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thelocalmoth · 2 months ago

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The Stranger That I Used To Know

Act 1 || Word count: 2,763

Note: This is based on a roleplay, so some things have been edited to fit a story-like format. With this in mind, it’s co-written; Jack is written by me and Hudson is written by @unnoticedunawarestillhere.

TW:

• Knives

• Emetophobia warning

• Brief mention of cigarettes

• Depiction of mania… kinda? Yeah.

• Unhealthy ink usage

• General dark themes

———

A loud crash could be heard. There, a broken and smashed typewriter lay while a young man with dishevelled hair breathed raggedly. His shoulders slumped and his head hung down.

Footsteps.

Jack appeared a moment later, peeking around the corner at the younger man. He looked confused, his eyebrows pinched together. “Hud…son…?”

In a fit of fury, Hudson stomped on the type writer, breaking it further as buttons crushed and metal bent. Papers were scattered everywhere and he kept muttering something with each crunch of the type writer.

“Hudson?” Jack repeated, a little louder. He didn’t want to get too close in case Hudson turned his anger towards him, but he was still concerned… Naturally.

Hudson stiffened, his whole body freezing before turning around. Black spilled from his lips and there were dark rings under his eyes. He smiled, tilting his head.

“Hi, Jack.”

Jack took a step back, concern flooding his face.

“…Hi, Hudson.”

Hudson took a step closer, grinning. "How ya doing?”

He tilted his head, his movements stiff and odd. Black stained his collared shirt as the ink from his lips trickled down his neck.

“I’m…Alright….” Jack took another step back. Everything about this screamed red flags. “Are you….o-ok?”

“I'm doing great!” Hudson chuckled, taking another step forward. “Tell me, you're not...scared of me, are you?” he added, his tone innocent.

“I’m not scared, I’m just a little worried. Y’feelin’ alright? You’re not lookin’ too good,” Jack answered, taking a step back once Hudson stepped forward.

Hudson chuckled, smiling.

“Better than I was before. Can't believe I waited for so long to answer its calls.” His eyes narrowed a little when he saw Jack take a step back.

“Its… Calls,” Jack repeated. This sounded familiar. He pushed that down for now.

“Whose calls?”

“The ink, of course! Who else?” Hudson laughed, black splattering on the floor now. “At first, I was startled and kept resisting! Oh, how I was such a fool then,” he chuckled, his erratic eyes darting everywhere as his hands gestures began to sped up.

Jack grimaced at the splattered ink. He couldn’t formulate a response. “The ink”… He could feel a sense of dread coming over him as he started to piece things together.

Hudson frowned at Jack's face. He took a step forward, his eyes glaring.

“Why the long face, Fain?” He hissed, oddly aggressive.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Jack replied softly. “What’re you doing down here, Hudson? Why is your typewriter smashed?”

“Why bother with it? What's the point of writing? Jack, this place is going down to hell and you still care about doing our jobs?” Hudson sneered.

“Uh—” Jack wasn’t expecting that response. “…Well the place isn’t going down today, nor tomorrow. So I guess I’m gonna work until all hell breaks loose.”

Hudson snickered before bursting into laughter.

“That's what you think! Little do you know this place is already rotting from the inside.” He was still laughing at Jack.

Jack decided to focus on Hudson’s words rather than the relatively manic laughter. “Yeah sure, but I’m gettin’ paid by the hour,” he said.

Hudson tilted his head again, his hand curling around something. A pocket knife. “Is that so?”

“Ha. Uhm. Yeah… I should go, y’know. I’ve got work to do—actually, ‘was just about to go talk to Sammy,” Jack said nervously, inching towards the stairway.

“I'm afraid Mister Lawrence is busy,” Hudson took a step closer, his eyes deranged, “but good thing you have my company, eh?" Ink trickled down his pale lips as his eyes narrowed.

Jack froze, rigid.

“What? What do you mean? How is Sammy busy? What is he doing?”

“Just having a chat with his lord and saviour,” Hudson chuckled. Ink stained his shirt now.

“I don’t understand,” Jack mumbled, taking a few more steps towards the staircase.

“No? Eh, fair enough. Though, I admit, I'm disappointed,” Hudson, gripping the knife tighter.

Without warning, he lunged towards Jack, pinning the knife against his throat.

“But it's okay! Luckily, there's a way that'll make you understand!”

Jack cried out, eyes widening in fear as the cold metal suddenly pressed into his throat.

“Hudson?! What’s gotten into you?? What are you doing?”

“Trying to protect you,” Hudson hissed, a strand of hair trickling down his face.

“Don't worry, Jack. Once you see it, it'll protect you forever. As long…as you’re loyal,” he whispered, ink spilling down his mouth more fluidly.

“Nothing about this screams ‘protective’,” Jack choked out, constricted pupils flicking over Hudson’s face. “And I still don’t…. Know what you’re talking about.”

“The ink! Oh Jack, why are you so daft today?" Hudson rolled his eyes, before they narrowed at the other man. “Look, we're friends, yes? Don't you trust me?”

Jack shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before opening them to look up at the ceiling. “It’s kind of hard to trust someone who’s holding a knife to your throat,” he muttered. Somehow, he found the time to be wry in his position.

Hudson looked hurt, frowning. He lowered the knife, staring down at his stained inky hands.

“Oh.”

Jack blinked, lowering his head slightly and looking back at the younger man. He didn’t move. He didn’t say anything, either.

“Are we not friends?” Hudson whispered in a small voice, sounding hurt still.

“…No. We are friends,” Jack said slowly; quietly, “…But you’re acting strange. You just put a knife to my neck, Hudson.”

Tears suddenly bubbled up in Hudson's eyes. “I'm sorry, Jack. But it won't leave me alone, it won't stop whispering,” he muttered, wincing. He folded his pocket knife up, slipping it back under his belt, then rubbed his eyes, trying to block out everything, even the ink that spilled down. His lips were already stained black.

Now that the knife wasn’t out and open, Jack relaxed a bit, focusing on Hudson. He reached out, gently pulling him closer.

“It’s the ink?” he asked softly, “that’s what this is, right?”

Hudson was shaking. “Remember when we had that flood? That. I...lied. I accidentally drank the ink,” he muttered, feeling small. He looked up at Jack with wide pleading eyes.

“I didn't mean to lie, Jack! I swear! I just...I didn't want to worry you. I didn't want to let you down,” he cried.

Jack’s face fell. “Oh….. oh. Hudson….”

“Shsh, i-it’s okay… ugh, not you too…” He sighed, pulling Hudson in and wrapping his arms around him. “You haven’t let me down.”

Hudson's body shook violently. “I did! I did let you down! I almost killed you, Jack! And for what? A BLACK INKY MASS?!”

Hudson sobbed louder.

“Shhh, sh sh,” Jack whispered, tightening his hold. “You didn’t, though. You didn’t. I’m ok now. We can still fix this.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Hudson with the last sentence though.

Hudson was still trembling, clutching onto Jack. “But what if I hurt you?” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

“You won’t. I don’t think you will, anyways,” Jack murmured, resting his hand on Hudson’s back.

Hudson blinked, looking weary. "Do you really believe that?" He asked flatly, the knife was visible under his belt, glinting from the light above.

Jack returned the weary expression. He suddenly looked much older than he actually was. “You tell me.”

“I don't think you do, Jack,” Hudson finally replied. He gave Jack a sad smile. “But that's okay. To me it is, at least.”

Jack sighed and dropped his arms to his sides. “Right…”

“Well, maybe you should… I dunno, take a break from work. You said it yourself, this place is goin’ doing the drain. You could afford it.”

Hudson rubbed his temples, shaking his head. “I'm already in trouble with the director. If I don't complete those scripts, I'm done for,” he muttered, ending in a sigh.

“Ah.”

Jack looked away before snapping back to Hudson, suddenly remembering something. “What were you saying about Sammy?”

Hudson blinked, looking confused as he tried to wipe the ink off his lips. "What'd I say about Mister Lawrence?"

“I dunno, you said he was… Busy. Praising his lord or something,” Jack said, his eyebrows furrowing.

Hudson rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head. “Oh right. That,” he muttered. He fixed his tie before speaking, “I saw Mister Lawrence actually drinking ink from a bottle. Not by accident, like me. One day, I stumbled upon him after hours. I kept hearing something about the ink, the machine and this...lord. I didn't think much, so I walked back to leave. But he heard me and then we got into an argument. I didn't know what he was rambling on about, but it ended in him forcing me to drink more ink. I spat most of it out, but the damage was already done. I left after that. ‘Threw up when I reached my house.”

Jack was silent. Mortified.

“Oh… Christ. Oh my god. I knew it had gotten bad, but I didn’t think….”

"You didn't think…?" Hudson raised a brow, still trying to wipe ink off his lips. He only smeared it though. “Argh, I'm still angry with him. This morning before I clocked in, I threw up again. I blame him.”

Jack grimaced. He didn’t know what to think, really. “That’s awful. I don’t know… Why he would do that. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation—he wouldn’t…” he trailed off.

Hudson winced, putting a hand over his mouth, feeling sick. “You know him better than me, Dad.”

Jack glanced back up at him, faltering.

“…Yeah.” He chuckled slightly. “I do. I think I do, anyway.”

“Maybe talk to him?” Hudson awkwardly muttered, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “Or don't, considering that he's crazy.”

Jack sighed and leaned back, bumping his head into the wall as he looked up.

“Maybe. Maybe tomorrow. It’s late. You should be headin’ home soon.”

Hudson rubbed his eyes. “I don't...like walking home in the dark...” he confessed in a strained voice, “Makes me too much on edge.”

Jack picked his head up off the wall and glanced down, sliding his sleeve up to check his watch.

“…I can drive you. It’s not that late yet.”

Hudson frowned slightly, still looking guilty. "You sure?" He shifted from side to side, his hands resting in his pockets.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Why don’t you pack up and come back to me when you’re ready to go? I’ll be here.” Jack nodded, dropping his hands to his sides.

Hudson nodded slowly, looking uneasy about himself as well as shameful.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Jack and embraced him. “Thank you, Dad,” he whispered.

Jack hugged him back, wrapping his arms around him tight and squeezing him gently. “Take care of yourself, Hudson,” he murmured after a moment. Hudson smiled weakly, before slipping off to pack up and clock out.

Where Hudson had once stood, was a puddle of ink. Bad omen, perhaps?

Jack’s eyes stayed on the puddle for a moment before pulling himself away, slowly returning to his “office” and starting to pack up for the day. Eventually, Hudson walked downstairs, clutching his briefcase.

He watched as a light above him flickered out, making him wince and his stomach tightened with unease. He knocked on Jack's door frame. “‘Got my things,” he mumbled.

Jack gave him a weary smile that sort of met his eyes and grabbed his satchel. He secured his hat on his head and flipped a desk lamp off before joined Hudson at the door.

“Let’s go then.”

Hudson was quiet on the way out, his eyes clouded and distant while his lips were pinched in a thin line. He rubbed his temples, his skin pale while even his freckles looked dull. The corner of his lips was smeared with black, but it was long forgotten about.

Jack sort of looked like he was in a similar state but masking it. He walked alongside Hudson, lingering at the dark projection booth before shaking his head and continuing on.

Outside was cold and damp and a light breeze accompanied the low temperatures. Jack led Hudson across the parking lot to a small reddish grey car.

Hudson opened the car's passenger door open carefully, climbing in. He settled down and closed the door with a click and set his briefcase next to him on the leather seat, then leaned back. He regretted not wearing a coat, shivering slightly, but had no complaints.

Jack slid into the driver’s seat and fished through his satchel for his keys before tossing it into the back seat and cranking the car. It jolted to life with a pained sound that Jack didn’t acknowledge.

The car was cold like it was outside, but it was slowly starting to warm, the radiator replacing the earthy smell of sandalwood and cigarettes with that odd smell that radiators give off.

Hudson sniffled quietly, drawing his knees up to his chest. He buried his nose in his knees while a strand of his hair trickled the bridge of it. His brown eyes avoided Jack’s figure in the driver's seat.

“Where to, kid?” Jack asked as he pulled out of his parking space and made his way to the edge of the lot. The radio had come on and was quietly playing some sort of jazz music.

Hudson rested his chin on his knee now, blinking. “Wall Street,” he muttered, distracted by the sudden staticy jazz playing faintly in the background.

“Really? Huh, you’re not too far,” Jack noted, taking a left turn out of the parking lot. The surrounding area was splattered in the bright lights of the city that contrasted the lack of natural light from the sky.

“Y’got dinner for tonight? I can run by somewhere,” he spoke up after a moment.

Hudson let out a bitter chuckle, his chin still resting on his knee. “‘Don't think I really deserve that, Jack. But thanks for offering anyway,” he murmured. He looked as the streets of New York came alive in the dark, like an ember sparkling. Street lamps turned on as the car drove on.

Jack side-eyed him, unamused.

“That didn’t even answer my question. ‘You sure?”

Hudson let his knees drop, legs draping over the leather seat, while his arms folded. He leaned against the fogged up car window, staring out as the world seemed to zoom past them. “I'm sure,” he muttered, his eyes distance as well as his tone.

…

“‘Still think that Sammy guy is a good guy?" He asked under his breath, not glancing at Jack.

Jack tensed beside him, keeping his eyes on the road and grimacing slightly.

“…I don’t know. I don’t know what to think, alright? It’s hard to throw away ten years with someone because they’re suddenly acting weird and yet that feels like exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“I suppose that's a valid point. I just hope whatever choice you make, you don't regret it,” Hudson said as he drew patterns on the fogged-up glass, his eyes still distant.

Jack was still tense, eyes narrowed in front of him. He didn’t respond.

After a moment he turned onto Wall Street, slowing down. “Where’s your house at?” he asked softly, turning to him now.

Hudson narrowed his eyes, looking at the buildings. “Just on the corner,” he muttered, clutching his brief case tightly.

Jack nodded and drove forward until they made it to the corner of the road, where he pulled off to the side. He sighed and took his hand off the wheel, turning to Hudson.

Hudson blinked, rubbing his tired eyes. He grabbed his brief case while his other hand latched onto the door's handle, pushing it open. He stepped out of the car, giving Jack a glance.

“Stay safe, Jack. Especially when you're with him.”

“You too, ‘son. Take care of yourself—eat something, alright?” Jack said, his expression soft as he looked back at him.

“…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hudson nodded, giving a little wave-. He turned away, his eyes narrowing at the shadows around him. He walked off, his figure straying away from Jack's car.

Jack watched him go, ensuring he actually got inside before sighing and leaning back in his seat. He checked himself in the rearview mirror before driving off to his own home.

Why did goodbyes have to sound like that now?

————————————————————————

Oh my. That was a lot. Thank you for getting this far!! Huge thanks to Untitled/Hudson for providing half of the text in this and also… Allowing me to post it lol.

A lil tedious to transcribe, but this was fun. Perhaps more acts will be made. Perhaps new acts are in the making.

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #batdr #bendy and the dark revival #batim au #bendy au #bendy #jack fain #writer hudson #mentioned characters:#sammy lawrence #The Stranger I Used To Know #moth writez

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

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We come to a close.

I had to get this out several days after his actual birthday 😅 It was hard since I also had to account for Cater’s birthday on the 4th and got busy irl… I also had to skip responding to some interactions or else we’d have like an extra week of 3-4 Rollos per day.

So sorry for that!! 💦 I hope you at least enjoy this brief closing piece before we go back to our regularly scheduled TWST brain rot and ramblings.

At last.

He had endured.

Barely.

Now the sun was setting, and soon the stars would come out to play. The guests had departed one by one, Noble Bell College students retreating to their own lodging, Night Raven College students returning to their own campus. The student council's chambers were bereft of the souls that had filled and warmed it mere moments ago.

What remained of the celebration were the fun bits and bobs, confetti scattered on the floor and decorations still hung up. There was leftover cake and wrapping yet to be discarded, a pile of opened presents to organize.

An entire mess.

Rollo reflexively reached for a broom and dustpan only for another hand to come down upon his. He looked up into the gentle face of his vice president.

"Let me get that for you."

Rollo frowned. "I am perfectly capable of assisting with cleaning."

His vice gave him a sympathetic smile as he eased the broom and dustpan out of Rollo's grasp. "I've never doubted that for one second, Mister President—but the clock hasn't quite struck midnight yet."

"That's right," the aide chimed in from atop a stepladder. He was busy unpinning a banner that ran across the doorway. "You should head home early for once. We've got this covered."

"I can see that you two remain stubborn about this matter up until the last second," Rollo said tightly. How irksome.

He had hit a brick wall—and his patience was worn down to its last leg. Swallowing his pride, he relented. "... Very well, I will retire for the evening then. However, I expect to see this room spic and span tomorrow morning for our regular activities.”

"You got it, Mister President!"

He briskly made his exit, leaving the student council members to their duties.

His steps were neat and fleet, leaving not a sound nor a scuff in his path. Quiet as a mouse—or rat—skittering under the cover of night.

At this hour, the halls were dark and desolate, save for the pale moonlight through stained glass. When he passed the windows, their colors flickered, sliced by shadow. The corridor spilled into an atrium, empty like the rest of the school—

Rollo’s footsteps came to a halt. He caught himself on a pillar, his breath hitching.

Flowers.

White ones.

They flooded the atrium, covering the floors and snaking up columns, stairways, and bannisters. Curled petals up to his ankles, the color of them pure as fresh snow, untainted by outside forces. They were shaped like trumpets, filaments sticking out in fanfare.

Lilies, white lilies.

And the light trace of magic in the air, the feeling akin to soap bubbles popping on the skin. A tingle, a sampling of something rich and dark and wrong.

Rollo scowled at the field of flowers. He had no doubt in his mind where the flowers had come from.

A voice called out to him.

"What do you think of my parting gift, Flamme?"

"... Malleus Draconia."

At the name, a pair of luminous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The fairy prince, wearing a bemused grin, emerged from his hiding place. He was across the way from Rollo, poised like a marble statue under a silver spotlight.

“Come to get one last jab in before you crawl home?” Rollo demanded with a scowl. His polite pretenses were cast aside—his true face showing. He approached his archnemesis, not caring that he trampled flora underneath his heel. “The white flowers are a touch dramatic.”

“I thought you would like them.”

“What would give you that impression?”

Malleus laughed, clear and resonant in the large room. He casually stroked a lily climbing up to the ceiling. “I mulled over what your gift should be for the longest time. I finally came to the conclusion that the color white suits you best.”

“I prefer red,” Rollo snapped back, “and no flowers at all if they are to come from you.”

“Ah, but is white not the color of a saint? That is what you are in their eyes.” Malleus showed his teeth. His incisors were like knives. “A savior, a blessing... hence the white. Red is for sinners.”

A chill raced down Rollo’s spine.

Sins crawling on his back.

Discomfort and confusion twisted in his gut. The color crimson, a hot imprint in his heart. Rights and wrongs looked so similar viewed under the same red-colored lenses.

He clenched his fists.

“… You are not welcome here. Get out,” Rollo spat. “Get out now. I do not have the time to take heed of your inane ramblings and attempts at deception…!”

He was getting frantic, his volume growing louder and louder. At the height of the crescendo, it suddenly dropped to a sputter.

Blink, and Malleus was gone. Blink, and the space where he once stood was nothing more than twinkling green lights.

Blink…

… and Rollo was alone among the flowers.

#twst #Malleus Draconia #twisted wonderland #Rollo Flamme #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Rollo birthday takeover #twst en #twisted wonderland en #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios

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moonyasnow · 6 months ago

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Troubled Sleep?

The one where Malleus and Irina have a sleepover

OC(S) : Irina

OTHER CHARACTER(S) : Malleus, Lilia

TYPE : Fic (~6.6k words)

CONTENT : mostly fluff and a liiiittle bit of angst (it gets better), a bit of hurt/comfort, mostly cute and light-hearted for once, lots of dialogue, a bit of an insight into Leomoe (Tomoe x Leona) too, some descriptions of Agoraphobia

WARNINGS : flashbacks of parents fighting, mentions of past/ongoing SH (Flashback will be marked with <----------->)

...Nothing happens to me, I had come to terms with All the things that I thought I'd never indulge in "Take all that you can get 'cause you aren't worth it" You make that me feel at ease, I have to admit....

..Everything is so brand new I don't know what I'm gonna do I've never said a word I've never let anyone see through Tell me why the fuck I wanna spill my guts to you..

-Irina-

She arrived at Diasomnia with a small plastic bag in her arms bearing the logo of 'MISTER S' MYSTERY SHOP'; inside was a toothbrush and the outer robe of the school's Ceremonial garb, which both she and Tomoe had used as pyjamas since they slept in them that first night in Ramshackle. They'd simply become both their 'sleep clothes' by that point, since they were hardly ever needed for anything else, and they managed to keep the cold that seeped through Ramshackle's poorly isolated walls somewhat at bay.

By this point the sight of the grand castle no longer floored her as it once did, having grown accustomed to it after so many visits to see her friend. Instead, gazing up the tower in which his room resided, her heart beat louder in anticipation as she walked across the creaking wood bridge.

She knocked on the big port gates, and waited, soon being greeted by a Diasomnia student.

"Oh, um, hello." She nodded in greeting. "I'm here to visit my friend—"

"Yeah yeah, the Housewarden again, got it." She closed her mouth in embarrassment as they opened the gate wide enough for her to step into the foyer.

"So uh, do you want me to...to go...t-tell him you're here?" She could see their skin pallor. She bit her lip, gripping the bag cradled in her arms a little tighter, and she couldn't keep her brows from slanting downward ever-so-slightly, annoyance bubbling up in her chest.

'Do you have to act like I'd be sending you off to die?'

"Oh, Irina."

Her heart leapt into her throat and felt like it hit a wall, making her entire body tense up and jump, as well as reflexively curl her toes tensely into the soles of her shoes. But she didn't make a sound.

As she cautiously looked to her right, she saw the owner of the voice, hanging upside down. Seeing it was at least someone she recognized, she exhaled slightly, shoulders relaxing just the tiniest bit.

When she met his eyes a mischievous smile stretched across his face, one which told her he knew exactly what he was doing scaring her.

Turning his body in the air, he gracefully landed on his feet next to her and the other student, the tips of his hair still hovering until a second after he'd put both feet on the ground.

"You're quite early."

"I-I'm sorry, should I not have...?" She bowed her head in greeting, like she'd watched Tomoe do so many times and over time just adopted as part of her own body language.

"No, no, it's not a problem." His smile mellowed with a shake of his head. "Come, I'll walk you there."

Making their way quickly through the Lounge, they began the trek— and really, it was a trek, given how large the Dorm was— to Malleus' room.

"He has been very excited about today for quite a while. Now, don't tell him I said this, but earlier I found him cycling through scores of differing themes for decorations. And when I asked, he said he'd been doing so 'only for three hours'." He giggled, telling the story mostly to himself.

As they continued ascents up narrow spiral stairways and walks through long, near-empty hallways on a path she was well familiar with by that point, she felt a bit silly. Really, she hadn't needed Lilia to walk her there, knowing the way so well, but she didn't want to seem rude by saying that. And...

Passing through the cold, grey, stone hallways with its wide, lattice-detailed windows on either side, she always felt so small. Like a rabbit out in a wide open field with short-cut grass. She was relieved to for once not be walking through them alone.

The times she did, she always hurried, glancing over her shoulders often, rushing to his room like it was a safe haven. Which, in a way, it was.

After they had finally reached the top of the last flight of stairs he said:

"It frustrates you to see people's aversion to Malleus, does it?"

Though her face didn't show it, the question caught her off-guard. 'He saw my face when I was talking to that student...' She clutched her bag tighter again, a sense of unease welling up in her.

"Um..."

"It's good he has someone like you." she noticed the warm lilt in his voice. "I'm sure I speak for both of us when I say I'm glad you're not afraid of him."

She didn't know how to respond to that unexpected statement of gratitude. Especially when she'd been expecting a lecture of some kind. It didn't make any sense for her to think he'd scold her. But still, it had been her first reaction.

"Ah, here we are!" the announcement made her loosen her tight grip of the bag. He then turned to speak to her.

"Now, Irina, would you like me to get you anything to eat?"

"Huh? Oh, n-no thank you, I'm fine. I wouldn't want to bother you..." before he had a chance to respond she added: "I already ate a little before I came here."

"Ah, if you've already eaten, that would defeat the point. But I'd gladly make you a meal anytime! You're quite small for your age; I sometimes worry you aren't eating enough."

"Ah..." Her heart suddenly felt queasy. "Th-thank you." She smiled and sweat-dropped, before she went to open the door.

She curled her hand around the cold, metal handle of the black, arch-shaped door.

Mindlessly, she opened the door and out of habit lifted up her head to scan through the area beyond it. When she saw the white and black tiled floor, the purple fabrics and the large stone dragon statue, her heart stilled its frantic battering almost immediately, the only goose-bumps remaining on her skin being on her back as she had it turned to Lilia.

And when she saw him, saw Peridot, like clockwork, her entire being seemed to come alive like a flower seeing the sun, and she gasped without meaning to. She swung the door open and took a step forward— then turned around in a panic to bow her head to Lilia.

"Thank you!" Before turning once more, as quickly as she could, to the cause of the feeling of lightness blooming in her bones. "Peri!" She couldn't wipe the smile off her face.

"My Child of Man." He beamed. They were long past the formalities extended to a a newcomer or even infrequent visitor. "You arrived early. Here I was planning to await your arrival, that I may invite you in myself."

"Should I come later next time?"

"Hm. No, that won't be necessary. I'll simply arrive an hour earlier to await you." he smiled casually with his hands on his hips as though it were the only logical conclusion.

Her eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, y-you don't need to—" She recalled hearing that he'd once waited for three hours for a Housewarden meeting to begin, and her guilt ebbed away.

"Well...only if you're sure you want to."

His smile stretched wider as his eyes closed.

"Of course."

'He'd really want to wait for me that long?'

It tickled her chest warmly.

'Does that mean I'm…important to him…?'

Her face began to feel warmer.

Hearing a giggle from nearby, both their heads turned to Lilia.

"I'll leave you to it. Have fun you two!"

-^-v-^-v-^- [ Malleus' Bedroom ] -^-v-^-v-^-

She exited the ensuite bathroom of his Housewarden's dorm room clad in her sleeping robe and saw him sitting on the couch, his bedside table having been moved, now covered in a small tray of cookies. He was wearing a long, black nightshirt that she thought seemed about 200 years out of fashion. For a second she was surprised he'd managed to change so quickly (and didn't seemingly care that she could open the door and catch him at any moment) but then she remembered he probably just snapped his fingers to get changed. She felt a bit embarrassed of her own clothing, an explanation of how they couldn't afford to buy any clothes on the tip of her tongue. But to her relief, he didn't comment on it as she went to sit on the couch next to him.

"I've never slept in the same room as someone else before... So, um...what do people do at sleepovers?"

"Oh?" He cocked his head to the side. "I had assumed you would know of such things."

"I-I'm sorry..." he shook his head in response.

"Fear not, for I acquired that information myself, using one of the machines you humans call 'computers' open to public use in the library." He smiled, looking very pleased with himself.

"You managed to use a computer?" Her eyes widened. Most likely thinking it was in awe, his smile grew even more pleased.

"I did indeed. The Heartslabyul senior, Diamond, instructed me on how to operate the device." He watched her listen to him with rapt attention "Although..." He put a hand to his chin, glancing sideways into recollection. "I did break the tool used to operate it; a 'mouse' I believe it was called? What a flimsy piece of plastic…it crumbled beneath my hand as easily as a dry autumn leaf."

"Oh..." she blinked, giving him a sympathetic expression. "I hope you didn't get in trouble for it." her concern was genuine.

"One of the staff ghosts did become rather upset, and requested I pay back the cost of the item, though that was all. You need not be worried for me. Though I admit I am pleased to know of your concern." He smiled at her once more, dark lips curving upwards in a motion she couldn't force herself not to watch intently.

"So, um, what did you learn?"

She asked, trying to keep her mind from wandering.

"It seems the gist of it is to wear nightclothes, partake in treats, and merely talk. And so, I had some prepared." a troubled look flashed in his eyes. "Upon hearing me speak of it, Lilia was adamant he prepare them…" He shuddered in silence.

'Oh, right, I forgot...Lilia's food is inedible, isn't it?' "It was nice of him to offer, at least?" she cocked her head to the side.

"Indeed." he offered a small sigh. "Although I have long since given up urging him to consider changing his way of 'cooking'."

'Oh, right, I forgot...Lilia's food is inedible, isn't it?' He let out a short, mirthful chuckle. "Though, Artemisia has not yet learned that lesson. She appears vexed by her inability to solicit a change in his culinary habits, no matter the myriad of times she has suggested advice or recipes. She even spoke of gifting him several cook-books for his birthday."

"Would...would that even help?" She whispered the latter part, even leaning closer, as though entrusting him with a secret.

"Given that he already claims to follow recipes...I am unsure."

"Ah, how careless of me, I nearly forgot. to enquire... How are your own dorm-mates faring?" he Has anything of note occurred in Ramshackle as of recent?"

"Oh, Leona has come to Ramshackle a few times recently."

"Kingscholar has?"

"Mhm." She nodded. "He eats dinner there sometimes. But I've only been there once when he's been there. Tomoe usually tells me in advance…" Her tone wilted.

"Do you wish to avoid Kingscholar?"

"'Avoid' is a bit of a strong word…I just... want to give them some time to themselves." She curled up into herself on the couch, hugging her legs with one arm and speaking into the top of her knees. "Tomoe, Leona and Grim…they look a bit like a family when they're together. And it just…makes me feel a bit awkward when I'm there. Like I'm intruding…" She realized instantly that this would be considered 'over-sharing' talking to someone. "Um, I mean-- i-it's not that bad, I just- I'm just not really used to someone who isn't me, Grim or Tomoe being there." She fiddled with the fabric of the couch, lightly scratching her nail over it through her glove, and tried to swallow back the tears she could feel behind her eyes, threatening to spill.

'Why am I crying this time? So annoying…get over yourself. Just because you feel a bit lonely doesn't mean you have to cry about it. And why are you lonely in the first place? Just making a big deal out of nothing again…'

She felt a warmth enfold her hand. Looking down, she saw his bigger, pale hand on top of her gloved one.

"You will never be an intruder here." His voice instantly drew her attention toward him.

She looked at him with a subtle expression he'd come to recognize as one of surprise by the almost blank look on her face and the subtle raising of her eyebrows.

Her heart fluttered. Right… This wasn't 'someone new'. This was Peridot. Malleus.

Silently, she squeezed his hand back. Like he squeezed her heart.

"You mentioned that they 'look like a family'?"

"Right. I think so, at least…I think that's what a family looks like— should look like, I mean…" She still wasn't used to how honest he made her.

"What might you mean by that, more specifically?"

"Um, well… Sometimes, it's like Grim is their child. Like that time I was there: Tomoe was cooking dinner, and Grim and Leona were in the kitchen with her. Grim asked something about how much longer was left til the food was done…then Leona said that if he was going to keep complaining about the time, he should just help Tomoe. And Tomoe said that the same thing went for Leona, too." A small smile crept onto her face. "Then she called them both 'hungry kitties'."

"Kingscholar, a 'hungry kitty', hm?" Closing his eyes, he chuckled.

"…It is a little funny." And she did, too. "Ah, b-but please don't tell Leona I said that… Or that I told you about Tomoe saying that. I think he only doesn't mind when Tomoe says it…" 'If he found out I told someone else about it, Peri especially, I think he'd be mad…'

"Very well. If that is your wish." he said, still smiling. "Still…" and he laughed again. "It will be amusing, to hold such knowledge of him the next time we speak." he gazed off into the distance, in thought. "He does not mind Sakurada being the one to refer to him as such, then?"

"Well… When she said that, they both got upset. But I think it was only because she compared them to each other." Replaying the incident in her mind, she couldn't help but laugh. "Grim said 'myah, I ain't anything like that lazy ol' lion!' and Leona said something like 'Don't compare me to that fur-ball, Herbivore.' And then she said 'Yes, you're both very different.'"

He laughed again.

Hearing that deep, almost rumbling sound, she was utterly enchanted. It was beautiful. And in that moment, laughing at what was essentially gossip, all the while she could see a crumb from the cookies they'd been eating stuck at the corner of his lip, she wondered how anyone would ever be able to look at him and see someone to be feared.

She wanted so badly to sit up on her knees and lean over to cup his face in her hands, and kiss him. She'd never had that desire before. If she'd ever had a crush— or what she thought was a crush…she really couldn't tell anymore, with how she always forgot her feelings felt as soon as they went away— she never had thoughts like that. She wanted their attention on her, yes, and felt overjoyed when they did look at her or talk to her, but this was different. She'd never wanted to specifically do something before— much less do it herself.

She was never one to initiate anything.

And she wouldn't this time either.

But she'd wanted to. So badly that it hurt, the ache of yearning pulsating in tune to her loud heartbeat, resounding from her throat. She forced away the thought of what kissing him might feel like.

-^-v-^-v-^- [ Malleus' Bedroom, Later ] -^-v-^-v-^-

Bringing the candelabra from the desk as quietly as she could, she set it down on the floor in front of her, lighting just one of the candles.

The couch at the end of the bed, where she was meant to sleep, was empty save for a single pillow.

She sat on the floor, near the edge of the carpet, with the heels of her feet on the lightly fuzzy surface and her toes on the cold black and white tile. She was using the purple blanket she'd been given as a shield draped over her small body, its tassels tickling her.

She'd tried to sleep. But she just couldn't. The quiet in the room seemed to want to surround her on all sides, pressing against her like plastic in a vacuum former.

On nights like these, she at least always used to have her plush rabbit Clover with her. She would hug it, and feel less scared; less alone. Because she imagined it could feel the same feelings as she did. That she wasn't alone, that someone could understand the feelings that took over her, that she someone to suffer alongside her. The illusion, for that is all it ever could grant her, at least gave her a little strength.

Yet Clover was no longer with her. It was back in her world; back on earth. Probably in her bag, or in her bed, where she usually kept it. So all she could do was hold herself. Yet it wasn't enough.

Her arms were too…her. Thin, and cold.

She could never mistake them for the touch of another.

Blankets had so often acted as her shield, a warm weight surrounding her, cocooning her, keeping her safe. But now, with no Clover to hold to complete the puzzle, it felt like just what it was: fabric.

Moments like this, with her curled up on the floor in a blanket close to night, reminiscent of similar nights from when she was a child, was always when she could hear her parents the clearest. She imagined them there, arguing, just on the other side of the door…

<----------------------------------------------------------------------------> The crashing sound of the table being flipped over, the plates and drinking glasses crashing loudly to the floor, the sounds of them breaking apart invading her mind, sending adrenaline pumping through her system, making her curl up tighter beneath the blanket.

'Then why don't YOU get off your ass and get a job yourself, huh?!' A muffled yell. A sputter was the answer.

'You DARE to say that when it is MY family's money you're squandering?! And you have not forgotten the neighbors threatened to call someone if we left her alone again, yes? Either stay home with her yourself for once, get a job, or stop going to the pub and count yourself lucky we get that money at all!'

'The money's in our account. If I have to put up with your bitching and whining, I sure as hell deserve a break from it! It's not like I asked for your parents to take fucking pity on us. In fact, I wish they hadn't! I wish I'd never fucking met you!'

'And you think that I asked for this?! You believe I wanted to spend the rest of my life with a foul-mouthed, brainless, pathetic dead-beat like yo—'

— SLAP —

'Fucking bitch. SHUT! UP!'

Someone fell to the floor, panting.

'I can't deal with this fucking shit.'

The front door was opened, then slammed shut. Leaving her alone in the house with her upset mother. If she went out of her room to pee, she would be yelled at. <---------------------------------------------------------------------------->

She was breathing heavier. Her body quivered beneath the blanket. She shook her head from side to side, scratching at the skin of her scalp, gritting her teeth, willing the memories to go away.

'I-I'm safe here…it's ok. I-It's ok. They're not there. It's not real. I'm just—just imagining it. So stop imagining it! Stop it! I don't want to think about it! Go away!'

She covered her head with the blanket and curled up impossibly smaller. As small as the laws of physics would allow without her breaking or dislocating anything. She stretched the fabric to its limits and gripped it hard, willing it tighter over her bones.

She whimpered. It just wouldn't go away. It wouldn't stop. The blanket didn't help. The blanket always used to help, at least a little. Why didn't it this time?

She huddled closer to the candle, hoping to feel soothed by the light. She whimpered again. Louder this time. Without thinking, she put the middle bone of her index finger between her teeth and bit down, feeling the familiar, soothing ache of pain.

Looking at her hand she saw bite marks. Some old, but others new, the most recent only having scabbed over a week prior. There were more under the sleeves, on both of her arms. It was the only thing she knew to do to soother her on-the-inside pain, an itch she'd never been taught how to scratch at, replacing it instead with causing herself on-the-outside pain.

'I won't bite hard…I can't. I couldn't explain the blood to him.' But she wanted to. To distract herself, give herself another reason— a more legitimate reason— to whimper. In pain, this time. She deserved to feel pain anyway.

She...she wanted it.

'That's…'

<----------------------------------------------------------------------------> —SLAP— <---------------------------------------------------------------------------->

'That's what happens when you're bad…' And wasn't she bad? She felt bad. Always. Always, always, always. 'Just a burden...a useless burden who never did anything for anyone. All I did was make everyone's lives worse. Just kept leeching off the wasted good will of others. Of the orphanage owners. Of my uncle. He probably never cared anyway. Why would he? He's...he's probably happy I'm gone. If he even realized it at all.'

But...often, the pain she caused herself felt good to her. It felt familiar, like relief. Almost even loving; the near life-long habit having encoded a sense of the familiar, of the safe, into the act of causing herself pain. But that it was still pain, something bad that she thought she deserved, kept her from denying herself the sensation, the same way she had with almost every other thing that she liked.

But...he wouldn't like it. If he knew she'd hurt herself. And she couldn't clean it off or change into something else.

Her eyes ached, primed to spill over. She knew she'd start sobbing soon.

Dread muddled through her veins thick and slow, the urge drawing her in closer and closer, like a whirlpool. She had to, she had to, she had to, she had to; nothing else would make the dread and fear and panic and desperation go away. The pain would comfort her. It was this or Clover, and Clover was gone—

"Child of Man?"

Her breath hitched. She dropped her hand— barely an inch away from her teeth, into her lap, biting down on her lip instead. She hid her hand back inside the blanket as quick as she could. Caught up in her own spiral, she'd missed him stirring awake.

"Why are you awake? Did something happen?" he asked with a sleepy voice.

'Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no— h-how do I— I shouldn't be awake right now. How do I explain—'

He'd slipped out of his bed to come closer to her.

"I…" she looked away from him in shame. In an instant, an excuse formed in her head. "I had a nightmare…"

Lying was easier than sharing the real reason. But why? She didn't think he'd be upset; that wasn't what she was worried about. She just…didn't want to get into explaining why she couldn't sleep.

"Oh, did you now?" He sat down next to her. Something in her hardened, like a see-through beetle-shell formed around her mind. It calmed her. At the expense of wiping any expression from her face, any vulnerable sincerity from her voice.

"Do you wish to discuss it? I recall Lilia would ask Silver the same once upon a time."

Still not looking at him, she shook her head. "It's okay. I'm used to it. I have them a lot." Her muscles had gone tense, leaving her feeling like a wire skeleton beneath a cloth exterior. Had she been more aware, she would have been surprised to hear the admission of often having nightmares spill from her lips at all; she'd only ever heard it spoken inside of her head before.

A moment of silence followed.

Then she felt his hand on her back. She couldn't keep from flinching. She was sure he felt it too.

"...Child of Man." He spoke in a low, serious voice, causing a slow build-up of dread over her bones. "Look at me."

Slowly, reluctantly, she did.

"So long as I am here..." she leaned back her head to look up at him. As purple met green, the beetle-shell began to slowly melt, thawing like ice."No... So long as I draw breath," his hand drew nearer her, to brush a lock of hair behind her ear... "no evil shall touch you." ...but stopped just before his hand reached her face.

"Even if I fall into slumber," she saw his eyebrows were furrowed ever-so-slightly. "I shall awaken the instant you call for me."

Her lips parted in surprise. She felt something violently grab hold of both her heart and throat and squeeze, taking her breath with it. It hurt, in an 'on-the-inside' way. It was new. Overwhelming. It tasted bittersweet, like medicine.

'...Why? Why would he...?'

"Goodnight, my Child of Man."

The second he began to move away, she felt the sudden loss of that warm, bewildering feeling, replaced too many horrible emotions to name crackling through her body all at once.

"Wait!" The word flew from her lips before she could stop it. Him leaving, even if he were just a meter or two away and would wake up if she called for him, felt horrible. The thought of him not being right next to her, even just to sleep, felt unbearable. And she knew that…she would feel safe if she were next to him. If he were to hold her. The mere thought consumed her body, mind and heart with longing, with want. With shame, too. Shame at daring to think she could ever be allowed something so wonderful.

"…Um…" she said so quietly she was sure he would miss it; it was the strongest she could manage to make her voice in that moment.

"I…" Digging her nails into her wrist, she made herself look up at him and force the words from her lips. "C-can I…sleep next to you?"

She watched, almost in slow-motion, as his expression turned to one of shock.

"You would..." his deep voice began, almost as much of a whisper as her own words.

His parted lips slowly gave way to a smile, brows coming back down. Beneath them his eyes narrowed into slivers of peridot green, crinkling warmly at the edges.

"Of course."

Her eyes widened. 'R-really…?' It was her turn to be stunned. 'He'd really want me to sleep next to him?' Her heart started beating unsteadily, accompanied by a dizzying, nauseating feeling. 'Too good to be true' she'd always called that feeling.

'No, it's probably just because I basically begged him… Not because he wanted to…' He took her hand in his, thankfully not looking at them as he helped her up from the ground. Instead he looked into her eyes. She couldn't look away even if she wanted to. Which she didn't. '…I don't know. I hope he wants to…' When it came to him, she could never convince herself of the words she was so used to thinking.

She would never understand how he could do that. She'd spent her entire life trying and failing to quiet the rioting, wailing thoughts that had scratched at the inside of her skull for as long as she could remember. But all he had to do was look at her, and they faded to silence.

Then she smiled, too. A look of relief on her face.

He lead her by the hand, to the side of the bed. Seeing him sit down and pat the spot next to him, she slowly climbed up and onto the mattress, his hand having extended the blanket until she got in. Expecting to hear creaking metal springs and feel rough linen- not because she thought that's what his bed would be like, but because it was what she herself was used to- she was surprised to see her knee sink into the soft mattress under her weight, then rise right back up as it left with her. He closed the curtains around the bed, enveloping them both in darkness.

For just a moment when they laid down, she was tense, not knowing what to do. But when he covered them both with his blanket- thick, and enchanted, to keep his reptilian blood warm- it was washed away like the closing of an open window that had rattled in the wind. Still, her heart beat loudly.

His bed was very soft, and warm. It felt different from every other bed she'd ever slept in. The sheets were the softest she'd ever touched; they felt like silk. 'They probably are.' The second her head touched his pillow, she thought she was melting into it.

"It's so soft!" she couldn't help but exclaim. "U-um, t-the pillow, I mean…"

"Is that so? If it pleases you, perhaps we should arrange more sleepovers. You are always welcome here."

"R-really?" then her face scrunched up in guilt. "It usually takes me a while to fall asleep…"

"Then shall I sing you a lullaby?" For a second, a spark of excitement glittered in her. The suggestion seemed so...intimate. Just the thought made her heart race...before she forced it to stop.

"I— w-well, what I meant was, I wouldn't want to keep you up so often, with me not being able to sleep..."

"In truth, I do not require much sleep. At least, not as much as humans do. So getting less of it would not negatively affect me as much as losing yours would you."

"So...I wouldn't be bothering you?" she already relished the sensation of being in such a soft place, hearing his voice so close to her in the darkness. 'I shouldn't ask for more than that...'

"You would not." she heard a smile in his voice, and hoped more than anything that she was right. "Though, that does bring me back to my question... Do you think that hearing a lullaby would aid you into sleep?"

"I…I don't know. I've never…really heard one. I mean, I have heard some, just...never had one sung to me." Embarrassment turned into shame and drenched her chest at the admission. 'Most parents sing lullabies to help their children sleep, don't they?'

"Hm." came his reply. She felt a long finger trace the palm of her hand. She froze to focus on the feeling. In the dark, all she could see were his eyes, glowing beautifully chartreuse, gaze still trained on her. Before his fingers all slipped between the gap of her thumb and index finger and held onto her hand gently. She held his back without even stopping to ponder it.

...Was this truly the kind of closeness 'friends' had? The gentle gazing into each other's eyes, holding each other in sleep, the emotion-filled words, promises spoken in hushed tones only to each other?

She didn't want to know. She didn't want it confirmed that it was only platonic, only to lose herself in yearning for something more and becoming discontent. And for the very same reason she didn't let herself even ponder the possibility of it being romantic.

Yearning for something more had never done her any good, only lead to her hopes being crushed, adding more fuel to the fire of the desperate felling of pure hell that always caught up with her sooner or later. So at some point she'd forced herself to stop. It was safer not to look past what was right in front of her. To not imagine any way it could be different...

"Then come closer, and listen well…" And she did, choosing to send her thoughts off with the wind. To once more think of nothing but the current moment.

He inhaled gently, and began to hum a smooth, baritone melody. The sound ran like a flowing stream through her ears, reverberating into the rest of her body. Closing her eyes, she imagined a forest, slivers of golden sunshine filtering through the green of the leaves and gleaming against the surface of a stream. Underneath a large tree, there she was, leaning against someone. Someone with beautiful green eyes.

She was warm, her mind felt fuzzy and her body…strangely heavy… And…safe. Like in this place, nothing would ever hurt her. Like closing her eyes wasn't dangerous. Like here, she could let down her guard without worry.

The tendrils of self-abuse that wanted to drill through her skull to pierce her brain and tell her how horrible she was for burdening him like this, or for 'lying' all to 'get her way' never came. They flitted around the room still, combing through the air. But they couldn't get to her now, in her…no, their cocoon.

Because he was there.

And he said no evil would touch her.

She knew he was right.

She felt her closed eyelids become heavier, locking in place, and her body sinking, sliding closer to his by the dip in the mattress caused by difference in weight.

Right there, body slotted so closely against his, she felt safe. Warm. Cherished, even. Like she…belonged there.

-^-v-^-v-^-

-Malleus-

He stopped singing. "…Irina?" he called out after a while. No answer came to the call of her name. She was fast asleep.

When she'd first asked, he was stunned. He had never slept in the same room as another before, much less in the same bed. Neither his grandmother nor Lilia had ever done as such when comforting him as a child. And as Crown Prince, he surely would never be 'weak' enough to not withstand solitude.

Her head was buried in his chest, and her warm, slow breaths almost tickled. He felt…strange. An unfamiliar sensation lighting up his chest; the urge to do…something. To do what, he couldn't quite place a name to. His heart murmured the vague shape of an idea into his ears, but the idea itself was shrouded in fog, its shape indiscernible. All he knew was the premonition that once he could put a name to and execute said action, it would fill him with a joy he could never before have imagined.

But not the kind that bubbled in him, the giddy fizzling embers she so often caused him.

No, this felt…deeper. The tightness in his chest sang a song similar to that of gratitude. And yet, it was not gratitude toward her that he felt. It was altogether strange.

Malleus looked at the girl in his arms. She was so small compared to him…and so warm.

Before she happened upon him on his walk near Ramshackle that night, how many times had he lamented how cold the world seemed? It could not only have been his quite literally cold-blooded body to blame. No, the cold seemed to seep into his very bones, into his soul. Into his heart. He was perpetually surrounded by a natural quiet; not a muffling or complete dispelling of sound— no, there simply was no sound to muffle or dispel in the first place. Empty. Save for him alone.

But since that night, the cold that crept so deep into his heart had slowly begun to recede. With each chance meeting. With each night-walk shared between the two of them.

The night she first invited him to go on another walk after the sun set the next day, he could have sworn his heart would fly out of his chest with how high it soared. He couldn't keep a smile off his face all day. All around him, people avoided him more than usual, likely on account of said smile. But he couldn't bring himself to care. Because for once, he had been invited to spend time with a friend. For once, he was wanted. Not as crown prince, not for his power...wanted for nothing more than his company; his time.

And now, she was there, in his arms. It felt like a miracle. One he should thank someone for. For her not fearing him. For her staying up late every night to go on walks with him. For her always listening to his rambles of his beloved gargoyles. For her coming close enough to touch his cold heart, covered in dust, and warm it in her hands.

He let his fingers wade through the thick, wavy tresses of her pale pink hair. He curled his body so his nose could nuzzle the top of her head.

'You truly are precious, my…' The usual name died on his tongue. It wasn't...special, enough. It was something he could call anyone else.

'…My Irina.'

He held her closer, curled his body up tightly around hers, imagining his draconic wings coming to shield her where she laid, like a precious treasure. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to keep her where she was, in his arms, forever— stealing her away like a dragon would a princess. To lock the both of them in one tower, where they would live out the rest of their days in bliss.

Such visions of an eternity spent together lulled him to sleep soon after, warm, with a smile on his lips.

-^-v-^-v-^- [ Diasomnia Dorm, the next morning ] -^-v-^-v-^-

-Lilia-

'Sitting' upside down on one of the sofa chairs in the lounge and reading the newspaper, Lilia's legs waved in the air in a content rhythm.

"He would usually be awake by this time..." He remarked to no one in particular by the time he'd finished the paper.

And so he waltzed in the air over the stone floor and hummed a bright, cheery tune from a video Kalim had sent to him— about cats in a marching band, if he remembered correctly— on the long trek, or well, flight, up to Malleus's chambers.

Once stood in front of the door, hand poised to knock, he thought better of it, instead slowly creeping in through the door.

Seeing the blanket on the floor, the couch empty, and the usually open curtains of Malleus' bed closed, he smiled knowingly to himself.

He peeked his face in through the curtains at the end of the bed, and a pair of green eyes opened and narrowed dangerously at him as Malleus' head shot up from the pillow to glower at him at the speed of his lightning. His murderous gaze, like a dragon prepared to guard his hoard, mellowed out into a mere pout when he realized who it was— a clear, silent sign telling him to 'leave'.

And so he made like a tree. He smiled widely and removed his face from the curtains, hearing a small hiss at the tiny sliver of light that escaped through before they properly closed again, before leaving quietly out the door.

'Should I draw up wedding plans already, I wonder…'

He giggled to himself as he went on his way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

These fools don't know they're basically already in a relationship

Writing this made me cry multiple times because they are MEANT FOR EACH OTHER—

If you like Mallina just as much as I do, or even just 0,1% as much as I do, just send me a message ANYWHERE (comments, an ask(private if you'd like), a reblog, in the TAGS of a reblog, DM, etc.) and I will GLADLY add you to the tag list of any future stuff I make for them! ^^

Ignoring all my perfectionist thoughts to 'keep working on this for several months' and just posting it already

In my 'fuck it, we ball' era [ and it's so difficultttttttttttttt (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀) ]

fr you have no idea how proud of myself I am for only taking a month to write all this! My last proper fic took me FOUR months!

I'm just very proud of this one in general honestly~ Shows I really can make good stuff, even LONG stuff, when I put my mind to it!

Tag list: @another-random-paradise @thehollowwriter @faefum @cactus13-rolloflammesimp (thank you very much for the idea of this fic~!) @beneathsakurashade

@nyx-of-night

#mallina 🐉x🐰#🐰irina #twst x oc #twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland malleus #👁️👁️hngggg…dragon boy #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x oc #twst malleus #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #moony's oc writing #moony's ocs #Spotify

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dirtbra1n · 11 months ago

Text

shirahama kyouji isn’t convinced that tashiro’s actually seeing into hanzawa senpai’s dreams. bite him. but, okay, sure, whatever. as far as he’s concerned, tashiro doesn’t have to acknowledge this river as a real thing unless he really wants to. or needs to. what-ever.

what does he know. right?

not like he’s been getting calls from tashiro in the dead of night with alarming frequency lately. not like he’s being turned to like some kind of romantic gospel. it feels like a mean prank, honestly. Stop asking me about romance, Tashiro, you punk.

he sighs, holds the door for tashiro, clears his throat. “But, anyway, isn’t this whole thing kind of one-sided? Like, here you are lopping off his limbs or whatever—”

“Hey—”

“—but I don’t hear anything about him cutting into YOU. Aren’t YOU worth digging into? Isn’t he curious about the stuff going on in YOUR brain?”

“…If you’d just stayed in the ping pong club…”

“UGH, never mind.”

honestly speaking, kyouji thinks he’s a really good friend. just on the principle that he’s not just willing to but practiced in the art of grinding support levels. reading between the lines. pushing boundaries a little.

girls might call him delusional. or nosy. kind of pushy, maybe. he doesn’t let it get to him.

tashiro is just the kind of guy who doesn’t even realize that he isn’t letting anyone in, and the kind of guy that other people don’t realize they don’t know much about. and kyouji met him in middle school, and they became friends somehow.

it’s actually really easy to be friends with someone. it’s just a lot of work to be friends about it.

as in, like. kyouji was gaming tashiro’s friendship for at least a couple weeks before tashiro noticed and asked kyouji if he was gaming his friendship, to which he said “No.”

anyway, this is all kind of to say that kyouji hadn’t really realized he’d maxed out his support levels until that first 2:42 am call about death dreams and hanzawa senpai, and he got split between asking about the whole dying thing and confirming that it was, uh.

hanzawa senpai?

tashiro, if asked, would say that he’d definitely mentioned at least once the weird situation he’d gotten into there. kyouji would concede that point, sort of, except he’d argue in response that “weird situation” applies much more to the almost-but-not-quite confession than it does to… dying over and over? in front of you?

kyouji takes to sitting in stairways to mull these things over. he could be in the classroom eating lunch with miyano right now, but he’s a good friend. long-term investments. he is such a good friend.

“Like, really,” he murmurs to himself, worrying his banana milk’s straw between his teeth, “These have to count as your dreams too. Right?” he hears voices drifting down from the hallway and really hopes his isn’t doing the same.

it probably is. talking to the tashiro that exists in his head like a nut. man.

he leans back on his elbows to stare at the ceiling. “Keep talking over and over about how you’re intruding on his dreams and, like, no offense, Tashiro, but,” he sighs through his nose. completely hopeless. a completely hopeless nut. “Man. Your sleep, in your bed, in your head. Those are your dreams, mind link or not.”

he groans. puts the empty carton on the step next to him. tosses an arm over his eyes.

“Willpower, I guess. Maybe. Not that it’s something you have to do, but…”

somebody walks down the stairs, passing him warily. the carton goes skittering.

I guess if you want him to live enough awake and live enough asleep, it’s got to work out eventually.

he moves his arm and opens his eyes a little while later to see tashiro crouching in front of him.

kyouji squints. “I see you finally saw my text.”

tashiro hums evenly. “I was doing the rounds.”

a twinge in his forehead. he turns his head, crosses his arms. “Left here lying on the stairs, all dusty, cramping, just so Mister Popular can go talk to his friends…”

ka-tonk.

kyouji rubs his forehead. “For what’s it’s worth—“

“Not a lot.”

“Shut up. I think Senpai wants to live as much as anyone.”

that gives tashiro pause.

it’s kind of part of the reason kyouji doesn’t end up saying this next part out loud—he doesn’t know hanzawa senpai that well personally, anyway.

I don’t think anyone who wants to die would spend as much energy as he does doing all of… everything…

he doesn’t know hanzawa senpai that well personally, but he also doesn’t say it because…

man, it’s definitely bad luck in his fortune to go thinking about people he knows and bucket lists at the same time.

#Here. it’s kind of an exorcism #tashiro post’ll be long enough with its own brief-er shirahama bit. so i can cut this one loose #probably. if it bites me in the ass then my ass’ll be bit. these things happen #hanzawa to tashiro #shirahama kyouji #look at that! all these bits referencing stuff happening in the big one. like an appetizer :)#dirtbrain writing #<- always forget i have tags for this stuff

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dontfeeltoohot · 2 years ago

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this is LATE oops but could you perhaps write chase from house md being allergic to dust while breaking into a patient's home with foreman? nbd if you don't wanna write it though, i love your stories and can be totally content with rereading stuff haha

This is so cute ☺️ plus choreman

This is set in s7, because fav season and it’s before everything goes to hell.

XXX

“Foreman, Chase, go to the patients house and see if you can find any dirty secrets. It’ll be just like old times,” House smirks, making the pair share a look.

Chase doesn’t mind Foreman, has even grown to like the guy- maybe because he hid a literal murder and kept him from going to jail, or maybe because since they both returned to the team things have been easier for them. They know each others strengths and weaknesses, know House better than the others, have comradery that’s been built over several years.

“And no fighting, daddy loves you both equally,” the older man adds, patting both their shoulders as Taub and Thirteen walk out of the office.

As they walk down the corridor towards the elevators, Chase looks over at his colleague, trying to get a read on him- that much hasn’t changed.

“Think we’ll find anything in the guys house?”

“Probably not, but you know it’s easier just to rule it out,” Foreman clicks the down button and they stand their waiting.

“Yeah, won’t hear the end of it if we don’t.”

The car ride over is quiet, Foreman driving because “you drive like a maniac Chase, no way in hell.” Which he does, but the bluntness of it takes the blonde by surprise even if it shouldn’t.

“Sorry I’m not Mister Perfect.”

“I never said I was either, but I’d rather not have to call House because we’re flipped in a ditch or pulled over by a cop.”

They both think back to Thirteen getting pulled over.

“So, this guy lives in some old mansion type place?” Chase asks curiously, trying to remember what the middle aged man had said about his dwelling.

“Yep, secluded like a horror story. Thank god you’re white so you’ll die first.”

Chase can’t help but let out a snort, rolling his eyes. “So helpful.”

Foreman’s right of course. The house is secluded, a long, winding path finally leading to what looks to be at least 7,000 square feet of house, on at least five acres of land. They get out and look around, the older whistling.

“Damn this is a lot to cover.”

“At least we’ll be away from the hospital for a while,” Chase voices, walking towards the large oak front door.

It takes a while. They go through the kitchen, a few bedrooms and bathrooms, a dining room, two living room, and a large study. When they’re walking back downstairs, Foreman turns instead of going back to the front, so Chase huffs and follows.

“Where’re we going now?”

“…here.”

Foreman pulls a door open that Chase had missed, revealing concrete stairs leading to a dark basement. Chase has seen enough scary movies to be mildly concerned, mind flashing back to the scene in the Conjuring.

“You said yourself that you’re smarter than people in scary movies, and you think we should go down there?”

“Man, I just wanna leave and get some food. What if there’s something down there that’s the key to helping this guy, come on.”

They walk down into the basement after pulling the string connected to the lightbulb to light the stairway. Chase wrinkles his nose as they make it further down, the smell of dust and mildew hitting him in the face. The neurologist looks completely unfazed. As the pair start looking around, the Australian can feel his body reacting to the shit built up in the stale-aired room. His sinuses are buzzing, congestion is starting to settle in his head, and his nose is prickling with the need to sneeze.

Sniffling quietly, Chase works on putting a few cans of insecticide and repellents in a bag, kicking up more dust as he removes them from the wooden shelves. Trying not to aggravate everything more, he rubs his face against his sweater clad shoulder and hopes they can leave before this turns into an allergy attack. Sniffling again, nose running, the intensivist blinks hard and continues.

————

Chase’s sniffles are becoming more and more frequent and Foreman isn’t sure if he wants to tell the guy to shut up and blow his nose or ask if he’s okay. Something…different starts to blossom in his chest but he squashes it down as quickly as he can- no way does he find Chase of all people hot like this. Sure, random people can be hot when they’re allergic to stuff, but Chase? Chase is a kiss ass pretty boy who only cares about himself.

That’s not true, not anymore. Not since House fired him, not since Cameron left him. He’s changed, he’s your friend.

Shaking his head, the dark skinned man sighs and tries to ignore the wet sniffles coming from somewhere behind him. He has work to do and someone to save. He swabs a few surfaces, grimacing at the grime and dust, then drops the swabs into baggies. A commotion grabs his attention and he turns.

Chase is swearing under his breath as a few books and tools lay on the floor after falling from the half empty shelf. The blonde isn’t making to pick them up, instead he’s standing frozen, eyebrows drawn together, eyes unfocused. Foreman watches, realizing then that Chase- always healthy, always taking allergy meds and avoiding irritants Chase, is about to sneeze.

He’s seen the doctor sneeze before, but he has a feeling this is about to be much more of an experience than a random double from mint gum. Nostrils twitching, he watches Chase take a breath in, then he’s bringing his arm up to his face, shielding the nice view Foreman has.

“h’nGKTt-uh! snf! ihhgKXst-ooh!”

The second sneeze sounds harder to keep under control but the sound after, the small ‘ooh’ is soft and breathy. Foreman can tell he’s not done, not with how the other is rubbing his nose with his wrist, swiping up and creasing the bridge. As if Chase has just remembered he’s not alone, he turns, still sniffling and eyes watery.

“Find anything?” Foreman tries to act like he’s not been watching the display.

“Fou’d a few bottles, yeah.”

The congestion is audible already as Chase bends down and picks the items off the floor, returning them to their unoccupied spaces. When he’s sat the last book down, his left hand comes up to scrub at his nose, rubbing it a little harder than what Foreman would consider normal.

“hh’NGKxT! SNF! hih’XTtch! Fuck,” the word is breathless as the Australian rubs his face into his shoulder.

“You uh, okay?” Foreman grabs another swab from his bag and tries to busy himself.

“Yeah, I juuhst-snf! I’m allergic t-to dust..” Chase’s head tips back slightly, and as Foreman looks over he can see the younger man’s nostrils flare into circles, irritated beyond the point of stopping what’s happening.

“IhNGkt! hh-ihGKt-uhew!”

Foreman hears the messiness of the second sneeze, a silent beat, and then a sniffle that tells him Chase definitely doesn’t have tissues or anything to clean himself up with. The image in the other man’s brain of his coworker miserably allergic and pink nosed sniffling mess back up desperately is enough to make him squirm.

Turning around, Chase looks just as allergic as he’s thought- his eyes are red and wet, his nose is pink and mess shines against the rims of his nostrils, and the bridge of his nose is creased from rubbing at the itch.

“Bless you.”

“Tha’gks, let’s get out of h-here-nGKt’uhew! God, sorry, that sn-snf! snuck up on me…” Chase snaps his head down, barely covering as a sneeze assaults him.

Foreman opts not to say anything, instead nodding and following the Australian out of the house, dreading the long car ride back to the hospital. Dreading or maybe excited, he’s not entirely sure anymore.

As expected, the ride is a test of his patience and willpower. Chase rubs at his nose with his wrist, his knuckles, with the tissues Foreman finally thrusts at him. His nose is a mess; wet and pink and twitching, and his eyes are bloodshot. They’ve both got dust all over them no doubt as Chase stifles sneezes into balled up tissues, barely containing the amount of mess that’s inevitable with the severity of his allergy. After a particularly stuffy nose blow, Chase groans and clears his throat.

“God I’mb disgusti’g,” he croaks out, voice tired from sneezing.

“Yeah, you kinda are,” the words tumble from his mouth before he can stop them.

A blink, a disbelieving huff, a sniffle, and then a laugh.

“At least you’re ho’dest,” Chase mumbles, leaning back into the seat as he rubs at his face roughly.

“Stop rubbing, you’re gonna make it worse you idiot.”

“So sweet, take me to d-snf! Dinner first, the’d you ca’d worry over mbe.”

“In your dreams.”

#paging doctor chase #my fic #prompts

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blindrapture · 7 months ago

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THURSDAY JUNE 30TH, 2011 (Rael's Exodus II: Indisen)

4:17 AM Good morning, journal! :D Donnie’s still asleep. I think I’ll take a morning walk.

4:32 AM Stuff on the walls. Not entirely sure what that is. Might be water?

4:35 AM ”INDISEN” It’s written on the wall. Looks like blood. o_o

4:36 AM There’s a lot of this blood trailing past “INDISEN” and going into this room. This is someone’s room, I know it. I don’t remember whose. I knocked.

4:37 AM Nobody’s answering. I’ll keep trying.

4:38 AM Okay, I’m openrevji0 hellooooo This is surprising. Oh god where did my emotions go. It’s, uh.. it’s the Innkeeper. She’s dead. Head decapitated, sliced clean off. I think the Masked Massacrer is on board the Exodus. I need to tell someone.

4:51 AM The bridge, found the bridge, telling Doctor Jackson.

4:55 AM God, there’s not really much we can do besides be prepared to kill anyone who attacks us. This is gonna be hell.

5:34 AM Sneaking back into bed.

9:09 AM You know what I really like, journal? Waking up to find Donnie cuddling me.

9:27 AM I wonder if there’s any breakfast today.

9:33 AM YES There is. :D Weetabix! :DD

9:38 AM MOTHERF oh “Lowest Point” has a really big drop, caught me off-guard. ..wait, “Lowest Point.” Why’s that playing? God, who cares, this song kicks ass.

9:44 AM DRAW A STAIRWAY FOR MY GOD TO SPITE THE SOFA OF MY FAITH

10:03 AM “I hope you folks enjoyed that little wake-up call there. Found it among Yates’ music. Specifically, we found a sheet of paper attached to this album, We Excavate, by Sunsetters. The paper said ‘Track 8.’ “Anyway, this is your captain speaking. Doctor Jackson did a fantastic job covering for me in the night shift, and now he’s gone to sleep. Now it’s my turn again. So, uh.. good morning! I hear chef Gusteau is serving some breakfast in the dining room this morning. “The skies look clear and red, the seas oddly still. We’re making great progress, record time so far. So.. welcome to day two of your voyage on the R.M.S Exodus. “What’s that? ……oh. I’ve just been informed that a miss Penelope Judge passed away last night. You may have known her as the innkeeper at the lovely seaside inn in Liverpool. I assure you, her passing away had nothing to do with Patrick Yates’ yesterday. “Anyway, these unexpected developments only strengthen the point of my advice for you ladies and gentlemen: stay alive. Fitzgerald out.” Interestingly enough, he’s right about the deaths being unrelated. I’m heading back to my room. Donnie’ll be wondering where I am.

10:31 AM I brought Donnie back some fruit. :D And some toast!

11:00 AM ..door. Donnie’s getting it. It’s a girl. Fifteen, I think. What was her name Quinn, Quinn Tickrand. She wants to hang out with us. Because we seem like cool people. And she feels unsafe. ..o_o Wait, what?

11:04 AM Quinn’s parents are missing. She says they were having an argument, a very nasty argument, and she left the room to get some fresh air but when she went back down they were gone and they haven’t come back. We said she could stay with us until they show up again. Which they will. They will.

11:11 AM I do wish they would show up.

12:34 PM ..Donnie heard a noise. Came from the hallway. Quinn says it’s probably her parents looking for her. I concur.

12:36 PM NO YOU FUCKER NO FUCKING NO FUCKING RAKE. Quinn’s dead. >___< The Rake’s run off again, back to its cargo hold. So this is how it’s gonna be, Rake. Picking us off one by one. Saving me for last, me, the White Jester you want. You bastard.

12:59 PM We’re telling the captain about this.

1:02 PM “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. If any of you know where Mister and Missus Samuel and Janet Tickrand are, please tell them to come up to the bridge. Once again, Samuel and Janet Tickrand, please come up to the bridge. As for the rest of you, stay alive. Fitzgerald out.”

1:05 PM Miss DeNumante came in. To the bridge. She says the Rake kidnapped her son, Brian. Carl says he’s had enough of the Rake’s shit. rwahshotgun, he’s got a shotgun. He told me to get my guitar thing and come with him. “We’re gonna open some fucking windows.”

1:34 PM Here we go. Carl Rackleberg and Jordan Dooling, shotgun and Tiger Stripes. Versus the Rake and the Rake’s claws. I am so excited and terrified at the same time.

1:47 PM We step into the cargo hold, and into the mouth of madness. It’s darker than a witch’s ass in here. It’s also colder than a rat’s tit. ..I think I got those backwards.

1:50 PM I hear something. It sounds like the pitter-patter of light footsteps. Not the Rake’s ferocious footsteps, either. Calculating footsteps. Carl has a flashlight, and he’s shining it around, but we can’t quite see anything. Or anyone.

1:51 PM ..THERE where’d it go I can hear it panting and snarling. Something is very wrong about this, though. The Rake’s been oddly quiet up until now.

1:52 PM THERE IT IS AGAIN FUCKER IT’S GOING FOR THE EXIT

1:53 PM Ran out to a hallway Hit a dead-end Time to eat guitar controller, Rake. Wait, I need a one-liner for this. And with this guitar, I shred the Rake a new asshole.

1:55 PM The Rake is dead. I’m not proud of that one-liner. That wasn’t very.. me, y’know? ..wait, where’s Carl? Did he not follow me?

2:00 PM Cargo hold. I don’t see anything at all here. ..flashlight beam! Flashoh

2:14 PM “Attention, ladies and gentlemen? This is your captain speaking. We have some good news and some bad news. “The good news is, that creature that was on board? It’s dead now! Never again will you have to worry about it. The bad news is, our loyal and competent engineer, Carl Rackleberg, has passed away. We all miss him deeply, and.. it’s like ev— “Really? Okay, we’ve got more news. Ms. Desmond has woken up from her comatose state. She’s apparently asking for a Rael. If you or anyone you know happens to know who she might be referring to, please let us know. “In the meantime, I highly recommend considering trying to stay alive. Fitzgerald out.”

3:38 PM I’m visiting Ms. Desmond. I’m gonna see her for myself. Doctor Johnson is here. Not Doctor Jackson, but Johnson.

3:39 PM Well hello, Ms. Desmond. ..who is staring at me. She said “Hello” back. Doctor Johnson is shocked. Ms. Desmond is definitely the old woman I’ve been seeing around. It’s really creepy, looking at her, and she’s in bed and not standing in the middle of a hallway. I asked how she’s feeling. “How are you feeling?” That’s what I got back. I said my name is Jordan. “Your name is Rael.” No, my name is Jordan. “You are Rael to us.” Who’s “us?” “I’m still figuring that one out.” Are you feeling alright, Ms. Desmond? “I’m not sure. I’m still getting used to these feelings.” You’ve been in a coma, Ms. Desmond. Do you remember anything? “I can remember all of my former life.. and a lot more. For instance, I am just a virus to her.” To who? “It has no name of her own.” What doesn’t? o_o “One of us called her the Epping Aquatarkus. Another one of us called her Salmacis. I don’t know what to call her.” But what is that? Who is that? ..no reply now.

3:57 PM That was weird. That’s an understatement. That was really weird. I gotta find Donnie; I want some hugs.

4:22 PM Donnie’s hugs always help greatly. :3

4:44 PM That was a gunshot.

4:50 PM Everyone’s gathered around this door. I take it the gunshot was from in here.

4:51 PM ..no. D: Miss DeNumante. There’s even a note. “They took my Brian away.” That’s all it says. .___.;;

5:20 PM We.. we’d actually killed the Rake, though. She didn’t have to do it. We were gonna find Brian. We were, we are. Goddamn. Everyone’s dying out there, and she chooses to.. bah. I dunno, journal. I find something depressing about it. And here I thought I was desensitized to people dying by now. I guess it’s cabin fever. Anxiety. I have a lot more time to think now. I don’t like having time to think. But with the Rake dead, we shouldn’t have to worry as much. Now we only have one serial killer on-board, picking us off one-by-one. Hey, it’s better than two.

6:00 PM Sausages for dinner today. Yum.

7:10 PM I’m sorry, journal. I’m just really.. bah. I’m tired, journal. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.

9:50 PM door goddammit I’ll get it.

9:53 PM It was Mister Finch, like last night. He asked me about Ms. Desmond. I showed him my journal. He read it really fuckin’ fast. But maybe that was just me. Then he quietly said “Rapture.” I asked for clarification. “It’s really coming, Rael. It’s really coming.” Then he walked off.

9:55 PM Rapture is coming. Rapture. Is coming. No matter how many times I write it, it refuses to bring any clarity. It’s just three words, three context-less words, three meaningless words. ..three real words.

11:00 PM eighteen

(Attached: “ Salmacis doesn’t talk much about the past, preferring to discuss the present. Everything’s all logic and accuracy with her, too, which can make for some great conversations and some frustrating ones, depending on your mood. But somewhere in this library, I should have something to offer insight into her past. I should, but I don't. I’ve got information on everyone but her. It’s always here, always all around us, you can’t escape from her liquid mental clutch, yet you can also never learn about her. It always.. slips away, out of your grasp. I’ve lived a long time, a real long time, and I still have no idea where it came from. I think that’s her use of abstraction, her insistence on complexity. If you can create something that’s so complex and so filled with monotony and misdirection, you can scare everyone off. Everyone except those who have, themselves, mastered the art of depersonalization.”)

[PREV LOG] [TABLE OF CONTENTS] [NEXT LOG]

#ogtrib #oh god the rapture is burning #ogtrib act 1

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thefamilyeldritchabomination · 8 months ago

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Maze Chapter Two: Renegade Pt. 1

It had been a major fight to drag Koenma from his solitude in the rented home, something about a dating sim with birds in it and working on some partridge doctor. Kuwabara couldn’t give a real flying fuck about the game considering Yusuke’s body was kidnapped, Keiko was having a mental breakdown, and the strong possibility Kurama was responsible for it as he loaded Koenma into the family car with his sons. Koenma had seen better days, his adult form having started growing a scraggly beard and worn out tee shirts that have seen better days as Koenma adjusted his oversized sweatpants after being forced out into the public. It didn’t help Koenma very much having to sit between two teenage boys who both decided this road trip needed a game of punch buggy with Koenma.

“Kuwabara, get your children under control! I can’t feel my arm anymore!” Koenma complained as snickering could be heard from Jotaro and Josuke.

“Josuke, Jotaro, stop picking on Mister Koenma over there. We’re getting close to Aunt Keiko’s and we expect you both to be on your best behavior.” Kuwabara scolded as he started to make the turn towards Keiko’s Restaurant.

Jotaro and Josuke grumbled out an apology, upset that their little bit of fun was ruined because of Koenma whining about it. Kuwabara couldn’t help but shake his head a bit before making the pull up to the sidewalk. Keiko stood at the entrance of the restaurant as she looked up to see Kuwabara and his family arrive. Keiko looked relieved to see Kuwabara before looking shocked to see Koenma in the group, it’s been a long time since she last saw him out in public like that. Taking the keys out of the pocket, Keiko opened up the door to the restaurant, not having been opened yet since it was still the morning hours.

“So, where’s Tomoko? Does she know about what happened?” Kuwabara asked as he made sure Koenma was keeping up with everyone. “She does, Tomoko is driving over now from art college. I still don’t understand where Kurama is or why he hasn’t been answering at all..” Keiko sat down, the stress was becoming too much after a short span of time. “Keiko, Kazuma and I spoke to one another earlier after you told us the news. As much as I hate to believe this, I have to agree that given the recent behaviors and actions Kurama displayed last night, he might be responsible.” Yukina decided to be the one to break the news to Keiko about who was likely behind the kidnapping.

“Keiko, you have every right to never speak to Kurama ever again or even forgive him regardless if he’s responsible or not. We will find Urameshi and bring him back to you, I promise you Keiko.” Kuwabara tried his best to console while Koenma started to think very carefully about what could be done on his end.

“If Kurama is behind it, I’m going to bet he’s taking Yusuke’s body to Genkai’s property. The entire estate is powerful in spirit energy if Kurama’s attempting to revive Yusuke. That’s the one location I can think of to try first.” Koenma finally spoke, Keiko and Kuwabara staring at him upon that statement.

“Should we go?” Yukina asked as Kuwabara got the keys to the car ready without a second thought. “You can ride with Koenma and myself, Keiko, call your daughter and let her know what location we’re going to. Yukina, could you stay at the restaurant with our sons in case Tomoko doesn’t get the phone call?” Kuwabara looked over to Yukina, panicked over how his friend group had basically dissolved.

As Kuwabara, Koenma, and Keiko loaded up in the family van, Kurama had made it to Genkai’s estate after blowing up the stairway with the cacti bombs to make it drivable. It was a bit of a tricky deal having to go to the woods behind the temple thanks to all the demons inhabiting it. Thankfully, the sunflower gun had done the job it was intended for, gunning down the hungry demons that were very much interested in the delicious flesh of Yusuke. Tiresome as it was, it was worth it as Kurama reached the wetlands where Yusuke had his match with the demon, Rando, parking the van and getting out. It was weird having to enter this area as Kurama went to work with the strong spirit energy for breaking into another dimension. It was understood from the grape vine that Rando was going to have a probation hearing due to good behavior in prison, something that had sent a chill up his spine. Sure, there was the chance that Rando had seen the light, but there was something else to it that Kurama couldn’t exactly place a finger on just yet.

“Kurama, what exactly are you thinking?!” Said a voice behind him, causing Kurama to whip out the sunflower gun before lowering it. “Goddamn it Hiei, how did you get here?” Kurama disengaged the sunflower gun as he frowned a bit at the intrusion of Hiei. “Simple, I followed. You were too busy with stealing the detective’s body over there to notice me. Age really has gotten to you.” Hiei said casually, motioning his head towards the parked van.

“Let me guess, you’re here to take Yusuke back.” Kurama lowered his voice, having to make a mental choice of putting his own wellbeing on the line by fighting or not. “Depends on what you’re planning. I know you Kurama, you’re not the kind to do this unless you have something you know for sure is going to work. Now spill it.” Hiei narrowed his eyes, waiting to hear what exactly was going through the fox youkai’s mind. “I took up a commissioned job from someone who told me there’s a neighboring dimension that has someone that could regenerate Yusuke’s soul. If I can break the barrier, I can take Yusuke to this person to save him.” Kurama confessed, he knew better than to lie to Hiei of all people. “Okay, I’m in.” Hiei said, catching Kurama off guard by the statement. “What?” Kurama had to make sure he was hearing things correctly from Hiei. “You heard me, I’m in. Ever since the detective died, I’ve been blaming myself for not being fast enough to save Yusuke. I had Koenma next to me, I grabbed him the moment Yusuke picked that damn blue button and got ourselves out of there. It was simple damage control, Spirit World would’ve fallen apart at the seams if Koenma had died in it. No matter how many times I tell myself this, I still can’t get that image out of my head of Yusuke being incinerated before me. Therefore, I am in and there is no way of convincing me otherwise.” Hiei shook after unloading what had been pent up over two decades, the trauma of the event still very fresh in Hiei’s mind.

“Hiei, I didn’t know…why didn’t you tell anyone?” Kurama asked as he felt terrible for Hiei given what he had to witness first hand. “Because it’s a sign of weakness! I cannot show that when I work, if I show it, it compromises everything!” Hiei couldn’t stop shaking, everything coming out suddenly had been a lot for the three eyed youkai.

“It’s not, you’re being opened and that’s amazing..more than what I’ve been lately. Hiei, you don’t have to come, this is something I need to do.” Kurama said, a part of him knowing Hiei could decline to avoid getting caught should the barrier break fail.

“I’d still come regardless, you can’t fight, remember? You’re heading into an unknown territory with no fighting capabilities other than that flower gun and cacti bombs. I can, however, still fight and very much in my prime.” Hiei sat down on the wetland grounds, determined to come along for this ride.

“Fine, but on one condition, you have to give Yusuke his sponge baths while over there, I’ll be dealing with the changing of his catheter.” Kurama conceded, realizing he would need some help afterall with keeping up to care for Yusuke’s body.

“You placed him on plant based life support and mobility enhancements, but you couldn’t figure out a plant based catheter?” Hiei looked at Kurama, fully surprised that the catheter was still a thing. “Plants have their limits too, trust me, I’ve tried.” Kurama groaned from frustration as he went back to work on the barrier breaking.

The spirit energy was superb as Kurama went to work, the planes jumper close by to help with figuring out on the dimension he needs to enter. Hiei sat on the roof of the van watching before growing annoyed at one particular detail he didn’t consider, Kurama having to take periodic breaks to change out Yusuke’s catheter. The incessant beeping it made when it needed to be changed annoyed Hiei’s ears, it rivaled that damn demon whistle that Botan blew so long ago. It didn’t take long for Hiei to fully take over the catheter ordeal so Kurama could fully focus on the barrier. Kurama felt relieved that Hiei took over, it would mean he could work faster in opening the barrier. The barrier was a fickle thing, knotted in ways Kurama couldn’t have foreseen. It was clear that whoever or whatever set up the barrier, clearly had no intentions of letting anything in or out of it. Sure, the demon world’s barrier was tough, but it was still breakable with the right tools. This one, this barrier proved to be far more challenging than the one demon world had. It only served to further Kurama’s resolve, not just for Yusuke’s sake, but for his own pride as well as a master of breaking and entering.

#yu yu hakusho fan fiction #fan fiction #Writing #YYH #Yu Yu Hakusho #Yoko Kurama #Kurama #YYH Kurama #Hiei #Keiko #Yukina #Kuwabara #Koenma #Sorry for that long wait guys #But here is Chapter Two!#Maze #OCs

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