#I have to lump all of the artists from CLAMP together

[hearted-anon]

Cutie pies...but which one?

Words: 1, 063 Note: I actually don't know what the title should be... Requested by: @hetashi-takashimaya T/w: rough tickles Taglist: @reginald-stay09 @itzsana-kiddingmenow @hetashi-takashimaya @soap143 @jungwon-is-the-one @minnielvrr @skzdiary Lee(s): Minho, Hyunjin Ler(s): Minho, Hyunjin

Hyunjin shrieked as Minho chased him down the hallways of their connected dorms, both of them letting out childish giggles as they did so. That was all till they bumped into Jeongin and Changbin, seeing them enjoy coffee while chattering about something unknown. Eyes locking sync, the duo immediately walked up to the dining table, eyes boring into their souls. After questioning whatever could they be doing that was so important they had to get coffee together, the elder was quick to explain that he was simply informing the maknae of their coming schedules, seeing how he'll be leading Jeongin in the recording booth later.

"Jeongin's so cute, isn't he?" Minho slurs out, chin on his palm, staring at the brown mushroom of hair. He looked like an anime girl dreamily babbling about her crush, licking his lips almost suggestively. Hyunjin gagged playfully, rolling his eyes. Yes, Jeongin was cute, adorable even as both their maknae and knowing how he acted around the ferret last time left him with a lasting impression on the way his eyes crinkled up into slits while grinning at whatever Changbin could be talking about.

"Hmm, but I think Seungmin and Changbin are cuter… though Seungmin is cuter by a bit," Hyunjin mumbles, trying not to join in on the staring contest Minho was having with himself and Jeongin's body. But seeing how they were dressed, the fox's entire waist exposed with his outfit for his upcoming solo, white streaks of dye colouring his usual brown and plain hair, and Changbin's bare arms on display, bright green drips colouring his black hair, he found himself swallowing back a thick lump in his throat. He could've sworn he was staring for too long, almost hallucinating that Seungmin was there too, imagining his face just staring at him, oh-

"How could you ever say that about our dear maknae?! He's obviously the cutest!" Minho's loud voice snaps Hyunjin out of whatever utopia he was in, acting as if he was completely offended by what the younger said. His hand clutched his heart dramatically, eyebrows furrowed as if trying to comprehend how the artist could ever think of such a thing. Hyunjin heaves a disappointed sigh, tutting at Minho condescendingly, almost forgetting who was the elder here. In the background, Changbin blinked at Jeongin blankly, the maknae doing the exact same thing back; it was indeed ridiculous to be fighting about this sort of thing in front of said targets.

"You dare disrespect your hyung?! I'll show you…" Minho growled, before pouncing onto the ferret, digging into his underarms harshly with a renewed vigor. The victim squealed loudly, the obvious and easy targetable weak spot proving to be a great advantage to the elder, clamping his arms to his sides while his back arched in mirthful agony. Lee Know spared no mercy, unfortunately, pressing ever so deeply into the center of his armpits, a useful trick he learnt from his days with Jisung. Lo and behold, it pulled an ear shattering scream from below him, the artist's heels digging into the couch in desperation.

"ARGHAHAHAHA! HYUHUHUNG! SLOHOW DOWN!" The younger pleaded to no avail, bucking his hips the hardest he could to try and knock the lead dancer off to no avail, struggling under the nimble fingers that were tearing him apart. Gathering up the last of his strength to save grace in front of his 'wife', his fingers grabbed onto Minho's hips, effortlessly able to do so with the elder straddling him. He pressed in as hard as he could, ensuring it wasn't painful, however. Just as he predicted, the torture on his underarms halted, panting heavily while his fingers kneaded the hollows of Lee Know's hips roughly, watching as he crumbled instantly.

"YOHOHOU LITTLE- PFTTHAHAHA! HWANG HYUHUHUNJIN!" Minho screamed desperately, a voice that once would've sent shivers down Hyunjin's spine and made him back off immediately, but something about his melodic, boisterous laughter sent adrenaline pumping through his veins kept him going, not at all budging. Deciding he was going to either die trying, his smile turned into a smirk but surely, pressing his fingers into the hollows to earn a loud scream of mirth.

"What? Can't handle what you dish out? Huh? Lee Minho- WAIT WAIT WAHAHAIT!" It seemed that the artist's taunting words were enough to spur more fight into the elder, immediately aiming for his thighs before squeezing in rapid succession, prying Hyunjin off like a piece of stuck pancake batter to the pan. Taking in short breaths, Lee Know wasted no time in ensuring Hyunjin wasn't going anywhere, blowing fat and loud raspberries onto his stomach while his fingers worked in tandem on his thighs. Scribbling, squeezing, poking, you name it, he's probably done it.

"I SUREHEHENDER! PLEHEHEASE IT'S TOHORTURE!" Hyunjin begs, throat going hoarse after already wearing himself out with the first wave of electrifying tickles, slumping against the couch. The elder only grins triumphantly, letting the younger squirm away for a few moments out of instinct before bringing him back over, blankly blinking when the artist thrashed and prayed for mercy. As much as that was amusing to Minho, he needed the younger to at least calm down from his giggling high, pinning him down in place in a silent comfort that he was harmless… for now.

"There there, hyung's got ya. Told you that I'd win, hmph, and you of course chose to be stubborn," Minho chided gently with no hint of anger behind it, a hand coming to rub his back while another cradled him in his arms. Hyunjin embarrassingly buried his head into the elder's shoulder, his entire face a bright red after being knocked down multiple pegs. The only time he thought he could get an advantage the tables were easily turned, but getting all the soft aftercare and a cuddly Hyung was so worth it. A long bout of comfortable silence passes, inhaling each other's scent before Lee Know seems to light up, whispering an unintelligible plan to Hyunjin who returned the mischievous grin.

"Hey guys~ Let's see who's cuter now…" They announced, devilish smiles on their faces while cornering Vocalracha and a coaching Changbin, who immediately dashed to cower with the young ins. It wasn't long before the studio came bursting with laughter, a sound that Hyunjin and Minho definitely indulged in for a long, long while.

[zoeysdamn]

Terrible thing - Prologue | Morpheus x reader x Hob

The wind was harsh that day. Nobody really knew how the weather of the Dreaming was affected by its ruler’s mood, but you knew by then, how the Dream Lord’s feelings could turn the tides. You were used to it, to the changing breezes and sudden storms, yet something didn’t feel right that day.

Hands clamped together on the front of a long dark blue dress, you wandered through the Dreaming in search of the King of dreams and nightmares. The ruler of the realm. Dream of the Endless. Your husband, as the lack of weight on your ring finger surprisingly reminded you. He never gave you a ring, it seemed that you never needed one. You had just…been always here by his side. But that day, oh how much you had wished for a ring or any sign that you were his. That he was bound to you by laws and by hearts. 

Some dreams and nightmares whispered in your trail as you passed by them. Holding your head higher you tried to ignore them and the lump in your throat. The snorts and occasional giggles were the hardest to brush away. Usually you would have glared at them, should have they dare to disrespect you in such a way. Mocking you. The mere thought of your husband's wrath upon them would have been enough to refrain from their snickering behavior. But you were all alone in this. The pit of dread growing in your stomach felt heavier at each step you took, adding up to the weight of your growing anger as you replayed your earlier discussion with some dreams. 

"It's a mourning day, my queen." they have said when you had asked them what was going on, seeing a group of dreams with sad faces and lighting candles on a small memorial. 

"For whose memory?" you had asked surprised, unaware that either someone had passed away, or that your husband's creations were celebrating funeral rituals. 

The dreams had looked up at you with eyes wide in surprise. As they had gaped at you, you had recognized some of them as dreams designed for poets and artists mostly. 

"It is the decade anniversary of Orpheus' death, my queen." one of them explained. 

You had nodded your head while recalling the tragic passing of one of the muses' sons. It would have been a short and simple encounter, nothing special, if one of the dreams hadn't continued:

"It is important to honor the memory of the Dream Lord's son after all." 

Those words. That simple sentence had been able to freeze you on the spot as you stared at the mourning dreams, eyes wide open and blood run cold in your veins. You had been unable to move a muscle or uttering the simplest word, the force of the shock feeling like a slap on the face. You had barely even registered the bewildered "What?..." you had breathed out to the dreams that were looking at you curiously. But the few seconds of shock before you recomposed yourself and the look of surprise and betrayal on your face had been enough for them. You hadn't known. 

And just like that, your world had crumbled on itself.

[Part.1] 

A/N: heyyy new fic here!! I honestly wasn't so sure about it but at the same time there's a lot of things I want to write! Note that I have absolutely no idea of what I'm doing and how it'll evolve lmao I hope I'll don't be disappointing too many people on this peculiar ship 😭 (honestly I'm dying for the dreamling ship, I promise there will be some at a point). You know me, it'll be full angst all the way baby

Also I've tried a different way of writing this reader insert, using "you" instead of "she", idk why but let's give it a shot

Also yeah, Dream will still be a prick for quite a time, sorry about that (I'm not)

And oh, the title is from the song 'Terrible thing' from AG!

Love upon all of you, take care of yourselves ❤️

[thegoldofyourheart]

The Gold of Your Heart Chapter 26

Word count: 2575

Pairings: Romantic Roceit

Warnings: Talk of cannibalism, slight body horror 

First | <== Previous | Next ==> | Masterpost

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Roman had gone insane. Then again, Tony corrected himself, Roman would have to have been sane in the first place to go insane. Thinking about it in that sense meant Tony only had himself to blame for this predicament. Which was in a sense, fair, not that he would ever admit it out loud to anyone. Maybe Thomas if he needed to but on the other hand Tony would prefer if everything about this situation died in a deep dark hole.

He picked up his pace to try and keep up with Roman’s quick strides through the halls.

“You do realize,” he said dryly, “That your plan to find Apathy requires that you first find Apathy.”

“Bah!” Roman waved him off, and Tony fought down an amused grin. “Trust! That is what you lack! Trust in my brilliance and how it will pay off! I can make a way to track down Apathy wherever the villain goes! All it will take is a little blood!”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, fingers twitching with the urge to prod at Roman’s side. They weren't like that. They weren’t friends. “Except, again, to get blood from Apathy you have to first find Apathy.”

“Simple!” Roman throw his hands in the air and paused at the crossroads they came too. “We need bait! My fabulous face should be enough. He will be like a moth attracted to my flame and light!”

“Meaning if we do manage to defeat Apathy when we find him, your brilliant idea won’t be needed?”

Roman’s footsteps faltered.

“Ah, yes, well-”

“We could consider the bait as your brilliant idea,” Tony mused, throwing him a bone. Roman perked up, almost like a puppy given a treat, and Tony wondered what Roman would look like with ears and a tail. It would be nice not to be the only one slightly inhumane. 

“Of course!” Roman sniffed and reached out to shove him in the arm. Tony kept his surprise carefully internal at the easy, casual way that Roman touched him. Of course, Roman had been like that with Tony as a snake too. It had been easy to write off as him being considered a Construct, but now Tony wondered if Roman was like that with everyone.

He thought about the way that Roman treated Virgil and changed his mind. Maybe this was how the older, accepting Roman treated people. He was so desperate to do things right after all Swinging back and forth based off what other people told him was best. Thomas’ dreams, Patton’s directions, Logan’s advice. He had hated Virgil with a fiery passion because he had felt he was supposed to.

Tony had spent years telling Roman that he wasn’t a bad guy. Only now was it taking root against the other’s words, because they hadn’t been right about Virgil either. Tony scowled into the distance. No, they had been right about Anxiety, but then Anxiety became Virgil.

Like how he had become Tony.

Fuck. 

He was never letting Virgil know what had happened. Ever. He’d never hear the end of it, and that would be the best possible outcome to that situation.

“All of my ideas are brilliant!” Roman turned down a different corner, and Tony began to doubt that he had an actual destination in mind. Of course, playing bait would mean that they had to be visible and loud. Wandering around Thomas’ mind would accomplish one of those things. Which meant they needed to be loud.

“All of them? No exceptions?” Tony mused aloud, “I’m sure we could find one or two lumps of coal in the shining diamonds of your mind.”

Roman’s face twitched. Tony fought down another urge to reach out and touch. Distance. They had a distance between them that he needed to remember. He couldn’t fall into the habits he had formed as a snake. No one minded a full snake touching them, or at least no one in Thomas’ mind. Everyone minded a monster like him touching without permission.

“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult,” Roman shoved a finger in Tony’s direction. Tony stared at it, and very carefully did not snap at it. “Cease with your games fiend!” Roman’s hand reach towards the ceiling. “I will come out on top in the end!”

“Like how you came out on top in the discussion with Virgil about Disney.”

“Silence!” Roman’s voice boomed out across the hallway and Tony couldn’t stop the chuckle that came from the back of his throat. Then again, he couldn’t seem to stop a lot around Roman lately. He almost felt lighter than he ever had. He’d have called it comfort if it weren’t for the threat of Apathy hanging over their heads.

“But if I’m silent how shall I ever talk about the gems that your mind holds?” Tony’s grin grew as Roman wavered. “Like the idea that  Dory is faking her memory loss in order to have an advantage in survival.”

Tony hummed under his breath as he waited for Roman to make the connection. He doubted that the idea was true, but well, there was a sort of fun in lies winding someone else up. False information could be used to entertain as Roman no doubt knew. The screech that drowned out all other noise filled Tony with triumph.

“How dare-!” Roman’s arms flew through the air as he pulled to an abrupt stop. Tony leaned back against the wall to watch the show. “She- you- Finding Nemo-!” Roman breathed out harshly and narrowed his eyes at Deceit. “How dare you insult such a wondrous movie!”

“Have you ever looked up what short term memory loss entails?” Tony asked. He rather wanted to know. Logan might have but Tony doubted that Roman had looked into.

“No! But she had no reason to trick them!”

Tony stretched his fingers out, studying he ends of his gloves. They didn’t need to be replaced quite yet, but maybe soon. He had a few extra pairs in his closet. The silence wound Roman up even further and Tony smirked.

“Survival.”

“They would have helped her anyways!”

“She had no way of knowing that!”

Roman’s hands sliced through the air in wild patterns. Tony wondered if he ever tried painting like that. Then again, abstract seemed more Remus’ thing. Roman would want it to be perfect and nothing abstract would fit into his definition of perfection. He’d rather copy all the great artists to find inspiration rather than let his feelings out. Tony hummed to himself and wondered if the other Sides had caught on to that yet.

“I- you-” Roman growled. He paced the hallway in front of Tony and ran a hand through his hair. “She agreed to help them out! She spent so long looking for her parents!”

“Survival,” Tony repeated, his voice liting into almost song.

“You can’t use that as your answer for everything!” Roman sounded like a meteor storm. Bright and loud and eye catching. Beautiful and deadly. Tony shook his head.

“Sure I can,” he pushed off of the wall and wandered down the hall. Baiting Apathy meant making sure that they spread their noise everywhere. They just had to be careful near the Mind Palace but Tony doubted Apathy would go there. Trying to face all four Sides would be suicide after all.

“I can use it to explain Wall-E too,” Tony called over his shoulder. Roman’s footsteps hurried behind him and Tony grinned into the distance. Honestly, if he were willing to think positively about Virgil he’d agree about the fact that winding Roman up like a top was the most entertainment he had in years.

Only Virgil wouldn't be about the winding up, or even agree that it was fun. Virgil would be too panicked about upsetting Roman to have fun with it. He argued because he disagreed. He insulted because he hated. Tony shook his head and took a sharp turn.

“Fiend!” Tony focused on Roman’s voice instead of his bitter thoughts. Anxiety was in the past. Creativity the present. “Don’t you dare ruin the foundations of Thomas’ childhood!”

“I wouldn’t be ruining it,” Tony said mildly, “Just explaining where they got all the food they ate in the movie.”

“Greenhouses!” Roman screeched, coming up to his side and looking fit to tear his hair out. “They had greenhouses that grew the plants!”

“But they didn’t know what plants looked like.”

“Don’t you dare! Fiend! Villain! Childhood ruiner!”

“Creative,” Tony hummed and adjusted his hat, bracing himself for what would come next. He spoke over Roman’s offended noise. “But if they don’t know what plants look like they had to have been using something else. There was only one other viable option on that ship-”

“I swear to all things we find holy-” Tony cackled as he dashed out of the way of Roman’s lunge. His cape fluttered just out of Roman’s reach, brushing against his fingertips. “-if you finish that sentence-”

“-is the passengers!” Tony shouted as he broke out into a run. “They had to have eaten-”

“Deceit! Stop!” Tony stuck his tongue out at Roman, “No really-!” 

The world tilted violently and Tony blinked the stars out of his eyes. Ah yes, there was a wall there. His hand brushed against the ground as he reached around to find his hat. He laid back and meet Roman’s concerned eyes. He took a deep breath and smirked at Roman before he could voice his question. Tony knew what he’d ask and he really didn’t want to know what would come out of his mouth if Roman asked if he was alright.

“I haven’t even started on Toy Story,” he said breathlessly, and the concern fled from Roman’s eyes as offence returned. Tony rolled out of the way of Roman’s tackle with a laugh. Roman’s hand clamped around his ankle and dragged him back.

“Oh no you don’t,” Roman growled. Tony kicked out of his grip and scrambled to his feet. Roman lunged at him again, colliding with his side. They rolled across the ground together until Roman straddled him triumphantly, grinning above him. “You’re dark conspiracy days are over Phantom of the Soap-opera!”

“Oh really?” Tony smirked, hooking his leg around Roman’s warm calf. His hands snapped out to grab Roman’s shoulders and with a heave, he rolled them over until he was the one on top. “And pray tell, how are you going to manage that?” he asked as he pinned Roman’s wrists to the floor. 

Their chests pressed together, his cape fanning out around them. Tony could feel Roman trying to hold back desperate giggles as he fought down a smile of his own. Roman’s legs kicked out, struggling against his hold but Tony held his ground. He smirked down at Roman’s flushed face.

“Simple,” Roman said breathlessly. “Apathy’s right there.”

Tony threw himself off of Roman and whirled around. His heart jumped to his throat and his fingers curled into claws instinctively. Apathy would get to Roman over his dead body. Thomas could get by without Deception; Creativity and Passion were needed so much more than him. His eyes scanned the empty hallway and he blinked slowly.

Roman’s giggled broke out into full on laughter.

“Oh my god,” Roman gasped out, “You should have seen your face!”

Tony pressed his lips together.

“Glad to see you taking this so seriously,” he growled out. He smoothed out his clothes. Frustration beat at the edges of his senses. Not at Roman, but at himself. He had let himself get distracted. Running around the halls like they had with Apathy on the loose was the height of stupidity. They wouldn’t have noticed Apathy until he was right on top of them.

He gritted his teeth and stalked down the hall. He could hear Roman scrambling to his feet behind him. Hurried footsteps didn’t slow Tony down at all.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Roman’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Tony yanked his hand away from the soft touch and tugged his sleeve down. It did nothing to help the pleasant tingles against his skin. He didn’t turn to look at Roman, but stopped where he was. 

“I’m sorry,” Roman said softly, “It was just a joke.”

“Oh, yeah, great joke.”

Tony glanced at the frown pulling at Roman’s face and looked away again. His hands curled into fists and he bit down on his tongue. Would it be better for Roman to know how dangerous this was? Would he even get it or would he assume that it wasn’t that bad no matter what Tony claimed?

“There’s no way he can be that dangerous,” Roman protested, and Tony scowled at the far wall. Roman’s voice grew insistent, “No way. Come on. we’ve got my fabulous and amazing self to start off with, and then we have your brilliance and illusions. There’s no way he’ll be able to top the two of us teaming up.”

“We did technically win the trial against the others,” Tony said slowly.

“We did!” Roman hesitated. “Is that a good example? I feel like that’s not a good example.”

Tony waved a hand through the air. Real Roman sounded a lot like his Head Roman. Concerned with right and wrong based off what Patton told him. Tony could push him to something more loose when it came to morals, but having someone to remind him when to back off a bit could be useful. 

“It’s a fine example,” Tony said. He leaned in a bit closer to Roman, not quite touching. He took a deep breath. Roman had a point though. They would do better together than alone. Tony had been the one to suggest a team up. He reached out hesitantly to press his hand against Roman’s arm.

“It’s fine, Roman, don’t worry about-”

His fingers tingled as they passed through Roman’s arm. It lasted a fraction of a second, enough that Tony almost thought he imagined it. The stricken look on Roman’s face said otherwise. Tony felt his eyes widen. The feeling like he had stuck his hand in a socket faded, the horror in Roman’s eyes didn’t.

“Roman,” he breathed, an understanding curling around his heart. Of course Apathy held such power. Passion was dying.

Roman took a step back, shaking his head. Tony reached out again, question on his lips, about when it had gotten this bad, about what Roman needed, about how long Roman had left. Roman spun on his heels and dashed down the hallways. Tony let his hand drop and tugged his hat over his eyes. 

It all added up. Roman lacked confidence. Without confidence, he couldn’t create as much as he used too. Passion would shrivel up without the inspiration, and with the way Thomas kept putting off his dreams. Tony gritted his teeth. Now with Apathy on the loose, Roman was being attacked on all sides. His physical form literally couldn’t keep up. He was starting to unravel. Literally.

No wonder Remy wanted Roman to talk to the others. A boost in confidence was needed. Desperately. Tony just didn’t know if the others could provide it at the moment. He let out a slow breath, eyes on the corner that Roman had disappeared around.

He needed to change his plans. Now. If Roman Unraveled completely it wouldn’t matter if Apathy was caught. 

Passion would be gone anyways.

[twice-rxn]

“Twice Reaction to Really Hurting You During a Fight.”

Anon!Request: hi it would mean the world to me if you did a Twice reaction to really hurting you during a fight when it was obvious that they were wrong. Thanks !

A/N: I have no idea if anon meant hurting the reader verbally or physically..I went with the latter though. And the only physical hurt that I can imagine them doing to the reader is a slap. So if Anon meant something more physical than that, I’m sorry if I didn’t reach your expectations. I’m adverse in writing physical harm with two people who are in a relationship. 😭

(Scenario: The argument was getting out of hand now. The both of you were in each other’s faces, barbed words were being quickly traded back and forth when you suddenly felt a throbbing sensation on your cheek as a loud smack echoed.

You’ve no idea which stung more. The pain on your cheek or the falling pieces of your shattering heart. Your hand crept up to your face as you numbly stared at her...)

Nayeon

The furious glint in her eyes started to diminish before she realized what she had done as she took a step back and her hands covered her lips. “Y-Y/N...”

“The reason..” You hissed as you clenched your fist tightly, tears were beginning to appear. “Why I was working late for the past week was so that I can have the same days off as yours. I wanted to spend our days off together and I meant for it to be a surprise but you just had to be paranoid, didn’t you?”

The bitter taste of regret crept up to Nayeon’s throat, making her loss for words before she reached out for you. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—“

“To accuse me of cheating when you know...You know how crazy I am for you?” You asked as your voice cracked when you turned to leave. An exasperated sigh escaped your lips as you shook your head. “I-I need some space..Apparently, I’m really that unworthy of your trust.”

When you slammed the door shut, Nayeon felt her knees giving out as tears rolled down to her cheeks like rivolets. She buried her face into her hands before a sob escaped her lips and her body trembled hard as she whispered to herself, “What have I done..?”

Jeongyeon

The moment she had realized what she has done to you, Jeongyeon’s eyes suddenly widened after a gasp escaped from her.

“J-Jagi...? Oh god, I’m sorry!” She said almost immediately, her hands cupping your face and her heart throbbed dangerously when you whisked your head away from her touch. “...Do you even know what day it is today?”

Silence fell between the two of you and when Jeongyeon shook her head slightly while muttering the word, “No..,” you instantly headed towards your bedroom door and locked it. Leaving Jeongyeon confused before looking at the nearby calendar.

Oh.

She felt her heart plummeting to the ground with a loud crash as her fingers crept up to the necklace you gave her on her neck. Jeongyeon felt like she couldn’t breathe as her chest began to beg for air after she saw the date that was drawn with a red heart around it and she softly read what was written underneath. “3rd...3rd Anniversary.”

Momo

When Momo saw you take a step away from her and that tears were starting cascade down your beautiful orbs, she knew that she has messed it up by letting her emotions control her.

After all, all you just wanted was for her to take care of her health and to not overwork herself to death. That was what a girlfriend does right? Make sure her lover is at optimum health.

Wordlessly, she scooped you up in a tight hug. Not letting you go even when you tried to squirm in her arms while she whispered out apologies in your ear. She knew it was her fault for snapping at you first, for raising her hand at you.

It was like a knife to her chest when she felt your shoulders shaking badly and a wet patch was growing on her shirt knowing that it was caused by your tears.

“I was way too out of the line this time, Y/N..I’m so so sorry for hurting you,” she murmured before pressing kisses on top of your head.

Sana

Angry tears were still coursing off of her like waves before she turned on her heels and stomped towards your shared room to open the door, only for her to halt in her steps.

The room was filled with balloons and streamers, along with her favorite flowers that was scattering around. What captured her attention the most though was the artistically arranged rose petals in the shape of a heart on the center of your bed, along with cut out letters that said, “Marry Me?”

Sana felt her throat clenched before she ran back to the living room where she left you, only for a choked cry to escape her lips when she saw a ring box that contained a beautiful diamond ring, propped open on the coffee table with you nowhere to be found.

“Sana, she was just a friend! I was simply asking for her help!” Your desperate voice echoed in her mind as your argument earlier began to replay in her head. “Why won’t you trust me?”

Slumping on the sofa, she covered her face with her hands before incoherent cries began to fill up the room. ‘Y/N, please come back.’

Jihyo

Jihyo suddenly froze when she realized what she had done as her mouth opened up to let a soft gasp escape her lips. She was about to reach out for you when you chuckled cynically, startling her as you’ve never ever made this sound before.

“I can’t believe this...” You started to huff as you lowered your head and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to stop the welling tears on your orbs. “You seriously can’t—When you were chasing your dreams, I waited up for you. I forgave you when you couldn’t come to our dinners or when you forgot about our dates because hey, this is your dream career we’re talking about and as your girlfriend, I was happy to support you every step of the way. But..But at the first sign of my own career taking off, it‘s too much for you?”

Guilt was beginning to eat and pester her up inside like gasoline. Remorse began to pound her walls with a sledgehammer as she looked back at you with glassy eyes. She felt a stinging feeling in her nose and throat when you looked at her with disappointment in your eyes as a tear slowly escaped and slid down your cheek.

When you retreated towards the door, she could feel her heart crackling like glass when you twisted the knob and took one last gaze at her and said, “This is my dream too, Jag-Jihyo...You knew how much I wanted this and yet you used it as a tool to start a fight when you should’ve been happy for me.”

Mina

As soon as she has realized that she had hurt you, something she swore she’d never do, Mina’s hands immediately went to clamp her mouth before tears began to well up in her eyes.

She rapidly apologized before taking hold of your hand, her heart aching when you simply stood there, not giving out any reactions or acknowledgement to her at all.

Mina began to press your hand to her lips as she reached out for you, only to falter in her steps when you gently pushed her away. “You know what...? I’m done. I—“

You closed your eyes and bit your lip as you pulled your hand away from her before taking a sharp inhale. “I just wanted to surprise you for your birthday...Had I known...” You scoffed before looking up at the ceiling as crystal beads began to trickle down your chin. “Had I known my efforts wouldn’t be appreciated, I wouldn’t have bothered at all.”

It was like her heart gave out when you uttered those words, like poison to her spirit. The idea of you leaving her made her knees buckle as her fingers immediately tugged unto your hoodie for support. “Y-Y/N..please. Don’t..Don’t go. I need you, Jagi...I-I’m sorry...I-Just please...,” she sobbed quietly as she clung unto you tighter. “..Don’t leave me...”

Dahyun

“...Are you ashamed of me? Is that why you won’t let me meet your family?” Your voice, so soft and fragile, asked brokenly as your vision started to blur when you felt the stinging tears in your eyes. The hollow feeling in your chest began to spread around like lava and it honestly hurts more, so so much more than the slap.

The fury that had blinded her earlier began to disappear as her glares slowly transitioned to a look of shock and panic. “I-I...” She began to stammer and that was all the answer you needed.

Your shoulders fell limp as you nodded your head slightly. You finally have your answer. “I see...,” you whispered before swallowing the hard lump that was lodged in your throat.

When Dahyun saw you nod defeatedly, she frantically shook her head as she bit her lower lip, trying to fight her sobs. “No, Jagi. No..I’m not ashamed of you! Okay? I love you, Y/N,” her voice cracked as your words churned something in her that was so much worse than a remorse and it made her want to collapse.

She cupped your cheeks and pressed a kiss on your lips just to get her point across. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as her own tears started to fall down her face. “I’m so sorry for making you feel this way. For everything that I’ve said...Forgive me, Jagiya.”

Chaeyoung

“Oh no,” she whispered when she saw you looking at her with dull and empty eyes. “No...J-Jagi?”

Your orbs suddenly sparked a cold steely gaze before you turned around and left, leaving her frozen on the spot before Chaeyoung snapped out of it and chased after you.

“Y/N! Wait!” She yelled and ran as fast as she could, her arms desperately flailing to reach out for your dashing figure. She knows. She knows that if she lets you slip away, she’ll probably lose you and she can’t let that happen. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean any of those words!”

Chaeyoung managed to tackle you before you reached the front door and had you pinned on the floor, both of you panting deep before you felt warm droplets on your face. Your eyes looked up at her and saw a steady stream of tears dripping on her flushed cheeks while her bottom lip quivered as she broke down.

“I didn’t mean to-to...to make you feel unwanted, Y/N,” she whispered. “I-I promise to call and text you more, I-I’ll..spend more time—Whatever you want!”

She sniffled quietly and gripped your shirt as she laid her head on top of your chest, damping the spot with her tears. “Just...Just don’t go.”

Tzuyu

Silence permeated the air for a while before you closed your eyes and lowered your head as you swallowed back the incoming sob that was threatening to come out from your chest.

Your fingers began to trail your wrist where the bracelet Tzuyu gave you was clasped and you took it off before giving it to her, making her eyes widen. “What...what are you doing...?”

“What else?” You muttered before sighing, still refusing to look at her, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m really not good enough for you...I’m-I’m sorry...“

And this time the anger in your voice was utterly gone, obliterated by exhaustion and remorse that Tzuyu knew she does not deserve since the fight was her fault in the first place.

Her breath hitched when you finally raised your head up and saw the tears that were dripping down your face. Your expression broke her heart in half because she's never seen you cry. Ever. But, now, you stood in front of her, silently crying and she is thrown into panic mode as she thumbed away the tears.

“Jagi..? Y/N?” She asked, “I’m sorry...It’s me who doesn’t deserve you. I’m sorry for putting all my frustrations on you. I—Please don’t cry, Jagiya. I’m so so sorry...”

[imnotcameraready]

Caesura (chivalry au)

A/N: you know how people in chivalry keep referring to a public demonstration of sorts? well. :) 

this has been sitting half-finished in my files for a while now, and i figured i should finish it. i was just kinda in the mood to kick roman’s ass so i finished it up!

WARNINGS: oh god. Remus Mention, Torture, Public Humiliation, Whipping/Caning, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, self-torture, drug mention, Blood, a lot of blood, Chunks of Flesh, self-deprecation, Graphic Depictions of Wounds, Insults, Delirium, Disassociation, Verbal Abuse, Self-Hatred, Temporary/Pain-induced Memory Loss, Hair Pulling, Choking, heat - Freeform, Burns, Burning, Sun Burns in particular, Passing Out, Swearing/Cursing — golly, that’s a lot! let me know if i’ve forgotten anything!!

Words: 4404

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST <-- I HEAVILY RECOMMEND READING THE REST OF CHIVALRY IS DEAD BEFORE THIS! 

enjoy!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 

no roman line break because if i look my son in the face as i post this i might cry

The Thief hopped onto the roof, then bent down as he slid down slow against the tiling. He stopped himself at the edge, resting a hand against the building’s spire. He was standing atop the church, the one in the town’s square. Four blocks away from the castle in the innermost walls. This was the closest he’d gotten to the castle so far; until now, he’d been opting to just hide in the tree until this whole tournament of champions passed. But the invitation to witness….

It couldn’t be real. 

There was already a gathering in the square. He didn’t know where the Dragon planned to come from, where they had that other Roman — the Damsel, the Damsel in Distress? He couldn’t remember a Damsel but it wasn’t like he’d stayed to hear all their names — nor what the Dragon had in store. It was a vague invitation and he didn’t plan on staying long. 

The crowd didn’t have defined faces. Some were very recognizable, though. The Thief could pick Sleep out in the crowd, near the back and leant against a wall, Starbucks in his hand. He’d probably report back to the other Shorts characters. They’d all developed a coallesed group over the years and while they weren’t always friendly to one another, they all understood that they had equal importance in the Imagination. Sleep was the most neutral of them, with a fan following that ensured he’d never die. 

The Thief winced. He hoped that Prince Dude was doing alright, hopefully hidden somewhere in the town. He used to flit around the castle, no actual power but a charisma over the unnamed townspeople that ensured he was respected like royalty. It would be a little weird if he ran into Prince Dude out here during this, but like with most things, the Thief would probably just fade back into the shadows and go home. Considering the little time he spent outside either the castle or the tree, it was improbable that he’d ever run into him.

On another rooftop, lower and closer to the town hall, atop the library actually, was the Bard. The Thief had seen him a few times over the past two days, so much so that he might consider him a friend. Gosh, it’d already been two days? He wondered briefly how long it’d been in the real world. Would any of the other Sides notice?

Had it been long enough? Would they ever notice?

Wasn’t like they regarded Roman as more than a pawn for their own gains, despite how Roman loved them. The Thief wouldn’t fault them for that, though. And he’d never told. 

He longed for any of them to just….touch him. Not even in any sexual way. He’d been having dreams of how Virgil would lean his head against his shoulder during movie nights, how soft Patton’s hands were when he ran them through Roman’s hair. Even Logan’s firm grip on his wrist as he led him around the Mind Palace, to the library, then to Logan’s room, then to the kitchen, bathroom for first aid, Roman’s room, anywhere. 

Now, don’t be getting tender. This was a piss poor time for those idyllic dreams. 

The Bard was sitting cross legged on the roof (he wouldn’t be able to escape as fast) and was holding a ukulele in his lap (could it serve as a weapon?) while his mouth was open. He must have been singing a song. There was a blanket or something in his lap, an amorphous black blob. How long did he think they’d be out here for?

Of all the counterparts, the Thief found the Bard most agreeable. His non-hostile characterization made it easier for him to hold conversation, because he didn’t ask too many questions and wouldn’t murder him. Or maybe it was less that he was quiet and more that the Bard just didn’t shut up about himself.

He chuckled. 

The black lump moved in the Bard’s lap, and the Thief frowned. 

Oh, no, no fucking way. He did not. 

The Thief squinted across the square, then clicked his tongue. 

Oh, god damn it, he did. The Child was sitting in the Bard’s lap, plucking at random ukulele strings. 

He’d brought the Child? They didn’t know what the Dragon was going to do, but it didn’t seem like something that the Child should witness. 

Though, the Thief thought while bobbing his head, it was probably safer to keep the Child at his side instead of leaving him at home. Who knows if the guards would break in. He wouldn’t it past the Dragon to send that kind of strike while at an event like this. He wasn’t sure if the Dragon was thoughtful enough to consider that sort of tactic, but, well….

“WHO WANTS TO GET THIS PARTY STARTED!” a shout from below. 

The doors to the town hall opened with a bang, and the Bard immediately clamped his hands over the Child’s ears. The Thief rolled his eyes, figuring he’d have to talk about how to be an actually good parent, maybe he could get Dad Guy’s help in that, wait, wasn’t his whole character about how he was kinda an irresponsible parent? Maybe Teacher Dude?

Something was being rolled out of the town hall. A platform, with a peg in the middle and raised on some wheels, was being rolled out. 

A stage. This bastard wanted a stage. The Thief hissed, running his hands through his hair and shoving them harshly into a crossed motion on his chest. Hold it together. You had to watch. Bear witness or something like that. 

The guards pushing the stage stationed it out in the middle of the crowd, locking its wheels with blocks and surrounding it themselves. Did they think any of them would try and save the poor sap? The Thief knew he wasn’t, and he had a suspicion no one else would, either. 

The town hall’s doors opened again, and the Thief craned to see. 

Out walked who the Thief can only assume is the Dragon. He didn’t know what he expected, but whatever those expectations were are being vastly overlooked in lieu of the Dragon’s tackiness. I mean, really, a whole cape? It was floor length, billowing after him, and then there were actual literal horns coming from his head? Hang on, he just took a breath — it’s not cold enough for there to be condensation, was that smoke?

The Dragon was really taking this villainy thing to the next level. The Thief’s peasantry clothing beneath his cloak was at least white, if a little grey and dirtier than usual. The Dragon didn’t have a single spot of white on him. 

Beside him, being pulled along on chains around his neck and wrists, was the Damsel in Distress. An apt shortening would probably be the Damsel, since the Thief would be damned before he spoke more than two syllables to identify a Side. 

A pair of guards followed them out, making that six guards in total around the podium. As they approached, the Dragon shoved the Damsel’s head down and handed his chains off to one of the guards. He motioned toward the post, giving quiet instructions, while the Damsel starred numbly at the crowd. 

Maybe he hadn’t known what would be happening. That’s what it seemed like. 

The Dragon climbed onto the stage first, then the guards led the Damsel up, tugging him along like a dog on a leash. 

“AS SOME OF YOU KNOW!” the Dragon stepped in a circle, around the stage’s perimeter. “THE PRINCE IS DEAD!”

As he spoke, the Damsel stood on the platform, swaying slightly. The Thief watched him, curious of his movements. He was wearing white pants and a black tank top. No shoes, though they’d probably been removed for this performance. 

This was probably a performance. Nothing more. Roman wouldn’t intentionally do something this self-torturous, no part of him. The Thief squatted, then rested his head on his knuckle. He couldn’t place where he’d seen this Roman, the Damsel. He wasn’t paying attention during that initial meeting, none of them really were, what with them getting into arguments and threatening to kill each other and what have you. And if the Prince was really….dead. Then it stood to reason that the Dragon would continue killing them off. One by one. 

Of course, this was a threat. Who else would be on the Dragon’s hit list?

Instinctively, the Thief’s eyes floated to the Bard and the Child. 

Pacifists, he was sure. One was ten years old, and the other, well….

The Child tried to lean out of the Bard’s lap, neck craning to see what was below, and the Bard pulled him closer to his chest. Blocking his view, just as the guards kicked in the Damsel’s knees and grabbed his chains. They threw them around a peg in the post, and the Damsel was knelt on the ground, chest facing outward with his arms just barely held above his head. He didn’t make any move against the bindings, too.

“You shouldn’t have brought him,” the Thief mumbled to himself, unable to stop the judgement from flowing out. Really, though. A whole ass child. 

He wasn’t sure what kept the Bard there, either; he knew him to be more of a lover than any sort of fighter, much to the Thief’s chagrin.

On top of that, he wasn’t sure where the other two were. Perhaps the Playwright was watching from a distance. He’d insinuated that he could do that. Where the Artist was, though, he didn’t know. There was no way he wasn’t present, though. How could any of them have turned this opportunity down.

“AND WITH THE PRINCE DEAD,” the Dragon was walking in circles now, slow with his cape trailing after, as though circling his prey, “WE NEED TO THIN OUT THE CROWD. DECIDE WHICH VERSION OF ROMAN IS WORTH KEEPING.”

Murmuring in the crowd. The Thief even saw Sleep shift upright, looking intrigued. They’d all known that the split happened, everyone knew about the two Creativities, but none of them had been around for it. Or, well, none of the ones who were there at the time remembered it. Everyone had undergone changes through creative development, so much so that their memories beyond backstories and plot-relevancy were muddled.

No one knew how Creativity settled unto the Prince and the Duke. The Thief guessed they were about to find out. 

The Dragon must have seen everyone’s focus turned to him, because he grinned even wider, barring sharp fangs at the world. His eyes gazed across the crowd in reverence. A real drama queen.

Meanwhile, with one hand, he grabbed the Damsel’s arm and spun him around. He gave a shout, but spun nonetheless, hugging the post. He seemed disoriented, to the Thief. Had he been drugged beforehand?

Had he fought back? 

The Thief slid down the building more more, resting his feet against the chimney as he watched. He wasn’t sure what kind of public humiliation the Dragon was going for, but having invited all of the others, he knew it wouldn’t be good. What did ‘Worth Keeping’ mean?

“HOW DOES ONE DECIDE?” the Dragon raised his hand. 

There was a black whip glittering in his hand. 

The Thief saw the Bard cover the Child’s eyes with one hand, and his mouth with the other. Even the Thief’s mouth hung open slightly. 

What he was insinuating was torture.

No part of Roman was that cruel, right?

“YOU KILL IT!” 

The Damsel lurched when the whip cracked against his back, but made no sound himself. The whip made a snaping sound, loud like the thunder of last night’s storm. 

The Thief didn’t know what the Bard did after that. He assumed they’d stayed, because he assumed that the Bard had just as much morbid curiosity as he did. His eyes were glued to the scene but he didn’t process a single strike after the first. It all merged together into lines of blood, drops of red flicking off of the glittering whip. 

The Dragon was laughing. 

He heard that. He heard the laughter. 

None of the other characters moved, either. Everyone stood, or looked away. 

After the first few strikes, the Thief shook his head, trying to physically clear it, and averted his gaze to the crowd. Sleep had disappeared. Some of the less processed characters were still watching, but everyone who had ever interacted with Roman at all seemed to be averting their eyelines. 

No one wanted to watch. This was gruesome. 

A loud scream rang out, and the Thief’s attention snapped back. The Damsel finally gave in, screaming, crying out in pain as — it wasn’t a whip any longer. No, it was an obsidian cane, glittering and black but sharp as a knife. Had it changed into a cane? When? Could the Dragon do that?

The Dragon paused, stepping forward and yanking the Damsel upright by the hair. Even from this distance, he could see the Damsel trembling like a leaf. Blood was oozing from his back, coating his legs, even his face had spots of it. 

He looked like he was saying something. Perhaps the Thief should get closer. If there were words being exchanged, sentiments and the like being discussed, he would want to hear. It might help him get the edge on whatever quagmire the Dragon would create after this….what would he call it? A demonstration of power, maybe? Of prowess? Of Roman’s weakness, most likely. 

Jesus, this was already so tiring. The Thief couldn’t wait to go home, back to the tree. Brew some hot chocolate, curl up in his bedroom, amidst all his blankets and pillows and the soft matress. Watch the sun set. 

Another shout drew the Thief’s attention once more. The Dragon had the Damsel pressed to the post, holding him up by the neck while his back bled out against the wooden pole. More words were exchanged, and the Thief looked around the rooftops. He could try and sneak into the crowd, but he looked way too identifiably Roman. 

Speaking of. He looked up at the other rooftop. 

Oh, dear. The Bard was crying. He seemed to have a firm grip on the Child’s head, was pressing him against his own chest in an effort to make sure the Child didn’t look. And it wasn’t like the Child was trying to look, either, as he curled into the Bard’s chest.

The Thief grunted, squatting down. He wanted to get closer. He tied his waistbelt around his cloak, so it wouldn’t flap as much, and shimmied on his feet further out one of the stone gutters. The Dragon was still looking down at the Damsel, talking about something or another. 

He didn’t look up or indicate that he saw the Thief hop between one gutter to the next. The Thief grasped onto the roof, sliding himself down by holding onto the metal window bars of the building he was on and landing, as soft as he could, on the balcony below. He climbed off of the confined area and walked out closer to the edge. Then, he broke into a run. 

The best seat in the house was, in fact, the town hall. The Thief jumped across the gap between the two buildings, rolling upon landing as—

“I WILL LIGHT YOU ON FIRE, YOU KNIGHT IN FOOLS’ GOLD ARMOR,” the Thief sank into a criss-cross at the roof’s edge as the Dragon shouted threats again at the trembling Damsel.

He didn’t scream when the cane whipped against his back, squelching much more than it snapped. His back was gridded with lines, unidentifiable now because of, you know, the copious amounts of blood that he imagined he was covered in. Was there even a layer of skin to be shearing?

He deserved this. Yes, he did. He was a horrible purveyor of dreams, defender of hopes. Hopes? When was the last time he’d felt those? Was it a year ago? Two? 

He couldn’t remember. 

His body arched without his command, away from the clip of the cane, but Roman could barely feel it anymore.

He couldn’t feel anything anymore, not really. Not the tips of his fingers, barely the whip against his back. Soon, hopefully soon, he wouldn’t even feel the cold grip of life. 

Someone’s hand brushed through his hair, the tips of their fingers grazing incredibly soft against his scalp, and he whined. Please? Please, his body leaned into the touch, tugging at whatever was holding him by the wrist, by the neck, please, he wanted this so badly, he wanted to be held, he WANTED!

“You’re pathetic,” his own voice spat back at him, and a swift kick landed in his stomach. 

Roman coughed, or cried out, but whatever sound was there died in his mouth. He curled around the leg, body tugging lamely against the chains. Why was he doing this?

A better question, whispered into his mind, was why hadn’t he done this before? Why was he parading around like he was some king, deserving of praise and reward? 

He didn’t deserve it. 

“So gullible, so weak,” he was yanked up again by the hair, tugging at his scalp in a semi-comforting way.

He could feel slips of his skin tugging off. They must be curling, like pencil shavings or a banana’s peel, curling down and springing back with every time his adversary pulled him upright. 

“I hope you’ll die soon,” he clicked his tongue, disgusted by the sight that Roman had become, “You’re getting blood all over my suit.”

Roman laughed, coughing up blood. It trickled down the side of his mouth, down his jaw. He’d screamed that hard, huh? 

The arrogance that he used to be filled with was coating the back of his mind, and he knew he had to snark, return the banter. Was it even banter? It had to be. 

His voice was nothing but air, and it hurt. It stung so much to speak. 

“It’s a red suit.”

He drew in a breath and whined, closing his eye. It hurt. 

He didn’t want it to hurt anymore. 

Roman had wanted this earlier, before he knew what it’d feel like, how warm a day it would be. The sun boilt down on him, sizzling his blood into permanent stains across his body, more permanent than anything Imagined should be. But he didn’t want to boil, and he didn’t want it to hurt anymore. 

It hurt.

Someone would come. Someone would save him, yes. 

But did he deserve that? No, god, no, of course not.

“But it’s not blood red. You’re discoloring it,” the person dropped him again, tossing his head aside and letting it snap against the metal leash, “You’re so stupid. Useless. You can’t even die in a good way.”

Roman didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to die. 

He wanted to die, he did, but he didn’t want to hurt.

“V’h,” he choked on his own saliva and tears, whimpering again and hiding his face into the crook of his elbow. 

Who would save him?

“No, no,” the person grabbed his neck, lifting him up against the pole and it stung. 

His back lurched, twitching violently as the pole itself rubbed against his muscles, exposed from the lack of skin and fat covering them. Roman felt the twitching in his shoulders and hip, a pained wail turning to only a hoarse yell as his vocal chords gave out once more. 

“You were saying something,” the person’s breath was hot, too hot, like the sun, scorching him, “Finish your sentences, your Majesty, its rude to not.”

No. No, no, it was foolish of him. 

“You want Virgil, don’t you?” 

Roman shook his head, hair thick with sweat as it bounced back and forth with him. The display certainly wasn’t convincing, though, even he knew that. He wanted to be comforted. Virgil was always there….always there to protect him, and the others. Of course he wouldn’t be here now. It was foolish to want him.

It was foolish to wish for love from any of them, at any point in time. Love. What a delusory dream.

The person laughed, and slammed his neck against the pole again. It pressed so far, grazing one of his vertebrae.

His voice was echoing around Roman, a chamber of mock pity. 

It hurt, but the lashings themselves didn’t hurt. Roman’s entire spine tingled once the pole touched it. This far down, his insides weren’t supposed to see the light of day. 

He could barely imagine what it would really feel like, for a person, not just an imagined feeling for an imagined being. He wasn’t real. 

The reveal of his entrails was, as everything his useless mind could conjure, dramatic as all get out. 

“Do you want Virgil to see this? Imagine what he’d say.”

He’d be so angry. 

He wasn’t real. He wasn’t Roman. 

“And what about Patton? Can you imagine how much he’d cry.”

The person dropped Roman again, then kicked him in the back.

It burned. Roman felt like he would have a foot-shaped brand, the person’s boot slammed against his back, between his spine and his shoulder blade. It slipped up in the bloody mush of his back like one would slip on mud, difficult to walk in terrain immediately after a downpour of cataclysmic condensation. 

His boot was so, so firm against Roman’s back. The heel dug into his flesh very briefly, but it felt as though it would drill a hole through his person. Through his very being. 

“Logan wouldn’t care, would he? Would Deceit?” the boot left his back. 

Before Roman could recollect himself, though, the cane struck the back of his neck. It didn’t hurt, once again, he barely felt it. 

He wasn’t Roman. His mind was murky in the thick blood, boiling.

He could only feel the sun’s heat. He should have designed the Imagination without a sun. Who needed it, anyway? What was it good for? 

“Pathetic,” the shadow whispered, then shouted again, “PATHETIC!”

Perhaps it wasn’t the sun. His head was warm, hair warm, ears tingling and burning and so so warm. His back was warm, too, for a similar reason. 

Roman didn’t have his eye opened, but he knew he was on fire when he felt it. He trembled, arms jerking to instinctively slap the flames off of his person, but he couldn’t move very far beyond the chains. 

Laughing. 

Roman deserved this. 

“Burn at your pyre, your Majesty,” he spat the words. “That’s all you have left,” the Dragon laughed, a hearty chuckle, and then struck Roman once more. 

Then once more.

Then once again. 

And again, and again, and again, and Roman could only feel the dripping of his own blood down his back. It pooled around his knees, a thick pool that was going to dye his tanned skin with red spots. Like a strawberry nevus.

Someone told him that name once, it was a type of birthmark. He couldn’t remember who. He could barely remember anything. 

Roman was lost in the pain so much as one could be lost in bliss. His body stopped responding to the lashings, no longer curving inward. He wasn’t moving. It was all moving around him.

In fact, it actually was moving. It felt as though the platform were spinning. Up was down, and down was up again, and up down down up and into the darkness. Who knew death would be so welcoming. Like a cloud. Like a soft, comforting….

Roman’s eye rolled back, and he slumped against the bindings, unable to collapse onto the ground. The chains held his defeated body up for the world to see.

The Dragon stood up straighter, then scooted forward. Had he….?

He lifted the Damsel’s face with the cane and examined his expression, so soft and placid in comparison to the drywall paint peeling that his back and arms appeared like. 

“Is….WHAT?!” The Dragon roared. How dare he. How DARE he pass out, the pathetic whelp! He had the nerve! 

The Dragon wanted to keep going! He was just getting warmed up! This was so much fun, so alluring! He’d never known blood splatters could be so beautiful. 

Though, this was their cue to be done. Hopefully the Damsel wouldn’t wake up again, if his theory had been correct. The Dragon looked out at the crowd, curling up the whip in his hand and fastening it to the latch on his belt. 

Most of the crowd — the ones with less of a conscious, the ones who were simply faces who’d been committed to memory, hadn’t been given stories yet but nonetheless existed — were still watching. He did love an audience.

Some of the true characters had stayed, but hadn’t fully watched. He could see someone in the back, turned away in a black cloak. 

No patches. Not one of them. Though they’d stayed and had the gall to be disguised. 

The Dragon didn’t CARE about any of the others, though. He grunted, smoke escaping from his lips as he motioned for the guards stationed around the platform to grab the Damsel. “Our pathetic excuse for a Creativity seems to have drawn his last breath,” he coo’ed, just loud enough for the sound to echo across the Imagination, “I guess this concludes today’s presentation!”

Two of them climbed onto the platform, unhooking the Damsel from the post and throwing him over their shoulder. Chunks of his flesh, or thick globs of blood (really, they were indistinguishable) fell off as he was moved. 

Revolting. Hopefully he was dead, so the Dragon could just throw his body into the lake and be done with it. He’d have to have Remus check for a pulse, though. Lord knew Dragon didn’t know how to do that sorta shit. 

He scanned the crowd once more. No sign of any other Roman figment. No murmur, even. Everyone just watched in horrified silence. 

No matter. The Dragon knew the others had come, they’d seen. That was all that needed to be done. This was just a message, nothing more. 

The Damsel was his little test run, his beautifully caged canary, on death row. And hopefully he’d died. 

Even unconscious, his lip twitched, into the barest of smiles. 

Yes, hopefully he’d died. 

[rheanimalsachikokassielynn]

“My Life in Comics”

If any comic artist(s) could illustrate my life, I would want the Japanese manga author/artist team of Nanase Ohkawa, Satsuki Igarashi, Tsubaki Nekoi, and “Mokona” (known collectively as “CLAMP”) to be the ones to do it. Now, as to why I want CLAMP to illustrate my life - well, it mostly boils down to the art style and what that might mean for my life as it’s being represented by their drawings.

As I understand it, CLAMP has always had a consistently pretty way of drawing manga that’s been showcased across a lot of their works. “Cardcaptor Sakura” for example is drawn with less emphasis on the backgrounds and more emphasis on the characters in the foreground. If there’s any attention paid to the backgrounds at all, it’s usually to make them look sparkly or sprinkled with as many flower petals as possible because at the crux of the story of “CCS” is literal magic and a bunch of overwhelmingly wholesome romantic relationships between the characters. As such, the character models themselves look equally as starry-eyed as the textures behind them. I think the artists draw this way in order to not only match how the characters are feeling, but also to serve the lighthearted tone being permeated throughout “Cardcaptor Sakura” specifically. 

But my life is neither filled with romance or magic - it’s just... average. I want these women to illustrate my life for the sake of witnessing how their manner of illustrating might change to accommodate me. Since CLAMP isn't known for championing true-to-life stories, asking them to the depict the overall “feel” of my straightforward existence (wherein I don’t do much other than try to stay afloat in college while watching anime in my free time) through their artwork would be nothing if not a fun challenge!