#I think i might’ve stopped putting as much effort when it came to the shading

[pheeperthemeeper]

Drew some fan art of the scene with the River person from valiant souls by @knightmareaceblue because I love the River person and I love valiant souls!! nwn

[juniorgman187]

Sleight of Hand (Reid Fic)

Summary: Practical Joker Reader makes the unsuspecting naive Dr. Reid the object of her most recent prank - stealing his ID badge.  Category: Pure Fluff, Drabble, One Shot Pairing: Platonic Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Super brief mentioning of dark nature of job, prank Word Count: 2k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Despite what anyone else may believe, or what my resting face may convey, I’m not a mean person. I don’t take pleasure in people’s pain, and I certainly don’t intend to hurt anyone.  

With that being said - I do thoroughly enjoy messing with people from time to time. Which, in my opinion, is a completely different thing than being mean. 

At work, I’m known for pulling harmless pranks. Keyword: harmless. The dark nature that surrounds our job can consume us whole if we let it, and if anyone needs a good laugh here and there, it’s the BAU. Sometimes we all just need reminders that life shouldn’t be taken so seriously, and my silly antics are just the remedy. 

A window of opportunity for my most recent practical joke presented itself when I was packing up to leave for the day. 

Right across my desk was Reid’s and to my right was Derek’s, but at the moment, Reid was parked at the kitchenette, diligently stirring his coffee and copious amounts of sugar packets together while Derek’s head was buried six feet deep in paperwork. I could tell they would both be in for a long night and I didn’t envy them for that. 

“Alright, I’m out!” I announced to them both, but before I could actually get far, Derek stopped me. 

“Wait, (y/n)! Hold up,” He sat up from his chair to reach me with an outstretched arm. “Can you put this back on Reid’s desk?” 

I blinked hard when he tossed an object at me, so only after I caught it did I open my eyes and realize it was just a pen. 

“Wow. Lazy much?” I scoffed, gesturing to Reid’s desk that was less than seven feet away. Derek was probably exerting more effort into stretching out his arm like that to give me the pen as opposed to if he just got off his butt and walked to the desk himself.

“Pleaseee,” He partially begged, causing me to roll my eyes and replace the pen dutifully. As I slipped the pen into its rightful spot in his little cup of writing utensils, something caught my eye.

Lightbulb!

Just sitting there on Spencer’s desk was his badge. It was so carelessly placed in comparison to everything else on the table that had been situated in such a carefully, almost calculated, manner.

I knew Spencer had a habit of taking it off at the end of the day, but it baffled me just how flippantly he treated it. I figured he coveted his badge, but his haphazard placement of it suggested otherwise, while simultaneously showing his humanity to me. He wasn’t so cookie-cutter perfect after all, he could be messy, too.

It was that epiphany that almost made me not want to tamper with it, but it was my own humor that pushed me to do it anyway. 

Maybe it’s time Spencer learned a lesson, rather than being the one to teach it. 

If he was going to just let this thing lie around like it was nothing, then how would he react if it wasn’t there at all? 

I slyly looked up from the badge and to Spencer, whose back was still turned to me in the kitchen and then to Derek, who was too focused on his work to even notice that I was still here. Fully taking advantage of Spencer’s oblivion and the lack of a witness in Derek, I slipped the ID swiftly into my purse. Even if Derek wasn’t the type to be a snitch, it was better that absolutely no one knew.

Less than a millisecond after successfully concealing the badge within my bag, Spencer finally turned around and saw me lingering by his desk.

“What are you still doing here?” He asked with the slightest bit of suspicion in his voice. There was no way he could’ve known what’d I’d just done unless he had eyes at the back of his head, so I stayed calm and collected, relishing in my guaranteed safety.

“Derek wanted me to return your pen,” I explained casually from across the bullpen. I watched as Spencer strolled unhurriedly towards me, and it might’ve been my paranoia that led me to this belief, but I swore I saw his eyes dart to his desk momentarily. However, if he had noticed the absence of his badge, he didn’t say anything. 

“Oh, thanks! Have a good night.” He smiled and waved back to me, showing no indication of mistrust. 

Sucker. 

“You, too!” I said with more zeal than the situation warranted. I was worried that might’ve given me away, but I had timed my escape so perfectly that I was already in the elevator by the time he returned to his desk, giving him no chance to inquire about my uncharacteristic behavior. 

That was a close one. 

When I came in the next morning, Spencer wasn’t there yet. Which was slightly strange given the fact that I was barely on time, so if he came in at any point after my own arrival, Spencer would be considered late for work. Occurrences like that only happen once in a blue moon, and usually, the reason for them are mysterious haircuts or something’s wrong. I hoped for his sake it was the former. 

Now you might consider me an impeccable troublemaker, but I’d first and foremost be rendered outstandingly forgetful. I say this only because I had completely forgotten that I stole Spencer’s badge the night before. But can you blame me? It was stashed away in my purse, hidden to my immediate sight, and the object was so small that it didn’t stick out to me or add an excess of weight in my bag that would serve as an unintentional reminder. It never once crossed my mind, not even when I looked to Derek to ask, “Where’s Reid?”

With a coffee mug in one hand, Derek put his arms out to either side of him and shrugged. Suddenly, the mug precariously shook from the draft created by someone blowing right by him. 

It was Reid.

“Whoa, slow your roll there, Pretty Boy. Almost knocked my coffee over.” Derek reprimanded playfully, clutching on tighter to his precious coffee that almost succumbed to Spencer’s speed when he breezed by.

But rather than apologizing or laughing, Spencer kept on his pursuit. Since the time he got here, his eyes were glued to his desk with determination. Even as he approached his desk, he hadn’t yet acknowledged me or Derek. Instead, he was mumbling to himself while haphazardly sorting through his desk. He was frantic and in disarray, a manner that worried both me and Derek.

“What’s wrong, Reid?” I leaned forward to observe his desk, which by now, was what I had to think was a direct reflection of his brain - completely chaotic. Papers were scattered, books were open to random pages, he even emptied out his well-maintained writing utensil cup. 

“I lost my badge.” He answered with his attention still trained on finding it. Luckily for me, that meant he couldn’t see the sudden smirk that grew on my face as a result of his response. There was no way to hide my entertainment without biting down on my lip to keep it from contorting into a smile or perching my head on my hand and using my knuckles to hide my devilish grin. 

“When’s the last time you had it?” Derek was surprisingly just as concerned as Reid and just as eager to help him find it, even setting down his coffee on his own desk to help Reid sort through his. 

“I always take it off at the end of the day, and I remember setting it on my desk, but I didn’t take it home with me. I don’t recall even leaving here with it, so I must’ve left it somewhere here.” 

At this point, my unbridled enjoyment of this was too much to physically contain, that I actually had to spin my chair a complete 180 degrees just to shield them from the sight of my imminent laughter. 

“(Y/n), do you remember seeing it -” Derek’s voice overpowered my muffled giggles, and when he looked up to ask me that, he would’ve seen my shuddering shoulders from where I was laughing hard, yet noiselessly. I spun my chair back around and looked at him with cool indifference. 

He quickly noted the shade of red I had turned and profiled the situation. But rather than outing me, he followed the instruction of my index finger to my lips and stayed quiet. 

I took his alliance as an opportunity to nonchalantly retrieve the badge from my purse. At a tantalizingly slow pace, I raised it in the air, until it was so high, Reid would be able to see it dangling from my thumb and forefinger. 

“Looking for this?” 

Spencer’s gaze immediately shot upward to look right at the badge, before flashing to me. 

What part of him reacted first, I wasn’t sure. Was it the sigh of relief or the flared nostrils and clenched jaw that came soon after? 

He wasn’t even going to say anything to me before grabbing it from me, that’s how pissed he was. But my quick reflexes lunged me backward at the same moment he reached out to get his badge from me, preventing him from successfully taking it back. I couldn’t believe he actually tried that and thought it would work. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” I wagged my finger left to right to communicate my disapproval. “Not so fast, Pretty Boy. I want something in return.”

He shot me the most deadpan glare. “What do you want?” 

I put my finger to my chin and looked up to coyly think about it, but more so to extend his torture for just a few seconds longer. I could feel him staring a hole into me as he grew more and more impatient. “Well, it’s gotta be something good. I mean, imagine what would’ve happened if this landed in the wrong hands.” 

“Evidently, it did.” He coldly replied. 

“Ouch,” I feigned offense and brought my hand to my chest to clutch my heart with a short gasp. “I’m so hurt,” I said with the biggest pout.

He was not nearly as entertained as I was, and his lack of amusement came in the form of a stoic, “I’ll teach you sleight of hand.” 

My body actually had to reboot at the sound of his proposal. “Wait, are you serious?” I clarified. 

“Yes. It physically pains me every time I watch you try to do it, so I figure it’s better for me if I teach you how to do it properly instead of having to sit through another one of your lousy, pathetic magic tricks.”

I would’ve been offended, but I’d been begging him to teach me sleight of hand for months, so the insults were quickly disregarded by me in case he changed his mind during the time I’d take up being hurt by his cruelty.  

“Deal,” I smirked while handing him his badge back. 

Needless to say, I did teach the good doctor a lesson, but it seems he still hasn’t learned … for why would you teach the biggest practical joker in the office sleight of hand? That only adds to my arsenal of tricks I have up my sleeve to use against my coworkers.

Maybe I should teach Spencer another lesson and see if he learns this time around.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

reid taglist: @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722​ @spencersmagic​ @spencerreid-mgg​ @half-blood-dork​ @goldeng1rl8​ @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms​ 

[dontcallmecarrie]

Downward Descending

the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and every villain is the hero of his own story. 

Justin Hammer didn’t consider himself a good man. 

Kind? Yes. But not good.

aka thanks, commenter, I blame the plot twist my brain came up with on you because I had zero inspiration for this AU up until I saw your comment

probably won’t make sense if you didn’t read part one to this mess and heads up, the protagonist becomes a villain here. Under the cut because it ran away on me, again.

.

Above all things, Justin Hammer was a realist. 

Kind of hard not to be, considering; between their [fading] memories of another world, and the life they’d been stuck with this round as the heir of Hammer Industries, they’d never really had a chance to get their head in the clouds.

Other people could dream of a better future, and he really did wish them all the best— but in the meantime, he had work to do.

.

Justin didn’t understand these people. 

Sometimes, he wondered if he ever would.

.

Justin didn’t think much of his family: oh, sure, they were loaded, but...well, for obvious reasons, he didn’t think very highly of some— okay, most— of their parenting choices.

Look, some people just aren’t meant to be parents, okay? But at least they try and give a damn.

These guys didn’t even bother.

Not when their heir turned out to be a normal kid instead of a once-in-a-generation child prodigy and genius [no hard feelings, though, Stark]. 

Eh. Whatever. 

Might’ve been for the best, actually; at least it was him and not some other poor kid who got stuck with dealing with all the crushing expectations and comparisons to a frankly impossible ideal, and at least they didn’t try to pull any of that shit with his little sister because if they had then...he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done, but it would not have been pretty.

[they were an older sibling twice over. some things were etched into their soul.]

.

It wasn’t like Justin had set out to quasi-adopt just about everyone remotely his age, okay? It just sort of...happened. 

Okay, look, it’s not his fault everyone his generation looks like a kid to him, they’re all brats and for some reason, all their parents came in different flavors of shitty because their IQs were sky-high but their collective emotional intelligence wouldn’t have filled a teaspoon so looks like it was up to him to step up.

Look, it made perfect sense at the time!

.

Sometimes, it’s funny how Justin is the most mature person in the room. Other times, it’s just pathetic.

Especially when it’s two grown men half a second from duking it out while in public, like they weren’t supposed to be setting an example for their kids.

Justin couldn’t help his dark look at the spectacle, even as he ushered Stark and Pym to the buffet tables on the other side of the room, all the while trying to keep the conversation light. He didn’t really have the time for hobbies, not with all the private tutors his parents kept foisting on him, but it was still nice to hear what other people his age got up to. 

...unless said kid was Stark, in which case they all got regaled with an overenthusiastic spiel on something that went way over Justin’s head but hey, he’d had plenty of practice nodding along to Steph’s chatter so this was nothing.

.

Looking back, it’s kind of sad how something as simple as giving half a damn was enough for Stark to consider them lifelong friends.

Even sadder, because Justin hadn’t even realized it at the time; he’s just been his usual self.

But apparently, that was enough for some people, was significant enough to be remembered even decades later— long after Justin himself had forgotten all about the encounter.

.

There weren’t a lot of things Justin put actual effort in. 

Emotionally, that is; he was not afraid from hard work, never had been, but there was a world of difference between brushing up on engineering terms and being there for someone. 

Not like his mother, who’d apparently thought giving birth to him and his sister was enough involvement in his life, and proceeded to spend all her time in the Bahamas whenever she had the chance. Not for his father, who constantly tried to make him into something he was not, and finding him wanting [when he wasn’t being a sexist piece of shit who regularly cheated on his wife, anyway, but that was a whole other mess entirely].

But maybe that’s why he tried to be kind, why he tried to be there for the people around him.

...oh, and apparently he’d been known for giving good advice in boarding school to anyone who asked. Which was weird, but whatever. At least he’d helped?

.

Justin tried to be a good older sibling. Really, he did, trying to be as supportive as he could be of Steph as he could.

Sometimes, though, that landed him in some...interesting situations.

Such as her infamous ‘fashion design’ phase, which lasted for five very memorable months, during which he wore even her most dubious of creations without complaint even though he really, really couldn’t pull off that particular shade of orange. 

There were probably pictures still floating around, actually, but he was in no particular hurry to dig them up.

Not that he was ashamed, because he’d like to think he pulled off some of those combinations remarkably well, but... well, if it were anyone other than his sister asking, he probably wouldn’t have done it.

Goodness knew how long it’d taken for some of the other guys at boarding school to look him in the eye afterwards. 

.

Several decades in, and Justin Hammer had yet to express interest in anyone.

Oh, he was perfectly polite and charming to everyone; courteous and charismatic, but...well.

'Gentleman’, some called him; ‘in the closet’, dismissed others with a scoff.

The truth was somewhere in between: Justin couldn’t help but see everyone his age or younger as kids, and between that, his natural older sibling instincts, and his own personal issues with his body that came and went, well...

At least Stark was always a good distraction, nobody paid attention to him when the guy was around. 

.

Justin worked at his company long before he became its CEO. 

It was a bit awkward at first, because everyone seemed to be uncomfortable with the idea of the boss’ kid looking over their shoulders, but once they saw he did good work and pulled his weight [and didn’t regularly make tasteless jokes about kitchens or whatever bullshit his old man was up to these days], things picked up the pace.

He bounced between departments a bit because he wanted to get a better feel for the company, and it was during his brief foray in the marketing department that he came across something that gave him pause.

Now, he knew Hammer Industries followed federal guidelines on who they did and didn’t sell to, officially, but...there were a few grey areas sometimes. 

Normally, it wasn’t something he’d have blinked at, but he recognized the names on this particular proposal.

“Von Doom? Latveria? Geez, Victor, what’ve you been up to?”

.

Once upon a time, there had been a boy who appreciated silence when studying during a time when most children his age were anything but.

So when another brat showed up, he hadn’t exactly been happy about it at first. 

But they were quiet, and seemed to prefer to keep their nose in their book, and so they’d come to a wordless agreement to share the space. 

For over three years, they studied together and shared exasperated looks when the other brats got loud, and so it was that a friendship was born.

It wasn’t until they stopped showing up one day that Justin learned that there was turmoil in that student’s country that’d forced them to go back, and only then that he learned his silent studymate’s name.

.

An unusual childhood friendship wasn’t much to go off of.

But it was something.

And knowing what he did about Victor, and the pull his country had in the international sphere... it was a risky gamble, but he was fairly certain he could pull it off.

So Justin quietly but firmly took that particular proposal from the ‘reject’ pile, and took it to his father to look over.

He was still fairly new at this, but he knew how to play the game. It was a risky gamble, but if this panned out, they’d have a significantly stronger foothold in places their rivals couldn’t even dream.

Worst comes to worse, well... everyone was so focused on what was going down in Yugoslavia, it wasn’t like they’d particularly care if a few shipments went missing, now, would they?

It wasn’t pretty, but then, Justin wouldn’t get anywhere in the world if he was afraid of getting his hands dirty.

.

Latveria’s reputation as an unstable country ended when the scion of one of their most eminent families went and united its people, kicking out all of the outside factions vying for territory as he did.

Then he promptly turned around and revitalized its economy, infrastructure, and gods knows what else because seemingly overnight, Latveria turned into one of the richest countries on the planet. 

Sitting back in his chair, Justin smiled as he put down the newspaper.

“Huh. Sounds like someone’s been busy.”

.

He got a very slick cell phone via courier, not long after that. 

That, and a slip of paper with a simple ‘Thanks’ in Victor’s signature scrawl.

.

Years passed.

Years passed, and shit went down, but no matter what hurdles life threw his way, Justin powered through them nonetheless.

Like when his little sister had a kid and their parents freaked out because she wasn’t married, and then freaked out even more when little Timmy turned out to be on the spectrum and Justin wasn’t remotely surprised when she cut all contact with them after that.

Goodness knew he’d have done the same long ago, after all the shit they’d pulled over the years.

He was just happy she chose to keep him in her life, and that Timmy seemed to really like him as an uncle. 

.

Stark was a bona fide hero, was talking about privatizing world peace. 

Justin wished him the best of luck.

But...well, he hadn’t been the one to propose their rivalry, but if Stark wasn’t in the industry to compete against, then... oh, bother.

Looks like he’d have to change up his plans.

.

Stark was acting weird. Well, weirder, he’d never really been able to understand him in the first place.

“What’s wrong?” Justin asked as he pulled him to the side. Sure, it was probably rude to ignore the gala’s host, but he did not like the look in Stark’s eyes, no matter how bright his smile was.

“Hey, Justin! How’ve you been? Long time no see, but—”

“You’re not okay.” He said, making sure his tone brooked no argument because he knew Stark, had known him since they were kids and he was not okay.

It was like a switch flipped: Stark’s smile vanished, and he reached out towards him for a moment before he sighed and were those tears in his eyes? “Yeah, you could say that.”

.

The government wanted to take Stark’s super-fancy suit, and...this, he could work with. Somehow.

Damn it, he’d need to tweak some of his plans even more...

.

For a few seconds, Stark looked very betrayed when he caught sight of him in the courtroom. 

Then his face went blank in the way Justin had long known to be his ‘I am screaming internally but I refuse to let the cameras see’ look, and he felt bad for him even as he submitted his own findings to their audience.

To be honest, they were a long ways off from developing anything close to what Stark already had in hand, but it never hurt to be prepared for the future. If one man could do it, what was to stop another?

They were all lucky Stark was a good man who didn’t abuse his power.

Justin was no hero, but if lightning were to strike twice...better him than a potential threat.

Besides— Stark needed competition if he didn’t want to stagnate. Who knows? Hopefully, they’d be able to push each other to greater heights.

.

Ivan Vanko was a dangerous man. Just as brilliant as Stark, but with an edge that could only have been gained from a hard life.

Dealing with him would be like playing with fire, Justin just knew it.

[Like knew like, after all.]

But he knew people, knew how to work them, and considering that little display at the race track?

He could work with this.

.

It takes a handful of phone calls to put out all the fires from the past few days. 

Perk of being a well-known and respected figure in the defense industry, Justin supposed; Stark’d once mentioned his contact list was classified six ways to Sunday, so really, having a few senators on speed-dial was nothing. 

He had to do some extra sweet-talking to calm down some of the generals, and may or may not have made mention to some of his older contracts to get Stern to ease up, but whatever.

.

Why he was invited to Stark’s birthday celebration, he didn’t know. 

But he brought a bottle of apple cider and champagne anyway, because why the hell not.

.

This party was really, really not his style.

So when he was pulled aside by the man of the hour, he raised an eyebrow when he noticed he was out of his suit and— wait.

Justin whipped back to where the piece of equipment that had been the source of all this mess was dancing on the table, while Tony was in a rumpled suit not three feet from him.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

.

Stark looked like shit. 

...and was apparently dying, because he’d passed up Justin’s offer at a toast, even though it had been an inside joke for almost as long as they could remember.

Also, he’d looked stricken when Justin had tried to joke about it, that was another pretty big clue.

They weren’t normally one for hugs, but this time they didn’t hesitate to offer— and so felt very very awkward when the closest thing they had to a childhood frenemy proceeded to break down in their arms.

Justin’s older sibling instincts flared to life and they tried to murmur reassurances the best they could, but.

Wasn’t like there was much they could say, now, could they?

Stark was dying, and there was nothing they could do about it. 

Something inside Justin was screaming, and the part of him that wasn’t trying to be there for someone absently wondered why...then he noticed what he was saying, and kicked himself for not paying attention earlier.

“—ever give up, I’m here, know you are not alone—”

Geez. Talk about sappy, normally they only got like this around their sister or nephew.

But whatever it was they’d said, it apparently helped. 

Or something, because Stark was honest-to-goodness crying but after a few minutes, started to calm down and pull himself together.

“I’m so, so sorry about this—” Stark started, and Justin cut in.

“Don’t be, looks like you needed it.” And he clearly had; already he looked a lot better than before.

“I...should get back to the party, shouldn’t I?” Ah, looks like Justin wasn’t the only one feeling awkward now.

“It’s gone on for a while, and you look pretty tired. You sure you don’t want to wrap it up instead?”

“...yeah, that’s... probably a good idea. See you around, Justin. Hopefully.”

“See you later, Stark.” 

.

Stark apparently invented a new element in his basement. 

He knew this, because Stark called him up to say he wasn’t dying anymore. 

Once he hung up, he felt torn between immense relief, and exasperation that he’d need to rewrite his plans again.

.

...aaand kinda ran out of steam again. Long story short, yes, this is the AU where Justin Hammer maybe sort of becomes the Lex Luthor of the universe and may or may not end up accidentally creating a League of Evil of sorts because he’s frenemies with Tony and Victor von Doom ends up having a similar dynamic with some grad student and Ivan has some really good ideas and loves sticking it to the man. 

Said club only grows when the Avengers Initiative forms, and Loki escapes custody and joins for the sole purpose of pranking Thor and giving Fury a headache and Justin may or may not end up getting a crush somewhere along the way.

No, I’m not sure how we got here either.

[poptod]

Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 4 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: He needs to listen. He needs to understand.

Notes: i havent been able to write recently bc ive been spending a lot of time with my boytoy but hes off being a firefighter rn so ive just been nonstop writing and drawing. its ridiculous. i finished pt 3 and 4 in like three days. WC: 5.5k

+

There were less paintings in Thebes. White marble walls and pillars reigned supreme, a stark contrast from the colorful streets of Memphis. You decided not to bring it up, or at least not at the moment you realized it, as in that moment you were face to face with the mayor of Thebes. He was shaking Ahkmenrah's hand, a polite smile on his lips.

"It's good to see you again, Piye," Ahk said. You had to stop and go over the sentence again to make sure you heard it right. Piye wasn't on the same boat as yours, and wouldn't arrive for another day.

"As it is you, my King," the mayor replied.

A trail of servants, soldiers, and slaves passed both behind and in front of you, lugging the offerings to specific temples, and the royal belongings behind the Pharaoh. Haji was put to the use, as unfortunate as it was, and you couldn't help but apologize when he was asked to haul a massive reed basket full of dried dates.

"It's alright," he said, huffing with effort. "I've done this before. Not usually uphill, though."

"Sorry," you said again, wincing at the way sweat beaded on his forehead.

The massive block of shade casted by the royal house's overhang was a relief for those carrying items, and for Ahk as well, as this was his home-away-from-home. Images of Ahkmenrah remained painted across the walls, the only color in the crystal city. The Nile flowed steadily beside the house, short fences leading to a plentiful garden through which the water came, and date trees that grew taller than any building.

The mayor, who you slowly realized was also named Piye, left your group there with a bid for a good evening. Along with that, he invited the Pharaoh and you––his pet––to dinner with him and his family. You weren't sure how enjoyable that would be, but either way the decision was out of your hands.

Following Ahkmenrah, you found yourselves in a large room with a domed ceiling, tall arches framed by red curtains. Outside, trees rustled in the gentle wind with no hint of society. You silently cheered––it was better, you believed, to have a view of the land, rather than of the city.

"Tomorrow I shall take you on a true tour of the city," Ahk said, coming up behind you till his breath fell sudden on your shoulder. You jumped slightly, but arms around your waist stilled you, pulling you into an unfortunately familiar warmth. "How does that sound?"

You said nothing, staring into the silent night.

"We can go through the markets," he suggested, shifting so he held you tighter. "If you want for anything, I will give it to you. I'm sure you've gone through many markets unable to afford anything, so now's a chance to make up for some of that."

"... thank you," you said, very nearly whispered, as hesitance seized you fiercely. Giving into his words––you said you'd never do that. He was not threatening you in any way, so why would you try to please him?

"Are you tired yet?" He asked.

"Not especially," you said, voice still strained.

"How does a game of Senet sound, then?"

"I've... never heard of it," you said honestly, glancing to the side as your fingers fiddled with each other.

"Really? I think you'll quite like it. It's a game of wits and chance. Are you interested?"

You paused before saying, "sure."

He grinned, leaving you alone in the moonlit room as he raced to the servants bringing in his personal belongings. While you waited, you stared out the massive, pale arches, bright as the moon in the perfectly clear sky. Barely a breeze passed by, leaving the warm, humid climate to cling to your skin, slowing your breath as peace reached you. Thebes was nice––just not the city. The countryside was beautiful, and Ahkmenrah's home here was beautiful.

It was not hard for a room to be better than your previous room, tied up in the middle of inescapable stone walls, still you took special care to appreciate the freedom here. Yes, there was a large drop between the pristine upper floor and the ground, but that hardly mattered to you. By your reckoning, you could milk Ahkmenrah's affection for you. If he truly would not let you go, you might as well make the most of it, and earn whatever you longed for in your poorer life.

Steps echoing in the empty hall grew closer, leading to the creaking hinges of the large, wooden doors behind you. You turned, coming to see the Pharaoh grinning like a dope, entirely uncharacteristic for his royal attire.

"I brought my board from home, but I've got one here as well. Made of crystal and ivory, actually, but I don't like it as much as my wooden one," he said, rambling as he set the board down on the carpeted floor.

The board was presented as a tiny, rectangular table with black and red squares for the pieces to move on. Dark wood legs held up the board, within which was contained a drawer filled with the pieces, numbering two pairs of five. One style was a long pillar with a head on top, and the other was a round-base pyramid.

Over the course of the next couple minutes, Ahkmenrah explained the rules to you, how the pieces moved forward, and that whoever got all their pieces off first won. The basics were gone over, but you soon started without much knowledge on how to play. He taught as you went along, and soon you were truly playing, concentrated deeply on your strategy and how to win. There were a few different tactics you could try to slow down Ahk or speed yourself up, but as you grew engrossed in the game, you hardly noticed the smile spreading across the Pharaoh's face.

"You might actually beat me," he said as you took another one of his pieces, sending it back five paces.

"What, you didn't think I was smart enough at first?" You said with an almost sly grin.

"No, I – actually," he paused, "yes. Sorry. I might've underestimated you."

"Don't worry," you said, handing the dice to him. "You're not the first."

"Really?"

"I ran into this stand at one point. It was a man who took your coin and hid it under one of three cups, switched them all up, and asked you where the coins were. If you got it right, you were paid in double, and if you got it wrong, he took your money."

"Basic deal."

"Yes. I came as a young child, a stranger to the city. He thought I'd be easy prey, so he did his trick, but I noticed he was dropping the coins off the edge of the table and into his lap. So I pick-pocketed him for all the money he took from people."

"That... doesn't sound like he underestimated your smarts so much as underestimating your conniving."

"Perhaps so," you said, moving another one of your pieces to steal one of his, sending it back by three. "But for me, the two go hand in hand."

"I can see," he chuckled, his blush visible even in the moonlight.

After a long time spent finishing the game, as the last move off the board had to be an exact number, you won mostly by chance. Still you cheered, grinning satisfied as Ahk held his head low in failure. He chuckled though, his shoulders shaking with the silent laughter, bringing you great gratification.

"Where did you learn these tactics?"

"Ever been to Nubia?"

"A couple times," he said, looking to the side as he attempted to recall it. "My father was rather cruel to them, so I try not to visit too much. They don't really like the royal family."

"Understandably so," you said with crossed arms, watching him deftly pick up the pieces and cram them back in the drawer. "They memorized your father's military movements, and I assumed you learned your own tactics from him. Applying that to the fact that you're more passive aggressive than actually aggressive, I decided you'd probably be more on defensive, creating strong barriers instead of stealing my pieces."

"... Wow."

"You're also less likely to overcome my pieces because you're trying to gain my favor."

"Okay, I don't need an in depth analysis of my childhood and psyche," he said, holding his hand up but still laughing.

"You asked," you reminded him.

"I did. And I'd like to hear more, when I'm conscious enough to actually understand it," he said as he set away the board. He returned quickly to you, pulling you into a tight hug, before promptly releasing you with a kiss to your neck.

"Tired?"

"Mhm," he hummed, hand trailing down to tangle in yours.

Once affirmed of your presence, he led you along the barren, white floor, your reflections standing beneath you with chests pressed together. The plush of linen sheets and pillows caught you when he pushed you, and soon your body was cradled by the bed and overshadowed by the Pharaoh above you. Crownless, barren of cape or gold, and caught enraptured in your eyes.

As he loomed above you, seemingly caught in his adoration for you, you noted with much confusion that you were breathing normally. Your heart raced horribly in your chest, that still remained a constant sickness. Yet your muscles relaxed, sleepiness seeping into your bones, hypnotized by his loving gaze.

"You're cute," he said with a sudden, wide smile. You huffed, rolling your eyes as you put your hands on his face, pushing him away. He just laughed, falling over onto his back.

"Go to sleep," you told him, lying down on your side.

"Very well. But in the morning," he leaned over your turned shoulder, kissing your cheek, "be ready to be out in public with me."

His arms once more wrapped tight around your middle, tugging you into his heat as he tucked you under his chin. You had several questions, both concerning his statement and other things, but you decided to wait until tomorrow. Tears were budding in your eyes from your incessant yawning, and sleep was a blink away.

You dreamed of a lake that night––laced with lily pads, blue and purple petals sprouting from green buds. Inside each pocket full of pollen, a sun glowed and illuminated your searching fingers. A black stone sky towered above you, dark and cold with wind, creating a deep contrast between it and the warm water.

You awoke to a different stone sky, shaped in the same dome. This one was made of white quartz, carved delicately, and lit by the strength of the sun. Recognition came to you instantaneously, and you recalled the trip to Thebes and the game from the night before. The only difference was the absence of heat, of pressure on your waist, breath on your neck. Sitting up, you realized you were alone in the room. How rare a chance––unsupervised, with massive windows beside you that you could easily climb out of.

Before you could even think of how to act in the presence of such opportunity, the doors slowly opened, revealing Ahk with a tray in his hand. You furrowed your brow. Couldn't he have asked one of his servants to get that? Or in the very least, open the door for him.

"I have never claimed to be a chef. I want you to know that before you eat this," he said, which was a very alarming thing to be told before being presented a meal.

"Ummm..."

"That sounded bad. Let me restart. I am not a very good cook, but I did what I could."

"Why can't the chefs cook?"

"I'm not asking anyone to work during the Opet festival," he said with a frown, before calling out, "Naguib?!"

"Yeah?" He called back, footsteps soon nearing.

"What about him?" You asked.

"Oh, he's not here for work," Ahk said in a bright tone, looking over his shoulder to see Naguib entering the room.

"I'm just here to make sure he doesn't burn down the house," Naguib chuckled, leaning on the door frame.

"Yes, and thank you for that. Come here," Ahk said, motioning the servant either. He dutifully obeyed, and Ahk pulled out a small pouch, handing it to him. "Have fun."

"Thank you, sir," Naguib said, bowing to the King before ducking out.

"Funny little man, that," Ahk said once he was sure Naguib was out of sight.

"How so?" You asked, mildly amused at their antics.

"He's the only one who can switch readily between free time and work time. Not many people have that switch, you know," he said, turning back to you.

"Do you?"

"I like to think so. What do you think?" He raised himself to tower above you, his expression suddenly falling into a shadowed cold. "Can I put on the face of a King?"

That cocky bastard knew the answer perfectly well. A man so aware of his own emotions, of the way he carried himself, would obviously know about this aspect of himself. Many go their whole lives without ever cracking into who they truly are; but not the Pharaoh. He knew every crevice of himself, and he used it to his advantage. Every weakness hidden. Every strength glorified.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, a cocky smirk on his face as you emerged from your thoughts.

You frowned.

"Oh, don't pout now, pet," he cooed as his finger trailed down the side of your face. "Let's see how breakfast turned out, hmm?"

He soothed and gained your vice attention at once with that little motion, that little motion he'd used a number of times before. Like himself, he had taken it upon himself to know you, to understand why you reacted in certain ways just as much as how you reacted. His expression gave little of that information away, so instead you turned to the tray and scanned its' contents.

You first noticed the wooden bowl of dates, set off in the corner of the platter beside two slats of seared meat. In the middle of it all was the largest plate, upon which he had placed an array of stirfry vegetables, garnished with an anise flower. Two cups were set to the side, filled with a faintly yellow tea. You reached for that first, as you had no idea what it was, and curiosity was always your main concern.

"What is this?" You asked, scanning the drink thoroughly.

"Blue lotus tea. Couldn't find any stores of beer, and I wanted to show you the flower. It's quite helpful in a number of things, medicinally... and recreationally," he said, biting at his bottom lip as he took the other glass.

"So... a drug," you said, raising a single brow.

"You could say that," he said as he took a sip, never breaking eye contact with you.

"Why don't I trust you?"

"Because I'm untrustworthy," he said, winking.

In the end you did end up drinking the tea, and the honey stirred within the warm water had you finishing the entire cup. Along with that, the two of you ate the various dishes Ahk had made with the help of Naguib, finding most of them––in the very least––edible. The meat was definitely burnt, and the stirfry was a little heavy on the anise. Overall, not bad––you probably shouldn’t expect more than that from a Pharaoh who had been handfed all his life.

He dressed himself once all was said and done concerning breakfast, twirling in the mirror to scan every inch of his outfit. There was no effort within it to conceal his identity as Pharaoh––in fact, it was enlarged, prominent and obvious on every golden brace and silk thread imbued within it. A regal, tall crown made of gold and bearing a poised cobra ended it all off, concealing the soft brown curls atop his head.

A few questions remained on the tip of your tongue, waiting for your brain to decide it was the right time to ask. After a little while of holding back, you decided that the 'right' moment would never come, and asked your question forthwith.

"Why are we here again?" You asked, thoughtlessly rubbing the sheets between your thumb and forefinger.

"The Opet festival," he answered, preening his cape. "It's an event that celebrates the strength of the Pharaoh. It'll be my first... since my father gave up the throne. We pray and make offerings to Amun, and the commonfolk are welcomed to ask their own prayers upon Amun's statue. Perhaps you've noticed it?"

Ah. That would explain the 11 foot tall statue made of gold.

"We'll be celebrating wealth for a little while, but in a week we take the barge to Luxor, where we shall enter the temple of Amun, and hopefully converse with the Gods. Amun, specifically."

"Yeah, I gathered that much. So all that food... it's offerings for this God?"

"Some of it, yes. Everyone brings their own offerings, and as I am a man of plenty, I brought plenty of offerings. It is also our duty as the government and protector of the people to replenish my citizens' energy, and so much of that food is actually for those who travel days and weeks to pray at Amun's feet. You, and the worshippers of Amun, will be well-looked after," he said, taking your hands softly in his and coercing you to your feet.

"Is that how it's always been?"

"As long as I remember. It wavers with cruel leaders... but never really vanishes. Our magic is as important as night and day, essential as fruitful trees, and as entwined with our lives as water. It is hard to break the worship engrained in generations."

While he spoke, he began to undress you, pulling at the buttons and knots until the fabric fell from you. Off your shoulders, off your hips, down your arms, until the white linen pooled on the marble floor. Soon you stood naked before him, but he kept his eyes on yours. Never strayed from your given attention.

"I know you don't adhere to our religion. I want you to know I don't mind. I would not force you into anything, especially not something as controversially widespread as religion," he said, cocking his chin upwards with a smile.

He took your hand again and led you out of the room. Chill breeze brushed by your naked stomach, sending shivers down the sensitive skin so readily bared. Once you reached the main entrance room, he let go of your hand, kneeling to dig into one of the massive bags packed before the trip. Most of them had been dumped in the front room, as the servants and soldiers were tired and ready for sleep the night before.

You attempted to look over his shoulder, an endeavor that was fruitless as it was needless. Soon he found what he was looking for, and he turned to you, presenting it in his open arms.

"Your clothes. From before. I had them washed and packed," he said, handing them to you.

Everything was there. Your long, red vest coat, your skirt with the panel tied into the waist, your buttoned shirt with the collar raised high onto your neck. Things you didn't genuinely expect to see again, and certainly not in the same shape as before.

"Thank you," you murmured, brow furrowed as you flipped through the layers. Without haste you pulled on the skirt, settling into your stolen shirt and the long coat over it. The only thing missing was your weapon––a staff with two spikes hammered into the end. Not the greatest weapon, but it served you well.

"New places can make me nervous, and personally it helps when I have something familiar with me. So I understand why you wanted them back."

"Yes, it's... good to be back in my clothes. Your style is a little much for me," you confessed, remembering the dress with no coverage of your chest except the straps holding the skirt up. A skirt that was see through.

"That's alright. I'm confused by yours as well."

If you were told anything by the various Egyptians you'd met in your travels, it was that Egypt was hot. Always sunny. Always humid. As you looked upwards, wide eyes meeting the grey sky, you nearly jumped. It had been a while since you'd seen a fully overcast sky, where clouds blocked out the sun and the horizons.

"Hmm," Ahk hummed as the two of you left the tiny palace, his hand encasing yours.

"Is it usually like this here?" You asked, looking up to Ahk. To your surprise, you had to squint, the sun still shining bright, white light through the fog.

"No," he said, beginning to walk down the steps, and taking you with. "Actually, it's usually a tad warmer than Memphis. No problem. I'm sure it'll clear out before the ceremony. We've got a week, after all."

He took you into the unfamiliar streets, through graffitied walls until stone turned to marble, great pillars surrounding a massive circle market. Stalls of various types spiraled down into the middle, where a towering obelisk overlooked all trade. Indecipherable hieroglyphs lined each side, though the base of the black stone remained invisible, hidden behind wooden stalls.

Once you entered the center, you noted brick beneath your feet, black stones running into a spiral in the midst of the white bricks. If you followed the path of the black stones, you would find yourself in the center of the market. As tantalizing as that exploration sounded, your hand was firmly set in Ahk's palm, and he had different plans.

You must've passed by a dozen carts before he finally stopped, halting you before a wooden stand showcasing a number of scarves. Each held a sheerness so intricate that you could see straight through it. The seller noticed your amazement, an amazement that had to be common, as he knew exactly what had caught your attention.

"These are made out of silk from China. Wonderful seamstresses they have, there. So thin you may draw the whole shawl through a common ring," the seller said, thumbing through a couple before pulling a blood red scarf out from beneath the stack.

He pulled a ring off his finger, and with great care, threaded the whole scarf through it. Before you could even react to the performance, Ahk was pulling a handful of coins out of his purse and setting them on the counter. The seller grinned, thanked him for the purchase, and just like that the interaction was complete. Ahk took your hand once more and led you away, continuing through the outer ring of the market.

"Beautiful color, isn't it?" He said, watching the way it wrinkled and fell in his hand. You made to nod, but paused as his arms drew over your head, placing the scarf over your shoulders.

"This is yours," you tried to say, but he shushed you, tutting sweetly.

"It's yours. And it looks fantastic on you," he said with a smile, pulling your entwined hands to his lips, where he kissed the back of your hand.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, trying your best not to say anything. That's how this day would go––he would buy you anything you looked at, flaunt his wealth in your face, utterly spoiling you in front of a whole city. Already your face felt as though it were aflame, nervous eyes set fiercely on the ground in front of you.

Along the way, Ahk stopped at a few jewelry carts, where he bought you an array of golden bracelets, faience necklaces, and ivory rings. It wasn't long till there was barely any room left for new gifts, though you suspected that was his plan.

"Here," he said, pausing your stride with a hand on your chest. "One of my friends here in Thebes runs a bakery. He makes the best tiger rolls I've ever had."

Must be good considering how much of them he's had, you thought dully. As usual, you kept your thought to yourself, and followed Ahk inside without complaint.

You were no longer scared of Ahk, you realized, watching him greet his friend with a gusto you rarely ever saw. He was just... irritating. Annoyingly sweet, painfully perceptive, and desperate to earn your favor. The things he dragged you along to do with him were the worst––markets too crowded for your tastes, too rich and uptight for your liking, or boats that you clearly stated you were uncomfortable being on.

The only good part was that outside, he didn't pay as much attention to you. While sitting around in the palace, his hands wandered you constantly, eyes set unmoving upon your body. He memorized those curves, the dips, the intricate veins, and the way you moved in those long hours. Outside, he was preoccupied with other stimulus and left you mostly alone.

Bitterness settled on your tongue. Your old routine was entirely lost, cast to the wind by the Pharaoh's greedy hands. The routine you loved, that kept you sane, and more importantly, kept you moving.

"Do you want anything, Amoke?" Ahk asked, leaning in to speak more intimately. You, of course, shied away, but was mostly stopped by Ahk's hand on your upper arm.

"Um... no. I'm not very hungry," you mumbled, and though he paused to glare suspiciously at you, he relented.

"Alright," he said, kissing your forehead before rushing back to the counter.

With a bag of tiger rolls in hand you left, Ahk continuing to pull you along just as before. This time he did take you down the spiral, and as you passed each stall, you realized it was a conglomeration of different cultures; an amalgamation of the western world. Art from Mali caught your eye. You had gone through there a few times, and the style of their statues had always intrigued you.

The Pharaoh noted your interest, and paused to take you there. He let you decide what you wanted, payed for it in full, and complimented your taste.

"You have a good eye," he had said, "for the divine."

"The divine?" you repeated, looking down at the statue. The form of a plush woman lay in your hands, smooth stone showcasing wide hips, large breasts, and a tiny head.

"A woman, a mortal who creates life, is as close to Gods as we will ever be," he said, looking over your shoulder to scan the figure as well.

The crowd had yet to notice the golden fabric of a Pharaoh, but the singular citizens who did notice were shellshocked, and hadn't the right mind to react at all. Dumbfoundedness gave way the closer you got to the center of the market, and by the time the black pyre casted you entirely in shadow, people were bowing at the King's feet, murmuring astounded praise as he passed by.

You looked up to gauge Ahk's mindset, finding something that terrified you  more than it should have; he was smiling. Self-satisfied, pride puffing out his chest, silently declaring their praise to be a necessity.

A man intoxicated by his own fumes is dangerous––you knew that all too well, and fear began to seep back into your image of him, sending mold that tore down your irritation and replaced it with nauseous anxiety. His hand holding yours was now an anchor that sank you into a bottomless sea, instead of the earlier annoyance.

The combination of your own growing panic and the increasingly loud and desperate voices of the crowd sent you into overdrive. Hands reached up from bowed heads to touch the face of Ahkmenrah, to feel his grace and holiness overtake their bodies. Prayers surrounded you, and with the Pharaoh preoccupied, you fell to the ground and crawled out of the mass of the black land's people.

Once free from the writhing confines, you left the market sniffling, headed for somewhere lonelier. You hated to rely on others to heal you, but for a moment you longed for Haji. He had been kind to you. He would understand. Ahkmenrah didn't, and he never would––you swore this to yourself, your back sliding down the graffitied wall of someone's home.

Hiding your face in your hands, you pressed your knees to your chest, and curled up tight. No one would bother you; you looked like a homeless person, after all.

"Amoke?" Came a soft voice from above you.

You didn't move.

"Let's get home," Ahk murmured, his hands slowly moving up your arms till he gracefully pulled you to your feet.

Your eyes, once hidden and blurred, now opened to the grey light of today.

Ahk had no clothes on.

That was the first thing you noticed. The second thing you noticed was that he was smiling apologetically at you, nervous tics appearing as he chewed on his lip.

"Why are you naked?" You asked in a pathetically weak voice.

"Well, um... it was a little hard to leave the crowd, so I removed all my identifiers. They'll probably steal my clothes, so, um.. hopefully Naguib packed my other nice outfit," he said, beginning the walk back home. You followed quickly behind, still going over his bare skin.

"You could've left your underwear on, you know," you said.

"Oh." He paused. "The thought hadn't occurred to me."

You chuckled weakly, half-hearted as you trudged up the little hill. By the time you reached the doors of the tiny palace, the silence had stretched uncomfortably between you, and you were eager to hide away.

Ahk pulled the door open for you and said, "I'm sorry, by the way," before following after you and shutting the door behind him. The click of metal echoed in the empty, marble house, bouncing off the bare walls.

"For what?" You asked, unable to face him as your voice cracked.

"Bringing you to the market while I'm all dressed up. I knew I would get a lot of attention, but I didn't know how it would affect you," he said as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your head into his chest to hug you.

For a moment you were comforted, until you very abruptly realized that he was still naked. At that point you wriggled out of his grasp, though your plan backfired a little, as the moment you drew away your eyes scanned the entirety of him, from his feet to his head, and he ardently noticed your interest. Your panic had absorbed you so entirely that you hardly felt your cheeks burning with a bright red blush.

"I'll... go put some clothes on," he said with a smile, shaking his head.

He left you alone in the big, empty drawing room, occupied by a vacant kitchen on the far side of the house, and three bags of luggage laid haphazardly in the middle. Your steps that took you deeper into the walls echoed around you, causing you to move slow and careful.

Eventually you explored the whole of the room, finding a small door to the right of the entrance, one that led into a long pathway. The chill wind snuck through the thick hedges as you padded down the stone walkway, lines of sand between the rocks sticking to the bottom of your feet. Through the thin walls, you glimpsed a sliver of a garden, the sight of a white fountain bringing the sound of rushing water to you.

The fountain, alabaster centerpiece of the small garden, flowed with crystal clear water that pooled on the ground in such depth that lilies had sprouted from the bottom. Green pads floated on the cool water, and the blue lotus flowers were all closed up in the sun's absence. The trail that had led you there continued within it, circling the fountain, and ultimately leading to a small, sandstone gazebo.

You sat on the gazebo's step, elbow on your knee as you leaned your cheek on the palm of your hand. Here the wind was not as harsh, only occasionally brushing against your hair, though the cold had yet to cease. It was a good explanation for the silent garden, barren of animal life. No, this was a haven of silence, of loneliness, and of plants. Beautiful, quiet plants.

As many things as there were on your mind, there was nothing truly in your head. Abstract ideas and emotions relating to your position, to your relationship with Ahkmenrah, to the tired nerves burnt out from your earlier panic.

"It's a bit cold," Ahk murmured in his low voice, placing a blanket over your hunched shoulders.

You whirled around to see Ahkmenrah standing above you, fully clothed. With a slight huff he sat down beside you, settling onto the hard step, his thigh pressed to yours.

"I hate my life," you mumbled, falling and landing on Ahk. You could feel the way he tensed, how his breath caught in his throat at the given contact.

"I  –"

"And it's all your fault," you said, face still hidden in his shoulder.

"... I know."

[willowistic22]

The Escape (Jack and Race)

Race had been taken to the refuge and Jack can’t stop worrying about him. He hasn’t formed an escape plan yet but he still had to make sure he’s okay till a plan forms. But in a twist of events, the awaiting escape plan no longer serves a purpose because Race had broken himself free from the hellhole. 

Words : 3826

Part : -

Warnings : Violence, abuse, child abuse (the refuge), blood, bruises, scars, injuries, nightmares, caps, angst (boy that’s heavy uhh-) 

A/N : aaand we’re back! abt damn time i know i’m sorry. but this one here is special because it’s my gift for @deliciouspeachpirate for the @newsiesgiftexchange filmiversarry yay!! I apologize for being a few days late so I trully hope you enjoy this one. The warnings are pretty heavy ngl, but hey you requested ‘coming back from the refuge’ and this was the only idea that popped out. hehehehe n ee wayyssssss enjoy and have a happy filmiversary buddy!! 

The worrying will never stop. As much as the others had told him it was a bad idea, he had to see him. Maybe if Jack had checked up on his friend, he wouldn’t blame himself all that much. Or maybe it’d make the blame game even worse. Either way, Jack had to make sure he’s okay. He had known Race the longest. And because of that, he feels like he owes him this. 

The refuge is a pretty terrifying place to be. Sometimes it still haunts Jack in the most cruel way possible. Being back here still makes his skin crawl. His heart can be heard thumping faster in his ears. His hands tremble a little more than usual when the cold night breeze makes contact with his skin. He’d think that his fears over this hellhole would fade away after being here multiple times. Either it being because Snyder caught him or he’s there to see one of his newsies while trying to come up with an escape plan. 

The building feels like a skyscraper because of how small the four story building makes him. There were memories where it wasn’t the building that made him feel small, but the monsters behind them. Regardless, he pushes his fears away for the time being and makes his way towards his usual path he uses to sneak in the building. He scales the wall on the side of the building utilizing the different objects around him. 

He sees the little window he usually uses to look in just ahead. He just needs a few more steps to reach it and- wait. 

A loud fragile sound made Jack duck low, thinking that he might’ve been seen. However, the window he’s trying to reach is slowly turning into glass shards. Jack waits it out but observes the movements from the darkness. He did not plan on seeing an escape plan going in motion. 

A leg started to weakly kick down the metal bars covering the window that was previously there. The sound of the metal bars whining to break free filled the silent void of the night. Jack worried it might alert the guards and the kid might get caught. 

First kick, a little movement. 

Second kick, it started to lose its grip on the wall. 

The third kick is what got it to fully break free. 

Jack smiles seeing their success. His thoughts wandered to the possibilities of maybe utilizing that escape hole to break Race out right now. Well, his thoughts were soon diminished when he saw the kid that kicked down the bars slipped out through the hole. It was Race. 

He wasn’t thinking all that much the moment he recognized the tall and lanky figure. Jack’s mind went straight to catching his attention, “Race!” 

It made the other boy flinch. He snaps his head towards the source of the sound with his usual pearly white face going pale. His body frame pulses along with his heavy breathing a little too dramatic for Jack’s liking. 

But upon realizing it was a trusted friend, Race scrambles over towards Jack. His tone breathless from all that heavy breathing, “Jack!” 

Jack lets Race crash into him. His head curling into the crook of his neck and letting his bright blond curls nestle right in place. But it’s not as soft as Jack was familiar with. Actually, nothing about Racetrack is familiar now. His torso had always been lanky but Jack knows it had muscles packed into it. His hands are wrapping Race’s body in the hug and he can feel that his body has gotten a little smaller than the last time they met. He even notices the tears and rips all over his clothes. Some are also exposed to red liquid which Jack could only assume had to be blood. 

Jack pulls away from the hug, wanting to investigate even further. He holds Race’s shoulder as far as arm’s length for a better look. There were scars, bruises, blood drips. The corner of his eyes were a little red. The blue sky he kept in his iris was in a different shade of blue. It wasn’t cheerful or friendly. It was locked away from seeing the adventures he and his friends would have after selling papes. In the span of two weeks, it has seen every form of cruelty in the world. Jack could tell it still stuck pretty close to him when he took note of the tear streaks on his cheeks. 

“Oh, Race” Jack frowned at his friend, “What did they do to you?” 

Race couldn’t answer. His voice was caught by his tongue that was begging to cry his heart out. Jack knows he can’t contain his emotions any longer. If the dam broke, the whole refuge might know an escape was in motion right now. 

He ushers the boy down from the height they were from. Race’s hand, weak and frail, is slinged over Jack’s shoulders for extra support. Jack would carry him but he’s far too heavy. So he lets Race lean his weight on him. Jack would prefer them to be going a little faster since they’re still walking out in the open, but he can’t make Race limp any faster than what he’s already doing. 

“I can’t believe you broke out on your own, Race” Jack exclaimed under his breath. They’ve reached the first alleyway in their journey for cover. Now both of them are breathing heavily. But Jack is more concerned over Race’s heavy breathing because it hasn’t stopped since the moment they saw each other. 

“Heh… Well... You know me…” Race voiced between heavy breaths, making it sound like it’s no big deal. 

“Save your strength, Higgins. We still got a long way to go” Jack stopped him from talking any further. 

They continue on their journey through the streets and towards the lodge. They utilize the minimal lighting at this hour of the night to their advantage. Avoiding bulls and other sorts of big crowds by ducking low near the shadows and dirty alleyways. Race had mostly used Jack to stand up straight but every so often he kept toppling over. So Jack’s brain formed a plan to keep close to walls so Race can also lean on them when he feels he’s losing his balance. 

“Kelly…” 

“What is it, Race?” Jack instantly replied. He felt his heart breaking when he mostly heard exhausted air in Race’s tone. It’s not his usual loud and nasally voice. It didn’t ring loud throughout the room like the times when he celebrated his victory in winning card games at the lodge against the others. Or in the same way he’d announce the headlines to strangers on the street. 

“...Am tired” Race said. 

“I know you are but-” Jack started as he tried to readjust his grip on Race, “-You gotta stay awake, aight? You gotta help me help you back to the lodge” 

The other end of the alleyway they’re in right now is only a few feet away from them. But the more they walk, the slower Race’s steps are. Jack can see the bloody and trembling feet trying its hardest to keep up. Race is basically being carried by Jack at this point, despite their efforts on trying to keep this a team effort. 

“Jack…” Race called out again. He takes one last step forward before collapsing towards the nearest wall. 

“Woah, woah, Race!” Jack tried his best to catch him but failed miserably when he ended up tumbling over along with the boy. 

Jack frantically gets himself away from the boy to avoid harming him any further. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like he did any damage. But it doesn’t change the fact that Race’s legs had given up on him. His back is against the wall, a bit toppling over to the side from the fatigue. He takes deep and tiring breaths which causes his chest to pulse up and down slowly. 

“Hey, c’mon, Race! Ya can’t give up now!” Jack tried to get his eyes to open, straightening the boy’s dirty cheeks as gentle as he can. 

“One… minute… please…” Race said in between breaths. He nestles his head in Jack’s hands. His face is cold and weak against Jack’s skin. It’s beyond terrifying to see him like this. 

Jack can’t do anything at this point other than to obey what Race wants. Jack has a feeling the refuge guards are already out there looking for Race so maybe it is better to rest for a few minutes. With their kind of walking pace, they’re bound to get caught. Though every so often Jack shakes Race’s face when his eyes have been closed for a bit too long. He doesn’t wanna risk letting it close for too long to the point that it won’t open again. 

Slowly, Race gets a hold of his breathing. He relaxes into his resting position with one big sigh. The gap between his two eyelids are very small, but as long as Jack can see it then he’s fine. Jack still thinks they need to get out of here as soon as possible. The alleyway can’t provide them cover for this long and the refuge guards won’t leave no stone unturned. 

“Okay, times up” Jack exclaimed, putting Race’s hand around his shoulders. It’s still weak and cold against Jack so he’s praying that it’ll be strong enough to hold onto Jack as they continue to walk, “Let's get you home, Race” 

Jack helps the boy stand up again, one trembling feet after the other. Jack puts an arm around Race’s waist for extra support before taking the first step. But Race’s feet missed the ground and slipped on his own. He came crashing to the little muddy puddle on the ground. 

“Please, don’t give up, Race” Jack begged as he kneels down to get him again. 

Race was still breathing but he couldn’t respond any more than muffled noises. Jack tries the same technique to get him up again, but it’s no use seeing that Race’s limbs just slides out of his grip. 

“No, no, Race, please!” Jack pleaded while gripping on his hand. The volume was a bit too loud for his liking but at this point he doesn’t care anymore. He just wants Race to get up. 

Bam! 

A door on the other side of the alley wall opened. It made Jack flinch towards the source of the sound. His hands reflexively trying to cover a weak Racetrack but still balled into a fist in case he needs to fight. But the boy’s fingers loosen up the moment he fully realizes who opened the door up. 

“Jack?” The lady in the doorway spoke. It was followed by loud music coming from the building, but it was clear enough that Jack could tell who it belonged to. 

“Ruby!” He called out. 

It was one of the Bowery Beauties that Jack had befriended while hanging around Medda’s theatre. From the looks of the building she had existed, it appears that Race and Jack had made it to the theatre. Jack was too focused on getting Race home to take a minute to examine his surroundings. But that’s not the priority now. The priority is finding a place to lay low because it’s obvious that Race is in no condition to walk back to the lodge. 

Ruby became the second set of hands to help Jack get Race to safety, which is inside the theatre. She’s not in her usual purple, pink, and feathery costume, which means she doesn’t have a performance tonight. She has time to help out. 

They make quick work entering the building. Some backstage crew stopped and stared at the trio making their way across the floor. It’s not every day they get bloody young guests like them. 

They find a secluded area of the theatre. An old couch left to dust alone will do just fine for Race. Ruby lays his head on the cushions cautiously to avoid breaking his fragility. Jack puts his legs up on the couch and proceeds to make him as comfortable as he can get on the small couch. 

“Jack? What’re you do— OH MY GOODNESS!” A different voice shrieked. It was probably loud enough for some people in the audience to hear it, but that’s unimportant. Jack turns his head to see Ms. Medda standing in her usual pink costume to perform. 

“Hey, Ms. Medda” Race said weakly with a small smile. 

Jack stands there for a few seconds, frozen from the surprise encounter before he could reply to her, “He got out of the refuge like this!” 

“Ruby, get the medical supplies in my dressing room!” Medda said as he approached the frail boy on the couch while Ruby quickly made her way towards the dressing room. 

“Don’t worry… I’se been through worse…” Race tried to play it off like a joke. But neither Jack or Medda thought it was funny. 

Medda and Ruby couldn’t stay to help because Medda’s cue was in five minutes and Ruby had to help out the other Bowery Beauties that are on for tonight get ready. Jack doesn’t mind because he can patch his friend up by himself. 

Carefully, he helps Race unbutton his shirt and roll his pants up. Jack then starts by cleaning the bruises, cuts, and whatnot with a piece of cloth soaked in some water. It wasn’t that cold, yet Race still shivers against the touch when it makes contact with his skin. Some were even painful enough to cause him to flinch. But it slowly became bearable as Jack continued. 

“I can’t believe ya broke outta there on your own, Race” Jack said after a long period of silence. The vacancy was mostly filled with the noises coming from the front stage, the cheering audience, noises behind the stage, or Race’s yelp of pain when Jack accidentally dabbed the cloth on the wrong spot. 

“Why’d you do it?” Jack asked, putting the wet cloth down. It was now full of red stains soaked in water. 

Race stayed silent for a few minutes. Jack guesses he needs time to let the feeling from the newly washed damaged skin settle on him because it’s obvious he’s trying to concentrate to breathe. In the end he cracked a smile on his face and replied, “Got bored… thought I’d get some fresh air” 

That doesn't sound convincing in Jack’s book. He knows how Race jokes and that doesn’t sound like a joke. Jack squints his eyes to examine his expression even further for one good minute. From his smile, to his eyes, and even down to his soul, he can see the lie. But there was something in between that tells him not to make a fuss about it for the time being. 

For the time being, Jack listens to it and just nods at the answer. He diverts his focus towards the bandages he’s gonna use to cover up some of the damage that has been done on his friend. Race surprisingly didn’t squeak in pain the whole way through. Whether it was because Jack’s hand had adapted to the kind of delicacy needed for Race’s situation or because the pain was now bearable enough, Jack was just glad to hear no noise that indicates he’s in pain. Though he makes it his mental priority to check up on him later. 

- 

The two boys didn’t plan on staying for long. They still need to journey back to the lodge. But it got pretty late at night and even Jack didn’t argue with Medda about staying for the night. After the last show of the night ended, most of the lights had gone out yet there were still plenty of people doing some work around the theatre at this hour. The absence of the audience made the theatre lose its life. Jack finds it a little terrifying but he guesses that’s just the magic of theatre. 

It got him to stay wide awake. He knows he’ll regret it later in the morning but he cannot get his mind to settle in this new sleeping environment. Jack is sitting upright on the wooden floor next to the couch Race uses. He seems to be relishing in the sleep. 

Poor kid, probably didn’t sleep in the refuge. Jack thought to himself as he observed the sleeping Race for a few seconds. At least one of us is sleeping. 

Jack decides to grab a random paper and pencil nearby and do some light sketches to wait till he gets sleepy. This technique worked back at the lodge so it should work right now. The drawing starts with random shapes that make no sense. He’ll figure out what it is as he keeps going. 

A Rustling noise caught his attention. He flinches his head up from his drawing towards the sound. He still sees a sleeping Race on the couch. But he’s not peaceful. Race starts flinching and rolling around in his sleep. Mumbles of words laced with fear escape his mouth in between his breathing that’s slowly getting deeper and quicker. 

Jack puts the paper and pencil down before going over to where Race is. He curiously observes the scared boy before him, cowering into himself from whatever sight he sees in his dreams. He gently shakes Race awake while whispering, “Racer? Racer? Racer, wake up!” 

He startles awake with a loud gasp for air, slightly sitting himself up. Jack takes a step back to give the boy some space. His chest pulses up and down in a state of panic. Blue eyes dart all over the dark scenery. But he calms down once he turns to the side to see a friend sitting by his side. 

“Easy there, Race” Jack said, approaching the boy once again, “Everything okay?” 

Race freezes at that question for a second before answering, “Yeah... yeah, I’m good” 

Jack squints his eyes at his unbelievable words and tilts his head to the side. But he says nothing about it, telling himself that it’s probably not the best time to question him about it. 

“Alright…” Jack said. He proceeds to lie down on the floor as if to return to his previous slumber state again, “...let’s head back to bed” 

Race says nothing to that other than a nod. He gets himself comfortable again, but still keeps an eye on his injuries. He shuts his eyes completely again with a slower breathing pace. Jack pretends to sleep to keep an eye on Race. 

Just as he suspects it, he isn’t back to sleeping. Race flips from sleeping on one side to the other. Jack can even see his eyes flickering open every so often, like he’s afraid to close his eyes again. 

“Race?” Jack voiced out again, “Are you sure everythin’s okay?” 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine” Race replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Jack frowns at the lies. Even in the dark, Race can definitely see the frown. He answers that expression with an annoyed look. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it now, but Jack can’t let it slide that quick when it’s obvious he’s bothered by something. 

From the distance, the two boys hear captivating vocals coming from the front stage. It caught their attention away from their wordless conversation. They turn their heads towards it. They see that one of the stage entrances is still bright from a light source coming from the front stage. It just so happens that the source of the singing is also coming from that direction. Jack recognizes the voice to belong to Ms. Medda. He guesses that she’s doing a late night practice. 

Which gives him an idea. 

“Hey, wanna see Medda sing for a bit?” Jack suggested to Race. 

The other boy didn't respond for some time but ended up nodding to the suggestion. Jack proceeds to help him up on his feet again. With the pain all over his body, Race carefully limps along with Jack. 

As they emerge to the stage, they see the beautiful sight that is Ms. Medda trying out a new tune while being accompanied with some soft piano. There’s only a few lights on, but it’s enough to make the singer shine like a diamond. The two boys stare in awe as they take a seat on the edge of the theatre. 

The first short seconds of watching her brought peace to Race. Jack could see a smile forming on his face in the corner of his eyes. The eyes that were previously filled with fear had faded away and were replaced with awe. He isn’t surprised. Medda never fails to cheer anyone up. 

The tranquility settles onto Race like it’s always meant to be there. He puts his head on Jack’s shoulder with a loud sigh. Jack only chuckles at the sight of his plan working. They’d definitely regret losing the sleep in the morning, but right now there were no such things as regrets. 

“I couldn’t take it anymore” suddenly Race said. At this point, they’ve been watching Ms. Medda for a while now. Jack isn’t sure what coaxed him into talking nor does he know what he’s talking about, however he might have an idea. 

Jack only turned his head towards the boy. Race took it as a cue to elaborate even further. 

“Back in the refuge. It was… different than the last time I was there” Race said, eyes locked towards his bruised fingers tracing lines on the floorboard of the wooden stage. 

“How different?” Jack hesitated in voicing his question. 

“There were more guards. Stricter rules. Way more kids” Race explained. He lifted his eyes to meet Jack’s. Jack can tell there’s the fearful memories flashing before him in his brain, “Little kids, Jack! Some of them were smaller than eight!”

“And the guards were more ruthless than before” Race continued, “They punched a kid for walking too slow. And that was because they haven’t slept properly for so long” 

Jack puts a hand around the boy’s shoulder. It got Race to lean further towards Jack, soaking up the warmth he craves. 

“I got out because I couldn’t take it anymore” Race admitted, “It was… scary and… cold a-and just…” 

When the voice started breaking, Jack held the boy tighter, “Sshh, it’s okay. You’re here now” 

“I know, but those other kids…” Race continues, “I saw them in my sleep a-“ 

His next words were stuck in the tight of his throat. Race pulls his knees up and curls into himself as the tears he was previously holding back starts to stream down his face. His breathing gets mixed up with his cry. 

Jack leans in closer to hug his friend. He rubs circle on the boy’s back as he sobs his fears out quietly. The mini performance before them has been long forgotten by the two boys. 

“You’re okay. You’re home” Jack whispered, “We won’t let them get to ya” 

[softbluefanfiction]

Truce

When I first started writing this fic, I accidentally deleted the first 2000 words and had to restart, that wasn't very nice, but I pulled through and really I hope you enjoy!

The insults. The accusations. Constantly having to defend himself. Having to play nice. It was all getting to be too much for Janus, but he had no choice but to handle it. He needed to take it in order to help Thomas, and eventually it would stop. Until then though...

"Your slippery sarcasm scale is why we are in this mess in the first place!" Roman yelled, pointing an accusing finger.

"Yeah, for real, Thomas" Virgil spat, "how can you still not see him for what he is?"

"And what would that be, dear Anxiety?" His stomach twisted as he spoke; it was tough to fight with him on a good day, but Virgil had also declared that he wasn't going to use Janus's name and that Janus wasn't allowed to use his. The only reason he agreed was to stop a fight, but in hindsight, it seemed to have not caused any release of tension from the group.

"A monster-"

"Woah! That's a bit strong, don't you think, Verg? Maybe we can take a second-" Thomas tried.

"No, it's not!" Virgil snapped. "he's been lying and deceiving us from the start, and now his advice has cost us a friendship!"

A few weeks ago, Thomas had come to them with a moral dilemma about two acting jobs. One was for a friend's production and would have meant a great deal to said friend if Thomas had taken the part. The other was a more prestigious role that Thomas has been working towards for a long while, alongside that Thomas didn't have much experience with the genre and really wanted to test himself; it also paid more. Janus had gone for the obvious choice with Logan on his side. He then won over Patton; given that other people were lined up to audition, his friend wouldn't have been shorthanded. He knew Roman secretly wanted to do the more challenging thing. It was easy after that.

"I hardly believe that that is a reasonable conclusion, Virgil." Logan slid in next to Janus, much to the latter's relief. A small genuine smile came across his face as Logan began to defend him. It always took him by such surprise; he never thought he'd be on speaking terms with the other after what he did, impersonating him. Now they had begun to quite enjoy each other's company and Logan defended him, often without hesitation: "when was it you said this play was, Thomas?"

"Uh, I went to it last week, but it ran the rest of the week too."

"And when and how frequently have you contacted this person?"

"Once that night and a couple of times today, but he still hasn't responded. He was also weird after the play, I mean we barely spoke!"

"Hence the 'issue' at hand," Janus said with air quotes and Roman positively fumed.

"Wipe that smile off your face, you deceitful dick!" He snapped and everyone in the room seemed as taken aback as Janus was.

"Running out of insults, are we, Roman?" He sneered.

"No, you...you... snake!" he shouted, still pointing an accusatory finger.

Both he and Logan rolled their eyes as Logan continued. "So, based on the fact that you have texted them during and after a busy week and they have not responded as well as being distant during a very busy production, you are concluding that they no longer wish to be your companion? Thomas, you must see that that is a bit of an extreme conclusion?"

Thomas and Vigil took a deep breath together. "Yeah, I'm sorry Logan, you're right. I should wait a minute before ringing the alarm bell."

"The figurative one I assume; although that might be an interesting way to improve the safety of your home, it would be unnecessary as the fire alarms are already operating."

"That doesn't change anything, they could be-" before Virgil could continue, Thomas's phone buzzed.

"Oh, who could that be?" Janus asked.

Thomas spoke sheepishly, looking apologetically at Janus and Logan. "It's them, they're sorry that they haven't been able to talk much and wanna go out to lunch some time."

"Well, then," Logan said with a self satisfied sigh, "if that is all I'll bid you a good night, and Thomas, remember to check your calendar before making plans."

"Okay, Logan, thank you!" Thomas rubbed the back of his neck as Logan sunk out.

"Hmmm, would you look at that, despite my villainous influences on Thomas's decision making everything turned out fine! How could this possibly be?" Janus gasped with mock shock, bringing a gloved hand to his mouth.

"This doesn't change anything, you're still-"

"Virgil," Thomas voice was a bit raised but he took a deep breath and softened, "Virgil, its okay."

The anxious side struggled for a moment, seeming to have more to say, but then simply huffed and sunk out with Roman ready to take his place in the fight.

Before that argument could move any further he held up a hand, and looked at his host. "I will see you later Thomas, don't hesitate to call if you need me." He sunk out with a calm smile from Thomas and fuming rage from Roman.

After he was back in the mindscape's living room, his shoulders slumped and his face fell before he realized that he was not alone and put on his mask once more. Every cell in his body fought against not being able to just relax, but he pushed those feelings away, making his way into the kitchen.

He was no longer going to stay in the room, but was still going to take a bottle of wine up to his bedroom. He felt like he deserved a little help to unwind.

Virgil spoke up as he looped back from the kitchen to make his way up the stairs: "I know what you're doing!" He growled.

"Do you now?" Janus huffed, he'd had too much today already and mostly responded on instinct. He hoped Virgil would just drop it so he could get onto staying in his room the rest of the night.

"I do, and I'm not going to let you hurt him!"

Janus let out an exasperated sigh and spun around at the top of the staircase. "Do you ever think I've tried so hard to get to Thomas because I care for him and want to help him?!" He meant to be snide in order to get Virgil to understand while not being vulnerable, but his voice failed him at the end, cracking.

That gave Virgil pause but he strode on. "It doesn't matter what you think you're doing. You're deceit and all you are going to do is hurt Thomas."

Janus just huffed and walked away, face turning red at his outburst. He had avoided reacting out of pure feeling since his low blow with Roman, but it seemed like they knew just how to get on his nerves and wanted him to fail so badly. He wouldn't have been surprised if that was a genuine scheme of theirs, to hit him where it hurts until he finally shows his true colors or whatever. They'd done worse.

Hot tears burned at the back of his eyes but he swallowed them down. He would not cry because of them. They would not hurt him, he was better than that and if it meant he could have Thomas's attention then they didn't matter.

But this was getting to be exhausting. The punches were coming just as hard as before and seemed to hurt worse and worse. Virgil's always stung, but the attacks were getting more and more personal. Roman was nothing compared to that, but the last few weeks every time it seemed that they were getting somewhere he'd redouble his efforts at getting under Janus' skin.

They were also in cahoots to not let him be alone with Thomas, and for a while, Patton. He actually began to get a stomach ache every time he went to go visit either, even starting to avoid them entirely before they both realized what was up and told the other two off. They could still interrupt if they found a good enough reason and used it as an excuse, which left Janus with much apprehension.

Their efforts also left him with conclusions that he was barely allowing to cross his mind, but he felt them pushing against the edges, threatening to burst out. About how Virgil and Roman are a part of Thomas and what their sentiment means about what Thomas thinks of him.

He shook himself out of his reverie and poured a glass of wine, sitting on his bed to sip at it.

His suit felt itchy and he knew he probably needed a shower. Last week he shed and that was just delightful, as always. He was more than grumpy and expected it to ruin all he had worked for but everyone was actually exceptional about the whole situation. Even Roman. It was another time he thought he might've gotten through to him but absolutely didn't. Either way, he was onto the last of it and one more good soak would do him some good.

He felt like a 60's housewife drinking wine in the bath but usually it could fix almost any issue so he wasn't willing to give it up. This time, he felt himself relax a bit, but instead of his worries washing away he felt them pressing down on him still, as if held at arm's length but ready to pounce at any moment; but in all honesty, it could just be the wine relaxing him.

He got done with a few glasses before he heard a knock on the door. "One second." Janus jumped out of the tub and carefully dried himself off and, for force of habit, assumed Remus would be behind the door, simply wrapping a towel around himself to answer it.

Which is how he caused one Patton Sanders to let out a rather loud "Oh, my!" when he opened the door, turning a shade of red that Janus did not think possible.

"Oh, my...um," Janus echoed, closing the door to cover most of himself peeking his head out. "You'll have to excuse me Patton, I had assumed you were Remus, did you need something?"

Patton was decidedly looking everywhere besides Janus, eyes curiously flitting back to his bare chest every few glances, but he really was doing his best to not look, it made Janus smile and giggle drunkenly, "You can look at me, it's fine."

They had been tipsy together before and Patton had admitted he was mad at Roman and Virgil's behavior and when that topic shifted away, feeling like he should offer something as well, he had admitted that his scales often made him feel foreign and out of place. Patton said he thought they were pretty and Janus couldn't believe that was true, and said as much. That's probably not what the moral side was currently thinking of at that moment, he belatedly realized, but didn't much care.

Patton swallowed and leveled his eyes on his counterpart's face, every few words his eyes would stray for a few moments but snap back up after realizing what had occurred. "Right, um, I just wanted to invite you to movie night at 9, um, and Thomas will be there too!"

And Roman and Virgil. "Don't wait up for me," He said after a minute of thought, he would think about though "sorry, Patton."

"No, no, it's okay!" He could tell it wasn't, but couldn't think of what to say so they just sat there awkwardly for a moment.

"Hey, daddy!" Remus saved them. "if you two wanna fuck I can leave." He laughed as Patton sputtered, walking up to them and placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Remus, please, you'll break him," Janus rubbed his face to stop his own laugh, keeping his tone exasperated "my apologies again Patton, have a good night!"

"Yeah, um, see you at the movie Remus" He whispered, running off as fast as possible.

"You're invited?" Janus asked, shocked. He didn't know that any of the others tolerated him, including Thomas, just that they accepted that they couldn't just ignore him.

"Oh, pfft, no!" Remus laughed, pushing into the room and shutting the door behind him, "I just showed up and nobodies told me to fuck off yet, so im still showing up!" Remus wrapped his arms around Janus' waist, leading him to the bed and leaning in for a kiss.

"It seems as though they have come to expect you!" Janus murmurs against Remus' lips. He allows the conversation to drift away when the other doesn't respond, pulling them both down over his bed. They curled up there, Remus laying on top of the other with his head nuzzled into his neck, the towel that Janus was wearing forgotten.

Their relationship had changed drastically in the last while since Virgil left. They had both come to find each other in the dark sides commons one night and opened up about missing Virgil. It was the first time either of them had been so open with the other and it was the start of a beautiful and weird thing between them. It started slowly with just hanging out all the time, but then one night Remus shakily reached over during an anime he was watching and grabbed Janus' hand. It was all fast after that, and a supposed silver lining to Virgil's absence.

"You still..." Remus mumbled, brushing down Janus' arm slowly "have some.." he picked up the snake-like side's appendage. "Janus shreds to remove," and started to slowly take off the rest of his shed. Janus just turns his head over, sighing at the satisfying feeling, content to fall asleep and deal with washing the sheets later.

"Alright, come on!" Janus lets out a whine as Remus pulls him up and takes him back to the bathroom. The other got undressed and Janus removed the water from the tub while the shower turned on, Remus quickly washed off and then walked back to Janus. "Let's get the rest of this off, hmm?"

Janus nodded and settled down on the side of the tub, it was an ornate one with golden legs on the four sides in the shape of snakes and white marble coloring on the rest. "Are you for real not going to movie night?" Janus sighed as Remus carefully took off the rest of his dead skin, if you tried to remove it too soon it burned and might even bleed, but now it was high past time and felt like bliss.

"Although I would just love to be berated all night long, I think I will be content enough to read the night away." Janus felt a little disappointed at the thought, but even Patton was starting to irritate him. He was treating the deceitful side like a hurt puppy rather than confronting the others. He knew that it wouldn't help, but a little effort in the right direction wouldn't kill.

"Buzzkill...that's fair, and if that bottle was full before it got to your room you're also shitfaced." He laughed, picking up the almost empty container and chugging the rest.

The other just nodded. There was certainty a blur around the edges of his mind growing stronger, and he leaned into Remus' touch as he massaged his shoulders far after his shed was gone the rest of the way. "I think I would just like to go to bed, okay?"

"Do you know people spend ⅓ of their life asleep, meaning that people waste 229'961 hours of their life so they can hallucinate while drooling?"

"Logan has been a bad influence on you," Janus mumbles as they both dry off and make it back to Janus' room. "You should still go, if you want."

Remus in response snuggled under the covers with Janus and closed his eyes, shrugging. "I'm good here, boo, at least until you fall asleep."

"Thank you," the yellow side grumbles, it does take awhile for him to actually rest, but Remus pulled out some sort of book Janus knew better than to look at, and seemed content enough to stay.

---

Janus woke up from a nightmare with a scream and immediately fell into a panic attack. He tried to get the air past his lungs and tore through his hair, his face and arms heavy and numb to him.

Remus was around him a moment later, hugging his shoulders and badly guiding him through a breathing exercise. It took a few minutes but he got back down to where he could speak.

"What if I'm bad for Thomas?" He whispered, hands falling into his lap, he swallowed and almost started to wonder if Remus had heard him. A mantra of monster, monster, monster, monster  was cycling through his head, leftover fragments of the cacophony in his dream that was already becoming hard to remember.

"What? " Remus sounded furious, his voice a low growl and Janus folded in on himself, closing his eyes, arms going around his chest.

"Virgil said...I just...no one ever thinks that they're the bad guy, I was happy to play the part if it meant I could get Thomas to see...but what if I wasn't...?" His voice wavered, he knew he was going to regret telling Remus who exactly caused this particular episode, but maybe he deserved it after all the crap he'd been pulling.

"This has to stop!" Remus spat, voice still low. Another aspect that is opposite from Roman, when Remus gets angry it's a cold, quiet fury  "when are you going get your head out of your ass, Janny? My fuckass brother gets butthurt once and you're just going to let everything slide by from now on?"

"It's not like that, I don't want anything getting in between me and Thomas or hurting him and that situation has clearly has done both, things will smooth over-"

"Will they really stop though," Remus softened. "You have proved yourself already and Thomas has even told them to chill and they are not any closer to being done with their crap!"

They both stayed quiet for awhile after that..."you're right, something has to budge, im sorry".

"You shouldnt be apologizing to me, i'm not mad at you... i'm gonna go get you some of those sleepy bears" Remus jumped off the bed and Janus didn't expect him back for awhile. At least he put pants on.

Laying back down he realized he had only slept for about two hours, and movie night was on downstairs. He burrowed down with a groan, they had to have heard him scream. He begged the universe that Remus would just go and get the melanin gummies from the kitchen and that would be the end of it.

Of course that wasn't the end of it, but at least Janus wasn't aware for a while.

---

Remus was absolutely fuming when he left the room, intending to break down Virgil's door if it killed him, but when he heard a movie going on downstairs he figured that would work too.

The movie was immediately paused as Remus thundered down the steps. He realized just now that the others probably haven't seen him this truly angry, or even this serious, and Thomas was in the room. That almost changed his mind about whatever he was gonna do when he got to Virgil, but decided that Thomas might need to be privy to the conversation.

"You" He growled, pointing at Virgil who snapped his head up at him from his usual spot. Roman tried to get in the way but Remus summoned some weird handcuff thing and threw it in his direction. It latched onto both his hands and then flew to the wall behind him, connecting to it. It then pulled him back and away. He jumped up on the couch and pulled Virgil up by his hoodie, pushing him against the wall.

"What the-" Virgil started, but Remus shook him.

"You need to put your ducklings in a row before I kill em all!" Remus noted the fear in his eyes and how tight he was holding the other, and loosened his grip.

"What are you talking about?" Virgil said, not moving. Remus was sure he would know why he was here now that it was brought to his attention. Virgil always knew when there was a spike in anxiety somewhere in the mindscape and that much from Janus would have crossed the radar.

"You know damn well what, you pitch black nightmare!" Remus spat, "Do you honestly think that Thomas is better without Janus?"

That stopped him short, and over his shoulder Remus could see everyone's head snap from him to Virgil. "...I didn't say that''

"Well you said something that has him convinced him he's no good for Thomas!"

"He isn't," Virgil insisted, looking like he regretted the words immediately.

"Do you really believe that or are you hiding from the fact that you were wrong and are being an asshole's asshole about it?" That shut him up quick and Remus let him go and walked over to Roman who was as quiet as everyone else was, "Parties over you can go back to your movie". The anger had fizzled when he saw how scared Virgil was, and he had already told Roman off several times. Thomas would most likely have a few words with them, so that would have to be enough. He produced a key and unlocked his twin, with a click the cuffs and key disappeared.

There were a few scattered murmurs from the living room as Remus grabbed a few gummies and ate them, grabbing an extra and heading upstairs with it.

"Hey..." It was Thomas that spoke up, and in a quiet tone that gave Remus pause half-way up, "is everything alright, I mean... what happened?"

Remus opened his mouth to tell him, but closed it again when Logan shifted. "Ask him yourself". Thomas nodded, clearly a bit disappointed with the answer and Remus went to leave.

"He had a panic attack," Virgil mumbled, looking down at his feet numbly.

The others in the room looked mostly shocked but Thomas looked aghast. Before he could say anything else Remus huffed in disgust and walked away to go take care of Janus.

---

Janus stayed in his room most of the next few days, his panic attack was more than enough to tell him he needed a break, so unless directly called upon he would spend some time doing just that. He did leave a couple of times early in the morning to help Patton with breakfast and chat with Logan, but for a much shorter time and left quickly if anyone other than Remus showed face. Everyone was acting a bit strangely but Janus refused to put much thought into it. They all had nightmares, so hearing him yell yesterday shouldn't be something they are able to hold over his head.

He'd also scheduled an early meeting with Dr. Pacini, and he assured Janus that he was handling the situation very well. Taking a step back and avoiding anything that could be triggering for a short time could do some good, although he did ask Janus to lower his alcohol consumption to at least every other day and not fully isolate himself.

He also asked that Janus talk to Thomas about his worries, but was immediately shot down in the meeting. Now that it was in his mind though, Janus felt himself slowly lose the will to not do just that. He would have to explain why he had been absent recently and had made it a point to stop lying to Thomas.

Perhaps he would just explain certain things to his host, that he had wanted to relax a little and that was why he was distant the last few days. Something to sooth the others likely worries and it would be nice to see Thomas, as his company was rather nice.

That's what he told himself as he appeared in Thomas' room late one night, only to find the other on his laptop entranced by Netflix and unaware of his presence.

Janus smiled lightly, happy to see the other enjoying himself, although with the late hour Logan was sure to have a fit. Instead of interrupting he simply started to move about the room, he probably should have gone to bed himself, but a little tidying wouldn't hurt.

He was able to check if Thomas' house plant needed watering, fold some shirts on the floor and straighten up the chair in the corner before he was noticed.

"Oh, hey Janus" Thomas smiled and closed the laptop when he saw the other, "sorry I didn't see you there, um, what are you doing?"

"It's no bother Thomas, it's not like I've taken time out of my very busy schedule of doing nothing to come and check on you at a ridiculous hour only to have you pay me no mind while I clean your room" He waved his hand dismissively and sat next to Thomas, who let out a soft laugh.

"Yeah, I actually wanted to check on you, I haven't seen you in the past few days and figured you might want some space but I was getting worried"

"Whatever would you need to be worried about?" Janus tried, icy trepidation making its way up his spine, "I'm doing well".

Thomas paused, looking a bit guilty "look, Jan, I know that you had a panic attack and you don't have to talk about it now but i'd like to maybe figure out why so I can help"

Janus paused, ready to deny and avoid but Thomas gave him that 'im Thomas and too wholesome and caring for this world look' and he signed quietly to himself, now at a loss for words. He felt panic brewing at being so exposed and a slight anger at himself for letting Thomas worry about him.

"You really don't have to talk about it, I swear, and i'm worried but I know you can take care of yourself and..." Thomas filled the prolonged silence with rushed and nervous words that Janus wanted to interrupt but his mouth just wasn't working.

He could say many things. Something to soften the blow, a half-truth that Thomas wouldn't fall for but would allow given the circumstances. He could lie, say that whatever Remus said was just to throw Thomas off, but Thomas had not mentioned Remus and if Janus did then that would be an easy hole to poke through. He could tell Thomas he wasn't ready to discuss it and be left feeling awkward and guilty, because while that isn't necessarily a lie, he would still be keeping secrets from Thomas.

All of these thoughts swirled through Janus's head as Thomas's rambling became muffled and his breath came in shorter gasps.

"Do you think i'm evil?" It was the first thing on Janus' tongue and the last thing he actually wanted to open up to Thomas about. He didn't know if he would be able to take the answer being yes, but a lie to try and comfort him would tear him to pieces.

After a long silence Thomas finally spoke,"What?". His voice was gentle but alarmed, meant to brush away Janus' worries.

The deceptive side tried to respond but he stopped and took a shaky breath, grounding himself. "It has been on my mind for awhile, I know it is unreasonable to ask you to answer that, I just...its tough being insulted by people you (that Thomas cares) care about and I am concerned as to how their opinions are affecting your own"

"Janus, it's not unreasonable to voice your concerns, and... I can't say with certainty that I don't view you as at least a little bad, but i'm working on unlearning that type of thinking and Virgil and Roman aren't going to make me change my mind on that, okay?"

Janus' body relaxed from the tension he didn't know he was holding and he sighed, leaning heavily on his hands. That was somehow the perfect response and Janus felt some sort of weight leave him. "Woah, hey, its okay", Thomas scrambled forwards to sit next to where Janus was, rubbing circles on his back, "Did I say something wrong?"

Janus shook his head, confused as to what the other meant, until he realized he was shaking and had started crying. Shame and fear rose past his relief, but Thomas had wrapped his arm around the others shoulder and Janus couldn't stop himself from accepting the comfort.

He leaned into Thomas' hug, putting his face onto the others shoulder as he let out the first real sob he'd let happen in months. Thomas, ever patient, simply whispered soothing words and rubbed circles on his back.

It took several minutes for Janus to calm down, but once he did he remained in Thomas' grasp for a while longer. "I didn't mean..." Janus started to pull back not sure what he was going to say and looked down at Thomas' shirt, wet with tears, "to ruin your shirt" he finished lamely.

Thomas just frowned and shook his head, worry creasing his brow. Janus sighed and looked away, rubbing his forehead. Thomas had never seen Janus like this, sure he was less guarded around his host but he still wasn't sure what to tell Thomas now that he had all of a sudden broken down. "I feel...better now" was what eventually came out, along with a shaky laugh.

"That's good" Thomas smiled, patting him awkwardly on the back. "Are the others all busy, or, I mean, do you have someone to be with right now, I guess"

"No, Remus is in the imagination and I believe all others are resting, but I can assure you that I will take care of myself." He winked at the other "self-care and all that".

That earned him a laugh, "Right, yeah...you mean a lot to me Janus, okay, I really hope that I wasn't hurting you by not telling you that sooner"

"No, Thomas, I should have come to you sooner and it's really not as bad as it might seem, I am a professional at bottling up my emotions, as it were"

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense..." They sat in comfortable silence for awhile after that, taking a minute to let everything soak in, "If you wanna stay, I was watching the office?"

"That sounds abhorrent" Janus jibed, as he waved his hand and changed into his pajamas, sitting down next to Thomas as he started up the laptop again.

After a few episodes Janus felt his body get lighter and he fell asleep content and laughing with Thomas.

Thank you so much for reading everyone, I appreciated every like and comment and feel free to critique! I wish you well and goodnight!

AFTERWORD IS POSTED! I JUST DONT KNOW HOW TO LINK IT IM SORRY!

[acraftedmistake]

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 14

HAHAAA BACK IN BUSINESS BABY!

Hope you enjoy this one!!

Jesse sat against the broken column by the shrine’s entrance, a breeze brushing against his face. He brought his eyes up, looking at the clear blue sky through the ravine’s crack and listening to the faint conversations coming from inside the shrine. There was nothing for him here.

No answers to Lukas’ whereabouts, nothing about what The Awakening was planning next, the only thing these past few gatherings have given him was discomfort.

Nell was usually the one to talk him into attending each Gathering, but she was sick today. This was his first time coming here alone, and hopefully his last. Being by himself made him even more aware of how everything felt… Off. Whenever members saw him walk in, they’d stop by his seat to say hi and talk about what’s going on, if he was enjoying his visits, simple small talk. However, something everyone seemed too comfortable with was how close they’d get to him. Jesse was never too big on people being near or putting their hands on him, the only exceptions being a quick handshake, a pat on the back from his friends, or Aiden messing with his hair to annoy him. Those were harmless and only lasted a moment. But whenever Jesse would step into the shrine, he'd see a few people’s faces light up as they’d walk over to him with arms open wide, ready to hug him as if they were best friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. They’d pull him close, place their hand on his shoulder as they spoke about their day, and refused to loosen their grip even when he asked. Some people would look genuinely hurt when he pulled away.

There would be nights where these Awakening individuals, Nell included, would spot Jesse on the streets. Those were the worst days. The way they’d look at him with big, bright smiles that stretched from ear to ear, walking up to him and asking if he was coming to this week’s Gathering made him feel terrible. He didn’t want to keep coming, he already felt like he was betraying his own friends, but he was afraid of how the members would react if he refused to return.

He knew the members meant well and were just trying to be nice, at least, that’s what he believed, but they’re all so unaware of how horrible their leaders actually are.

“No, they aren’t called ‘leaders’,” He remembered Nell telling him before one of the Gatherings, “they’re Visions! They look after us.”

Brenner and Mahlon, the ‘Visions’, the individuals who preached about helping others, the individuals who gave guidance to their members and offered their support during trying times were the same individuals who unleashed their horrific lava creation onto the world. They were the same people who took away lives and watched the world burn with no remorse.

They were terrible.

Jesse had watched the older, white haired Vision--the man who had screamed vile curses at him and his friends--happily play with children outside of the shrine. He’d sit on the grass and tell them stories about The Awakening and The Hero after the Gatherings were over. It was so surreal to witness.

The Visions might’ve fooled these misguided people, but they haven’t fooled Jesse. He was waiting for someone, the leaders, Cecil, anyone to slip up and reveal their next scheme, but nothing’s happened yet. If they haven’t hinted at anything these past few weeks who knows how long it’ll take them. Jesse can’t keep coming here forever. Aiden and Olivia had questioned why he’s been leaving the house more often, and who the blonde woman greeting him every now and then was. He knew the excuses: “I just need to clear my head” and “Someone I kinda know” will only last him so long.

Today was going to be his last visit. There was nothing for him here.

“Is all well?” Jesse heard an older man ask. He brought his head up. Standing over him was one of the Visions. Mahlon. The Vision’s head was tilted down slightly, his foggy eye focused more on the broken column rather than the boy below.

“Yeah--Yes, Vision… Sir.” When Jesse spoke the Vision lowered his head more, ‘staring’ more in the direction from where Jesse’s voice came.

“No need to be so formal.” The old man chuckled, “You can call me by my name.” Mahlon said as he sat besides Jesse.

“You’re Jesse, if I remember correctly? Our newest member?” Mahlon asked.

“Right.” Jesse said through gritted teeth, his body stiff as a board. He tried to lean away from Mahlon. Just the thought of being associated with these people made him sick.

“And how are you liking it here?” Mahlon spoke gently, his voice was slightly hoarse.

Jesse answered with a lie, “It’s nice here.” He was afraid of locking eyes with Mahlon. He was half expecting the man’s blindness to be another deceiving trick, but anytime Jesse glanced at him, he saw a genuine look of curiosity on Mahlon’s face, like he wanted to hear more.

The mixture of Mahlon’s pleasant expression and Jesse’s fear of upsetting him prompted him to keep lying. He lied about the new friends he’s made here, how each Gathering had connected with him, and how much their words meant to him. As he kept lying, Mahlon kept smiling. Jesse couldn’t take his eyes off of Mahlon’s burn scar. Most of the old man’s face had been taken over by this fleshy-pink scar that stretched from the bottom left of his face all the way to the top right in a somewhat diagonal manner. The only remaining visible parts of his white, porcelain skin was a small portion where his right eye was, his mouth--where his long, thin white beard covered bits of the scar--and the upper left part of his forehead. Jesse had also noticed that only one of Mahlon’s eyes could open properly while the left one was melted shut. Jesse, admittingly, felt terrible that he couldn’t take his attention away from Mahlon’s distortions. It’s disrespectful--well, it’s not like the old man would ever know where he’s staring, but it was disrespectful nonetheless. The only other feature that would occasionally distract Jesse from the face was Mahlon’s long, white hair which flowed like a candle’s fire in the wind.

Jesse’s kind words sparked a rambling from the old man. Mahlon began talking about everyone’s first visit, how their family welcomes anyone with open arms, the variety of celebrations they’ll have throughout the year to look forward to… These were more words to ‘help’ Jesse feel more ‘comfortable’ here, no doubt. As Mahlon spoke, he’d gesture with his hands. The long sleeves of his robe would flow along with his movements. His attire was similar to Brenner’s. Both wore robes that were a deep shade of red. The ends of the sleeves and the bottom of the robe itself were aligned with a golden yellow. Unlike Brenner’s, however, where the bottom of his robe--and the collar around his neck--had a small, triangle slit, Mahlon had none. Instead, he had a hood that was quite difficult to spot due to his thick hair covering it. Another element Mahlon’s robe had that Brenner lacked was a thick, V-shaped golden line around his waist that could be mistaken as a belt. If Jesse really concentrated on the golden parts of the robe he could make out a variety of tiny symbols--mostly being odd shapes and dashes--on them. Their color was only slightly darker than the yellow they were sewn into, making them easy to miss.

In all honesty, the robe was elegant. It was clear so much time and effort was put into making sure this wonderful robe fit this horrible man. Someone so vile doesn’t deserve to wear something so graceful.

“So what is troubling you?” Mahlon asked. “If you’ve been enjoying your time here, then why sit out here all alone?”

“How’d you even know I was out here?” Jesse tilted his head slowly, curious and a little disturbed.

“Cecil, the lad. He told me.”

Cecil. Of course. What else has he been telling the Visions? He’s probably been keeping them updated every time Jesse so much as scratched his head, but now wasn’t the time to get upset. Jesse needed to make an excuse. Any excuse, as long as it was believable.

“I’ve been...” Jesse swallowed, “Thinking about a friend I lost.”

That was meant to be a lie, but it struck Jesse that it’s been nearly a year since Lukas had gone missing. He started to feel queasy.

Mahlon’s smile faded and was replaced by a look of sorrow, “I see.” He said in a whisper.

There was a moment of silence. Jesse hugged his knees, and Mahlon faced forward and stroked his beard.

Mahlon turned to Jesse again and spoke carefully, “I’m terribly sorry about your friend.”

“Don’t be,” Jesse had to force his next words out, “it wasn’t your fault.”

“If I may,” Mahlon said, “I had also lost someone close to me.”

“You did?” The sinking feeling in Jesse’s stomach grew.

“Yes, he was our Sense before you came along.” Mahlon began, “He had been a wonderful friend of mine since I was a boy, and I fondly remember the excitement I felt when I heard the news that he had been selected as my and Brenner’s Sense. We were all overjoyed. Even after our ceremony, where we were expected to remain resilient leaders, it truly felt like nothing had changed between us. We were three friends who worked together and achieved our dreams. Frankly, the whole experience felt like a dream.” He let out a pleasant laugh as he rested his head on his hands. “Antonin and Brenner made the last ten years of being a Vision possibly the greatest years of my life.” There was a sparkle of joy in Mahlon’s eye, “You’d be surprised how short a decade feels when you’re my age. Oh, it all went by so fast.”

Mahlon’s mouth twitched and he let out a sigh, “And perhaps I should have been wiser; spend an extra few minutes talking to him during breakfast, join him when he was training with Brenner, ramble with him in the library for a moment longer. I was so certain time was on my side. I truly thought that nothing bad could have ever happened to him.”

Jesse listened to Mahlon, and how his voice would get lower the longer he went on. It'd crack and shake at certain points of his recollection, and that bit of light in his eye began to fade. A part of Jesse wanted to feel bad, the other wondered just how blind Mahlon was.

Antonin, this ‘wonderful’ man, surely couldn’t have been the same man who was running towards Jesse and his friends the night they were fighting the lava beast. The image of the man’s black hair flying in the air as he was rushing to them, his sword held high, his red cloak torn, and nothing but hatred in his eyes as he screamed bloody murder at them under the smoke-filled sky was fresh in Jesse’s mind. Maybe Mahlon never saw this horrible side of his friend. Maybe he refused to see it.

And then there was that word, “Sense”. Jesse had heard Radar mention the word in the past when referencing The Awakening, he’s also heard that word in passing conversations in the shrine. He remembered Nell telling him all about their ‘community’ one day before a Gathering started, and they soon got on the topic of Cecil. “...He’s also a leader,” Nell had said, “...but he mostly protects the Visions. He’s like their own personal guard.” Jesse could hardly contain his disbelief. He couldn’t believe someone like Cecil was now another leader of the Awakening.

‘What a downgrade.’ Jesse thought to himself. To think the Awakening’s past Sense--a broad madman who was dead set on killing Jesse’s friends when the world was falling apart--had been replaced by some skinny, sickly pale blondie who used to flee from a fight when things became a little overwhelming. Even Cecil’s attire felt less-than compared to the Visions’ and Antonin’s. His red cloak went a bit past his waste and had a golden collar with a small, yellow button keeping the cloak together. There were no fancy symbols on it either--at least none which Jesse could see. It was jarring to see such an uptight, boastful man wear something so… Plain.

“Oh look at me, acting like he’s died long ago.” Mahlon chuckled sadly, “It’s only been a year; minutes for me.”

“You’re a fine boy,” Mahlon fixed his posture and faced Jesse’s direction again, “I’m absolutely certain your friend was just as wonderful a person as you.”

“Thank--” Jesse quickly hid his voice crack with a cough, “Thank you. He was… He was the best.”

“Our bodies may die on this earth,” Mahlon slowly rose, “but our spirits live on in The Hero’s hands.” Mahlon offered his hand to Jesse, “Will you be joining our Gathering today?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Olivia woke up. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She did remember talking with Jess about what happened last night. They were on the bed, both worried about what was happening and about each other. Guess she just… dozed off. She felt well rested at least, that’s always important. What time was it though?

She sat up and ran her hand through her tangled hair before getting out of bed. Olivia dragged her feet across the guest room’s floor to the window and opened the curtains just a sliver. She peaked through the crack, hoping to see the sun and get a vague idea of what hour it was, but instead she was greeted with light gray clouds completely covering the sky. She didn’t see anyone roaming the streets, so hopefully it was still morning. That’s technically evening for Aiden and the others, isn’t it?

She still wasn’t used to this time difference. She didn’t want to get used to it. Her sleep schedule was already weird enough, she could only imagine how horrific it would get if she got adjusted to the hours here. And being active at night… The idea didn’t sound appealing to her at all. She thought back to the times she pulled all-nighters on projects, getting headaches from the bright redstone lamps shining down on her because the Sun had set and needing to leave the comfort of her own home and storm over to the nearest cave to find whatever material she ran out of before mobs would hunt her down. Those nights were the most infuriating, and she shuddered at the thought of living every single day like that. That’d be a life full of inconveniences.

“Hm…” Olivia looked around the guest room. Where was Jess? She would’ve definitely spotted him by now, or he would’ve given her a loud ‘Good Morning!’ from behind that’d always scare the socks off of her back when they used to live in the treehouse together.

The only place she could think of was downstairs. Maybe he’s having breakfast already.

Olivia quietly left her room, making sure to open and close the door carefully so she wouldn’t awaken anyone nearby. As she made her way down the stairs, she heard a faint conversation grow louder.

When she finally reached the end, she peeked over the wall and saw Jess and Aiden sitting together on the couch working on the flint and steel. They still didn’t seem too thrilled with each other, but it was much better than the anger and shouting from last night.

“Morning guys.” Olivia said as she began walking over.

Jess waved at her, “Morning!”

Aiden gave her a stiff “Hey.”, while he continued to focus on the tool.

“Is that the appropriate thing to say?” She asked Aiden, “Can I say ‘Good Morning’? Or do you have a special phrase for this specific time?” She sat down beside Jess, sinking into the couch cushion.

“ ‘Morning’’s uncommon, but it’s fine.” Aiden replied, “Most people usually say ‘Good day’ or somethin’ like that.”

She nodded then leaned closer to the table where the items and notes were placed, “Any progress?” She shifted around, trying to get a bit more comfortable, but felt grainy, sand-like particles stuck to her feet. She glanced at the floor to see redstone powder scattered everywhere. It clinged onto the ends of the couch and got stuck in between the cracks of the wooden boards. That powder was an uncomfortable feeling on the feet and a pain to clean up.

“It was kinda rocky at first, but we’ve figured out the notes with Radar’s help!” Jess started. While he wanted to show Olivia what they’ve accomplished, Aiden was still holding onto the flint and steel with one hand, and reading a page of notes in the other, so he decided to let Aiden be. “We coated the fire striker with redstone powder. It actually stuck to the metal pretty well, but we’re still being careful whenever we place it down. We also figured out we need to make this weird mish-mash of a gold and netherrack base? Mold? Something to fit the flint in--” Jess went on to describe their plans on how they were going to create a mold out of such odd materials when suddenly Aiden interrupted.

“Olivia,” He finally spoke up, “I--I’m sorry about last night.” He gripped the flint and steel so tightly he was afraid it was going to break. “I should’ve controlled myself better--I shouldn’t have told Jesse about you. I shouldn’t have even mentioned you.” He shot up from the couch and was fidgeting with the tool now. He kept running his free hand through his hair, not caring about the red powder getting tangled up with the strands. “I put you and Jess in danger when I just wanted to help. I know--” He swallowed, “I know you’re not from this universe, you’re not really my friends, but I still want to protect you. I wanna help get you outta this mess I started.”

Olivia stopped and stared at him for a moment, surprised by this sudden apology. She slowly clasped her hands together and blinked. “Aiden…” She said quietly, “It’s okay. I forgive you.” She didn’t realize how comforting that apology was. Even if the situation was looming over them, things felt a little better.

“We’ll figure a way out of this together.” Jess added in. “And uh…” He glanced at Olivia then at Aiden, “Yeah, I’m sorry about how I acted yesterday too.”

“No, you two don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Aiden pointed at Jess as he placed the tool on top of the papers.

“But I could’ve handled things better.” Jess mumbled and went silent for a moment. “Aiden, I know you want to protect us, but we’re able to help. We don’t need to be locked in here and supervised like children. We’ve saved the world--multiple worlds--multiple times. We can help! Heck, I’m the mayor of an entire town!” He exclaimed.

“I sometimes forget about that unfortunate fact.” Olivia commented, a little smirk on her face.

Jess turned around with his eyebrows raised high. He actually looks a bit offended by her joke. “And what do you mean by ‘unfortunate’?”

“Like I could forget the time you tried to decorate Beacon Town with lava-falls for Halloween.” She kept that playful but devious expression on. She propped one leg up and rested her arm on her knee, “You nearly burnt down a good third of the buildings.”

“I put it out!” Jess felt his face turn a light shade of pink. “Plus I was following Ivor’s advice! So the Halloween Incident was technically his fault!”

“Oh sure, blame the senior citizen.” Olivia chuckled. Aiden snickered along. Jess turned even more red as he tried to think of a witty comeback, but all he could do was give her a light shove then turn away, folding his arms and pouting like a little kid as he struggled to hold back his own laughter.

“Alright, but seriously.” Aiden was finally relaxed, “I was just worked up when I said that. We can take you two outta the house and wherever you need to be as long as you hide your faces well enough.” He went to the kitchen, “I’m gonna make myself some coffee. You two want any?” He looked back at Jess and Olivia.

“Yes please!” Olivia said.

Jess shook his head, “I’m alright, thanks though.”

Aiden took out a small saucepan and placed it under the sink. He turned the faucet on and kept an eye on the water’s level.

“Actually…” Jess perked up, “Speaking of lava, what did that lava monster you guys fought look like? I’ve been thinking about it ever since you’ve brought it up.”

“Now that you mention it,” Olivia said, patting down her frizzy hair, “I’ve been pretty interested as well.”

“Oh jeez.” Aiden sighed as he turned off the water and brought the pan to the stove. He turned the heat to medium high, the knob making faint clicking sounds with each number he passed. “Man, we could only stare at that thing for a couple of seconds or our eyes would’ve melted off.” As the water slowly began to heat up, Aiden turned to a higher cabinet and swung it open.

“I knew it had a couple of eyes and a bunch of arms.” He pushed aside a few items and stopped when he spotted a small, crinkled, light blue bag.

“How many?” Olivia asked.

“Hero if I know.” Aiden let out a laugh, “More than five. It’d drag itself around with them, one arm would merge into another, and then when that thing brought one of it’s limbs back into the air--” He raised one of his arms over his head attempting to recreate the motion, “--you could see the arm split up into two or three more. And when it’s claws would hit the ground it’d send rocks and magma flying everywhere.” He splayed his fingers out, “I know a good chunk of forests burnt down, and some houses in nearby towns too, unfortunately. The library almost got hit too!” He explained while he opened and closed multiple drawers, trying to look for something.

“And the sound. Sweet Hero, the sound. It’s one of those things I’ll probably never forget. I sometimes hear it in my dreams.” He finally spotted what he was searching for--a tablespoon--and closed the drawer. He opened his bag of coffee, scooped up a hefty spoonful of powder, and added it into the pan, getting a bit of the powder on the kitchen counter. “So it’d start off real low, right? Almost sounds like a rumble, but then it’d open it’s mouth more and more until it’d let out this roar that left us deaf for nearly a minute!” He added a few more tablespoons into the water and began mixing the contents together, “Hadrian told us the sound was enough to shake the buildings, and that it’s body was so bright they thought it was day! He and Mevia used to travel the world a ton and they told us they’ve never seen anything like that creature before.”

“That’s insane.” Olivia’s eyes were wide. “That thing sounds just as dangerous as Ivor’s Witherstorm.”

“Tell me about it.” Jess was thinking about what such a beast would look like. Multiple eyes, a giant mouth, enough strength to shake the earth with each step it took. He could only imagine how horrendous the damage must’ve been, the smoke that filled the air with the fires it caused, the ashes flying everywhere, it was probably hot enough to melt a person’s skin off if they were unfortunate enough to stand too close.

“Now,” Aiden said as he tossed the tablespoon into the sink, “how bout that Witherstorm of yours? What was that like?”

Jess thought it was only fair to share their tale now. He went into detail about how the Witherstorm happened in the first place, how it kept following them and destroying everything in it’s path, how they had to travel across the world to create a weapon strong enough to destroy it, only for that plan to fail and leading to Jess having to kill it from the inside. This soon led to Jess going off about Ivor and The Order of the Stone, the Ender Dragon, and how Jess and his friends discovered the truth about them. Every now and then when Jess would mention the names of people he’s met, he’d ask Aiden if he’s ever interacted with them in this universe. Aiden needed their physical appearance to be described to get a good idea of them, but most of his answers were usually: “Don’t know them.” or a “I think we might’ve met ‘em?”. The only names Aiden seemed familiar with were Isa, Harper, and Otto. There was a big maybe on Gabriel and Soren.

“Hadrian and Mevia might’ve known them, honestly.” Aiden said at one point, “They’ve met a ton of people when they were ramblers.”

As Jess and Olivia kept going back and forth talking about the Admins, White Pumpkin, and everything else they’ve experienced, Aiden would listen along and chime in with similar situations he and his friends went through. His reactions were definitely mixed when he learned about their Cassie Rose and what she’s done. There’d be points where all he could do was laugh over how bizarre the situation sounded, and other instances where he couldn’t react at all because of how… Unstable Jess and Olivia’s Cassie Rose seemed. Aiden eventually came back into the living room with two cups of fresh, hot coffee in his hands. He sat beside Jess and placed one of the cups on the table for Olivia. She gave him a quiet thank you as they both continued to listen to Jess’ stories.

Jess was sharing his experiences out of order, but he was finally telling Aiden about Hadrian and Mevia. How they ran these twisted games and how he thought Lukas and Petra were killed right before his eyes--when suddenly Aiden jerked forward and choked on his coffee.

He hurriedly placed his cup down--spilling a bit of his drink--and broke into a coughing fit. Jess patted his back a couple of times to try and help him.

“You--your friends with Lukas in your universe?” Aiden asked between coughs.

“Yeah,” Jess answered, “I thought we--” He froze. Oh no. They never… Did they never tell Aiden that they knew Lukas in their universe? Or maybe they did--but did they never mention that they were all friends?

“And he’s alive?” Aiden said, his voice a touch raspy from the strain.

“Yes--absolutely! He’s still in one piece! We met cause of the Witherstorm and got real close throughout all those adventures.” Jess was speaking so fast, “Argh, I’m sorry, I thought I told you this.” How could he forget to tell Aiden something as major as this? Especially after Aiden had told him all about the struggles he and his friends went through after their Lukas went missing.

“No, don’t be. I probably--” Aiden stopped to cough again, “I probably forgot. I sorta remember you mentioning I kinda sucked in your universe.” He grinned. There was a sad look in his eyes. “But are Lukas and I… Are we friends there?”

Jess didn’t answer for a second. In that second he thought back to Sky City; the hatred and disgust in Lukas’ eyes whenever he had to face or even acknowledge Aiden. He thought about the many letters their Aiden had sent over that Lukas threw away. He remembered Lukas’ curious expression contorting to pure anger when Jess had mentioned Aiden wanting redemption. He doesn’t--

“Oh, absolutely!” Olivia lied. “Sure you guys hit a couple of rough patches here and there, especially after the whole Sky City incident, but you two made up!”

Jess went along, “You two live pretty far away from each other, but I know you and Lukas like to hang out at this one restaurant at least once a month to catch up.”

“The Shulker Spices?” Olivia made up the restaurant’s name on the spot.  

Jess snapped his finger, “Yeah, that one! Great stuff.”

“That’s good to hear… That’s probably the best thing I’ve heard in a while.” The soft smile on Aiden’s face faltered for a moment. Sure, he looked relieved, but Jess felt terrible. He hated flat out lying like this, but there was no way he was going to crush Aiden with the truth, and it’s not like he’ll ever know. They did the right thing. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Aiden’s body loosened and he let out a long sigh. “It’s been rough ever since he went missing.” He admitted, “Jess, you got a lotta good things back in your universe. Your friends are all still there, you’ve been able to take down any problems comin’ at you… I bet the people there must love ya.”

“But… Your friends love you too, don’t they?” Jess asked, gently placing his hand on Aiden’s back.

“Yeah--I didn’t mean to--of course they do!” Aiden quickly lifted his head back up, “And… You know…” His face got a little red, “I love ‘em too.”

Aiden went to grab his coffee to have another sip, “But you two need to get back to your universe. Once Rose comes back we can finish that flint and steel and get you two home.”

“Cassie’s still gone?” Olivia sounded concerned.

“She’ll be alright.” Aiden said, gesturing with his mug. “I know she can handle herself in extreme places like the Nether, but if she doesn’t come back by the end of tomorrow, we’ll have to hunt her down.”

The three sat on the couch, motionless for a minute, and couldn’t really think of anything else to talk about, so Jess and Olivia decided to finally make themselves breakfast. Jess helped himself to a couple of eggs; preparing a pan to scramble them in while Olivia mostly searched throughout the kitchen for ideas. She didn’t know what she was craving, she just knew she was hungry. As she scanned the contents of the pantry, something struck her.

“Sort of on the topic of questions, or--well, things about other universes…” She fumbled with her words as she reached inside to grab a small container of oatmeal, “I was wondering if there’d be anyway to, uh, see my place of death--my grave. If--if I have one.” She immediately held her breath after asking that question. She knew this was undoubtedly a personal thing to ask, but she’s been wanting to know for some time. She didn’t know when to ask before, and--and this felt like her only chance. She glanced at Aiden to see if he had heard her. He was staring right back at her, frozen in place with his coffee inches away from his face. His mouth was stuck open like he was in disbelief over what Olivia had just asked. Olivia even caught a glimpse of Jess being just as off guard by her question.

“I--We don’t--” Olivia stammered. She quickly turned away from the boys and tried to hide her face behind the pantry door, “We don’t have to! I understand if you don’t want to!” She said, “It might be dangerous to go outside anyways, I don’t mind if you describe it instead--”

“Is that what you wanna do?” Aiden asked, the energy of his voice absent compared to what it sounded like minutes ago. He set his cup aside and headed to the kitchen. To Olivia.

“Only if you think it’s safe.” Olivia’s voice was shaky. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t have asked.

“If we go together,” Jess spoke up, “and hide ourselves, we should be alright.” He wanted to try and be supportive, but even he wasn’t too sure about this.

“Right.” Aiden said, focusing on Olivia. He folded his arms, “We’d have to do it soon. Today might be your only chance. If that’s where you want to go, I’ll take you there.”

[elliemarchetti]

Do you plan to update your red queen fanfics anytime soon?

I take the opportunity of this ask to publish the update of Pride and Prejudice AU but apart from this story, which I intend to finish as soon as possible, I am not sure that I will continue the others, as long as I no longer receive feedback and some requests on how to continue. I hope you enjoy this chapter and quench your thirst for new Red Queen fanfiction! @lilyharvord I must also apologize to you for the very long wait, but life has definitely come between me and my interests

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Words: 2450

After breakfast, the girls took a walk in the village to find out if Mr. Maven was back, and to complain about his absence at the ball. He joined them as soon as they entered the city and he and Mr. Thomas took them home, a double advantage, as Mare could spend time with him undisturbed and the opportunity was propitious to present him to her father and mother. Immediately upon returning home, Miss Skonos was delivered a letter which was immediately opened: the envelope contained an elegant sheet of satin filled paper with beautiful, flowing feminine handwriting, which however changed her expression as she read it. It was from Evangeline Samos, and what it contained surprised her greatly, as the whole party had left the Stilts, with no intention of returning. When, later, Mare too was able to read it, she looked at the high-sounding expressions used with all the indifference of suspicion and, although surprised by the rapidity of that departure, she saw nothing really worrying: there was nothing to suggest that their absence would also prevent Mr. Samos from returning, and about the loss of their company, she was convinced that Wren would’ve certainly stopped worrying about it, being able to enjoy his. Sure it was unfortunate that she hadn't been able to see her friends again before they left the countryside, and that none of them were willing to return that winter, but wasn't that the reason why those who could afford it owned two houses?

"But you don't know everything. I'll read you the passage that particularly hurt me, since I don't want to hide anything from you," added her friend, and finally Mare noticed the second sheet she was holding in her hands.

"I am truly convinced that my dear friend, Lady Elane Haven, has no equal in terms of beauty, elegance and quality, and I don't think I'm at fault if I take it for granted that you agree with me. The affection she has inspired me for years is intensified by something even more significant, namely the hope of soon being able to call her my sister-in-law. I don't know if I have ever told you my feelings about it, but I won’t leave without trusting you, and I believe you won’t find them unreasonable. My brother already admires her very much, all her relatives desire this union for her as much as we do, and I don't think I am deceived by the partiality of a sister if I say that Ptolemus is certainly capable of winning the heart of any woman. With all these circumstances in favour of a bond and none that can prevent it, I am perhaps wrong to indulge in the hope of an event that will ensure the happiness of this many people?"

Mare was stunned. So this was the plan, it wasn't a marriage already orchestrated between Miss Samos and the General, but between her friend and her brother! Wren, however, didn’t want to believe her, and her words about the undeniable affection he felt for her seemed to do nothing but further hurt her broken heart as upstream they didn’t think the same about the letter's emissary, for not to mention that she was convinced that she wouldn’t be able to derive any joy from a marriage to a man whose friends and relatives hoped he would marry another woman.

"You must be the one to decide," said Mare, "and if after mature reflection you discover that the pain of doing a rudeness to his sister is greater than the happiness of being his wife, I certainly recommend you to refuse.”

These words brought Wren a smile, as they both knew perfectly well that she wouldn’t hesitate to accept his proposal, but the shadow of the possibility that he wouldn’t return in six months continued to cast a dark shadow on the general mood, to the point that only Diana’s invitation, addressed to both of them, managed to dispel that constant thought a little, replacing it with genuine curiosity, since she and Wren were by no means intimate enough for such a proposal. The answer to all their questions, however, came the next day when the Colonel's daughter told them that she needed female help, and that Mare was too involved to be the only opinion she would hear. From anyone else, this would’ve been an intolerable rudeness, but Mare knew her friend well, and if it was about romance, an assumption that soon turned out to be correct, she didn't want to be wrong and analyzed every single detail to the point of making the least gesture the most rational. The summary of the matter, however, was that Mr. Jesper had woken up early the previous morning, and unannounced, had gone under her window to ask her for a clandestine meeting. Diana accepted, and he, very awkwardly, revealed his interest in her, as well as his intention to marry her, if she accepted. The entire Farley family would’ve been thrilled with the event, but she had asked him for time to think about it, although she was already certain that she wouldn’t come to any conclusion alone, so she had bestowed that invitation. Wren, who was good-natured, greatly appreciated the gesture, and considered it an unspoken compliment to her sensibility and handling of the matter with Mr. Samos, so she quickly got busy, and all the years they had spent politely ignoring each other were recovered within an afternoon. Mare, however, wasn’t so well disposed towards the idea: she appreciated that Diana had asked for more help to reach the most favourable of conclusions, but she would’ve preferred that she had talked about it with her brother, as Shade had been silently courting her for years, and watched her from afar become the only woman he certainly wanted to marry; the prospect that she might want another man had bothered him and not a little, Mare had noticed, although she hadn't said anything, too absorbed in her own problems, but the real possibility that she might decide to marry another man would certainly have prompted him to declare himself, and everyone knew that those two were meant for each other, something that she wanted to remind to her friend.

"Mr. Jesper is smart and pleasant, and it’s certainly inviting for a woman to be the only one who can put a man at ease, not to say reassuring, even if he doesn’t seem like that kind of person. On the other hand, I can already see the blame on your face, Mare, and I want you to remember that your friendship is the thing I care about most in the world and even if I know how you feel, remember I too would behave differently if my perspectives were different, but they’re not, so I’m just asking you to be happy for me if I accept.”

"I will be," Mare assured her, though she wasn't sure she would ever be able to rejoice in her brother's unhappiness, "I just ask you to tell Shade before making any decisions. Do you think you can?"

To the affirmative answer of the other, Mare waited a time that she considered reasonable and took leave, followed by Wren, who asked her if she wanted to be accompanied home, which Mare refused, determined to be left alone with her considerations. It took her time before she could reconcile herself with the idea of ​​such an inappropriate union as she never imagined that, once called to decide, her friend would sacrifice all her best feelings. The next day, Mare was sitting with her mother and sister when Colonel Farley appeared and requested an audience with Mr. Barrow. Terrified of what might have happened, Mare remained tense the entire time they spent in the library, but the tones never rose, and when he left, the Colonel looked as calm as when he arrived. Mare waited a while before reaching her father and asking him what had happened, fearing a reproach for her advice to her friend, which could’ve broken the relationship between the two families, if the situation between Diana and Shade had been from her misunderstood, but he replied very calmly, saying he was happy and satisfied that Miss Farley, whom he had always thought fairly intelligent, wasn’t as foolish as his wife or daughter Gisa. Although this didn’t gave an explicit answer to her question, it reassured Mare, who was convinced that she could get more direct answers once her brother, who had gone out with Bree and Tramy, returned, as she didn’t want to be pressing with Diana, who could also have took offense at how things went the last time they met. At first, Shade seemed a little surprised by all that attention, but when he realized that Mare’s wasn’t just a fervent desire to know some new gossip but real concern, he told her not to worry, and that everything would turn out right in due time, a time that however established a reserve between the two friend that became a silence so heavy that convinced Mare their confidence was stained forever. Furthermore, these gloomy feelings certainly didn’t help Wren's mood, who hadn’t heard from Mr. Samos for a week and hadn’t even received an answer to her letter for his sister. Even Mare was beginning to have fears, not so much that Mr. Samos was indifferent, but that his sister could keep him far. Reluctant as she was to admit such a devastating idea to the happiness of the only friend she had left, and so dishonourable about the constancy of her love, she couldn't help but think about it often. The united efforts of two insensitive women and a friend so influential, favoured by the charm and amusement of Archeon, might’ve proved to be too much, so she feared, for strength of his affection. As for Wren, her anxiety about that uncertainty was, of course, more painful than Mare's, but whatever she felt she just wanted to hide it, and therefore between her and her friend there were never any allusions to that subject. The mother, on the other hand, wasn’t held back by such delicacy and hardly an hour passed without speaking of Mr. Samos, expressing the impatience for his return, or even asking her daughter to admit that if he didn't come back she would feel treated very bad. It took all of Wren's mild steadfastness to endure those attacks with acceptable tranquillity, which diminished, however, upon the arrival of Miss Samos' letter of reply, which removed any doubt about their winter accommodation, they would have settled in the General's residence, and, according to Wren, also regarding the feelings of Mr. Samos towards Lady Haven. Mare paid no attention to those speculations, she hadn’t seen, in fact, any warmth between the two in the time they had spent at the Hall of the Sun, but the fact that Evangeline was so evil she could take pleasure in the idea of undermine her own brother’s happiness, and in such a mean way, filled her with indignation and resentment, equal only to the concern she felt for her friend, who had fallen in love with a man of such lightness of character, a slave to intriguing friend, willing to sacrifice his own happiness at the whim of their desires. If, however, it was only his happiness

that was sacrificed, he could play with it as he wanted, but it was also Wren's that was involved and she believed he should be aware of it. In short, it was a topic that could’ve been thought about for a long time, even if, perhaps, to no avail, but she could do nothing else, and whether Mr. Samos's affection had really died down or had been suffocated by the interference of his friends, whether he had been aware of Wren's feelings or they had escaped his observation, in any case, even if the judgment would’ve been concretely influenced in the different hypotheses, the situation remained the same, and the peace of the girl equally wounded. It was a couple of days after, that Wren found the courage to talk about her feelings with Mare, but in the end, left alone by Mrs. Skonos, after a longer than usual rant on the Hall of the Sun and his owner, she said: "Oh! If my dear mother controlled herself more, she has no idea how much pain her constant considerations about him give me. But I don't want to complain, since it won't last long. He will be forgotten, and we will all be as before."

Mare looked at her friend with affectionate disbelief, but said nothing, although the doubt about those words could be read on her face like lines from an open book. Wren blushed: she knew that this man, who had been so lovable to her, would live forever in her memory, but that was all. If she had something to hope, fear, or even blame him for, the situation would’ve been different, and time would’ve done nothing but make the pain greater, but in that case she had the immediate comfort that it was nothing more than an error of her imagination, which had hurt no one but herself. If she had said those words aloud, Mare would’ve told her she was too good, and she would’ve attributed ethereal adjectives to her sweetness and impartiality, but it wasn't praise for her character that she needed to hear at the moment, only how much she was loved, words that not even her mother seemed willing to give. Even her father considered it only a mere disappointment, and indeed, he seemed inclined to joke about it when the Barrows went to visit them, inciting Mare to have her own heartbreak with Mr. Maven, who seemed a very nice and stylish man. Regarding him, it can be said that his company helped to dispel the melancholy into which the last, unfortunate events had thrown the two friends, who saw him often and had been able to add to the long list of his qualities the total absence of reserve, as the whole story already exposed to Mare soon became public, and everyone was satisfied thinking about how much they had always thought the General unpleasant before coming to knowledge of the whole matter. The only one who could imagine that there could be some extenuating circumstance in the matter was Miss Skonos, whose mild and firm candour always put forward justifications, and insisted on the possibility that there were misunderstandings, but by all the others the General had been labelled like the worst of men.

[regrettablewritings]

Can I please request B, F, and O for Benoit Blanc? I’m simping for this gentleman sleuth so hard.

I’m surprised you didn’t put DNUT just for the sake of reference 😂  Stuff is below the cut!

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?): While he isn’t against the idea to the point of fighting it, Benoit doesn’t strike me as someone actively looking to start a family, either. At least, not in the most traditional sense of what a family could be. He knows he’s not ancient, but he’s certainly not the very picture of youth, either. There’s plenty of things he’s not afraid to do in fear of appearing odd, but he can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, becoming a father at his age would appear peculiar.

Technically speaking, there’s nothing wrong with it, of course: He’s sure enough men his age have become fathers, and he knows plenty celebrities had at much older stages of life. But no matter what The New Yorker may think, Benoit knows he’s not exactly a celebrity; becoming a father at his age might appear less glamorous. And as flattering as the theory might be, he’s not so sure he’d be comfortable with the world knowing his virility in practice.

But, of course, things don’t always go the way we plan for them to. Just because he’s not actively looking to grow the family doesn’t mean it won’t somehow happen. It’ll catch him by surprise, no doubt, especially given how he’s so used to being able to predict things by calculation and logic, but it’s nothing he’s necessarily going to fight, either. If the great Benoit Blanc is to become a father to an actual baby instead of just a fur baby, then he’s going to accept that position with pride and zeal. (And much confusion, but that’s nothing a lot of research and a handful of classes and Youtube tutorials couldn’t fix.)

Benoit knows the impact a loving parent can have on a child, and he wants to assure any progeny of his is granted that chance. He won’t be a perfect father, he knows that, but he most certainly would want to make an effort to be one that they wouldn’t hate. He’s encountered way too many patricide cases to go lax on it all.

More to the point, however, he’s honestly just content with his family as it currently appears to be. He may come from more traditional and decidedly old-fashion means, but this doesn’t exclude the sleuth from possessing an open-mindedness toward the ever-changing image of what a family could be decreed and recognized to be. And sometimes, a family is just a peacockish gentleman with a thick drawl, his more grounded and snarky partner, and their handsome pet cat who is either plotting their deaths or actually enjoys it when they sing show tunes to him.

There are times when he looks back on his life so far and feels ribbons of regret, however. How might things have turned out if he’d settled down before? Would things have been better? Worse? More or less the same?

Well, whatever the case, he doesn’t intend to dwell on it too often or for too long; you’re here now, and if that’s all there was meant to be, then he’d take it without a moment’s hesitation.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?):

He’s not sure, if truth be told. There wasn’t really a precise moment or even necessarily one singular action that offered him any confirmation. The sting of Cupid’s arrow never actually radiated through him, so much as the realization flitted into his mind as a random memory might. It was simply a matter of fact to him one day: He absolutely adored you.

Part of him wanted to go into detective mode, to use that brain of his and search for a specific date that might have triggered the sensation, or to pester Elliot and Marta by using them as soundboards for his monologues and conclusion. Benoit Blanc is a self-aware man, he’s too old to be caught off guard by his own feelings like a schoolboy. But thankfully for all, he stops himself from doing so when he considers the stance that perhaps the feelings had already been present for months now, that there wasn’t any suddenness to the realization. A sense of jamais vu, but of the emotion. Jamais réalisé. Still, the ever-inquisitive spirit in him thirsted for an answer. He tried to satiate it.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that unlike most, you appeared to enjoy his monologuing. Most people would normally just sit there, the only feedback offered being blank expressions or ones that displayed how thrown off they were about his strange analogies. You, on the other hand, were always listening even when your eyes weren’t directly on him or if you appeared to be busy with something else. Sometimes, if you deemed it necessary, you would even throw in your own input. When he joked about how invested you were, you reasoned that you tended to do the same when you infodumped.

Going off that, he liked when you infodumped: Your entire person would gain a sprightliness to it, particularly in your eyes. The detective truly believed in the value of all sorts of knowledge, and he genuinely did appreciate whatever you had to offer, even when it only appeared to be trivia. The only downside to this was that you almost always would catch yourself and, casting your sights elsewhere, all that vibrancy from before would snuff out like a light. It would darn near break his heart to hear you apologize for “babbling on about such silly things.” He would always insist that it was quite alright, that you needn’t apologize, but you always assumed deep down that he was simply being courteous as all others in his position would be. The truth always was that he was being genuine, you deserved that much.

Maybe he thought you deserved that much because you were relatively patient with him. He didn’t think of himself as a nuisance but Benoit knew that to many, he was more of an acquired taste. He always tried to be polite and considerate but sometimes, his more abrasive traits would come to the foreground, especially when he was on the case. But you never seemed to get especially testy with him as Elliot would. If anything, you were quick to put him in his place with a gently-worded but sternly-spoken reminder that he needed to mind himself.

“The truth can only soothe you so much when you got a foot up your ass,” as you put it once. It got a smile out of him. Of course, he always knew you had some kind of wit about you; one that, while a bit more blunt than his, never failed to make him laugh yet force him to acknowledge the truth. He might’ve been known for his rich vocabulary, but he couldn’t help but admire your own, more direct means of getting the point across. He knew damn well that you understood everything he said, and sometimes he questioned if maybe your responses to him were so straightforward as a means of taunting him over his perceived verboseness.

Even if this were true, he found himself amused every time you opened your mouth. In fact, you were quickly becoming his favorite person to speak to. And he even dared to consider the possibility that, based on how you lit up every time he came to the office, perhaps the same could be said on your part . . .

Well, whatever the case, Benoit never got as far as he’d wanted to whenever he pondered the cause of his feelings for you. Much to his dismay, every effort was thwarted by himself: Every time he came to a theory, he would quickly become sidetracked by other thoughts of you. Eventually he became distracted to the point where every consideration he made could be counted on to be accompanied by some appraisal of your character. In short, he was simultaneously coming up fruitless and fruitful.

But then maybe those were the answers he was looking for. Of course, they weren’t in the usual format he was familiar with but he supposed it was for the best: Feelings weren’t the same breed of mystery as, say, a murder investigation. He didn’t count it as a failure on his part, however (given that Benoit Blanc wasn’t one to quit). No, he decided that perhaps it might’ve been better to keep his work and his play separate. He’d spent enough of his life revolved around solving mysteries, after all; this one, he concluded, was best enjoyed just being experienced as it was.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?):

It’s hard for you to choose, really: Benoit is a rather colorful man, after all, with his bright blue eyes and lack of fear regarding certain male accessories. But you do tend to veer towards shades of green. Specifically, peacock green because not only does he own a suit of similar shading, but also because frankly, due to his dandy-like nature, you couldn’t help but compare him to a peacock in your head. Sure, he lacked the arrogance associated with the bird, but what else could you compare a man with an assortment of floral ties and pretty-patterned pocket squares to?

Similarly, Benoit associates you with the color cranberry because of something in your wardrobe: Specifically, the red cardigan you were wearing the day you both met. Admittedly, he’s a twinge embarrassed that he couldn’t associate you with something more overtly romantic: He remembers that you like pink Starbursts but still give him half of yours; he remembers how you argue that black Converses are “the only valid converses” next to glittery ones; and he has no choice but to remember that godawful brown scarf you refuse to discard because “it’s still a good scarf and you’d already had it for this long.”

But you don’t mind. In fact, you’re elated and nearly swept off your feet at the fact: He remembers all the little things from the moment you two became acquainted, even though at the time he was under no awareness or intention that you would become so important to him. You know that, technically, it’s a part of his job to just commit things to detail, but you’ve seen this man forget website passwords and his own keys. Yet, if anyone were to demand that he recall three things from that fateful day, he would immediately recite about how you had a frog Beanie Baby resting on your computer monitor; that you were stabbing your Chinese takeout lunch with one hand and typing up a report with the other; and that you were wearing a cranberry-colored cardigan.

Sometimes, the first two bits were swapped with different things he remembered (all being true), but the one consistent memory that he would always bring up with be the cranberry cardigan. And frankly, you're satisfied with that bit alone.

Thanks for your patience!

[captainjimothycarter]

Steggy + picking apples

“Stevie? Do you have her? I can pull the wagon.”

Peggy looked behind her to see her slender, asthmatic boyfriend pulling the wagon that held their eleven-month-old baby girl and a few baskets. She wrapped her scarf firmly around her neck, smiling when Steve finally reached them. She adjusted her boyfriend’s pale blue scarf and the wool hat over the tips of his ears, kissing the tip of his nose.

“You always flush,” she teases, rubbing her gloved fingers over his flushed cheeks. “Look at you - you’re going to make yourself sick, darling. Let me pull Sarah. We still have to go up the hill.”

Steve’s eyes followed Peggy’s towards the rising hill that looked taller by the second. He took in a large breath and tried to hide the fact he needed to airy cough it out but Peggy was looking at him with a purse of her lips.

“Okay,” he sighed, handing her the rope they’d wrapped around the handle. “You win, but only because I wanna carry Sarah up the hill.”

There was no argument in that regard, only because she worried about Sarah tumbling out of this red-wagon that obviously had been Steve’s since childhood. It was well-loved and cared for, so she didn’t worry about it falling apart. Plus, Peggy knew how much her boyfriend had been missing their daughter with his newly recent job tour guide had kept him away from home more often than either of them would like. 

Sarah giggled at her daddy’s new attention diverted to her, grabbing two tufts of his blonde hair in her fists. He didn’t even make a face as she pulled on them and let out a shrill of laughter as she settled onto his shoulders.

“Dada! Dada! Aples! Ma!”

Their little girl, having been born so early, so small, and in such a rush had grown more and more each and every day. Steve would take each moment of eye-watering pain that came from her pulling on his hair over the knowledge he’d nearly lost her. His hands wrapped around her legs, gently jostling her as they walked beside Peggy.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathed, giving an airy laugh. “We’re goin’ to get you apples, so daddy can make you apple pie! Mama Sarah will make you apple sauce!”

The little girl responded in loud screeches of apple sauce, sounding closer to ‘sauses’. It just made both adults laugh as they walked over the hill, Peggy pausing on the top to take in deep breaths of the cool air. The view down below was just breathtaking.

Down below this steep, grassy-green hills were rows and rows of neatly aligned apple trees, sectioned off in groups of their hybrid types. The smell of them was fruitful and woodsy, wafting from the fields down below. The sound of families already below, their laughter, and the sounds of heavy thuds from apples hitting the forest grounds can be heard.

“What kind do we want to start with?” Peggy asked on their slow descends, looking down at the app on her phone. “They say right now they have five available. granny smith, pink pearl, fuji, Honeycrisp, ooh, and pink lady.”

“I’m prone to granny smith. Oh, don’t make that face.” Steve snorted when Peggy’s face pinched, in her detest for sour apples. “You like them in my apple pie!”

“Only in your apple pie, otherwise they’re banned from the household.” Steve’s eyes rolled. “It’s not my fault we had so many during my pregnancy or I craved them. If anything, it’s your fault.”

The granny smith apples were the closest to the end of the hill, following the chained and beaten path towards the granny smith section. Peggy made a pleased noise, glad to see each tree had a ladder secured to it. No need to worry about carrying one or climbing.

“Mammms!” Sarah made grabby hands at Peggy, Steve dipping down so Peggy could scoop her up. “Mums! Maaams!”

The little girl screeched as Steve climbed the ladder and disappeared into the trees with a basket in hand. Down below, he could hear Peggy and Sarah, the new mum whispering to her daughter about the plants and things around them.

All Sarah knew was that her mother was giving her attention and she loved it. 

“Look, Sarah, look at the butterfly. Oh, he loves you.” Sarah’s excited shrill of laughter made Steve smile as he held onto the branch, shaking his head.

God, he loved them. He loved them more than anything, more than life itself. He loved both Peggy and Sarah more than himself. He thought he knew love when he met Peggy, the sacrifice that came with wanting to date someone, with wanting to do anything for them, to make them smile, to bring them happiness. He thought he knew love until he laid his eyes on his tiny daughter, fighting for her life in the incubator. 

He knew love then, he knew love came with a sacrifice. He knew that within just a matter of seconds he would kill for her. He would destroy the world if it meant his daughter’s happiness.

He had a plan for when Sarah was born to ask Peggy to marry him with her assistance, a ring around Sarah’s neck, but that was put to a pause when Sarah was born three months early. They’d focused so much on her survival and put every effort into it that Steve put it on the back burner. Now that Sarah was for the most part, in the clear, Steve decided no time was better.

“Steve?” Peggy called, drawing Steve from his thoughts as the last apple fell from the branch and into his basket. “Are you okay, darling? You’ve been up there for a minute.”

“I’m coming down!” Easing the basket down on first, Steve followed after and landed on his feet with a flushed smile. 

“Daaaa!”

Steve caught Sarah in time as she lunged at him, kissing over her face and grinning into her flushed skin. “Daddy wasn’t gone that long,” he laughed.

Sarah thought otherwise, mirroring her mother’s pursed lips and patting his flushed cheeks. 

“She’s a daddy girl,” Peggy laughed. “Always was, since she first saw you.”

“She loves you too,” Steve breathed, kissing Peggy’s cheek and earning Sarah smashing her face in between their cheeks to join in on the party. 

--

It was nearing sunset by the time the Carter-Rogers family had slowly trudged up the hill, this time Sarah was laying amongst the many baskets of apples. Steve’s small basket of Granny Smith was buried under Peggy and Sarah’s many varieties. 

“Why don’t we stop here?” Steve asked, taking a blanket and laying it out on the grassy hill. He picked their daughter up and sat her down, laying out their small picnic of apple cider donuts, warm apple cider, and sandwiches.

“Why are you playing with those donuts, darling?”

Steve looked up from where he’d put the plastic container in his lap, finding Peggy using a napkin to clean their daughter’s face from the applesauce Mama Sarah had made them earlier. 

“Oh, uh, nothing.” He could feel his face warming, his ears tinting a shade of pink. Peggy’s pointed look didn’t go amiss. “I...just made these donuts.”

“I know, darling, I was there. I was taste testing the filling the entire time,” she teased, making Steve’s face grow warmer. “What’s really going on? Did you change the apple filling on us?”

“Y-Yes!” The squeak escaping him did nothing to hide the face he was embarrassed. “Yes, yes exactly.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s still good. Come on, Sarah, love. Let’s have one of daddy’s donuts.” 

Steve’s fingers shook as he picked up one precise donut, right in the middle, that looked like all the rest. “This-this is yours. I have...Sarah’s.” He scooped his daughter up, the little girl having no problem in whose lap she was sitting in, long as she got her sweet treat.

If Peggy suspected something, she didn’t say anything. She just took a bite, nearly stuffing half the donut in her mouth. Steve’s breath was in his throat, half focused on Sarah and feeding her torn off pieces so she didn’t choke.

At Peggy’s slight choking noise, Steve’s head shot up, a worried look on his face. He didn’t get to see the love of his life taking the parchment-wrapped ring from the middle of the donut. However, he did get to see her expression.

The blatant shock that etched on her face, eyes wide as she stared down at the unwrapped ring and to him.

It was a simple ring, Steve knew. He’d picked it just for that, simple but elegant. White gold band, with blue sapphire and red ruby’s. Etched inside, with the jeweler's touch was Sarah’s birthdate and the saying our moment in time.

He hadn’t even been aware he was holding his breath until he felt Peggy’s touch to his cheek, their dessert laid forgotten. 

“Darling, are you crying?”

Looking into her eyes, the very same eyes his daughter had, Steve, saw tears in her eyes too. He could just manage a nod and throw his arms around her, Sarah between them as he hugged her.

“I am, because of I-I…” Steve let go to hold her face, kissing her deeply. He tried to convey all the emotions he felt in one single kiss. How much he loved her. How happy he was they were together. How he was so terrified when she was sick with Sarah when he almost lost her and had to make that difficult choice when they had their baby girl and saw how small she was, how proud he was of both of them. 

“I love you too,” Peggy whispered, pulling away and not bothering to wipe either of their tears. “I love you too, darling. Yes, yes darling, yes.”

Steve made a choking sound that might’ve been a sob if Sarah hadn’t made her presence known in a heavy scream of delight, unknowns to the situation, just that her parents were loving one another. He picked her up to their chest level and kissed her face.

“I think,” Peggy laughed. “Sarah says yes too.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Now I Know it's no longer Mermay, but if you would find it in your heart, to expound on that deep sea giant mermaid who mistakes the darling's signal fire for a mating call thing? I have been lying awake thinking of the eldritch horror possibilities of its appearance or the first meeting, and have no idea what nightmare fuel descriptions you have stored away (but please tell me)

I might’ve gotten off-topic, but y’all should know I can’t resist and Big ol’ Boy. He’s super sweet, I promise, but I don’t think that’d be his Darlings first reaction.

TW: Alternative-Reality, Mentions of Starvation/Dehydration, Drowning and Memory Loss.

~

You stopped trying to remember how you got here.

You couldn’t remember a lot of things, when you thought about it. The memories of your life before you’d woken up on this island were all blurry, fractured, pieces you couldn’t seem to put together from a puzzle you’d never agreed to solve. You weren’t sure if vines were supposed to move the way they moved in the jungle, twisting around your ankles like snakes if you lingered too long, nor could you be certain you’d ever seen buildings as big and tall and golden before. You never wandered inside them, but that was more of an instinct than a show of prior knowledge.

And you’d never seen something like him either.

You’d called him a trench at first. Not every dark, oddly shaped object had to be something ominous, and you didn’t want to assume it was. A sudden increase in depth would’ve explained why so few ships came in your direction, as well as the strange currents that nearly drowned you the first time you’d tried swimming more than a few paces off the coast, but that theory had been disproved the first time the sun set. You’d tried to sleep that night, but the sheer amount of glowing was enough to keep you awake.

There were as many patterns below the water as there were above it, swirling in their blue, blinding glory. Covering your eyes was useless, as was retreating further into the jungle, especially when the light only seemed to grow brighter as you left the beach. You would’ve said it was following you, if you didn’t know better, flecks and particles of stars never letting you stray far.

You stopped trying to sleep, after that.

It wasn’t like you needed to, though. You never felt tired, not after the first few days of moving sluggishly and attempting to convince yourself to close your eyes. The panic was always instantaneous, dread following shortly after and discomfort taking its place after you’d dismissed both. If felt wrong to do so, bad, the ache more prominent than the pain.

You could swear you’d been pulled under the surface again, at least once. Despite your hesitance to swim, there weren’t many other options if you wanted to eat. The animals on land were lean and evasive, the vegetation burned your skin when you touched it, and the fruit often contained unwanted ingredients, ones you didn’t think fruit normally had. But, there was a reef not too far off-shore, and the fish seemed edible enough.

Even if they bit and growled when brought onto land.

You must’ve passed your self-appointed barrier without noticing, one day, because your head was below the surface before you could notice you’d been caught in a rip-tide. The currents were… different, this time, dragging you outward and down at the same speed, never dawdling or dulling in their efforts. The exhaustion was overwhelming, at that point, your attempts to struggling seeming pitiful in comparison to whatever had closed around your leg, pinching your thigh and forcing the air out of your lungs, the pressure nearly unbearable by the time you came to a stand-still. You opened your eyes without thinking about it, the sting secondary compared to how much everything hurt.

That was the first time you saw him, too. Whatever you’d pictured was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with this gigantic, swirling thing, with skin as black as the night sky and too many teeth that were all too sharp. There were too many aspects to describe, too many scales that changed colors as he moved, too many arms and fins to count, too many eyes, all of them focused on the prey trapped in his claws.

You screamed.

He smiled.

You weren’t let go, but you found yourself on the beach as night fell, heaving the salt-water out of your lungs as you dragged yourself to the brink of the tree-line, only collapsing when you didn’t have the strength to move any further. Still, you didn’t sleep, you didn’t budge, you didn’t even blink until you’d lost track of how many hours had passed.

You think you stopped trying to eat, too.

Walking became a luxury. Your hunger waned as the pain dissolved, dying out the moment you stopped thinking about it. Going near the sea was a risk you couldn’t take, and the jungle had never been an opition, shaded canopies and gnarling roots discouraging you whenever you found the strength to stand. Not that you did so often, you didn’t need to. If starvation was going to take you, it would’ve done so weeks ago. If sleep-deprivation would be your death, then by all means, you would welcome it with open arms.

Unfortunately, your body never gave out on you. The more you ignored your requirements, the more distant they seemed to be, soon abandoning you entirely. You wondered if you could dehydrate, but when you stopped taking sips from your apparently bottomless canteen, the headaches and dryness only lasted two days before they faded into the back of your mind.

It was funny, if anything. You didn’t think less than a gallon of water should’ve lasted you this many months.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before he showed himself again, the tips of his nails emerging from the waves like sharks on the horizon. You hardly recognized them, but it didn’t take very many guesses to name your only company.

This time, you didn’t hide. You weren’t sure you cared what he would do, if he found you.

You stopped trying to get away.

[transmanrayner]

Bakugo x Villain Deku

Warnings: Sad, attemted suicide, depression, boy x boy (if you're bothered by that)

When everyone (including villains) arrived at the USJ, the only one who wasn't there was Bakugo. He had refused to come out of his room for weeks and they were having to force feed him. He only left his room to get water and go to the bathroom, and the whole time he was in his room, he was sleeping. He was at this point too weak to go to the USJ, so he stayed home, but it wasn't like that was any better. His mother abused him. Soon after the USJ attack started, he had an idea and put on a baggy hoodie, then started walking. He got to the highest building in town, a random skyscraper, and started climbing. He unknowingly passed Izuku on the way up, tears flowing down his face, but he just kept going, too focused on his thoughts of how he would apologize to Izuku, thinking he was dead. He fingered a piece of paper and a pencil in his pocket as he finally got to the top. When he got there, he took off his shoes, then started writing. 

"Dear whoever finds this note. My name was Katsuki Bakugo. I was 16 years old. My friend killed himself 2 weeks ago and I'm joining him.

Mom, I guess you got your wish, huh? It'll be like I was never born. I'm sorry that I disappointed you. I'm sorry that I wasn't the hero you wanted. 

Shitty Hair Kirishima, I'm sorry that I left you. I hope Pikachu makes you happy. Know that you were one of the only 2 people I have ever loved. 

To Deku Izuku, if somehow you didn't die and you find this note... I'm sorry for bullying you. I'm sorry for breaking our promise to be the ultimate hero duo. I'm sorry that I couldn't man up and admit that I loved you. You were my first love and I've loved you since we were kids. Your intelligence, your optimism, your bravery, your cute face and your sweetness made me fall for you. 

Everyone, I'm sorry that I was such an ass. I guess everyone was right after Izuku died... It is the right choice for me to jump. I'm sorry that I ended up being so worthless. I hope that my death gives you strength and you move on quickly. I don't wanna be a burden more then I am now. I'm running out of space to write now... Goodbye." 

He put the note in his shoe, then sat on the edge and got ready to push off, to fall to his death.

Izuku ran up the stairs as quickly as he could and his eyes widened when he saw Bakugo there. He quickly pulled him off the ledge and pulled him into a gentle embrace. Bakugo was stunned, but slowly hugged back. He didn't recognize Izuku at first, just figuring someone had followed him and stopped him.

"... W-Why...?" Bakugo asked, his voice shaking. Izuku looked at him in question as Bakugo stared at his feet. "W-Why save me...? I d-didn't want to be s-saved! I w-want to see my Izuku a-again! P-Please let me d-die...!" His voice broke and he started sobbing as Izuku sat there, stunned before he gently tilted his head up to look at him, noticing how thin he was.

"Because I love you Kacchan..." He said softly, making Bakugo's head shoot up in surprise, then he smiled a little and gently held him close.

"S-Stupid D-Deku... Don't e-ever do that a-again...! I l-love you t-too..." Izuku nodded a little and gently combed his fingers through Bakugo's hair.

"Only if you promise the same Kacchan." Bakugo nodded a little, relaxing in his arms. Izuku rubbed the tears out of his eyes and Bakugo nuzzled into his hand, seeming touch starved.

"Mhm..." He yawned a little and cuddled into Izuku. Izuku picked him up gently, then carried him through a portal, back to the base, though he forgot Bakugo's shoes and note.

"Guys, I'm back." Izuku said and Bakugo looked up tiredly, though panicked when he saw he was at the bar, the League of Villains' main base. He started panicking immediately, his breathing getting quicker and more labored as his throat tightened, tears stinging his eyes as he buried his face in Izuku's hoodie. Izuku noticed immediately and brought him to his room to calm him down. Needless to say, it didn't work. They got about halfway there before Bakugo scrambled out of his arms, wincing when he hit the floor. 

"D-Don't hurt me p-please!" Izuku was stunned and knelt down to him.

"Kacchan... It's me... Izuku. It's okay. You're safe." Bakugo shook his head as he moved father away, against the wall, his eyes filled with fear.

"No I'm not! They'll hurt me again!" Izuku sighed.

"How about I bring you home?" Bakugo shook his head again.

"K-Kiri's house is s-safe... His m-mom's are n-nice... The o-old hag w-won't like t-this..." He mumbled as his vision started to fade. 

"Kacchan! Stay with me Kacchan!" Izuku yelled and Bakugo winced as he fell on his side, his head aching as everything started to fade out. It started with his hearing, but he was losing that anyway, then his sight as he slowly closed his eyes. Then it felt like he was floating in a void of black nothingness and he looked around in confusion. Where am I...? It's so dark... Where's Izuku? Am I dead? Did I pass out? He thought, a million questions running through his mind. There was a bright light, then he was in their hospital like room, like Recovery Girl's. Izuku looked up at him in worry. 

"Kacchan! You're okay!" Bakugo yawned a little and shrugged a bit. 

"'Okay' works if I can change every meaning of the word..." He mumbled and Izuku sighed.

"Alright... But you need to eat Kacchan. You passed out from a panic attack and hunger." Bakugo nodded a little and looked down. 

"I'm sorry to bother you..." He mumbled and Izuku's gaze softened as he sat on the bed next to Bakugo. 

"Kacchan... You aren't bothering me. Now Kurogiri is going to bring in some food and you are going to eat it if I have to force feed you. Then you're going to take a bath and get changed." Bakugo nodded as Kurogiri brought in a plate of spaghetti and he slowly started eating it, not wanting to upset anyone in fear of being hurt. Once he was done, Izuku nodded a little, acknowledging his effort. Then he took Bakugo to the bathroom and handed him a towel and some clothes. There was a black hoodie that was much too big for him, some baggy grey sweatpants that he would probably have to tighten, and a pair of white socks. He took a bath like he was told to, washing all the dirt and grime off of his body and hair, then started to dry himself off. 

He accidentally caught his reflection in the mirror and he stopped. He was incredibly fit, but he was also very thin. He had burn scars on his stomach, back and legs, even a few on his neck that he covered with concealer. Plus the ones on his hands from his own explosions. His eyes were a darker shade of red then he remembered and they had lost their shine to them. Izuku probably just feels bad for me. He probably didn't even like me, much less like me now. I wonder how everyone else is doing? They probably think I'm dead. 

Meanwile:

The Bakusquad looked up when Iida came in, seeming very upset. "Hey bro, what's wrong?" Kirishima asked. Iida opened his mouth to speak, but his voice broke as tears brimmed his eyes, so he just handed the letter he had in his hands to them. Kirishima read over it first and his heart just about stopped as he tried not to cry. He passed off the letter and the rest of the Bakusquad read it, one by one. Everyone who hadn't read it was very confused, but Iida stood tall to explain to them. 

"W-We... We f-found a note on top of the l-largest building in Mustafu... It is a s-suicide note and... I-It's..." His voice broke again, but Kirishima spoke up, his voice uncharacteristically monotone. 

"It's Bakubro's. He's dead." Iida nodded and everyone was shocked. 

"T-They haven't found the body and they t-think the Leauge of V-Villains might've taken it." MINETA of all people spoke up.

"Well good. He caused Midorya to kill himself and was too much of a villain to be a hero any-" He was cut off when Kirishima stood and walked over, then picked him up by the collar, his eyes dark and foreboding. 

"If you ever... talk about him like that again, I will personally throw you off of UA's roof. I do not think the devil will be so kind with you." Everyone was stunned as he dropped Mineta, then left the room.

[moonlightwinterdxxix]

Awkward brotherly babysitting or pet sitting with Ichimatsu and Choromatsu for the Bits of my Brothers? (And can I say that I'm LOVING your works so far??? The Ventriloquist Vengeance is a story I never knew I needed ajsdlkasf)

Ahhh! Thank so much for the kind words! It means so much to me and I’m glad you’re enjoying it!

This is honestly the first time I’m writing a request, and I hope you like what I’ve managed to make. So without further ado, Nenchuu up the bat!! 💚💜☺️😒

~~~

When Choromatsu lifted the dirty diaper off his face, his eyes went wide. Any horror he would’ve felt beforehand was now a tidal wave of utmost defeat, and he wanted to collapse and freak out and tear each and every strand of hair off his head. But he held back from the sensation, and gulped instead, tossing the diaper to the ground.

The kitten tilted its head at him.

This was a sign, and a bad one. One worse than Osomatsu humiliating him in front of Nyaa-chan, one worse than being identified fapping when he was certain he was alone, one worse than dyeing his hair brown and having everyone see him. No, it was worse than all of that—so much worse. And if anything was worse than that, it was being dead and in heaven, but being discovered having man-woman privacy with one of the guardian angels. Lucifer wasn’t going to be alone there in hell anymore.

No. This dilemma of Choromatsu Matsuno wasn’t that he had a baby’s diaper that spoke and stunk of turd on his face—it was that there was a kitten in front of him. And where cats were involved, so was Ichimatsu.

Putting one-plus-one together, that meant Ichimatsu was home.

And the reason that Choromatsu even had a baby with him was because he was as sure as hell that he was spending his day at home, on his own.

And as if heaven already hated him and his luck couldn’t get any worse, the baby started crying.

Loudly, like a marching band that had been constructed out of chaos. It flailed its small arms so energetically that Jyushimatsu was given competition. It’s wails were higher than Choromatsu’s voice went when he was at an idol concert. The baby cried like its little life depended on it, but as Choromatsu stood there dumbfounded, he couldn’t blame it. He wanted to wail if it meant his life would be saved too.

Choromatsu flinched so hard that every hair in his body stood. He quickly scrambled towards the baby on the couch and cradled it in his arms, trying to calm it down as best as he could before the devil incarnate himself arrived in the room. But with how fruitless his efforts were, and how much louder the baby was becoming, he was only going to be met with failure. He wanted to accompany the baby in its crying, but knowing that it was Ichimatsu that was going to discover the unfortunate corner he had dragged himself towards, he fought for composure.

He continued to sway the baby with a little lullaby that was off-key. It made the baby cry even more.

Then came Ichimatsu’s footsteps. Choromatsu waited for the comment that would run him to the ground, but it never came. A minute or so passed, but it never came. So in his own curiosity and dread, he urged himself to spin his head to the direction of the door, meeting his eyes with Ichimatsu’s.

Ichimatsu merely regarded him with blank eyes, but his lips told a different emotion. And upon meeting CHoromatsu’s gaze, he quickly turned his heels to go.

Oh no, he didn’t.

“Oi! Ichimatsu!” Choromatsu yelled, and cared less if that worsened the baby’s status. To his relief though, Ichimatsu stopped from what might’ve been his beginning trek to the opposite side of their house. “You think you’re getting off free there? Get back here and take the kitten back outside! It’ll disturb the peace of our home.” Oh, as if the baby wasn’t. It was a completely stupid thing to say, especially from someone like him. It was humiliating in a lot of senses, but he had no other option but to accept it.

Dang, Choromatsu just found himself more and more pathetic as the day dragged on.

Ichimatsu’s face reverted to its normal, lackadaisical state. “Are you really the person who has the authority to say that?” he curtly asked.

Cheeks burning, Choromatsu growled, accepting Ichimatsu’s dominance in the situation. “Fine. Do I owe you an explanation if it means you wouldn’t tell the others?”

The baby was still crying. Ichimatsu eyed in silently and nonchalantly before re-entering the room, grabbing the kitten by its black-and-white belly and bringing it to his lap as he sat on the far, opposite side of the sofa. He began to rub his little pet behind its ears, but he was once more focused on Choromatsu in a sense that made Choromatsu curse himself, yet again.

“Go,” Ichimatsu said.

Such bluntness, and it made Choromatsu sick. Of all brothers to be stuck with, it just had to be Ichimatsu. Ichimatsu, who had proved himself as both the darkest man alive and above all, the most awkward companion Choromatsu could ask for. What kind of boundaries would they find themselves sharing this time, huh? What would the record be of how long their silence between conversation would be this time, huh? How long until the rest of the others came home, huh?

Well, he supposed having one was better than five. So for the time being, maybe Ichimatsu wouldn’t be so bad after all. He was quiet, reserved, and he reflected the awkwardness of Choromatsu at a level that was bearable. Plus, he wouldn’t tell the others about this...Would he?

Ichimatsu’s face gave no promises, but no denial either.

Perhaps this was one of those moments when Choromatsu needed to trust his gut.

As a way to begin the explanation, Choromatsu sighed. “Nyaa-chan. I was watching television, and she mentioned in an interview that she liked it when guys were nice to babies. I dunno if it was her speaking or for the sake of her image, but I believed her either way. At first I didn’t care about it, but then I heard crying outside our house. And surprise-surprise, there was a baby on the road, without parents, without anyone or anything. So thinking it was by a miracle of fate that it was from some game-show of some sort where they’re testing the reflexes of the people, I took it in. I didn’t think you’d come home so soon, so I thought I would be spared at least five ‘you’re pathetic’ teases from any of you.”

Ichimatsu snorted without smiling. “You’re pathetic.”

Yes, there it was. It was oddly satisfying as it was painful. “Thank you.” He collapsed at the opposite side of the couch from Ichimatsu, still trying to rock the baby in his arms, and still finding success far, far away from his reach. He tried to rub his index finger in a circle against its stomach, yet nothing changed, as he expected. He sighed. “Ichimatsu, can you do me a favor and get some milk?”

“Hm? For the baby or for the cat?”

“For the baby, of course!” Choromatsu snapped. “Cod, it’s common sense, Darkmatsu!”

“Ah, but this cat is also a baby,” Ichimatsu stated, moving from the ears to the underside of the kitten’s chin. The kitten leaned in to the touch, emitting a small purr that slightly decreased the anxiety in Choromatsu’s heart. Slightly. “The little one would like some milk too, since it's to make his little bones stronger,” Ichimatsu continued, solace evident in him as he petted the small creature. “They say cats have nine lives, but they might as well have one when they’re still this tiny. The world can swallow them whole.”

Letting the words sink in, Choromatsu glanced down at the cat. When he wasn’t seeing it with an image of horror that represented Ichimatsu’s presence, it really was a cute, precious thing that was fragile when set next to the cruelty of the universe. It’s eyes were a wonderful shade of green, and its body was decorated with patches of black that somehow managed to still look clean. But what Choromatsu liked about it most was the heart-shaped piece of black by its neck, so close to where its heart was, beating underneath its pillowy fur.

Translation into reality. Choromatsu was almost touched. Almost.

“Fine, here’s a deal,” Choromatsu stated, extending a fist to the direction of his brother—it wasn’t easy with the squirming mini-human still on his thighs. “Rock-paper-scissors to determine who’s getting the milk.”

“Eh? That childish game?” Ichimatsu huffed, rolling his eyes. “That’s a very idiot eldest-type suggestion, Chorofappyski.”

“It’s fair play,” Choromatsu argued, more from defensiveness than the truth in his phrase. “Just one go.”

Ichimatsu let the cat curl in his lap for a second, then rubbed its furry back so gently that it reminded Choromatsu that Ichimatsu had the ability at all to be gentle. As Ichimatsu brushed it a bit more, his cheeks rosed a little, barely there, but Choromatsu’s eyes were clear enough to notice it. It faded quickly after as Ichimatsu said, “Whatever. One go.”

Ichimatsu extended his own fist, and waved it twice before ending it with two fingers forming scissors.

Choromatsu’s hand was flat as paper.

Ichimatsu leaned back. “Get the milk.”

“Ugh, stupid luck.” Choromatsu lifted himself off the couch, laying the baby on his previous place. His heart nearly skyrocketed when the baby turned and nearly fell off the edge, but it was swift to redeem itself when it rolled over towards the backrest of the sofa. It was as if the weight of the entire world was lifted from his shoulders—his relief.

He tried not to discern the hint of a snicker at Ichimatsu’s side as he stormed out of the shared bedroom and entered the rest of their house, snagging the milk from the fridge with aggression that peaked to a million. Darn their position in the caste system, turning what could’ve been a normal man like him into a NEET...!

When he returned to the room just as grumpy and his attention on the milk, he was saying, “Hey, Ichimatsu, do you know if Mom and Dad have any spare baby bottles from when we were kids left somewhere?” He stopped at the doorway, the carton of milk stilling as he did. “Now, that’s a sight.”

Ichimatsu remained bland, but it was obvious by his lowered brows that his situation was getting to him. “Which one? The fact that the room is an absolute mess, or that your stupid baby is trying to chew off my ear?”

Actually, Choromatsu was distracted by the room, because it was his first time registering what he and his horrible babysitting has done to it. The diapers from earlier were lying discarded on the floor, the stink of it green as it smoked in an unnatural, visible hue. There were mats laid where Choromatsu had tried to change its diapers on the floor, but with no such luck when the naked toddler had stubbornly shoved him away. And everywhere else was tissues. Tissues for its baby-boy bottom, tissues for its tears, tissues for the pee stain that still coated the side of their bookshelf. It was a miracle none of the books were damaged.

Now sending his attention to Ichimatsu, Choromatsu casually said, “I think it likes you.”

“Get it off me,” Ichimatsu ordered lowly, one of his hands already looping around the baby’s naked half. His kitten sat next to him, watching the situation with innocent, naive curiosity. “I don’t want to be touching this thing if it means the cat will run away from me,” Ichimatsu added.

Choromatsu shook his head, pointing. “No, I think that’s better. It’s no longer crying.”

Now the first sign of irritation made itself present in his little brother’s face, and the instinct to kill could be easily traced on him. “Do you want me to kill you first before this baby, Chorofappyski?” he threatened. And with that specific tone of his, they were a word away from the revelation if Ichimatsu was going to carry out his promise or not.

For the sake of his safety, Choromatsu quickly trudged towards his brother, tossing the carton to the floor, and wrapped his hands around the baby’s waist, muttering at it to stop as it continued to clomp its toothless mouth around Ichimatsu’s slobbered ear. It wasn’t too difficult to extract it, but once Ichimatsu was back to his usual, careless self, the baby had reverted back into sobbing that made fatigue sprout in Choromatsu’s form. He slumped down beside Ichimatsu, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back.

But, well, he had to do something else now. He had to feed the baby with this darn milk, if that was going to work, and hopefully, it did. Options were limited at these dark times. That’s why Choromatsu stood—

—but so did Ichimatsu.

“Huh?” they spoke in unison.

Ignoring his brother, Choromatsu took a step closer to the milk on the ground, careful with the baby he had in his arms. He reached out—

—at the same time Ichimatsu did.

Choromatsu retreated—

—and Ichimatsu did too.

They were matching symmetrically, from the motions of their bodies to the youth they had in their arms.

Oh no, here we go again, Choromatsu thought in terror, and by the way Ichimatsu’s features were crumpled, he was thinking the same thing. Neither uttered a whisper as they lingered on their spots, both anticipating movement that they were completely aware was going to be mirrored by the clone in front of them. Choromatsu cringed at the same time Ichimatsu did.

It was just like before. Cod, it was just like before. The awkwardness, the tension, the horror. The only difference was that they had a baby and a kitten to witness their anathema.

“A-Ah, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu stuttered, the smile plastered all fake and fearful, “would you like to prepare the milk for us? You could if you want—I won’t stop you.”

“No-no-no, I-I’d give the job to you if you wanted,” Ichimatsu answered, the wince in his emotions exposed in his grin. “But it’s fine. If you want me to do it, I won’t mind.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll do it.”

It was silence. Silence, and so, so, so much awkwardness.

Cod, it really was going to be like last time. They needed an ice-breaker, now, may it be the arrival of another one of their brothers, or anything that could put an end in the painful awkwardness of their upcoming situation—

The baby vomited.

“Gah!” Choromatsu yelped, staggering backwards and raising the baby away from his body as it continued to release its bile, brown murk that landed as goops on both their floor and Choromatsu’s socks. Choromatsu extended it further, clearing it from killing him more, but not enough for Choromatsu to be safe from the scent of acid that lifted to his nostrils. He turned as green as his track jacket, wanting to puke himself at the horrible-as-crap permutations of food that made up the baby’s bile.

“Hang on!” Ichimatsu called out, running off towards where Choromatsu didn’t bother guessing. He continued to stand there with his arms stretched, one of his sleeves coated in a gross shade matching the current color of the floor. The baby kept going, and Choromatsu wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not to let it keep going, or if it was a better idea to give it water or its milk to get it to stop.

This. This is why he didn’t care a dang about babies.

“Oh, Cod, that smells so horrible!” Choromatsu gritted out, proceeding to yell, “Ichimatsu! Get some tissues and water or something! Forget about the milk for a bit and help me out here!”

“I got it!” Ichimatsu yelled back, returning a moment later with a bottle of water as he ran towards Choromatsu and the wheezing child. Ichimatsu put a hand underneath the child’s chin, tapping the cleanest spot there with a finger, saying, “Oi, kid! Open your mouth and gargle this dang water, huh?!” His tapping went harder, and the baby found itself irritated by Ichimatsu’s ruthlessness when it began making sounds that symbolized the start of another set of waterworks.

“You idiot!” Choromatsu screamed, yanking the baby away from Ichimatsu. “That’s not how you do it!”

“Are you doing any better?!” he retorted, waving the bottle as its insides smacked against the walls of its container. “You’re covered in its puke! Let me do my thing so that I can help get that abomination of a child away from a fappy loser like you!” He made a grab, but Choromatsu used one of his legs to kick him back. This just made Ichimatsu try to jerk and jostle, shaking the three of them in a hazardous earthquake.

“Are you trying to kill it?!” Choromatsu demanded.

“Not necessarily!” Ichimatsu replied, struggling against Choromatsu’s efforts to keep him off the little boy. He didn’t seem to give any care if he was getting too close to the vomit on Choromatsu’s sleeve. “But admit it! You’d rather have it dead than slobber on you the way it did! Cod, it was biting my ear!”

“Yeah, I would! But that isn’t what we need right now!” Choromatsu scoffed, still using his body as a shield, but not having its effectivity determine positivity for the child as it began whining once again. “Ichimatsu, cut it out! You’re making it worse!”

“So stop being stubborn! Give me the brat!” Ichimatsu yelled, slowing down far from a choice for him.

“No! Are you stupid?!”

“Not as stupid as you!”

“You’re so annoying!”

“You are too! So give me the whiny thing!”

Fed up and unable to take any more of the nonsense, Choromatsu nudged Ichimatsu with all the strength he could muster.

Ichimatsu reeled back, but a high-pitched screech interrupted their banter, and Ichimatsu was spun around so fast that Choromatsu had to remind himself that they were face-to-face just a millisecond ago.

In front of him, Ichimatsu’s anger diminished as a candle would on a windy day. Instead, he was suddenly sympathetic and entirely apologetic, a rare emotion that was emitted from the fourth-born Matsuno son on days that were as abnormally-normal such as this one. “Oh crap, I stepped on its tail!” Ichimatsu cried, kneeling down towards the small kitten so tiny and defenseless on the floor. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—!” But he didn’t get to finish as the kitten hissed at him and scrambled towards their open door.

When Ichimatsu faced Choromatsu again, he was absolutely fuming. “That was all your fault, Choromatsu!”

“Because you kept trying to throttle me and the baby!” Choromatsu snapped, and a second later he realized his mistake too late.

Flames danced in Ichimatsu’s gaze, and without another word he had his fingers spread out like claws, and he was pouncing onto Choromatsu with the feral battle roar of a lion. Choromatsu barely had time to breathe another breath before he was tackled to the floor, nearly dropping the baby and wailing out as punches made imprints on his face and body, Ichimatsu’s screaming a blur of words with the agony that blossomed in his skull.

The shock came first before the retaliation, and Choromatsu went just as mad as he stretched out his arms and grabbed Ichimatsu by his neckline and smacked him off. Both were yelling, and soon both boys were engulfed in a battle cloud as they threw punches and kicks against one another, neither of their sentences registering to the other over their own chaos. Bruises marked their skin, saliva spat out, and bodies were doubling over from the unexpected-expected mercilessness of his brother.

This though was so much better than being stuck in awkwardness, Choromatsu decided, and was so much better than having to care for some stupid, left-on-the-street toddler. The kitten though was far from Choromatsu’s priorities. And with that mindset still stable in his conscience, he and Ichimatsu resumed their brotherly battle of the middle sons.

“Uwa!” the baby suddenly exclaimed, and startled, Choromatsu and Ichimatsu froze as they turned towards it. Choromatsu’s knee was an atom away from Ichimatsu’s gut, and Ichimatsu’s grip was white-knuckle tight in Choromatsu’s hair. Their irritation morphed into confusion when the baby pointed towards its filthy mouth indicatively. Choromatsu, for dealing constantly with Todomatsu’s babyish behavior in high school, was familiar with that gesture—it was hungry.

Choromatsu was first to return to his senses as he finished off his kick on Ichimatsu before heading towards the baby, scooping it from the floor and stretching it out in front of him again. It still drooled colored spit. “Ugh, you little...” He groaned, tucking the baby to his shoulder and coming towards the couch, stopping by the fallen bottle of milk before settling down. He spared no heed towards his brother as he popped the bottle open, too tired to bother searching for a real baby bottle with the way things were going down for him.

Ichimatsu just stood there, arms crossed.

“What?” It was more of a statement than it was a question. “Follow your cat. I’ll handle myself here.”

Ichimatsu made a sound between his teeth. “Are you that stupid? It’s freaking pissed at me.”

“Then redeem yourself with this baby,” Choromatsu said, using the back of his sleeve to rub the mouth of the small boy. He continued to try aligning the mouth of the bottle to the baby’s, relieved flooding him when he matched his target. The throat of the baby bobbed as it swallowed down the milk, shutting its wet eyes and relaxing its tense body. There was no use for Ichimatsu in this situation anymore.

“Or not, since I’m doing well. Acting as your true niisan really does to the job sometimes.” He stopped, letting the baby gulp some more, before letting the baby suck again. The milk was draining fast. “Ichimatsu, you’re just standing there. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Well sorry if I’m doing that. You’re making me uncomfortable as well,” Ichimatsu snapped, tone clipped.

“Why? Because I pushed you enough to scare your cat away?”

And that was when he made his second mistake, but unlike earlier, this time he felt bad about it. He watched as Ichimatsu’s nose wrinkled in misery, and he was stomping out of the room before Choromatsu could even apologize. The door slid shut with a mighty clang, and Choromatsu felt the baby flinch in his arms as the last of the milk flicked into nothingness. The baby burped, slumping against Choromatsu’s chest, and shutting its eyes, it yawned.

About a second later it was sleeping, and the sky outside had tinted from blue to gray.

Choromatsu found himself slipping in and out of consciousness as the first drops of a downpour started to approach their hometown. The downpour turned into a pattering that struck against their rooftop, and soon it resorted into a steady rhythm of drumming, the light outside of their window contradicting the time of two-thirty in the afternoon. The cool air that managed to enter the room intertwined itself with Choromatsu’s system, tickling him and allowing drowsiness to climb up him.

He might’ve said that he had successfully fallen asleep when thunder shook him into cautiousness, alerting both himself and the baby that had its scream reverting into wailing. Choromatsu whined and let his back collide against the backrest of the sofa. Was this small creature that hydrated to be able to cry all day? Apparently so, and Choromatsu was too tired to deal with it. But he supposed he had to, since he had given the responsibility to himself.

He prepared to stand—

“Stop. Stay there,” Ichimatsu suddenly ordered, tone low and devoid of all the rage it had carried a few minutes ago. Ichimatsu knelt down on the floor with his brown eyes on the floor, a small redness seeping into his cheeks as he pressed something against the baby’s side. “Here. Take this. Maybe the baby will stop if it hugs this.”

It was a stuffed cat. Specifically, it was a stuffed cat that he had owned for only a few months when Jyushimatsu had won it at the latest spring fair. It was a black cat from a movie Choromatsu had forgotten about over how occupied he was with his latest novel series, but he remembered how often Ichimatsu would hide the toy when any of their brothers was around.

Now it was sitting right in front of him, pressed against the sides of both the baby’s body and Ichimatsu’s palm. Ichimatsu was expectantly silent.

“Ah, thank you, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu said, taking the plush and inserting it between the nimble fingers of the baby. “Here, hug this. It’ll make you feel so much better.”

Understanding him or not, the baby wrapped itself around the plush, resting its chin on the toy’s neck and finding itself comfortable there. It nestled itself once more against Choromatsu’s chest, gaining its lost slumber as it breathed lightly. Its body rose and fell so steadily in its own harmony, creating dissonance with the pelting of the rain.

“That was nice of you, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu said quietly as Ichimatsu set himself next to him. “How did you know it would help?”

“I didn’t,” Ichimatsu bluntly stated, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. “It was a hunch. Normally a lot of people feel better when they have someo—I mean, something to hug.” Ichimatsu’s face went redder.

“I suppose that’s true,” Choromatsu mused, pretending he didn’t see it. “But that was a nice sacrifice from you, Ichimatsu. I know you really like that cat, but to give it to the baby after it had finished puking and downing milk...” He shuddered, imagining his reaction if one of his personal stuff got into a similar position.

Ichimatsu smirked. “It’s no big deal. I’ll have Shittymatsu wash it when he gets home, or you so the secret stays about our inconvenience.”

Choromatsu scoffed playfully. “I would, but I don’t think so. I’m not touching baby drool.”

“It’s all over your sleeves.”

“Good point.”

They let the rain and the baby’s light snoring be their sound for a while.

“We should get that child to the police station when the rain lightens up,” Ichimatsu said, putting an end to the voiceless session. “Get it to its parents, if it has any. Eh, the police would do it, as long as it isn’t Officer Yatsugashira anymore.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I agree with you. And before the rest of our brothers get home.” Choromatsu went rigid, his guilt coming back as he said, “Ichimatsu, I’m sorry about what I said earlier, and for pushing you so hard. It was my fault you stepped on the cat. It should’ve been mad at me instead of you.” He let his shame overpower him as he waited for Ichimatsu to answer, to break the chain that had buckled itself in Choromatsu’s stomach.

“I’m sorry too,” Ichimatsu finally said, honesty in his voice. “I was being insensitive about the kid earlier. I suppose that having an ill feeling in his stomach isn’t his fault for vomiting. You were right. I should’ve held back on him.”

Choromatsu smiled at him with his angular smile. “I guess we both get into our own kind of trouble when we’re home alone, aren’t we?”

Ichimatsu dipped his chin with a matching smile of agreement. “Mhm.”

The sky continued to rumble, to weep uncontrollably. To close it out, Choromatsu said, “Did you find your cat after you went out? Is it still mad at you?” He sounded melancholic to his own ears.

“Yup. At the toilet. Managed to get in and shut the door on its own, magnificently. It didn’t let me get close to it at all, so I left it there.” He said it with a bluntness that made his mood indecipherable. Choromatsu deciphered it enough.

“We should get it out of there when we can, and take it back out before Mom or Dad gets back. Do you think it’s as lost as this baby is? Do you think it has a family waiting for it?”

Ichimatsu’s eyes went downcast. “It has to. I wouldn’t want to imagine something like it to be orphaned. But I won’t be surprised. Most of the cats I find in the alleyway are loners anyway, no matter how old. Animal parents just tend to be more neglectful of their offspring than human parents are. Well, some human parents.”

“Yeah. That’s too bad.”

Choromatsu suddenly understood then why babies were so important. Babies signified the creation of a new life, a new mind, a new purposeful thing to enter the world. Some lived to find galaxies in their eyes, to have papers with their names, to have friends and families that made more life that served as hope for thousands of upcoming generations in their cyclical world entitled as life. They grew to become scientists, seeing reality’s codes through intelligence. They grew to become writers, penning lessons that built up the human being into an impenetrable force. They grew to learn love and to give love, when romance, family, and friendship is introduced when they are feeling alone.

Babies became part of the future, and built it.

But not all babies lived long enough to be that. Some parents refused the responsibility of having a child, and killed them off mercilessly with the power of abortion. Some babies entered the world lifeless, miscarriage being the curse that invited them into the breathing world that way they were. Others were unfortunate enough to be caught in nature’s mishaps, fires, storms, and many more calamities taking away their lives before they could be lived. And because of that, there were so many chances of the world’s redemption that bit the dust, letting it flow in its brutal pace.

That’s what made babies special, and why their lives were important. As much as a human he was, so were they, and they held the probabilities to do the impossibilities many people in the present might not be able to accomplish.

And the baby in his arms was part of that crowd.

“Choromatsu-niisan,” Ichimatsu said, bringing him out of his reverie as he got up, “the rain’s lightening up. We should get going before the idiot eldest returns announcing his next Pachinko loss.”

“Right. We should.”

Choromatsu carefully lifted himself from the sofa, careful not to stir the baby from its sleep before accompanying Ichimatsu outside the bedroom. They took a turn towards the bathroom, Ichimatsu flicking the lights on, and Choromatsu saw the cat. It really was a delicate thing, so tiny against the corner of the room. It’s shadow on the wall alone made it look like a monster was looking after it, ready to bite with a single movement. It made Choromatsu’s heart hurt.

“Hey,” Ichimatsu cooed kindly, approaching the kitten with so much compassion that it was barely the Ichimatsu he knew anymore. “We’re going to take you home, okay? We’re going to take you back to your family. Won’t that be great?” Ichimatsu’s hurt from the kitten’s rejection was audible, and Ichimatsu’s forgiveness didn’t do the trick to calm Choromatsu’s shame.

The kitten lifted its vibrant gaze towards them, pulling back.

“Oh Cod...” Ichimatsu whimpered helplessly.

Choromatsu bowed solemnly.

“Uwa?” The baby, awake, shimmied in Choromatsu’s arms. It shook until Choromatsu had to bring it down to the floor, where it crawled towards the direction of the kitten after leaving Ichimatsu’s doll on the ground. Neither Choromatsu nor Ichimatsu made a move to stop it when the baby started petting the kitten’s back with the same kindness and love that Ichimatsu gave it. It was a touching sight as the kitten leaned into the baby’s hands, purring and meowing in a splinter of a pitch.

It was a cute sight that brought the two speechless for a while. Speechless because it was heartwarming, it was adorable, it was unexpected, and it was innocent. The baby laughed as the kitten purred.

“I don’t know what to say,” Choromatsu said, awed. “Only that today I have seen too many things I never thought I would see.”

“Mhm,” Ichimatsu hummed, voicing his agreement.

“Should we wait a little before going, let them play with each other for a little longer?”

Ichimatsu’s answer to that came in variations, and he was stuck without a proper answer. “Won’t we be awkward together?” he asked instead.

Choromatsu smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder reassuringly in a solid reply. And Ichimatsu grinned at him in return, placing his own hand on Choromatsu’s back.

Maybe spending the day with each other wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

[hes-writer]

Just A Little Bit of Your Heart (4)

Summary: Harry and Y/N are in an open relationship

Warnings: angst

Word Count: 3461 words

He sat on the foot of the bed while she fed herself with the creamy mash. His brain was going antsy with the conversation that he had overheard. “Who were you talking to?”

She hummed on a mouthful of food, “Shawn,” Although it sounded more like ‘Shom’

“What erm, what were you guys talking about?”

Y/N waved him off casually as if it was nothing, “Don’t worry about it.”

Needless to say, Harry was a bit more reluctant to invite another girl to his bed. Before hearing Y/N stumble through the front doors while tripping over her heeled feet was something that was unheard of. Harry would be l laying the nape of his neck on the soft fabric of the sofa with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, hearing her struggle over her purse and the metal keys. There were no tedious topics of what ran through his mind but overall; Y/N popped up from every corner of his brain as if to mock him that he deserved what he was feeling right now.

Harry felt disgusted; not at Y/N, but at himself. He felt worthless and guilty and he didn’t know how Y/N could stand through all his bullshit when he was doing it without saying anything as so much as a squeak. It seemed as though he had to staple his lips up every day to prevent him from saying something hurtful to her because after all--it would seem hypocritical of him to get angry at her for something that he did more-- twenty-three times more to be exact.

He wanted to scrub his body raw with the shower loofa as if thousands of bacteria littered his skin and all they wanted to do was taint him with infidelity and nip his skin to his skeleton as if it would rattle some sense into his dense mind. Of course, it was all in his head but he couldn’t stop his hand from moving aggressively, wanting to rid himself of any parts that screamed his connection with other women. Despite his efforts, the logical part of him knew that there was nothing he could do to wipe himself clean of the mistakes that he had made and repeated more times than he can count.

------

Seeing Y/N walk into their bedroom after showering made a revolting taste splash through his mouth. Although she was wrapped in a soft towel, Harry could still see the purple marks on her skin, the red love bites dotted on her neck and he was briefly reminded on what she said to him only a few weeks prior about the marks on his own body.

He was so mean to her. He was vile and rude, and much more defensive than he thought possible. He didn’t have to stand up for the women who left those marks because, in retrospect, Harry didn’t care for them as much as he cared for Y/N. But he did anyway. It was Y/N all along and he can’t believe that it took him such a long time to realize it. Regardless of any way he put it, he knew deep inside that he only said those words to her because the guilt was expanding through his chest, his neck, and to his face—which he was certain was turning into a light shade of red—as if his own body couldn’t help but own up to his wrongdoings.

-----

It was yet another time for an award show and Harry had been itching in his pants. He and Y/N usually had rituals for these kinds of things. As cheesy as it seemed, one of them would always ask the other if they could be each other's’ date for the night. It was their thing and as unnecessary as it is--since they were both invited each and every time--someone had to do it.

But it was a slap to the face when Y/N confronted him about it one night when they were both at home. Apparently, Shawn was following in his footsteps and took a step into the movie direction, just like he did with Dunkirk. Except for him, it was a romantic comedy that starred Y/N. Harry was shocked, hell, he knew that Y/N was in the means of shooting a new film but he didn’t know it was going to be this genre—or with Shawn, for that matter.

There had been some rumors regarding Shawn and Y/N—they always kind of existed but both of them got better at ignoring it. Shawn suggested going to the red carpet together, even though she was with Harry, because not only was it inputted by their PR teams—they thought that it would be great for the movie itself. Plus, given Y/N’s current relationship with Harry, it gives him a taste of his own medicine to see her enjoying herself without someone holding her back.

——

And Y/N was right. The media did go crazy seeing Shawn by her side instead of the usual man that accompanied her. Rumors flew minutes after the red carpet walk was broadcasted and she could hear screams of anguish and happiness mixed amongst the fans when the person dressed in the black suit was revealed to be Shawn.

“So, is there any particular reason why Shawn is with you tonight? Where’s Harry?” The interviewer asked, pointing the microphone towards the both of them.

Shawn and Y/N looked at each other, silently agreeing on what they had planned previously. Y/N gave a smile before answering, “Actually, Shawn is starring in a new rom-com with me!”

He flashed his signature smirk, eyes softening to give the fans a taste of how well he could do. “We haven’t started filming yet but I’m very excited,”

The woman continued to ask questions about the upcoming film to which Shawn responded. Meanwhile, Y/N eyes wandered away to the rest of the individuals littering the area. Squeals erupted when a sleek, black car approached the venue and she just knew that it would be Harry. She smiled sadly, her eyes stinging with slight tears. There was no doubt in her mind that she missed him, but she knew that he had to learn how it felt to lose her.

The moment he stepped out of the confines of the car, Y/N swore everything turned into white noise and she seemed to have tunnel vision. He was all she could see and god, did he take her breath away. His hair was parted elegantly, his suit—a royal blue that suited his skin tone and brought out the gleaming emerald of his eyes. His pink lips were so pigmented that she could see it from where she stood. His fingernails glimmered against the bright light—pink and blue polish decorating them. Y/N could see and understand what made her fall in love with him in the first place. How gentle he was with greeting the people who came to see him—to the chauffeur that drove and opened him for the world to see with a little shy smile.

What she didn’t see coming was a skinny figure emerging, first through the dazzling diamonds encrusted on her heels, then to the emerald green nightgown that seemed to hug her figure delicately—which was strangely similar to the one Y/N wore on their first carpet appearance together. In complete disbelief of what she saw, Y/N tightened her grip on Shawn’s arm whereas Harry simply offered his own to the woman he had invited with him. What the hell is he doing?

Y/N shifted her attention back to the woman in front of her, pursing her lips in a tight-lipped smile—the cameras were still flashing. What the actual heck was her boyfriend doing right now? Granted when she told him about who her date was going to be tonight, he was a bit upset. However, she wasn't expecting him to bring a whole ass date. Her being with Shawn was great publicity to the movie and kept people speculating about their relationship, keeping their attention on them. There was no doubt that as of right not—Harry and Y/N are over. And it might as well be the truth, seeing as Harry strutted with the lady attached on the crook of his arm, looking happier than Y/N had seen him in days.

She wasn't sure if her eyes were too dilated that it made the curve on his face bigger or if he was actually having the time of his life right now. Y/N meant what she said. She really did miss Harry and she absolutely loves him with all her heart. One more glance at him and the girl had her wanting to rip him to shreds but at the same time, walk up to him and kiss him like he was hers.

Y/N didn't have to do any of the walking, though, as Harry took it upon himself to lead his body towards her. Through wishful thinking, Y/N hoped that it was because he still gravitated towards her but she knew that it was too far-fetched to even be true.

“Harry! Nice for you to join us,” The interviewer greeted the new additions. “And who is this stunning woman with you tonight?”

The woman by his side shyly smiled and Y/N wanted to slap her face impulsively. Who does she think she is?

Harry chuckled, “This is Tanya,” He looked Y/N straight in the eyes while saying, “My date.”

Y/N internally rolled her eyes, cursing him out in her head.

“Now, I'm sure everyone wants to know what’s going on here,” She spoke, raising an eyebrow. “Shawn’s here with Y/N because of their new film. What about you and Tanya?”

“I have no comment on that,” Harry gave her a smile, shutting down any advances.

“Come on! What is she to you?”

All four of them shifted uncomfortably knowing that the interview was getting into business she had no reason to be in.

“She's uh—she’s a special friend, I guess,”

“Are you saying you and Ms. Y/L/N have broken it off?” She pried, looking giddy that she might've been the first person to find out this news.

Harry whipped his head to face Y/N, nodding his head hesitantly in the heat of the moment but the damage had been done. Y/N gaped at him with a slightly opened mouth, brows furrowed in confusion at the sudden confession she had no memory of happening. They never spoke anything of a breakup and here he was subtly confirming it on national television.

“Is this true, Y/N?”

Y/N couldn’t move but she was grateful that Shawn’s lean body was there to support her paralyzed one. Common sense was spiraling down the drain—if they never spoke about it, then it must be a show. Maybe his management requested for him to do that so his image won't be ruined with rumors. Nonetheless, shouldn't have Harry talked about it with Y/N? She spoke to him about tonight. Couldn't he do the same? Or was his plan to publicly embarrass her?

She can imagine her face resembling a goldfish with bubbles popping out of its mouth and an attention span that lasted as little as the ‘break up’ conversation happened. She must look a fool, looking as if she had no recollection (and she doesn’t) and now she will be portrayed as the woman who was too clingy to let the past go. They are never going to paint him in a bad light--no--just her.

----

The night continued with sympathetic glances from her celebrity friends who must've heard the news. Some even came to her, declaring their availability in her ‘need for comfort’ to which Y/N was forced to nod and swallow the huge lump in her throat because she felt like she was about to puke.

Yes, she is madly in love with Harry and it took a lot from her to even move her body in ways she only had for him. But she really wished that he talked to her about it instead of dropping a bombshell.

“Are you going to be okay?” Shawn asked, shrugging on his coat while handing Y/N hers. She nodded slipping her arms in the holes, adjusting the collar to fit her better before glancing around to find Harry. “I’ll be fine,”

----

As Y/N entered the limo that was to drive them home, she was surprised, to say the least, to see Harry trampled on the leather seat, being straddled by Tanya. Both of them seemed to not notice her standing on the pavement. The empathic part of her knew that she had to prevent pictures from being captured and so—she had no choice but to scurry inside as quickly as possible, not caring much for interrupting the heated make-out session.

Y/N sat across the couple, averting her eyes somewhere else except it was impossible for her to do so. The windows were tinted dark enough so that she couldn't see the outside—all there was was a reflection of the inside of the car. She cleared her throat.

“Is she riding with us?” Y/N questioned, trying hard not to let bitterness escape her tone. She was really hoping that she could to Harry tonight. She couldn't do so because it was busy the whole evening.

Harry tilted his head over Tanya to see her, eyes widening in realization. His large hands grabbed Tanya’s waist to pry her off of his lap to which she plainly complied. However, he seemed to forget about the problem in pants, grasping the tent in an effort to hide it.

“Y/N! Wha–when did you get here?” He was breathless with eyeballs on the verge of popping out of his sockets.

“About two minutes ago,” She crossed her legs over the other, repeating her question.

“Uh yeah, she is,”

Y/N nodded, whipping out her phone and immediately texting Shawn about whatever. From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry mumble to himself, closing his eyes while shaking his head. None of them spoke for the rest of the car ride.

---

“Mind explaining what happened back there?” Harry tensed, his feet chasing after Y/N who was light on her steps.

She shrugged her shoulders, muttering a “what do you mean”.

“In the car,” He continued, “You made Tanya uncomfortable. She's my guest.”

Y/N slammed her purse on the dresser, fingers pausing from the action of swiping the cotton pad across her face to remove her make up. “I'm sorry, I guess?”

He rolled his eyes, sitting himself down to remove his shoes and dress socks.

“Coulda been a little nicer,”

“You want to know what's nice, Harry?” Y/N slammed her hands flat on the wooden vanity. “You telling me that we decided to break-up! I mean, what the hell was that?”

Harry gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing from the side view Y/N could see. “I didn't even know we were ‘broken up’.”

“It was nothing. I just thought it held some truth, don't you think?” Harry quirked a lip.

“What?”

“You and Shawn,” He spat. “There's something going on between you two, isn't there?”

Y/N swore she was about to rip her hair out of her head. He was being ridiculous. “No, there isn’t,”

“That's bullshit,” Harry laughed, balling his fists.

“We’re just fucking,” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. The skin on her forearm rubbing against the scratchy fabric of her dress. It was vulgar, but it was the truth. “Unlike you and Tanya,”

He shook his head incredulously. “It was a joke! Live a little,”

“That was not a fucking joke. That was humiliation,”

“Sorry, I didn't realize it would hurt you,” He mumbled, not sounding like he meant his words. Y/N didn't know if he was taking this seriously or not.

“Of course it would hurt me!” Her voice turning into a pitch higher to defend herself. “You think I’d just be fine with that?”

“Wouldn't know that,”

Was he seriously blaming her for this? For being hurt? She thought.

“You're an asshole,” She turned her back on him but still keeping a close eye through the mirror.

“Me? At least I don't lie,”

She was confused, “What the hell did I lie about?”

He stared at her as if the answer was plastered on his forehead, “You and Shawn!”

“There is nothing between us,”

“And I told you, I wouldn't have known because you haven't talked to me  at all,” Harry stressed out his words, elongating certain syllables to emphasize his point.

“You really want to discuss talking? Then tell me why you basically told the whole world that we broke up,” She snarled. “These things are something that we talk about in private, Harry”

She took off her heels, bare feet making contact with the carpeted floor. “This is our relationship, not theirs so please—please tell me why you did that. When you knew that it would hurt me?”

Her voice progressed to a whisper the longer Y/N talked. Her figure slouching some as she became vulnerable with her feelings.

He sighed, eyes softening at her worn out appearance, “Because I was jealous,”

She pulled back, appalled at his words. Jealous? “Jealous?”

He nodded, breathing heavily through his nose as if to gather the courage to continue.

“I realized that I couldn't see you being with another guy,” He stares at her deeply while his mouth ran its course. “I couldn't see you with marks all over your skin because of him. I didn't want to imagine you being intimate the way you did with me. I couldn't handle it,”

He swallowed before continuing, “Everyday, I thought about how you must have felt when I–,” He trailed off a little, emerald orbs breaking their contact with hers. He cleared his throat, “I was so selfish and I realized that I took advantage of you,”

Y/N couldn't help but agree with him. She felt used and abused during their time together, but she was glad that he was owning up to it.

“And I was wondering why it hurt me so much,” Harry took her hands into his, pulling her closer to him. “It's because I love you, Y/N.”

“If you loved me, you wouldn't have done what you did tonight,” She spoke thoughtfully, glancing to the wall in conscious thought.

He nodded profusely, “I know, but believe me. I do,”

“You do?” She asked rhetorically.

“I do. I don't want to be with other women. I don't want to as much as taking a second glance at them. I'm happy with you, Y/N and I know that I have a lot to make up for but I'm willing to show you everything,” He pleaded with her, hands squeezing right. “Please give me another chance,”

Y/N stared at him with glossy eyes. She loves this man but she didn't know if she could handle being with him. They've been in an open relationship for too long that she didn't know if they could still be a normal couple with each other. Too many things have changed and there's no denying that some things were far too different to even be considered them.

She was using all her brain power to gather the advantages and disadvantages of the two decisions she was allowed to choose. On one hand, breaking it off with Harry would be like escaping a mob. She was so suffocated by his presence that it would be nice to break free from it and run to Shawn. He was always there for her anyway. It would be a new start for the both of them it wouldn't hurt neither parties too much because they already sort of had closure with the distance that pried them apart.

On the other, Y/N was smitten with Harry and it seemed that he was, too. There's no use throwing away something that's broken when it is only bent on the edges. And maybe that was them. Maybe all they had to do was to polish off the rough creases before their love could fulfill each other to the fullest.

Minutes of silence passed and the hope filling Harry’s eyes slowly dispersed. But he kept determined to wait for her response—not wanting to rush Y/N. But Y/N had already made up her mind.

“I want to end it.” She heaved punctually, closing her eyes as to not see his reaction.

Harry thought and for a second, his heart beamed in pure joy before pounding in worry. End it?

“You mean the open relationship?” Harry asked, “Or us?”

-----

wooooooo!

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[grim-faux]

9 - Behind his Shadow

The temperature changed.  It was a fickle thing in the massive tunnels that made up the sewer, the warm air clinging to my shoulders while small drafts drifted through my sleeves causing me to shiver.  I remained crouched for several minutes listening keenly for the corridor and the thing through the grate, I’m not sure what I was waiting for.  Or if I was aware that I had been waiting for some time before the small spark of a nerve pulsed up my spine.

I needed to keep moving.  Whatever was there I was either following it or barely staying ahead of it, couldn’t decide which it was.  Either I’d stumble into it or linger too long in one area, and that would inadvertently allow it to reach me before I had time to realize I had been hunted all along.

 I wobbled as I rose to my feet and took some small steps toward the corner of the tunnel, watching the dark shades beyond the large grate with avid caution.  What happened to the person that looked down upon me?  The path on my right was open for exploration.

My nerves were too high strung, in the hollow quiet I startled myself back when my foot broke the surface of the water with a soft swish.  I backed away and rolled my eyes, though my jumpiness couldn’t be discredited.  But still, I was spooked by my own footsteps!

A plate on the wall indicated Administration Block on the right with an arrow to clarify this.  I really didn’t have any options, my only comfort came that this path would not branch out into additional tunnels and I couldn’t possibly get lost down here.  Given, there was a way out and my batteries would last.

Originally I had wanted to pause and wring out the excess water from my coat as best I could, but I didn’t want to stay stationary longer than necessary.  It clung to me like a soggy glove, at least the sewers were warm with decay, only upside here.  It was well received given circumstances.

The tunnel was dim with enough light I didn’t need my camera, I carried it beside my hip for the comfort of it.  The tunnel curved and I followed it into a well-lit channel with large drain pipes beneath the floor, grated over and filled to the brim with thick runoff.  The cooler air settled low, generating a murky steam that clung to everything and swirled around my shoulders as I cut through it.  With no area visible to hide enemies I jogged along taking in the constructive details of the abandon sewer.

It looked like railing was installed along the side, or guardrails for the workers that had to come down when it was flooded.  Support beams ran across the ceiling every few feet, but didn’t seem to help much in preventing cave-ins.  At the end of the channel was another collapse, I was approaching it when a light flittered through blinding me.

A soft voice hummed out, I wasn’t sure if I should retreat now or wait.  He was on the other side of the fallen debris, unless there was an access through on the open tunnel to the right.  The song sounded familiar but against the echoing walls I couldn’t decide if it was ‘Father’ Martin, or one of his disciples.  It didn’t sound like him….

“Till all the lambs in the church of god…”

I couldn’t make out what he was saying at this distance.  He had already taken off, on the other side of the tunnel I saw his light glitter as he ran and his feet chopped up the shallow water.  The song was somehow depressing.  Maybe because of the ‘Father’ Martin’s Gospel of Sand, or maybe seeing the man down searching as I was for his own way out, armed with only a flashlight.

I kept to the left and strained to see through the vapor where he might have gone, the tunnel had a neighboring channel but I didn’t have any ambition to explore that side further.  The forgotten corpse of Murkoffs doctors lay dissolving in the drainage gutter, even from where I stood I could pick up the heavy fumes of his bloated body. 

A door waited innocently at my backside.  I tried the handle half expecting it to be broken or locked, but the knob gave with no effort and I entered to find a patient hidden behind a shelf near the back.  I must’ve looked shocked by his presence as he held up his arms and backed away.

“You don’t have to be scared of me.  I can tell we’re the same.  You still know what’s real.”

I stepped out of the room to glance around and return my eyes to the patient, before reentering and shutting the door behind.  This was the first human in this place to actually comfort me, and not sound creepy about it.  First person to attempt a conversation with me.

“Do you mind if I film you?” I held up my camera, keeping my distance.

“Not at all.  Go ahead.  I’d actually prefer it.”  I raised the camera and zoomed in on him framing his head and shoulders nicely.  He looked no different from the dozens of unaccounted victims, his face ruined by malpractice, scars up and down his arms.  But he was fully clothed.

“The doctor’s dead, you know that, right?  Dr. Wernicke.”  I nodded.  “Died before he even started working here.”  He pinched the bridge of what remained of his nose between his fingers as though recalling some detail, or harmed by the recollections.  “What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients?  That’s the question.”

“I found the obituary.”

“Yeah.”  To me it sounded like he didn’t credit this fact too much.  “A few of us have seen it too, a little proof he’s never been here.”  He glanced at the shelf beside him and ran a finger along its metal support.  “Doesn’t change what he’s done.”

“But…he’s dead, isn’t he?  It’s on file.”  My breath hitched when he gave me a venomous look, but it dissolved and he turned away toward a mattress abandoned on the floor behind him.  He curled up on its filthy surface and turned his back to me.

The interview was over.

“The Patients know Dr. Wernicke is dead.  One asks me, ‘What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients?’  What is PROJECT WALRIDER?”

I examined the room lightly without disturbing him, and always kept my attention trained to any sort of sound he would make, pausing when his breathing wheezed or the broken springs of the mattress shifted.  There was no visible aid, aside from some cracked shelving and a vent that might’ve led to better venues - I couldn’t reach it.  There was only a ladder in the center of the floor leading down a short ways.  I secured the camera and climbed the rungs, that familiar scent of copper whirled around me and I anticipated what would meet me.

The sewage in the drain gutter was a soft rose color, the sharp scent of death thick in the humid tunnel.  It was fresh otherwise it would have diluted out by now.  All the screaming I’d heard in the upper level?

I shivered as I pulled up the camera but decided not to film, instead I held it between my palms and stared into the water.  What was PROJECT WALRIDER? kept ringing through my thoughts.  What was the screaming I heard?  What happened to those people?  It could’ve been Chris Walker.  Maybe I misheard them, others had expressed fears in his violent tendencies, I must’ve misheard them.  But I couldn’t stop shaking.  My coat was damp and cool, my nerves were shot.  I needed to keep moving, keep my mind focused on what was around me.

Across from my position a plate was fixed on the wall that labeled the contrary directions to take, the Male ward to the left and the Female ward to the right.  I glanced down at the river of swirling red before I set my foot on the side of the gutter and teetered, beside a metal gate.  The Male ward was where I needed to be, I think.  I wasn’t sure anymore, I could’ve as easily headed to the right if I thought there was a way out through the Female section but…I didn’t want to see what that area had to offer. I didn’t want—

A body flopped down from above nearly on top of me.  I pivoted sloshing through the metallic froth back to the direction where the Female ward was, only to turn the bend and find a solid metal gate.  I wasn’t satisfied to turn back yet, not until I took the handle and fought to turn it.  The latch was solid, my only course obvious.

I switched between breathing through my mouth or through my nose, the stench sought my senses no matter what, I could hardly bear it.  Halfheartedly I attempted to walk on the side of the drainage gutter out of the liquid, if only to settle my conscience.  The body that impacted the cement looked torn and twisted in bizarre ways and his arm looked infected, possibly blood poisoning but I was no doctor.  I couldn’t tell if he was this mangled before he fell, or whatever killed him had maimed him.

I was better off never knowing.

As I passed under the huge drain he fell from, I could see the grate above had been removed and the bright light from the upper floors descended unrestrained.  Light was still my enemy, but it was hard not to take comfort in its strong brilliance.

I checked the charge on my camera as I continued into the darker portions of the tunnel, stunned to find it nearly half dead.  That was a good battery, I had seen it when I put it in.  Or wasn’t it?  I wasn’t sure.  But if I needed my night vision down here for prolonged periods at a time, it might be on its lowest functions.

It must’ve been the chill.  The cold had a tendency to drain battery life fast.  But, no…the sewers were at times stifling, almost unbearably so in my damp coat.

The cadence of gushing water traveled around the next corner, elevating my anxiety further.  The fore sound could cloak a stew of early warnings from feet to voices, or other unnamed things.  I squatted behind some waterlogged crates stacked at the edge, and glanced over them when I saw red splatters.  Slowly I eased around the side and peered into a foggy tunnel muddled by failing lights, but enough visibility was there to utilize the zoom on my camera.  I couldn’t make out movement, even with the running water dividing my attention.  A new scene of horror awaited me.

I slipped around the boxes keeping low, and moved to the opposite side of the channel in an effort to avoid further soaking.  Water spewed from a broken water valve of a large pipe connected between the floor and ceiling, I didn’t bother to check it as my eyes focused on the red splattered on the walls and floor.  It looked like someone had been straining chunky human pieces from the large drainage pipes in the ceiling, the sides splattered with bright globs of black and red.  It was all spilling from the rim of the gutter into the water staining it the crimson hue.  Beneath the surface I could view small fish like things squirming about, as persistent as the flies burrowing into soggy guts or body parts.

I closed my eyes and swallowed, I could feel myself shaking harder as I lowered my arms beside me.  This nightmare looked recent, it smelled fresh and raw.  I had memories as a kid, being with my dad at the local butchers as he cut up the hindquarters of a hog.  This reminded me sharply of that.  Of all those times.

Maybe after this I’d turn vegan.  I never was a big fan of steak.

There was no end to it as I moved through the tunnel, blood was stained up the walls, and pieces of inner organs left strew over pipes and crates lining the gutter.  Each drain I passed under had blood running down its interior, more innards, or large sheets of skin imbedded with bone.  A leg bobbing in the drain still had blood seeping from the stump, as the little black sewer guppies thrashed into their meal.

Finally, a full human body was laid dead in the bend of the tunnel.  I didn’t care to identify his death, I continued and placed myself on the side of the gutter.  The channel darkened and a cold draft crept through my coat, I was forced to use the camera to keep from stumbling on the slick sides.

Something hissed ahead of me.  I sighed irritated by how jumpy I was, given I was still alone, it was just a pipe—

A thick splash sent cold beads of water through the bars.  I retreated a few steps and gazed through the visor, seeing nothing but a sturdy grate where the movement had occurred.  The bloated body of a Murkoff researcher was crammed against the bars, some of the skin exposed at his neck and face had been disturbed by the sudden kick in the water and floated freely from the muscles of his skull.  Above, or around me there was that same sound, ball bearings rattling through pipes.  I turned my camera filming wherever I thought the sound twittered though there was nothing to see, the noise sent shivers up my spin.  Or it could’ve been the sudden chill locked in the stale air.  Couldn’t stop here.

Need to keep moving.  Had to escape.  Thoughts of Chris and what he could do to me vanished completely with the presence of this ‘unknown.’  I wasn’t sure what I was running from, only that I somehow kept out of its line of sight.  Dumb luck.

I entered an intersecting tunnel on my right but drew back, there was light ahead but the sounds were still present, sounded like it had filtered out of the pipe and was now crashing around behind the door in the tunnels side.  The uproar grew in volume as whatever tore the room apart, shelves cracked as all manner of furniture was flung about.  The metal barrier quivered and my breath came labored, I wasn’t sure if I was actually experiencing this.  How did it get from here to that room?

I took small steps forward, before springing away for no real reason other than my fear of the sounds and I recalled the slaughter.  I could almost hear it now, shrieking voices of the deranged as skin was peeled back and bones cracked.  Then all at once everything ceased and silence saturated the calm tunnel.

It felt like I was in some sort of danger, though no visible evidence was present to suggest this notion.  The air was filled with the metallic reek and rot of old sludge, I could almost pick up the soft warble of water spilling down cobblestone.  I felt my heart sank as I realized it could just as easily be blood spilling from a ruined neck.

I debated trying the handle to see what was in there.  The highest probability would be its displeasure with the intrusion, followed by my abrupt death.  In the dark red liquid of the gutter I could see the drains grate was removed from the wall, a possible means to get away from this area.  For a moment I couldn’t move, my eyes flashed to the silent door with its unassuming threat.

Quickly I zipped along the far side of the wall across from the door and gently stepped into the rosy liquid, there was no sound as I shuffled along in the cramped space in the dark. I choked on that thick oil reek as I felt about, feeling light headed with the sudden collision.  My camera was also getting low on power, but I insisted on using every last bit of what it had.  I still only had two more batteries, and one I was certain was on half power.  My leg stung as I bore my grungy pants into the wounds with the chilled water, I shifted my weight and adjusted the camera in my hand before I could fall over.  This drain lacked the curving edges I could rest my hand upon to keep my balance, as it was I could barely keep my knees and lower edges of my coat dry.  I felt an immediate difference in temperature the moment I entered, the air was cold and calm causing my shoulders to ache as I trembled uncontrollably.

The small tunnel felt near endless in the consuming black, the edges of the green night vision made it more oppressive than should be possible.  What was only mere seconds felt like ages, until I reached a fork.  I attempted the one side that curved left, only to find it dead end at a sturdy grate.  Returning to the original route, I made certain where I was headed before trying the other side.

When the patients came down here earlier, they might have removed some of these grates together for shorter routes.  As long as the path was open, I was obligated to take it.  Every wrong turn wasted battery life and I attempted to conserve the energy by switching the NV off whenever possible, but in the black slate of nothing I felt the patient approach of something deadly.

I crawled out into a small room, a pump station.  It was drained, perhaps by the patients that came through or what was left of the staff still surviving this madness.  Some crates sat stacked in the diluted blood channel, and large pipes bore down through the grates upon which I stood, separating me from a nasty swim.  The thick fumes of oil and gas filled my lungs and the water I stood in had that translucent, iridescent sheen of chemical residue. Neglected machinery, yet still worked long after abandonment. Some miracle.

I put the camera away, with such nice lighting I just should.  The rail ahead was within arm reach if I jumped, and climbed over rather struggle between the bars.  A set of shelves at the opposite side of the room were loaded with tools and parts, and some cans of oil.  Two doors on either wall indicated the only options out of this room, if they were unlocked.

I tried the one nearest to me set on the solid cement floor, its appearance almost pleasant against the cold brick.  Behind the door was a wall of black, which would take me somewhere worthwhile I decided that instant.  The air within felt sharp and chilled, unlike the humid sewers.

The other door may have accessed the room I was locked from, as with it something dangerous and incomprehensible.  I doubted it, but decided not to risk it.  Strange shuffling and scratching sounds came from the other side, I had no wish to meet its gaze and learn its nature.  I slipped into the dark chill of the next channel, and shut the door.

Best leave some mysteries, my sick curiosity was going to be the death of me.

I was upon a high grated walkway, without the night vision I could feel the danger press close into me.  Decay, mildew, and every manner of disease.  My finger with the missing nail was in a good deal of pain, easily ignored but a frequent reminder whenever I fumbled with the cameras operations.

The path to my right was loaded with boxes, a precarious place to climb for a view if they gave out and I fell into god knows what below.  When I checked over the side I could make out the walls of metal sheeting gapped for water flow and ruined by corrosion of the mountains natural minerals, the oily water rippled with garbage from the main ward.  I was vaguely reminded of Star Wars, and half expected some unknown monster lurking in the depths to coil about my leg and drag me downwards to jaws lined with thousands of tiny teeth.

I laughed at this.  My laughter echoing off the great expanse of this chamber, deep into the dark, lost in this hell hole.  Somewhere out there a patient was laughing with me.  I swore I could hear him.

Or maybe that was my echo.

My knees gave out and I slumped to them lowering the camera beside me, but never letting go of it.  I laughed until my sides ached and I tasted that copper residue in my mouth once more.  I had fallen to deep chuckles before I started to cough on the foul air, then I flopped to my good side and lay there snickering quietly to myself on the frigid bridge.

What an idiot I was coming to this place!  “The story that breaks these bastards.”  Weren’t those my exact words?  Don’t quote me on that.  Looks like I got what I was looking for, fuckin’ story of the century, and Murkoff’s crushing demise.  They looked pretty broken to me, but maybe I wasn’t squinting right.  I should get that in fine print, signed by Dr. Wernicke himself.  Oh the irony he died before this place flipped its lid.

I waited till I had control again before attempting to rise, I didn’t need to buckle over the rail and make a graceless swan dive.

The path going left looked clear, but the rail was shattered to some distance.  With no better option I bit down on my reservations and dropped into the water, prepared for the jolt though not taking it as well as I had hoped.  I murmured to myself as my sides settled and I continued, camera held near my face as I waded through chest deep water.  It had the sharp rust smell, that was more metallic than blood, the pipes around here were made of zinc I thought.  Probably wrong, I wasn’t a plumber and I wouldn’t tell one how to do his job before I researched it.

I stopped and listened when I heard something that sounded like hissing, or grinding.  The way echoes twisted between the distant walls….maybe it was shrieking?  Maybe I was shrieking and wasn’t aware of it.

To reassure myself I touched my lips with my hand, never once considering how filthy my fingers were after I had been crawling down in the gutters.  In about five minutes it would come back to me.  I took a shaky breath to smooth my frayed nerves but it didn’t help at all.  I tried not to bite down on my tongue to prevent my teeth from chattering, in the event something did surprise me, I’d wind up biting off my tongue.

In the dark a shape flittered by, startling me back a step.  I gazed at it until my eyes told my brain what it was, just a scrap of blanket from somewhere.  I hated this place.  It was obvious by now.

I searched around the small channel, not sure what to make of this area.  I decided not to worry about it.  There were large grates, massive, separating this area from the channels I might have viewed or come through.  There was no way into them.  I hurried my movement, struggling to build a mental map of where I was going and prevent wasting the battery by getting turned around.  The chamber was extending beyond the dividing sections and cement walls far spread enabling me from following one side without losing too much power in the process.  I ventured into a small area open by a tear in the steel mesh, but found nothing other than a cluster of crates and some magazines that dissolved around my coat.

My battery was done, and I was forced to change it out.  The next one was full power, good to get me out of here.  Just had to find somewhere to get too.

When I returned to the area I had just left, I noted a stack of crates beneath a broken rail.  It’s connector.  I climbed the crates and dragged myself up onto the path, or what was left of it.  A few steps and I was already splashing below in the next channel, wading along with water bubbling into my coat.  I supposed I was looking for ways to get up and walk on these broken paths to reach a door or ladder, anyway to get out of here.  Good plan.  I had a good sense of direction on me, so long as I didn’t overthink which way I was facing.  If I memorized where I came from and kept my back to the drop or path, then I could navigate across the murky waters with a good mind where the next catwalk would appear.

As I was moving the same clatter of pellets in a pipe twittered off the fences and walls.  I checked the ceilings and zoomed to locate large pipes hung above, it was difficult to follow a direction consistently.  I also wasn’t certain if I wanted to follow that eerie sound, I was trying to keep avoid it.

After walking halfway around the small pool I located the grated steps leading up to my next pathway.  One way was the broken remains of the metal bridge, the other took a sharp right.  I walked along, wrenching back when a form came into view.  Just a cold body slumped on the rail, I lowered the camera to rub my face with my hand.  When I pulled my hand back I held it out straight and viewed it through the NV feed of the visor.  My hand was trembling like an addict suffering heavy withdrawals.  I didn’t feel frightened here despite the odd sounds and the lurking threat, I was just cold.  It was very cold and I was trembling.

I turned the camera back on the patient.  It was a rather odd place to die, I gave the corpse plenty of space as I passed.  The small detail that I was viewing murdered patients in the sewers was not missed, it could mean a number of things.  They were lost down here due to ‘Father’ Martins guidance, and the big fucker had found them.  Or, the remaining survivors of the staff had retreated down here, and were defending themselves from the variants.  While the latter speculation seemed the most plausible, I doubted it.  I had already accepted that everyone affiliated with Murkoff for whatever reason, had been killed.  And nothing could change that.

The catwalk came to its inevitable end, and I was certain I heard something glide through the liquid below.  It was only fair to note that at this point I was disturbed, and I couldn’t tell if my mind was playing tricks on me or if there was really something lurking below in the untold depths.

Star Wars.

The water swirled about me when I plopped in, and I took a moment to check the power on the battery before continuing.  I was stunned to find it half done.  What was this?  I found these batteries abandoned throughout this place, had they lost most of their juice exposed the way they were?

For now it would hold, I’d worry over it later.  Probably when it was too late.

I swore I felt the water ripple around my chest.  Maybe my movement caused ripples that returned to me.  Echo ripples?  Seemed logical. I needed to get out of here before something did drag me under and drowned me.  I kept walking, careful steps and slow movements, try not to disturb the surface too much.  The silence grew thunderous as my heart pumped in my chest, I was completely and totally alone here in this channel.

The water burst in front of me spraying the camera as with my face with an icy sheet, it successfully spooked me into a full retreat.  It was nothing I assured, after I had calmed myself and gawked back at the burbling surface.  There was nothing there, no one in the water.  Just…something from the ceiling.  Worn brick, or that nasty shit.  Fuck, a decapitated head, none of those things could consciously hurt me.

Another walkway curved overhead to the right, it felt like I had gone in a complete circle only because I didn’t trust the stability of some boxes.  I could see no boxes from where I was stationed below.  I grunted and hauled myself up, bringing the camera back to my face as I took the path.  A few feet and I found an innocent looking door to my left, the slim crawl of light at the bottom crack.  The hinges stuck and creaked as forced it open, only to meet a despairing sight.

The room was empty aside from a bare utility shelf, some plywood, and a man slumped in the furthest corner.  A thin black puddle had formed under him, indicating an advanced post mortem state.  At his hand was a wrinkled notepad suffering water damage, and the remains of a brown crayon.

I gave the body a distrustful glare before I stepped forward and took up the pad.  The writing was mostly eligible, only because crayon was waterproof, but it had not taken well to wet paper I surmised.

“Already weak, cold.  It’s still bleeding but it doesn’t hurt anymore and I almost have quiet.  I can’t hear the Walrider anymore.  Maybe the therapy is wearing off, I can’t remember the dreams.  Said I could earn my release from this place by submitting to the therapy.  Lies.  Of course they were lying.  It was not therapy.  We were sacrificed to conjure a demon.  Please, let there be no more dreams.  The only hel….”

Out of habit I flipped the page over to see if there was more, but the writing had a thick crescent mark trailing off the unfinished word.

I returned my gaze to the dead man.  One patient had said there were no experiments, but rituals, and had called it a ‘conjuring.’  What exactly did the experiments for Project Walrider entail?

But who did this man refer to?  Murkoff, or ‘Father’ Martin.  ”Accept the Gospel, and all doors will open”’  What was the therapy he referred to?  The mutilation each patient bore?  Too many new questions, not enough answers.  Even the authentic documents Murkoff published made little more sense than the patients statements.

I recorded the note, doubting even with the descent light of the room that it would be eligible, but I went ahead and tore off the page and folded it up to slip into my notebook.  My coat wasn’t waterproof, but the pocket I kept perishable items in was lined with a water repellent material that kept them safe.  A bit of liquid did seep through the zipper, but it was more than my body could say.

I shut the door and resumed on the walkway, only to find its sudden end.  I splashed into another channel coughing at the odd shift in my ribs, it didn’t hurt but tickled more like I had a mild cough.  I waded around the perimeter but located no visible way to exit here, nor an overhead path.  Off on the side I climbed out on a wide drainage chute to take a moment and exchange out the battery.  For a moment I listened to the water drip off my coat and trickle into the large body below, aside from this the chamber was total silence, even the rattle of needles had faded away leaving the echoing vibrations of the solitary water rippling against metal sheeting.

The battery was a half dead one as well.  Might as well use it while things felt calm, I’d have to tread cautiously and maybe give this one up early if I wandered near danger.  Though, the way my batteries were dying, it seemed inevitable that I would change it soon.

With no visible exit here, I decided to backtrack. I must have missed something.  An opening probably, skipped in the poor NV quality.  Excuses, excuses.  I chided myself for being so careless, even distracted as I was I needed to pay attention to my surroundings or I wouldn’t survive much longer.  I shuddered at the thought as I slipped into the cold channel.  It was just cold.

I returned to the previous pool, before had I climbed up into the catwalk with the dead patient.  I scoured the perimeter over wasting precious battery life, before I decided to climb that damn drainage chute with the grate.  I had missed a small opening in the side, looked like someone had kicked it out with fire.  I crawled into the next channel, chamber, flow - whatever, and stepped down into water that was not quite as deep.  It was freezing though, I was shaking so hard the images of the visor were not clear enough to see until I had paused to get my quakes under control.

Felt like my knees were numb, but it did ease the pain in my chest.  I was going to be a female before the end of this.  Damn.

I tried along the outer wall locating all the discarded papers, folders, cans, and cardboard.  My pulse quickened and I was trembling harder than before, I found out why as I turned the camera.  Rotted decapitated heads floating at the sides.  I could see the heads due to the eyes, eyes always glowed.  I hated that.  Somehow my peripheral vision had picked up on them before I consciously realized it, the notion itself elicited a tiny moan from me.  Across the channel I could zoom on the camera and locate more heads balanced on crates staring with vacant expressions across the black expanse.  I shut my eyes and looked away.

There was a sound.  Someone screaming, most likely.  I continued, bumping a few items that became water logged and sunk.  Bodies floated after some time.  Eerie thought right there.  I wasn’t paying enough attention at the moment, couldn’t bring myself to focus on where I was going.  A small knot had buried into my spine like an obnoxious ache, but it felt more like stress and the cold twisting my nerves. 

When I finally staggered in the water nearly dropping the camera I looked out, revaluating my position.  A few large pillars supported what must’ve been the upper floor.  There was a way out, somewhere to climb up on and get a better view of my surroundings.

Movement.  Ripples.  They could have been mine, but they traveled from the opposite side of the room far from walls, that I could tell.  Something solid was down here with me.

I shuffled near the curving wall carefully, taking small steps as I turned the camera in gradual sweeps and zoomed in.  Trying to find what, before it found me.  I drew too near to it and picked up the dull clink of chains, and the rather aggressively way the water broke.

Chris Walker.  Down here!  Damn it, if there was no way out!

But as I turned the camera, up in the ceiling there beamed a light from some sort of opening.  It meant nothing, probably from where the big fucker crashed in from.  But it was my only chance.  It was more than what I’d found so far.

I hid behind a stack of crates and peered out, as his eyes glimmered phantom like in the NV mode.  Just beyond him I could make out a set of steps leading up, and a walkway.  That was something, and the light source right there, it could have been where Chris plunged in from.

What was he doing down here?  Lost?  I didn’t care, it would be a nice change of pace if he was stuck.  I doubted his fate would end in a place like this, he wouldn’t rest until he saw me dead.

“Stacked neatly side by side,” he hummed, taking a turn and wandering a ways from my position.

I zoomed out, heading in the general direction I had seen the steps.  “Too good at what I do.”  He must’ve been lost in recollections of his past, or a session with the doctors.  It kept him distracted and that was good.  “Someone’s here.”  Not nearly enough.

The rings were getting smaller as he closed in on me, I was barely climbing the steps when the power in my battery began to fade.  Fuck, what bad timing!  I bolted up the steps rather bother with it.  Chris gave a sharp snarl when he must have seen my form in the faint light.  I ran, not realizing the path ended before I nearly bolted off the broken walkway into open air.

There was a ladder that would’ve extended down to the bridge, if it was still intact.  The lower portion of it and much of the catwalk was torn to shreds and dumped in the water below.

I felt the vibrations of the big fucker as he stormed up behind me.

I jumped down into the water and wadded away.  He did much of the same, only he seemed to have an easier time charging through the froth after me.  My camera was depleted, but it did punch a small hole of perception in what was otherwise a black wall.  I was in a mad hobble to keep out of his grip, and he was catching up.

A very insignificant memory came back to me, way back from my child hood.  When the kids in my old neighborhood got together Saturday nights to play outdoor games, like kids my age used to do many moons ago, we would often play tag.  I had many fond memories of being it, and not being it.  Sometimes we got bored and would antagonize the tagger, so we could run.  No one liked trying to tag me much, I was good at getting away.  But if ever I was in a jam and close to getting caught, I had a very unique way of eluding my pursuer.

With Chris close at my back, I managed several long strides in the impeding water and leapt forward, twisting in midair and coming down so I faced the opposite way I was headed.  Albeit, it was sluggish in the water, I shoved off glancing by Chris as he fought to jerk about.

The back of his arm slammed into my lower hip as he fell, a loud yowl expelled from my throat as the chains multiplied the pain by six.  I stumbled but recovered quickly, adrenaline pumped through my veins as I made it back, guided only by the poor light of the night vision.

“You had your chance!”

I could hear him stagger upright and resume the chase.  The metal steps were a few feet off but I redirected myself and took them three at a time, never mind the throb building in my hip.  Never mind any of that shit, I wouldn’t have another go at this if I fell.

I stuffed the camera strap between my teeth before I lunged forward, relying on my meek sight alone and the faulty light to identify the ladders bars glinting in the fog.  I hit them with a muffle grunt, my boots slipping through the space and I swung backwards barely catching the rungs with my feet splayed against them.  When I hit the lower side with my back, holy hell, the bolt of pain shot up my shoulder blades and numbed a spot in my tongue.  Somehow I never lost my grip on the camera, probably because I had bitten hard into the strap due to the shock.  Dumbfounded, I hung there as Chris thundered across the bridge with a murderous growl.  I registered his intentions with enough time to jerk myself up, as he leapt slashing at my shoulder.

Complete silence.

I imagined Chris Walker falling forever into a dark void, or well.  A poisoned well, before he splashed at the very bottom.  My abdomen began to ache, and I was forced to haul myself up and climb the ladder the rest of the way.  Below, he snarled with fury and maybe promised next time would be different, before he broke off into mad cackles that sounded a little too feminine to be MY big ugly fucker.

I was delirious by the time I reached the top of the ladder, my body sort of oozed out onto the icy concrete floor and I rolled away from that large gaping hole.  Away from danger, away from that wicked monster.  I curled myself up beside some shelving and lay there, clutching the camera to my chest.  A dull throb pulsed up my side and a unbearable warmth seeped through my lower thigh, I fumbled for my wet pants leg trying to decide if I was bleeding but it was impossible to tell.  I probably shouldn’t be clutching my only light source to my wet coat, but my brain wasn’t registering the warning at this time.  It felt like everything was spinning, the dull beige room I lay in was whirling and twisting, I felt my eyes roll back under their lids as I tried to follow the motion.

I thought I heard someone crying, but it wasn’t me.  Fuck that.  I rolled off my side and looked over at a man in a chair.

Beware men in chairs.

For a long time I stared at him and I think, he stared right back.  His face looked like it was infected, or a bees nest had made a home in his brain.

Miles.  Up.  Get up Miles.  Walk it up.

I don’t really want to.  But I made the effort, slipping my hands under me and pushing off the dusty ground.  A small whine escaped me as I pushed, literally dragging myself to my feet.  Once I was standing, I moved towards the open door.  A familiar sort of door, I couldn’t recall where I had seen doors like this.

I managed to reach the doorway before I dropped.  A moment, I needed a moment.  Just a short span of time in the quiet, away from the screaming and the oppressive death, and the dangers.  Just give me five minutes to get my shit together and get up.  As I sank heavily to my side I exhaled a sharp breath scattering the dust near my face, my forehead thudded with pain as the warmth subsided in my calm state.  I’m not sure if I was on my good side or if I had a good side anymore, perhaps a more favorable position to lie in?  I couldn’t sleep here, but I couldn’t resist either.  I wouldn’t sleep.  I would not sleep.  Wouldn’t sleep.

The soft shuffle of feet interrupted my coaxing.  I turned my head just enough over my shoulder to see the man from the chair approach me.  I did my best to glare at him, or to not look terrified before I blacked out.

[jimlingss]

Hi hi! I’m planning to reread the Jungle Park series again, thus I’m in a Jungle Park request mood. I hope this request can be of some help getting the creative juices flowing. 😊 Prompt: Jungle Park! Hobi and Jimin fighting over the last bag of honey butter chips. The entire office starts taking bets as to who will be victorious. Chaos ensues. Thank you so much for all of the dedication and work you put into every single one of your stories!!! 💜💜💜

I hope you don’t mind that I took creative liberties and loosely used this prompt.

↳ A Jungle Park Drabble

2k words || 98% Fluff, 2% Angst || Jung Hoseok

Notes: Read the original series here

There’s something about the mundane that’s comforting.

One knows what to expect in their day. One knows when their day begins and ends, what time to expect certain activities, what their tasks and duties are. It’s easy to get into the flow of things, to fall into the sort of dance, so to speak. But when Dahyun enters the office and finds all her colleagues huddled together, she has an inkling that things aren’t so mundane today. “What’s going on?” “Hoseok and Jimin got into a fight,” Lisa says with a roll of her eyes. Seulgi has her arms crossed and she sighs. “Children, I swear.”  The receptionist hums and asks, “Do you know what it was about?” Several turn to Jungkook who shrugs. “I came in first, but I couldn’t hear what was going on in the kitchen and I didn’t really want to get involved. It seemed pretty bad though.” “Do you think the firm’s gonna split up?” Taehyung sticks his nose into the crowd and the sudden question has heads turning in panic. “The firm’s not going to split,” Sunyi snaps at him. “Don’t be an idiot.” “Be nice,” Yoongi chides his wife, throwing an arm over her shoulders to pull her close. “It’s not his fault his brain cells are like that.” “Wow.” Taehyung puts his hands up. “Is no one going to defend me?” “The firm would never split,” Namjoon offers his own input, but as it leaves his mouth, he sharply inhales and reconsiders. “Well………they’d be able to stand up on their own and manage, might even do well, but they’re better together than apart.” “Jimin can be surprisingly stubborn and Hoseok’s just Hoseok. I wouldn’t be shocked if they broke up because of a petty argument.” Seokjin grins and his eyes flicker around. “Who’d you side with if the firm broke apart?” “They wouldn’t.” Seulgi laughs, leaning on her desk. “But….Jimin was the one who hired me, so…” “He hired me too.” Sunyi raises her hand. “I remember during my job interview, Hoseok was not having it, but Jimin was super friendly. He advocated for me.” Yoongi peels himself off of her with a sour expression. “I’m gonna have to disagree with you there, sweetheart. He might’ve hired you, but you should reconsider your loyalties.” “Why? Jimin’s a capable lawyer.” “Let’s be honest, without Hoseok, this firm would be a wreck. He’s the one who gets things done. We wouldn’t make any money if it was just Jimin. He’d be doing constant charity work.” Naul sips on her coffee. “I’m gonna have to agree with you there.” “Oh please,” Sunyi interjects and faces her husband. “You’re only defending Hoseok because he was the one who hired you.” “Hey, I wasn’t hired by Hoseok,” Jin pipes up again, “But I’d side with him. What? Don’t give me that look. He’s actually pretty nice to me, especially after Y/N came along.” “What is this slander against Jimin’s name.” Taehyung pouts and turns to the kid he adores the most. “You’re with me on this one, right, Kook?��� Jungkook contemplates and concludes— “I like Jimin.” “Jimin is a peacemaker,” Namjoon hums, “I think that compassionate quality of his is an asset and rare to see in the pool of lawyers. There’s a lot of efficiency out there, but I think it would be difficult to find someone like him.” “And someone like Hoseok’s easy to find?” Lisa has her brows lifted and she scoffs at the argument. “Compassionate or not, I’d rather have a secure job and Hoseok guarantees that. He’s a workaholic so I wouldn’t have to worry about being laid off.” Everyone turns to the last two people for their opinion. Inyoung smiles sheepishly. “I’d….go with Hoseok, because Y/N would go with him.” Taehyung grins. “Are you sure about that?” “They’re married,” Lisa points out as if it’s enough to win the debate, but the mischievous lawyer shrugs. “More reason to be somewhere else. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not put my entire livelihood into one relationship. What? You act like we don’t see it every day in divorce.” Yoongi disagrees at once. “They’re whipped for each other. I wouldn’t doubt that they’d follow each other to the ends of the earth, much less a law firm.” “Yeah, but she’s closer with Jimin when everyone’s working,” Sunyi chimes, just to play devil’s advocate and piss her husband off. “Don’t you know that love is separate from business?” “You should’ve said that the last time you wanted to have sex in the—”  “Yoongi!”  Seokjin visibly cringes and begs the married couple, “Can you guys please be gross somewhere else?” “Yeah, if Y/N hears, she’ll put us in another HR meeting,” Lisa chides and then does a double take. “Speaking of which, where is she?” Taehyung shrugs. “If she was here, she’d probably be lecturing Jimin and Hoseok in the meeting room. Guess she’s running late. But who’s gonna tell her what happened when she comes?” “Not me.” Seokjin quickly shakes his head. “If Jimin and Hoseok find out I snitched to HR, yeah, that would be not fun. No thanks.” “Me neither.” “Not me.” “Don’t look at me.” Everyone spins around to Jungkook, the original witness. He pales. “I-I’m running to court, right now. I gotta go. Have a client.” The lawyer grabs his briefcase, his blazer, and books it towards the elevators like his feet are on fire.  Everybody watches. No one makes an effort to stop him. “Wait.” Taehyung pivots on his heel. “Does that mean the entire firm would be equally split?” “Yoongi, Naul, Seokjin, Lisa, Inyoung are on Hoseok’s side,” Seulgi counts. “Sunyi, Namjoon, you, Jungkook and I would go with Jimin.” “What about Y/N?” “Don’t count her.” Sunyi shakes her head. “We don’t know for sure who’d she go with and she’s not here.” “Oh.” Inyoung smiles and turns to her friend. “What about you, Dahyun? Who’d you go with if Jung and Park split?” “Ummm….” Suddenly, everyone’s eyes on her. They turn to stare and sweat begins to build at her hairline, palms clammy as she tries to make a decision. On one hand, Jimin is sweet and kind. He’s amazing to work with and establishes a great and healthy working atmosphere. There’s an emphasis on team building as well which she loves. But his spontaneity catches her off guard often and while she doesn’t do much with mediation, Jimin’s clientele can be very mean on the phone.  On the other hand, Hoseok is strict and demanding. It’s hard to read him. But he has clear expectations and is consistent. Not to mention, he’s out of the office often to go to court, and she really loves you — Dahyun’s sure that you’d go with Hoseok if worse comes to worse. It’s too hard to be certain. “Ummmm……I don’t know.” “Well, make a decision.” Taehyung pressures her. “We gotta know who wins.” “Jesus, Taehyung, give her a minute,” Seulgi scolds. It goes silent again. The clock ticks and it’s louder than it’s ever been. The seconds passing is audible. Dahyun doesn’t know why all the attention is on her. She came to terms a long time ago that she isn’t the main character of this story. Yet, somehow the spotlight has been redirected on her. She’s taken center stage.  The receptionist eyes sweep the expanse of the room. “Ummm…” And they land on the windows at the end of the hall. The shades have been pulled down, but she notices a set of eyes peering out from them. “I think Hoseok’s looking at us.” Taehyung pales. “Oh shit.”  “Go, go.” And just like that, the crowd disperses to each get on with their morning tasks. For now she’s safe, but it won’t last for long. The rest of the day, Dahyun is bombarded with questions and stares. Lisa turns to her. “Have you made a decision yet?” — Seokjin stops her when she tries to get a photocopy. “You’d choose Hoseok, right?” — Taehyung interrupts her lunchtime. “So we all made bets on who would win. You’re going to choose Jimin, right, Dahyun? Or else I’d lose five bucks. You wouldn’t do that to me, right?” There’s so much attention on her, she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know who to choose. The tensions only worsen when Jimin and Hoseok are visibly cold to one another, not speaking when they run into each other on the floor. Instead, they shuffle awkwardly to get past. And the rumours of the firm splitting become serious. It’s close to the end of the day when the pressure for her to choose increases— “Dahyun.” But a sweet voice interrupts her inner predicament. She whirls around to find you. You’re smiling and your head quirks to one side. “Are you alright? You seemed stressed.” “I….I’m a little….” “Do you want to come in my office and talk?” She shifts, peeking out the door of the kitchen and swallows hard. “If Jung and Park split, who’d you go with?” You laugh loudly, sipping on your mug and tasting the green tea that makes your chest warm. You swallow and your eyes flicker to her. “We’re not splitting.” But there’s a long, drawn out, excruciating silence. Soon enough, you’re stomping across the floor. Everyone around has their eyes wide, bodies still but pupils following your form. You knock once before opening Hoseok’s office door, hard enough that it hits the wall and he’s startled to death. “We’re breaking up?!” “What?” “Jung and Park is breaking up?” “What?!” Your husband has his eyes large, mouth agape, and he puts down the pen in his hand. “Who said that?” “Apparently there are rumours the firm is splitting and all your employees are trying to figure out where to go and what they’re going to do.” There’s chaos and you’re trying to understand while feeling severely blind-sighted at him not discussing this issue with you at all. The lawyer’s hands press firmly onto the surface of his desk. “That’s ridiculous. Jung and Park have no plans of splitting. I don’t know where they got that from.” You sigh, more relieved than you were before, but you put your hands on your hips, scolding him, “Did you and Jimin argue this morning?” Speaking of the devil, the other partner comes strolling into Hoseok’s office at the ruckus. He looks between the pair of you, wondering if it’s a marital argument that you’ve brought into the office. “What’s going on?” “We weren’t arguing,” Hoseok explains to you. “I was telling him about our…family plans and he began screaming and I told him to calm down.” “Oh.” Hoseok leans back into his chair, exhausted. “I was trying to avoid him all of today because he’s being so annoying about it.” His partner gasps in offense. “Well I’m sorry that I’m excited that Jung and Park is expanding, and I want you guys to have a whole football field of kids,” Jimin sasses his friend. “I wasn’t gonna say this, but I really hope that your children take after Y/N. But I’ll love them regardless, even if it’s a carbon copy of Hoseok.” Jimin continues relentlessly, “Also, this morning I had some time so I did some research on names and this is just a recommendation but you should name your daughter Jinmi. Obviously, it’s cute and also because I think I’d make a great Jung child, so it should take after me. Jung Jinmi has a great ring to it. And speaking of which, I’ve been thinking about it and I’d be absolutely honoured to be godfather to your kids. I’d protect him or her with my life guaranteed—” “Look at this,” Hoseok motions towards his partner, reasoning with you as you can only muster a sigh. You’re reeling, but glad that there’s no real issue. “How could I not get a headache from this?” Little do you know that everyone else was eavesdropping, pleasantly surprised and ecstatic that you and Hoseok are thinking about having kids. They murmur about a possible Jung and Park baby, about what Hoseok would be like as a father, if that meant there would be a toddler wandering around the desks one day. And Dahyun smiles, especially relieved that she didn’t have to make a decision. As long as you’re here, she’s sure that she wouldn’t ever have to choose.