#and it’s so WEIRD because my eyes look so creepy when i’m extra pale

[alluralater]

the thing about being half caucasian is that when i don’t get enough sleep i look SO pale, which looks very strange because my features are very much that of a mixed girl. so it’s like- melanin siCkNess, is how i look rn. plus im chronically anemic (supposed to get blood transfusions twice a year but i don’t bc im terrified of my body rejecting it. like no it’s not super common but the more blood transfusions you do, the higher the likelihood is that it WILL happen so i don’t wanna risk it. i’d rather pass out in public places from the lack of oxygen to my brain again) and now it’s like- mf got me lookin like a tim burton character with freckles. i may or may not be on my period too (i am) and my roommate was saying i look really tired because i have bad dark circles under my eyes lately and im looking washed out. it’s definitely my period because when i was doing cardio yesterday on the treadmill i felt like i was going to be sick at the fifteen minute mark but not from being tired, just from the onset of “lack of oxygen” nausea that hits me when all my blood moves to the outer parts of my body and away from my brain. i had to stop today for a few minutes and when i looked in the mirror in the locker room i was SO pale it was wild. anyways all this to say, i would like the sunshine to return posthaste + i need more blood in my body. does anyone know a reverse vampire?? they bite me and i get blood?? or wait maybe it’s easier to find a vampire to turn me into one?? what happens if i have severe anemia and i get turned into a vampire??

[coral-melon]

hiii i saw the matchups thing on the om tag and thought pog i wanna do that so here we are

personality:

gonna be honest with you, im kind of closed off and dont talk to people unless im talked to first BUT i do get very talkative and extroverted when at stuff like cons because i think "wow all these other people are cool and like the same thing as me"

but i still get shy and extra apologetic around people i view as cooler than me like cosplayers. like i will read way too much into an interaction with a cosplayer and sob.

also im kind of... nuerodivergency... in that i do things that i consider friendly but other people think is creepy. like ill make jokes and talk to someone like i would to my friends and i mean well but to them im probably really weird

anyway around friends i just like to be affectionate (if close friends) make jokes and be a silly lil man :3 but im kind of cringe and make references to things i like and memes but hey we are all cringe

strengths:

im good at drawing and singing.. i think? and people say im good at comforting and being rational in emotional situations

weaknesses:

garbage self esteem, ridiculous expectations of myself and also i have the too tired to get out of bed or do anything at all or take care of myself syndrome and also sometimes i lash out butthatsjustbecauseiliveinaplacewhereimnotallowedtoshowwhenifeelupset

looks:

157 cm, im quite thin like more than normal, pale and i look really like hong kong chinese (but im not) i have hair like yumeko jabami and unfortunately im flat

hobbies:

besides drawing, i REALLY like gaming like its my jam and im kinda good at some of them

other:

cats... my beloved <3 i also really really love cutesy stuff like pink and sanrio and stuffed toys.... also im a little mental illness.. and nuerodivergency... but i remain silly

Hello anon! Sorry for the hold up ^^’

Thank you for taking the time to introducing yourself and I hope you end up liking what I wrote for you! I’m also praying it doesn’t feel too out of place ._ .,

I match you with…~

✧ Have a hard time getting out of bed? Not a problem! It’s not like he’d let you leave anyway.. who do you take him for? ((Beel would be the one to make sure the two of you are still alive and well fed👍✨))

✧ When your around him, people would never think of you as odd or weird considering some of the things he says with a straight face.

✧ Never feel self conscious about the things you say or how you say them around him, he’ll understand what you mean even if you didn’t word it correctly. It’s like a six sense that he has.

I’m sorry, I really wanted to write a bit more about your neurodiversity but I suck and I wouldn’t want to offend you in any way.. ;-;

✧ I also imagine him not letting you be apologetic with anyone; why do you have to apologize when it was a mistake for the person to exist in the first place, boo? ;)

✧ Though will tease you if he finds out that you think his cool and all. Gives him a lot of material to work with! Above all though, he likes being able to have a good laugh with you. Your laughs is very soothing to him..

✧ Thought cosplaying was weird — mostly cuz of Levi — But is very open about it if your the one talking about it. Surprisingly also stays fully awake if you go on a tangent about a topic.

✧ Sing him a lullaby, he’ll remember it for all eternity. It won’t leave his head and will force you to come over just so you can at least hum it to him.

✧ He also doesn’t care how thin you are, he always find a way to lay on you in the most comfortable positions. He’s an expert, so don’t even worry about it! >;D

✧ Will most definitely get you any and all stuffed animals and pillows. Not only do you get happy, it also makes your bed a lot more comfortable for him to nap on. He’d give you all the ones the world could offer in a blink of an eye if he could. Nevertheless, you have a large collecting thanks to him!

✧ He attentively watches the things you do, but you can’t really rely on him actually joining you since he might doze off and hit his head somewhere.

End

You said u liked cats and cute stuff and I happened to find out that there was a card of him with cat ears and thought, ‘oh, this works!’

If this bothered you in any way, please let me know! It’ll be good to have some things pointed out if I made any sort of mistake

But other than that, I hope you liked it! Take care✨

[mariaofdoranelle]

Empty Nested

Rowaelin Month day 9: Single Parent AU

Long story short, life happened and I won’t be able to keep up with my original plan of posting for every prompt. However, I managed to finish this WIP and here it is! It’s 11:48 pm where I live so I guess it still counts as day 9 lol I hope you like it!!

Warnings: language, NSFW

Word count: 3,1k

Edit: This fic ended up becoming a whole thing so here’s a masterlist

~~~~~占~~~ _/||\°/||\。.:*・

To-do list

Read gardening book

Improve garden

Master’s degree pros and cons list

Find out which liquor bottles Maisie drank in secret and watered down

Enroll in Old Language classes

Rowan sighed. He was sat on his porch, trying to figure out what to do on the third weekend without Maisie driving him insane. His life’s purpose revolved around his only daughter for the last eighteen years, and now that he just dropped her off at college, he felt lonely. Mostly bored.

Coming home to an empty house felt hollow enough, the real tears about her moving only came when he arrived and saw her bike sitting on the porch. Three weeks later, he hadn’t moved it. Instead, he was gazing at it as he scrambled his mind for something to do.

Some movement on the street caught his attention, and Rowan noticed two men in an uniform carrying a massive piano inside Aelin Galathynius’s house. As tamed as he was, it was impossible not to notice how beautifully her golden hair shined below the midday sun, or how little that pale blue dress did to hide the curves underneath. Something like that would drive Rowan insane when she first moved into their street, but now he was a lot more used to his drop dead gorgeous neighbor. When Rowan realized what he was doing, he focused his gaze on her garden’s Kingsflower and swallowed. That woman raised Maisie’s best friend. She deserved more than a creepy old neighbor.

“Need any help?” Rowan asked as he got closer to the home.

Aelin turned around and smiled brightly at him. “Not really, but come on in!” And gestured for him to come inside. Good. If she gave Rowan a task to do, it meant he had one less thing to add to his to-do list.

He and Aelin were in that weird parent limbo where they’re not exactly friends, but they’ve been chatting here and there for years because their kids are close.

“How’s Finn?” he asked after the piano matter was settled, while she made coffee for them.

She sighed affectionately. “He’s in love with college and everything is amazing, you know how the freshman year goes. It’s so cute. And he’s there with his girlfriend, so he’s loving it.”

“Yeah, same for Maisie.” He chuckled. “Except for the relationship part. She’s merciless with her girls.”

“And you have no idea where she got that from?” Aelin teased.

His eyes went wide. “I really don’t. I spent years telling her to avoid the ladies’ man type, but apparently she misunderstood the lessons and ended up becoming one.”

Aelin cackled, but sighed again after. “God, I really miss those troublemakers.”

He sent her a watery smile. “Me too. I’ve been trying to get busy, but apparently that’s not a problem for you?”

“I used to play it everyday before Finn was born.”

Rowan looked between Aelin and her new piano, astounded. “You knew how to play that beast at sixteen?”

Grinning, she nodded. “I even used to teach it for extra money before having a full-time job.”

He just blinked, amazed. “Sometimes I forget not every teenager is a dipshit. I have absolutely no useful hobbies to revive.” In fact, Maisie was who made him learn real responsibility. Caring for a newborn in college without the mother was no joke.

“I’m sure this isn’t the case.”

With a raised eyebrow, he challenged, “Unless you call partying a hobby.”

Aelin went still, her eyes wide. “I have a boat party later today, you should come!”

“What?” he screeched.

“Come on!”

Rowan blinked, thinking hard on it. “I’m not sure.” He never left the house on the weekends because, as independent as Maisie tried to be, she always got in trouble at parties, so Rowan liked to be available for her.

“It’s my friend’s birthday, it’ll be fun.”

Well, as alarming as the thought was, Rowan couldn’t be physically there for his little girl. And he didn’t need to think about the to-do list if he wasn’t at home. Reluctantly, he finally answered, “Okay. You sure your friend won’t mind?”

Aelin grinned wickedly. “When you meet Fenrys, you’ll be sure of it.”

~~

Rowan endured two chapters of his new gardening book before readying himself early for the party. When it was finally time, to reach Aelin, he crossed the street to find his neighbor wearing gentle waves on her hair and a pleased grin.

She was wearing a golden, metallic dress that was... flattering. Maybe way too flattering. It had a V-neckline that made Rowan’s eyes go too south before he snapped it back up, flushing, to meet Aelin’s smirking face.

Rowan’s mouth opened and closed while he scrambled his mind for something respectful to say that would do her justice, but his flustered face seemed to be response enough by her ever-growing grin.

“We should catch an uber. I’m making us drink tonight,” she said, putting him out of his misery.

Rowan cleared his throat and nodded. “Let me.” He gave his phone to Aelin so she could type which part of the Florine River they were supposed to be at, and the ride ended up being pretty uneventful.

When Aelin invited him, Rowan was expecting a small get together at the marina. However, he found himself inside a tri-deck yatch with a DJ and a infinity pool.

Fenrys, just like Aelin predicted, didn’t mind his unadvised presence in the slightest. There was absolutely no way a singular, regular person knew all this people, but Aelin didn’t seem surprised by how packed the place was. She just greeted everyone she knew and introduced Rowan as they beelined to the nearest bar. In the meanwhile, he tried not to notice the amused glances Aelin’s friends darted between the two of them.

The bar was a little crowded, but Rowan managed to get some whiskey while she intently watched the preparation of her dessert cocktail.

“We should hit the dancefloor.”

Rowan’s body froze. “I can’t dance.”

Grinning, she answered, “Good. I can’t either.”

For the first time in years, Rowan was led to a small crowd under strobe lights. Aelin looked like a living flame with that dress, but she didn’t seem to realize it, carelessly dancing whichever pop music was playing. He tried not to embarrass himself by doing some sort of manly dance, but she wouldn’t have it.

His heartbeat picked up when Aelin put two hands on his chest and leaned closer to his face, but she just neared his ear and said, “Come on! You can do better than a straight guy dance.”

Rowan laughed brightly at this, little did she know he was just trying to not embarrass himself. He took Aelin’s arm and twirled her just before allowing his limbs to do their own thing, accompanying his dance partner’s uncoordinated moves, just letting loose on the dancefloor. And it felt good. Freeing. Their dancing must’ve looked borderline quirky from anyone looking from the outside, but he felt lighter than ever.

Feeling a little bold, he placed both hands on her hips, still swaying together. After a few minutes, she led him to the bar again, holding hands.

After sipping on the same drinks again, he mentioned to ask Aelin what she wanted to do, but her eyes were already on him. She led him out of the crowded part, and then trapped Rowan against the glass wall with her two hands. The only signs of her desire were her quick breaths and hypnotizing parted lips, so Rowan put his years-long self-control aside and placed a unsteady hand on Aelin’s nape, his thumb running her neck up and down.

He didn’t know who initiated it, but what started tentative soon became an open-mouthed, fervent kiss. Every inch of Aelin’s front was pressed against his, and she didn’t seem to mind Rowan’s greedy hands on her sides by the way she yanked his hair, leading his mouth to her neck.

Swapping places, he pressed Aelin against the wall. “Tell me you didn’t put that golden dress on purpose,” Rowan hissed on her ear, in charge of her body.

“I can’t,” she smirked.

Rowan kissed her again. Picking Aelin up, he sneaked his hands a bit under her dress, hoping his eager grip wouldn’t bruise her. In response, she pressed herself against him, her ridden-up dress allowing the friction between his bulge and her underwear’s the flimsy fabric. She was going to be the death of him.

“You’re such a cocktease.” Rowan didn’t mean to say this out loud, but he was too immersed in her to chastise himself. However, Aelin’s whole body shivered, and she arched her hips against this. Just as greedy, he decided to continue, “And you love it, don’t you? I bet you’re loving to make my blood boil right now.” She moaned, and Rowan moved one hand that was already under her dress to run his thumb against her wet underwear. He could feel Aelin’s knees buckling on his side, but he stilled. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, and at least a decade since doing it at a part. And it wasn’t just a woman, it was Aelin. Perhaps he was going too fast and—

“Please,” Aelin’s soft whimper snapped him out of his thoughts.

Well, it was hard to deny her anything with those bewitching little whimpers and flushed cheeks. Their position made it hard for anyone to notice Rowan’s hand under her dress, so he sneaked his thumb under the lacy fabric and started massaging Aelin’s clit. She cried out when he first applied pressure, but Rowan started kissing her to swallow her moans, and they soon settled into a rhythm.

For all the restrained movements he had by using one arm to carry Aelin and the other hand pleasure her, she made up by touching him everywhere. Rowan felt sly hands running across his chest, back, redirecting his face from Aelin’s mouth to her neck, making his desire grow each touch.

She gripped his shirt with impressive strength when her body went still around him, then she relaxed completely on his arms. Rowan pressed their foreheads together, both of them panting when he felt a bit smug by noticing her trademark lavender smell was now mixed with sweat.

“You alright?” he asked.

His answer was a lazy, blissful smile. “Perfect. We might need a napkin to your face, though.” Rowan leaned a little to the side to see his reflection on the glass wall and, yes, his face was smudged with Aelin’s lipstick. A lot.

After getting down from his embrace and making sure her legs were firm enough to walk in high heels again, they decided to look for anything able to clean his face—napkin, tissue, toilet paper—they couldn’t afford to be picky.

The birthday boy, was Henrys his name? was filming the whole party, and soon the blinding flashlight from his phone landed on them.

“Say cheese!” he screamed, way too cheerful to be sober.

A dark-haired version of Henrys yanked him away. “I’m cutting off your booze.” Then he turned his head towards everyone in the room and quickly yelled, “Sorry!”

Aelin chuckled, and they soon found an empty bathroom with tissues. She mentioned for him to seat on top of the toilet’s closed lid while grabbing what she needed, but then stopped.

“You know?” she started with a sultry voice, “I kinda like that look on you. And I like that I was the one to kiss you all over.”

“You like your men looking like the Joker?” Rowan teased.

She giggled, losing the seductress act for a minute. Aelin sat on his lap, rubbing a wet tissue against his neck. He instantly held her hips and pulled her closer, baring her thighs on the way. Aelin took it as a cue and started rubbing herself against his bulge, and in this position Rowan was free to cup her breasts. One hand was gripping her hair, helping him lead the kiss, and the other holding Aelin’s breast as his thumb flicked a nipple through the dress. They were in a frenzy, giving and taking pleasure however they could, when Rowan heard a hissing sound. Aelin unzipping her dress.

Deciding to gently stop her, he managed to cup her hand somewhere between her hand and her hips.

Breaking the kiss, Aelin leaned away from him a little. “Did I do something wrong?”

Why in hell would she think that? Putting a strand of golden hair behind her ear, he whispered, “Of course not.”

She arched an eyebrow. “So...”

Even if he was turned on like he haven’t been in years, it didn’t feel right. 18-year-old Rowan wouldn’t think twice before fucking a long-time crush in a party bathroom. 38-year-old Rowan? Not so much. Not only because he wanted to do right by Aelin, but also because adulthood back pains were no joke. Even with daily exercises, the only counter he allowed himself to bend over was his own, to cook dinner.

“I have better plans,” he said in a playful voice, trying to not upset her.

Aelin crossed her arms. “I highly doubt that.”

“We go back to the party and finish the night with our clothes on—“

“How is that better?”

He chuckled and kissed her adorable pout. “Then I’ll show up in your porch tomorrow and ask you on a date, and I’m pretty sure you’ll say yes because I’ll bribe you with chocolate. After I buy you dinner, if you feel like it, I’ll take you somewhere and ravish you whole until the morning because we have no kids to gross out with our love lives”

Aelin wrapped both arms around Rowan’s neck, sending him a sly smile. “I really like your plans…” He raised an eyebrow, knowing she wasn’t finished. “But the ravishing me whole part only appears once, and at the end.”

Grinning at her, he teased, “So you want the old man, but not the old-fashioned manners?”

That was enough to make her crack up. “You’re four years older! There’s barely an age gap.”

“Aelin, you have a TikTok account.”

“And?” she cried out.

“You’re young.”

She cackled and got herself up, pulling him too. “Come on, old man, I’m hungry.”

There wasn’t a proper table, but they managed to find a seat near the catering and snatch some food. Aelin was sat on his lap, eagerly eating some pan-fried trout he convinced her to try after a lot of pouting and grimacing. Before she could force him to eat chocolate, Rowan’s phone pinged once. And again. When he saw it was Maisie, he unlocked the phone and briefly apologized to Aelin—who didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, too focused on her fish.

Mais: DAD

His daughter sent him a picture of him walking side by side with Aelin, one hand on her waist. It was a little blurred, probably a screenshot from a video, but it was clear Rowan’s face and neck had some smudged lipstick on, his eyes were sparkling, and he just now noticed that he hadn’t felt lighthearted like this in a long while. Still, his kid’s reaction made him a bit uneasy. He had always put Maisie before any romantic interest without a second thought, and he didn’t want to change it just because she wasn’t at home.

Rowan: How in hell did you get this

Mais: Finn saw on Instagram and sent to me

Mais: We made sibling vows by text and everything

He zoomed in on the top of the picture, and it seemed like some fmoonbeam person has posted it.

Rowan: Do you think it’s weird?

Mais: NO!!

Mais: I mean I’m completely horrified

Mais: But in a good way

Mais: I’m happily retreating from the competition

Rowan: ??

Mais: Dad she’s a MILF

That was more than enough to make him flush. Aelin looked confused, and when he showed her the text thread, she cackled.

“Sounds like we have our kid’s permission,” she pointed out.

He beamed at that. For eighteen years, Rowan struggled with finding someone who he liked and Maisie might like, besides living the anxiety of trying to not catch feelings before he had it figured out. And long after Rowan gave up on dating, his neighbor swept him off his feet and checked all boxes in one night. And he was so relaxed tonight he didn’t even overanalyze every sentence she said to figure out if she’d be a good stepmom.

Rowan texted a quick Night, Mais. Behave. and turned his attention back to Aelin. Her smile was intoxicating, he noted as he grinned back, and it made him want to get closer and live immersed in it for days on end.

But then she straightened her posture and looked him in the face. “So...”

“So?”

“I just want you to clarify something for me, so I can know what to expect.” Aelin started fiddling with her fingers. “We’ve known each other for years, and this happened just now...” Rowan tilted his head, not getting where she was going, and she ran a frustrated hand through her head. “I just want to know if this is a thing thing or if we’re just getting together because we’re empty nested and bored.

Giving her a loose hug around the waist, he smiled and said, “No, definitely a thing thing to me.”

Sighing in relief, all of her features relaxed as she explained herself. “Good. I was just asking because,” Aelin bit her lip. “Finn’s a shy kid, so going for his best friend’s dad was a risky move, but I definitely… noticed you.”

Grinning like Hellas, Rowan scooted her closer and whispered on her ear, “Oh, I’ve noticed you too.”

“Yeah?” she breathed.

“Sure. You think I’ve never noticed your tiny little weekend sundresses, Aelin?” he said while brushing his thumb against her bottom lip. “You don’t think I notice the tight pencil skirts you go to work with?”

“So you’ve noticed me too?” she asked.

“Very much.”

“Wanna notice me in the bathroom again?”

Rowan cackled, breaking the spell. “I told you I’d notice you after asking you out and buying dinner, I never said we can’t do it all in one day.”

Humming, she bit her lip to stifle a smile. “Tomorrow?”

“If you accept my official wooing then, Milady.”

Aelin rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, but the grin she wore was fooling no one. She got up and pulled Rowan by the arm, and he didn’t fight it when she led him to the dancefloor again.

TAG LIST

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[stargazing-enby]

The Mysterious Case of the Unclaimed Jumper

Thanks @april-thelightfury115 for betaing!

Drarry | 2k | Teen and Up | Eighth Year, Pining, Fluff | Read on AO3

“Harry!" 

Ron and Hermione halted, leaving Harry no choice but to do the same. He was exhausted, and it had already taken too much energy to get up from their table at the Three Broomsticks so they could make it to the Hogwarts grounds before Filch closed the gates in their faces. The last thing he wanted was to talk to people, lovely as Madam Rosmerta was. 

“Sorry to keep you, kids, but someone forgot this on one of the tables. Would you please do me the favour of taking it back to Hogwarts with you? I still have patrons to attend.” 

“Uh...sure.” Harry took the khaki jumper she was handing him—gosh, but it was much softer than it looked—and she smiled at him appreciatively. 

“How do you know it’s from a Hogwarts student, though?” Hermione asked. 

Madam Rosmerta snorted. 

“Because none of my patrons are naive enough to step into the inn whenever you kids are taking over the town. Teenagers are loud as all hell, in case you hadn’t noticed!” 

“All right,” Harry said quickly, dreading the idea of the exchange turning into a full-fledged conversation. “We’ll take care of it. Have a nice evening, Madam Rosmerta.” 

On their way back to the castle, though, Harry started to regret his decision. It was the beginning of the school year, and the transition from summer to autumn had fooled many Hogwarts students into putting on warm clothes to fight the morning chill, which meant practically everyone had ended up carrying jumpers and jackets over their shoulders and around their waists for most of the day. The jumper could be anyone’s. 

“What are you going to do with the jumper, anyway? It could be anyone’s,” Hermione echoed his thoughts, turning from Ron to Harry.

“I have no idea,” Harry admitted.

“Maybe you could hand it to one of the Heads of House. Or...” Her voice shifted into that tone of hers that meant she knew she’d come up with a brilliant idea, “we could tell the ghosts to ask around the castle and see if anyone is missing a jumper!” 

Even as Harry nodded, Ron shook his head in disbelief. 

“Or you could just smell it,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world and he couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to either of them. Harry and Hermione just stared at him. “What?” 

“That’s kind of creepy,” Harry said. 

“Wha— No it’s not! Don’t you know clothes smell like their owners?” Silence. Ron looked increasingly exasperated. “Come on, don’t tell me your families didn’t smell the clothes lying around the house all the time to figure out who they belonged to!” 

“Er…I’m afraid not.” 

“That’s probably only a necessity when you have seven kids’ clothes to keep track of,” Hermione offered. 

“Yeah…fair enough,” Ron grumbled. “Still, it won’t hurt to try. If it’s from someone our year we’ll probably be able to recognise them.” 

Harry doubted that would be the case, but then Hermione and Ron turned to him, expectant, and he didn’t have a choice but to bring a corner of the jumper to his face and give it a sniff. 

“...Oh.”

“Well?” Hermione asked. 

“It’s…” Harry smelled it again. “It’s familiar.” Familiar and nice, he thought, giving it one extra sniff for good measure. “But I just can’t tell who it is.” 

“Oh?” Ron grabbed a sleeve, brought it to his nose. “Hmm…Yeah, I see what you mean. It’s definitely not a Gryffindor bloke. ‘Mione, why don’t you try?” 

“I’ll pass, thank you very much.” 

“Eh, that’s fine. I’m sure if we leave it in the Eighth Year Common Room someone will claim it sooner or later.” 

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, folding the jumper properly over his arm. 

As a new conversation started, Harry held the jumper a little bit closer. 

***

The stupid thing was still where they’d left it—hung over one of the Common Room couches, the one nearest the hearth—when they came back from Hagrid’s, its pale khaki tone contrasting starkly with the purple sofa. 

Hermione led the way to their usual corner of the room, keen on getting some more homework done before bed, and Harry tried to ignore the jumper, just visible out of the corner of his eye. His friends had clearly forgotten about it, and Harry didn’t bring it up again. 

But the feel of it, the scent of it, was ingrained in his thoughts, and concentrating on his Potions essay soon proved to be an impossible task. Merlin, he knew that scent. He knew it well; every time he’d sniffed the jumper, it’d been like a word was on the tip of his tongue; like a thought in the back of his mind wouldn’t come forth.

Like there was a need, buried deep within him, that he couldn’t fulfill, because he didn’t know what it was he was yearning for. Who it was he was yearning for. 

So he looked. Every few minutes, as much as he tried to avoid it, he looked back at the couch, waiting, hoping that someone would walk past and go, Hey! That’s where it was! And the missing piece inside Harry’s mind would finally click. 

But no one picked the jumper up, and when practically everyone had gone to their dorms, and Ron and Hermione had finished neglecting their homework—Ron’s fingers tracing Hermione’s knuckles, her cheek resting on his shoulder, a goofy smile brightening his face—and seemed ready to call it a night, Harry decided he simply couldn’t leave it alone. 

“You guys go ahead,” he told them. “I feel like I’m finally making progress with this essay, and if I stop now it’s going to be impossible to pick it up again tomorrow.”

As soon as he was alone, though, Harry stuffed the parchment in his bag and made for the couch at a pace just slightly faster than could be reasonably considered walking. 

Ah. The scent was just as enticing as he remembered it from earlier. 

Harry basked in it for a few moments. When someone walked into the Common Room—Terry and Hannah, who nodded at him on their way to their dorms—he let go of it as though it had burned him, but as soon as he was alone again he draped it over his lap and raked a hand over it, thinking, wondering. 

It wasn’t Hannah’s or Terry’s, Harry knew: not just because they hadn’t recognised it on sight, but because the smell did not belong to either of them. It was…deeper. It was masculine, definitely—a hint of sweat at the armpit area, like the owner hadn’t taken it off straight away after growing hot underneath it—and it was intense, in that it did things to Harry; riled him up, and brought him back down from the high, only to make his heart quicken again as soon as the thrill of it had diluted in his veins. 

Sighing, Harry lay on his back and placed the jumper, once again, over the armrest behind his head, just close enough for the scent to reach him. 

The hearth crackled. A House Elf vanished the crumbs and dust from the floor with a spell and disappeared again. Nearly-Headless Nick floated by, but didn’t seem to notice him. 

The door to the Common Room didn’t open again. 

***

“Are we going to do this every night now?” Greg grumbled, dragging the last word—practically dragging himself to the Common Room behind Draco. 

“Only until I force Slughorn to give me an Outstanding,” Draco said. “Which won’t take long, because my first essay was clearly perfect, and if that one wasn’t enough for him, this one will for sure. I swear that old man has it out against me!” 

A portrait shushed him, and Draco flipped it the bird. It wasn’t like there was anyone sleeping in the bloody halls. Or roaming them, for that matter: only Prefects and Eighth Years were allowed outside the Common Rooms past curfew, and it had been a good hour since he’d seen any of the former around. 

“Gardyloo,” he told Sir Cadogan upon reaching the Eighth Year Common Room entrance. Glad as he was that he didn’t have to share a space with people from other years, entering his new Common Room had to be one of the most draining moments of his day. And so, before Sir Cadogan could start spewing nonsense about him and Greg, Draco Silencio’d him, watching as the knight gestured dramatically without uttering a sound until the door had closed. 

“Draco, isn’t that your…?”

Draco saw it just as Greg pointed at it. 

“My jumper.” Salazar, he’d put that jumper on that morning, hadn’t he? When had he even taken it off? He’d completely forgotten all about it. 

He doubted he would ever forget the sight that greeted them, however. 

“Uh, Draco…? What’s Potter doing with your jumper?” 

“It would seem that he is cuddling it, Gregory,” Draco said, tone flat. Completely out of tune with his raging thoughts. 

“More like curling himself around it,” Greg murmured, and Draco could only agree. 

Merlin. Potter looked so young when he slept. So small, like he was afraid to take up space. His hair fanned over his forehead and his face, some of it caught between his arm and Draco’s jumper. His chest falling and rising slowly, evenly. His feet pressed close as if to keep their warmth. 

Draco shook his head, annoyed that he had allowed himself to be caught off-guard by the sight, and walked up to Potter. Grasped his jumper, and pulled at it. 

Potter’s eyes snapped open and stared right into his. 

***

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Fuck,” Harry slurred, sitting up, half-asleep and entirely too awake, as Malfoy took the jumper from him and just stared at him. “Fuck. Sorry. Madam Rosmerta told me to bring it…the...you’d left it there. It’s yours, right?” he asked, even though he didn’t need to. It was Malfoy’s, of course it was Malfoy’s. His strong, deep, alluring scent was unmistakable now. 

“Yes,” Malfoy said. He sounded weird—strained. His eyes were fixed on Harry. “It’s mine.” 

“Right,” Harry nodded. Then, after a few moments: “Er. Sorry about that. I must’ve fallen asleep.”

Malfoy snorted. 

“Never would’ve guessed.” 

“Can we go to bed now?” 

Harry whipped his head around—he hadn’t noticed Goyle was there with them. 

“Go ahead,” Malfoy told him. “I’m right behind you.”

“M’kay then. G’night, Potter,” Goyle said with a yawn, dragging his feet to the stairs. 

“Er…night?” 

Malfoy huffed again. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s an idiot when he’s sleepy.”

“No offence, but he’s an idiot all the time,” Harry said. 

“You’re one to talk.” Malfoy looked at him, then. He wasn’t as stiff now, although he was still weirdly clinging to his jumper, a gesture that reminded Harry of his own fixation with it earlier. “No one with more than two brain cells falls asleep in the Common Room, honestly.” 

“Piss off, I was exhausted!” 

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” Malfoy retorted. “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t utilise your perfectly comfortable bed to meet the need, though.” 

Harry glared at him, and Malfoy arched an eyebrow. 

“Well?”

“Why do you want to know so bad?” Harry bit back—a little childishly, he knew, but it wasn’t like Malfoy was acting much more maturely right now. “Did you enjoy the sight that much?” 

“Wh—don’t be preposterous!” Malfoy spluttered, a grimace distorting his sharp features. A grimace that did nothing to distract Harry from the angry blush spreading across his cheeks. From the way Malfoy averted his gaze, clutching at the jumper so hard he was almost twisting it. 

“Oh my god,” Harry breathed. “You did enjoy it, didn’t you?” 

Malfoy’s panicked gaze turned back to him. 

“No, I didn’t!” 

Almost as mesmerised as he was amused, Harry stood. He took one more look at Malfoy’s increasingly flushed expression, just to be sure he wasn’t reading it wrong, and then stepped into Malfoy’s personal space. When Malfoy’s breath hitched, Harry, heart in his throat, brought a hand to his flushed cheek. It was soft: softer than the jumper. 

Malfoy stood completely still, wide eyes stuck on Harry’s face. A breath stuck in his lungs: waiting. 

Heart racing, Harry let his hand stray back. Let himself caress Malfoy’s cheek and jaw, let himself cup Malfoy’s head at the nape, play with the hair there—Merlin, was there anything about Malfoy that wasn’t illegally soft?—and lean forward to take a long, deep sniff of his hair. 

Malfoy shivered, and it suddenly hit Harry just how close their bodies were. 

“Potter.” a broken whisper.

Harry inhaled again, his own skin tingling with excitement—anticipation—lust for that scent. That scent that belonged to Malfoy, that now had every reason to drive him fucking insane, to draw him near, to leave him hanging. How had he not recognised it straight away? There was nobody else who could elicit such a response from him. Whose mere closeness thrilled him like this. 

“I needed to know,” Harry said, voice low, as he let his hand slide down slightly, a caress that ended on the jut of Malfoy’s spine at the base of his neck, fingers splayed over the edge of a shoulder blade. Then, pulling back his hand, taking a step back: “I needed to know who that intoxicating scent belonged to.”

As Harry retreated toward the stairs, Malfoy swayed, eyes closed. Jumper clutched close to his chest. 

***

The following evening, when Harry arrived at the Common Room after dinner, a deep grey jumper was draped over the armrest of the couch closest to the hearth. 

[thedaughterofkings]

Team Jacob

Written for @sterekweek-2020, Day 1: Scene stealer, and I have no excuse apart from a very sleep deprived mind and that one pic from Season 1 where Derek looks extra pale, you know the one! All sentences you recognise are obviously from Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight.

About three things Stiles was absolutely positive. 

First, Derek Hale was a vampire.

Second, there was a part of him - and Stiles didn’t know how potent that part might be - that wanted to eat him. Though probably not in the fun way.

And third, Stiles was not going to be the Bella Swann of this scenario. 

Which is why he’s standing in the woods with said hungry vampire and quoting Bella Swann.

“I know what you are.”

As if to prove Stiles’ theory, Derek’s brow wrinkles artfully.

“You are impossibly fast and strong. Your skin is really pale, though I have no idea whether it’s cold or warm because there’s never been any good opportunity to ask to feel you up. I’ve never seen you eat or drink anything, though that evidence is inconclusive because I’ve pretty much only seen you in the woods or creeping around school, and you are definitely not seventeen, but then not everyone has to be bitten at seventeen, right? But anyways, I know what you are,” he ends triumphantly.

Derek looks - mostly constipated actually, but perhaps that’s just par for the course for vampires.

“What are you talking about?” he asks and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I know what you are,” he repeats, and Derek finally returns to the script, at least mostly.

“Well, say it then.”

“You’re a vampire,” Stiles states proudly and is more than a little offended when Derek snorts loudly.

“What?!”

“You’re a vampire,” Stiles repeats himself again, glaring at Derek’s stupid, grinning face. He hadn’t even known the man could smile, never mind grin! He’d say it suits him, but it’s a grin at Stiles’ expense, so obviously it’s horrid. (It really, really isn’t.) Derek still doesn’t look convinced, so Stiles also repeats his list of hard, cold evidence (get it? Hard and cold - like a vampire!):

“You are super fast and strong, way too pale, live in a house - of sorts - in the woods, you are a terrible creeper around high schoolers, and I’ve definitely seen your eyes change colour, though I don’t know what colour blue represents - eats only fish? Are you a pescatarian vampire?”

“You think I’m a pescatarian vampire? When I don’t even sparkle?”

Stiles gasps and points excitedly:

“You’ve seen Twilight!!!”

And then Derek has the chuzpe to shake his head.

“No, I haven’t.” But then he smirks and adds: “I’ve read it.”

“That’s worse!” Stiles shakes his head. “Something’s obviously very wrong with you.”

“But at least I don’t sparkle,” Derek offers and Stiles sighs. 

“I knew something didn’t fit. But what are you then, and don’t even think about lying, because as I said, something is clearly very wrong with you, and it’s not just that you’ve read Twilight!”

“I’m not a vampire,” Derek starts and Stiles rolls his eyes. They’d certainly established that. 

“I’m a born werewolf.”

Stiles really should have seen that one coming.

“As if,” he scoffs and Derek frowns.

“No, for real, I’m a werewolf, look” he insists and Stiles yelps when Derek’s impressive eyebrows suddenly disappear, no, transform into sideburns? And then there’s the fangs, can’t forget those, and of course the blue eyes.

“So I guess blue eyes don’t mean pescatarian then, do they?” he asks and Derek shakes his head. For some reason such a human gesture looks extra weird with the decidedly superhuman face.

“You’re no Jacob, that’s for sure,” Stiles mutters and yelps again when Derek’s features transform back suddenly, revealing a frown.

“At least I’m not in love with you just because I will be in love with your child,” he snipes back and Stiles gapes at him.

“Shut up,” Derek grumbles and Stiles squawks.

“I didn’t even say anything!” he protests and then narrows his eyes as a thought occurs to him suddenly:

“You can’t hear my thoughts, can you? That was totally Edward’s thing, not Jacobs’!”

“No, but I can hear your heartbeat,” Derek replies and Stiles scrunches up his nose.

“That’s only mildly less creepy, thanks.” 

He chews on his lower lip for a moment and then comes to a decision.

“Okay, you are going to buy me a lot of curly fries and a big milkshake and then you are going to explain all of this properly - especially what’s wrong with Scott, I really need help there.”

To his surprise, Derek doesn’t even object, just turns and starts leading them out of the woods again. Stiles watches him walk away for a few seconds and then shrugs and follows him.

“I did always like Jacob better,” he mutters and ahead of him Derek stumbles over thin air. 

[hoodoo12]

Fortress

A request for “the reader is having a bad time mental health wise and they make a blanket fort together and just. Chill? Maybe cuddles and some reassurances?“ led to this, with some other influences. We could all use some comfort nowadays.

Mature (Dewey Finn/reader)

@thewolfisapartofmysoul  @janitor-boy @beejiesbitch @turtlepated @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @mimiscappinisideblog 

Enjoy! `

It’d been bad. So bad. You were tired and more than that, weary. Everything was too much but still you pushed yourself through each day, because it was expected of you, because people counted on you, because there wasn’t anything else to do anyway, during these times.

You got up, went to work, came home, went to bed. On repeat. Day after day. You wanted to see Dewey--really see him--but he’d been following the stay at home orders in his apartment, so all you really had were text messages and the occasionally zoom call. Each time you saw him on the grainy video, his hair looked wilder, his beard more scraggly. 

He listened to your complaining. He made appropriate noises when you told him how tired you were, and how sad you were that everything had been turned upside down. He wasn’t much into traveling, but nodded when you started crying about the fact a trip you’d been looking forward to had been canceled. He might have been bored, but he never voiced that to you. Instead, he reassured you that everything was going to be okay. You never realized how much you missed hugging him or watching him play Guitar Hero. Just being with him seemed like a luxury that you never realized until it was taken away.

The very rare occasions you mentioned maybe some sexting or even maybe possibly some mutual video sex didn’t end well due to embarrassment. Both his and yours.

Dewey Finn wasn’t a dick pic kind of guy.

So there was nothing to do but keep plodding along. Every message between you ended with, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

Until one day, almost two months into this, instead of, “I can’t wait to see you again,” he said, “Why don’t you come over?”

“What?” “Come over. We haven’t actually been together for so long.” That’s what you wanted. Exactly what you wanted. But now that it was officially offered, you worried. “I don’t know, Dew--you haven’t been out, if I got you sick because I’ve been working this whole time . . . I don’t want to be the reason you get sick!”

“I’m not gonna get sick.” His reassurance crashed against the rocks of your worry. “It’s not like there aren’t people around. I get Door Dash. I even go down  to the lobby to get the mail.” His little brushes with the outside world were nothing like yours: you were required to work and deal with random members of the public. It was a huge component of your stress, just having to be out and around people while everything on the news was dire and worrisome. Dewey knew all that; it was one of the things you mentioned repeatedly when you spoke with him. Still, he insisted. “I miss you, baby. I want to see you again. I want to hug you again. Don’t you miss me?” That was something else you lamented to him frequently. For him to toss it back to you was a low, but effective, blow.

“Okay. I’ll come over. But I’m not taking my mask off!”

He pointedly ignored your threat. “Good! Great! Awesome! I’ll have something delivered--you want those street tacos from the place down the road? I wonder if they’d deliver a frozen margarita--” You laughed, told him you’d see him tomorrow at seven, and he blew you a kiss that you returned. Worry was still a companion, but you had to admit you were excited to see him too. 

⁂

It felt weird to be out on the street and now walking up the stairs to someone else’s apartment. For two months it’d been nothing but hurrying to work and home, then a quick shower and trying to keep your low grade anxiety away until you fell asleep to do it all over again. It was that same anxiety that made you carry an extra set of clothes with you; you weren’t going anywhere near Dewey with clothes that had been out in the world, possibly contaminated. You were going to change the second you got in the door before he had a chance to hug you.

At his door, you knocked, heard a muffled, “Come in!” and actually sighed in relief that he wasn’t opening the door for you. That’d give you a chance to put on your spare clothing.

Opening his door and stepping inside the short hallway that served as an entry into the apartment, you were confronted with a barrier only a two, maybe three feet away--basically just enough for the door to swing inward. Dewey had created a wall of cardboard that blocked the hallway completely. Although there was a small entrance at the bottom, near the floor, you couldn’t see into the rest of his apartment at all. 

“Dewey, what the hell . . .” “Come on in, baby!” he called from somewhere deeper in, his voice almost as muffled as before. “There’s some hand sanitizer if you want!”

No lie; he’d left a pump bottle of sanitizer near the hole at the floor. This was weird but oddly intriguing. With a sigh, you quickly shed your outerwear and your street clothes, doused your hands in sanitizer, and slipped into the soft pants and tee shirt you’d brought along for what you’d thought would be an evening of just lounging with Dewey. You hadn’t expected any of what you’d seen so far. 

“Okay. I’m coming in!” you said loudly, crouching to look into the hole. 

It was dark in there. What the heck had Dewey done? “Okay, baby! Can’t wait to see you!”

Keeping your phone clenched in your hand for some light, feeling a little like Alice going into  a rabbit hole, you awkwardly started to crawl on your hands and knees into the entrance.

Dewey had created some kind of cardboard tunnel. Where he’d gotten all the cardboard and duct tape was beyond you, let alone figuring out how he’d even come up with something like this. He’d never mentioned anything like it to you in any of your conversations. 

Scooting along, it was longer than you expected, with a couple of switchbacks and one place tall enough you could stand in, although you had to turn sideways to squeeze along the corridor he’d created.  Occasionally he’d call out to you, saying you were doing great, that it was just a little further; that he couldn’t wait to see you. 

It almost sounded like he’d put cameras up and was watching your progress, but you hadn’t seen any. The shaking of the structure as you made your way through it must have been advertising where you were enough. 

Finally, after crawling on his floors through an semi-creepy cardboard tunnel for what seemed like too long for the size of his apartment, you saw a light up ahead. 

After one more corner, you found that, although still enclosed in a dome of cardboard, it opened up to a larger--for lack of a better word--cavern. A pile of blankets and pillows filled the space. A lamp, with its electrical cord snaking out to somewhere that wasn’t inside this cave, lit the area. Sitting in the middle of all of it, was Dewey on his mattress, grinning like a fool. He wore no mask, and you saw he’d trimmed his beard. 

“You made it!” he greeted you, holding his hand out for yours. The space wasn’t tall enough to stand up in. You crawled out of the tunnel and next to him, sitting up. For a moment, all you could do was hug and then you couldn’t help but want to kiss him, so you ditched the mask you insisted you would wear. It made your heart pound to feel how strongly he returned the affection. Finally though, after kissing him so long your lips tingled, you had to pull back and ask, “Dewey, what is all this?”

He shrugged. “Just something I did for you, baby. We can’t travel anywhere, so this was the best I could do like an adventure. Here--I got those tacos.” He reached to his side and grabbed a paper bag. “Contactless delivery,” he assured you as he pulled individually boxed food out.

With a smile, you accepted one. While the two of you shared the messy meal, he told you about how he’d planned out this whole thing: a vague outline of how he wanted it to be, collecting cardboard from the neighbors and bodega around the corner, ordering <i>so</i> much duct tape. The construction had taken some time, and he’d given up living space to create the structure. You let him talk, happy to hear about something that was creative and unique. It was nice to focus him and what he’d done for you, instead of the anxiety that threatened to drag you under. 

Finally, full of tacos and still so happy to just be with him, you lay back on his mattress. After shoving all the garbage back into the bag it’d arrived in, Dewey joined you. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “One more thing!”

You expected that to lead to another kiss, but were wrong. Dewey stretched around and fumbled with the switch for the lamp, Managing to turn it off, the small space was plunged into darkness. Reaching for him to help settle him beside you, you said, “Dewey, what--”

“Shhh. Just look.” Faintly, as your eyes adjusted, luminous specks became clear on the cardboard above and around you. There was no pattern to them; it was like he’d flicked a brush of paint randomly at the cardboard. But here and there were actual stars of varying sizes, drawn in the little-kid way of one line crossing over itself to make the five points. 

In the absolute dark, the pale green-white of the paint gave a passable impression of a starry sky. 

Dewey settled snuggly beside you. It was comfortable in this nest of blankets, with him so close. 

“I wanted this to be a safe space for you. Something far away from out there,” he whispered. “Just you and me and a galaxy above us.”

Lucky for you it was dark, because then he couldn’t see the tears that filled your eyes. You were pretty sure he knew anyway, as you buried your face in his shoulder and neck and made them both wet, but he didn’t say anything of it. You managed to give him a whispered thanks in return, and spent the rest of the night pressed against him, sheltered in a cardboard cave. fin

The inspiration for this came not only from the prompt, but from Will Blum’s self-made quarantine project: “Floyd Collins”. Check it out (and the ‘making of’ documentary called “Through the Mountain”, also available on YouTube); it is amazing and truly a labor of love. 

[rejectofsociety]

Febuwhump: Day Seven

Prompt: Poisoning

Summary: After getting poisoned, Peter’s life takes a turn for the worst.

Word count: 2,985

Warnings: Major Character Dearth, Vomit

Written for: @febuwhump

✧༺✦✮✦༻∞　　∞༺✦✮✦༻✧

Peter’s spider senses had been ringing quietly from the moment he entered the cafe. Michelle had her little finger wrapped around Peter’s and Ned walked ahead of them, chatting casually as they made their to the counter to order— it should have been perfect. But it wasn’t. Peter’s heart was pounding and his senses were anxious and hyperactive. He could hear every tiny sound, from Ned’s voice to crumbs of food hitting the ground and he could not only smell a flurry of scents, but taste every single one of them. These moments used to send him into a panicked state and he would find himself curled up and crying, but he had grown used to them and could manage his fear.

“And what will you be having?” The young lady taking their order asked.

“Um- I uh-“ Peter shook himself out of his thoughts and gazed at her for a moment.

She looked eerily familiar— she smelled familiar too, like gun smoke and vinegar. Peter forced himself to look away from her big brown eyes to look over at Michelle. She frowned in concern then looked back at the lady.

“He’ll have the same thing I’m having,” she decided for him.

“Alright,” she smiled broadly, her eyes lingering on Peter for an extra moment, “we’ll have that ready as soon as possible. Feel free to sit wherever.”

“Thanks,” Ned brightly replied then picked out a nearby booth.

Peter and Michelle took one side while Ned sat across from them. Michelle held one of Peter’s hands in both of hers and stroked his palm with her thumb, her brown knit tightly in concern. Ned leaned forward slightly with a worried expression as he examined his friend’s face.

“Are you okay, Peter?” Michelle asked, trying to mask her anxiousness towards his state.

“Yeah, you looked really freaked out. Is she an ex-girlfriend or something?” Ned half-joked.

“No, she’s not my ex-girlfriend,” Peter rolled his eyes, slowly beginning to calm down at Michelle’s loving touch, “she’s, like, thirty or something. But, yeah, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Michelle checked, “because for a moment there it looked like you were about to throw up.”

He shook his head, “I’m fine. I swear.”

“Okay, okay,” Ned sighed, “I definitely believe you.”

Peter stirred in his seat then leaned against Michelle, resting his head on her shoulder. She rubbed his back gently with one hand, knowing how to calm his nerves.

As they waited for their coffee and muffins, they chatted about movies, school, their upcoming Academic Decathlon (which Peter spoke enthusiastically about), and sometimes just sat in peaceful silence. Michelle normally avoided the topic of Star Wars as much as possible but, for the sake of distracting Peter from whatever was bothering him, she didn’t mind bringing it up. Besides, she secretly enjoyed listening to him bitch about how fucked up the sequels were.

“Order for Ned Leeds,” the barista called, her eyes glued to Peter in a way that made his stomach turn and his spine shudder.

Ned stood up and collected their order then brought it back to the table. Again, Peter’s spider sense lit his head on fire and he grit his teeth. What’s wrong?! He cried internally, I get it, the barista is creepy and smells weird, but why?! He found himself wishing his spider sense had a voice so it could simply tell him what was wrong. These were some of the scariest moments of his life as Spiderman— the ones where something was clearly wrong, but he had no idea what it could be. It had happened several times to him when his sixth sense would scream and his body would grow painfully tense in preparation to demolish an invisible threat. It could happen at the most random times: at school, at home with May, or in this exact scenario where he was at a cafe trying to enjoy a midday snack. To make things worse, he had never been to the cafe before and had no clue what it was supposed to be like. However, he was certain that most baristas weren’t supposed to smell like gun smoke and vinegar.

“Peter,” Ned called, “are you going to eat or just stare at your food?”

Peter blinked a few times as if clearing away the dark cloud of oppressive thoughts, “bit of both,” he finally managed to joke.

“If you don’t want to eat here, we don’t have to,” Michelle pointed out.

“No, I do. I’m just tired,” he smiled softly.

“Alright, then we’ll hurry up and you can get home,” she decided.

Most days, Peter hated to be the one to end things early but today he didn’t mind at all. In fact, he was more than happy to. As Peter took a bite of his bagel, his spider sense made his stomach lurch, as if urging him to throw up. He managed to suppress any reaction and opted to dismiss it as overdramatized anxiety due to being in a new place and a creepy barista. That seemed like a decent enough explanation. After all, a few times his spider sense had overreacted to small things and made them seem like threats to the entire planet. This had to be one of those times, right?

The bagel tasted faintly of vinegar, just like the barista’s scent. His stomach did flips like a trapeze artist but he forced himself to ignore it.

He hardly recognized any of the following events, it was like time had sped up and slowed down simultaneously. One moment, he was forcing himself to eat a bagel through sips off coffee, the next moment Ned and Michelle were walking him to May’s apartment.

“Promise me you’ll get a drink of water and some sleep,” Ned implored.

“I will,” Peter mumbled, now gripping Michelle’s hand tightly as they entered the elevator.

Peter’s head was spinning like a ferris wheel as his stomach twisted into knots. He could practically feel the blood draining from his face, making him as pale as a skeleton’s skull. Michelle muttered something to him as she led him out of the elevator, down the hall, and through his front door. Ned followed and was the first to greet May.

“Hey, May,” he spoke.

“Hi Ned, Michelle, P- oh goodness. Peter, are you alright?” She rushed to her nephew and cupped his face in her hands.

“Yeah, I’m-“

“No, he’s not alright,” Michelle sharply interrupted, “we got to the cafe and he started acting weird, then we left and he’s just been looking worse by the second.”

“What’s wrong?” May demanded, “you have to talk to us.”

Peter’s stomach lurched and he pushed his aunt away from him, “sick,” he grunted hoarsely, unable to say anymore.

“Go to the bathroom,” May ordered, “MJ, can you go with him? I’ll be there in a moment.”

Michelle nodded and led Peter away. Ned was about to follow when May gently stopped him.

“Ned, can you tell me what happened in that cafe?” She asked softly.

“I don’t really know,” Ned admitted, “he was fine until we went inside. Then, he got really nervous and kept looking at the barista. Then he was fine again until we started eating and he looked nervous again. Once we left, it was kinda like he was mentally on a different planet and he looked really sick. That’s all I know.”

“Hm... do you think something he ate upset his stomach?”

“That’s my best guess.”

May sighed and rubbed her face, “he’s so stubborn sometimes.”

“I know,” Ned agreed with a nod, “it makes it so hard to know what’s wrong with him.”

May silently agreed and suspired softly, “why don’t you go check on him and I’ll be there in a second.”

He agreed then made his way towards the bathroom where he found Peter hunched over the toilet and quivering while Michelle sat on the floor next to him, gently stroking his hair.

“How are you doing, Peter?” He asked.

“‘M literally begging you to kill me,” Peter mumbled quietly.

“Not happening, sorry,” Ned replied as he made his way around the two and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

Peter groaned then coughed and gagged. Michele and Ned averted their gazed to the ground as he gasped then wretched. He only managed to choke up a small amount of bile.

“Peter, are you feeling any better?” May asked, her voice heavy with worry as she slid a glass of water into his hand.

“No,” he grunted then shakily rose the glass to his lips and took a small sip of water.

May sighed and knelt down next to him, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand. She didn’t need to linger for more than a second to feel how incredibly feverish his skin was.

“You’re burning up,” she observed, pulling her hand away.

Peter couldn’t reply and only began gagging again spat out a bit of bagel. He strained his memory as he focused on the face of the barista. He knew her from somewhere, he knew he did. But for some reason, his memory seemed to insist on forgetting about her.

“I know her from somewhere,” he rasped.

“What?” Ned asked.

“The barista,” he clarified, “I know her. B-but I don’t know where from.”

Michelle knit her brow together and considered his words, “do... do you think she poisoned you?”

Her words held an awfully heavy weight as it forced the realization upon the small family. That was the only reasonable explanation for Peter’s sudden shift in health.

Peter propped his head up on his elbows that rested on the toilet seat and thought for a moment. Rather, he tried to think. His mind was fuzzy and his vision was blurred. He could feel his breathing growing shallow as it gradually slowed down. His heart attempted to thunder with fear, yet it could only sluggishly pound and occasionally skip beats, making his chest feel momentarily empty. Every fiber in his body ached with nausea and something told him his last moments were rapidly approaching.

“May,” Peter managed to say weakly after a moment, his eyes having an incredibly difficult time staying open, “ca-an you c-call M’sser Stark?”

She nodded quickly, “th-that’s a good idea.”

She reached for her phone, only to realize she had left it in the kitchen. She leaned forward and kissed the side of her nephew’s head, her lips lingering lovingly for a moment before she stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” she assured, “you’ll be alright.”

Peter could only give a shaky nod in response then watched her leave out of the corner of his eye.

“I just want this to end,” he murmured brokenly.

“I-it’ll be over soon,” Ned shakily promised.

He could see the agony and the fear in his friend’s eyes. The sight twisted his stomach into knots and tore his heart into shreds. At the same time, it sent him into a trembling panic, because the last time he saw that look in Peter’s eyes it was the night of Uncle Ben’s funeral.

He glanced at Michelle, wishing for reassurance but was instead met with something much worse. She stared at Peter with tears in her eyes, her expression twisted into one of desperation and dismay. It was as if she were already looking at a corpse.

“Peter, you’ll be okay,” Ned stated, wishing his voice wasn’t as uneven as it was, “I promise. Tony will come here and he’ll know exactly what to do.”

Peter nodded his head slightly only to be met with a harsh rush of dizziness racing to his head and engulfing his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut then threw up another bite of bagel and all too much stomach acid. The acid burned his throat disgustingly and only made him want to throw up again.

As he kept his eyes glued shut, he gradually began to conjure an image in his mind. It was the barista, dressed in all black and frantically wrapping a scarf around her face as she darted away from... from what? Wait, wait! He remembered! She had been trying to cover her face as Peter webbed up her colleagues. How could he have let her get away like that?! But more importantly... how did she know he was Spiderman?

“I-i arrested her friends,” Peter murmured.

Michelle ran her hand through his tousled hair as she spoke, “the barista?”

“Yeah... but...” he coughed and wheezed, “I-i don’t und...understand.”

“How could she recognize you?” Ned asked, his brow knit in confusion.

Peter shrugged his shoulders slightly, each movement growing more and more tiresome by the second— his body felt horribly stiff and sluggish, as if he were already turning into a corpse. He attempted to raise his glass of water to his mouth, only for his weakened grip to give in and he dropped the glass on the tile floor with a loud clatter.

“Fuck...” he breathed hoarsely.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s okay,” Ned assured as he grabbed a towel off the floor then stood up and made his way to the spilt water, quickly cleaning it up.

“Can.... get me an...other,” Peter managed to request— the fact that he was even talking was a mystery to him.

Ned nodded then hesitantly left the bathroom, his eyes lingering on Peter a few extra moments as if his friend would die the moment he walked away.

Peter’s eyes lazily forced themselves open and attempted to focus on Michelle. Yet, they insisted on blurring and watering as they crossed behind half-closed lids. Tears began flowing down his cheeks and his neck was forced to work twice as hard to support his limp head.

He craved the sight of her warm eyes that made him feel safe and invincible. He silently begged for her sweet smile that made butterflies swarm his stomach every time he saw it. He wanted to hear her say ‘dork’ or ‘loser’ one more time and he wanted to watch her lips move with the words. He wished he could curl up in her lap and she could read him a book to make his forget his troubles. He was crushingly terrified and helplessly furious with himself for ignoring his instincts— how could he let this happen?! And now his girlfriend was with him, making sure he wouldn’t die alone, yet he couldn’t even see her face.

“Wh-why are you crying?” Michelle questioned weakly, cupping his cheek with one hand.

“I can’t see you,” he croaked, “I... I’m dying... and I-I’m sc...scared.... a-and I can’t even see yo-you’re face.”

Michelle choked out a sob and threw her arms around his torso. She kissed the side of his neck dozens of times, muttering ‘I love you’ quietly in between kisses. Peter mumbled ‘I love you’ in reply as much as his body would allow. His hands were too weak now, but he wanted to hold her hand and kiss her palm lightly. Worse, he craved  a tender kiss on the lips but he knew he would taste like vomit and his li[s would be cold— it was best to leave it be.

Peter could feel the toxins rushing through his veins, numbing his nerves and exhausting his body to the point of immobility. His lungs slowed to a stop and he drew in an exasperated breath, trying to bring life back into his body.

“Peter?” Michelle called softly, briefly pulling away from him.

May and Ned arrived at almost the exact same time, only to be frozen in horror. In the moments they were gone, Peter’s state had managed to get so much worse. His lips and nails were blue like sapphires and his skin was so pale it was almost bone-white. His eyes appeared to be sunken into his skull, and the parts of the whites that they could see were practically blood-red.

May collapsed at his side and clutched his shoulders, “Peter?”

Peter’s eyes fluttered closed as his body went limp and he used his last bit of conscious strength to attempt to hold himself upright. Ned sat on his knees beside May and tried to help his friend stay upright. Yet, Peter fell away from the toilet and hit the ground. Michelle’s hand clasped over one of Peter’s and May grabbed his shoulders frantically and scooped his torso into her arms, cradling him close her chest. Panic exploded in everyone’s chest as they watched Peter’s life slip away from his body through his bluish lips as his head rolled limply to the side. He couldn’t hear the frantic cries and yells of his family, yet they wailed anyways as if it would bring him back.

“No, no, no,” Michelle cried, “Peter, don’t!”

“Stay with us!” Ned exclaimed desperately, overcome with anxiety and confusion and desperation.

“Peter, don’t leave me!” May wailed hysterically, shaking her boy’s body as if that would awake him, “wake up! PLEASE!”

“Baby, I need you!”

“Don’t do this to us!”

“This can’t- this can’t-“

May couldn’t even finish her thought as she buried her face in Peter’s chest and sobbed. All three clung to the corpse tightly, hardly able to process their emotions as they came flooding out. It couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be right. Not when the day had started out so perfectly. How could it end with Ned loosing his best friend, Michelle loosing her boyfriend, and May watching her baby boy’s life slip away? How could this have happened? How could they have been so powerless to stop it?

“Peter,” Michelle whimpered, holding onto his hand as if it were the one thing keeping her alive, “... come back... please...”

[quirknojutsuzine]

Camp Crossover🏕

Hello, aspiring heroes and ninjas! To thank you all for sending us over 50 headcanons, our very own Mod Kairi (@kairi-chan) wrote a hilarious and engaging fic based on a headcanon we received! Don’t hesitate to send us more because our inbox and CuriousCat are always open! We hope you enjoy reading! :D

Genre: Humor & Slice of Life

Rating: T

Headcanon: “Bakugou being obsessed with explosive tags”

The forest shook with explosions—rocks, splinters, and dirt flying everywhere. Kirishima hardened his body and raised his arms to protect himself. His friend was yelling expletives at the guy with pearl-colored eyes.

“Stop looking at me funny, you damn extra!” Bakugo yelled. He flexed his fingers, little explosives going off. “And stop with that ballerina turning shit!”

The other guy raised a brow but did not change his stance. His arms were opened wide and slightly tilted downward. “You’re more obnoxious than Naruto.”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” Bakugo screamed, the explosives around his hands getting bigger. “WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE!”

Kirishima grimaced and took a step forward. “Come on, stop it. Sensei said we were supposed to get along with these guys.” His friend was short-tempered, and it would have been fine if he only ran his mouth, but Bakugo was a man of action.

“He started it! Looking at me all funny with his creepy eyes.”

“It is the Byakugan,” Neji explained simply. “But I don’t need it to take down someone as simpleminded as you.”

“Oh shit.” Kirishima slapped his hand on his forehead. This guy was a piece of work and knew how to taunt his opponents well, he’d give him that. And here he thought he would have been able to have a nice training session today.

“I will blow you to bits, you ballerina weird-eyed extra!” Bakugo lunged forward, his arms behind him as he let out a string of explosives from his arms to thrust him forward. He jumped, and brought his arms and hands in front of him, unleashing his firepower on the ninja. “DIE!”

Kirishima tried to look away, but kept one eye open, wanting to see what would happen next. He braced himself for the explosion about to come but got blown off his feet from behind. He went flying to Bakugo and ruined his momentum. Neji fluidly evaded them and watched as the two fell flat on their face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” A worried and feminine voice called out. The bushes rustled and out came Momo, holding on to a kunai knife with an explosive tag attached on the end. “I’m sorry, I aimed wrong!”

“Is anyone hurt?” Tsuyu came jumping in and looked at her two classmates on the ground. She only blinked, and then looked back at Momo. “I think they’re okay.”

“Oh thank goodness.” Momo sighed, a hand on her chest.

“Maybe we should have started with the smaller tags…” Tenten chuckled and scratched the back of her neck as she approached Momo. “That was a good first try, though.” She then shifted her attention to her teammate. “Oh, Neji. I didn’t know you were training today.”

He only nodded. “Someone wanted to challenge me.”

“Oh? How did that go?” Tenten asked curiously.

Neji stepped aside and revealed Bakugo pushing Kirishima off of him, a scowl on his face.

“What the hell was that?” Kirishima rubbed his head. “It was a good thing I was using my quirk. It was stronger than Bakugo’s explosives…”

“Haaaa?!” Bakugo scowled again. “What could be stronger than me?!”

“This.” Tenten took the kunai from Momo’s hand and twirled it around her fingers. “Your explosive tricks aren’t so unique, here.” She giggled.

Bakugo did not find that funny. He ground his teeth together and got up on his feet, rushing towards her to look at it. “That’s just a fucking piece of paper.”

The kunoichi nodded and touched the tag with her finger before twirling it quickly and then throwing it at a far off tree. Right when the knife made contact with the trunk, a loud explosion came off. Momo, Tsuyu, and Kirishima winced. Neji looked unphased, while Tenten retained the smirk on her lips.

Bakugo, however, looked on with stars in his eyes, and a wicked grin slowly spread on his face. He turned around to face Tenten and shook her shoulders. “You gotta fucking give me some of those!”

.

.

.

“Shannaro!” Sakura’s voice was quickly overpowered with the sound of the earth and rocks splitting apart, dust quickly rising and covering her form.

Deku was shaking with excitement, his eyes wide with wonder and a smile on his face. “That is so cool!” He squealed, gripping his notebook. “Sakura-chan, you’re so cool!”

The girl before him looked nothing someone who could wreak so much havoc. She was lithe, cute, and had pink hair. But that really shouldn’t have surprised him. Heroes came in all shapes and sizes, after all.

The kunoichi brushed her hair away from her face and grinned at him. “Thanks! The key is concentrating all your chakra to your fist and releasing it at the right moment.”

“Concentrating all your chakra to your fist and releasing it at the right moment,” Deku repeated as he scribbled that down on his notebook. He took a step back when Sakura used the body flicker technique and ended right next to him, easily erasing the twenty-five-meter space between them. She peered at his notebook. “Are you writing that down? How studious of you.”

He tried not to act too surprised. She could teleport, too? Deku had to write that down. “Uh-umm… Yeah.” He nodded and closed his notebook. “I write all of my observations and study them later on. I’m not the most talented, so I do what I can to catch up to my classmates.”

Sakura hummed, green eyes softening. “Is that so?”

“Huh? What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Sakura laughed. “You just remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. I don’t have any special kekkei genkais, but I work and train hard under Tsunade-sama so I could catch up to my friends, too.”

“Ooh.” Deku’s eyes widened, and so did his grin. “Then we can work hard together.”

“For sure!” Sakura pumped her fist in the air. “Now, tell me about that jutsu of yours. Kaka-sensei said it sounded similar to my technique, and you could use some help with chakra control.”

“Oh, it’s-it’s a quirk.” Deku looked at his hands and flexed his fingers. “I can unleash a great amount of power and speed, but I’m still learning how to control it so I won’t hurt myself.”

“Ah, I heard about that, too.” Sakura giggled. “Don’t worry, I can heal you if you go too far.”

“Eehh? You can heal, too?!” More than two quirks?! That was amazing! “How do you do it?”

“Same way I split the ground apart.” Sakura removed her glove and held her palm up for Deku to see. Slowly, it started to glow green, reflecting in his eyes. “Chakra control.”

“Teach me, please!” Deku stood up straight and then bowed low from the waist. “Please, Sakura-chan, teach me how to control my quirk!”

Green eyes widened for a moment, and then a determined smirk grew on her lips. “You got it. I’m not going easy on you, you know?”

Deku straightened up, his eyes glinting with the challenge. “I will take any form of training you will give me!”

.

.

.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine!” Ochako strained and ground her teeth. She lifted her leg from the ground and kicked the wooden dummy even harder than she had. “Thirty!”

“Good job, Ochako-san! The fire of youth burns greatly within you!” Rock Lee gave her a grin and a thumbs up.

The girl put her leg down and grinned at him, too. “This is so hard, Lee-san but I can feel myself getting stronger!”

“It is only difficult when you do not have the power of youth!” Lee clenched his fists, the fire burning in his eyes. “But you have it and it is imperative you keep going!”

“Right!” Ochako felt her whole body ignite with motivation and determination. She faced the dummy again and took her stance. “Thirty-one!” She kicked. “Thirty-two!” She kicked again.

“That’s right, you’re doing great! Do three hundred on your right and another three hundred on your left!”

“Thirty—what?!” She paled. “Th-three hundred?”

“I see you want more of a challenge, very well, five hundred! I like your spirit!” The ninja grinned, his pearly-white teeth sparkling. His attention then shifted to the fast-approaching student.

Iida was running right towards them, using his arms for momentum. A cloud of dirt was trailing behind him.

“Another youthful contender!” Rock Lee readied himself to run along with Iida. “Come, we shall run a hundred laps around the village!” He took off the moment he and Iida were side by side, and easily speeding up, leaving Iida behind.

“Don’t think this is the best I’ve got!” Iida shouted and ran even faster, shouting as he caught up with Rock Lee.

.

.

.

“Hey, guys!” Deku waved, a large grin on his face. He sat down on the table, in front of Kirishima. “How was your first day with the Ninja teams? Sakura-chan was kind enough to heal me when I got carried away, too.”

“Ooh.” Ochako beamed. “She has a strength and healing quirk? Maybe I should ask her if she’s free…” she slumped on the table. “I can’t feel my legs…”

“Neither can I.” Iida wobbled over to the table and set his food down. “Lee-san is formidable.” He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “His speed is amazing.”

“Ooh!” Deku was amazed. This training camp with the students in the other show was a wonderful idea. “I want to train with him next! How about you, Kirishima?”

“I didn’t get to train with Neji so much…” Kirishima sighed and picked at his food. “Bakugo picked a fight with him instead and found a new toy.”

“Oh? What did Kacchan find?”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

“Aaah!” Ochako screamed and held her arms up instinctively to protect herself.

Deku did the same but quickly held on to his glass to stop it from toppling over.

Kirishima didn’t even blink. “Explosive tags.”

In the distance, Bakugo’s maniacal screaming and laughing could be heard, followed by more explosions. Tenten was screaming something indistinct, probably telling him to stop.

“Is Kacchan still training?” Deku muttered, trying to look out the window.

“No, apparently they have these paper bomb thingies.” Kirishima picked up a tissue to demonstrate. “You activate it with chakra and it detonates after a given time.”

“Ooh!” Ochako’s eyes widened. “What makes it explode?”

Kirishima shrugged his shoulder up. “Uuuhh… Ninja magic?”

“Chakra!” Deku’s eyes were also wide with wonder. He picked up his notebook and started scribbling on it, muttering to himself about the wonders of Ninja tools and their different quirks.

More explosives went off, and Kirishima sighed again when Aizawa came jumping out in his yellow bean bag. He hopped outside and started screaming at Bakugo to stop.

Kirishima sighed again. “I wasn’t able to learn anything new like you two today.”

“Why so down?” Ojiro came by, holding on to his tray.

“He’s sad he didn’t get to learn with his appointed Ninja today,” Ochako explained.

“Oh.” Ojiro smiled sympathetically at him. “If you want, you can join me and Jirou tomorrow. We got assigned to Kiba. I heard he has some sort of dog-like quirk… and an actual dog.”

Kirishima peeked at him. “Really?” That sounded interesting. “Can you ask him for me?”

“Sure.” His classmate smiled. “Just make sure you tell Aizawa-sensei.”

“That sounds fun, Kirishima-kun!” Ochako beamed. “And he has a dog! I’m sure it’s cute.”

That brought a smile on Kirishima’s face. “Yeah, I guess it sounds fun.” The camp was long from over, and he promised he would get stronger from this learning experience.

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Return Her pt. 5

The Company (and friends) x Reader

Womanly charm and Laketown. The company only hates Bard more and more as time passes.

Bard had you close his jacket around you to hide your odd clothing and sat you next to him like before, telling you quietly to let him do the talking because he’s not too popular with the local authorities. 

So you did just that, hanging out by the helm with his jacket covering your odd jeans and shirt while he steered into the port thing with a big gate blocking the way. 

You’ve never seen anything like it. A town completely on the water that should be beautiful, only it’s dark and gloomy and reeks of poverty and hunger. 

Bard exchanges a few words with the man at the gate, they glance back at you at one point before the new man suddenly declares that everything is in order. 

Before the approval slip thingy can be given back, though, a slouchy, long-browed, greasy man slinks up and snatches the paper and hisses, “Not so fast." 

This new dark-haired man reads over the papers, then looks up and observes the barrels lined up in his boat, "Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm. Only, they’re not empty, are they, Bard?”

He drops the papers and takes a few steps forward, a weird delighted gleam in his eye at having caught the bargeman off guard. “If I recall correctly, you’re licensed as a bargeman, not a fisherman.” As he says this he picks up a fish from the barrel that Bombur is in, sneering when Bard replies. 

“That’s none of your business." 

“Wrong. It’s the Master’s business, which makes it my business- Oh.” He pauses when his eyes suddenly fall on you, his facial expression shifting slightly. “What have we here?" 

Bard looks over at you, then back at the man with irritation, "Who she is, is no concern of yours. But if you must know she is the sister of my past wife.” He lies smoothly and you find yourself feeling a bit impressed. 

“The sister of your past wife, you say?” He doesn’t seem to believe him as he saunters over towards where you’re sitting, “She’s very pretty if you look past them bruises on her face, but I do wonder why she would live outside of the city when your wife was born ‘ere." 

Oh, okay he’s attracted to you. That’s good. 

Well, it’s gross, but good because you can definitely put that to good use. 

You stand up and rack your brain for a fake name before you remember the name of one of the Elvish guards in Mirkwood, "Hello, sir. My name is Aerin.” Despite not wanting to be anywhere near this man, you take a step forward and offer a dazzling smile. 

He seems taken aback by your positive response, but not displeased for he also takes a step forward and bows slightly, “I am Alfrid, the right-hand man of the master of this town. At your service.” After he says that he throws the fish into the water and reaches for your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, and you try your best not to cringe. 

“Bard, you did not tell me there were such n-noble men living here in your town.” Alfrid wasn’t looking at your face, but if he was he’d see that you don’t look very happy. 

Bard stares at you blankly for a few moments. He knows what you’re doing, they all do except for Alfrid apparently, and he just feels so bad for your poor soul. 

The slimy man lets go of your hand and steps back, smiling at you with his crooked, odd teeth before turning back to Bard with the same scowl on his face. “Anyways, these fish are illegal." 

"Empty the barrel-”

Before he can finish you speak again. “Bard! How much longer is it going to be? I’m simply yearning to see my nieces and nephew again.” You put extra emphasis on the word yearning and look the creepy man directly in the eyes, smiling coyly before looking back at the dark-haired bargeman. “I know that your devilishly handsome friend here is cross with you, but I really must go see Ta-er- Tilda and the other two.” You think you got the name right. 

Flattery get’s you everywhere in life, because your seductive euphemism and shameless compliment seem to make him forget all about dumping the fish out over the edge of the barge. “Handsome?” Ugh, he sounds all too happy about that. 

“Aerin I’m afraid Alfrid is upset with me, so I’m not sure how much longer we will be.” Bard plays along, crossing his arms over his chest as he shakes his head, “Forgive me my dear, I pray that this won’t take much longer." 

Alfrid looks between the two of you a few times before settling to look at your face, a sickly pleasant smile coming to his face, "No, no. I won’t hold you any more.” He walks back a few paces and steps off the boat, raising his arm, “Raise the gates and welcome our new guest warmly." 

And just like that the gate is being raised and the lot of you are gliding through the entrance with no further obstacles. 

"Until we meet again, my dear.” He says as you pass by, that same unnerving smile on his face. 

You release an all too enthusiastic giggle at his words and wave with faux-shyness, turning only once you’re at least a few meters away.

As soon as you’re out of sight you collapse down on the box and start rubbing the back your hand against his coat, “Ewww, I can’t believe I let him kiss me.” You complain while still rubbing your hand in an attempt to wipe away the awful feeling. 

“I can’t either. That was quite the performance.” He sounds amused, and when you glare up at him he looks it too with only hints of sympathy, “If I hadn’t known better I would’ve truly thought you were taken by him." 

"Ugh, shut up.” You stop wiping your hand on the coat and look down at it as if you expect there to be something smeared all over it from his too wet lips. “God, maybe I should just cut it off." 

"No need for that. Allow me.” The bargeman leans down and takes your hand in his, lifting it up so he can press a kiss in the same place. “There." 

Holy shit. 

Your face goes hot and when he lets go you allow it to fall back to your side, "W-Well now you’ve indirectly kissed him, so while I may be fine now you’re stuck with the knowledge that your lips have technically touched his.”

At your words there is raging that comes from inside the barrels. 

Bard grimaces at your words, it seems he didn’t think of it like that, but he doesn’t allow that to deter him, “I need not worry about that for long, because once your friends get out of those barrels I’m afraid I won’t last much longer.” He pauses, then adds with a smirk, “Or perhaps you can return the favor?" 

No one can hear it, but you’re screaming internally. 

The raging only gets louder, so you shake your head and stutter out, "N-No way, I don’t want your blood on my hands." 

He laughs at that, nodding along as he listens to the grumbles and yelling coming from the barrels of dead fish. "If I am to die anyways then surely you can make an exception.”

“You’re really pushing your luck, Bard! Your death is of when, not if anymore." 

—

Eventually you did get near his house, but then one of his kids came running up saying something about their house being watched, and so your poor friends ended up having to come through their toilet. 

Dwalin came in first, and the glare he threw at Bard was so withering and dark you nearly cried. Not really, but it was scary.

Bard only seemed to find it funny, though. 

Everyone is inside and wrapped up in record time (since it’s the only recorded instance of dwarves and a hobbit coming in from a toilet, it’s only natural that it would set a record), and none of them seem to happy about any of this. 

You get along with Bards children rather easily, his youngest is a total cutie pie, but ultimately after that fiasco at the gate you’ve got to hang out with the company a bit more so they don’t murder the poor bargeman. 

They’re given some extra clothes to change into and you elect to stand outside with his daughters while everyone changes, conversing with the younger one about her hobbies and other things she likes. 

Eventually their brother pokes his head outside and says it’s okay for you all to go back in, and when you do you’re met with the sight of shirt dresses and too long coats. 

You feel bad for them right away and head over to where they’re all hanging out by the fire, your eyes immediately falling on the shivering Bilbo.

Right away you go to his side and sit next to him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders to share some of your own heat (since you dried off quite a while ago and changed your jeans out for a pair of leggings you had in your backpack). You pull him closer into your side so his cheek rests against your chest, rubbing his arm lightly to create some warmer friction."I hope you don’t get sick…” You mumble worriedly, looking down at his red face. “Oh god, you’re already going red. You’re not coming down with a cold, right?" 

There’s some laughter from the others but you ignore it since you’re suddenly feeling very worried for the small hobbit. 

He doesn’t have much body-mass or fat, so surely he’s absolutely freezing. 

"Oin, maybe you should come check on Bilbo!” You call, looking up to see that they’re all laughing at you and not something stupid like usual. 

You pause and look around in bewilderment, “What’s so funny?" 

Nobody responds to you, instead they just keep on chuckling and laughing like they’ve just been given an entire stand-up comedy performance. 

"Gosh, let the lad breath, Y/N!” Bofur exclaims between laughs, only causing everyone else to laugh harder. 

You furrow your eyebrows and look back down at Bilbo, still completely confused, “What are you talking about? He’s breathing just fine, isn’t he?" 

This goes on for a few more minutes, you being baffled and asking questions while everyone else takes jabs and makes jokes, before you finally realize what they’re laughing at. And the only reason you realize is because of the very inappropriate comment Kili makes (despite looking a little pale).

"Hey Y/N, I’m feeling rather cold too, can I have a turn?" 

And then there’s more boisterous guffaws and unmanly giggles. 

You look back down at Bilbo and see that you’ve pressed his poor face right into your breast, and while you definitely didn’t do it to be weird or anything it seems that you’ve successfully embarrassed him. 

"Oh you complete idiots!” You yelp, loosening your hold on Bilbo so he isn’t pressed so firmly against you, “He's cold !” You cry disapprovingly, shaking your head at these immature and lecherous jests, “You wouldn’t be joking like that if I were a guy. Or if it were you!” You grumble, looking away from their overly humored gazes in favor of looking at the wall. 

They don’t quit their laughing for another minute or so, but when they do calm down you and the poor hobbit are both successfully humiliated. 

“And this is why Bard is my favorite.” You hiss at them, eyes narrowed with an irritated expression on your face.

There’s no more laughter after you say that, and you feel smug at the frustrated and angry looks that pass over their faces. 

“I can’t believe you let those men kiss you. They’re all hideous.” Dwalin growls, crossing his arms over his chest like he usually does. “You could do much better." 

"Kiss me? My hand you mean?” You ask, raising an eyebrow in question, “Hey, if I didn’t play up that charm y'all woulda been found out so fast. You should be thanking me." 

"Wait, so it wasn’t an actual kiss?” Bofur pipes up next, an expression that looks way too relieved on his face. 

“Um, no. Why would I let them kiss my mouth? I care about you guys and all but I gotta draw the line somewhere." 

"Maybe not that other guy, but you sure seem fond of Bard.” Fili grumbles.

“Oh my god, this again? Are we really gonna have this conversation again?” You really thought they were over it. How foolish of you.

Nori sits up a bit and exclaims, “That was before he kissed your hand!" 

You groan over dramatically and throw your head back, "Guyyysss,” you begin in a whiny voice, “It was my hand! My flipping hand!" 

A few of them huff, but nobody says anything else about it. Thank god. 

—

When Bard returns from whatever he’s doing the dwarves immediately bombard him about the weapons they were promised, and he leaves to go get them.

Only, when he comes back he’s met with a lot of outrage cause his weapons are pretty shitty. 

You watch from the opposite side of the table as Bard, looking at the weird grappling hooks and stabby 'weapons’ he provided them with. Also some weird hammers too. 

From what you’ve seen, these guys only accept the best of the best when it comes to weaponry, so this just ain’t cutting it. "Um, is this all you’ve got?” You wonder out loud, looking at the pathetic bundle of makeshift things. “Like, you haven’t got any swords or fancy things like that? These guys are total divas about that kinda stuff, so…" 

The others around you grumble at your slight jab and at the poor quality of the things they were given until they start to complain about paying him for weapons and these being trash, bla bla bla. 

Yeah, you totally called it. 

They all continue to argue and Bard says something about an armory, but your attention is grabbed by the sight of Kili and his old man walking stick. 

He’s struggling to sit down, no doubt from the awful wound on his leg, so you zoom over quietly (but quickly) and say in a hushed voice, "Hey, you’re not lookin’ very good, Kili." 

The brown-haired prince doesn’t look up at you right away, but when he does you can see very clearly just how pale and tired he’s looking. 

You take a seat next to him and place your hand on his non-injured knee, glancing over to make sure everyone else is distracted before whispering, "Are you okay?" 

He doesn’t do or say anything at first, looking down at your hand for a moment before looking back up at your face, "I’m fine." 

Fucking liar. 

"Kili, come on. Everyone else might just take that and roll with it, but you’re clearly not. You need to rest more." 

Your concern only seems to frustrate him, though, for he rolls his eyes and shakes his head stubbornly, "No, I already told you I’m alright. This will pass, and when it does you’re going to feel really silly for being so worried." 

You fix a glare at him, not removing your hand still, and shoot back, "And when it doesn’t, you’re gonna get your ass kicked by me. If you’re not gonna rest or deal with this, then at least let me clean it up so it doesn’t get infected." 

He stares at you for a few moments as if trying intimidate you into dropping it, but you return the look with a steely glare that says you’re not asking. 

Eventually he sighs and drops his head back, "Fine. Do as you wish." 

"Good choice." 

You pull your trusty backpack off your back and open it up, looking through it quickly to see if there’s anything there that you could use. When you catch sight of some cotton balls your expression brightens. "Oh, nice.” You take the bag out and place them next to you, then grab the water skin that they gave you and some tweezers you kept in your makeup case. 

Without hesitation you move onto the floor on the other side of him and kneel down so you’re closer to eye level with his nasty wound. 

Ew. 

You unwind the wrap slowly, glancing up occasionally to make sure you’re not hurting him, and once you’re done you drop it on the ground and crinkle up your nose at the unsightly hole in his leg. “Yikes, you’re the biggest fucking liar in the world." 

He doesn’t get a chance to retort because right away you gently grab the front of his leg to add a bit of press to test just how tender it is and if it’s still bleeding. 

It is. 

More blood begins to well up and you barely keep yourself from gagging, and he groans quietly in pain. 

You take your tweezers and cotton balls and place them on the bench next to you, then go for your waterskin. 

A handful of cotton balls and a bit of splashing later, and you’ve got some wet cotton to work with. 

The tweezers tips clink together softly when you close them a few times just to make sure they work right, then you grab one of the cotton balls with it and begin to gently clean up the area around his arrow wound. 

Very quickly the white fluff of the wet cotton turns red and smushy, so you drop it with the gross bandaging and grab another. 

This process of cleaning, dropping, and getting another goes on until it looks mostly cleansed, and once it is you begin to search for something else to bind his leg with. 

You sit there and think for a moment before an idea strikes you. 

Once said idea comes to your head, you sit up a bit straighter and wrap your arm around his thigh from the bottom, reaching up to touch your shoulder to see if your sleeve can properly wrap around his leg. 

"Uh, Y-Y/N? What are you doing?” He mumbles, looking at you oddly. 

“I’m trying to see if it’ll fit…” You say absentmindedly, slowly letting go. 

He chokes on air and splutters, “What?!" 

You don’t reply and instead pull both your arms out of your sleeves, lifting it a bit so your head goes in and you can get your arms out properly, and once both arms are poking through the hole for your head, you pull your head through too and secure it just above your chest. "There we go." 

Once that awkward sight is through with, you grab the sleeve of the arm just wrapped around his leg and begin trying to rip it off. 

It looks so much easier in the movies. 

You pull and tug and even try to bite at it, but it won’t give like you thought it would. 

After a minute or so of trying to rip it off with brute strength, you stop and glare at the offending piece of fabric, "Awh, freak…" 

You put your arms back into your shirt properly and return them through the sleeves, standing with irritation on your face, "Don’t move a muscle or I’ll cry and tell everyone you called me fat.” You threaten before approaching Sigrid, Bard’s oldest daughter. 

The two of you whisper for a moment, then disappear into another room only to appear again minutes later. 

You’re now wearing a soft red blouse (one of her nicer shirts) with your long sleeved white (it’s not really white anymore) ringer shirt hanging over your arm. 

With quick steps you walk over to Fili, who was speaking with everyone else, and tug lightly at the back of his borrowed shirt. 

He pauses in his listening and turns to look up at you, raising an eyebrow in question. “You’re wearing something new.” He comments. 

You ignore said comment and hold out your shirt to him, “I need you to get the sleeves off. It’s for Kili." 

Before he can ask questions you go back to said brother and kneel back down, taking a dry cotton ball to soak up the blood that had begun to gather while you were busy. 

Right before you finish with dabbing at the blood, Fili approaches with your now tattered and destroyed shirt, both sleeves held out to you in pretty good condition (though the same can’t be said for the torso…) all things considered. 

"Thank you Fili.” You beam, taking the sleeves from him without hesitation. 

With deft movements you tie the ends of the sleeves together tightly, pulling on it to make sure the knot is good, before beginning to wrap it around his leg. “Do I have to do it tightly, or is that not a good idea?" 

"Wrap it tightly enough to where it’ll stay on and clot the wound, but not too tight that it’ll make his leg numb.” Fili responds, crouching down to watch as you begin to gently but firmly wind it around his thigh. 

“Like this?” You ask, pulling on it a bit to make sure it doesn’t loosen or fall. 

“Yeah, that’s good." 

Once you’re done, you tuck it under one of the first coils and tie it firmly. "Is it too tight?” You ask, glancing up at him with furrowed eyebrows. 

Kili shakes his head, releasing a shaky sigh, before reaching down to smooth his hand over it, “Thank you, Y/N…" 

A small smile comes to your face as you get up to sit down next to him. "Where would you fools be without me?” Your voice is good natured and humorous, but he can see the worry hidden in your expression. 

“Probably dead.” He jokes, looking over at Fili who laughs lightly. 

“That sounds about right." 

You wrap your arm around his shoulders much like you did to Bilbo earlier, looking down at the stark white of your now ruined shirt being used as a binding for his leg, "So long shirt.” You mumble. 

You look back at Fili and open your mouth to say something, but you cut yourself off when you feel a weight pressing against your left boob. 

Fili starts to laugh, and you don’t even have to look to know that he’s trying to be sly. 

Kili elected to lean against you much like Bilbo earlier, and though your eye twitches and the thought of flicking his nose passes your mind, you allow it.

He’s wounded, but as soon as he gets better you're definitely going to kick his ass.

And you tell him as much. 

“You’re so freaking lucky you got shot.”

[starlightinhumanform]

Midas

Fandom: Sanders Sides 

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Background Platonic Logincality

Summary: Greek myth tells of King Midas who could turn anything he touched to gold. Damian hates New Years but when his friends drag him to a party, he meets a man makes everything around him just a little better.

Warnings (in order of strength): A lot of drinking/alcohol mentions/partying (none underage), Mild language throughout, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Fluff, Mild Angst with a happy ending, Human (college) AU 

A/N: Deceit’s name is Damian in this fic :) ALSO I know there’s quite a few younger kids in this fandom and if you’re reading this (first of all, hi I love you) please please PLEASE do not take this fic as an inspiration to abuse alcohol. Underaged drinking/partying can be extremely dangerous. Ok enough being serious!! I hope you enjoy! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Link    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Damian wasn’t a fan of New Years. It shouldn’t mean anything- he knew that. It was just another random day; the fact that people liked to put special significance on it didn’t actually do anything.

But all the talk of new times got into his head, made him think. It made him think about how many things had changed- the friends he had lost, the goals he had once held dear now thrown away. It made him think about how little he had grown- the bitterness he held onto, the stagnation that had settled across him. He was in his third year of grad-school; soon he would be shoved out into the real world with no academic purpose to shelter him.

“New Year, New Me.” Damian didn’t even know who he was.

If there was one thing he hated more than New Years, it was New Years parties. He would go so far as to say the things were the bane of his existence. The music was bad, people got loud and overly exuberant, and strobe lights were used were used far more than ever reasonable. Alcohol always floated around with disturbing prevalence. He hated how fuzzy it made his head- throwing off his balance and slowing his thoughts- but at least it made the party easier to handle.

Damian threw back a shot of cheap, bight blue tequila and winced as it hit the back of his throat. Disgusting. Just because he was trying to get drunk didn’t mean he lacked class.

He set the glass down on a table behind him so he could pretend he hadn’t touched the repulsive thing. He was sitting on a sofa tucked against the back corner of a living room in a house he had never been to before. Next to him, someone was already passed out. They would be starting their new year with a killer hangover.

Across the room, he could see the friends who had dragged him to the houseparty. Roman and Patton were dancing in a crowd of other students, broad grins painted across both of their faces. At least they were happy.

A young man weaved his way through the crowd and threw himself onto the sofa next to Damian with a mixture of disdain and defeat. Damian had seen him around a few times; they had a philosophy class together the last semester. What was his name? Lucas? Landon? Bradon?

“Hey,” Lu-nd-on elbowed him in the side, “You want some champagne?”

Damian raised an eyebrow as he turned to face the man, “Excuse me?”

He pulled a bottle of champagne from somewhere in his coat. The gold foil at the top was already ripped away and he popped the cork off with ease, taking a swig before offering it.

Damian tried not to stare incredulously, but it was a difficult task when his brain was short-circuiting, “Did you just drink out of a champagne bottle like it was a beer?”

“Sure. Why not.”

Damian reached out hesitantly to take the bottle. He was beginning to doubt that this actually was the guy he had shared a class with. That one looked like the type who wouldn’t have been caught dead at a party. The only similarity was the way they dressed- round wireframe glasses, a corduroy jacket over a black button down, and black skinny jeans. His hair- dark brown and pulled into a long ponytail- was the same too.

“Did- did we have a class together?” He took a drink. It was good- expensively good.

“Historical philosophy. You probably don’t remember me- my name’s Logan. You’re Damian, right?”

“Yep. I hear I’m kind of hard to forget,” Damian waved his hand at the dark red birthmark that stretched messily across the left side of his face.

“No. Well, yes. That is, I remember you for a different reason.”

Logan stared at him like he was supposed to understand what that meant. Damian stared back, hoping to convey the fact that he, in no way, understood what was going on.

“So, uh,” Damian searched for something to keep the conversation going, “can I ask about the champagne?”

“You’re asking why I have it?”

Damian nodded, “I am, yeah. Also why you pulled it out of your jacket?”

“As for the first question: people seem to have made a tradition out of getting wasted on New Years Eve and I decided to join them this year.”

Damian had never heard someone speak so matter of factly about getting drunk. He shook his head, laughing, “So you bought an entire bottle of champagne? There are easier methods, you know that right?”

“If you’re referring to the blue monstrosity everyone keeps offering, please know that I’m not a heathen.”

“Oh, so you tried one of those awful things too?”

Logan rolled his eyes with a ruthful smile, “I may have made that mistake.”

Damian handed the bottle back to Logan who took another drink before locking his gaze on Damian’s eyes. He stared like there was a problem in them and he just couldn’t figure out how to solve it. Damian was used to people staring, but not like this. Usually, they would take one look at him and their eyes would glaze over. Whatever the conversation might be, they would always be partially focused on the splatters some god had painted on his face long before he had a say in the matter. It wasn’t that Damian disliked his birthmark. He just hated the way people always saw it instead of him.

But Logan. He was looking at him. Into him, through him. He had no idea what to do with that.

Damian laughed nervously, “What are you looking at?”

Logan cleared his throat and stared out into the crowd, “Anyways I had it in my jacket because these people are all animals and I’d prefer they didn’t rob me of my 35 dollar champagne.”

Logan had handed him the bottle back and Damian choked on the mouthful he had been trying to drink, “I’m sorry, what? So let me get this right: you bought a champagne bottle which is worth more than I usually spend on food for a week. And now you are sharing it with me of all people?”

“Why not you of all people?”

Logan was staring at him again like answers to all of these riddles were obvious.

Damian blinked back, feeling more lost than he had in years. Even that stupid Advanced Geometry course he had decided to take in his freshman year hadn’t screwed him over this badly. Maybe the alcohol was finally getting to him. It would explain why he couldn’t hold a single coherent thought and why he was so hypnotized by the pale freckles that dusted Logan’s nose and cheekbones. They were so light they nearly melted into his skin and seemed to be phasing in and out off existence as the dim lighting played against Logan’s face. He had never noticed them before. Then again, he had never gotten this close before. It was a shame; Logan was mesmerizing. Damian wished he could get closer.

“So what are you going to do after we get out of here?”

It took Damian a moment to realize Logan was asking about a career and not what he would be doing after the party once they left- apparently together. That would have been strange; it was weird his brain even jumped to that conclusion.  Maybe he should stop drinking that damn champagne.

He sighed as his mind returned to the actual question. He wanted to make something up, hide behind a lie of certainty and determination. But it was too much work to weave that fabrication together. Especially on the spot. Especially with how his head was feeling. Especially in front of Logan. He hung his head, “Honestly I have no clue. I’ve always been interested in social sciences but beyond that... no plan, no clue.”

A beat of silence played out between them.  

“So what about you?” The forced brightness in his voice tasted fake and bitter in his mouth.

“I want to teach sciences,” Logan’s eyes glittered.

“A college professor, huh? I could definitely see it,” Logan handed him the bottle and Damian threw yet another swallow back. Didn’t he say he was going to stop?

“High school level, actually.”

“Really? That doesn’t seem-“ Damian pointed at the champagne bottle in an attempt to remind Logan of what a bougie, extra bitch he was, “ -sophisticated enough for you.”

Logan shrugged, “I kind of have a fascination with high schoolers-“

“Ok, that’s creepy.”

“Not like that! I mean the culture, the slang, the way it’s its own little society interacting within a larger one!” Logan’s face had split into a grin as he talked, waving his hands excitedly.

Damian didn’t even resist urge to smile back. Seeing Logan like this, well, there was something contagious about it. He couldn’t help but feel slightly in awe of the passion he saw in Logan, “You really like this stuff, don’t you?”

Logan nodded vigorously, “Do you know the new word high schoolers today have invented and are using?”

“Hmm?” Damian prompted. Anything to keep Logan talking like this. Damian wasn’t sure why he wanted to keep Logan talking. It had something to do with the way warmth was spreading out from his core in a way that was far gentler than anything drinks could do.

“Yeet.”

In the adjoining room Damian could see two groups standing on opposite tables chanting “Yeet, Yeet, Yeet, Yeet” as they tossed a smaller student (who looked like they were having the time of their life) back and forth.

“Uhh, I think college kids use that too,” Damian didn’t want to burst Logan’s bubble but he felt like he was losing his mind. At any moment he was going to start cackling.

Logan paused, giving him a pointed stare, “Maybe you do.”

Damian broke. He collapsed forward, glad he had handed the bottle back as he wrapped his arms around his shaking body. He could hardly breathe but he couldn’t stop laughing either. His head was light and buzzing warmly. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but as tears started streaming out of his eyes, he knew he was officially drunk. Who gave a shit? That had been his goal, right?

He fell all the way down, letting his head land on Logan’s knee. He still couldn’t stop laughing even though it had developed solely into wheezes at that point.

Damian felt a hesitant hand tap on his back before actually settling there, “Are you ok?”

Damian sat up and wiped away the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes, “Bro, you’re so judgmental.”

Logan’s face shifted from concern into a scowl, “Oh. Sorry.”

The heavy bass of whatever song was playing took over the space between them. Damian kept thinking about destroying that gap. All he would have to do would be lean over, rest himself against Logan, maybe fall asleep. Maybe it was the overpriced buzz in his head talking, but he felt safe around Logan.

Out of the blue, Logan stood up, adjusting the hem of his jacket as he turned to face Damian, “Well, I won’t be bothering you anymore. Maybe I’ll see you around campus sometime. You can finish that if you want.”

Damian looked down by his feet where Logan was pointing to the champagne bottle, “Wait, I don’t understand. You’re leaving? Where?”

Logan glanced around, looking anywhere but Damian’s face. Damian was used to that but this felt different. Logan was different. At least under usual circumstances, he knew why people so adamantly refused to acknowledge his existence. He made them uncomfortable; he didn’t like it, but he got it. Here, he was absolutely clueless.

Logan finally managed to make eye contact. He was trying for a smile but as an expert liar, Damian could see straight through to the grimace beneath, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find someone else who will tolerate my presence for a few moments.”

“Hey,” Damian acted on impulse. After all, Logan’s hand was just hanging there. It was far too empty. And at the moment, reaching forward to grab Logan’s wrist was Damian’s only way to insure that Logan wouldn’t walk away. He knew Logan was a smart guy and would probably see his honeyed whines as deception, but he had to try, “You’re really just going to get me drunk and then ditch me? Who knows what could happen?”

Logan’s eyebrows creased but he didn’t say anything. He looked like he was in pain, eyes sharp and teeth clenched behind a grimace. It was enough to make Damian drop his hand.

“Logan, it’s entirely your choice but if you would like to stay with me, I would enjoy that very much,” Truth wasn’t his strong suit, but he figured it was worth a try.

Logan squinted at him, confused or at least doubtful, “I thought you disliked my judgmental attitude.”

Damian groaned, “Dude... I didn’t mean it like that. I thought it was funny. I think you’re funny.”

“Oh,” Logan looked like he was having a hard time processing Damian’s words. It made him wonder just how many of those tequila shots Logan had thrown back before walking over. He had to be drunk. It was the only way to explain why he was acting so strange.

Damian reached out again and slowly pulled Logan back. He was hesitant but didn’t resist. Logan sat down next to Damian as if he didn’t understand his own actions. His eyes picked Damian apart like he was looking for the fine print.

“You’re sure you don’t mind me?” Logan’s expression was completely open. He was looking for the truth and Damian didn’t think he’d be able to lie if he wanted to. It was a good thing he didn’t need to.

He smiled, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Oh. Ok,” Logan settled back into the couch but his eyebrows were still weaved together. Apparently his programs finished running because he suddenly turned to Damian, grinning brightly, “I’m glad.”

Damian smiled back. He was happy to see Logan with that sparkle back, if a little confused as to how he had caused it, “You’re glad... I don’t mind you?”

Logan nodded, “Some people think I’m a little strange.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Damian winced and tried to rush out his next words, “Not, like, I think you’re strange- I think you’re really cool. I just mean people think I’m strange too.”

Damian swore he could map constellations in the stars floating in Logan’s eyes, “You think I’m cool?”

He shrugged, “I mean, yeah. You always seem to have it all together and you have determination and goals and it’s so obvious that you’re going to reach them. That passion is rare to see any more. I mean, I don’t have any of that. You don’t know how much I looked up to you in that class.”

Logan blinked at him like a deer in headlights for a moment before he began frowning, “But you’re incorrect.”

Damian looked up from where had been trying to see how much champagne was left in the bottle, “What do you mean?”

“You obviously have passion. You always had points to bring up during discussions and it was clear you had deep interest in the topics. You don’t know how in awe of you I was. You always found the least likely angle to take and still managed to make a convincing argument,” Logan took the bottle out of Damian’s frozen hands and took a drink, “It was art.”

Damian opened his mouth but all memory of speech had escape him. He looked away, trying to find something safe to stare at while he tried to gather his thoughts. His head was full of fragments, dulled glass shards that floated through fog and bumped against the edges of his mind. It hurt to try to put them all back together into one piece.

So Logan had noticed him in that class. And had remembered him; quite clearly it seemed. Except the way he was talking... nobody had ever spoken to Damian that way before. He was tempted to ask Logan if he had mistaken him for someone else.

He found his eyes wandering down to the space between them. More accurately, he was staring at how little space there was between them. When Logan had sat down the second time, he had done so right next to Damian. Like, right next to him. Now their legs were pressed together, hips and knees bumping together every time one of them shifted. Damian marveled at the fact that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Damian?” He looked up into Logan’s concerned face. God, they were so close, “Are you ok? Your eyes kinda glazed over.”

Damian laughed. It sounded breathy and far away, “Yeah, I’m good.”

From another room, someone started yelling, “LAST 15 MINUTES OF THE YEAR!!”

Logan squinted down at his watch before glaring in the direction of the voice, “There’s only five minutes left.”

Damian chuckled, watching the lines of Logan’s frown as he grimaced at the sea of people around them. There was something endearing about the blunt disdain Logan had for the idiots around them. It was nice to know he didn’t fit into that group, that he had- by some miracle- managed to fit into Logan’s bubble.

“So... you usually celebrate New Years like this?” Logan had suddenly become quite fidgety, wringing his hands in his lap. Damian tried to ignore it. He was having a hard enough time working on his own thoughts; he couldn’t even begin picking apart Logan’s thoughts.

Damian shook his head, “You mean a party? Nah, I usually don’t even celebrate. What about you?”

“Same. I don’t generally go to parties at all.”

Ah, so Damian’s original impression had been correct, “So what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Logan deftly avoided the question with a smirk. Damn, he was good at this.

Damian rolled his eyes, “Some friends dragged me here. Now you tell me what a straight-laced nerd like you is doing in a place like this.”

Logan snorted, “Don’t remember the last time anyone described me as straight- anything.”

“What?”

“What?”

Damian wanted to shake his head like a dog getting out of water. Maybe then, the pieces would fall into some sort of pattern he could recognize. So Logan wasn’t straight. Why did that make him so happy?

He ran his hands through his hair and tried to gain some composure, “Ok, so what is someone like you doing in a place like this?”

Logan looked out across the crowd, his mouth a tight line. On the other side of the room someone took a running start and flung themselves on a pool table that had currently been in use. The thing cracked in half.  

“I was-,” Logan paused, hands tapping quickly against his leg, “-convinced.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, “I’ve never heard someone talk so ominously about going to a party; what is that even supposed to mean?”

Logan winced. His hands were doing full cardio now, clenching into fists over and over again, “I was told someone was going to be here. I just really wanted the chance to talk to him again.”

“But you’ve only talked to me.”

“Yes,” Logan gave him that stare again like Come on, dude, the puzzle pieces are right there- just put them together. He rubbed his eyes in his hands, “Maybe this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to get you drunk. I thought you’d still be able to figure out-“

Click.

Damian’s mouth fell, “Wait, I’m the one you wanted to talk to?”

Logan gave him a small smile. It was the first time Damian had seen him look unsure of himself, “Well, yeah.”

“Oh,” Damian’s head was swimming. He could have blamed it on the champagne or how late it was or the way the lighting had began strobing, flickering between bright neon shades. But he knew that wasn’t it. He couldn’t lie this time- not even to himself.

Logan’s eyes were wide, staring into Damian. Not into his eyes- him. It was unnerving in the best way possible. The shifting light played across his irises, making them every colour of the rainbow.

“Is that ok?”

Logan’s voice startled him back to the present. He had leaned forward, supposedly to be heard above the shouting that had started. Amongst all of the raised voices, Logan’s had only gotten lower. His breath played against Damian’s ear.

Damian looked up, startled slightly but smiling, “Yeah, yeah, that’s good. That’s great.”

Logan smiled, “Yeah? Great?”

He was definitely leaning forward.

Damian huffed out a sigh but smiled even wider, “Shut up. I’m pretty sure you’re drunk.”

Logan scoffed, “And you’re not? You’re a total lightweight.”

“Shut up.”

“TEN!”

The entire house shook as the ridiculous number of students began screaming in unison

“You know, it’s also tradition to kiss someone on New Years,” Logan looked infuriatingly smug.

“NINE!”

Damian usually hated this part, everyone around him creating one huge voice- everyone but him.

Damian raised an eyebrow, “Are you asking to kiss me?”

“EIGHT!”

What he always hated most was the way the entire world seemed to be celebrating- without him. The whole damn planet filled with joy for one tiny moment and he could never figure out why.

Logan smiled like the Cheshire Cat- except the Cheshire Cat had just won the lottery, “Maybe.”

“SEVEN!”

At this point, his heart rate usually would have been spiking, feeling the pressure of “new opportunities” pressing all their expectant eyes on him.

Damian laughed, “Did you come over to talk to me just so you could get a kiss tonight?”

“SIX!”

There was always a part of Damian that would scorn him for not being happy, question why he had turned out to be such a sad, useless lump while everyone else was happily looking forward to the future.

“No,” Logan set his jaw like a stubborn toddler, “I came over here to talk to you so I could get a kiss from you tonight.”

“FIVE!”

No matter what he did, the New Year would plague him. His whole apartment complex would rattle as chanting counted down. The first hours of the year would often find Damian wandering through empty streets, desperate to escape the celebration.

Logan slid his hand onto Damian’s knee, “So can I? Kiss you?”

“FOUR!”

The whole event was just one monstrous reminder. It was an ugly mar on the calendar that whispered Look at all the things you’ve ruined. Look at how far you’ve fallen. Look at how little your future holds.

Damian nodded dumbly. His heart was pounding in his ears.

“THREE!”

New Year made him think of his parents. He always put on a bright mask for them, feeding them lies of empty aspirations and opportunities that didn’t exist. How would they feel to know their son was barreling headfirst into a dead end?

Damian was learning he didn’t need alcohol; Logan was intoxicating enough. The shine in his eyes, the self-satisfied tug to his lips, the way he kept getting closer and closer- it made Damian’s thoughts slow to a halt and everything around him lose focus.

“TWO!”

Every year, the day after would be exactly like the day before. Everyone else seemed to be determined to make themselves better. As much as he searched, Damian could never find the ways to change. New Years was usually taunting, reminding him that he would always be broken and would never be able to fix himself.

Logan’s hands played across his chest, smoothed over his shoulder, ran through his hair. His eyes found Damian’s soul. Damian couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“ONE!!”

Damian had always hated New Years.

Logan leaned all the way forward and his lips were on Damian’s. It was deeper than Damian was expecting, both of their mouths slightly open. Logan kept surging forward with his whole body, destroying the few inches left between them. Damian happily followed his lead, mindlessly falling into synchronous rhythm as Logan kept moving his lips. Except it wasn’t just his lips; Logan kissed with his whole body. He leaned against Damian and his hands were always roaming, leaving little touches as they danced over Damian’s body.

Sure, Damian had kissed other guys before. But he was pretty sure this was the first time anyone had kissed him.

One of Logan’s hands found its way to Damian’s face. His fingers tapped lightly across his birthmark. Damian remembered the kids who stared without shame, the eyes that would dart away as soon as they saw him, the way he could never hold a conversation without his birthmark joining as an unwanted guest star. Logan hadn’t done any of that. Damian had no words to describe what that man was but he liked it.

Damian broke away, completely out of breath. He had no idea how long they had been kissing- it could have been hours for all he knew- but his lungs didn’t have the same luxury of losing track.

Logan’s chest was heaving as it pressed against Damian’s side. His eyes were wide and glazed, staring a million miles away.

“Hey, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes regained their sharp focus. He smiled brightly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“You’re a dork. But really,” Damian sighed, “thank you.”

Logan gave him a puzzled smile, “What for?”

“I’m pretty sure this is the first New Year I’ve ever actually enjoyed,” Damian snuggled himself closer to Logan, smiling when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders.

Logan spoke with measured, careful words, “If you like, we could, you know, make our own New Years tradition out of this.”

Damian could feel his eyelids falling and rising every time he blinked like the great velvet currents of a theatre. They were heavy and he was warm and his head was a vague haze. He yawned widely and wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist, “I don’t think we have to wait until New Year to do this again.”

He fell asleep listening to Logan stuttering out some happy response. Maybe New Years wasn’t so bad.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist just send me an ask or reply to this post :p 

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive ~

[anti-the-glitch-bitch]

Into the void

Chapter 2 

Word Count: 3,054

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

I am abruptly awakened by an annoying poking in my side. I groan a bit and try to slap the annoyance away. The poking in my side stops, but now there is a finger poking my cheek nonstop.

“Okay. I’m up. Just stop poking me with that infernal finger before I bite it off.” At that moment, maniacal laughter echoes in the closet. “Anti?” I’m still half asleep when I open my eyes. Beautiful blue eyes are looking straight into mine.

“Ha-ha. Still half asleep, are ya?” Sean chuckles as I scramble for my phone. My cheeks are on fire the moment I hear his cute Irish boi accent. After scrambling for what seems like hours, I finally manage to turn the video off. “Yeah, I guess I am. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I must have been super tired from the flight.” I mumble as I try not to freak out again. Sitting up, I look over at Sean and realize he is sitting on the floor. He must have seen my confusion because he scoots back a bit. “I figured if I was sitting on the floor, ya might not throw another loaf of bread at me.”

“Mark is never going to let me live that down. When I die, it will read. Here lies Bri. She threw a loaf of bread at Sean’s face. Sorry about that, by the way. My body went into panic mode and decided to attack?” Sean just laughs at me and starts to stand up.

“Neither of us will. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes a commemorative video and tells his fans about all of this. I’m just glad it was soft.” Sean smirks and holds a hand out to me. I hesitated very briefly before taking his hand. With a quick tug, Sean has me out of the closet and on my feet. Huh. Sean is a lot taller than I realized. I mean, I didn’t think he was super short, but I thought he was my height. I’m 5’7”, so I’m not exactly short either, but he seems to be about the same size as Mark.

I stretch for a minute, trying to work the kinks out from sleeping in the closet. Sean walks over to the door to give me a bit of space. Which I very much appreciate. I can’t hear the conniving bastard anywhere, and that makes me very concerned. That means he could be plotting my next humiliating moment.

“You know he did that on purpose, right?” My question seems to confuse him. He cocks his head slightly with a questioning look. “He knows I’m a spazz, so Mark waited to tell me you were gonna stay here, at the second, just to see what happened. Though I don’t think it went down exactly as he expected.” 

We stare at each other for a moment before we both start to laugh. It takes a few seconds for us to calm down. “That does sound like something he would do. He told me you were staying here for a while, but he didn’t warn me that I would have to watch out for flying objects!”

“Exactly! I’m sure he’s hiding somewhere plotting his next big prank.”

“I don’t think so? He told me he had to finish recording. I figured the least I could do was make your lunch since it looks like I interrupted the two of you. That’s why I came looking for ye.” Sean looks so adorable when he blushes. It’s only a slight tinge, but it stands out on his pale skin. It gives me some ideas for a prank or two in the future. “I don’t think I like the look on your face. That’s the kind of look that Mark has when he is up to something.” He backs into the hallway with his hands up as if I might attack him.

I give him an innocent smile as I follow him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just going to the kitchen.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, we’ll just see about that.” We joke the entire way to the kitchen. My anxiety is all but forgotten. 

My eyes must be playing tricks on me because as Sean passes a mirror in the hallway, his reflection seems to flicker. For a second, it looks like Anti, green hair and all. Very strange because he hasn’t dyed his hair in forever. His hair is his natural brown color.

What in the actual fuck is going on with me today? It must be because I fell asleep watching those videos. I’m starting to doubt my sanity. I’ll have to lay off the Dark\Anti obsession for a while. Otherwise, someone might try to commit me to a nuthouse.

“Bri? You ok over there?” My head snaps to the kitchen, where Sean is standing by the island. I realize I’m just standing in front of the mirror. I take one last look into it, but all I see is me. “Um. Yeah. For a minute, I thought I saw….” I shake my head, realizing how crazy I would sound if I finished that sentence. “Nothing. Never mind.” I smile when I walk over and see a plate with a couple of sandwiches on it.

“If you’re sure.” He returns my smile and pushes the plate towards me. There is a flash of some emotion in his eyes before it disappears. Worry? Concern? I shrug it off and go rummage in the fridge for something to drink. Cans of Mountain Dew are sitting on the bottom level. Ah, my sweet addiction. Mark makes fun of me all the time because I usually have one with me. Yeah, it’s terrible to drink if as much as I do, but I really don’t care.

“So, any idea on how long Mark is gonna be holed up there?” I start digging into one of the sandwiches. Sean looks up from his phone and laughs. “How do you feel about being on camera?”

“What?”

“I said, how do you feel about being on camera?” Sean puts his hands on his hips, giving me a giant smile. “Um...Ok, I guess? Why?” I have no idea what’s going through his head, so I’m just going to roll with it.

“Great! Mark’s getting everything ready now, but in 20 minutes, all his fans are goin ta know we are staying here. You’re going to make your first appearance on the channel!” He is so enthusiastic about this that it’s hard to say no to him. “It’ll be great! All you’ll have to do is say hi. Mark probably won’t start recording until we get in the room. So, hurry up and eat. I’m goin ta see if Mark needs any help setting up.” He slaps my back and is practically bouncing as he leaves the kitchen. I watch the mirror as he walks past it, but nothing weird happens.

I really, really, really need to lay off those videos. They’re making me hallucinate. Either that or the flight messed me up more than I thought. I sigh and start thinking about this new development that Mark has thrown at me unexpectedly. I should have known Mark would have more than one trick up his sleeve. First, it was Sean, and now it’s getting me on camera. I really am going to murder him. Slowly. Like maybe Criminal Minds style. Munching on the sandwiches, I start scheming at ways to get back at Mark. I’m just finishing the second sandwich when my phone goes off.

Mark: Hey, you finished yet?

Bri: Just finished. Why?

Mark: We have everything set up. We’re just about ready for you to come in.

Bri: Give me 10 min. Let me brush my raggedy ass hair and maybe put on a new top.

Mark: Let me know when you’re done.

I put my plate in the sink and grab my drink. Rushing upstairs, I hear laughter coming from down the hall. It sounds like the guys are having fun. When I get to the guest bedroom, I immediately start looking in the duffel bag for my brush. It only takes a few seconds to find it. My hair is short, black with forest green highlights thrown in here and there. It doesn’t take very long to get it thrown up in a high ponytail.

Next, I rummage through the suitcases until I find my Loki shirt. I head to the bathroom to make sure I look semi-decent. The hairs on the back of my neck start standing up, and I get the creepy sensation that somebody is watching me. The mirror doesn’t show anything, but I look around me because I be paranoid like that. There’s really nothing in here with me, but the sensation only gets stronger.

“Back off, ya spooky bitch!” I sort of whisper/shout in the bathroom. I still can’t find anything here, but it never hurts to set boundaries, in case of, you know…. ghosts. That weird feeling fades away, and I feel like I can breathe again.

Well, that’s not terrifying at all. I check the mirror one last time, grab my drink, and head to Mark’s recording room. I can hear Sean’s voice but can’t make out what he is saying.

Bri: Yo. I’m outside the door.

Mark: Come on in.

“What’s happenin Cap’n?” I saunter into the room and see Mark and Sean sitting at the desk that’s along the far wall. They both turn to look at me with a slight smirk. There is an extra chair by Mark that I head towards.

“Hey, guys!! I know you thought Sean was the surprise guest, and he is, but I have someone else I want to introduce you to. This is my best friend, Bri. We grew up in Cincinnati, and she has finally decided to come for a visit.: Mark laughs into the camera as I give him a push.

“Hardy har har. It’s not my fault you moved so far away, you little shit. Keep it up, and I’ll start posting pics. You thought the Septiplier ship had sailed before? It’ll be 20 times worse once I send these bad boys out into the world.” Mark starts groaning while Sean holds his hands up.

“Whoa. Whoa. Hold it there. Don’t bring me into the equation. I didn’t do anything. I’m pretty sure that ship doesn’t need any more references.” We giggle, and I start looking at the screens in front of me.

One monitor has a bunch of technical stuff up along with a box showing the three of us. Another screen has a chatbox that seems to be really active. Comments are flying by so fast that it’s tough to read, though one reoccurring word catches my eye. Checking my phone really quickly, my suspicion is confirmed. “Hey, so I have a question I need to ask everyone watching.” I stand and get behind Mark. I place my hands on his shoulders and start squeezing. Not enough to hurt but enough for me to feel him tense a little. “How mad would y’all be if I murdered our Markimoo here? I was under the impression I would be on a video, not walking into a Live stream.” 

I give Sean a smirk that instantly puts him on guard.” Neither did Sean. I’m thinking that they might need to beg for forgiveness.”

“He told me not to tell you!!” Sean instantly points his finger at Mark while laughing. “I’m too adorable to be murdered, plus I was afraid if I told you, you wouldn’t show up, and then people would think I was crazy.” Mark leans his head back, giving me puppy dog eyes.

“Fineeeeeee. I won’t murder you, but you’ll have to make it up to me with a very incriminating picture. I’ll be taking the picture so I can post it later, and you won’t be able to delete it.” I ruffle the hair on his head as I get back to my seat. They both give a big dramatic groan. “Now, do you see why I wanted her to show up, though I am slightly regretting it.” His gestures get wilder the more animated he gets. It’s all I can do not to rub my hands together and cackle like a witch. 

The stream goes on like this for a few hours. The three of us crack jokes and play a few games together. I watch the chat and answer the questions I can catch. Sometimes they are about me, but a lot are about Mark and Sean. Most of those are just about wanting a shout-out from the guys.

It’s about 6 pm when I finally have to call it quits. Even with the nap I had, I was tired. “Alright, everyone, I enjoyed being here with you guys, far more than I thought I would, but I’m outta here. It was my first time going across the country, and my body is yelling at me for it.” I wave my hand at the camera and try to suppress a yawn. Mark and Sean make cute little pouts and give a fake sigh. “Aww, well, if you must. Everyone give Bri a round of applause. She is a natural in front of the camera. I might even have her join in some of my other videos.”

I take a bow and walk sluggishly towards the door. As I open the door, I feel a hand gently lay itself on my shoulder. I throw an elbow back, thinking it’s Mark, but I don’t make contact with anything. I quickly turn around and make karate-chopping motions, but no one is near me. The guys are still at the desk. Sean looks back at me and starts laughing. “What the fuck are ya doin? I thought you were leavin?”

I do a few more karate chops, just to be funny before I straighten up. “I’m pretty sure a spider tried to attack me; I’m showing it who’s boss. I doubt it will ever try that again, now that it knows I have mad skills.” Mark and Sean laugh and go back to what they are doing. I continue on my way out, severely freaked out. Chica is lying just outside the door, and when she sees me come out, she starts wagging her tail.

“Who’s a good girl? That’s right, you are the bestest doggo in the world!” I love on her a bit and then pat my leg to get her to follow. “Come on, girl. Let’s go outside for a bit. This house is being a spoopy bitch, and I don’t like being inside a horror game.”

We make it outside without an incident. I immediately go flop in the grass on my stomach. I’ve been here less than 24 hours, and I’ve seen some weird shit in the house. I would chalk it all up to ghosts, but that doesn’t explain why I saw Anti in that mirror. I know I still haven’t been sleeping but a few hours here and there, but that shouldn’t make me see things, should it?

There is no way the egos are real. They’re just something Mark and Sean made up. I may like the concept of them, but there is no way I want to meet Anti or Dark for real. Chica comes over to me, trying to lick my face, causing me to laugh. “Alright, girl. Let’s go back into the spooky house because I need some sleep. If I can…” We go inside, and I go back to the guest room. I don’t even bother changing into my pj’s. I just flop into the bed, falling right to sleep.

The Darkness is alive.

My heart is in my throat as I jerk awake. The dreams are all a blur, but I vaguely remember the Darkness trying to hurt me. The bedroom is pitch black, and I struggle to find my phone on the side table. After searching for what seems like hours, I finally find it and check the time. It’s only 3 am, way too early to be up. 

I can’t sleep anymore, so I get up to get a drink. Not sure if it’s remnant feelings from my dreams, but the darkness in the house feels alive. Almost suffocatingly so. I’m paranoid and jumpy as I walk to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I open the fridge and grab the milk. I really don’t need any sugar right now. After filling the glass, I put the milk back. That weird, creepy feeling is back, and I fucking hate it so much. I quickly close the fridge and turn around, punching the air in front of me.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I came here to get away from my life for a bit. Whatever you are, I don’t care! I haven’t even been here a day, so you need to quite with the spooky shit before I lose my damn mind!” I accentuate that with a few karate chops wildly thrown around.

A deep chuckle seems to come from all around me, making me run for the hills. I leave the milk and make a beeline for the stairs. I grab a pillow and the blanket from my bed and run for Mark’s room. The Darkness pulses as if alive, making me a trip on the blanket. I quickly right myself and quietly enter Mark’s room.

Mark’s bed is high enough off the ground that I can throw the pillow under the bed. I wrap myself in the blanket and slide under the bed. Like a child that knows the monster in the dark is real, I make sure every part of me is covered, including my head. This wasn’t going to be a comfortable place to lay, but I wasn’t staying in my room while this spooky stuff is going on. I was so going to talk to Mark about this in the morning.

“It’s not real,” I mumble to myself over and over again. Every once in a while, I throw in a “Leave me alone.” It feels like forever before everything starts to feel normal again, and I can fall back asleep. 

A precious, dreamless sleep.

[tval]

Lexi: 5, 10, 11, 12, 15, 16, 63. Anyone else: 1, 2, 4, 9, 10.

1) What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

‘Kid’, ‘Kiddo’, “Sunshine’, ‘Sunflower.’

2) What is the color of your OC’s eyes/hair/skin?

Green-grey, sandy blonde, very fair (“extra” pale ivory).

4) What is a noticeable physical attribute of your OC?

Expressive eyes. Ear piercings (three in her left, two in her right). Looks like her older brother (more than she’d like to admit).

5) What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

Mostly casual clothes; jeans, hoodies/sweatshirts, short and long sleeved shirts. Flannel and big sweaters, too. Casual doesn’t equal frumpy, as she likes things to fit properly (jeans? they better be fitted), have a wide range of variety in colour and style, etc. Boots and sneakers (converse, don’t judge) are her go to for shoes.

It really depends on the occasion. She wouldn’t wear the same thing to a wedding as she would to a business event or on a date. But for the sake of simplicity, special occasions would entail flowing skirts, feminine blouses, lace and chiffon dresses, those women’s suits that come in really cool colours, and sweater dresses and tights for the colder months.

9) What does your OC’s bedroom look like? His/her living area?

Her bedroom’s pretty small, but comfortably so. Traditional Japanese living area with modern furniture and touches. Aside from the bed (which takes up quite a bit of space), there’s not much furniture; a little bedside table, desk, and dresser. But there’s clutter, picture frames, stacks of books and magazines…but it’s like, clean clutter? I apologize, I’m not doing a very good job at describing this. It’s so easy to visualize in my head, but writing it down? Nah. I’m going to make this easier and just provide a few links to images that sort of come close to what I’m thinking. [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

10) What does your OC keep in a special drawer?

For Lexi: her first real camera, a book of Scottish fairytales, the invitation from her brother’s wedding, an egg-sized crystal that’s definitely timely totally normal (not), and a raven feather.

For the other one: an old photograph from long past days, a violet hair ribbon that’s faded and fraying at the edges, a silver pendant decorated with the Japanese kanji for ‘sunflower’.

11) What is your OC’s relationship with his/her mother?

Lexi has a very close and loving relationship with her mom. Her mom has always encouraged Lexi to be herself and to carve out a life that’s uniquely her own. There’s a lot of love and support there. Regarding certain life choices and independent decisions Lexi has made, she’s been wary but otherwise supportive.

12) What is your OC’s relationship with his/her father?

Lexi’s relationship with her dad is very much one of a tough guy with a hard exterior having a soft spot for his little girl. He’s a tad overprotective, despite Lexi no longer being a child. They have, and still do, occasionally butt heads over certain choices and aspects of Lexi’s life, but there’s never been any permanent fallout or love lost.

15) What was your OC’s childhood like?

Lexi’s childhood was pretty good, but also pretty messy. Her family as a whole moved around the country quite a bit, and every time they did it took Lexi longer and longer to adjust. Which, really, would’ve been okay since she had her parents and brothers to help her along, but she started to experience the supernatural/paranormal at a pretty young age.

Aside from all the abnormal crap she had to deal with, Lexi’s childhood was pretty good. You wouldn’t think so with the spooky shit, but you’d be wrong. Loving, encouraging parents. Two older brothers she fought with only 25% of the time (what a low percentage!), an extended family numbering in the dozens; happy, but not perfect. Good, but not without the bad.

16) What is your OC’s strongest childhood memory? Why and how as that impacted him/her?

When Lexi was around 11 years old and living in Louisiana, she had her first physical encounter with the supernatural. One summer, a few kids started to go missing in the nearby bayou (they lived in a rural part of the state). Through a series of complicated and convoluted events that would take way to long to write, Lexi has a bad encounter with something that is definitely not normal. Creepy giant reptile creature. Dead kid remains are involved. Lexi gets some trauma, killer monster get injured and leaves the area. Cops wrap everything up, deciding an alligator was behind the deaths.

How did this impact Lexi? Pretty simply. She educated herself about all this crazy shit, which eventually prompts her to become a supernatural/monster hunter.

63) How does your OC display love?

Did you want me to go on a long winded rant? Because you’re about to get a long winded rant.

Anyways.It actually depends on the person and the type of love! You know, platonic, familial, romantic, etc. But for this one, I’m going to go with how she shows ~romantic~ love.

Lexi is a very caring and loving person in general. So when it comes to the person she loves, the person she’s in love with, all she really wants is to be with them. Grandiose displays of love and overly romantic gestures? Not really Lexi’s thing. She shows her affection through little gestures; soft caresses, gentle hand holding (lacing her fingers with her significant others; rubbing small circles against her s/o’s palm), pressing herself close to her s/o’s side for the briefest of moments.

Another way that Lexi shows her love is face touching. It’s a little bit strange, but Lexi really likes to touch her s/o’s face. Cupping their cheeks, running her knuckles along their jawline; it might come off as weird or even creepy, but it’s really very soft and sweet.

And yes, most of these displays of love so far has been physical. But Lexi’s a very physically affectionate person. She likes to touch and to be touched. She’s not bad with words, but there’s so much more that can be said with actions. And sometimes words can be difficult. Certain things are hard to say, to admit, and so Lexi would rather show than tell. It’s easier for her.

I said it earlier, that Lexi doesn’t do over the top displays. But she enjoys going on dates and things like that. Going for a walk in the park, spending a quiet evening in; it doesn’t have to be super exciting or special, as long as they can be comfortable and happy in each other’s company is enough. Being together is enough. She wants her s/o to know she loves them with smothering them. Lexi sometimes worries that she is smothering, since she’s more action than words. Those worries are part of the reason a lot of her gestures are quick and brief; show the love, but show it in short bursts. Lexi’s weird in that way. Weird, but loving.

[iustories]

Vodka and Danger Never Tasted This Sweet

IU x KSH

The delicious smell of bacon and eggs wafted through the air, calling her to rise from the bed after a long night of partying. She reached for her throat, feeling its dryness from within then swallowed carefully, gauging its condition. She sat up and proceeded to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. Her head was throbbing, hangover catching up to her. She tried recalling the events last night only to retrieve fragments of memories that don't even tell a story. It was a blur. Like all other nights—she blacked out. She ruffled her hair as she swung her door open then went straight to the dining table.

"Eonni, cook extra eggs for me please," she requested then propped her elbows on the table, resting her head on the palms. 

Her best friend, Inna shows up the morning after parties because she obligated herself to cook Jieun's recovery meal.

Today was particularly worse for Jieun since she didn't eat before chugging mouthfuls of vodka and whiskey. Her stomach growled relentlessly while her head felt like it was being split in half.

She glanced over to the kitchen door. "Eonni—what the fuck. Who are you?"

She quickly rose upon seeing a man holding plates in his hands appear from the kitchen. He chuckled then rolled his eyes before placing perfectly cooked fried eggs and bacon on the table. She salivated, hunger intensifying after catching a glimpse of the sumptuous food. He strode back to the kitchen without answering her question to collect the bowls of rice and soup he left there with the help of a tray.

"Eat," he ordered as he sat on the chair across her, ignoring the death stare he's been getting since they met. "You're probably famished. It'll help you recover."

"Ya!" she called him, her lip twitching up when he returned her gaze. "Why are you here? Did you do something to me last night? What happened?"

He sighed then tilted his head. "I brought you home, Miss Lee Jieun. You're welcome."

She frowned. "How do you know my name?"

"That's all you've been muttering since I saw you lying down on the curb." He put down his chopsticks. "I'm Lee Jieun, okay? Lee Jieun. Everybody knows me. I'm a regular here. Lee Jieun," he imitates her, causing Jieun to feel embarrassed yet she still kept a straight face.

"I was passed out on the street?"

He took a piece of bacon from the plate and put it on top of his rice. "Yup. I was about to go home when I saw you. To be honest, I was going to turn a blind eye, but I wasn't drunk enough to not care."

She finally decided to take a seat, but she remained guarded since she doesn't trust him enough yet. She began mentally checking the current state of her body.

Does anything hurt? My arms? My Legs? she asked herself.

"Why didn't you get out after dropping me off here? You didn't call anyone from my phone or whatever?"

He began eating which she found rude. "I was drunk too you know and I got tired from carrying you on my back from the ground floor so I laid down on the bed and—"

She slammed the table, turning livid before he finished explaining. "Mwo? What did you do to me? I will report you to—"

He met her eyes again with such confidence and it irked her. "I passed out beside you and woke up just a few hours ago. I didn't mean to sleep that long." She waved her hands as she changed the subject. "Wait. Wait. How did you know where I lived in the first place?"

"I asked you."

"And I answered?"

He nodded then took another bite of bacon, its fat melting into his tongue, causing him to shut his eyes in pleasure. "Don't worry. I'm not a bad person and I didn't do anything to you last night. After this, I'll get going and you'll never see me again."

He quietly finished his meal while Jieun dug into hers. She would take quick glances at him, calculating his movements. She soon gave up nitpicking because he seemed harmless. Once he finished, he offered to fix the mess on the table and wash the dishes which delighted her since she's lazy to do the chores.

She plopped on the couch and turned on the television while he was busy shuffling in the kitchen, doing all the work. As she settled herself comfortably, the doorbell rang. She scrambled to her feet when she remembered her best friend is coming to cook her breakfast. If Inna sees a man in here, she will definitely believe that she's the kind of person others have been naming her.

She was panicking, her mind running on different directions. Before she could even decide what to do with him, the lock clicked then the door opened, revealing Inna.

"I'm done—"

"Jieunah—"

Great. Just great. Jieun thought.

The uninvited guest came out of the kitchen the moment Inna stepped in to greet her. There was a stretch of silence, making everyone uneasy.

"Ah," Jieun started while rubbing her nape. "He's uh—my friend?"

She was so uncertain that Inna immediately confirmed that he was some random guy she met.

"Annyeonghaseyo. I'm Kim Soohyun," he introduced himself in a calm manner then bowed his head.

"Hey, I'm Yoo Inna." she shifts her gaze at Jieun. "Her best friend."

"I'm sorry to be here at this time. It wasn't planned at all. I'll leave now."

He bowed again then swiftly made his way to the door and quietly disappeared. Inna and Jieun were left standing in the middle of the unit, basked in the deafening silence that soon took over after the guest left.

"So..." Inna's voice sent chills down her spine. Jieun never brought a guy home and unfortunately, her best friend saw the first one who set foot in her unit.

"I'm not seeing him. I don't know him. I didn't even meet him until today. I was passed out in the curb according to him and he couldn't ignore me so he took me home. For some reason, I gave him my address and I probably told him the key was under the mat. Then he fell asleep here cause he was drunk too—"

"Jieunah!" She called her name, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

Jieun stopped rambling instantly then looked at her quizzically. "What?"

"I wasn't going to ask about him. I was going to ask if you've eaten breakfast," she stated, a smile trailing off her lips. "You look so pale. I can't believe you'd think I'd judge you for having a guy over.

"I was just worried that you'd think the rumors were right, okay," Jieun retorted as she rolled her eyes.

"Like I would believe them. I know you party hard and sometimes get a little feisty on the dance floor. Maybe you have kissed some guys before, but I'm sure you never took them home." Inna was teasing her with her eyes. "Well, that's because you're always knocked out dead after the night. It's a feat that nobody bothers to harm you. Your guardian angel must be favoring you a lot."

"Tss." Jieun crossed her arms. "If you want your mornings to be less stressful, you should be the one taking me home. You'll be certain that I'm safe. I hate it when you call me so early to check if I'm still alive."

"I don't want to carry a wasted person. I'm too weak for that. Let your drinking buds take you home. I'm your best friend not your nanny Jieunie."

"Yeah, okay,” she replied while making faces.

"So back to my question. Have you eaten?"

Jieun nodded reluctantly.

"Oh, you cooked? Wow."

"He did."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Jinja? The guy who just left?"

Jieun hummed in response. "He even offered to wash the dishes before he left. A nice guy. Well, it was just creepy that he slept over here but yeah I'm unharmed."

Inna pursed her lips as she tilted her head. "I agree. He seems like a good guy. That part is weird though but if nothing happened to you, then thank God he's the one who took you home."

"Anyway, I'll call Eunji, Baekhyun, and Hanna now. They all left me last night. I need to give them a good scolding."

"Sure. I'll hang around for a few hours to kill time. I have to meet someone after lunch."

--

She hadn't seen the guy since that day. He sure knows how to keep his word. The thought that she'll never meet him again was a huge relief because she's done shameful things on their first encounter.

When she thought his chapter in her storybook had ended, fate found a way to bring them together again. The familiar smell of bacon and eggs woke her from a dreamless sleep after another night of partying, but when she opened her eyes, she realized that she's in a different room. The walls were painted white and green. The door was on the right side. Everything is not in their rightful place. She frantically inhaled the scent of the sheets and panicked further when she whiffed a musky cologne.

No. No. No. This is not it. This is really not my room.

She tipped her head down to check if her clothes were the same and to her shock, she's wearing a checkered boxer short that barely hung around her small waist and an over-sized shirt.

Oh my God. What have I done this time? Who changed my clothes?

She balled her fist into her hair as she attempted to scavenge her memory for clues but failed to capture anything useful.

"I blacked out again," she concluded.

She proceeded to scan the room for her things, but spotted none. However, the picture frames on top of a wooden dresser drew her attention. She cautiously walked and checked them out. Upon seeing the photos, her knees almost buckled.

It's him. That guy again. Shit.

She groaned and shook her head in disappointed. She felt angry for putting herself in another awkward situation. But pondering further, she was more annoyed at him for taking notice again. He should have just left her on the street so the police could take her to the station or something. Well that is if the police finds her first before any other person takes advantage of her.

She debated whether she should come out or climb out of the window and jump to her death from the second floor. The second one seems tempting because all she wants right now is to disappear.

Jieun took in deep breaths to calm herself. "Okay. I'm going to wait until he comes in and then I can sort things out. Sounds good."

But two hours passed and her stomach grumbled like crazy while her head ached so bad that she wants to slam it on the wall to knock herself unconscious. She couldn't take it any longer and exited the room to search for him. He was sitting on the couch watching television with his legs crossed. When he heard the door close behind him, he turned and gave Jieun an amused look.

"Took you long enough to come out," he remarked. He knew she was already awake but only refused to show herself. It's impossible to be asleep for 14 hours without feeling hungry after the kind of night she must have had.

"Why am I here?" She asked, her tone had a touch of irritation in it.

He chuckled. "I brought you home obviously."

"Obviously," she replied in a sarcastic tone.

“I know what you mean, silly. I was messing with you. Don't be so agitated."

"Who changed my clothes?"

Her heart thumped faster as she waited for his reply. She silently hoped it wasn't him or else she'd be traumatized. No man has ever seen her bare. She might have shown some skin with the type of clothes she wore, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. She placed limits on that aspect. 

"Oh I called a friend to do it. She's a girl," he stated plainly. "You threw up on your shirt and I washed it last night. They should be dry by now. It's in the laundry room."

"How did I end up here?"

He shifted his position, propping his arm on the backrest of the couch. He closed his hands to form a fist and rested his cheek there. "Well, Miss Lee Jieun. I saw you walking side to side on the street with your eyes half-open. I was in a nearby coffee shop studying for my upcoming exams. I think you were trying to hail a cab but it wasn't that obvious that you were cause you were flailing your hands everywhere."

His lips quirked when he paused, trying his best to hold off his laugh. "When I got out, you were rambling like an old lady. You said—"

Jieun raised her index finger to stop him from speaking. "No more re-enactments. I get it. I'm sure it was embarrassing, but no more details, please. I wouldn't be able to sleep for the next few days if you let me know."

"Oh, I brought you here because the key wasn't under the mat and your phone was missing so I can't call your best friend. I couldn't leave you in front of your door. It's cold."

She sighed. "That's very considerate of you. Thanks. If this ever happens—I'm sure it won't though—but if it does, please just leave me wherever you found me."

"Okay. If you say so." He went back to his original position. "There's food on the table. Eat."

Jieun gobbled down the delicious greasy meal, savoring every bite. She noted that he cooks good breakfast meals. 

He must have been taught by his mother well, she remarked. 

When she finished, she cleaned up and took her clothes from the laundry room then changed into them. Clearing her throat, she stood tall and attempted to look confident but deep inside she was utterly ashamed. He gracefully twisted his torso then turned his head.

"I lost my phone and other stuff right?" She asked, still hoping he was able to recover her things. 

"I'm afraid so."

She sighed. "Bad luck. I don't usually lose things. Anyway, I'm going now."

Then she bowed, a tad lower than usual. "Thank you for everything. I hope we don't see each other again."

"You're welcome," he replied with a small smile.

--

A month later, he found himself tagging along with his friends after attending a talk for a class. They went to eat grilled beef at a nearby restaurant then spontaneously decided to go clubbing. But it's not just some random club. It was that club.

Her words rang in his head again as he recalled the night they first met, unconsciously bringing a smile on his face.

"Wah, look at Soohyun. You must be dating. You're smiling like a fool out of nowhere," Minho commented, causing his other friends to take notice. They ganged up and teased him until they were satisfied. Defending himself would be a waste of time so he let them. He knows they'll insist that he is dating even though he isn't.

They entered the place and walked straight to the counter to order their drinks. After downing a couple of shots, his friends dispersed into the dance floor while he stayed behind and watched. He wasn't in the mood to party so a few bottles of beer would be enough to help him unwind after a long day at school.

I'm a regular here. Her voice echoed again, a little louder this time.

He desperately held the urge to look for her and was successful for a few short while. But later on, his eyes began searching for her in every table. To his disappointment, she wasn't there.  He shook his head in disbelief, chuckling as he took a swig of beer.

Fool. Why are you looking for her? He thought.

He decided to take a seat on the bar stool, turning away from the chaotic scene and finished three more bottles. He's deliberately feeling the buzz at the back of his head, quietly energized and slightly tipsy. When he looked back, the lights flashed on his eyes continuously, escalating his high and the catchy music was pulling him to the center. There was no stopping him now.  

He danced to the song with his eyes shut. If he was sober, he would never consider dancing or even move his shoulders to match the beat. He thought he moved awkwardly and was pretty insecure about that, but he's letting himself loose tonight since he feels surprisingly good. Contrary to how he views himself, the girls that laid eyes on him believed he was pretty hot. They gushed over the guy who was swaying his body smoothly with both of his arms raised halfway. Some women attempted to get him to dance with them, but he successfully got rid of them by subtly turning his body away.

A few minutes later, he stumbled forward when someone crashed into his back. He quickly looked over to see who it was. The lady was facing the opposite direction, yet as he examined closely, he found her figure familiar.

Long jet black hair. Hoop earrings. Fitted sleeveless crop top. High waist shorts.

No way. It's her. I can't be wrong. 

He watched her attentively and noticed that she was quite drunk again. She almost stepped on the foot of the person beside her, but her friend helped her to regain her balance at the last second. Moments later, she started to move her hips side to side while her fingers ran through her hair in one swift motion. It was like she's demanding attention and she successfully got what she asked for, particularly from men. Including his. Especially his.

He was mesmerized, allured by the way she moves. It was easier to hold himself when she was unresponsive. He didn't realize how dangerous it was to see Jieun in this place, conscious.

He was so near yet he couldn't get himself to grab her hand and take her away. The longer he looks, the more he noticed everything about her. He couldn't ignore her like she instructed—she was too beautiful and enchanting to disregard.

He attempted to reach for her arm from behind but a guy inserted himself in the scene and joined her. He can see half of her face now, her red lipstick standing out whenever the ray of LED lights shines above her for a split second. The guy casually slid his hand on her waist and brought her close to his body, but she quickly broke free without a problem. She was such a tease, winking at him before casually leaving him. Soohyun thought he's invisible to her at this point so before she could disappear into the throngs of people, he clutched her wrist and spun her around. She gasped, eyes widening as shock registers in her system. He caught just as she was falling, supporting her weight with his arm then leaned his head forward, their faces now inches apart.

She blinked repeatedly as she made sense of what has happened. The guy she had been praying not to meet is holding her close—dangerously close that is—and his gaze was intense. Her intoxication slowly dissipated while her heart threatened to escape her chest. The immense tension from the sudden encounter caused her to involuntarily press her thighs together.

His face drew closer to her ear and said, "It was so hard not to take notice, Miss Lee Jieun. When I'm buzzed and you're dancing like you were a while ago, I don't think I can ignore you."

He took small steps backward after lifting up, almost hitting the person behind him. "I was thinking..."

"What?" She answered, unable to make out the words leaving his lips because of the blaring music.

"I was thinking," he said it louder this time.

"You're thinking what?" she shouted back.

"That you should go out with me." It was bold of him to assume that she's single but he thought that it's likely that she is since her actions were unrestrained.

"Like date you?" she clarified.

She wished to overlook the tingling sensation in her stomach, but it was stubborn enough to cling unto her until she reconciled with the idea that maybe she's captivated by his charms and gentle demeanor. She was thankful they're in a dark place. Him seeing her all disheveled and untamed was enough humiliation. Her flustered reaction shouldn't add to that list or she'll have to disappear from his sight at once.

"Yeah, date me," he confirmed then beamed at her. "If you do, then from now on, I'll pick you up after your night outs and I’ll take you home even if it's at five in the morning."

They know they probably looked ridiculous since they're in the middle of a disorderly crowd, talking in a raised voice.

She pointed at her ear. "I can't hear you."

"I want to be the one to take you home so date me!"

Jieun pretended she still couldn't hear him, squinting her eyes and contorting her face. Growing frustrated, he approached her, their bodies in close contact when he halted. "I said—"

A playful smile appeared on Jieun's lips before grabbing the hem of his shirt, tugging him forward. Without warning, she snaked her palms around his neck, locking her fingers as they meet in the middle. Closing her eyes, she tiptoed to kiss him. She did it so tenderly and held his nape with utmost care. It was unlike those she shared with others on a night out. She wants him to feel her sincerity and as soon as he did, he returned the favor. Her lips tasted of vodka and danger—an addicting combination—but she was also sweet and that's what he liked the most. He slid his hand and held her waist carefully as he kissed her more. He felt the cracks of her lips and its softness, and he refused to stop. They were not bothered by those surrounding them. They can judge all they want because there's nothing more rewarding than this infinite moment. A few seconds later, she broke away. She smiled again, but wider this time, showing all of her teeth.

"I heard you and yes, I think we should go out," she declared before hauling him out of the club.

She realized that some things just fall into place as if they're meant to be there and those people who meet under these circumstances are lucky. Not everyone can have it this easy so she's giving this guy Soohyun a chance.

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 5 already, huh

In which I personally feel sorry for Sans only a little bit, guess when

Oh, and @lostmypotatoes? My brother actually doesn’t have The Virus, which makes me feel even worse for randomly shouting at you about it just because I happened to have our conversation open when I saw the text from my mom. Sorry again! Official chaptery link found here.

Sans had gotten used to waking up in a luxurious, his-sized bed, and after a full week with the High Priestess, he felt he could handle being stuck in the humans' castle for twenty-three more days; it was amazing to sleep so soundly, and he could think of about a million worse fates than spending his waking hours with Frisk. What he could not handle was having a really wonderful dream like that, only to wake up wifeless, childless, and absolutely certain he'd remain that way for the rest of his unnatural life.

He tried not to blame Frisk for it, he really did, but as he emerged from his room, she was sitting at the worktable in her robe with another goddamn proposal in hand, as if to taunt him. "Good...morning," she said. "Are you all right?"

"F'fn m'rg," he muttered.

"I see. I didn't sleep well, either." When he didn't respond, the priestess shrugged and went back to her letter.

The boss monster sat down at the worktable and selected a book at random, trying to shake off the feeling of his dream-wife messing with his face. Less than five minutes later, someone knocked at the door; Sans started to sweep books and mixing tools aside to make room for breakfast, but Frisk shook her head as she got up. "It's Sunday, and I have matins in less than an hour. We won't get fed till afterwards. One minute, please!"

She was about halfway across the room when Sans sat bolt upright: the bar across the doors was lifting itself, and the double doors swung open from the outside. "Good morning," said a soft, scratchy voice.

"Er...good morning, Dr. Serif," Frisk said as the man walked in. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you." Though the worktable had several chairs pushed beneath it at widely spaced intervals, the doctor sat down next to Sans, ignoring the skeleton's glare and addressing Frisk: "When I informed His Majesty that I would be coming here this morning, he asked me to tell you that he and the Prince will be attending matins. I've brought several men to escort you to the chapel as soon as you're ready."

The High Priestess blinked, and said, "I see." She picked up her veil and headdress from the edge of the worktable. "Please excuse me, then."

Sans waited for her to disappear into her dressing room before he rounded on the royal sorcerer, resisting the urge to grab him by the neck. "What the hell are you doin' here, ya creepy bastard? You steal my magic 'n make Frisk use it, ya come here without askin' and open doors all by yerself—and how come we need a bunch of extra guys to go t'church all of a sudden?"

"She needs them because you will be staying here," said Dr. Serif, unperturbed. "We have several things to discuss, many of which do not directly concern Her Eminence and needn't come to her attention. She already has enough responsibilities for three women."

Sans couldn't argue with that, but he could and did tell the guy, "Hell with you. I'm not interested in anythin' ya have to say."

The doctor shrugged. "Very well. I will only ask you to listen to one word." He reached into his robe and retrieved the end of a very long, thin golden chain hanging from his neck, twisted the chain once around his finger, and pulled—

His face blurred and his hand melted, the flesh sliding off like warm wax. Beneath his pale human features was a long, bone-white, masklike face with black slashes above and beneath his hollow eyes, lipless mouth curving into a grin. His now-bony hand rose in greeting, chain twined around his phalange, its end dangling through the hole in his palm. "Boo," whispered the skeleton.

The door to Frisk's dressing room cracked open. "Shall I wait for you two, Dr. Serif?" she called. "Or will you keep Sans here and deprive him of another hour in church?"

The doctor dropped the chain and was human again. "Indeed, my lady," he said. "I am sorry to disappoint our visitor, and those who will come to see him for themselves, but I understand that monsters employ methods of collecting magical energy that would benefit us greatly. I wish to hear it from the horse's mouth."

"That's probably for the best. He's told me the basics, but I'm not an expert in metallurgy or alchemy, so I'm afraid most of it is over my head." Frisk closed the door behind her, settling her veil in place. "If nothing else, Sans can have a break from me. I think we've been getting along fairly well, but he's probably tired of being lectured." She paused by the edge of the worktable, where Sans was frozen in place. "Well, Sans? Shall I get out of your hair now?"

He was still reeling from what he'd seen, and only vaguely aware that he had to say something leaving-related. "Yeah, bye," he muttered.

He didn't see her start, or how her head ducked as she turned and left. The moment the doors closed, the royal sorcerer removed the chain from around his neck, setting it on the table and scowling at Sans like a disappointed teacher. "You realize you've hurt her feelings very much?" The slashes above and below his right and left sockets creased in disapproval. "No. You don't, do you."

"Well, you're hurting my fuckin' brain, ya—ow!"

Something had immediately smacked Sans in the back of the skull. He whipped around to see a disembodied hand hovering in the air, wagging a skeletal finger in disapproval before it vanished. "I will not tolerate rudeness," the doctor said severely. "Is that clear, young skeleton?"

The boss monster felt as if someone had pulled the floor out from beneath him. "Yeah, I guess so. That's about the only thing I do get right now."

"Understandable. I will begin by asking this, Sans: do you recognize me?"

That was a good question. The longer Sans looked at him, the less certain he was. "You...honestly, it feels like I used ta have nightmares with you in 'em, but I've had so many others since then that ya can't keep up. Competition's pretty stiff in here." He tapped his skull.

The doctor chuckled. "I see. Does the name 'W. D. Gaster' sound familiar?"

Sans flinched, and he didn't know why. He just knew that he wanted to open his head up and scrub the insides till the name was gone. "Not...really," he managed. "'Zat you?"

"More or less." Gaster half turned in his chair and snapped his fingers. Two more hands appeared at the windows, unlatching them and pushing them open to let the chill morning air stream in. "This is an informal meeting, principally to get acquainted again. We can start with this." He picked up the golden chain and held it out for Sans' inspection. "To the best of my knowledge – and I pride myself on thoroughness – there are no similar devices in use by any other monster in this kingdom. You should not be surprised in this fashion again."

"I sure fu—flippin' hope not," Sans remarked. "Whaddya mean, 'get acquainted again'?"

"Ah, you caught that. Well done." Gaster's mouth curved again. "We've met before, but you were so young that I'm not surprised you don't remember. The next question: would you like to have a device of your own, and the ability to appear human?"

Sans prided himself on not being dumb, but this was way too much, too fast. Gaster must have seen it in his expression, because he raised his palmless hands in a conciliatory gesture. "My apologies. I have been looking forward to this meeting for a long, long time, and I may be overly enthusiastic. I'll ask an easier question—did you kill the man found in the gardens yesterday?"

The boss monster put a hand to his skull, as if he could manually collect his thoughts. "The guy jumped. Didn't the King tell ya?"

"His Majesty told me what he was told, yes. Did Her Eminence see the assassin jump rather than give himself up, or did you throw him out the window after you squeezed him eighty-percent to death?" Gaster raised a finger as Sans started to protest. "Don't waste my time or yours, boy. The gentleman may have landed in an unhealthy fashion, but that does not explain the uniformly horizontal bruising across his front and back, or how he struck face-first and still managed to crack most of his thoracic vertebrae. His injuries were consistent with a very large hand doing a very large amount of damage before his fall."

Sans wasn't sorry, and he saw no reason to either lie or volunteer more information. He stared at Gaster, daring him to say anything more, and the royal sorcerer shook his head. "No, I will not judge you for taking drastic measures to save the High Priestess. The man was carrying three large knives and two empty sheaths, which suggests he was very serious in his purpose. Nor do I intend to trouble His Majesty or Frisk with this information, unless perhaps I find out that you crushed the man to pulp right in front of her."

"Hell, no, I didn't," Sans snapped. "Ya think I wanted her ta feel any more messed up than she already was? I didn't even let the f—the guy scream on the way down. She didn't hear anything, an' she didn't see anythin' after I got him outta the room." He drummed his fingertips on his femur. "And don't use her name. 's weird."

Gaster's brow twitched. "That answers that. Thank you."

The boss monster felt like something had gone over his head, and he was about to demand more information when Gaster raised his finger again. "One moment. Do you hear that?"

Very faint choir music was coming through the open windows. "Yeah, I know," Sans said impatiently. "When they get sick of talkin', they do that instead. It all sucks."

"Not necessarily," murmured the doctor. "This particular hymn includes a solo, and with the King in attendance, they'll use their best performer. Listen."

Sans didn't get it till the hymn faded to almost nothing and it seemed as if the song was over. He was thinking of his next question when a single voice rose through the stillness and his head turned of its own volition. His feet made him get up and cram one shoulder out the window to follow the sound, heedless of the floor creaking underfoot.

Sure enough, it was a lone woman singing. The words were indistinct, but the sound sent prickles running over his skull and down his spine; her high notes were perfect, and while he could barely hear the lower tones, they were somehow even better. When the last note died away, he wanted to jump out and yell for whoever it was to keep going.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Gaster was leaning on the other window, arms folded on the sill, head propped up on a spare hand. "I've missed hearing her in the mornings."

Sans hurriedly scratched the corners of his sockets, which somehow felt itchy. "Yeah, I guess s'not bad for a human," he said, trying to sound careless, though he couldn't help adding, "Kinda wasted in a church."

The doctor chuckled again, stepping away from the windowsill. "An increasingly common opinion, as you are doubtless aware by now."

Before Sans could ask what the hell that meant, Gaster glanced meaningfully at the boss monster's face and hand. Sans followed his gaze and saw why: his phalanges were stained bright red. "Wha..." Had he hurt himself? Sans grabbed the corner of his sleeve and swiped at his eyes, pulling it away to reveal more streaks of red. "What the crap is this?"

Gaster was very quiet. Then he reached into his robe and produced a folded white square. "Here," he said. Sans looked at it blankly. "It's a handkerchief, my boy," the doctor explained. "For drying tears."

~

The walk back to her rooms after the service was more irritating than usual. Frisk was thirsty, her calf was beginning to cramp from walking at the four guards' pace, and there was no one to talk to—just like old times, she thought with a twinge of dismay. She was reconsidering the merits of Sans' magic when they reached the double doors and she could all but run inside.

"Greetings, my lady," said Dr. Serif, raising his head from a series of drawings scattered across the worktable. There were tiny words and numbers scribbled all over, and even at a glance, the notations were beyond her. "If you'll allow us a moment, we'll clear the table. Breakfast should be here any moment."

"Thank you," she said. "I'll be out as soon as I extricate myself." Dr. Serif gave his odd half-smile, while Sans didn't so much as look up.

Well, at least changing into a looser dress made her feel better, as did kicking off her slippers and enjoying the strange walking-in-pits feeling of removing heeled shoes. Technically, she knew she should keep her veil on, but the prospect made her want to eat the damn thing. It wasn't as if the royal sorcerer was going to tell on her, and she almost never wore it around Sans anymore—not that he cared either way.

...Good Lord. When was the last time she'd felt this crabby? He must be rubbing off on me, she thought wryly.

Dr. Serif had poured a tall glass of water for her. Frisk came out, seized it from his hand, and drank the whole thing at once, setting it down with a bang and a sigh. "Thank you very much, Doctor."

"I had a suspicion you wouldn't be allowed time to care for yourself after the service," he remarked. Sans was still looking at a sheet of paper, at least until the doctor plucked it out of his hand and set it on a stack of notes. "I hear something in the hall. Sans?"

The skeleton grumbled, but got up to open the doors as Frisk sat by the doctor. "It looks as though you've made some progress. In your opinion, are these ideas practiceable?"

"I believe so, yes," he replied. "Based on what Sans has told me, we could possibly convert some of our existing infrastructure for this purpose. We will need more detailed specifications, but I thank you for allowing me to borrow Sans and attain a starting point."

"And thank you for giving him a break," she said, drawing on all of her training to keep from sounding petulant.

It must not have worked, because the doctor sighed. "That was a very natural misunderstanding on your part, my lady. He and I had words while you were getting dressed, and it distracted him. I doubt that he genuinely wanted you gone. In fact, he's been checking the clock every ten minutes since you left."

Frisk felt herself flushing. "I didn't—"

"Watch out," said Sans, and as they sat back, the dishes flew off the trolley in a burst of red magic, settling neatly onto the table. "There. What's this about me 'n the clock?"

"Nothing whatsoever," the doctor said genially. "Her Eminence is back, by the way."

Sans glowered at him, and glanced at Frisk for the first time since she'd come in. "Yep. You can go now, Doc." He made a shooing gesture, then came back to the table, pulled over a random dish, and began shoveling the food in.

Dr. Serif looked ready to hit the skeleton upside the head. "You were marvelous, as always, Your Eminence," he said loudly. "It's been a long time since you performed at matins, hasn't it?"

Frisk paused mid-stab, rearranging her tomato slices into an angrier pattern. "You can hear the chapel from all the way up here?" Stab. "Would you like something to eat, Doctor?"

"Nothing for me, thank you. On a clear day with little wind, yes, the sound carries quite far."

The priestess couldn't help grimacing. "That's good to know." She got up for another drink. "I had to chat with His Majesty and Gaius for almost twenty minutes after the service. My throat is killing me," she said over her shoulder.

When Frisk turned around, Dr. Serif was not looking at her, but at Sans, who had slowly raised his head. "Hold on a sec," the skeleton said. He shifted to face her. "That was you?"

His obvious disbelief made her want to dunk her head in the water pitcher, and perhaps also throw it at him. "I...yes? It was my turn to take that solo," she said to her plate, and crammed a wad of egg into her mouth.

"Your turn, indeed." Dr. Serif raised his eyebrows at Sans. "Her Eminence is aggressively modest about her vocal talent. You won't hear her again until the Feast of All Souls in three days, and she will do her best to get out of it."

Frisk swallowed, coughed, and said sharply, "Doctor, please." What was he doing?

"Forgive me, my lady." He rested his head on his hand, dark eyes studying her. "Speaking of All Souls Day, I've discussed the matter with Sans in his capacity as your personal guard, but I also wanted to give you a direct word of caution. We may need to employ unorthodox methods to ensure your safety, as you will have an unavoidably public role in the ceremony. Will you agree to comply with whatever measures we may deem necessary?"

That sounded ominous, but Frisk had already been trying not to think of the upcoming holy day, or the dead assassin, or how the prospect of being murdered was no longer an abstract concept. "I'll leave it to you and Sans, Doctor. Thank you for your concern."

"Of course, Your Eminence. Now, with your permission, I'd like to briefly review what you've taught Sans thus far. St. Brigid's is unparalleled in its instructional quality, so I have no doubt as to your knowledge or capability. However—"

Sans banged his empty plate onto a tray, startling them both. "Thanks, Doc. Go away."

"Sans!" the priestess snapped. "What's gotten into you? Do I have to send you to your room?"

Dr. Serif raised his hands good-naturedly and got to his feet. "All right, you can have her to yourself again. But I would like to consult with both of you at least once every day. May I come here in the morning, or is the afternoon more convenient?"

"Either is fine now that I'm excused from most of the services," Frisk answered. She pinned Sans with a glare. "Do you have a preference?"

The skeleton grumble-shrugged. "Splendid," said Dr. Serif. "I will see you tomorrow morning after breakfast, then." He bowed slightly. "My lady."

Frisk rose to walk him out of the room and into the hall. To her surprise, Dr. Serif gestured for the guard to move away, and when the man was out of earshot, the royal sorcerer lowered his voice. "Forgive my asking, but when you spoke with the King, what did he say about Sans?"

The priestess crossed her arms at the waist, and uncrossed them. "He asked how Sans was behaving towards me. I told him I'm not in any danger, but I don't know if he believes it."

To her shock, the doctor laughed. "That was not what he meant, Your Eminence," he said. "I fully agree that Sans bears you no ill will. However, surely you have noticed that he is...we'll say, potentially unstable? I checked the potions you've recently made, and didn't sense his magic in any of them. Have you allowed him to infuse anything yet?"

At this point, Frisk couldn't even try to keep her emotions off her face. If nothing else, she thought bitterly, it'd save time.

"I see. Those who witnessed your initial encounter with him said you stopped him in his full attack without violence. I hate to put responsibility for his actions on your shoulders," the doctor continued, "but as you know, Sans is much too powerful to be allowed to lose control of himself again. There can be no peace between humans and monsters if your emissary destroys any human life or property while he is here, or if he evens frightens anyone too much."

"No, of course not." Frisk shifted her bare feet on the marble floor. "He's being difficult today, but as I said – or at least, I thought – we've been working together well enough. He's an excellent student, and he has a sense of humor. I'm certainly not afraid of him anymore."

"Hmm." The doctor was plainly skeptical. "You don't feel threatened by having such a large monster in your living space? Does he seem apprehensive about your barriers?"

"As a matter of fact, I trust him enough now to have taken down several of them. When I created one so that we could talk privately with the King, he handled it fairly well."

The doctor's eyes grew very wide. "You kept him inside a barrier, and he tolerated it?"

"I...told him it was all right, and I made a bad pun. It seemed to work."

For some reason, Dr. Serif muttered something curse-like under his breath, then said, "I beg your pardon, my lady, but that is extraordinary, especially considering he's been under your care for only a week. Monsters are absolutely terrified of barriers, no matter their size or strength, and he knows firsthand that he cannot break yours. Whatever you are doing to foster trust between you, by all means, continue to do so." He turned as if to go, and paused. "One more thing, Your Eminence. Has he told you how he became a boss monster? There should be none but their King and Queen."

Frisk shook her head. "I tried to ask about it, and he got upset."

"Indeed. Thank you very much for your time. I will see you tomorrow." He strode off down the hall, allowing the guard to return to his post.

Any hope of Sans behaving better with the doctor gone was dashed the moment she came back in. "How come ya don't like singin'?" The skeleton sounded almost accusing. "If I could do that, I'd never shut up."

"That's none of your business." The priestess busied herself collecting dirty dishes and loading them up.

Another cloud of red lifted the trays out of her hands and dumped them back on the trolley with an unholy clatter. The doors opened, the trolley rolled itself out to the hall, and the doors creaked shut. "There, all done. So does it take a lotta magic or somethin'? I noticed ya don't make as much noise around here now that there's not as many barriers ta keep up."

Noise? "Drop it, Sans. I'm not going to ask you again," she warned, coming to sit across from him.

Pause. Frisk could actually see him think about it and then decide to keep right on going. "I didn't think you were the shy type. Yer willin' t'stand up in front of a zillion people and tell 'em not to be scared of the big bad skeleton, you got me right where ya want me, and ya talk to th' most important guys in the kingdom like it's nothin', so how're—"

That did it. She was so furious that she had to fight the urge to throw a barrier in his face. Instead, she inhaled, stuck her thumb and forefinger in her mouth, and gave an ear-splitting whistle.

And that was how Frisk learned an interesting fact about skeletons: they didn't have ears, but when faced with a completely unexpected and shrill sound – not just being shouted at – they still instinctively tried to cover the sides of their head, and at least one of them also yelled, "What the fuckin' crap was that for?!"

"First, watch your language, and second, it was for being a giant hypocrite! I haven't made you tell me how you're a boss monster, and when I want you to stop asking me a personal question, I expect the same courtesy!"

"Are you seriously comparin' my life bein' ruined with yer stupid 'Wahh, I'm a perfect fairy-tale princess, don't listen to me'?"

"This is not a contest! I know what I've experienced and how I feel about it, and it has nothing to do with you!" She slammed her palms on the table, standing up so that she didn't have to keep craning her neck to look at him. "We may be familiar with one another by now, but that does not give you the right to say whatever you want to me! Do you understand?"

Sans was still rubbing his skull. "Not like it matters," he muttered. "Yer the boss, right?"

"Oh, please! Haven't you ever had a friend before, Sans? A real one? Have you ever learned to treat someone with basic respect?"

"Not a damn human!" The skeleton also sprang to his feet, towering over her with eyes aflame. "Excuse me if I hurt your widdle feewings askin' a stupid-ass question!"

"You hurt my feelings because you showed me that you don't care about them! Don't you dare blame this on my being human, Sans! You're wrong, and you damn well know it!"

He snarled, lowering his head until his jagged teeth and the blinding orange-red of his eyes were less than a foot from hers. The effect was terrifying, but Frisk was too angry to remember the doctor's warning about letting the boss monster lose control; the only thing that mattered was standing her ground. "Don't you give me that look!" He wanted to win by being bigger, did he? Frisk put one foot on her chair, stepped onto the table, and, as Sans blinked in confusion, reached down to jab a finger into his sternum. "What are you going to do? Bully me until I'm as afraid of you as every other human you've met? Think of another plan, because that's not going to work!"

The ferocious light went out like a candle. For just a moment, Sans looked as though a tree had sprouted in front of him full-grown and then fallen on his head. He stepped back, mumbled, "'Kay," and went into the bedroom, shutting the door.

Frisk stood in the middle of the table, her pulse racing, not sure whether to cry or step down and then cry. She swallowed several times, but it didn't help.

Damn him. The bedroom was an upset woman's native habitat, and he had stolen it. There was the couch, but it wasn't the same. Besides, even if she understood on a grown-up level that the assassin was gone, she was still afraid to open the office door without Sans there.

At a loss, Frisk sat on the edge of the table, letting her feet dangle as she surveyed her domain. The room had gotten even messier in the past week. If Sans had the power to put dishes away instantaneously, he'd have enough to put all these books and papers away for her, too. Maybe she could make him organize her proposals while he was at it.

Proposals. For the thousandth time, Frisk wondered if it was time to stop ignoring them and start making a list of men she might actually consider accepting. She hadn't told Sans how few positions in the Church were suitable for her current rank, or that the likeliest ones were all lifetime commitments, a fate more lonely and boring than death. She'd been so scared but so excited to become High Priestess, where she'd do so much good and be known and loved by so many people; no one had reminded her that being up on a pedestal meant being utterly alone, not to mention exposed to anyone below who wanted to push her off.

Maybe that was why she had imagined her resident boss monster being smitten with her, why she'd been so hurt by him trying to escape, and why she felt so awful now. Frisk knew he had no social skills whatsoever, and he'd probably thought he was complimenting her in some backhanded, childish fashion, but leave it to Sans to turn being "perfect" into an insult.

No, the choice between the Church and marriage wasn't much of a choice at all. She was very tired of her pedestal, and she wasn't going to trade it for one so high that she couldn't come down again. If she chose the right husband, she could do as much or more for people in need than she already was, and she wouldn't be doing it alone. Even if she and her future spouse were well-to-do and had busy schedules, she'd have company in the evenings, not to mention nights and mornings in bed, which there was no shame in looking forward to! Then there'd be children, a family of her own...

Frisk sighed, massaging her neck and turning it toward the window, then the door. For the briefest and most frustrated of moments, she contemplated sending the skeleton back to the Underground now, perhaps tomorrow morning. He'd learned enough and given the royal sorcerer enough information; surely she could get rid of him in good conscience, and he wouldn't have the chance to hurt her ag—

The child from her nightmares was sitting inches away from her on the edge of the table. It was smiling, eyes shining red, kitchen knife in hand and all its little teeth bared.

Every hair on Frisk's body stood straight up, and her breath came quick and shallow. She tried to push herself off the table, to yell at it to go away, but her muscles were locked in place. All she could do was watch as the child lifted the knife, pointing it straight at the bedroom door, eyes never leaving hers. The child slowly lowered the knife, turned the blade around in its hands, and held the handle out to her.

Frisk's hand twitched. A tiny part of her knew that if she tried, if she really wanted to, she could move enough to grab the knife. But...why?

Something bubbled up in the back of her mind, whispering that even a boss monster was no match for a determined human. She knew exactly what to do: shuffle into the room with her head down and her hands behind her back, creep in close to tell Sans how sorry she was, and bring him down in one swift crimson slash. It'd be so easy!

The child was still smiling, still holding out the knife. Frisk moved her hand, raising it slowly, and the child's grin somehow widened.

Frisk leaned forward. She reached up, and with every shred of determination she possessed, she turned her hand toward herself, jammed her fingers in her mouth, and whistled as hard as she could. The child only had time for one furious glare before it vanished.

The bedroom door banged open. "What the hell d'ya want now?" demanded the skeleton, stepping into the workroom. "I'm not a damn dog! If ya need something, just...oh, shit—" Sans dropped to one knee next to where she'd crumpled onto the floor, shaking, her hand pressed to her mouth. "Frisk! Hey!" He reached for her shoulder, thought better of it, and looked around, as if for help. "Come on, Frisk! Look, I'm sorry, a'right? I know, I shoulda listened to you! I'll shut up next time ya tell me, I swear! Just knock it off!"

Frisk shook her head, tried to speak, and couldn't suppress a sob. Sans considered her from a couple different angles, said, "Incoming," then carefully scooped her up and walked into the bedroom, setting her down on the edge of the bed and sitting on the floor. "I'm sorry," he said again, wincing as she turned her back to him and curled up with her face buried in the pillow. "'m sorry, okay? You were right. I wasn't thinkin' of how ya felt, just bein' a nosy prick. I really don't want ya to be scared of me. Ya don't hafta tell me anythin' if you don't want, I just..."

Something in his tone made her wipe one eye and raise her head far enough to look at him. He was staring at the bedpost. "'s not an excuse for how I acted, but..." Sans shrugged helplessly. "I really, really wish you liked ta sing."

Silence. Then, to his abject horror, Frisk clutched the pillow and began wailing incoherently into it, sobbing in earnest.

"Aw, fuck! I mean—Frisk—" The skeleton opened his mouth and shut it several times. He stood up, paced out of the room and back again, and sat down as the noise continued. "What'd I do now?!"

No answer. Sans tried to think of something, anything to make her stop. "Uh...can I get ya anything?" he asked lamely.

She quieted long enough to shake her head and kept right on crying. Sans scratched the back of his skull, glancing at the windows – still too small to jump out – and finally, against his better judgment, sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey. Ya know that explosion that killed all those people? Asriel, Chara, a bunch of humans, couple'a monsters?"

That got her attention. Frisk sat up, scrubbing her eyes on her sleeve. "What?" A protracted sniffle. "What about it?"

"That day, me 'n Papyrus came to the gala with Kris, and we were way at the back. For some reason, Kris took off into the crowd, an' I was smaller than Pap, so I went after the little bugger." Sans looked at his massive hand. "Next thing I knew, there was this big damn flash of light and I got knocked down. I don't know what happened after that—it hurt like hell, but I was thinkin' of Pap and wondering where Kris was, and then I woke up in the lab."

Frisk sniffled, but she was listening. Sans clicked his phalanges on the bedpost. "The best explanation Alphys and I came up with was that I was determined ta stay alive, but a monster's body can't handle too much determination. I mean, if we feel a lot of it, we literally melt like butter. Al's not sure if I held together because I absorbed little bits of human SOUL as they died, or if I somehow converted some of the ambient magic, or what. Nothin' really makes sense. It sure didn't happen to anyone else who was there. But me? I was on the way to becomin' my bee-yootiful new self." He gestured grandly, back still to her. "The end."

The priestess scooted closer, pillow tucked under one arm. "You said it ruined your life?"

"Hell yes, it did. I got too big to fit in my own damn house! I have to take a shortcut into the living room because I can't fit through the friggin' door!" Sans kicked at nothing. "The other monsters are scared of me 'cause I keep losin' my temper 'n I look scary as hell, Asgore treats me like I'm tryin' to take Toriel from 'im when all I wanna do is tell jokes with someone...oh, and ya know what?" He shifted around to nearly face her. "Remember what I said about monsters havin' kids with magic, and how it's always a pain in the butt?" She nodded, wiping her eyes again. "Well, lucky me, I'm too strong t'even try it. If I was a lady boss monster, I could handle someone else's magic and make a little Sans, no problem, but no. If I tried givin' anyone enough to get the job done, there's no guarantee I wouldn't overdo it and kill 'er." Shrug. "Boss monsters are supposed t'have kids with each other so they can transfer their life force and age naturally as the kid gets older. I'm just gonna live forever as a damn freak."

"You're not a freak. You're Sans." Frisk gave an unlovely snrk. "Thank you for telling me this, but you know you didn't have to."

"Yeah, I know." The skeleton turned around the rest of the way, crossing his legs on the bed. "I'm not tryin' to trade it for your pers'nal business, either."

She smiled a little, and his SOUL lifted a little higher. "My story's not nearly that interesting. My mother said something very cruel the first time I sang for her as a child, and no matter how many people since then have told me how wonderful I sound, there's no getting rid of that feeling that they're all wrong. That's all."

"Yikes. I wouldn't say it's 'all,' not if you were a kid an' you were trusting your own damn mom to not be an asshole. That crap really hurts. I shouldn'a said it was stupid."

"Agreed, but I accept your apology." Frisk sighed, tucking the pillow under her chin to rest her head on it. "I've been feeling sorry for myself because being High Priestess is so isolating, but at least I can get out of it. Isn't there anything you can do?"

"Nope! I can't get hitched and stop bein' a boss monster. We've tried a bunch of different things, and it's irreversible. We can't exactly replicate the accident to make me a lady friend, either."

"No..." The priestess yawned. "No, I expect not. I'm sorry."

"Not yet fault. Not anyone's, so far as we know."

Frisk curled up on her side with a sigh, facing him this time, cuddling the pillow. "I'm glad we had this talk, but I suppose we should get to work soon."

Sans had never wanted to be a pillow so badly. "Isn't it Sunday? Why not take the day off? I vote for a nap and then a game of chess or something."

"Mm." The priestess frowned at a rip in the silken bedsheet, probably caused from his toe catching it. "You know how to play chess?"

"Nope. You can teach me."

Frisk chuckled. "It's a deal." She couldn't help yawning again. "All right, you win. Escort me to my office, please, and I'll get to work on that nap. It's been about a year since I had one."

The boss monster paused, and said, "I feel bad takin' this thing up when yer crashin' on the couch like a houseguest. You take it. There's a lotta floor space fer me out there."

The priestess looked over the huge expanse of mattress, remembering the child and the knife, wondering when she'd feel safe again. On impulse, she hopped over the foot of the bed, landing in front of a cedar chest under the windows and opening it to rummage through the blankets. "I'm fine," Sans informed her. "It takes bein' out in the snow for a while 'fore I get cold."

"It's not for you," Frisk said cheerfully. "Come with me for a moment."

Bemused, the boss monster followed her to the office and the couch. At her instruction, he held out his arms for her to fill up with cushions. Then it was back to the bedroom, where she made him place the cushions on the side of the bed away from the door, holding them up so she could throw a large quilt over them. "There we are! You, sir, are sleeping on the bed. I am sleeping in a pillow fort. There's no impropriety whatsoever."

Sans had so many objections that they all tried to get out his mouth at once. By the time he could say, "I don' think that'd hold up in court," Frisk had already disappeared into her fort.

The mattress was not only wide, but so plush that he could have jumped on the bed without disturbing her arrangement. The skeleton tapped the light off, then lay down in his usual spot near the middle of the bed. He couldn't stretch his arm on that side now, but otherwise, there was still plenty of room. When she sniffled again – in a residual kind of way – Sans remembered the handkerchief, and wished he hadn't used so much of it. It was her fault, having that kind of voice out of nowhere.

Silence settled over them, but it was a comfortable one. Sans closed his eyes, tried to think of something else to say, and decided not to bother: judging by her breathing, Frisk was already asleep.

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Miscommunications

The impact of hitting the door reverberated through Virgil’s palms. He heard it slam but he was already through, bolting through the mindscape, feeling his thin, armoured limbs scraping the walls as they dragged behind him. There went Patton’s wallpaper. Just the cherry on top of a fucked-up day.

“VIRGIL!” Roman bellowed from behind him, and the loudness of it made Virgil stumble and trip, barely catching himself with the spindly legs that protruded through the back of his hoodie. They were normally folded against his body, but now alert and twitching with terror, they were too big for the hallway. Virgil ran desperately for the junction that would take him back.

Back. The word itself was nearly enough to make him hesitate in his headlong dash. Back, to where he used to be, with the Dark Sides he used to acquaint with and now hated him with a burning passion. But that hate was expected – warranted, if anything – and infinitely better than a fresh, betrayed hate from the Sides he’d tried to be friends with.

“Virgil!” Patton shouted.

Curse the fickle layout of the Mindscape. Usually navigateable halls were now twisted and convoluted. Was this Roman’s influence? Was he trying to slow Virgil down, making sure they could catch him? The thought made Virgil’s mouth taste bitter with fear and he picked up the pace. The sharpness of his vision made him dizzy, but that was better than hiding his extra eyes and run the risk of someone sneaking up on him.

­­­­­

  It wasn’t that Virgil set out to hide it. At first he assumed that they already knew. After all, why else would there be so much fear and distaste when he stepped into a room? All of the Others were… different. Eyes, legs, scales, animalistic and frightening. That was their job. Virgil had assumed that they knew he was no different.

The bangs across his face obscured the cluster of black eyes, because seeing that sharply was hard to handle and sometimes sent him into sensory overload.

He mumbled a lot, which led to him not opening his mouth much – his fangs just didn’t show unless he presented them, which he didn’t often feel like doing.

His hoodie with big and soft, perfect to hide in, and also keep his extra limbs curled around his body for comfort and practicality.

But everything changed on a Tuesday. You wouldn’t think big, monumental changes would ever happen on a Tuesday afternoon. It was so… Tuesday. But the foundations of his world shook, and Virgil realized that he had to be much more careful about the inadvertent secret he hadn’t realized he’d been keeping

The memory left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d been persuaded by Patton to hang out with them in the kitchen and taste-test some new cookies. It was relaxed. Jovial. Kind of… fun. But that was what Virgil had come to expect from hanging with the Light Sides. They were fun, and kind, and they smiled – not in the cruel way Deceit smiled, or Remus’s unhinged grin. They smiled genuinely, happily. At him. Despite his worries everything seemed fine.

Until Roman caught a glimpse of scales slithering down the hallway, and his mouth twisted in revulsion.

“What’s that, kiddo?” Patton asked from the kitchen. Virgil rolled his eyes and prepared for another speech on shiftiness, how Roman just knew Deceit was stealing all his left shoes, more of the same.

He didn’t expect Roman to just mutter, “It’s really creepy how they do that.”

“Do what?” Logan asked.

“The whole – animal thing.” Roman pulled a face and Virgil felt a cold shiver down his spine. “It’s weird. Why would you choose to look like that?”

“Don’t be mean, Roman.” Patton valiantly attempted. “I’m sure they have… reasons.”

“Yeah, Remus has a reason. To use all those arms of his to strangle me in bed.” Roman shivered. “I mean really, an octopus? It’s creepy. Now I know just to start swinging when a big gross monster comes at me, because it’s usually him – or one of the others. They like to play tricks.” He explained at Patton’s curious frown. “Discorperation usually puts a stop to it though.”

“Well, that’s not very nice.” Patton mumbled. “But I suppose if there’s no other way…”

“It doesn’t make a difference to them, they’ll reform eventually.” Roman whined. “Specs, you think so too, right? It’s weird!”

Logan frowned and pushed up his glasses from where he sat on his stool. “Well, I personally find the inhuman appearance of the Dark Sides to be… unsettling, on occasion.”

“Well, in any case!” Patton clapped his hands loudly, making Virgil jump. Sweat trickled down his back and he hunched further into his jacket, hyper aware of the spidery limbs curled up under it. “We have nicer things to talk about than Dark Sides. How are my cookies? Do you think I need to add more banana? I was thinking about adding chocolate chips but I think banana-peanut butter-chocolate cookies is a bit much.”

As soon as Virgil had been able to free himself, he bolted to his room and locked the door. So that was what they thought. How hadn’t they noticed him before??? He wasn’t exactly subtle. God, if one of them found out about him he could say goodbye to any hopes of acceptance. He had to start being more careful.

To start with, he had to stop stress-fidgeting with his silken threads. Too spider-like, and at some point one of the Sides might see him spitting them out. No. No no no no no, that could not happen. Comb his hair down just right, be careful not to smile, don’t touch one of them in case they could feel his twitching limbs…

  Virgil bit down on his lip as he ran – no, more like scrambled – for the junction. For his room. For the safety of familiar hatred and morningstars, not horrified looks and roman’s gleaming katana. The taste of iron filled his mouth.

Fuck it. He’d been so close. He hadn’t meant for everything to come out like that – the stove had lit on fire, he hadn’t been thinking, when Roman yelled of course he’d come running. He was anxiety. He hadn’t noticed his bangs getting displaced as he grabbed the fire blanket and hurried to smother the flames. He hadn’t noticed anything until he turned to Patton with wide eyes and clear vision, and Patton had screamed.

Virgil stumbled back, trying to cover his face, only to trip over a chair and go crashing to the kitchen floor. His jacket tore open at the back with a horrible rip and his limbs spilled out, scrabbling for purchase on the slick floor. Patton was still screaming – spiders, of course, he hated spiders – and Roman grabbed for his sword.

That was all Virgil needed to see before he started running.

Hallways passed in a blur. Was he even going anywhere? He was lost, the mindscape seemed to be twisting back in on itself like a labyrinth. Was this him? Was it Roman? Whoever did it he couldn’t find his way out.

A dead end, a locked door. Virgil grabbed the knob and shook it desperately but it was stuck fast. What was this the door to, repressed memories maybe? He didn’t care. The footsteps behind him grew nearer as he struggled with the door. Open, open, open! In frustration Virgil slammed his fists against it and screamed.

Skidding as the footsteps came to a halt. Virgil whirled around to stare at the figures blocking the hallway, one with his hand to the sword at his belt. Their silhouettes blurred from the tears in Virgil’s eyes. Roman stepped forward and Virgil flattened his back against the door.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” He slid down into a ball and curled his legs around himself tightly, a pathetic shield against the blow that was sure to follow. Roman yanked out his sword. “I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry I lied, I’ll go away, I’ll be quiet, please don’t kill me!” Virgil hid his face behind his arms. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!”

“Virgil!” There was a loud clang that made him flinch – but no pain. Virgil peered over his arms warily, only to see Roman’s sword lying flat on the ground. Roman stood pale and staring with his hands upturned, Patton and Logan behind him. Patton was crying and distressed, being held in place by Logan, and the sight made Virgil’s heart ache. Just let him run away, because Virgil couldn’t bear to see him this afraid.

But Patton didn’t look – frightened? No, Logan was holding him back from rushing forward, not away, eyebrows furrowed with his lips pressed tightly together.

“Virgil, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Roman said softly. Virgil curled up tighter, disbelievingly. Why wouldn’t he? Virgil was a Dark Side – a creepy monster with spider eyes and too many legs, fangs that could rip out a person’s throat. His legs twitched around him. Roman stepped forward once and Virgil flinched. “Virgil, please, I’m not gonna do anything. I promise.”

Virgil peered at Roman suspiciously. He looked earnest – in fact he looked almost tortured, which was odd. A trick, maybe? Or maybe… he was being truthful.

“Oh, kiddo.” Patton stopped struggling against Logan’s grip and stared at him with wet eyes. “Virgil, it’s okay. We don’t – we don’t hate you, and we certainly don’t want to hurt you. What would ever give you that idea?”

Virgil pressed his back harder against the wall, drawing himself into a ball. His voice was rough and scratchy when he finally managed to whisper, “…you said you hated… this. The way Dark Sides are.” A sudden ray of hope. Maybe, if they weren’t going to kick him out, “I-I swear I can hide it better! We can forget this whole thing ever happened and you won’t ever have to see me like this again-”

Logan’s grip slipped and Patton surged forward and threw himself at Virgil, who flinched – only to find himself being hugged as Patton clung to him around spindly arachnid legs that should have sent him running and screaming.

“Oh Virgil no, it’s not like that. We love you, you’re family, you should never be ashamed of who you are and what you looked like, I’m so sorry that we made you think that Virge. Please don’t leave. I can be better.”

Virgil was being hugged. With his legs twitching and his creepy fucking eyes and his fangs bared as he gasped for breath, inches from a Side’s neck. And that Side didn’t give a fuck. Patton only clung harder.

“It appears we’ve allowed a severe miscommunication to go uncorrected.” Logan stepped forward carefully and knelt next to the lump that was Virgil and Patton. “And for that I apologize, Virgil. If at any point we gave you the impression that we would cast you out or hate you, simply for showing this side of yourself, rest assured that this idea is false. You are an accepted member of our friend group-”

“Family.” Patton sniffed.

“And your extra appendages have no impact on this fact. I am… very sorry that we caused you to think differently.”

Virgil sucked in a shaky breath. This was… not going as he’d thought it would. “But… you said it ‘unsettled’ you.”

“Virgil,” Roman stepped forward again, “A lot of things about you unsettle me. Your dark disposition, your emo style, your insistence on always-”

Logan cleared his throat, and Roman quickly continued.

“That doesn’t make you less of a person. It’s just something that I need to adjust to. Because you are important, and valid, and a part of this team. And we will never cast you aside for being different, or for being yourself.”

“Indeed.” Logan nodded. “Another point I agree with.”

“Will you stay with us? Just for a bit longer?” Patton begged. “If you want to, of course. I promise we can be better.”

Virgil swallowed hard. “I… I want to stay.”

“Excellent!” Roman clapped his hands louder than necessary, making Virgil jump. He winced apologetically. “Shall we take our emo friend back home? I feel like we could all use something to calm down – a movie marathon, perhaps? We can watch The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

Virgil sniffed and nodded. Patton stood reluctantly, then held down a held to help Virgil up. He accepted and was pulled to his feet – and fuck if it didn’t feel weird to stand in front of the Light Sides with his gleaming black eyes and legs sprawling out behind him. He tucked them against his back self-consciously.

“I, um… sorry about the wallpaper. Sometimes I can’t, um…”

“Wallpaper?” Patton laughed and linked an arm through Virgil’s, leaving him standing stiffly in shock. “Oh Virge, don’t worry about that. I was thinking about changing it anyway.”

Suddenly Logan was in front of him, peering with undisguised interest at his eyes. “I must say, I am very intrigued by this development, as well as your having hidden them for as long as you did. Would you mind if I studied-”

“Logan.” Patton hissed. “Not the time!”

Logan swallowed and straightened. “Ah. Yes. Virgil, would you mind if I studied your arachnoid qualities – another time?”

“Err. Sure.” Virgil mumbled, and Logan gave a beaming smile.

“Excellent. Now, to find our way back. Roman, did you really need to go about changing the layout of the Mindscape?”

“I didn’t mean to do it!” Roman protested. “It was an accident. Hang on, I’ll straighten it out – well, gay it out.”

Virgil snorted into his fist, and no one snapped at him. Later, when they’d found their way back to the common room and put on a movie, Roman leaned back against him with a yawn, barely sparing a thought to the spider legs. Patton cuddled up against his other side and Logan sat comfortably on the other side of the couch. Patton didn’t argue against the wall of gleaming limbs that arched over him like a protective shell. He just hummed happily.

And everything was okay.

Apart from the time that Roman asked if Virgil could roast marshmallows on his spindly legs. But that was a good few hours away.

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.).  [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest? 

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was  a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

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