailor is joking. she is the type to generally tend to be in a cheerful mood no matter what, always laughing or making a dry joke. doesn’t tend to often be in a bad mood but when she is it says something. very witty honestly, tends to be quite funny and the type to go out of her way to make someone laugh

GREEDY. sailor loves money. she absolutely adores it. she’s kind of a magpie when it comes to material things, the type to go to antique stores and thrift stores and clear them out of absolutely anything that interests her. a shameless pickpocket and minor thief, but only when it comes to large corporations or people who look like they have a summer house stashed away somewhere. definitely snatched some sort of expensive little statue from her moms place the last time she went to visit a la fleabag. is probably still looking for some place to sell it online, but honestly also kinda wants to keep it. she’s named her no head nancy and she is currently sitting on sailors desk as a paperweight 

WARM. all faults aside, if you ever need something from somebody sailor is the one to go to. need a ride home from the club? sailor will come and get you in ten minutes. feeling sick? sailor will be over at your place with some vegan chicken noodle soup and a charm for good health. need someone to cheer you up? sailor is doing a chicken dance on your front porch. she is ultimately kind, and if you are her friend especially she will be there for you until death. 

IMPULSIVE. that said sailor does pretty much everything she does without thinking. she is actually, surprisingly enough, a bit of a planner when it comes to life and finances, like she is pretty organized considering how scattered her personality is otherwise. but if sailor gets a whim to go somewhere or do something out of nowhere, she will do it. commitments be damned. the type to suddenly get up and leave mapleview one day to live in hawaii for a year and learn to scuba dive yk. will send you postcards tho. 

this is my first time playing sailor so if this is a mess and contradictory it’s because i am too 😌 thank you for coming to my ted talk.

WANTED CONNECTIONS. god doesnt respond why should i

EXES. give. me. ANGST with this please. the more dramatic the better. it’s been a hot minute since i had a good ex connection so maybe something where they dated in high school or even more recently. where they’re trying to be on good terms but some angsty feels linger below the surface, or where they’re on really bad terms and can’t hide it. the kind of exes who keep going back to each other, or who can’t leave each other alone, jealousy, and all that good stuff yk 

BEST FRIENDS. pls. i would love for sailor to have like four or five of these honestly, just a little squad. these could be here roommates!! or not!! i plan on putting in a wc for her roommates honestly, so look forward to that. 

REGULAR CUSTOMER. someone who sailor is either milking dry or is just trying to reassure. she comes to their place in the middle of the night to sage the place because they swear they heard a ghost. they have a urgent skype call because they broke a mirror and want sailor to go over their future one more time to see how it’s been affected. sailor makes a lot of money off of them and either feels guilty about it or not even a little bit guilty about it depending on their relationship. 

OTHER REGULAR CUSTOMER. this is someone who sailor regularly serves at the diner. rip to them because she is horrible at it. they find sailors order taking pencil in their soup. sailor is constantly getting their order wrong. sometimes she sits down with them and steals their fries as she talks their ear off. sailor is honestly probably too comfortable with them considering how bad she is at her job, but she definitely considers them friends. 

A CRUSH. open to ladies, theydies, and gents! someone who sailor has a big ol’ dumb crush on. this is the person that sailor thinks of whenever she does a love reading, the person who she gazes at longingly whenever she sees them. she also probably talks their ear off whenever they see each other. big heart eyes atm, but sailor knows it probably won’t last more than a month. right?

EX-CRUSHES. that makes me think omg, i’d love to have some people sailor used to have a crush on. people she had a crush on in high school. people she had a crush on last year. just people she used to be obsessed with who she is completely over now sdkjdsjk maybe they’re friends now and sailor doesn’t know what she saw in them in the first place. maybe they’re enemies omg 

OPPOSITES ATTRACT. i’d like someone really grounded to be friends with sailor. like just someone with their shit together who isn’t as airy and whimsical as her. sailor makes them loosen up a bit, and they make sure sailor doesn’t end up dead. it’s a balance. 

i think that’s all i can think of for now but honestly i’d also love to see a bully sailor used to have a s child, someone who thinks psychics and astrology and everything is bs just so sailor can like !!! debate with them about it yk, someone who’s a fan of her moms show, someone who maybe comes to sailors open mic nights religiously, a neighbor maybe like just the person who lives above the shop beside the third eye and sees these women baying at the moon during the summer solstice and is like ??? fuck i gotta move, previous one night stands, fwb, ewb, uh someone who bonds with sailor over occult stuff???

[sanders-sides-fics]

In My Dreams: Chapter Ten

Warning: murder, verbal argument

Masterlist

Word Count: 1690

-

The morning had been quiet so far. Virgil ate breakfast with Remy in his study, giving his brother a well-deserved break from his work. Virgil picked at the biscuit in his hands and stuffed small bits into his mouth, piece by piece, enjoying the morning.

“I see your table manners haven’t improved over the years,” Remy teased, despite doing the same thing to his biscuit.

Virgil snorted at that and continued to eat his biscuit. He looked over some of the papers laying on Remy’s desk, multiple had to do with Remy’s idea to start trade with Sandres. Virgil liked the idea of opening trade with Sandres because it opened the idea of Remy going on another visit to Sandres, which would get him out of the castle and out of danger if Virgil found a spy using whatever information Roman would send back to him. However, it would mean staying behind in Picais and not visiting Dad and Roman.

The door to the study opened, and Virgil glanced back to see Logan walk in with a solemn face. Virgil put down the remainder of his biscuit and sat up in his chair, knowing whatever was going to happen would be serious.

“I was informed by the guards that Sir Gary Ashdown was found murdered,” Logan said. “Our librarian, Mavis, discovered him in the library this morning.”

Virgil recognized the name from his welcoming feast. He didn’t know how he felt hearing the man had been murdered, it was a strange feeling. Not sad, but something.

“I met him at the feast, he said he worked with our father, King Dorian,” Virgil said.

Remy pursed his lips, “I don’t remember Baba working with him, but I do remember him speaking to me after Baba’s passing. He was a kind man, maybe the only nobleman who didn’t act as if they pitied me.”

Virgil shrugged, “Must’ve been before we were born.”

Virgil found it strange that Gary would tell him that without having worked closely with King Dorian before he was killed. Could he have been connected to the Witch?

“I believe he arrived in Picais shortly after King Dorian had switched sides, but they had been friends after that,” Logan clarified.

“What do we do?” Virgil asked.

Logan looked to Virgil, “We will have to put the castle on lockdown, while the guards attempt to locate the killer. In the meantime, I am advising you to stay close to Remington so that I may protect you both.”

Virgil nodded, “Would this prevent me from receiving letters?”

“Considering who you are writing to? No,” Logan smiled knowingly. “Remington will continue working on a trade agreement with King Thomas, and therefore our correspondence with Sandres will continue. And on that topic, you have a letter from Prince Roman.”

Logan took the letter for Virgil out of his breast pocket and handed it to him. He smiled as Virgil took it from his hands and opened the envelope.

“I have to say, that prince of yours wrote back rather quickly,” Remy teased as he picked up his quill to write a statement on the murder.

Virgil flushed and shook his head, “He’s not my prince.”

“Sure he isn’t, Vee.”

Virgil’s eyes scanned the paper swiftly, eyes widening as he read the name King Thomas had supplied. If Gary Ashdown was dead…. He couldn’t be the spy Virgil feared was lurking in the court. Virgil wasn’t sure if his death confirmed the spy was present, but if there was one, the spy knew Virgil was onto them. He needed to be extra careful or else they would come for him next.

He would let Roman know soon. For now, he needed to pretend nothing was wrong, while he was being watched. He had the feeling he wouldn’t have much alone time in the following weeks. Virgil would find a way to pass the information onto Roman without Remy finding out about the spy.

He read on and frowned, understanding Roman enough to know how he was feeling. Roman always needed to prove himself and being stuck on bedrest was hard for him, especially without a friend to talk to. “What’s wrong?” Remy asked, looking up from his papers. “Something happen?”

“Roman hurt himself trying to walk too soon,” Virgil replied. “He does it all the time.”

Virgil folded the letter and looked at Logan, “I need to go to my room, so I don’t lose the letter during the day.”

Logan nodded, “Wise. We’ll accompany you so that nothing happens to you.”

Virgil pressed his lips together, wondering how he could slip King Dorian’s journal out of his room without either of the men seeing it. He couldn’t risk Remy finding it before he was ready to tell him.

Remy put down his quill and stood from his desk chair, “A break doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

The three men left Remy’s study and walked down the halls to go to Virgil’s room. Logan looked around vigilantly as they made their way, careful to spot any potential danger before it could harm the king and prince.

“While we are there, perhaps you should pack up a few things so that you may stay in Remington’s room,” Logan suggested. “It would be best to stay in the same room at night, in case someone tries to attack.”

Virgil had assumed Logan would suggest that. He still wasn’t sure to get the journal out of the room. He had to, so he could keep reading for more clues.

“That’s for the best,” Virgil responded.

When they got to his room, Logan opened the door first and looked around in case someone was waiting inside.

“It’s safe,” he said.

“I could handle it if someone was there,” Virgil said.

“I know, but I don’t want to risk it,” Logan replied.

They entered the room and Virgil started to gather some of his things to take to Remy’s room. He thought back to where he left the book…. His desk. He turned around quickly to see Remy sitting at the desk, gently picking up the book.

“Virgil, what is this? It looks like…. Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is?”

Virgil’s eyes widened, and Remy opened the book. Remy looked at the pages, gently flipping through the book. He sniffled and slammed the book shut.

“Why would you keep this from me?” he asked, voice shaking from rage.

“Remy, I-”

“No! You found something of our Baba’s and you didn’t tell me! How could you?”

Virgil flinched at the exclamation. His mind raced for his reasoning, to explain to Remy so he wouldn’t be angry anymore. To fix it.

“Remy, I was going to tell you,” he scrambled for words. “Truly, I was.”

“But you didn’t!” Remy accused.

Virgil looked to Logan for help, knowing the man was always a mediator before when the two had their problems. Logan shook his head, and Virgil knew he had to sort this out for himself.  Virgil sighed and looked away from the adviser.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Remy demanded.

Virgil bit his lip, “I don’t know! I just- I don’t know!”

Remy crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Virgil. Virgil squirmed under the accusing eyes of his brother, he didn’t like the feeling developing in his core. His stomach twisted at the idea of Remy being upset at him, despite the short time they had spent as a family again.

“It was stupid to hide it at first! Fine!”

“At first? At first!”

“I wanted something that was just mine! I don’t have anything from before, and it was selfish of me, but I needed to see for myself what it was like, okay?” Virgil shouted. “All you do is tell me what you thought it was like, but I have no way of knowing for myself!”

Remy paused for a moment before shouting back, “Why couldn’t you trust me?”

“I do! I just wanted to do it without you!”

Remy flinched as if slapped. Virgil’s eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“No, wait, Remy. That’s not- that’s not what I meant,” he said.

“Then what did you mean?” Remy hissed

“I don’t… I don’t know. I feel… like you expect me to just remember or take your word for it,” Virgil explained quietly. “And I can’t do that. I needed to read through it for myself before I went to you.”

Remy’s harsh expression softened, “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that… What did you mean by at first?”

Virgil took a deep breath and crossed the room, letter from Roman in his hand, “There… The journal said our father was keeping the extent of my abilities secret, even from you. But the Witch knew about me. When I realized that, I kept it quiet so I could find out if there was a spy here, even now that the Dragon Witch is gone.”

Virgil handed the letter to his brother, “I asked Roman for help, but as you can see, the information… won’t help me. Gary Ashdown is dead, which I find suspicious. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to protect you.”

Remy’s eyes scanned the letter from the prince, “What, so you were running off into danger alone? So I could lose you again?”

Remy looked up from the letter, expression pained. He reached out and hesitantly took Virgil’s hand, holding onto it tightly. His chest heaved with grief.

“We could have done this together, Vee. I-I can’t lose you like I did before, not again. There’s no guarantee you’ll come back a second time.”

“You won’t,” Virgil promised quietly, squeezing his hand back. “I just need room to breathe. And to figure out some of this on my own, my way. But that doesn’t mean you’ll lose me. It was a mistake to keep it from you, I only wanted to keep the spy from finding out and hurting you. I’m sorry.”

Remy nodded, “I’m sorry too, Virgil. But now that I know, we look into this together, got it?”

“Got it,” Virgil replied.

[the-sarcastic-trashmouth]

Would you stay if I’m sick? (Request)

Prompt: I saw you were asking for writing prompts for the IT fandom and I have read and loved all of your fics on Ao3 and would love to see you write something about Stanley’s OCD perhaps stozier or stanpat! Love your work!! ❤️--Anonymous

Summary: “You might want to visit a doctor. Are you aware that you show signs of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder?” She asked, causing Stan to blink a few times.

“Wait, wait--You think Stan the man has OCD?” Richie raised his hand before asking.

“It’s possible. I’m not saying that’s what you have. I’m saying that it’s something to look into.” She explains. 

“Is… Is something wrong with me?” Stan asked worriedly.

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Stanley Uris

Warning: Talks of OCD, ADHD, and getting help for those illnesses. I don’t have OCD and I don’t claim to understand half of what they go through. Please read with caution.

Stanley was someone who had a very precise routine from the time he woke up to the time he went to sleep. He liked order and things been done in a very specific way or his brain would replay the scene over and over in his head until he’d fix it. It was something he physically couldn’t help.

A lot of people looked at him weirdly because of how Stan did every task that he was given. It really wasn’t his fault that he was wired this way… It was like his brain had to obsess over every little detail in his life. If he didn’t… his brain would never turn off and it would make it almost impossible to function.

Some days were harder than others.

Once in a while, Stan’s brain would battle him to the point where eating wasn’t an option because he had missed three questions on his math test. He studied and studied for days to make sure that he would ace that damn thing, but somehow, he had missed three questions. It made knots form in his stomach as his mind chanted how he wasn’t good enough and that his parents are going to be upset with him.

“Stan?” It was Ben’s voice that finally knocked him from his spiraling anxiety riddle brain. “You okay? You haven’t touched your lunch yet.” He points out as Richie glanced away from Bev to look at Stan.

“I… I’m not… I’m not really hungry right now.” Stan explains calmly. He knew that if he ate something… his stomach would regurgitate it back up and that would only make things worse.

“Stanley.” Richie’s voice was soft as he nudged him so Stan would look at him. “What’s going on?” He asked quietly.

“I…” His hands were shaking hard as he winced, trying to stop them. “I just… I’m fine.” His eyes snapped open as he looked to Richie who was watching him with a worried expression.

“Stan--” He’s cut off when Stan looks to him.

“It’s stupid okay! Just fucking leave it alone.” He huffed before looking away with angered tears forming in his eyes.

“Okay, well now, I’m really worried. Whatever it is… I’m sure it’s not stupid.” Richie points out.

“Richie’s right… For once.” Bev snorts as Richie flips her the bird.

“Stan, please tell us?” Eddie asked, glancing at him with a frown.

“That… That math test we took today… I fucking missed three questions.” He then proceeded to slam his head down onto the table with a groan.

“What?” Bev busted out laughing. “That’s it?” She questioned as Richie frowns at her.

“Hey, it’s okay. I know you studied really hard for that test. You did your best.” Richie explains instead.

“And look what it got me. Fucking three missed questions. Even my best isn’t good enough. I’m such a failure. My dad is right… I’m a failure.” Stan whispered before he started to tug at his curls.

“Hey, hey whoa!” Richie yanks his hands out of his hair as he blinked at him. “Alright, let’s just calm down before you make yourself go bald. I love you and your curls thanks.” He comments as Stanley’s breathing started to pick up.

“He looks like he’s going to throw up.” Eddie pointed out warily before moving away from beside Stan. “Is he?” He asked worriedly.

“No, Jesus, Eddie. He’s not gonna fucking puke!” Richie huffed. “And if he does I’m turning him towards you!” He smirks at Eddie’s glare. “Stan, okay. How about we fix this?” He asked.

“How? How are we going to fix this? Huh?” Stan was getting angry because he just wanted his brain to shut up for a few seconds.

“Let’s talk to Mrs. Vivan. Maybe she can let you retake the test?” Richie offers quietly. “I mean you can tell her you weren’t feeling well. She likes you and she’ll definitely let her favorite student retake the test.” He explains.

“You… You think she would?” Stan asked quietly as Richie nods.

“After school today we can go talk to her. I’m sure she’ll be happy to help you.” He assures with a gentle smile.

“Okay… Thanks. I just… My head hurts.” Stan sighs, shoulders slumping as Richie took his hand in his own and squeezed it gently.

“Yeah, that big brain of yours is always racing.” He snorts as Stan’s face flushes before he looked away.

True to his word, Richie took Stan to see Mrs. Vivan after school to talk about the test. Stan was trying not to freak out, but it was so hard because… what if she said no? What if she told him he was a failure, too? What if Richie makes fun of him like the others because he can’t control his emotions when it comes to good grades.

That’s the one thing that he’s always been proud of. His ability to learn information in such a short amount of time impressed a lot of teachers and even his parents. To have this taken away from him… was like taking away the very foundation that made him Stan.

“Oh, hello Stanley, Richie,” She nods to them before smiling. “What brings you here? Something we need to discuss?” She asked, taking off her glasses before standing up from her desk.

“Yeah, about the test we took today. We were wondering if Stan could retake it.” Richie explains as Mrs. Vivan frowns softly before glancing at him.

“Why? You did excellent on that test. My highest score exactly.” She comments before sitting on top of her desk as she gestures for the boys to sit down.

“But I missed three questions. I can’t… You don’t understand.” Stan whispered softly. “I studied for this test really hard.” He felt tears flooding his eyes as he tried not to break down.

Richie’s eyes widened before he glanced at Mrs. Vivan who held the same shocked expression.

“Stanley, those… those three questions you missed were bonus points. They were for the next lesson we are going to learn. It just helps me to know what level everyone is at. Honestly, you had the right system, just came to the wrong conclusion.” She explains softly.

“But--” Stan bit his lip harshly before finally thumping down in his chair.

“Stanley, can I ask if you are taking any sort of medication?” She questioned as Richie and Stan both frowned.

“No, do I need to?” He resorted when she tilts her head.

“You might want to visit a doctor. Are you aware that you show signs of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder?” She asked, causing Stan to blink a few times.

“Wait, wait--You think Stan the man has OCD?” Richie raised his hand before asking.

“It’s possible. I’m not saying that’s what you have. I’m saying that it’s something to look into.” She explains.

“Is… Is something wrong with me?” Stan asked worriedly.

“No, not in the way you are thinking. Sometimes an illness can affect you mentally. This disorder in a sense is your brain battling you for many reasons. It could be something simple like checking to make sure you turned off a light in your room to something as complex as making sure every book is color-coded along with being in alphabetically order.” She gestures with her hands.

“You know… That kinda sounds like you, Stanny. I mean… I’m not saying it’s a bad thing… I just… You do have little quirks that you do a lot. I never really thought about it because that’s just who you are. Just like I have ADHD.” He points out.

“Okay, say I have this… illness. What is talking to my doctor going to do?” Stan turned his attention back to Mrs. Vivan.

“Well, they could recommend you to a therapist who could help you talk through these issues or even some medication that can help ease your mind. You can’t always control how your brain works despite many people thinking that you can. Your brain is wired differently than another student who doesn’t deal with the issues you face.” She comments before sitting up.

“Why… Why am I like this then?” Stan asked quietly, not meeting her gaze.

“Most people who have this illness either get it genetically or through their environment. In some cases, both of those things can play a role. Does that mean that you have it? No, it’s just something to think about. Some people just like order. Others need that order to function properly.” She explains as Richie glances at Stan who swallowed thickly.

“Thanks, Mrs. Vee.” Richie snags Stan’s arm before tugging him towards the door.

“Uh--If you want to retake the test still, Stanley. Just come on Monday and ask!” She calls as Richie waves to her in thanks.

“You okay?” Richie asked as they started for the exit of the school.

“No, what the fuck… Do you… Do you think I’m crazy?” Stan croaked out around a tightening throat.

“What? No! Jesus, dude! I would never think that. Look, like she said. It’s possible you don’t have it. That being said, it… it wouldn’t hurt. Maybe they can help you so you aren’t as stressed anymore. I’m worried one day that stress is going to kill you…” Richie laughs, but it sounds forced.

“Rich… You know I’m not… I’m sorry that I’ve been worrying you so much.” Stan whispered when he felt Richie’s fingers course through his hair.

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you, dipshit. I’m your boyfriend. That’s what boyfriend’s do. They worry and love each other. Look, if you don’t wanna talk about it anymore then we won’t. I’m here for you and you alone. But… Don’t think that if you do have OCD… that I’m not gonna love you or something. I loved you before… and I’ll love you after.” He explains when Stan looked to him with a wobbly smile.

“I love you too… You don’t think I’m broken? I mean… Look at my fucking family.” He laughs when Richie grins gently.

“Can’t be any worse than mine, baby bird. Besides, you think I’m broken because I have ADHD?” He questioned, causing Stan to look at him like he grew two heads.

“Are you an idiot? Of fucking course, not!” Stan huffed.

“Then why are you any different?” Richie asked as Stan swallowed softly before their foreheads touch.

“Thank you… I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” He whispered when Richie grins.

“I think you’d manage, but since I’m here. I make your entire life so much easier!” Richie placed a hand on his chest like he was some knight.

“More like you are the reason I’m stressed all the time.” Stan resorts back with a quirk of his brow.

“Blasphemy! By my own boyfriend of all things!” He cried in a high-pitch voice, making Stan laugh before he pushed Stan away. “Ah! Assault!” He dramatically flopped to the ground when Stan glanced around the roads to make sure no one was around.

“You’re a little gremlin,” Stan comments as Richie looks up to him with a grin. “But you’re my little gremlin.” He snorts and leans down before kissing Richie who immediately kissed him back.

“You’re goddamn right I am! The best fucking gremlin that this world will ever know!” Richie exclaims before standing up and dusting himself off.

“No, no touching me. We’re going to your place to get you some new clothes.” Stan comments, putting out a hand to stop Richie who pouts.

“Maybe we can look at some comics. I heard the others were going to the Quarry today, but I’d rather hang out with you.” He grins as Stan smiles.

“Okay, maybe… maybe you can convince me to talk to my parents about everything.” Stan whispered when Richie snorts.

“Ah, my darling dear Staniel… I can try my best, but your head is as thick as fucking iron. So it’ll take me a few tries.” He chuckles, causing Stan to push him back onto the ground. “Ah! Wait! Stan!” Richie cried as Stan started to walk away. “Wait! You ass! Stan!” He scrambled to stand up when Stan finally glanced back at Richie.

Stan offers him a warm smile that was saved for only Richie. Maybe tomorrow he would face this… maybe it wouldn’t be for another few months if not years… But one thing was certain. As long as he had Richie… Even if he did have OCD or even if he didn’t. He knew that he was going to be okay because Richie loved him for being him.

[crashdevlin]

Pale Rust Ch. 2

Author’s Note: This is an idea I’ve been trying to write as an original but I have converted it into an AU because I really want to get it out into the world, lol.

Summary: Syeira Calderas, her brother, mother and cousin get kicked out of their Romani Caravan and end up stuck in the small town of Deep Well, Alabama, where ‘gypsy’ is a dirty word. She doesn’t want to make friends with the townspeople but there’s something she can’t quite resist about a green-eyed boy named Dean, but will that matter when the absolute worst happens?

Pairing: eventual Dean x Syeira (OFC)

Chapter Word Count: 1360

Chapter Warnings: a little bit of angst, mentions of pedophilia, 

Story Warnings: angst, violence, death, teens flirting, eventual smut (after 18th birthdays happen)

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

The first week of school was terrible. Milosh and Aishe would come home happily chatting about their classes and the ‘friends’ they were making at school. Friends they’d made by pretending they were just like the rest of the youth in Deep Well. Meanwhile, I would defiantly tie my headscarf around my wrist before first period each day and refuse to answer any questions about myself not put forth by the teachers.

“She’ll break, eventually.” I was sitting five feet away from her as Aishe said this, her voice a poor stage whisper. “When she sees how much fun we are having, she'll break.”

“I can assure you I won’t.” I hated her, sometimes. She was so sure of herself. She thought she knew me better than I know myself and that arrogance pissed me off.

“What if you find a boy?” she asked, looking across the small space of the RV to me. “I mean, you’re pretty-ish, someone in that school might look past the fact that you’re an anti-social bitch.”

I sneered at her. “I’m not anti-social. I’m Roma, just like you should be.”

“My God, Sarah! Get off it. You aren’t Roma anymore; none of us are! Your dad went to marry some teenaged-“

“You don’t talk about that!” I snapped. It’s a sore subject, the conditions that led to our expulsion from the Family. She continued anyway.

“-girl my age, back in Romania! Your dad’s a pedo and Papa Pietro just handed him one of our distant cousins because he’s Pietro’s blood.”

“So am I!”

Milosh stepped up to defend Aishe, his calm voice doing absolutely nothing to calm me. “We are Mother’s blood in Pietro’s eyes, Sarah, you know that. Now, don’t fight. Father is gone, the Family is gone. There is nothing we can do.”

I wiped my eyes. Talking about Father always brought me to tears. I still don’t know how Mother could stand it. Her husband, who she married at sixteen and left her Family to be with, decided after nineteen years of marriage to move back to Romania and marry a different sixteen year old. Calderas rules say that his old wife and kids stop being part of the Family as soon as he decides to move on. Too much of the mother is in the blood, apparently.

“I’ll find a way. I’ll find a way to make them listen and you…you’re gonna regret being one of them. If you continue playing at being gadje, then you’re gonna get your wish. They’ll never let you back in if you mess around with the gadje boys, get pregnant with some gadje baby.”

Aishe scoffed loudly. “Do you even hear yourself?! You say ‘gadje’ like they say ‘gypsy’!”

“I say ‘gadje’ because they say ‘gypsy’...and that’s all you’ll ever be to them! Pretty gypsy trash.”

“Syeira Calderas, hold your tongue!” My anger fizzled, replaced by shame, as Mother opened the door and stepped lightly up the stairs into the RV. “’Pretty gypsy trash’. This is how you speak to your cousin?”

My eyes fell to the short carpet beneath my feet as Milosh put a hand up. “She was trying to tell Aishe how she thinks the kids at school look at us. She wasn’t attacking-“

“Thank you, Milosh. I heard enough; enough to know that you’re fighting about the Family again.” Mother sat at the table and looked at me, gesturing at the other side of the booth, which I took. “I know that you are sad, Syeira. You miss your other cousins, your aunts and your uncles. It’s hard to go from having all of the family that you can imagine, to just…your old mother, your brother and one silly girl cousin. I remember when I married your father, how scared I vas to valk avay from all of my family. Your grandmother vas the only Calderas I had spent any time vith. I’d barely even met your father. When I left my family, the Novaks, and moved into the Calderas Caravan, I vas terrified. When vee moved to the U.S. to join Pietro’s Caravan and ven I vas pregnant vith you…these are big, scary things, girl.”

She reached over the table and grabbed my hand, squeezing lightly. Her hands are calloused by years of working to keep us in clothing and with food on our table, but when she comforts me her skin feels soft and warm. “You have your father’s passion, Syeira, but you must be careful that your passion does not turn into anger,” she says, smiling sweetly. “This chapter of our life...this town and these people...they are just your first big, scary thing. I didn’t bring you here so that you would stop being Roma. I can’t take that from you, my dear, and neither can Pietro. Roma is who you even if you don’t have the Family to protect you from the outside world. You stay Roma inside. You are allowed to be who you are inside, but you are not allowed to disparage your cousin for attempting to move on. She doesn’t have to stay Roma just because you are holding so tightly to it.”

I nodded, feeling foolish and thoroughly shamed. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“It isn’t me who you need to be sorry to.” She smiled softly, her light green eyes sparkling as she brought my hand to her lips and kissed my knuckles. “You are so much like your father. Perhaps you should dig deep and find whatever parts of you come from me, huh? Face the scary things with my grace and his passion, but no anger, yes?”

I nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

She set my hand on the table top and patted it once before standing. “I vork a double tonight, so please, try to keep down the volume.” Everyone nodded their agreement as she disappeared into the back room where the bed was. If there was one thing the three of us could always agree upon, it was that Mother worked very hair for us and she deserved as much rest as we could offer her.

I waited a few moments before I sighed. “I’m bitter,” I admitted, quietly.

“Yeah.” Aishe flopped down at the table across from me, her lean frame taking up a fraction of the space Mother had. “But why? They weren’t very good to you in the first place. I mean, they were trying to marry you off to that dog-faced Constantin boy. Like, all you were to them was another shot at currying favor with a stronger Family. We’re more than vaginas with legs, Sarah. I mean, seriously, without the women the families would all fall apart. I, for one, am happy that we’re not a part of such a patriarch-”

“That’s enough,” Milosh demanded, sitting in the spot next to her. “We don’t need to put down all of Romani society, Aishe. Things are the way they are for a reason.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re a man,” she said, snarkily. “Men always point to ‘tradition’ as reason to keep women in their place.”

I scoffed, a slight chuckle escaping me. “When did you become such a feminist?”

“When I opened a book and saw how backward Romani society is,” she responded, matter-of-factly. “Women do all the hard work to get money and food and make sure the entire Caravan has clothes, but the men are just expected to make friends.”

“Decisions, Cousin, and connections. Not just friends. There is a lot more to being a Roma male than you would know…” Milosh faltered in his words, eyes searching the RV like the rest of his sentence was written on the wall somewhere.

“Because I’m a woman?” Aishe provided for him.

“You are not a woman,” I responded, pulling my Shuffle out of my pocket and working to untangle the headphones. “And he’s not a man. Remember we’re in the regular world, now. Eighteen equals adulthood here.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, rolling her dull brown eyes as I place the earbuds in my ears and put the music on to drown out the rest of their conversation.

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

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @thefaithfulwriter @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108 @mogaruke @flamencodiva @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @pisces-cutie @paintballkid711 @natura1phenomenon @rainbowkisses31 @atc74 @alagalaska @coffee-obsessed-writer @bamby0304 @ilovefanfic86 @sculptorofbeginnings @rainflowermoon @bunnybaby121115 @imperiusimpala @mariekoukie6661 @wittysunflower @that-weird-asian-gorl @divadinag @keymology @sweetness47

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GAGA FOR GREEN EYES TAGS @akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets

[sugarsnap-caely]

Das Gebrochen Arzt (The Broken Doctor): Chapter 4

When Henrik woke up he had two cups of coffee rather than his usual one. He didn't feel all that hungry either so he left the house with a single piece of poorly buttered toast. Thankfully, he managed to get to the hospital without causing any issues. Today was going to be a long day…

As he walked into the lounge he raised his hand to wave to Suzi but hesitated as he remembered yesterday’s events. She had had to go home early due to the—albeit minor—cut on her leg.

He gathered up the courage to walk up to her and apologize again when he nearly ran into Jeff. He groaned, he really did not want to deal with him this morning. And just when he thought he was getting over his migraine too…

“So…I heard what happened yesterday,” Jeff said, cocky eyebrow and all, “And to think I thought you were a surgeon.”

“And to sink, I sought you vere less of a hypocrite.”

Jeff narrowed his eyes, as if unsure what he was talking about.

“Remember zee incident vis zee saline?”

For the first time in a while, Jeff stammered, “I-I umm…no…yes…I mean uhhhh…”

Henrik smirked, that put him in his place. He had to admit, he got some enjoyment out of seeing Jeff put down a peg. He checked his watch as he continued to walk, his first appointment for the day was in two minutes. He picked up his pace as he left the room.

He rolled his shoulders briefly as he moved to place the pacemaker wire in the ventricle. For the first time since this morning he was all focus. It was as if his very job itself kept a firm anchor on the worries that had built in his head. He had no time to worry, after all, people’s very lives depended on every ounce of his concentration. That fact alone kept him in reality. He could let his worries fester later.

He kept his eyes on the x-ray, making sure everything was lining up properly. This had to be done carefully otherwise the device would not work. He continued to attach the wires one by one to their appropriate places in the vein, the steady sound of the patient’s heart monitor beeping in his ears.

Once the last wire was in place he took the last one and hooked it up to the pulse generator, checking to make sure it was functioning properly. He positioned the device under the skin and close to the collarbone. Final checks were made and when everything was good to go he began to stitch up the incision. He cut the extra thread, letting out a sigh of relief as he did so: another successful procedure.

As soon as the patient was rolled out of the room he began to take off his equipment and wash up at the nearby sink. Aside from the gentle hum of nearby machinery and the water from the faucet, it was quiet. It was a calm, familiar sort of quiet. It was a quiet that he liked.

So why was it that he felt so uneasy?

He looked up at his reflection in the mirror, the same glasses-covered blue eyes stared back at him. He raised a hand up to the reflection, as if he had to make sure it was still him. The reflection mimicked his motions.

He waved his hand in front of the mirror, still unsatisfied with what he was seeing.

He looked over his shoulder to find no one there, yet he still felt like someone was in the room: watching. He turned back to the mirror and found it smirking back at him. He blinked his eyes and his reflection returned to normal. He ran a hand through his hair. God, what was going on? How long had he been in here again? He checked his watch, tapping the face to make sure it hadn't messed up again. He needed to get back to work. He slowly turned around and headed for the door.

Two green pin-pricks stared at him from the mirror.

Henrik’s eyes darted around for a moment as he walked down the hall. He was sure he was probably just being paranoid but he still couldn’t shake off the dread that seemed to constantly follow him like a predator stalking its prey: slow and methodical. He managed to distract himself when he came up to Suzi in her office. She was currently plugging information into a computer, her fingers typing quickly on the keys. When he saw her finish he cleared his throat, “Hello Suzi, are you coming to lunch vis me?” The two of them almost always had the same lunch break and so they would go together.

“I’m sorry Henrik,” she closed the computer’s window and the file she had open as she turned to face him, “I have to help out some interns with surgeries today.”

His smile fell, he had been hoping that some time with his friend would help heal his stress.“Oh...vell...I vill see you later zen?”  He had started back on his way when he was interrupted by Suzi.

“Wait!” She stood up, quickly slinging a bag over her shoulder.

He turned back around to look at her, “Yes?”

“I umm...well…” She seemed to try and avoid his gaze, choosing to stare at her fiddling fingers. “I was wondering if...since I won’t be having lunch with you,” she took  a deep breath through her nose before continuing, “if you would like to have dinner with me this evening?”

He stuttered, unsure how to react.

“I mean, it won’t be anything special really, just a small place I know in town, you know?”

A smile formed on his face as he considered, “Y-yes, I vould love to...to have dinner vis you.”

She beamed, “Really? Thank you so much! Anyway, I-I’ve got to go, bye!” She waved to him as she left the hall.

He raised a hand, giving a small wave in return. He smiled as he felt some of the foreboding atmosphere lift like fog disappearing in the sun. There was a slight bounce to his step the rest of the day.

A cool breeze floated through the air, giving him a sense of peace. It was a great evening to walk through Brighton. He opened his eyes and looked over at Suzi, “Vhere did you say vee vere going again?”

“You'll see when we get there.” She picked up the pace a bit nearly stranding him behind a group of people.

As he jogged to catch up he seemed to soak up her energetic atmosphere like a sponge. He watched the light bounce off her face, almost making it glow. He had sworn to the others that he had never seen her that way but, now that he thought about it, there had been times he noticed the way her hands moved while performing a surgery or how she would occasionally snort when she laughed. It had always managed to make him smile. ‘Maybe…’ he thought, ‘being wrong isn’t alvays such a bad sing.’

They sipped on some drinks as they sat across from each other in a booth. “So,” Suzi began, “what do you think of this place?”

He glanced around taking in the scenery, she had taken him to a German themed diner, “I love it actually.”

She smiled, “I thought you might.”

He couldn’t help but smile in return. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this to be honest. It was such a welcome experience that cleared away the clouds that had been surrounding him as of late. Perhaps she had sensed his apprehension and wanted to do something nice to help him. Well, it had been working so far.

“How vere zee interns zis time? Did any of zem give you trouble?”

“Oh no, they were fine. One of them was a little nervous but they did a wonderful job!”

“Zat is good to hear, vee could alvays use an extra hand around zee hospital.”

She suddenly let out a giggle.

“Vhat’s so funny?”

She put up a hand as she tried to stop her own laughter, “I…I just remembered something that happened today. O-One of the interns was being given a hard time by one of the other interns...and he put him in his place hard. I’d tell you the joke but you had to have been there.”

Henrik stifled a laugh of his own, “It is alright, in fact I did somesing similar to Jeff today. I sink vee both needed it to be honest.”

She giggled again as she picked up the menu and he decided to do the same. Before he could even glance at it though there was the ding of a notification on his phone. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the message. He beamed, trying his hardest to contain his excitement as he smiled across the table at her.

“What’s up, what happened?”

“My little edelveiss, she is coming over zis veekend!”

“That’s great!”

He nodded and looked back down at the menu. He shook his head, some of the words looked blurry. He took off his glasses and cleaned them before putting them back on. Flecks of red now decorated the page. His chest shook with suppressed nervous laughter. He decided to just focus on the words, that was what was important right now. He looked back down and started reading.

‘Ì̴̡t’s̷ h͏͟͏͘ope̸̶̢le̢͞sś̨͠͝. Fa̡̧̨̢i̢͏̷̕luŗ̸͝͏e. You c̛͟͝͠aǹ̶͢͡’t s͏̀a̶̧ve t̶̶͜h̵͠em̢͢’

He quickly shut the menu with a slap that caused people to look up from their meals. He nervously started to duck down as he felt their eyes leave him. Or did they? Some had to still be watching him, right? No, no they couldn’t be, no one would stare for that long. Would they?

“Henrik?”

He whipped his head around to her, startled.

“You look pale are you ok?”

He nodded slowly, deciding to look at the table instead. There was a fake vase full of fake flowers sitting against the fake wall. Wait, no the wall was real. He put his hand against it as if he had to make sure. Yep, still solid. He looked back over to the table noting the silverware sitting on it. It was the same as always: spoon, fork, and knife. His eyes continued to stare at the silverware for a long time. It seemed almost mesmerizing. He felt the need to pick up the knife...and drag it across someone’s skin as they beg-”Henrik.”

He shook his head as he looked up a Suzi, she had given a quiet yell and concern was written across her face.

He swallowed the tension that had built in his throat, “Y-yes?”

“Henrik if something is wrong you can tell me.”

He opened and closed his mouth several times like a dying fish before managing to spit something out, “I...I sink I need to go on a...o-on a valk.” He stood up from his chair, feeling his feet stumble for a split second.

“Maybe I should come with you.”

“No!” He yelled a bit too loudly. “N-no. I’ll be fine on my own.”

She gave him a sad nod and let him on his way. He felt so tired as he walked out the door.

He stumbled through the door to the house, nearly tripping on the step. The house was dark, outside was dark, his mind was dark, everything felt dark. His body appeared to move on its own accord, moving before his brain knew what it was doing. He vaguely told himself he needed to sleep and vaguely agreed.

The moment he crossed into the hallway to go to his bedroom it was like he stepped into a thick fog. The air felt thinner and he had trouble breathing. He felt jared as the disorientation he had been feeling simultaneously doubled and left his senses heightened. He felt the need to run but he was frozen on the spot. He could feel his hands shaking and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. His eyes darted frantically about the room, something was watching him. He could feel it but he couldn’t see it.

His eyes widened. Unless… He slowly forced himself to turn around.

It was JJ.

An exclamation point appeared above his head as he flinched back slightly; his hand was outstretched as if to grab his shoulder.

“O-oh, it is only you…”

“Are you ok?” JJ asked.

He nodded, “Y-yes...I am only tired is all…”

Without even saying goodnight he walked to his room and went to bed.

He found himself standing out in the hallway. It was pitch black and he could not see a thing. He wasn’t sure why he was standing outside his room but his feet started to walk anyway. The further he walked down the hallway the closer the dread started creeping up on him. Someone was watching him again. Someone always seemed to be watching him, and yet the panic never lessened. No, it only got worse. He felt like the walls were closing in on him. There was something everywhere. It was everywhere and yet he could not see it. He needed to see, he had to see, he had never felt so blind. At his request an eerie green light illuminated the hallway. He immediately regretted it as a hard shudder traveled down his spine.

The walls were covered with eyes. He had seen eyes by themselves before, often in his job or the one that often floated by Jack’s shoulder. But these eyes were not like those, they were not round and adorable like Sam; no, they were human and alive.

They all blinked erratically and blood started to pour from them like tears. His instincts kicked in and he ran. His feet hit the floor one after another. The hallway seemed to stretch on infinitely, adding to his anxiety.

He glanced behind him but when he turned back the hallway came to a sudden end. He practically skidded to a halt, nearly touching the multitude of eyes in front of him. He whirled back around and found another wall had closed off behind him. He was surrounded.

His chest moved up and down rapidly. He needed to find a way out.

A singular voice suddenly surrounded him from all sides, loud, distorted, and harsh.

“Ǹ̴̡o̡̡w̷͡…”

There was a cacophonous hiss and all of the eyes peeled themselves from the walls with a disgusting slurp. They opened up their eyes again to reveal a maw of sharp teeth.

The eyes’ teeth dug into his skin, drawing blood. He went down. He tried to cry out in pain but no sound came out. All he could do was writhe on the floor as they tore into him. Ripping flesh from bone, the eyes burrowed under his skin giving him an agonizingly uncomfortable sensation. The voice from before laughed at him the whole time.

Henrik’s eyes snapped open and reality came flooding back to him. He found himself shaking in a cold sweat, staring at the ceiling.

Two hours later, he finally fell asleep.

Oh my god guys I am so SO sorry for the wait on this chapter! When I was writing this I had school and finals and HORRIBLE writier’s block. But, despite that I have managed to push through and so here we are!

Now I am sure you are all aware of recent events regaurding Jack’s egos. Including one for our favorite doctor. At first, I was half happy and half crushed to see Schneep alive. Happy for obvious reasons and sad, beacause I thought it might ruin my story. I had most to all of the major events planned out before that event happened so I was nervous that my ideas would not be enjoyed, considering this story is meant to be a build up to a very important video we all know. ;)

However, I came to my senses and realized, “Hey wait. This is a FANFICTION they almost ALWAYS  diverge from cannon.” and so here we are. I am still going to write my original ending and epilouge for this story. BUT that doesn’t mean I havn’t been given some new ideas as well... So, along with the original epilouge I will also be writing one that will fit into the new video featuring Henrik! So prepare yourselves as usual and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Totally Legit Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

[itoshit]

Opening the door, I was met with Vee, laying on the bed. None of us talked, and as I noticed tears running down her face, I couldn't prevent the tight smile from showing up.

Hey Venus

I knew what I was doing. I knew Vee would be mad, but I also knew that I hadn't have any choice.

Your hair... you did it for me?

Yes I did

No I didn't. I just thought that I would be able to attract more chicks that way

You're funny Manji'

She cracked a smile at my reply, but I didn't reflect her expression.

Manjiro will do yeah? Look Venus.

Approaching her and sitting by her side, I turned to her, resuming my talk.

It was dumb of me. Everything really. I think... how could I put it. You're a nice girl, but I don't think you're a good match for me. I need my woman to be more courageous and less of a crybaby you know? So yeah, it was fun while it lasted, but I kinda grew tired of you. Not to be mean though, it happens every day. I don't want to waist more time on you, so as soon as you're healed, you can start your life again alright? Koko could help you with money, we'll buy you a new apartment.

Vee didn't seem to listen anymore, her eyes were on me, but she didn't look as if she was believing me.

You're lying

Guess I will have to be more convincing them. Passing a hand through my hair, I grinned at her.

Look Venus, the sex was good, but you're getting too attached. You even said to Kakucho that you liked me! Really? Baby I was keeping you around because I pitied you. To be honest, I wanna fuck other girls now.

I needed to hurt her. To make her let go of me.

Senju wanted to see me tonight so... yeah.

Vee started being more aggressive with me, explaining it by the request that I had for her to be mine and me to be hers. I knew all that, and of course I wanted us to be together. But it wouldn't work. Not with an angel like her.

Look Venus, don't be a bore yeah? Don't act like we were together or anything. I don't like you, I stayed because your pussy was good. End of the story! I need to get ready for my little date, so I'm gonna go now. So huh... have some rest yeah?

Patting her uninjured leg, I didn't wait for her to answer and I winked at her, exiting the room.

As the door was closing, I closed my eyes, breathing deeply.

I was used to all that, but this time, I would make sure that the person I held close to my heart would stay alive, regardless of my feelings.

Sacrificing my happiness didn't look that bad if that meant for Vee to stay alive. Would I be able to see her with someone else? No. Did I even have a say in the matter? No.

-Mikey

I- I feel so bad rn??😭😭

And I hope you ate after !

OHHH OKAY MICHAEL!

I don’t like you. I pitied you. I don’t want to waste anymore time on you.

I knew he was lying. I knew every word he said to me was nothing more than fabricated bullshit he probably came up with on the drive here. There wasn’t any way somebody could fake the things we said to each other, the things we did. I knew that. So why was there a small part of me that was hurt? Who was contemplating the possibility that they were true. Of course it wasn’t… right?

I waited in that bed, saving my forgiveness for when he’d burst through the door five minutes later groveling at my feet, begging for mercy. I waited, despite the tears on my face that somehow knew he wasn’t. I waited and waited and waited. He never showed. That’s when I sobbed, big, heaving, blubbering ones. I sat there crying for what felt like forever, until I couldn’t even produce tears anymore. And then I got angry.

Pressing my nurse’s button, I ripped the IV out of my wrist and the other machines checking my vitals, watching blood trickle all along the sheets. I didn’t care about it. I couldn’t stay another second in this fucking place. If Mikey wanted nothing to do with me after I healed, then I’ll do him something better. The nurse ran in panicked, eyes wide. I watched her gape at the sheets, at the flatlining monitors and then at me. I didn’t even give her time to speak. I had already begun to stand.

I need to get out of here, I told her, lifting myself up from the bed.

She charged at me, trying to push my shoulders back down but I wouldn’t budge. What are you doing? Your wounds haven’t healed yet!

I repeated myself, but she was still panicking, going off about something I refused to care about. Irritated, I take the collar of her scrubs and yank, bringing her close to me. Listen to me, I need to get the fuck out of this building and if you don’t help me, I’m going to find a fire escape and do it that way. Or maybe I’ll jump out of the window, break my fucking neck. Can you live with knowing somebody died on your watch because you wouldn’t help them? Would you be able to stomach it?

The words coming out of my mouth were unrecognizable to me. I got petty with my friends and said shit I didn’t mean, but this was cruel and excessive. I guess this what Mikey was turning me into.

I let her go only after she nods her agreement, looking ready to burst into tears by the second. First, I’ll need a disguise. No matter what Mikey had just told me, I knew he wouldn’t let me out of his sight if he caught me doing this. And being trapped around Mikey was not going to fly. Fuck no. Where’s the clothes you came in wearing?

I-In my bag in our locker rooms, she stammered.

Bring them. I need to change.

She went out of the room and came back, bag in trembling hand. I dressed quickly and keeping my head down, I allowed her to sneak me straight out of the building and around the back where her car was parked. Then I asked her to drive me somewhere.

What? I can’t d—

Why not? I asked without caring to consider her feelings. The poor woman probably didn’t get paid enough for this. Is there anybody else Bonten gives a fuck about that requires you giving them medical attention?

N-no.

Good. I grinned. That means you’re off for the day. Now drive. You don’t have to worry about Mikey, this is what he wanted. A half truth considering he certainly wouldn’t have wanted me to be out of his life this quickly, but I skipped a few steps for my sanity and his life. If I had to be in his vicinity I probably would have killed him.

We got in the car and sped off, me giving her directions as soon as she started driving. I watched the building grow smaller and smaller in the rearview, doing my best to ignore the thudding in my heart. The pain. The stress of everything I had been through on top of this bullshit. My thigh throbbed dully in reminder beneath the bandage. Eventually, we arrived at the destination of my choice, and I was sure to thank her for everything she did. I couldn’t give her anything but gratitude. I didn’t have any money. My phone was still in that torture room where I left it, and all the shit Mikey bought me most likely didn’t survive in that collision that got me kidnapped in the first place. I was grateful for that last one. I needed no reminders of him.

I quickly hopped out of the car, hobbling toward the door of the place I had requested to go. The nurse, who’s name I realized I never asked for, pulled out of the yard before I even entered the door. Couldn’t say I blamed her. I pressed the ringer on the door, pushing on it when it buzzed open. Immediately the stench of animal hit me full force. The sound of dogs barking and cats meowing brought a smile to my face.

Then I heard him. Who’s at the d- His words got caught in his throat, most likely at the sight of me.

Hey, Dee. I had cried all my tears out for the day in that bed. I could only express my emotions in humor. The boss hasn’t fired me yet, right?

Then I started to fall, but he caught me just in time, sobbing my name into my neck. I hugged him back tightly, heart bursting for an entirely different reason now. I was safe. I was home.

Six months came and went in a blur. I spent most of it being interrogated by police and interviewers alike. I kept my stories the same. I didn’t know my kidnappers. I never saw their faces. I never knew why I was kidnapped. Despite the fact that I could draw a detailed picture of Mikey’s face in my sleep, I didn’t sell out Bonten. I had gotten into the last predicament by them thinking I was an enemy, I didn’t want to prove that I actually was one. And besides, I wanted nothing to do with him or atleast that was the story I was feeding myself.

I never saw Natalie again. I didn’t know what Mikey did with her, and I didn’t have it in me to care. My conversations with Angel and Tati stopped a bit after they realized that too. I was glad. I was starting to grow tired of pretending I missed the traitor, and they were tired of pretending like they didn’t resent me for being the one who made it out.

Darren and I were practically inseparable. He had become my right hand, driving me around to physical therapy, helping me assimilate back into society, and still managed to keep the last bit of normalcy I had before I left during work, cracking jokes as if nothing happened. From the outside looking in, it almost was as if nothing did happen, but you had to look closer. I couldn’t sleep at night. Nightmares plagued my dreams every waking day, either of Koda, Mikey’s men who had groped me, or Mikey himself. The only time I managed to sleep was on my lunch breaks, much to Darren’s dismay. But other than that? I was okay, doing what I loved again and surrounded by genuine people.

Now Darren was convinced that what I was missing was a social life. Just come out with me, Vee. It’s just drinks at a bar with a few of my friends. We’ll even leave before 11pm.

Because your bedtime is 10, I teased, laughing when he nudged me.

I’m serious, he whined. It won’t be awkward I promise they already know- He cut himself off.

Perhaps that was the most awkward part of all of this. Everybody knew me now as the girl who survived her ‘kidnapper’. Imagine what they’d think if I told them that technically he wasn’t my kidnapper. They’d probably faint if they found out I fucked him too.

It’s okay, Dee. I was all over the news. They’re bound to know.

Still, they’re not assholes. They won’t treat you any differently. I promise. And if you’re still uncomfortable we could leave and I’ll never bother you about this again for the rest of my life. Pretty please?

I mentally groaned. Darren could get annoying when he was pleading, and it wasn’t like I had anything else to do. My routine consisted of home, work, school, occasional grocery store, gym and repeat. Nothing else exciting.

Fine, I relented, trying not to smile at his loud whoops. But I’m leaving at 10 alright?

Alright, he cheered, hugging me. Let me text the guys right now! This is going to be awesome! You won’t regret this , Vee.

I sure hoped so.

[ask-de-writer]

NIGHTMARE NIGHT LESSON : MLP Fan Fiction : Tales to Read AFTER the Lights are OUT!

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

Return to Tales to Read AFTER the Lights are OUT!

NIGHTMARE NIGHT LESSON

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

2871 words

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 10/19/17

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

The palomino waitress, Peanut Brittle, called, “Um, Boss!! They are back!  They are roosting on all the stronger branches of our hedges and up on the roof, too!”

Caramel Treat called back from the kitchen of her restaurant, Caramel Treat's Sweets, “I know, Peanut!  They are a little early, that's all!  I set out some meat for them in the back dining area!

“Don't worry about the vultures!  They are behaving, just like Roe promised that they would!  He says that the bats will be right on time!”

Peanut Brittle looked up at the big vultures roosting all around the outdoor dining plaza of Caramel Treat's Sweets.  They were looking right back at her, except for the ones that were staring at the customers.  And licking their beaks in anticipation!

The customers were clearly enjoying the bizarre show!  Caramel Treat's Sweets was known all over Equestria and the many lands beyond for being a place for superb food and for their unique Nightmare Night Celebrations!  Those presently dining were happily accepting the big black carrion birds as a part of this year's celebration.

After all, Peanut had already dyed her fur green and was wearing her traditional witch costume as she took orders.  Several goats disguised as small “Demons of the Underworld” lounged about, holding tridents or other instruments.

She glanced up at the big black birds and muttered to herself, “Only one more full day and it will be Nightmare Night!

“Caramel sure is keeping it close to her chest about who her secret Guest of Honor is!”

Caramel, whose extremely sharp werewolf's senses allowed her to hear the comment, replied, “That is because I have pulled off one of the best ones yet!  I don't want anypony trying to pull her away from our celebration!  I have special decorations ordered from Bleater's Hallow, too.  Those should arrive later today in a closed van.”

Shrugging, Peanut went back to taking orders.

Shortly she was joined by Fangrin, Caramel's mate, in his pony form.  He was gray all over.  His mane and tail were the same gray but darker.

He confided, “Caramel has not told me, either.  I do have a guess.  I saw the drawings for the dining area decorations.  More like a stage set, really.  There will be a dark throne at the center of it all.”

Almost instantly, Romaine, roving reporter for the Ponyville Prancer, and usually having light green fur with a darker green mane and tail, was there.  As part of the Caramel Treat's Sweets Nightmare Night staff, she was glamored to resemble a somewhat skeletal dark colored thestral.

She pointed out, “I have been with Caramel's Nightmare Night celebrations since the beginning.  May I quote you about the dark throne?  You know that I will not reveal anything without clearing it with Caramel first.”

Fangrin nodded thoughtfully.  “You may quote me on that but you must keep this whole thing secret until Caramel releases it, OK?”

“I promise it,” Romaine replied.  “Will there be a Dark Court to go with the Dark Throne?”

Fangrin snickered a bit as he said, “Yes, there will be!”

Further exchange was stopped by the arrival of a large delivery van pulled by six goats.  Their leader, a plain tan color, unhitched and trotted over to Fangrin.

“Pardon, Sir.  We have the decorations and set for the restaurant's Nightmare Night.  What shall we do with it?”

Caramel was out from the kitchen at once!  She was in her pony form too.  She conferred with the goat's leader and one of the pulling crew.  They were going over the set diagram.

“The tables will be reset like so.  Keep the throne shrouded until our guest arrives.  We need to work around our dining guests.  Got it?”

The goat leader nodded, “Got it!”  Turning to his crew, he called, “Put the van's loading ramp down!  We are starting the set up now! Don't do anything to disturb the diners.  We just have to work around them.”

Van doors were opened and a stout ramp secured.  The industrious goats began to unload many pieces and fabric curtains.  As the set began to take shape, it was clear that it was looking very like a large, dark, bare stonework, castle room.

Last, the goats wrestled out a large object shrouded in black cloth.  They set it up with care on a stage-like dais at the back of the room. In front of the dais, they set up Caramel's traditional cracked cauldron, supported on chains from a stout tripod.

The vultures had waited on the roof until all was ready.  They swooped about and found perches on ledges and rods provided for their use. The dark birds stared out to the various games and tables, suggestively licking their beaks!

All was in readiness for the big day and night tomorrow!  The van was now stored behind Caramel's restaurant.

It was late, almost closing time when Caramel's secret guest of honor arrived.

The call came from above!  “Make way!  Royal Guard landing!”

A flight of six Royal Armored Pegassi in the livery of Princess Luna landed in the street in front of Caramel Treat's!  They were in an open Vee formation, with the open side facing the now decorated restaurant!  Princess Luna landed lightly in the center of their formation and paced forward, into Caramel's shop!  Her Guard followed, breaking formation to enter through the tables across the front of the outdoor dining area and reforming as soon as they were clear of them.

It was a most impressive display of marching skill.  Luna turned to them and smiled.  “My good Guards, you are now released to recreation as you see fit.  You have served me well on the night flight to this place.

“I know that you have deep and honest concerns about my safety.  I am as well guarded here as I could be.  This event is being watched over by two Werewolves, Grumpter Goat, and the Litch King himself.

“If I may be so bold as to recommend it, the food here at Caramel Treat's is some of the finest to be found in the whole kingdom.  And whatever you get will be paid by Royal Largess.  The Lovely Witch pony here, is waiting to take your orders.”

Caramel and Fangrin came out and managed good courtly bows, in spite of being in their wolf forms.  They chorused, “Welcome to Caramel Treat's Nightmare, oh, Ruler of the Dream.”

The three disappeared into the restaurant proper.

Watching them go, one of the Guard spoke to Captain Lightning, “It still makes me nervous when the Princess just takes off like that with commoners.”

The Captain, relaxing at a table and examining the menu, replied, “It used to bother me too, Baron.  The worst risks that she has ever faced mostly came from the nobility.  Most of those were Counts or Dukes.  When she is among the Rom or supernatural beings, I really worry less.  They are VERY careful to protect both Princesses.”

“I understand that, Captain.  I am worried about all of the common ponies that she will be around with this Nightmare Night thing.”

The Captain turned to Peanut and requested, “The Clover Steak with Sea Grass Puffs, please.  The Honeyed Cider sounds perfect to go with it. Thank you.”

Returning his attention to the Baron, he pointed out, “Among those watching her, this visit is the Litch King.  A being who can not be dodged or avoided.  One who can stop any attack by simply saying Drop Dead! And make it stick!”

Sitting to the table, the worried Baron said, “I see.  Sort of like last Nightmare Night, when we went to that realm of monsters that Princess Luna said was on the edge of Nightmare.  She controls more than is apparent.”

“Precisely. I understand that the security arrangements for this event make Palace Security look like foals playing with rag dollies.”

The Baron looked about the place and commented, “Perhaps, but I see no sign of it.”  He paused thoughtfully for a few moments before adding, “It could be that it is so good that we do not see it.”

Back in the kitchen, Luna was delightedly cooking up the dinner orders as they came in.  “This is so much fun, Caramel!  This short order cooking is so different from banquet or snack cooking!  Let's see, this scramble will be fast, so I start it last . . .”

The two big Everfree Ridgeback Wolves watched tolerantly while Princess Luna took over their kitchen.  Caramel confided to Fangrin, “This was her price.  Uninterrupted cooking except when she is being part of our Nightmare Night Staff.”

Romaine quietly entered the kitchen and politely asked, “Your Highness, is it OK for me to get pictures of you cooking?  They will be part of my annual Caramel Treat's Nightmare Night story for the Ponyville Prancer.  I already got pictures of your arrival with the Guard.”

Princess Luna looked up from her cooking to exclaim, “Romaine!  I haven't seen you since we made that book deal to clobber the so-called Celestian Church!  Of course you can!  That is a blanket permission for the whole event!”

Caramel grinned, “You have the scoop, Romaine!  You know where the Magic Net mirror is!  Call it in and send your pictures!  We managed to keep this visit secret even from Luna's Protocol Ponies!”

With a final few pictures, Romaine nearly flew to the Magic Net mirror to call in her story and pictures!

The next morning, just after staff breakfast, the vultures all took to the air, forming a swirling cone of birds of ill omen, centered on Caramel Treat's!

Looking out through spy holes in the set, the staff saw a long line already formed!  Out front, a news pony was hawking the Ponyville Prancer's morning edition!

“Extra! Extra!  Read all about it!  Princess Luna has come to Caramel Treat's Nightmare Night Celebration!”

Caramel turned to Princess Luna and suggested, “Let's not keep them waiting, your Highness!”

Taking that as a cue, two of the goats pulled the cover off the object on the dais, revealing The NIGHTMARE THRONE.  Luna actually drew a breath of surprise.  

“That is a very good copy of my Nightmare Throne in the Fortress of Nightmare!”

One of the goats smiled at her.  “We had to work from our folklore!  I am glad that we got it done so well!”

The glamored goats, appearing to be twisted creatures of Nightmare, stepped forward on the set and began to beat the start of a Processional on deeply resonant kettle drums.  The doors of the set opened impressively.  Caramel and Fangrin stepped out and went each to one side of the doors.  In full view of every pony waiting, they transformed into their monster sized Wolf forms.

Luna's Guard stepped out by twos, glamored as thestrals.  They formed up before the throne and split to two ranks, one flanking each side of the throne.

Trumpets blew a fanfare while the deep drums kept their part of the processional going.  Princess Luna stepped forth, glamored to a Nightmare Alicorn.  She was all jet black, fur, mane and tail, her eyes glowing red coals, stark yellowed fangs in her jaws and small curls of flame were arising from her nostrils!

She paced forward faced the crowd and blew out flare of fire.  The Nightmare then ascended to the Throne of Nightmare.

She called, “Prepare the Cauldron of Fate!”

The Cauldron was brought forth by a skeletal Alicorn, a witch pony and a Goat skull with fangs, glowing eyes and a candle burning between its horns.  The goat's body was invisible but clearly supporting his leg of the cauldron's tripod.

They set it up some meters in front of the throne.  The witch touched it with her wand and mist began to arise and boil over the lip and some out through a prominent crack in the side of it.

The big black gryphon, her flight feathers outlined in stark red and her eyebrows picked out in it too, admitted the foals and their escorts in groups of five.  Each “trial” game was set up for five to do at once.

She whispered to one foal who was looking worried, “The Nightmare does not expect you to be perfect.  If you try at each game, that is enough.”

Soon the area was an orderly madhouse of foals trying their luck at the games before “Advancing” to the Cauldron of Fate!  There, they chanted “Nightmare Night!  What a fright!  Give me something sweet to bite!”

Plunging eager hooves into the famous Foal Bowl cauldron, they brought out treats for their loot bags!

Besides taking photos of the unfolding event, Romaine had a sign up.

Your picture with the Nightmare!

Only ONE Silver, rolled in a tube

Only TWO Silver, framed!

All proceeds go to the Widows and Orphans Fund to feed and house the needy.  All donations will be matched from Royal Largess.

In spite of the fairly steep price, there were many lined up to get their pictures made!  As he brought out a new stack of frames, one of the glamored goats commented, “It is good thing that when we heard about the photo thing, we brought our frame shop along in the van with the set!  You are keeping us hopping!”

It was approaching noon when a goat, glamored as a creature of the underworld, began pushing a cart down the line waiting to get in.  He had small cheap snacks and an order book.  For those who wanted more than the snacks, he took orders and gave out numbers.

Soon a second cart came down the line, delivering the ordered meals.  And more snacks, of course!

Princess Luna was having a ball, hamming it up for the many photos of her and foals!  A favorite pose was her possessively gripping a costumed foal and making a threatening blast of flame.  Since the flame was a carefully designed glamor, it was totally harmless but delighted the foals!

As evening came on, big cressets on either side of the throne lit up with flaring flames of blue, yellow and green!  Again, like her flaming breath, it was carefully designed glamors, totally harmless but a lot of fun!

Among the new evening glamors that Grumpy was managing for Caramel and Fangrin was causing the whole set and cast to glow in a spectral and ghastly pale blue.

Oohs and aahs of appreciation for the effect arose from the line.  The bats made their scheduled appearance, fluttering all about the set! The glow and the cressets were drawing in tasty moths and the little guys were having a field day!

The well fed vultures were happily perched where they could look menacing and enjoying the whole show!

A pegasus in full Royal Court attire fluttered down, landing self importantly in the midst of the set!  Without preamble, he demanded, “YOUR HIGHNESS!!  It was most difficult to find you!  Your presence is REQUIRED in Canterlot, immediately!  You must stop this foolishness with these commoners at once and come with me!”

He was moving to block the next foal in line for a picture as he spoke.

Princess Luna's pale midnight magic, shot through with stars, reached out and slapped him from his feet!  It gently picked up the filly in her Princess Celestia costume and brought her to the dais.

Ignoring the outcries of the outraged Count, she asked softly, “How would you like your picture to be made?”

The filly thought for only a second.  “I'd like one of those vultures perching on my right wing and a couple of the bats on my left!  Want to be sort of rearing like Celestia facing down the Nightmare!  Can we do that?”

For answer, a smiling Nightmare brought a vulture from its perch and herded a pair of bats to the filly's wings.  She helped them all to be rearing and looking menacing towards her.  She reared in her own turn and held them all posed with her magic while Romaine got the picture!

While waiting to have it framed, the filly pointed to the fallen count and asked, “Isn't he awfully important?”

Luna gave her a hug as she replied, “He certainly seems to think so. The answer is that he is wrong.  You, your dad and mom, and all of the other so called common folk of Equestria are who is really important.

“All of his wealth and position rests on the work of all of you.  You are all the foundation upon which the house of the nobility rests. Without the foundation, the house would collapse.  

“It works the other way too, dear.  A foundation with no building is but useless stones.  Together, they form a whole building.  But never forget this.  It rests on the solid foundation that is all of you.

“That is why I am here.  I honor the solid foundation of all of Equestria.”

Admiring her framed picture, the filly replied, “Wow!  I got a real treasure, this Nightmare Night!  And it wasn't just this picture! Thank You, Your Highness!”

~THE END~

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

Return to Tales to Read AFTER the Lights are OUT!

[vroenis]

Notes On A Conditional Form

I need a break from games writing, and I guess playing video games I’m not entirely enjoying. To be fair to the Uncharted series, I was also briefly dipping in and out of Battlefield V and that’s just not been going well for a long time. I’ll just sit quietly and wait for the new maps.

Today’s title is the most obvious and terrible of puns, for which I should be fired. You’re fired from your own journal - pack your shit and get the fuck out, Vee. Fine, I never liked this job anyway. Who am I kidding, I love this job - I’ve been writing consistently again since the 16th of February this year and really enjoying it.

For once I’m going to use something topical as a springboard for today’s discussion, so as I say on Twitter - Saturday is writing day.

The 1975′s new album Notes On A Conditional Form is out now, available on all the usual distribution platforms except for the good one that counts (Bandcamp) so go get it.

I’m just finishing up my first full listen-thru in the studio where I do my writing as I begin typing out this piece - actually Guys has just started up so it’s the final song. It’s the second time I’ve heard this track, the first time was last night when my week ended and I finally got a chance to sit down on the couch in-front of YouTube and the promo was in my recommendations. What an adorable video.

For the duration of this writing session, I’ve queued-up Telefon Tel Aviv because it suits my mood better - NOACF will play after Dreams Are Not Enough and it’ll probably play if I write for long enough.

I joked around on Instagram yesterday that I bought NOACF Friday morning but wouldn’t get a chance to listen to it until today. I could have listened to it during my work day but there’s no way I’d have had my first listen on the shitty UE Booms that have transducers made of stale bread I have at my work-from-home desk, plus I don’t want to have distractions for my first listen - be talking over it while I work and have to stop-start music during teleconferences and video-meetings etc. Friday was a particularly hectic day for me, but even if it wasn’t, the speakers alone are enough of a reason for me to not want to engage in critical listening in my work-space. I can’t use the 535s or 555s even, because constantly swapping from music to teleconference headphones would be a nightmare.

It’s fine - I just have to be patient. At some point you just stop having to listen to everything the minute you get it. Years ago, I absolutely would be slamming tunes as soon as I would download them - or back when we bought CDs from stores, R and I would be in the car, peeling plastic wrap and jamming them into the slot and cruising around having a listen. Even then, tho, I made it a practice of setting aside time for dedicated listening. Music has always been important to me, I don’t know if it’s tied intrinsically to being a musician, I don’t think it is but it could be, hard to tell. For as long as I’ve been recording things onto cassette from the radio and then buying CDs with my own money, I’ve spent time just listening to music - not while reading, not while doing chores or homework or recreational things like building Gundam kits and Lego, play board games or entertaining guests with other people altho it has its place backing all of these things.

I’ve always wanted to spend time having music as the main focus - the specific activity I engaged in.

When I studied Audio Production and Engineering, it was taught as a subject called Active Listening, albeit as a pragmatic subject of analysis both sonically and musically and I still appreciate it being taught this way. It engages students to perceive musical listening as something you should do as a verb the same way that it’s taught in psychology and social studies. While there are some specifics you can probably educate yourself with regards to the physics of audio and music theory, at some point it begins to become about what’s subjectively pleasing to your ear - this much is absolutely also taught - that much about sound is about perception and is subjective, and the industry of music (the actual course is literally called Music Industry: Technical Production) is about honing technical skills and combining them with understanding your own subjective perception and successfully marketing them.

The real art of active listening is simply paying attention - it’s rudimentary - it’s just not being passive. Most folks aren’t participants in their appreciation of music and that’s not a facetious statement - there’s nothing wrong with people who don’t take a greater role in their digest of music in general, it’s perfectly OK because it’s probably not that important to them. The point at which they feel they want more from what they hear is when they need to do something about it, but they don’t owe it to anyone else to do anything before that. You’ll get no soapbox ranting about pop-music from me.

What’s perhaps less OK is if an individual regularly expresses discontent at a generalised lack of quality or availability of good art but does nothing to seek it out. Good art has never been more accessible. “Oh Vee,” I hear you cluck, “Are you here fixin’ to tell me The 1975 is good art? Cos we gonna throw down.” If you disagree then firstly that’s fantastic. I mean, you’re wrong, but I’m happy for you. But also you’re already in a good space to know what you do and don’t like and should already be good and finding good art.

I’m getting distracted again.

As meandering as my writing seems to get, hopefully some of it is still healthily circular in some ways - and coming back to the reasons I’ve stepped back from other platforms and am finding it comforting to write regularly here on tumblr is that observation of the longer form. Here I get to set aside more time and give myself more consideration to a topic. I sit in the studio and get my thoughts out over a few hours, then over the next few days, I revisit and re-read snippets or all of what I’ve read, in part to proof-read and correct it but also to go over the subjects I’ve written about in review. Sometimes reviewing inspires further notes in my phone that may or may not turn into journals in the future, but that doesn’t have to be a thing, I’ve not decided yet, but I’ve long ago abandoned the need for every action to bear fruit; it’s a very capitalist way of thinking, this framing of return on investment, that a thing is only worth doing if it’s profitable in the future. The action often has value then and there, it’s the act of doing it, but there has to be an action beyond just the thought, because if I don’t write it down, I know a day later when I want to summon the thought again because I liked it, it’ll be gone from my brain and I’ll hate myself for not noting it. This is how the brain works - it’s immensely capable and sometimes, when everything is important but there are a lot of things, it can’t keep track of them all so at some point it starts discarding them, especially in the short-term.

I watch a lot of YouTube. I really enjoy Rooster Teeth videos and I’ve had a First subscription for almost two years now. Oddly I still watch almost all their content on YouTube simply because it’s more convenient to do so across all devices,  but the point of having a premium subscription for me is to support them as content creators, not to access content earlier or really to access anything exclusive - I’ll be honest, I’m not watching any exclusives at all and couldn’t tell you what that content is. I’m also super glad that they opened up First access free during Covid, so right now you can sign up for First and watch everything thru their web portal and see all that exclusive stuff plus watch everything early and it won’t cost you anything. Yes - part of the point is the marketing benefit that after Covid, they hope you’ll see that First has economic value for you and that you’ll pay for it afterwards, but they transparently, plainly and frequently acknowledge this in their shows which I suspect is more than other companies are doing.

Outside of Rooster Teeth - which do create a lot of content at 30 minutes and above, often 1 hour shows but often 10 to 15 minute episodes, I still do watch a lot of typical 10 to 20 minute YouTube clips, especially after work. My reasons for watching these are probably similar to a lot of people - after an arduous day of office admin, often it’s easier to watch smaller, more easily digested pieces of media instead of material that takes potentially more psychological commitment. How that commitment takes shape is different for everyone - for some people, heavy narrative is more demanding. For me, if you’ve taken any cues about my tastes, you’ve probably figured it’s a little different.

Some of the short clips I watch are video gamers arsing about being funny; a lot of Funhaus (under Rooster Teeth) falls into this category, but a lot of my watching is comprised of Synth Tubers and musicians. There’s some stuff in the periphery - because of Gavin Free’s adjacency in Rooster Teeth, I might watch the occasional SloMo Guys clip that might appear in my recs, as well as the odd 1975 promo because I’m subbed so their single releases appear in my feed and Dirty Hit and adjacent artists will hit my recs too, so again once in a while I might try them to varying success - I bought half of Wolf Alice’s Visions Of A Life but couldn’t bring myself to pay for the full album. Maybe next time.

YouTube is a bit like the thumb, heart and like. It’s the short-term hit, the low-level engagement for my visual and auditory senses. I’m not knocking it, it’s fine. It’s good. It’s not entirely like but not entirely unlike sugar. Does the analogy carry all the way thru to if I consume too much of it, it’ll give my brain virtual brain diabetus? I’m not entirely sure but it could be worth being cautious of. I don’t think that’s a real thing but one thing I certainly have been missing is real cinema, and the other night I finally turned everything off and put on a bluray I’d bought of a film I’d as yet not seen, and was really glad I did;

I don’t often get to watch films that are for me, as egotistical a statement as that might sound. When J is home, I try not to subject her to my film taste, or at least some of the more rigorous sides of it. There’s a decent amount of crossover in our tastes which is plenty fine for us to share, but for some things I’d wait for her to go to bed or be out or away. I’m not sure how she’d take something like The Favourite, there’s a lot to like about the narrative as a whole, but I certainly can understand how people might not like it.

Nevertheless I adored the film, it’s almost perfect for me with the exception of some of the editing - Yorgos Lanthimos edited it himself, it would seem, so that’s ah... a thing. Anyway, alas were I here to discuss the film because it’s an absolute smashing delight.

I really do miss sitting down and just being able to be immersed in good cinema. It isn’t because I don’t want to, either - it really is because I find it so difficult to find film aligned with my tastes. If you want to know what those tastes are, there’s a page full of it, and yes, David Lynch and Terrence Malick are on it so I’m one of thooose people. Whatever, I so don’t fucken care. I’m not a snob, tho - I’ve talked about it before, can’t be arsed digging thru the journals but they only go as far back as Feb so have at it - but I dug the first John Wick, Michael Bay has his place, I mean, he’s a cock, but I respect and admire the cinemacraft - I totally talked about that (maybe I should go find it). I really *really* love action and stunt-craft a lot - there’s a lot of hard work that goes into that - not just sets and props but personnel, stage-craft, lighting, vis-fx and camera. It’s good industry, it looks great and it’s simply fun to watch.

Anyway.

I have action films on bluray, I just don’t talk about them. Instead I keep a list of my weird shit because they get less attention, less money and I feel like they speak more to my experience and there are fewer things in this life that speak to my experience. The list of video games in the journal before this one speak more to my experience, that’s why there’s a list of them. Uncharted speaks infinitely less to my experience, and that’s probably why I hit it with a stick so much, because dear lord jesus fuck look at how much money it gets, and yet look at how poorly the people who made it are being treated and how much fuck-all is being done about it, so fuck that shit, unite and unionise, and support your fucking indies. I’m getting distracted again... it’s not hard to do at the moment...

A dear friend had a birthday recently and they asked for some music - actually let’s roll back. Once our state went into lock-down and we couldn’t go visit one-another, one of my best friends K and I started talking over video-calls instead of our normal phone-calls. We’d normally speak over the phone because we’d see each other when she’d come over and have dinner with J and I, or we’d all have lunch etc. So me being me, there’s no way I’m going to be happy just using my phone - of-course I can run Zoom from my PC and use my webcam, but run all my audio gear thru my interface - meaning a nice condenser mic instead of a shitty phone or hands free, plus all my synths. This is how our video-calls go - I play music for her while we talk. It’s an absolute blast.

On one particular call, she told me the music I was playing at the time would be really great to help her with the work she was doing (also working from home). I was only just playing a Rhodes patch thru the reverb unit with a massive tail but she did have some decent bluetooth headphones on and it sounded great. That weekend, I spent a couple of hours recording a few pieces of simple music, just one instrument and fx direct - no sequencing, straight into audio - lightly normalised - topped and tailed, encoded to mp3 and sent them to her.

I haven’t had a lot of studio time at all over the last two years - J and I have had a really rough year - not with one another, but challenges that we’ve had to face. If you read back thru the journals, you’ll see another one of those which has further flow-on effects for us that we continue to deal with. That’s life. Both she and I have been dealing with these kinds of challenges for most of our lives from a very young age. Sometimes I spend a bit of time noodling, as J calls it, on a piece of gear here and there, and in the past I’ve taken a few bits of gear out of the studio down into the kitchen and recorded videos for Instagram that have been fun - usually for a weekend or week while she’s been out of state with family.

There’s that thing again with only doing things in short bursts and hopefully I’m able to illustrate this pattern of shortness, of us having to live our lives in short bursts. I’m not going to hook it into the evils of YouTube (I like YouTube and use it) or Spotify (I hate Spotify and don’t use it) - as always, these things seem to follow people’s patterns of behaviour rather than shape it - but there are probably some other evils that have shaped our patterns of behaviour and the consumer services have simply followed. Are we being over-worked and is the quality of our life out of balance? Probably. Are we losing touch with a better sense of engagement with one another, activity, focus and art? Very likely. Do we point a furiously waggling finger at Twitter and Facebook and YouTube and yell BAD and run to the hills to farm organic vegetables and hide from 5G (couldn’t help it) for the rest of our days? Not at all because that’s clearly stupid.

I like Twitter. I really like Twitter. I really like YouTube. I really like the Wire and the accessibility and ease it’s brought about. Just because we haven’t quite figured out how best to utilise it doesn’t mean we have to set it on fire and huddle in the dark. I don’t get that approach - we are astonishingly intelligent beings, yet our reaction to not being able to fully process complex things always seems to be SHUN AND RUN. Don’t credit me with that, I’m sure I read it somewhere - I wish Mamoru Oshii’s external memory (or wherever he shoplifted it from) was a real thing and I could check it (NB: I did exactly that, but couldn’t find anything culturally remarkable enough as a source).

Dedicating time to recording those pieces of music for K was really amazing. I just listened back to them and I’m really happy with how they came out. If you ask nicely I might post one of them up here but you’ll have to ask really nice and understand they’re super ambient so they might put you to sleep but that’s one of the desired effects, I guess. Watching The Favourite was amazing, and I have to try to dig out more cinema to dig into. I’m really hoping Ghost of Tsushima reviews well for PS4 because I’m pretty much sold on it - I’d like a game I can play for long periods rather than short bursts because I value enduring video game experiences that aren’t frustrating. And writing here every week has been the most positive step I’ve taken this year, super beneficial and I hope at some point I can get around to discussing some of the other artefacts of art I keep mentioning in greater detail, or at least more about my engagement with them. That list of films has a lot going on in it as far as how it’s influenced my life. I say that it’s listed in no particular order, but Ishikawa’s Tokyo.Sora remains to this day my most favourite film by a long way, no other film has come close, but there are a lot of films that are almost as special and that leave everything else a long way behind. Most of Lynch’s films are pretty special to me, so too most of Oshii’s, but I’d love to talk about why films like Polgar’s Exit and Fliefauf’s Womb are there for their tone and feel more than their content.

I think that’s coming. For the moment I’m still writing as a capture of my mental state in time. Barely anyone uses the term microblogging in reference to Twitter any more but that’s exactly what it is - it’s a granular timecode of people’s pragmatic and emotional reactions to their experience of life - usually too granular to be useful without strange barely accessible tools to process. For me a return to traditional writing has been both immensely useful and satisfying. I enjoy both cataloguing and documentation, but I also love the mechanical process of such. Sitting down and spending time writing has given me perspective on how and when to use a granular tool like Twitter - even for shitposting - and Instagram too, tho shuttering Instagram is still on the cards - and it’s amplifying every activity I dedicate time to.

More and more I’m getting down on the floor with our dogs and playing with them - I did this anyway but I do it more, to bond with them and enjoy a sense of play and place at their level in pack harmony. There’s nothing overly spiritual and wanky about that, they’re just our dogs and we love them, it’s just about understanding canine behaviour and enjoying it.

This isn’t a puff piece about the perfect life, far from it. I’m not just trying to be positive either. There’s still an immense amount of shit happening around me, never you mind. It’s hard to contextualise everything all at the same time, so don’t be tempted to believe I’m here doing a HASHTAG BLESSED post because you can fuck right off. Go back and look at my taste in films damnit and tell me a positivity-only person digs those films get fucked. You wouldn’t know what we’ve been thru and I wouldn’t know what you’ve been thru either. Let us talk about shit sometimes and don’t do that whataboutism shit. You should be more mature than that. If there’s anything granular media has done it’s make you a lazy thinker so shake yourself out of it. You know better. You *know* you know better. Come on.

I might draw some art for you to steal, come back and insert it but I’m happy with ending here.

[ripplestitchskein]

Whether We Wake or Sleep part 7

Part One     Part Two     Part Three     Part Four   Part Five     Part Six

On AO3

Word Count: approx 11K+   Rating: Teen & Up  (Will be Mature or Explicit in later chapters)

Summary: A canon-divergence set after Killian and Emma return to Rumpelstiltskin’s castle, an expanded epic Captain Swan adventure. Killian and Emma must work to break a new curse, one with an unsettling timeline, and align themselves with friends and foes alike. 

Notes: My everlasting and undying love to my instrumental wife @caprelloidea​ for the read through and the expert beta. And my love to Mandy @thesschesthair​ for my beautiful banner that always makes me smile. 

_____

Maleficent’s answering smile was every bit the reptilian creature that lurked beneath the bubblegum and lollipop exterior before them. She paused for a moment, twirling the bottle idly in her hand.

“My sleeping curse requires a very rare and difficult to procure ingredient. One that is out of my reach now. But if you want more of this potion, then you two will need to fetch it for me.”

Killian slouched, indolent, his eyes already rolling. Emma could tell though, by the set of his jaw, the faint white of his knuckles as he gripped his belt, that he was far more on edge than he appeared, deliberately not looking at her again.

“I'm sure it will be just as simple as popping down to the village market. We’ll make a day of it,” the false cheer and wide blue eyes had unease stirring in her stomach. The arrogant pirate captain of old making an appearance never boded well, brought out when things were particularly dire, when he had few other options at his disposal, but rarely was it because of her decision. It was clear he didn't want her to take this path and it seemed wrong to have him doubt her, to not have his full support.

 “Not quite,” Maleficent was all teeth.

 “What fearsome hell creature are we to slay then?” Killian asked. “Or is this an errand of the rob and run variety?”

 “Nothing quite so dire,” Maleficent eyed the pair of them. “Have you heard of the Forest Mother?”

 Emma and Killian both said “No” in unison but where Emma’s was an answer to the question, Killian’s was a firm declaration of intent. Maleficent’s eyes danced at him.

“Then I'm sure you understand the… difficulties in acquiring it myself,” she addressed the statement to Killian alone.

 “Well I don't,” Emma snapped, impatience and exhaustion threatening what little sanity she had. She was tired of these little meetings of the Super Cryptic Enchanted Forest Club, tired of being on the back foot, beholden to wicked witches and ridiculously poofy sorceresses and never knowing at any moment what fresh new horror awaited them. Tired of feeling like her judgement was impaired, like nothing she did was the right choice. Mostly she was just plain tired. She just wanted to go home, she just wanted to sleep.

 “And I don't care. Charles give her the map.”

 “Love, I don't think-” he started but Emma glared at him, cutting off the coming protest. He sighed, resigned, and shuffled a bit, reaching into the satchel crossed along his chest with jerking, frustrated movements.

 “Forest Mother doesn't sound particularly frightening, I think we can handle it. Mark where we need to go and tell us what the hell we need to get,” Emma bit out.

 Maleficent laughed, tinkly and mocking, enjoying their division. She took the reluctantly offered map.

 “Of course, dear,” she waved a hand, a ridiculous purple feathered quill appearing between her fingers to scrawl a rough circle on the parchment with a pleased flourish. It reminded Emma of contracts signed in blood, of  souls given away for dark promises. Maleficent let the feather play across her lips for a moment, very much enjoying herself, before vanishing it away. Killian took it back with a false smile, his hand fisting around it as he stuffed it back into his bag.

 “But that won’t be enough,” she crooned. “That forest is where the witch lives but she will be much more difficult to actually find.”

 “Of course she is,” Emma said rolling her eyes. “So how do we find her?”

 Maleficent waved her hand again, a small ball of yarn appearing where the quill had been. It seemed to glow with a golden internal light, definitely not for blankets then, and Killian took this as well, eyeing it skeptically.

 “When you reach the Dark Forest this will guide you to her.”

  “What are we asking her for?” His question was asked with clenched-teeth reluctance, practically vibrating with tension. It was evident he was very much not in favor of this course, and that was particularly troubling considering his usual willingness to do whatever was necessary, despite his or her concerns. It was also extremely aggravating, exhaustion spiking against her nerves. She glared at him, and he looked momentarily cowed, giving her a glance of apology even as his hand squeezed around the yarn, the light glowing between the spaces of his fingers.

 She had seen him brave many terrible things, charging forth without a thought to his well being firsthand. Whoever this “Forest Mother” was he did not want to tangle with her and that was perhaps the most unsettling part of an already terrifying day. Wanted posters on the road, that terrifying climb, a dragon witch, and now some mysterious forest dweller who made him look like he’d rather eat glass than make her acquaintance.

 “The horn of a black unicorn.”

 Emma snorted, her discomfort and Hook’s conflicting behavior forgotten.

 “A unicorn? Seriously? Do you need us to jaunt over to Candyland and steal some gumdrops from Lord Licorice as well?”

 “Not a unicorn,” Maleficent said ignoring her, not even batting an eyelash at what was surely a rather bizarre and definitely not timeline friendly statement. Emma was too exhausted to care anymore.

 “A black unicorn. An aberration, born of darkness and cursed by death himself.”

 “How cheery,” Emma rolled her eyes again. “How much is this unicorn horn going to cost us?”

 “I don't set the price,” Maleficent said. “She’ll let you know.”

 “So something between a farthing and our immortal souls,” Killian said, all sarcasm. Maleficent looked completely unsympathetic.

 “Do you want my potion or not?”

 Killian opened his mouth, no doubt an eloquent description of exactly where the witch could put her potion poised to come out, but Emma was faster.

 “I do. We’ll follow your sparkly ball of yarn and get your stupid evil unicorn horn or whatever,” she stepped in front of him and held out her hand.

 “Just a little taste,” Maleficent beckoned her forward, her voice soft. “To ensure you come back.” She paused. “Well, if she lets you that is.”

 Emma looked down at the bottle once again in the woman's hands, at the long needle she drew out of it, fear rising along her spine. It was thick and wickedly sharp at the end, made of blackened wood, like the spindle of a spinning wheel. Visions of green smoke and raven’s eyes, a pretty cartoon princess caught in a trance flashed through her mind. She had never been a fan of that particular movie as a child and even less so now, facing a needle held by the main attraction.

 “Em-Leia, are you sure you want to do this?” Killian asked quietly behind her.

 She didn't look at him, couldn't look at him, lest her resolve crumble, stepping forward towards Maleficent as her answer instead.

 The sorceress’s hand was icy cold as she took Emma’s in her own, freezing against her skin as she slowly turned her palm up, holding the needle above it.

 “Just a little prick,” Maleficent murmured, and pressed the tip into Emma’s thumb.

 It stung, a sharp stick of pain, and blood welled, dripping down the slope towards her palm as she tried to pull back with a hiss, but it was short lived.

 Emma’s knees buckled suddenly beneath her as a wave of pure sensation washed along her body in a rushing tide. It poured down from her scalp to her toes, an all encompassing ecstasy, a drowsy sort of liquid honey heat filling her up, spilling over. Killian was there in an instant, catching her in his arms, her legs unable to support her as she turned, sagged into him, and moaned against his chest.

 It was the most incredible feeling in the world, a building sort of energy beneath her skin, sparks of heat at the edges setting her alight. She could feel every nerve, every point of contact between them, and she shifted further into his space, unable to help herself, her eyes fluttering closed as she pressed her cheek to the firm hot skin between the vee of his shirt. She was on fire with it, drawing in his warmth, the feel of him beneath her, letting it coalesce with the pleasure sinking into her bones.

 “Oh my god,” Emma panted out against him. He tensed, clutching her tighter with his arms. When she looked up at him, his jaw was set again, his eyes darker, searing into hers, conflicted worry set on his face. Emma swallowed, and grabbed blindly at his shirt, fingers scrabbling across his chest. Her legs felt even weaker if that was possible, no longer sore, and the world was sharper and brighter to her eyes, everything honed around the edges.

 Maleficent’s dark knowing laugh pulled Emma away from it, away from him, had her jerking out of his arms with sudden realization. She was practically climbing the man, and he looked tense and conflicted when she darted her eyes back up to his. He shuffled uncomfortably in place, still clutching the ridiculous ball of yarn. She couldn't care very much though, fleeting thoughts of consequences vanished in an instant, a concern for another day. She couldn't be bothered to worry. Not when she felt like this. Like she had awoken from the world’s best nap, like sheets warmed to body temperature and lazy Sundays in bed, orgasmic delight suffused and concentrated in its purest form. She was boneless and weak with it, but energized as well, electric heat zipping along her limbs. She felt like she could do anything.

 “Don't get used to it dear,” Maleficent's said dryly her eyes raking over her. “The next time is never as incredible as the first.”

 She looked almost sad, glancing down at the bottle clutched in her hand, her face yearning with memory. That was scarier than anything. Emma had spent enough time on the streets, had dealt with enough of the seedier sides of life to know the look of an addict, the hollow emptiness and resignation of the recovered. She almost felt sorry for the witch, and very, very unsure if this was a good idea.

 Maleficent closed her fist around the glass.

 “This is not a cure, mind you, it will only… temporarily mask the symptoms. As soon as that little taste wears off the curse will hit you again, like you had never taken this at all.”

 The thought of going back, of feeling that terrible ache, the helpless fog, or worse, was scarier still, a rapidly building tower of one new fear after another. Emma wanted to snatch the bottle from her hands, hoard it away, keep herself from ever feeling the helpless pain again. Instead she squared her shoulders, shaking out her limbs to rid them of the tingling buzz, and stared at Maleficent levelly, her fingers still trembling.

 “Guess we better get our hands on that horn quickly then.”

 ______

 “This place is creepy as hell.”

 Killian only grunted in response, had only grunted in response since they’d left Maleficent's fortress, his attention fixed firmly on the rapidly unfurling ball of yarn, the tail end tucked into his hand.

 It was incredibly creepy. The Dark Forest, the patch of map Maleficent had indicated, apparently wasn't named for the color of the foliage, or even the amount of light it received, but rather the general feeling of unease it evoked. The bark on the trees was silvery white, reminding Emma of bleached bone, a sea of skeleton sentries surrounding them on every side. Gnarled twisting branches reached down from all angles, like creeping hands and knotted fingers. It was colder in the wood too, the spring to summer sun hidden behind a sudden blanket of gray winter clouds overhead, the wind crisp and chilling. It had her pulling her cloak tighter around her, shifting into Killian’s space to leech his warmth, trying not to feel the pang of hurt when he shifted away.

 Still, it didn't seem to be just the temperature that set a chill to her bones, there was something about the place, a hanging presence, a low fog of disquiet blanketing everything. The red leaves carpeting the forest floor rolled before them like a river of blood, and as with Maleficent’s lake valley, it was completely and utterly silent.

 “I feel a little like a cat,” Emma tried again. His silence was freaking her out as much as their surroundings, the flickering muscle in his cheek making rapid time with their footsteps. If she had been standing closer she imagined she could hear the scrape of his clenched teeth over the rustle of the leaves under their feet.

 That did get his attention however.

 “Pardon?”

 Emma gestured to the yarn. It still glowed with that faint yellow light, the tightly wound ball skipping over the roots and dead leaves, the rocks and furrows, as if it hovered or flew through the air.

 “Cats,” Emma said. “They chase yarn.”

 “They do?” He almost stopped walking.

 “They don't have cats where you come from?” It was a ridiculous conversation but Emma was feeling keyed up and giddy, nervous energy filling the wells of her joints, the rush of adrenaline from the potion slow to fade, and the silence of the wood made her feel like she should say something.

 And Killian was almost... scared. She could tell by the furrow of his brow, the uneasy flicker of his eyes. She had seen him scared before, his face twisted in fear, eyes wide, but it had always been for her, or Henry, never for himself. Fear for himself took on a different cast, like a man determinedly facing the gallows, and it frightened her. He had been uneasy in the castle, reluctant, but now he looked paler and drawn, the yarn almost trembling where he gripped it.

 “Of course they bloody do, but they chase rats and pests not bits of string,” the look on his face was so filled with disgust she had to bite back a smile to keep from laughing at him directly. “What use is chasing a ball of yarn?”

 “It's cute?” Emma offered. He only huffed, and kept moving forward. “Seriously. Killian.” She reached forward, grabbing the arm of his coat to stop him.

 “What is wrong with you?”

 Emma chased his flickering eyes with her own, trying to catch them. She attempted a different question.

 “Who is this Forest Mother?”

 “A children’s tale,” he waved his hand, the string dancing in the air. “A fairy story.”

 “Lemme guess, she's not the nicest witch in the wood?”

 Killian gave a little motion, a half shrug. A lie told in body language.

 “She is not a figure of evil if that’s what you’re asking,” he said finally, and continued forward, the ball of yarn further ahead of them now.

 “Then why are are you all-” Emma gestured at him as she walked. “Like this.”

 He was silent a moment, before he sighed, resigned.

 “When I was a lad, the crew, they told all sorts of tales, not a lot to do on a ship after all. Many of them were the cautionary sort, meant to frighten children in the night, make them think twice about poor behavior. The Forest Mother was a particular favorite of theirs.” He said it matter of factly but his eyes gave away his discomfort, the burden of memory. He may have mastered his voice but he had never quite figured out the eyes.

 The thought of a younger Killian, floppy dark hair and those same revealing eyes, hiding beneath the covers after hearing scary stories in the dark had her heart clenching in her chest.

 “What's so scary about her?” Emma asked softly.

 “She peers into your soul, takes the measure of you, and if she doesn't like what she finds, she throws you into her oven, and consumes you,” Killian said this too as if it was the most normal thing in the world, which she supposed, given where he’d grown up, it was.

 “Where I come from if you’re a bad kid Santa just doesn't bring you presents,” Emma offered.

 “It's said she can see into your soul. Your true soul,” Killian was speaking quietly as he moved, almost inaudible over the sounds of the leaves, ignoring the mention of Santa completely. “Only the pure of heart can seek her help or stand unmolested before her.”

 Emma swallowed, understanding a bit. She could remember the shame and anguish on his face in the cave, the guilt that he carried, always so heavy on his shoulders, weighing him down as surely as his trademark leather coat. Even now he walked as if he still wore it, centuries of terrible deeds trailing behind him.

 “And you thought she was going to...eat you?” Emma asked.

 He flashed her that false smile as they moved forward, chasing the yarn.

 “I was a difficult child, rebellious, for... many reasons,” his smile turned a bit more genuine. “I'm sure that's difficult to believe.”

 “I am having a lot of trouble picturing it,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work, and the smile fell from his face completely.

 “When we’d make shore they’d take us to the woods. Leave us on the edge. A simple jest to keep us in line, but an effective one,” he swallowed, overcome with memory and Emma’s heart lurched. “I never feared the punishment,” he said, looking away from her again, fixated on the ball making its way across the forest floor. “Just the confirmation.”

 “Little you thought he had, what? Some blackened soul?”

 The shrug he gave was small but no less heartbreaking.

 “I imagine if it wasn’t then, it surely is now,” he looked further ahead. “We’re getting behind.”

 “Killian wait-” Emma struggled to follow him, his longer strides eating up more ground than she could cover, plowing through the dense leaves more easily. “Killian-”

 Killian froze in front of her, the strand of yarn falling forgotten to the forest floor. The connection broken, the leading ball seized up as well, shuddering to a stop yards away.

 “What-” before she could say another word Killian grabbed her hand jerking her roughly to the side as hooves sliced the air where she’d been standing. Emma fell hard, pain vibrating up her elbows as she landed, and above her a horse gave a terrible shriek.

 The rider was white as moonlight, pure and glowing before them, a faceless specter on a ghostly mount. She cried out startled, as Killian grabbed her again, barely rolling her out of the way as the creature brought its hooves down once more, clawing at the leaves where she had been sitting.

 “Your sword,” she heard him cry, already drawing his own as he stood. Emma fumbled, rising on wobbly knees with shaking hands, barely able to wrap them around the blade before the rider struck out at her. She scarcely dodged in time, the blade cutting through the air, a sharp whistle in her ear.

 “Swan!” Killian’s yell told her his position behind her but she couldn't take her eyes off their opponent to check his condition.

The rider backed his mount up a few paces, but his blade, a crystalline shard of opalescent glass, was still wickedly sharp and pointed right at her, ready to strike.

 Emma swallowed. She could feel Killian pressing into her back as he moved, apparently upright and unharmed, leaves rustling under his feet in the silence, solid and firm against her. She wanted to sag in relief that he was okay, but she held her sword out instead, rigid.

 “What do we do?” She asked. The snowy mount whickered. It was a haunting noise unlike any animal she had ever heard before, worlds away from Four’s friendly sounds, turning her blood to ice water in her veins. She shivered.

 “There’s two more,” Killian said grimly.

 “Damnit,” she could feel him nod behind her in agreement and she cast her eyes quickly to the side to check their positions.

 The one in her periphery was red as blood, seeming to rise up from the scarlet leaves of the forest. Where he ended and they began was indistinguishable, and that was extremely unsettling. He was more solid than his white counterpart, less formless, but no less formidable. She turned slightly, and saw the third, this one completely devoid of color, leeching the light from all that surrounded him, a fathomless human shape only vaguely a man cutting into the tree line like a rift in space. Terror seized her at the sight of him, a walking nightmare in gray daylight.

 “What the hell are those?” Emma bit out, her grip tightening around her weapon. It didn't seem like enough.

 “I have no idea,” Killian murmured. “But they don't seem pleased to see us.”

 “You think?” Emma snapped. She could barely breathe, fear was filling her lungs, solid and choking in her throat. It poured off them, an invisible mist settling over her skin, making it crawl and itch as the feeling intensified, an almost tangible thing. She tried for levity, anything to shake the feeling off, to make it go away.

 “I used to watch this show as a kid. Always thought I’d make a good Yellow Ranger.”

 Killian huffed impatiently behind her, clearly not getting the reference, as he settled into a tense defensive posture. Emma however was babbling.

 “Sorry Black is taken. You can be Blue though. It would go well with your eyes. I never really liked the Green Ranger so we’ll skip that one.”

 “Excellent, whatever your heart desires. After we handle this, aye?”

 She tried to focus on them, to look at their faces, be bold, but her eyes kept sliding past of their own accord, burning and stinging with every attempt. Clever quips and taunts died formless in her mouth.

 She could feel Killian’s every move behind her pressed against her back, the faint tremble of his body vibrating up her spine, similarly affected by the crippling fear that had settled in the clearing at the rider’s appearance. The creatures, for these were no men, were death incarnate, something otherworldly and wrong. And they were definitely going to kill them.

 Emma reached blindly back with her free hand, skirting his hips, and grasped his wooden hand, giving it a squeeze, more for herself than him. He tugged back, a reassurance, and something else, as he stepped forward.

 “It seems we haven't been properly introduced,” Killian said finally, his voice was calm, just a faint tremor under his usual bravado. Emma could hear her blood rushing in her ears, the nameless terror replaced with fear for him as he stepped forward. She turned, catching the end of his bow, the urge to ask him what the hell he was doing, to grab him and run, was overwhelming her, her legs burning with the need to move.

 He was ignoring her though, half circling her to face each of the figures in turn.

 “Killian Jones,” he said to them. “We seek audience with the Forest Mother or The Bone Mother, as she may be known to you.”

 “If Maleficent had led with that title I probably wouldn't have accepted so fast,” Emma muttered. Killian shot her a look that could only mean “Shut up, Swan.”  She clapped her lips closed.

 “Turn your back to the forest, your heart to me.”

 The three of them spoke as one, the sound of their voices scraping down her spine, sinking the terror into her bones, goose flesh springing up among her arms.

 “Not so good with riddles, mates,” Killian said. “Come again?”

 “Turn your back to the forest, your heart to me.”

 This time the voices were accompanied by the quiet hum of energy, their weapons: the crystalline sword, the scythe of shadow, and a ruby tipped stave glowed bright, brighter, charging, as one.

 “What does that mean?” Emma looked at Killian, exchanging a wild eyed glance before he took a step back towards her.

 “Turn your back to the forest, your heart to me.”

 The humming buzz of electricity grew louder, the weapons glowing brighter.

 “No idea, but we should probably figure it out,” Killian said, no lack of urgency in his voice as he pressed against her back again, the two of them trying to keep the specters in their lines of vision.

 “We’re surrounded by forest! And we are looking right at you.” Emma said frantically, her eyes darting from tree to tree, seeing no break in the wood. She tried to focus her eyes on them again, but they kept shifting away, their faces burning embers, the rapidly growing light of their weapons too harsh, like staring into the sun, purple and blue splotches in her vision when she blinked.

 “Turn your back to the forest, your heart to me.”

 “Emma!” Killian was jerking her around, his sword falling forgotten into the leaves. The energy hummed and spit like downed power lines, sparking in the air around them. His hand grasped her shoulder, fingers digging in, the wooden hand pressing against her arm. He stared at her, blue eyes locking with her own. “Look at me,” he said firmly. “Only me.”

 Emma wasn't sure if this was a final moment thing, a fleeting glimpse of each other before death took them, but she knew she couldn't look away if she tried. If the last thing she saw was him that wouldn't be so bad, she reasoned. The temptation to shift her eyes away, to check the riders was overwhelming, but Killian’s were steady and true, open and honest, and she couldn't look away.

 The clearing was suddenly silent, the harsh pants of their breath the only sound. Emma looked up at him in confusion, unsure if it was safe to move, unsure if she wanted to. His fingers pressed further into her arm. It was a subtle sway, the feel of his breath on her face, and she leaned in.

 “Oh very good. Two hearts for one,” the voice was ancient and accented, breaking through the silence. Emma jerked back as a bundle of rags and fabric joined them in the clearing at the edge of her vision. She was still too afraid to move, to turn her head to look at it fully.

 “Well come along then. I won’t wait all day,” the figure shuffled, leaves rustling with rasping rhythmic sweeps somewhere beside them. The thick inflection on her words made them sound more like “vell” and “vont” and “den” but Emma could understand well enough.

 She looked at Killian in question, his face a bit paler, his shoulders slumping with equal parts concern and relief, chest still rising and falling with gasping breaths. He hitched them in a little shrug, and they turned as one to face the new arrival.

 An old woman, hunched over and twisted by time was hobbling away, a silver birch broom painting along the path behind her. The riders were gone from the clearing, disappeared as quickly as they had come, and in their place a small hovel rose into the air, surrounded on all sides by a fence of thick white sticks and rounded posts. Emma pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a noise when she realized what exactly it was made of. She grabbed Killian’s arm, tugging on it.

 Bones. Skulls. A fence of human remains marked the perimeter of the old woman’s house with haunting grins, yellowed with age, and flaming sockets where eyes would be. The house the fence protected was decrepit and sad, made of darkened rotting wood and crumbling decaying thatch, rising up into the canopy of the trees on thick heavy stilts, sinking into itself with the burden of time and neglect.

 Emma did kind of shriek when it moved, Killian barely getting his hand over her mouth in time, palm hovering just above her lips, his fingers warm against her cheek as the stilts shifted, as they walked. The house turned in a circle on towering chicken-like legs, sharp talons as thick and wide as several people digging into the dirt and leaves. It lifted one to scratch the other, and settled back to the forest floor.

 “What the hell is that thing, ” Emma hissed into the cup of his hand. Killian pulled her back against him, his breath hot in her ear, his chest firm against her back once again.

 “Careful, love, I don't think she’ll take too kindly to us insulting her dwelling,” he warned in a whisper, for her ears only, releasing her to step hesitantly forward. Emma shivered, her face flushing.

 “Etiquette in these situations is rather...fraught. Probably best if I take the lead on this one,” he murmured. He didn't sound particularly delighted by the prospect.

 Emma scoffed at the implication, forgetting his nearness in her indignation. She could be polite if she needed to be. She watched as the house turned, scratching ineffectually at the dirt, the flaming eyes of the skull fence posts flickering with the disturbance, and she bit off a startled curse. He might have a point, and by the rise of his eyebrow he knew it.

 The old woman turned suddenly at the gate, pointing the handle of her broom at the two of them. Her face was a map of deep and jagged wrinkles, her nose as gnarled and twisted as the skeleton trees, hooked at the end like every scary witch in every scary story Emma had ever read. But her eyes were lovely sea glass green, twinkling and ominous at the same time. She jabbed the handle at them again, and Killian leaned back in defense.

 “Do you come of your own will or another's?”

 They answered at the same time, only put off for a moment by the abruptness of the question.

 “My own,” Killian said, bowing slightly.

 “Another’s,” Emma said warily.

 Killian tilted his head to look at her in exasperation.

 The woman stared at them hard for a moment, the pupils of her magnificent eyes an impossible black, and Emma could barely breathe under the scrutiny.

 “Your truth reveals much. It will be important for what is to come,” the witch said. It was unclear, however, who she was talking to, and she simply turned, beckoning them with an easy wave to follow her.

 Emma swallowed, looking up at Killian. He looked as uneasy as she felt, his tongue swiping across his lip as if steeling himself for something. She wanted to reach out, to grab his hand, comfort and solidarity in one simple gesture, but he was already moving protectively in front of her, walking through the gate of bones.

 ____

 The tales from the mouths of impish hardened sailors took on life before his eyes and old childhood fears, thick and cold, filled his chest as the old crone led them through the gate.

 It was just as they said. A hovel on the legs of birds. A fence of bone, her victims held forever to stand guard against the unworthy. There was a mouth of gnashing teeth set in the rotted wood of a door, where knob and keyhole should be, and Killian repressed a shudder as the teeth snapped playfully at her fingers when she opened it. The pair followed her into the house, the spindly legs bending low to allow them entrance.

 “Who were those guys?” Emma asked from behind him. Never content to do as he asked his Swan, never one to just blindly follow his lead. He glared at her without heat, but she was focused on the dwelling, her eyes taking it in, grasping the wall to steady herself as the house rose suddenly into the air again. “The ones on the horses.” She looked queasy, clutching her stomach as the dwelling moved beneath them.

 “The price for the answers you seek is precious time, would you have me waste mine on such trivialities?” The crone asked, casting one sea green eye over her shoulder as she reached to stoke the flame of her oven.

 He knew that oven. It ate the bones of the wicked and the vengeful. It charred them as black as their unworthy souls and the witch would feast for days, or so the stories said. It was a monstrous thing to finally see in person, the grates like snarling teeth and haunting eyes, the flame within burning blue and green with an unnatural heat. No mere coals and wood could produce such hellfire.

 Killian shifted back, setting himself firmly between Emma and the heaving stove.

 “I guess not?” Emma was saying, looking up at him bewildered and he shook his head slightly. It was best to be direct and to the point, get in and get out before things went wildly off course. He didn't particularly care who the creatures had been anyway, they were gone and the witch was before them. She was the real threat here

 The witch looked at Emma with a sharp disappointment. “If only you were willing.” She murmured. Emma frowned at him in concerned confusion. He shrugged.

 He had met his fair share of seers and soothsayers, knew they spoke in riddles and delighted in tricks and could certainly not be trusted. That the mother of this wood hadn't immediately struck them down was fortune enough, and he didn't feel the need to push their luck any further with pointless queries as to the nature of her servants, or fall into any of her clever traps.

 He stepped forward.

 “We have been sent to obtain a-” the old woman’s craggy hand waved him off, hobbling across the broken boards of the floor.

 The entire place seemed on the verge of collapse, and it shifted imperceptibly as the creature’s legs below shuffled and moved. He should have found the subtle sway and ebb comforting, like ocean waves, but it was rather like being in the belly of a great beast, swallowed alive and left to decay.

 Killian resisted the urge to gulp.

 “I know what you seek,” she led them across the hut to a darkened corner and motioned for them to sit. The table, and the mismatched set of chairs around it were the only furniture in the room save for a spartan sleeping pallet on the other side of the dwelling, and of course the infernal heaving oven.

 One of the chairs, however, was already occupied.

 “There’s. A. Skeleton,” Emma hissed quietly at his back, as if his eyes were not able to suss that out for himself.

 It was dressed very well for a bag of bones he thought, a top hat sitting jauntily on a yellowed skull, a cravat tied smartly about its bony neck. It was as much a guest as they were it seemed, a saucer and teacup set at the place before it, the shadows of the corner barely hiding it from view.

 “My Ivan,” the old woman said waving another hand dismissively. “Now. A drink to honor guests and honor hosts.”

 Killian sat hesitantly as she bid on a rickety rocking chair pushed up to the table, motioning for Emma to do the same on the small stool beside him. He had a bit of experience here as well, lifetimes of witches and sorcerers and fae, all with different codes and unwritten rules. To eat in one set of company could damn you for eternity, to not eat in another could result in a swiftly assured death. That the only other guest in attendance was a pile of nicely attired bones did not bode well for their chances of choosing correctly.

 “You may call me Baba Yaga,” the woman said, bustling about the room as she prepared a pot of tea. The clink of porcelain and the hiss of steam filled the cabin mixing with the acrid smoke. Emma glanced at him uneasily.

 “You come to seek a gift,” Baba Yaga said, setting a small teapot down in the center of the table. “Answers to your questions.”

 “We only need a black unicorn horn,” Killian corrected. “Nothing more.”

 “I know what you seek,” she repeated, settling into the chair. “I provide only what the willing need. Let us drink,” She motioned to the teapot, and smiled, a wicked pull of lips across teeth. He raised an eyebrow at her.

 Killian was also, despite what he had told the riders in the wood, well versed in tricks and riddles, one could not survive the dangers of Neverland without that particular skill, and he smiled at her winningly.

 “Just me milady, begging your pardon,” he bowed his head respectfully, careful to keep one eye trained on the witch. Her smile grew, yellowed skin stretching across bone, and she nodded, pouring a bitter brew from the teapot.

 “Your will is your own after all,” she said slyly. She cast her eyes to Emma. “And hers is another’s.”

 “Precisely,” he took a sip of the tea before Emma could protest or question him, giving her a warning glance and nothing more. She looked at him, still confused, but things were moving too quickly for them to confer, trapped high above the ground in a witch’s cabin, invited to tea with skeletons. He just hoped she would follow his lead, would keep silent and safe and let him handle this. He had no idea what he was doing truly, what horror awaited him in this hovel, in that cup, but better him than her. That was the only truth he knew.

 He tried not to gag. The tea was stagnant and tepid, as stagnant as it smelled, but he sipped again and again until the cup was empty. His stomach roiled in protest, water filling his mouth as he tried not to vomit.

 Baba Yaga’s lips pulled against her teeth again in delight and she snatched the cup away, turning it in her hand once, twice, and a third time before overturning it on the mismatched saucer before him.

 “No peeking,” she warned.

 “Wouldn't dream of it,” Killian rasped. His voice was hoarse and raw, choked with bile, and he appreciated the comforting hand Emma laid on his arm, the concern and confusion written on her face. He smiled at her reassuringly. Wanted to tell her that this witch had no power over the unwilling, that Emma could not help him lest they both fall victim to her tricks. That was the point of her question, to see the full scope of her dominion, the reason she had invited them both to drink. He couldn't speak however, not with the witch right there.

 “The question of your future is mine to see. The answer a gift to give,” Baba Yaga said. She picked the cup up again and peered inside, gnarled fingers twisting it back and forth in her grasp. What she saw there was a mystery, her face giving nothing away.

 “Take it, with my compliments,” Killian swallowed as best he could, the bitter herbs caught in his throat. His mind was swimming as his vision snapped in and out of focus.

 Drugged surely. He thought. Poisoned probably.

 “Killian,” Emma grabbed his arm as he swayed. He could barely feel the warmth of her through his coat, could barely make out the pressure of her fingers. Not the best of signs.

 “Are you okay?” It was a firm question, all the words she wasn't saying written in her eyes. We can go. You don't have to do anything else. We can run. He appreciated it, and just smiled at her again, a sappy ridiculous thing he was sure, but his vision was growing even dimmer.

 “What the hell did you do to him?”

 Far away at the end of a long tunnel he saw Emma rise from her stool, his hand lifting weakly, trying to grab her, but falling leaden and useless to his side as words of warning caught on a tongue that was too thick and heavy to speak.

 “By his own will,” the woman reminded her.

 Whatever Emma replied was lost to the sounds of his pulse in his ears, whatever she did too far away and dark to see anymore.

 _____

 He blinked awake to a familiar cabin, cramped and dirty, smelling of salt and fish and rotting wood. The ropes of ancient hammocks swung in time to the rocking of a ship long since lost to the sea. A dingy blanket of burlap and unraveling wool on one of them was the only personal effect in sight. It was a spartan and coldly familiar place. He had slept in that hammock, curled under that blanket into Liam’s side night after night, crying himself to sleep until it became apparent that tears weren't going to bring their father back, that their new masters would be no less cruel, and it looked no different now than it had centuries before.

 “My gifts are not without price,” Baba Yaga said, and he turned to face her pushing down the startled leap in his chest to give her a cool stare. Childhood fears would have to wait.

 “I don't need ‘gifts’ just one item, the horn of-” she cut him off, holding up an impatient hand.

 “We both know that is not all you seek Captain,” her accent twisted the word, her eyes shining with mirth. He pushed down the surprise that she knew who he was as well, merely raising an eyebrow.

 “Oh? And what is that? Do, please enlighten me,” he waved a lazy open palm towards her and leaned back, trying not to appear as unsettled by their surroundings as he was. He was barely resisting the urge to pick up the blanket and breathe in the long forgotten scent of his brother, witches and their hallucinogenic tea be damned.

 “If I give you the horn where do you plan to go?” She asked instead. He opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off. “Be warned and be willing Captain, for now and for then and for forever hence, in this wood the answer to questions is the gift of time, mine or yours it matters not, but the price will be paid.”

 Killian was silent. In truth, he didn't even know the answer. Emma’s and his course was not set as yet, they were moving from moment to moment, dealing with problems as they arose, chasing solutions with no clear endgame in sight. Maleficent did not have the answers they’d hoped for, merely a bandage for a gaping wound, and after this mission he was at a loss. So he said nothing.

 Baba Yaga grinned, knowing, and tilted her head.

 “I can give you the answers you seek, the gifts you will need. You have earned the horn in deed alone already, and a question of your own if you accept, but I can give you more.”

 There was nothing seductive about the hunched over form in front of him, nothing externally appealing about her sallow skin, and bony limbs, but her voice whispered over him like a lover’s caress, temptation and desire brushing against his skin. He closed his eyes and pushed it away with a small shake of his head. No good would come of deals with the devil, or from a woman worthy to be the devil’s bride.

 “Perhaps, I will remind you of your price,” Baba Yaga’s voice slithered across him.

 He heard the rasp of fabric, felt the prickling electricity of magic, and a familiar scent filled his nose, over the smells of brine and unwashed men came something sweet and clean. He opened his eyes.

 “Swan,” he breathed out.

 He knew, logically, this was an illusion, the old woman shifting and morphing before his very eyes told him that. Silver hair turned butter yellow, thick and curling against the gentle slope of her shoulders as she straightened and grew taller. It was Emma in form, but instead of dark moss her eyes were the cool sea glass green of the witch’s. He growled.

 “Your parlor tricks won't work on me siren,” he spat. “I'll have the horn and the horn alone.”

 “You haven't heard my proposal,” the woman said, her accent fading to Emma’s gentler voice.

 “And I've no wish to,” he said.

 “I do not deal in wishes,” Baba Yaga said, her voice hard and suddenly her own again. She shifted, shrinking down back to the hunched over old woman, leather and suede traded for dirty rags and stained linen. He breathed a bit easier facing her as herself, even the face of Emma was enough to take him off guard, enough to make him question his resolve. “My trade is in noble deeds freely given and questions of the heart worth a year of time apiece.”

 “Noble.” Killian scoffed. “Afraid you have the wrong Captain then, madam.”

 “You drank the tea,” she reminded him gently. “Of your own will.”

 “To protect Emma,” he snapped. ���From whatever ridiculous farce we’re playing out here. Which I very much hope will find its end soon, we’re on a bit of a schedule.”

 She ignored his rudeness, her eyes glinting.

 “A sacrifice for another is not noble?”

 Killian gritted his teeth in frustration. They were getting nowhere, the rock and pitch of the ship and the smells of faded memory were making him ill, mixing with the bitter tea and hatred of these games, twisting against his insides where the ghost of a frightened little boy begged him to be cautious, reminded him she could cook him alive for his insolence.

 “I merely offer you a trade,” Baba Yaga said finally when he didn't answer, looking strangely disappointed. “Three gifts, three questions. You have one gift and one question already if you complete that task to its end, when the deed is satisfied you may return to claim them.”

 “And you get what?” Killian sneered. “Trade implies parity.”

 The woman stared at him and merely smiled, her lips remained pointedly closed.

 Killian sighed in frustration. She had mentioned there was a price for answers, and she was well practiced in avoiding giving them it seemed.

 “Lay out your terms,” he said instead. Not quite a question. She seemed pleased he was catching on so quickly and nodded.

 “Three deeds for each of my gifts and for each of my answers,” she said simply.

 Killian frowned.

 “I'm assuming one of the gifts is the horn?” he asked. Baba Yaga pursed her lips again. “A statement.” He corrected, setting his jaw in annoyance.  “Not a question.”

 “An excellent assumption,” she smiled.

 “For drinking the tea and accepting your game,” he did not bother to phrase this as a question either, knowing she would play this game all day, and she smiled wider, impressed.

 “A noble deed to be sure,” she replied.

 Killian thought a moment, his mind whirling, trying to pick apart every moment, every odd phrase, piecing it together as best he could. He despised the round and round of riddles, impatience prickling against his nerves, but he knew they wouldn't get the horn otherwise, that he had to figure out her tricks to keep them safe and see them on their way. He sighed.

 “But I had to do it willingly,” he mused aloud.

 Her smile faltered a bit.

 “You asked one question already, and we both answered,” he said, crossing the room. “But only I was willing then, by my own admission.” He peered up at her. “Answers are gifts, time, you said.” He licked his lips as the thoughts formed and slowly pieced themselves together. “A year. A year of time apiece.” He repeated her words, and waved a finger at her, knowing by the stony expression on her face that he was on to something.

 “So each deed is worth a gift, something tangible like the horn. But only from the willing,” he continued to watch her expressions carefully. “That’s why you wanted Emma to drink the tea.”

 Baba Yaga set her her jaw, eyes flashing, and he tried not to smile as she confirmed what he had suspected in the hovel. She had no power over Emma, and that would at least keep Emma safe no matter how this played out.

 “I'm assuming if one fails at the deed the gift is forfeit?” He raised an eyebrow at her but she continued to stare at him, implacable. So he continued on, the game knitting together in his mind as the words left his lips. “And every answer is a gift, a year.”  He repeated the words, realization dawning as he spoke them again.

 “Clever Captain,” Baba Yaga praised with a smirk, yellow teeth flashing in delight as the implication of that snapped together in his mind and he looked at her with barely contained fury.

 “So I owe you a year of my life for answering a bloody question?” he hissed. “That is a question by the way.” He glared.

 Baba Yaga was practically grinning now at his frustration, her teeth sharp and terrifying in the dim light of the cabin.  

 “You can earn it back,” she teased. “I will answer no more than three, as I said, one for each deed. Acceptance of my deal will grant you the first of them.”

 “I'm assuming you’ll try to get me to answer more as we go along, that's the way of it?” He grumbled. “And if I don't play along I can't collect the question you owe me already.”

  She just smiled.

 “You may take, how you say,...the gamble.” She said slowly, her eyes dancing with dark mischief. “Or, you can be on your way.” She hummed to herself for a second, considering. “I will still give you the horn and you will give me the year, but nothing more. I am not unreasonable.”

 “I think I'll take my chance with just the horn then,” he said finally. “I'm not all that keen on learning more about meself anyway. And I've lived for centuries, I can spare one year.”

 “The questions need not be about you-” Baba Yaga rocked back on the stool, her smile knowing again. No longer did she wear the wicked sly grins or stony neutrality that had twisted her visage so far, but instead the happy softness of an assured victory, it made his skin crawl to see it as his heart sank. “-but about the woman you love. Her future. Her path.”

 Killian swallowed. She had already seen the truth of their situation. They had no plan after this. Obtain the horn, return it to Maleficent in exchange for more of that vile potion, and then...what? The potion would buy them time but not knowledge. It was also one thing to fall into a trap blind and unknowing, it was quite another to walk into it freely. Noble, Baba Yaga had said, the word now full of dark trickery and ill purpose. To continue on for Emma’s sake would certainly be noble, after all the cost would be only his to pay if he failed. In those terms it didn't seem like so much of a gamble after all. They had what they had come for in hand already, if he could possibly win the knowledge they needed to save her he had no choice but to take that risk.

 “Alright,” he said.

 When Baba Yaga looked at him again it was a predatory thing, the seaglass green of her eyes now practically black with hunger and greed. Killian swallowed around the sharp anxiety in his throat, the feeling that he was making a mistake. He was already down one year of his worthless existence, but she had offered up three of her own, those odds were better than some he had faced before.

 Baba Yaga reached beneath the grimy kerchief that covered her silver hair, and pulled from beneath it a single strand.

 “The second of your deeds, either an absolution in frozen time or a way forward,” she said holding it out to him.  “This must be tied into three knots and then blown upon like the whistling wind.”  She pursed her lips and blew.

 Killian took the hair and looked at it. It glinted in the sparse light, drooping along his knuckles. It looked ordinary otherwise, a simple thread of regular hair. He glanced back up at Baba Yaga but she sat there, poised and serene, waiting for him to carry out her odd little task.

 It was undoubtedly a trick, he knew without even attempting to ask that should he complete the mission something terrible would probably be inflicted upon his person. That's how these things worked. In story and in life there was always a caveat and he was without the means to question her further and find it out. He frowned at the little hair, considering, trying to remember the tales of his youth, the memories too far away to grasp.

 “Perhaps you should demonstrate what you mean,” he said after a moment, holding the hair out for her to take. “I’m all thumbs when it comes to these things.” He held up his wooden hand apologetically and turned it, smiling innocently.

 “One would think the Captain of a ship would know his way around a series of simple knots,” Baba Yaga replied taking it from him nonetheless.

 “I won't tell if you won't,” he smirked. Baba Yaga didn't look angry though as she took it from him, to the contrary she looked almost pleased, her worn fingers moving over the thread quickly with a nimbleness that belied her age, tying it into three minuscule knots.

 “Show me the bit with the blowing again too,” Killian said, still all innocent politeness. “I've forgotten.”

 “Careful,” Baba Yaga warned. “Your clever mind and fairy looks get you much, but arrogance is deadly, Captain.” Despite this she pursed her lips again, blowing cool air over the knotted strand.

 Almost at once it glowed with silver light, spreading across her wrinkled hand, up her arm, covering her in a soft ethereal glow. Killian stepped back in mute surprise as her body froze, as it became entombed in smooth granite that trickled over her like gentle water, flowing in the wake of the light. A statue.

 Killian gaped at her, at a loss. As far as victories were concerned this was a new one for him. Though he doubted the witch could collect the year he owed as a piece of statuary, so it was at least a fortunate outcome, and perhaps they could still find the horn among her things when he returned. He looked around at the creaking ship, waiting for the vision to fade, for the run down hovel to appear and Emma’s worried face to stare down at him.

 The ship rocked again and sighed around him. He frowned.

 The statue creaked along with it, splintered and cracked, small fissures opening along her cheeks and neck. The silver light poured forth again, and the stone crumbled away to dust, disappearing on unseen wind. Baba Yaga smiled at him.

 “You did not think my own spell would hold me?” She said with a mocking laugh. Killian pursed his lips in annoyance, but knew better than to answer.

 “The deed, nevertheless, was completed. I believe I am owed a forfeit. And a question,” he snapped, impatient. “And don't think I've forgotten you owe me a question for that foul tea and accepting this farce, madam, and the horn as well.”

 “Indeed my boy, I will not forget. That is for when we return, not before, ” her tone was a dark warning, but she reached into her sleeve, and pulled out a single feather. “This is your reward for now.” It was a watercolor of reds, yellows and orange, shining in the light like flickering flames, from the tail of a large bird based on its size and shape. She held it out to him.

 “Time is a tricky business. To give this to you, I must give this to you. On and on we go, round and round.” Baba Yaga laughed to herself.

 Killian hesitated a moment, raising a suspicious and confused eyebrow at the mad woman before he took the gift.

 “A feather,” he said dully, unimpressed. He turned it in his fingers. “I suppose it will make for a handsome quill.” He offered, at a loss for what other purpose it could possibly serve.

 “Foolish man,” Baba Yaga snapped, her laughter fading as quickly as it had come. “That is the feather of the Firebird. A powerful ally when one has need of one.”

 “My thanks then, milady,” Killian bowed a bit in deference, disconcerted by her sudden anger, and placed the feather carefully in his satchel. He was unsure if it would still be there when they returned to reality, or what use a bird could be, but he was  unwilling to waste his question to ask, nor did he want to anger her any further, he was already pushing the boundaries of politeness.

 “You may ask your question, but consider it carefully against its worth,” Baba Yaga sat, calming and settling into a stool at the side of the room. She arranged her ragged dress and cloak around her withered form and waited.

 It was a moment before he asked the question that had been burning him from the inside since all this began, since Zelena had confronted him by the carriage, or perhaps even earlier on the doorstep of the woman he loved, in a strange city, the ghost of her lips mingling with the crushing disappointment that his kiss had failed, that she still didn't remember, that he wasn't the one.

 “Where can we find the person with the means to break Emma’s curse? Her-” Killian swallowed, the words tasting like ash in his mouth, gravel in his throat. “-true love.”

 Baba Yaga’s eyes burned into him, burned through him. He could feel the heat of them as sharp and hot as the midday sun. Her face was expressionless as she weighed the answer but those eyes glinted with something unidentifiable.

 “There is a man, her true love, within half a day’s climb of my Red Sun. He is somewhere between here and there,” she said finally.

 Killian’s knees felt like water, his heart a leaden stone in his chest as the last bit of hope he held there drained away. It was one thing to have the Wicked Witch taunt you with your worst fear, or to have the proof of it in failed kisses, but hearing it so plainly spoken, that such a man did actually exist, such a man was here and close and waiting, was another thing entirely. He couldn't even be annoyed at the cryptic answer, that the man existed was enough. Killian swallowed, his eyes stinging, and looked away.

 Baba Yaga sat in silence, cupping her hands serenely in her lap and waited.

 They were square now, the year of his life regained, the horn and this odd feather won. He could leave it here, cut his losses and go. But he needed more information, they still needed a way home, even if he was unsure of where that place was for him, he knew where Emma belonged. He still had a duty to her, still loved her, despite the truth, as useless and wasted as that love might end up being. And while she might not love him in return, his feelings would remain unchanged, forever. He would keep his promise and get her home. He stood up straighter.

 “The last task,” Killian croaked after a long quiet moment. “Let's get on with it.”

 “Very well,” Baba Yaga tilted her head and with it the room spun.

 _____

 When Killian blinked awake the second time it was in a place he did not know. Cold and damp and silent, he squinted against the dim light of torches hung on the wall and took in his new surroundings. It was a crypt of some sort, or a mausoleum, the final resting places of the dead carved into the walls with open shallow caverns where bones and bodies were laid to rest. The floor was covered in them, broken skulls and limbs mixing with rocks and dirt. He shuddered against his will and backed away, his boots sliding against the macabre debris.

 “What are we doing here?” He tried to keep his voice level, nonchalant, but it tremored faintly anyway.

 Baba Yaga stepped out of the shadows.

 “Which one is your Emma?” She asked without preamble.

 “What?” Killian gasped out. He whirled back to the wall of graves, his heart thundering. It couldn't be, she couldn't be.

 “Which one is your Emma?” Baba Yaga repeated.

 She reached out and grabbed a torch from its place on the wall, holding it aloft to cast light across the shallow caves carved into the face of it.

 Nine heads of identical golden hair shone in the light, all of them dressed just as Emma had been, the suede pants, the soft leather jerkin, the heels of her sturdy borrowed boots. They all lay there serene, peaceful, nine pairs of small delicate hands clasped across nine stomachs. Killian wanted to scream seeing them there, all of them looking like Emma, like her body, tucked away on identical stone beds in the repose of death, not one of them different than any other. It was a nightmare come to life, seeing the woman he loved dead and in this place, even worse to have the image repeated, over and over again.

 He shut his eyes against it. Shook his head in denial, his throat filling with tears and terror in equal measure. It was like being ripped open, a cold hand reaching into his chest and squeezing. He could barely breathe with the weight of it.

 “You didn't-” he gasped out and shook his head again. “Not her. It’s not her. None of them are her.” The weight of her question pressed against his denials, his Emma was among them she had said. HIS Emma was laying there as dead as all the other unfortunate souls that covered the floor. She was Bone Mother, she struck down the unworthy, she burned them in her oven or killed them with her tricks and now his Emma was lying in one of these graves.

 “Do you wish to know the truth?” Baba Yaga asked curiously.

 “Yes,” he answered before he could think, needing to know. He was too desperate to curse himself for being so careless, too anguished to care.

 “None of those you see before you are the Emma of the flesh but one of them is the Emma of your heart. She is safe. Now. Which Emma is your Emma?” She repeated, her voice emotionless.

 Killian almost staggered with relief at the words. It wasn't real. None of this was real. Emma was safe somewhere outside of this nightmare, she was alive and well. This was an illusion, a dream just as the ship had been. His eyes snapped open in realization.

 “If I answer to pass the test, I give another year,” he turned on her accusingly. “Either way I lose, again.”

 Baba Yaga shrugged, indifferent, almost lazy, the flame of the torch in her grip bobbing with the action.

 “There is no rule against it,” she pointed out. “You did not set those terms.”

 “I thought it was bloody obvious you cheating-” Killian had to clench his fist to keep from striking out at the woman, anger hot and stifling overriding all his fear and relief.

 “The deed remains the deed. Fail it and forfeit. Win and you lose nothing and gain my gifts,” she said. “Now. Enough. Which Emma is your Emma?”

 Killian closed his eyes again, nails digging into his palm. He wanted to rip her throat out, frustration and rage sweeping over him in a dark tide. She was right though. He hadn't specified, he should have known. He was a fool to think he could win this outright, a fool to think the deck was not stacked against him from the start.

 He had to win. He needed the answers. Needed to get back to Emma, get away from this foul creature and her games, needed to get them home. The year of his life didn't matter, but if he won they would be even, three questions apiece, three answers each. He didn't care to have a year of the witch’s life, he just wanted it to end.

 He took a deep steadying breath and stepped towards the wall.

 Each of them were identical as far as he could see, down to the smallest detail. All beautiful, all Emma. The slope of her nose, the tiny indent of her chin, the soft luster of her hair. He took another breath and stepped closer.

 He couldn't smell her. The air of the crypt was foul with decay and the musty scent of ancient things. Nor could he look in her eyes and know. If he could see their eyes he had no doubt he could see the truth in them.

 Killian closed his own, trying to think. She had said it was the Emma of his heart.

 “Whatever that bloody means,” he muttered to himself. He tried to focus, to feel something, anything, some hint or sign. There was no magical pull, no internal sixth sense, no guiding light to show him the way. His body was utterly silent, just the harshness of his even angry breaths, overly loud in the silence of the crypt, and the thundering of the blood in his ears.

 Killian was familiar with following his heart.  As black as it was at times he had let it guide him, had rarely questioned it, or the path it had taken him on. Not until the day it was pulled in opposing directions, one leading to vengeance, the other to a small fierce woman and her improbable family had he even paid it any mind. He had always just trusted it to guide him, from shore to shore, one foot in front of the other. Nothing changed now. He supposed it didn't matter anyway, the Emma of his heart was whichever Emma he chose. Or at least he hoped that was the way of it.

 He stepped forward at random and reached out to the one in the center. His hand brushed the silk skin of her cheek, still warm even in the chill of the tomb. His fingers traced down, and pressed against the smooth curve of her lips, thumbed at the hollow of her chin.

 “This one,” he said hoarsely, his eyes still closed, knowing it was true before he spoke the words aloud. “This is my Emma.”

 “Your gift, Captain,” Baba Yaga said softly. He turned to face her. She looked kinder in the torchlight, sympathetic even. It did nothing to quiet his anger, or the remnants of fear and sadness at war within him. She smiled at him softly and held out a small green bottle.

 He looked at her in question, but didn't ask it, knowing it was pointless anyway.

 “Memory potion,” she said as he took it, the glass cold in his hand. “To help when needed, as the feather is.”

 “Suppose that could be useful,” he acknowledged stiffly, putting it into his satchel with the feather. “In case our disguises fail us.”

 “Or if one just needed to forget,” she said slyly. Killian clenched his teeth. “It has many purposes for many things my boy. Now, your question, if it pleases you.”

 Killian hesitated, his gaze flickering to the Emma he had chosen, his Emma according to the test. He should ask for the way home, for more information on the True Love that awaited her somewhere in this time, in this realm, apparently near enough to require less than half a day's ride. He had one more question though when they returned, when he collected Emma and the horn, and so he asked the only question he could, the only answer that he truly needed. The answer he needed to go forward.

 “Will she be happy,” his voice was soft and rasping, echoing off the walls of the crypt. “Will Emma be happy?”

 Again, Baba Yaga looked at him as if she could see into his soul. The soft smile pulling her lips across her yellow teeth once more.

 “Noble,” she murmured quietly. “I told you, Captain.”

 “Answer the question,” he bit out.

 “On the day that potion is used-” Baba Yaga said motioning towards his bag. “-she will be happier than she has ever been.”

 The strap of the satchel around his shoulder suddenly felt impossibly heavy, digging into his flesh through the fabric of clothing.

 “Used on who?” He asked. Baba Yaga just looked at him, expressionless and he ground his teeth in frustration.

 “Is this your final question?” She smirked. Killian didn't answer. He couldn't use the last question on that, he had to know how to get them back. He clenched his teeth harder.

 “Take us back, witch,” he snapped instead. “So we can get the horn, ask my question, and be on our way.”

 “Very well,” Baba Yaga tilted her head again, and the room spun.

  ____

[ladyofthecastleproject]

[Path] 208 - The Heart’s Light

“What do you mean it was here?!” - Miyako wasn’t happy with the bee-like digimon - “There’s nothing here! Are you making fun of us?!”

She was pretty intimidating the poor Funbeemon, who didn’t know how in the world the castle had disappeared. Ken just walked around the ‘crime scene’ and searched for something, a clue perhaps. Takeru and Iori tried to keep Miyako calm but she was very unhappy with it, alleging the digimon was lying to them.

“I don’t think it’s a lie” - Wormmon commented to the others - “It must be like that time we went to the Dark Ocean from nowhere.”

“That time?” - Hawkmon rested his beak on his wing - “We met you and Ken-san and tried to help you two, but suddenly we went into a distortion and ended up there.”

“Distortion?” - Ken glanced at the digi-quintet - “That’s it… We need to find a point in this place that could’ve been the barrier to that world.”

“You’re sounding like Daisuke-san now” - Iori commented - “I mean, no offense. But it reminded me of his plan to move the Holy Stone to a safer place with our digivices.”

“I don’t remember how did the castle appear in the first place” - explained Funbeemon - “But I’m not lying! I met a human named Daisuke and a V-mon. They helped me to reach the end of the castle’s labyrinth.”

“Better you not be wasting our time, you insect!” - Miyako kept giving the bee a death glare.

“S-she’s scary!!” - Funbeemon cried to the boys - “That sentinel from the labyrinth looks alike her!!”

“Huh?” - Iori blinked - “Did you meet someone who looked like Miyako-san?”

Funbeemon nodded.

“Ehh?! S-someone like me?! Like, in appearance?! Face?!”

“And that mage looked like him” - and Funbeemon pointed at Ken.

“What, like me??”

“I don’t think Funbeemon is lying” - Takeru said.

“Me too, dagya.”

“But it doesn’t matter” - Tailmon interrupted all the discussion - “How will we go there? And we don’t know where Hikari is yet… I don’t want to sound like Daisuke is not important, but Hikari is alone. Daisuke can handle himself if he has V-mon.”

“... It’s just a crazy theory but” - Ken looked directly to Tailmon - “If there’s a world with a version of us, then there’s high chances that Hikari-san is in this other world.”

Takeru had a flash, and exclaimed:

“Hikari-chan was looking at the merchandise in a shop window…!”

Miyako, Iori and the digimon seemed surprised.

“Ken-kun must be right… Maybe Hikari-chan’s other-self brought her to that world…!”

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Spending her time speaking with Lia made Hikari notice a lot of things in common. Like how gentle and innocent they are, their deep brotherly love with their siblings, them having friends who seemed similar to each other as well… But what made Hikari more and more curious was the fact that when she talked about Daisuke, Lia seemed to have met him.

It couldn’t be true… Why would Daisuke hide that from them? Or at least from her?

“Lia-san” - Hikari had to ask - “Did you meet Daisuke-kun before?”

“Daisuke…” - Lia was thoughtful. Then, she answered - “I met a person from another world once. He mistook me with a Hikari girl, so I guess it’s the same person…?”

“You met him…” - she looked at her feet - “Daisuke-kun… He likes me.”

“He’s a good person, isn’t he?” - Lia smiled - “I was mean to him, but if I ever meet him back I… I want to apologize for what I had done.”

“So this is why you found me. Because Daisuke-kun mistook you with me.”

“I’m sorry for borrowing you from your world, but I want to save mine.”

“It’s okay” - Hikari smiled back - “Daisuke-kun is a good friend, but… I hurt his feelings when I refused his invite to spend time with him. Now he’s avoiding me.”

Lia gasped.

“Why? When we met, he was a bit disappointed that I wasn’t you.”

“Was he…?”

“I think he was trying to give you a break, not that he hates you or something. Don’t worry.”

“That’s the problem, Lia-san. Daisuke-kun thinks that I do not like him, but I… I don’t want to make choices now. I’m just an Elementary student! I don’t want to have a relationship with anyone now…!”

“Maybe you should just tell him. I believe he will understand.”

“You’re right, Lia-san. Let’s save your world first so I can go home and talk to Daisuke-kun.”

Hikari grabbed Lia’s hand and dragged her down the dirt road.

“Wait, Hikari” - Lia giggled - “You don’t know the way!”

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“Daisuke, you’re different since we left Helios’ palace.”

V-mon could see and feel something odd in his partner, it was like Daisuke became pretty quiet compared to the time they were walking in the Castle’s labyrinth. He remembered that inside the labyrinth, Daisuke had been chatting and making puns enough to distract them from the corridor’s heavy and dark atmosphere.

But now? He was silent, thoughtful. So much unlike Motomiya Daisuke.

“Is there something bugging you?”

Vee kept insisting to converse with him.

“I hate it when you spend your time being quiet. Like, this is not you. You’re always joking and making things funnier. You’re the heart in the team.”

“... I don’t believe my mission here is to find Lia and Hikari-chan.”

Daisuke finally spoke.

“Huh? What do you mean with it?” - V-mon blinked.

“The Spooky-Daisuke-Ghost has a name” - he began - “And he also explained to me that I’m the only one who can save this world from the darkness. I couldn’t talk about it with Helios-san around, sorry.”

“What? So, we’re needed here right after finding Lia and Hikari?”

“Would Hikari-chan accept it? Accept that I’ll have to stay here and accomplish this mission?”

“She will understand. I guess.”

“... I never had done anything alone, V-mon” - he stopped and gave a concerned gaze to the digimon - “Remember? I hadn’t saved the world alone. I had Hikari-chan, Ken, Miyako, Iori, Takeru, Taichi-san’s team, the worldwide Chosen Children… All of them on my side!”

“You’re not alone, you have me!”

“I know, but what I meant is… Without them, I shouldn’t have won! Now I have this kind of mission labeling me ‘the chosen one’ and ‘you’re our only hope’ that I’m afraid of not being strong and powerful enough to save this entire world from the darkness!”

“You’re strong and powerful, Daisuke! You can do it!”

“... I must confess, I was afraid when we were fighting Vamdemon, but I had y’all on my side. I could see victory. I could tame my fears and give hope to everyone. But now I… I’m feeling like maybe I won’t do it.”

“You will, because I’m here!”

“Everyone thinks I’m courageous but… I’m not. I’m just a scaredy-cat trying to have courage.”

V-mon grabbed his hand, making Daisuke glance at him in surprise.

“I will be your shield, your courage and your strength. You’re my friend before my human partner. If you want to fight until the end of the world, I will fight alongside you.”

“V-mon…”

“So don’t worry about it. Alone or with the group, we can solve anything if we do it together.”

“You… That’s right.”

He put the digimon on his back, giving Vee a piggyback ride.

“We can do it, I ain’t alone because I have you…!” - he grinned - “Hold tight, now I’m your Lighdramon. Roar!”

V-mon laughed as they resumed their journey.

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“We’re almost there, Hikari” - said Lia, smiling and leading the way - “This is Duskstella.”

Lia pointed at the gates of the kingdom, but they were old and rusty thanks to the time aging factors. Lia probably expected Helios to fix it, however since they were still working on the worldwide relationships, they had no funds to attempt repairs.

“It’s beautiful, just like a fairy tale’s book!” - Hikari was amazed - “But where are you going, why are we taking another way?”

“Because I did bad things to Duskstella’s people” - she confessed - “They don’t deserve to be threatened by my presence.”

“Oh… But just like you told me to tell Daisuke-kun that I’m not rejecting him but I don’t want a romantic relationship now, you should tell the people that you regret for whatever you had done to them.”

“I don’t know… My brother…”

“... I think your brother would’ve wanted you to tell them how deeply regretful you are.”

Lia kept glancing at Hikari in silence, thinking about it. Did her brother want it? Or Hikari was assuming he would because that’s what Taichi would want if it was Hikari’s problem?

“Okay, I will try-- Huh?”

Lia immediately, dragged Hikari out of the way from a scythe attack. Then, she recognized that weapon… It was just… The same weapon used to kill her brother.

“He found me…!” - Lia said, bit her lips and told Hikari - “Hikari, run. I will keep him busy. He does not want you, but me.”

“Who?”

“Look at this…! Two Duskstellas.”

“That voice sounds like… Takeru-kun” - Hikari gasped and did it again when she saw a blond boy in front of them.

“She’s not a Duskstella, you creep!” - Lia shouted - “She’s another person, from another world! If you dare to hurt her, I will make you pay!”

“You don’t need to lie to me, Lia Duskstella” - he smirked - “I’ve been looking for you. And when I find him, I will send him to the darkness as well.”

“You know he is dead!” - she charged her hands with pink spheres - “You killed him and I won’t let you kill me or Hikari!”

“Dead? I met him with a monster in the road to Duskstella,” - he answered - “He was pretty alive to me.”

“D-don’t--… Wait… A monster?” - Lia stared at him, petrified - “Don’t tell me Daisuke is in this world.”

“Daisuke-kun is here?!” - Hikari babbled, panicked - “Where did you find him?” - she tried to get some information from the boy - “You’re Takeru-kun from this world, aren’t you?”

“My name is Boniface,” - he grabbed the scythe and was ready to hit the girls - “and I am your condemnation…!”

Hikari thought it was the end. She could feel it in her spine, that she was about to die there… Killed by injustice, by a person who looked like her best friend since she was young.

At this hour, Yagami Hikari wished to be saved. Wished that Tailmon was there. Wished to Daisuke to appear and save her, since he was in that corrupted and unknown world too.

But what saved her was her own power. A barrier of light was built around her and Lia, repelling the scythe.

When she realized it, she saw the symbol (crest) of Light on her chest, shining in pink light. It surprised both Lia and Boniface, who wasn’t sure what had happened there.

But Hikari knew. It was the power of Light. The power of her crest, the power that brings life to the world. She, the Light Child of the Digital World.

“How did you--”

“I don’t know, but… You won’t kill anyone here” - Hikari said with a serious tone - “Stay away from us” - she ordered Boniface - “NOW.”

“And you think I will give up on my mission?!” - Boniface kept hitting the barrier, trying to force it to get down - “You and him must die, Lia Duskstella!!”

A roar echoed and a beast jumped right against Boniface, stealing his scythe. Lia felt relieved and grinned.

“Amis!”

“Amis?” - Hikari frowned.

A Black Weregarurumon was fighting Boniface. And in this form, Amis was much stronger than a human. He threw Boniface away and glanced at the girls.

“Two Lias?!”

“She’s not a copy” - Lia giggled - “Thank you, Amis.”

“This won’t end here, Lia Duskstella!” - Boniface took the Scythe and vanished.

“He’s gone” - Lia commented - “Right in time, if weren’t for Hikari’s magical barrier we could’ve died here.”

“But you know spells that could’ve stopped him” - Amis argued - “What wouldn’t you attack him?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”

“Excuse me,” - Hikari looked at the lupine digimon - “have you seen a boy with goggles and a blue digimon with a yellow ‘V’ on the forehead?”

“She meant Daisuke and his partner monster” - explained Lia.

“Does he know Daisuke-kun and V-mon??”

“Ah, yes” - Amis nodded - “He’s here, master Warlock summoned him here to look for you. And now, master Warlock told me to find and help him.”

“Then we need to find him!” - Lia seemed nervous - “That hooded boy, Boniface, said he’s going to kill him!”

“I don’t understand… Why would he want to kill Daisuke-kun?”

“Because he mistook him with my brother!”

Hikari was in denial now. So Lia’s brother wasn’t the Taichi from that world...?!