#and refuses to absorb them properly

[delta-hexagon]

vitamin D deficiency and anemia diagnosis for christmas, yay!

[wall-eye]

I havent posted a lot about and back again here but just know I am loving it and having such a blast and Will buy wanderhome once I have the money for it. Uro is such a romantic to his bones and i Love Him

[teamhawkeye]

god give me the strength not to pick a fight with some stupidass troll on ao3-

[blindtaleteller]

tags. cause all that and I'm too lazy tonight to pull it over? lol

following the theory that loki intentionally banded the avengers together so he could sicc them on thanos later, after he took the throne in T:TDW, i think he'd be so angry at the events of civil war like:

loki as odin: hello heimdall, how do earth's mightiest heroes fare as of late?

heimdall: they have disagreed on many subjects and split up two days ago

loki:

heimdall:

loki: they haVE WHAT?

cue loki coming down to earth and bonking everyone's heads together until they all get along again

stark: how the heck are you alive???

loki: skills. listen here, i did not pour my blood, sweat and tears to form this team for you idiots to throw all my hard work out the window!

loki, grabbing rhodes and stark by the wrists: now, we are going to get your little friends out of prison, understood?

like an exasperated kindergarten teacher, y'know?

Loki, hitting Steve over the head with a newspaper: he's your friend, of course he's upset you lied to him about something like this

Tony: hah!

Loki, giving Tony a death glare: did you have to fight each other about it

[soul-collectors]

SOUL Collectors 101 - #1 : Anomaly SOULs

Presented by Edu! a Science!Sans variant specializing in studying these anomalies!

-What are Anomaly SOULs?

Put it simply; They’re SOULs affected by a timeline glitch that gives the concealed human SOULs shape and matter, virtually reviving them!

it usually happens after an “ending” has registered into the timeline Where the SOULs are supposed to just- disappear.

Every time the file save of that timeline is loaded or reset without properly handling the Anomaly SOULs, they’re reformed.

-Stages of reformation

Beginning with a simplified Vistage, they eventually develop to a more accurate shape of the departed human, even recovering their memories at a certain point- until uhm...I haven’t gotten enough data to know haha..!

Their memories may develop in different ways with each reset! Some might only remember their fall and some might recall everything to their last breath..oof...

Anomaly Souls cannot be absorbed nor shattered! They simply “refuse” to. Literally.

Only SOUL Collectors can properly contain Anomaly SOULs. Other methods have been used, but they usually yield less favorable results. We’re still discovering more about them, though!

If a SOUL Collector frees an Anomaly SOUL after containing them, it usually takes from a few hours to days or even weeks for their Vistage to reform depending on what phase they were collected in.

-How do you tell the difference?

You can’t- at least not your normal, everyday person. By themself, SOUL Anomalies look almost indistinguishable from a normal SOUL. You won’t know unless you try shattering or absorbing it-!

Some Monsters and humans from other universes have trained themselves to tell the difference! And some are just “born” to it- like SOUL Collectors-!

-Are they dangerous?

ehhh…Not really- I mean Yes!! *some* are! But for the first few phases that ARE harmless, down the line, they may pose a threat to the timeline and its inhabitants, especially if agitated…

-Monsters affected by Anomaly SOULs.

If an Anomaly SOUL attacks and kills a monster and the save file is loaded/reset, the Monster will return somewhat physically similar to an amalgamate.

Their SOUL reforms their body in the same way as a SOUL Anomaly’s “but it refused” mentality.

Except- unlike a human’s, the Monster’s SOUL isn’t capable of properly reforming itself…thus they come out...misshapen.

I haven’t seen many cases, thankfully. But, from the data I collected from SOUL collectors themselves; this is one of the main reasons they collect anomaly SOULs: to protect the inhabitants of timelines and the multiverse from collapsing into itself in chaos.

That's probably the gist of it- We're still researching Anomaly SOULs especially Whenever Soul visits this timeline-

.

[This is just the basic info about Anomaly SOULs, More information and examples will be posted throughout the account/story!]

[cosmicdahlias]

You’re Mine, Understand?

Ford Pines x Reader

MINORS DNI

Ford has been very inattentive to you, so when an attractive young man walks in you seize the opportunity to make him jealous.

tags: age gap, jealousy, possessiveness, mdom/fsub, marking, hickeys, biting, belt usage, countdown, orgasm denial, p in v, choking, creampie

i added a part about countdowns because i got an ask requesting it over a month ago and kinda forgot about it until recently. this one’s for you anon!

It felt like forever since your research and romantic partner, Ford, had touched you. As of late he always seemed too absorbed in his work to properly give you any sort of attention. All attempts by you to initiate intimacy were met with

“Not now, sweetheart, I cannot be distracted.”

You were so touch starved, you craved his affection. So when Ford and you were upstairs helping Stan with reorganizing the shack and a young man around your age walked in, you leapt at the opportunity to torture your inattentive partner.

The man immediately went out of his way to approach you and strike up a conversation, it was obvious he found you attractive.

“Hey there, so uhhh… you work here?” He asked, very clearly staring at your chest.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You smiled, giving your best doe eyes.

You stole a glance at Ford, who immediately sensed what you were up to, you watched his jaw clench. Ford was… a bit possessive, as one tends to be after being in an abusive relationship with a demonic triangle. You know, typical things.

As the conversation progressed you looked back at your partner every so often, throwing him a smug smile. He quietly seethed, refusing to give you the satisfaction of getting to him. The man told an incredibly flirtatious joke and you gave a playful laugh, putting your hand on his arm.

“You’re like actually so funny.” You giggled.

The man tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I’m glad you think so.”

That set Ford off, he knew he was letting you win, but he’d be damned if he allowed another man touch you. He walked over, cutting the man off mid sentence.

“So do you wanna exchange num-“

“Y/n, come with me. Now.” Ford commanded through gritted teeth.

You gave a small smirk.

“Whoa, who’s this, your dad?” The man asked.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back in a little bit. Don’t go anywhere, handsome.” You purred.

Ford grabbed your wrist and led you down the stairs to the basement lab, slamming the door behind him. He turned to you.

“Just what in the hell was that?” He growled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You smiled, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You do not want to go down this road with me.” Ford threatened, coming in close.

“Oh please, what’re you gonna-“

Ford seized your wrists and pinned you against the wall in one swift motion, biting down hard on your neck, eliciting a whimper. He sucked on the soft skin repeatedly, leaving hickeys in his wake.

“I’m going to mark you all over, any man who dares to even look in your direction will know you’re my property.” He said against your skin.

Ford pulled your top over your head, unhooking your bra and tossing it aside. He slipped your skirt and panties down your legs where they joined the rest of your clothes in a heap on the floor. Usually, Ford took his time and savored removing your clothes, but his anger made him cut straight to the chase.

Ford bent you over the lab bench, your nipples peaking against the cold metal. He unbuckled his belt, pulling it free from his pants. He raised it, bringing it down hard on your ass and you yelped in response. He gave you five more lashes before moving to the underside of your thighs, doing the same. Your legs shook and the wetness from your pussy dripped onto the floor.

He picked you up, sitting you on the lab bench to face him. He lowered himself between your thighs, biting down on them hard enough to leave bruises. He stood, looking you directly in the eyes and slipping his hand to your clit.

“I think you need to be reminded why I’m a better choice than any so-called man your age. No one will ever make you feel as good as I can.” He said.

For someone who had spent 30 years in other dimensions away from all humans and never even touched pussy before you came into his life, he had learned incredibly quickly since becoming intimate with you. He valued your feedback and direction until he mastered the delicate art of making you cum in record time with just his fingers.

“How does that feel?” He inquired.

“Mmmnn, s- so good.” You moaned.

“I know it does. You won’t get it like this from anyone else. I know you in ways no one ever will, or even could.”

He leaned down, sucking on the skin of your breasts, covering them in hickeys. You whimpered at the feeling of his fingers drawing circles against your clit. Between being worked up from his rough treatment on your body and his expertise with his fingers, you were already close.

“Are you going to cum?” He asked.

“Y- yes.” You said.

“Listen close, I’m going to count down from three, you are only allowed to cum when I reach zero. Have I made myself clear?”

You nodded.

“Good girl. Three.”

You panted, bucking against his hand.

“Two.”

You felt your orgasm creep in.

“One.”

You were just about to break when he removed his fingers, leaning in and whispering in your ear.

“You don’t get to cum.”

Your orgasm dissipated from the abandonment of his fingers.

“W- what? That’s not fair!” You protested.

“Not fair? Do you think flirting and giving bedroom eyes to some man you don’t even know is fair to me? Well, do you?”

“No.” You huffed, looking away.

“Don’t be like that, you should’ve known you weren’t going to be rewarded, not with the way you were acting.” He said, tilting your chin up. “Now bend over for me.”

You slipped off of the lab bench and followed Ford’s instructions. He unzipped his pants, pulling out his thick cock. He moved one of his hands to grip your shoulder and the other at your waist. You felt his tip press against your entrance for barely a second before he shoved his whole length inside you, causing you to cry out as you felt the sharp pain of your pussy struggling to accommodate his wide girth.

Normally Ford gave you time to adjust to him, he knew he was big, but after the stunt you pulled you would gain no such sympathy from him. He fucked you at a punishingly aggressive speed. He typically preferred slow and passionate lovemaking, except on rare occasions such as this where you managed piss him off enough, in which case he was ruthlessly hard and fast, as you deserved.

“Who do you belong to?” Ford asked.

“Y- you.” You whimpered softly.

He pulled out, reaching for his belt, you felt the sharp sting of leather against your ass.

“I… can’t… fucking… hear… you.” He said, each word emphasized with his belt being brought down hard on your ass.

“I’m only going to ask one more time, who do you belong to?” He commanded.

“You.” You said louder.

He forced himself back inside you down to the hilt, continuing his rough pace.

“That’s my girl.”

He wrapped a hand around your neck, you choked out a moan as he squeezed it tight.

Ford chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re liking this far more than I’d expected. Are you?”

With Ford’s tight grip on your throat, all you could manage out was a weak “uh-huh”.

“You’re making my job so much harder here. What I’m doing to you shouldn’t be this enjoyable, this is supposed to be a punishment after all. I guess this is what happens when you fuck a masochist, no matter what I do, you’ll find it pleasurable.”

Ford released your throat and moved his hand back to your shoulder.

“I like when you h- hurt me.” You whimpered.

“So I’ve gathered.”

His breathing began to hitch, his brutal pace faltering for just a moment.

“I’m going to cum and you’re taking every single fucking drop inside of you. That’s nonnegotiable, do you hear me?” Ford ordered.

“Yes sir.”

“Such an obedient little harlot.”

He increased his speed, furiously pumping in and out you. He dug his nails into your skin, pulling you against him to take the full length of his cock as he came deep inside you. He didn’t stop his thrusts, fucking his cum back into you.

“God, I’ll never tire of your tight little pussy.” He panted.

He slowly eased up the movement of his hips, pressing kisses along your back as he pulled out. He turned you around to face him.

“So there’s just one thing I still don’t quite understand. Why on earth did you feel the need to seek out the attention of another man?” He said, still trying to catch his breath.

“Ford, you’ve been totally closed off lately. All you do is work, any time I’ve tried to even touch you, you tell me you’re too busy. I’ve just felt completely ignored and you have no idea how much that hurts.”

He cupped your cheek, tilting your head up to face him.

“Oh stardust, I’m so sorry that I haven’t been properly making time for you. I have no excuse and I promise I’ll try to put in more effort in the future.” He said, kissing you.

“You better mean that.”

“You have my word. I swear tonight after we finish up in the lab I will give you my full, undivided attention. Now, as much as I feel bad and would like to be nice, a punishment is still a punishment. So… you’re going to get dressed and go upstairs. You are to keep your panties off and let my cum drip out of you. You will continue your conversation with that young man so he can see how I’ve marked you and that you’re mine, and only mine. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He kissed you passionately.

“Good girl.”

[analyticalstarz]

In honor of autism awareness month, here's a full comprehensible list as to why I think Rui is autistic, or at the very least, neurodivergent !!!! - 1, For starters, he was ostracized by his classmates for presumably almost a decade (2nd grade - 1st yr of high school), all because he was "different" and nobody around him could properly understand him. This has resulted in him struggling to form and maintain relationships. As stated in his second focus event, Revival My Dream, when he was a kid, Rui had a hard time conversering with his classmates because he felt as if he couldn't connect with them.

He's interested in more niche things, like robotics,

and he was also interested in things that people normally regard as "scary", such as moths;

After he became fond of shows and theater as well and attempted to include his classmates in one he thought of in an attempt to grow closer to them, his idea ultimately backfired since his classmates thought his way of directing was "dangerous", and this is where the ostracization seemed to start.

(translation by Arvon Oven) Being ostracized and shunned is unfortunately a common thing with people who have autism, and as I mentioned previously, Rui was alone for presumably seven years straight, all because he was regarded as "different". - 2, He has "restricted, obsessive interests" that can be seen as hyperfixations/special interests. Ever since he was a child, Rui's been heavily interested in both robotics/inventing and shows. A hyperfixation is described as, "A complete obsession with or absorption into a particular task. The task can be a hobby, a TV show, a subject of interest, or something else. People who hyperfixate may tune out the world around them and ignore important responsibilities, such as eating or sleeping." Rui's interest in shows specifically can be seen as a hyperfixation, as in the first side story of his Unforeseen Keynotes (or Unexpected Happenings according to the English translation) card, Rui was so engrossed in thinking about the next show they'd be doing, he had completely forgotten that Robo-Nene was due for maintenance, and Nene mentions that this wouldn't be the first time he's forgotten to eat or sleep because of how engrossed he gets in his thoughts while thinking about shows.

Nene also mentions in Wonderlands x Showtime's main story that Rui becomes so absorbed in his shows that he "loses sight of everything else", (In the original Japanese version, she says "When it comes to shows, he isn't able to look at his surroundings, so things never work out".)

and also in KAMIKOU FESTIVAL!, where he mentions that his tendency to put shows "at the center of everything" might be a flaw of his;

(translation by Ren) It's also mentioned in A Once-In-A-Lifetime Pandemonium!? that he'll get so absorbed in his thoughts while thinking of shows, he'll completely forget about his surroundings.

(translation by tsukasa’s #3 fan) - 3, He has texture issues, which is also common with people who have autism. It's been mentioned multiple times throughout the course of the game that he detests vegetables, but more specifically cucumbers and things in the cucurbitaceae family (such as watermelon & pumpkin), because they all share the same texture.

He mentions in an area conversation with Nene that he usually only eats at restaurants he's familiar with (he sticks to routine; another thing common with people who have autism), so eating out has never been an issue to him, and he even refused to eat vegetables when they were quite literally stranded on a deserted island and in a life-threatening situation.

- 4, He info-dumps. A lot.

This one is pretty self-explanatory, I think. - 5, He's overly logical and struggles with his emotions. He's had trouble on multiple occasions understanding his emotions, such as in Full Power! Wonder Halloween! where he unconsciously holds himself back after inadvertently injuring Tsukasa with one of his inventions, but he didn't realize that he was even holding himself back until somebody pointed it out, and he didn't realize that he was holding himself back because he was worried, either. Something similar happens in Heat Up! Kamikou High Cheering Squad! where he unconsciously holds himself back because he feared being shunned again, but once again, he didn't realize the reason for him holding himself back until somebody pointed it out for him. In the first side story of his I Can't Afford to Lose *4 card, Rui comes to the Sekai, hoping to talk to somebody to put his mind at ease. As he runs into Meiko and Luka and they ask him what's wrong because he seemed down, Rui says that "I just wanted to think about production, but my feelings got in the way of thinking". He then says "Feelings really are troublesome. / Sometimes, you have to hold them back with all of your might... It'd be nice if someone other than me could manage these troublesome feelings". (In the English translation, he says "Emotions are so complicated and can be so troublesome at times. / There are even times when one becomes completely overwhelmed by them... If only someone else were able to help put a lid on them.") Lastly, I'd like to mention that in Revival My Dream, after Rui asks his mom if he's different from the people around him, she responds by saying that, yes, he is different, but she also says that she was "just like him" as a child, and seeing how autism is caused mainly by genetics, his mom can very well be autistic too.

Okay, that is all!!! Thank you for listening to me yap :3

[astracora]

EVER's Tool

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (Sylus POV/MC POV)

Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Spoilers for multiple anecdotes and all current story.

Word Count: 10348

Written: 10th January 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. A lil AU almost, set after cat curse and turning point. I had the mental image of EVER making MC into a personal weapon, using the fact their memories reset so it's easier to manipulate them. I also think about the line that 'sincere emotions are hard to forget', and how the LADs are basically EVER's worst problem when it comes to controlling them. As a side note, I fucking hated Leon when I read the anecdotes, so so much. The creepy way of calling a child 'little bomb' just set me wanting him smacked in the face. So I'm channelling that dislike into ruining his day. The way I screenshotted so many main story things to pull into this. It's upsetting... I had to double check so much stuff cause I have a terrible memory. My final lil note is I have no idea how MC's resonance works, but there was a line in one of the anecdotes that EVER wanted it to absorb Xavier's, so I've run with the concept.) I have no idea if anyone else will care about this lil brain thread, but hey, have at ye. Will there be more? Gods only know. Now I can finally sleep its 2am and my brain refused to let me rest.

Now Playing: Bite Marks, by League of Legends (ft TEYA)

Masterlist AO3

Next ->

Missing for months now… He's reached out to every source he can find. Has sent Mephisto all over Linkon, the N109 Zone, beyond.

He has looked in every shadow, every dark hole he can find. He has searched and searched, and still found no trace of you. He has never felt this powerless, this lost, to have all the resources of Onychinus and still unable to find answers to the only question he really cares to have answered.

How can you have disappeared? Vanished on him, on them, when you have built a life together? The house has emptied, the halls are quieter, the bedroom you all share is hard to sleep in.

It is like they have acquired ghosts. Griefs that will not rest, that cannot settle… because they have no answers. No response, no way to seek you out to soothe open wounds, and apply salve to scars.

He cannot stop, he cannot stop looking. He looked for you through time, and space, he will not stop now.

If you are out there, he will find you, and bring you back home. To them.

He did not vow and share his soul with you, to lose you.

He has spent most of his days looking, and searching. When he is not forcing himself to keep being Onychinus' leader, he barely sleeps for investigating. If he stops for a moment he thinks of an empty bed, and cold sheets. Of limbs no longer tangled with his. Of fingers no longer soothing through his hair.

Sylus cannot bring himself to tremble and to crumble, he does not have time. Not when the answer has fractured his home. His loved ones.

He watches Xavier hunt, carry out his job. Kill and fight. Mindless and driven, because he wants to protect the Linkon you cared about too. He wants to keep his blade busy, so that his mind does not wander. Then, Sylus knows he searches and he looks. Under rock, across desert, in the mountains. Everywhere his missions take him, he searches.

He comes home empty handed, and tired, but never seems to sleep properly anymore. Restless and unsettled, no matter how often someone soothes his hair and holds him. Xavier sits in the cycle that Sylus knows they cannot break.

He has tried to reach out to Rafayel, the fish beached and unbreathing. He sits in his art room and stares at paintings he cannot finish. Empty canvas and snapped paintbrushes. There are days, he tears them, dry sobs in his chest, eyes burning for tears he can't quite shed. He splatters paint up walls, and stares at what remains. His hands cut and torn from violent actions.

He finds no inspiration, and he ignores all of Thomas' calls, and he sits as the doctor tends to damaged skin, and clings to hands to keep himself grounded. Whispering things that he doesn't want them to hear. Fears of it being his fault. They can only respond with tight arms, and affirmation. It is not, they're sure. It is not.

He watches Zayne pick up more shifts than he should handle, only home when forced to be. Sinking into work, and sleeping in call rooms. When he does return, he waters plants you have left behind, feeds the cats outside the house that seek you out, and keeps your things neat. He traces trembling fingers over photo frames, looks through albums, and reminds himself. So he can stop mistaking every hunter he sees as you.

His sleep is more uneven, and he trembles awake with nightmares, hands reaching out for comfort, and clinging to chests to cry. To weep, to shake. He cannot find solace no matter where he looks, and Sylus can only offer presence and love because he does not know where the solace is found either.

His home is torn and hurting, and he cannot fix it. He will not stop trying to fix it.

He has to fix it.

It is a late night, ninety-two days after your disappearance, when Mephisto's feed flashes. He watches, and he waits, and he sees a flash of familiar white hair and jagged scar down your cheek, through your mouth.

His hand tremours in front of the screen, as he reaches out with tentative fingertips. As though he can reach through it, and pull you through…

His legs force him up before he can second guess himself, before he can waver on the edge of unsurity. Before he can hesitate to long to miss you. He calls the prince, and he leaves. On the first winds of hope, since you vanished.

—-----

The prince stands alert outside the building, while Sylus breaks in. It is old and condemned, the same kind of building that collapsed down around you. Landed you in hospital as they put you back together.

It is not a place he would normally spend his time at. Yet he trusted Mephisto's eyes better than he trusted most things.

The perks of a robotic bird, that he has upgraded even further after your disappearance. Desperate, though he isn't sure he can admit that. Not without falling to pieces, as he digs and he digs and he searches.

Sylus is quiet as he ascends floors, his mist drifting up walls and through broken door frames. Seeking and searching for the familiarity he can never mistake. No matter how many floors he climbs, he cannot feel you. Cannot seek out the sparks of gold he knows so well, and the soul that cannot complete without his. He finally approaches the final door, and pushes it open. An apartment in ruins, but the smell of acrid blood hits him. Familiar and cloying. It does not appeal to his sense, nor to his hunger.

He looks at the walls, where blood has splattered, across the floor where bloodstains mark it. There is a body, throat cut, arm torn partially off. It takes him a second to assure that it is not you, but it is a second too long. The fear drops his heart before he can pick it back and place it where you placed your own.

Approaching the body, he cares little for the blood on his hands as he rummages through pockets, inspecting the wounds. Another stab mark through the temples. A dagger, curved. Familiar. He's seen it before. Designed by the fish, for you to use, adjusted lightness for the metal of your arm. Replacing the trusty claymore he used to witness you swinging with abandon.

Cleaving through enemies.

Cleaving through him.

He presses his fingers against it, assuring himself that he is not seeing what he wishes to. It would not be the first time he has caught glimpses of you in shadows, in alleys and chased the ghast. It is never you, it is always a cut into an already fragile heart, and he rights himself quickly.

To keep moving forwards.

This, however, he is not mistaken about. So he takes photos, sends them to the fish to evaluate, to the prince to be on guard. That someone is here, with your dagger. If it is not you, it has been stolen from you.

He will greatly enjoy cleaving through whoever has taken something precious to you. To lay their dirty hands on something that is theirs. His home, his family.

Footsteps approach him, and he hears a song he knows is yours. The notes though, they are buried in dust. The tune is not familiar. Your feet shouldn't make that noise, your heart is too familiar to him to be mistaken. To be misheard.

He whirls as a knife flies past his head. Stabbing into the broken sofa behind him. Sinking into moulding fabric. Releasing a smell he wishes he hadn't experienced. It fills the air as you step forwards, twirling a dagger around your fingers like he knows you've seen him do.

Like he taught you when you poked fun at him, asked him how he made it move so smoothly.

'Is it a crime lord aesthetic thing?'

'You have quite an image of me.'

'Am I wrong?'

'You just haven't looked closely enough.'

You are a flash of light, and a chill. A ghostly vision against the dilapidated backdrop. The dagger is dripping blood with each spin, splattering it against the floor and against your clothes. Black and loose. Harness over shoulder and around your chest.

You look as you should, jagged scars and crooked lips, mismatched eyes, arm of meta-

His eyes halt and hold on your form, there is no metal. He looks at the twisted carapace of a wanderer. Segmented into a limb, and long clawed fingers. Sylus feels as though he is staring at his own limb, long ago. When his claws could cut through your flesh with ease, and he could not feel the heat of your skin properly through his own.

It is black and twisted and cracked. Like a well used tool.

It is not yours.

It is not yours.

Yours was silver, painted by the fish, well worn and trusted. A tool as well as a part of you. A shield and a weapon in one.

It could trace his face gently, and swing a dagger with ease.

This is not yours.

The chill that you bring becomes ice down his back. It feels like the cut of a sword through his skin. Tears away at flesh and bone. Your eyes are empty, there is nothing in them but the glow of a gold he recognises. The resonance lurking under skin like a serpent waiting to strike. He levels his look on the dagger, and then back to your eyes. Seeking something out. Seeking you out.

You're in there, you have to be in there.

"Did you forget to check your phone, kitten?" He manages, but his voice is weak and cracked. He wants to grab you, to tell you it's fine, as long as you're safe now. He reaches out, and barely pulls his hand back quick enough before the dagger slices through where it was.

You tilt your head, then look down on the floor, "I was curious to know who sought out my target." The smile is crooked, it's wrong, it's twisted at the edges and broken. Like the horns he cut off years ago. "You're not on my list though."

It's a dismissive shrug, and a turn away. As though he is a stranger… as though he means nothing.

He barely holds the growl, though he is not angry, he advances on you, moving himself out of the way when your dagger darts out again. "Claws out kitten? Watch it, you could hurt someone." He manages, voice low, but pulling his tone to heel. He looks down at you. Reading at the empty gold glow, looking for something. Anything.

Disgust even, if there is disgust… you know of him.

There is nothing. Empty and cool. The abyss he should recognise but it is nothing he has seen before. Like you are missing. Like your body is empty.

You look back at him, unflinching, unbothered, watching him stare at you. It is the EVER symbol on your collar, he notices, it is like a brand against you. It is the flaming fury in his chest. It is not you.

It is them.

"Are you done?" You offer, stepping back out away from him, so he grabs your arm. The twisted skin against his flesh. Warm and pulsing under, but hard as stone. It is a painful thing to touch. It is not yours.

He looks at it, stares, and as he goes to speak, you tug it away from him. Spin, and kick him in the side.

The force makes him see stars for a moment, falling to knees. He gasps before he rights his body, before he forces adrenaline into his veins to catch the next kick you aim at him. The gold glitters under your skin, as you attack, and the leg he catches shakes his limbs. Throwing it away from him, as you spin and back away.

Sylus stands, and advances as you back up further, "That wasn't particularly nice, Kitten, we were having a chat."

"You shouldn't grab someone you don't know. It's impolite." You growl back, showing canines, and narrowing cool eyes at him.

Don't know.

He almost laughs.

He knows you, more than he knows himself. He knows you because you are part of him. He has lived with questions for who he is all of his life, has struggled to decide who he should be and who he is. You? You he knows.

He knows every piece of you, inside and out. He will always see you.

This is not you.

This is them.

"Then we should get to know each other." The words burn to say, and he reaches his hand out, ready to pull you to him. With skin, with mist. He cares little. He will capture you again, and he will make you wake up from whatever nightmare EVER have placed you in.

"I have orders, you're not part of them." You incline your head. He's used to a smile accompanying such an action, a tease, a lilt in your voice. Yet you are flat.

Then with the elbow of the wanderer's limb, you smash the window… and fall back.

He follows, on quicker feet than he has ever moved, melding into mist. Over the edge of the fall, watching you fall back. He has caught you so many times in his life. On the winds, with his wings, with his EVOL. He has followed you over the edge of many cliffs.

He will follow you over any others.

As he reaches out, you twist, hand on his wrist, pulling and turning, so that his back is to the impending floor. "You're determined." You snarl, actually snarl at him. His EVOL catches the dagger you aim for his chest, pushing it back, and he grabs your other arm, keeping the claws from closing around his throat.

You sink your teeth into his hand, biting down hard enough to draw blood, tearing at his flesh like he is a piece of meat you could devour.

The pain shoots up his arm, but it's not important. His wounds can heal, and while you can kill him, you have not levelled that fiend blade at his chest yet. Getting you back is all that matters, no matter the blood seeping down his wrist. You have bitten him before. You have come for him with daggers. You have shot him in the heart. Stabbed him through his joined heart. Cursed him.

Every drop of his blood that you bleed is another drop that belongs to you.

"Want to mark me that badly?" He laughs. He can only hope the prince has rested enough to hear the shattering glass. That he is still capable of hunting.

Your resonance bursts out of the wrist he holds in his mist, shattering it, and you kick, pulling away. Reaching out with claws to grab at the building. Grooves left behind you, as you slow your descent, he watches the gold shimmer again. Watches as the limb hardens further, claws thicker, digging deeper.

Spitting blood from your mouth, as you do.

He slows, balances himself. Without wings he cannot hover, can only slow his descent by a margin. His mist reaches out to yank you back. Into arms that cage around you, tighten around ribs he would normally be scared to break.

He holds, tight, and squeezes as much as he can. He feels you writhe, an angry cat held in a grip you do not want. Clawing and scratching. Willing to draw blood to escape. He feels the jagged claws of your hand grab at his wrist, digging into his flesh, tearing. Your EVOL bursts, and shatters, but it cannot shatter his bones, and he keeps the grip as you fall with him, as he ties you to gravity with him.

"Get off!" You growl, fury in your tone, and he's glad to finally see something from you. Some spark of who you are, even if it's angry and violent and vicious.

He sees a flash of light reflected off the glass of the buildings, and then he is caught and swiftly righted. Alongside a curse, and a huff.

Sylus turns to Xavier, who makes to speak before his eyes focus on you. Yowling and clawing. He reaches out a hand, only to have it knocked back by mist, "Don't. Your wounds don't heal like mine."

You snarl, "No, go on, let me slice you up." Claws flexing against the flesh you're serrating.

He'll heal. The pain is harsh, and burning. He's fought wanderers, but they don't have your mind. The knowledge of where to slice, the strength behind your anger.

"Starlight?" Xavier's voice does not waver often, he is used to seeing things that have hurt him. He has killed people who once followed him, he has fought those that were his loved ones. He has blood on his hands that burn to feel, but can never be washed off. Now, he wavers, watching someone who wears your face, but hisses and snarls to bite and snap. To cut and rip.

You kick back, into Sylus' shin. He avoids the second one, he knows is aimed to break his leg. Squeezes harder to creak your ribs. "EVER did something to them." He manages, using the mist to move the mark on your collar so Xavier can see it. He watches a jaw tick, the muscles jumping, blue starry eyes turn to ice, and focus on the point.

"We need to get them back." The prince approaches, and Sylus tightens his arms once more. If you have to be knocked out to get you back, well he can live with that. He's done it before. Hand around your throat, watching the life flickered in your eyes. Can your disgust hurt him more than the lack of any personal acknowledgement?

It is too soon for him to think, as you let out a snap of teeth at the prince, then smash your head back into his nose. The pain jolts up into his skull, so you reach your hand up, grab him by the hair and yank, then snap back one more time.

He's fought you before, he knows you. He knows you can beat him, he's been pinned by you in a test match before. Watching the glee in your eyes, seeing the fire at your victory. He has watched you practice swordsmanship with the prince. He has seen you cross daggers with the fish.

Everytime, you are cunning, you are ready to win. Everytime joy lights up your face if you succeed. Thrilled and happy to learn and improve. Crooked smile and bright eyes as you thank them for taking time for you to clash with.

It is not joy that lights your eyes, it's savage and it's gleaming. You do not extend your hand, or press a kiss to his cheek in your victory. You let him fall away from you, as blood sprays, and then you reach out with a clawed hand to rip at the prince's chest.

As soon as both have stumbled back, you turn, and you disappear.

Sylus' patience is strong. He has lived a long time, waiting, and living, and managing. It is when he has his prize so very close, that his desperation comes through. It was moments where he asked if you truly wanted him. Voice trembling and begging.

To touch, to taste, to hold, to seek pleasure with.

It was times when he had found you at last, growing impatient to feel your resonance against him. Moving too quickly, too desperately. Seeking memories locked behind a seal. Greedy for his beloved to look into his eyes and see someone worthy of flowers again.

It is the moments where he waits for your missions to end, and the message that you are returning, that he can no longer sit still.

It is when he saw your new home for the first time, a life built where he was not a monster, a family where he had nothing. Need bubbling to the surface to paint it in colours and fill it with song.

His patience has held until the last moment where relief is in sight. That it shatters, and it demands.

As he holds his bloody mangled arm, and spits blood on the floor, it breaks into shards. As he reaches out to Xavier, checking the wound, turning his face to check for others, he tears his already torn shirt to hold to the jagged claw marks.

As his fingers tremble and he shakes at where he is holding, he reaches for where his patience has gone and finds a small boy with broken horns. The absence of his calm, built on the back of his agony, lost to the fear and the doubt that circles his head.

It is the memory of the empty eyes, and the snarl that he can still hear in his head, the warm body in his hands, even though you had not been you.

You were finally so close, and now you are gone.

A hand tightens over his, the prince pulling his focus, and reaching up through the pain to ease tears that can't fall out of his eyes, "They're alive. We can find them again." He bites out, warming the chill in Sylus' hands, and waking him from the nightmare.

He will, and he'll melt every EVER building until he does. Rip the rot out by the roots, and become what Philos sneered at him for. A calamity.

Their evil is similar, afterall.

—------

He does not find any joy or relief in the information he brings back. As he watches the doctor stitch Xavier closed. Waving off his assistant. He eases the pain with his EVOL. Part of him wants to feel it, a reminder. You were there, he had you, and he let you go.

It does no one any good for him to be useless, or deeply wounded. So while the moon is still high, he repairs the damage, pushing his nose back into place. You'd told him it was beautiful, he hopes you still thought so when you returned. As the blood stops, and his wounds close, he leaves the room to shower.

The heat as high as it can go, to sear his flesh. It leaves his skin pink, as he finally turns the water off. Seeking out clothes that don't bear the ruins of your violence. When he returns to the living room, the prince's stitches are complete and bandaged, and the fish is looking at the photos he sent.

Before you tore at him like a beautiful and horrifying monster.

Had it been you, he would have welcomed your dagger and your claws.

He will not die to EVER's machinations. They will not make you their tool.

When he dies it will be because you have chosen willfully to cut through his chest and his joined heart. It will be your choice to sever your curse, and scatter his soul to the wind like the petals of deadly flowers.

Sylus eases himself into the sofa, leaning back and taking the fish's head into his lap with ease. Fingers finding purple locks and smoothing them out as they look at the photos.

He won't comment on Rafayel's feline-like purrs. He is too tired and worn. His heart hurts more than his arm did. "It was really them?"

"It was kitten, alright… Their body at least."

Zayne helps Xavier ease into a new shirt, cool hands sliding down sore skin, and turns his head to speak, "You think EVER are controlling them?"

The fish snorts, eyes narrowing, flames at his fingertips, "Is it surprising, after everything they've done?"

"That wasn't my question. Nothing they do at this point would surprise me, but controlling a person is…" The doctor flinches, and Sylus can see it. The image of you. Cold eyes, claws extended, tearing through Zayne's jugular. Blood splattering over your face, but you don't blink, or flinch. Simply move onto the next.

"Their eyes were empty, doctor. They didn't recognise or care when they saw me or the prince. They wanted to hurt us to escape… They didn't care how."

He finishes with the shirt and rubs at his forehead, trying to ease a headache that brews. It is better a headache, Sylus thinks, than him focusing on the aching pain in his chest. The fear of someone being broken by EVER. Experiments that defy morality. That twist and snap and destroy anything worthy of protecting.

That left him with twins, bearing scars. Inside and out. Who thought death would be an entertainment worthy of hunting for great prey.

That made you a child with a broken heart and a grandmother who didn't look close enough at what she did to you. Her morality flexible, because of your broken, twisted memory.

The doctor is a moral man, who believes in the power of medicine and science to save and protect the sanctity of life. That has rejected every offer for using his knowledge to twist that boundary. Who stares into the face of loss and believes dying in control of yourself, is better than living as a ghost or beast. Who has healed every wound you have held, and stitched up every injury.

Who nurses your heart, no matter how fragile it can be, or how much work it is.

What EVER stand for is so strongly opposed to the doctor, that Sylus can watch the tick in his jaw. The pain in his eyes. The tremble in his hands. The snowflakes drifting from fingertips, and the chill arching up his hands.

Rafayel removes himself from Sylus' lap, reaching over with heated hands and takes icy ones. Easing the cold back slowly, as the doctor fights for control over an EVOL that is soothed by you. It is a slower process with the fish, but it is worth it, as the chill recedes and the heat returns to the doctor's skin.

His trembling slows before it ceases, and he removes his glasses to rub his eyes, "Thank you."

The fish shrugs, sitting down next to him, ready just in case he is needed. Sylus looks down at his hand, flexing it in his lap, as he thinks about you taking his hand, pulling him forwards. No matter who he has been or will be, your hold has not wavered. It is his job to pull you back.

"We have a target." The prince exhales after downing a glass of water, looking over at him, and he nods, thinking. He can narrow down the search, look for traces, documents, records. EVER have always been simple to understand. Their methods are outdated to gain traitors, their experiments never stopped, no matter the state of the N109 Zone. No matter what destruction they left in their wake.

So he just has to find the thread back to you. While he has no intention of bloodying the doctor's hands, he has a fish who has killed those responsible for his people's suffering, a prince who has hunted any who dared raise a blade to you, and himself. A dragon whose treasure has been ripped out of his palms.

It is a foolish mortal that steals from a dragon.

—--------

Your return to their compound is slower after you've exercised that new EVOL you had been fed. It sticks in your maw, like a bitten on bone. It is uncomfortable, untrained, and aching. Your shoulder aches, your arm is covered in blood, and you need to clean your dagger.

The door swings open as you push through, slamming your fist on the wall to find the light. It brightens the room and you look down. Muscle and flesh in the grooves of your arm, sticking into the carapace. Stuck under segments. The feeling is a violent rejection. You rip the thing from you, throwing it across the room so that it smashes an unused lamp. Splattering some of the gore across the scientists whiteboard.

It is not really satisfaction at the viscera painting pristine EVER surfaces, but it is something. Or it is until a throat clears behind you.

"Little bomb, you should really behave yourself in the labs."

The feeling turns to biting fear, before you grab it by its throat and remind it. You do not fear foolish men. You do not cower to his slimy, disgusting voice. You do not run, or hide. You are not a child.

He is nothing.

You are a weapon.

"I don't recall you being the one I answer to, Leon."

You move through the room, seeking out the sink, and splashing water over blood on your clothes with one hand.

"Is the new attachment that unpleasant?" He points, indicating the weapon you had thrown. "If you want something better, we can provide it?"

The scoff isn't entirely in your control, but it does narrow the man's eyes, "You can't provide me much of worth Leon, don't act like you have any more power here than I do. It just needs cleaning. Drop it in a bucket. I'll care about it later."

"You're in a worse mood than normal, did you even carry out your orders?"

You round, dagger in hand and flick its tip under his soft throat, the tip pricking into skin, and bare canines, "When have I ever failed a job?"

He watches your hand, the dagger, then looks into cool, icy eyes. You can feel the resonance flickering, angry, uncontrolled. It is always harder to control some days. Like the sensations and the feelings are too hard to read, too uneven. You think about it failing when that man with white hair had you in his grasp. Refusing to help you break, to make yourself stronger. The panic of being held, the anger at being weak, the fury that breathed fire into your chest.

You do not know who he is, but you will slit his throat if he shows his face to you again. Tear his throat open with your teeth and drown in his blood.

"Kitten, tch." You hiss, pulling away from the scientist watching you with fear flickering in his gaze. "Starlight… What world do they belong to?" You spit at the floor, clearing more blood that still feels caught in your teeth.

"Seriously? Can you stop that?" Leon looks down at the blood now splattered on the floor, mixed with saliva.

"Clean it up if you're so unhappy. I'm going to clean this mess off me." You push past him, heading deeper into a compound that does not feel like anywhere you want to be.

"Stop, you have another order."

"Give it to me later."

"I'm here now, little bomb. You may as well listen."

It bubbles, it burns. You despise him, you don't really know why. You looked him in the eye when you opened yours for the first time and hatred and disgust and fear, embedded so deeply in your chest that you almost threw it up onto him. Leon greets you with his greying temples, and his sickening glimmer in his eyes as he stares at you, and he calls you little bomb.

It tears at your nerve and chews at your heel.

You want to tear his throat out, but you won't drink his blood. He is sullied, and disgusting…

But you have orders.

"What is it?"

"A doctor, he's wanted to do work here."

"Then offer him money, and immortality, I'm sure he'll jump at the chance." You spit again, this time aiming for Leon's shoes.

He rubs a hand over his face in response, looking at you like he is seconds away from locking you in a cage. You want him to try. The feeling is under your skin.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It simmers and burns and you want to cut and rip.

If he wants to try to tame your fury, he is welcome to try. To send you to one of EVER's toy boxes. To jolt you, and burn you, to remind you who holds the leash. Maybe the pain will shake out the feeling in the back of your gut. Maybe they'll put you in a ring, and watch you fight someone else like you. A tool, a weapon. Maybe you'll let someone pierce your chest for once. Spilling blood over the floor. Seeking escape in the splattered walls.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It lurches in your brain, words you don't remember, and irritation that has no place. "What on earth happened out there?" Leon finally asks, watching you wary. Good. Wary is good. Wary is careful.

"Your target had friends." You snap, dagger twirling around the skin of your hand, unbothered when it catches on fingers that don't move fast enough. The pain grounds you, washes out the voices, so you run a finger over the blade, and watch the scientist. He looks away from the blood and you almost have to laugh.

He can torture you, but he doesn't want to watch you bleed on his floor.

"Did you deal with them?"

"They weren't on my list."

"If they were there-"

This time you do nic his neck, dagger fast. His EVOL is worthless, pointless, and has no way to stop you. Not like the mist, not like it curling around your wrist like warm fingers.

"I follow my orders, Leon. They weren't on the list." His blood trickles down his neck and the scent is sour. So you push him away, turning and walking off, even though he protests, hand covering his throat, "Send me the name. I'll capture him."

The walk through the compound is full of people whose names you cannot remember, whose faces you see every time your feet carry you through halls. There are rarely new faces, a close iron grip held over tools in a grand scheme. The dagger twirls and twists, and you are given a wide berth.

Unicorn, Subject 001. It is an easy title to hold. Thanks to it hanging around your neck like a noose, you are unbothered by others. It is like you are a beast that they keep their chains around, but no one is willing to feed you from their hand.

They would rather throw flesh through the bars, and run away.

It is fear and disgust, you muse. As it should be. As if any of them are better than you.

It is bitter hatred that bites at your heels, that reminds you of every experiment, of every time waking up on a cold table, chest flayed as you are dug around in. Heart pressed and prodded.

It is your orders that keep you off that table. You are useful now. If you stay useful, you don't have to wake up in a cage.

It is the closest you can get to relief here, as though the sick doesn't swirl in your stomach still. There is no one to seek out for help, you are alone.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

Your snarl is unbidden, and you shake your head like a cat trying to shake out fleas. As if that will shake out the ghost of voices, for fools who get in your way. Bright red molten eyes, tinged in glossy tears, and star blue constellations, gazing at you in wonder.

No one has looked at you like that.

The scientists have stared at you in greed, in hunger, with curiosity. But it is not wonder, it is hungry and cruel and brings pain.

You stomach and you move forwards.

These voices will fade, you will not see red and blue eyes again, and you will forget the curling mist. 

As you enter the room you have been given to clean yourself up, the photo on the side stares back at you. A man you do not recognise, but whose name is etched into the frame. Caleb, your family… You do not remember him, your memories do not summon him. He has died, they've told you. Cut out of your life by people who stand against EVER.

Your home destroyed, so now you stay here. In a compound with cold walls… and a box of a room that cannot be filled because you own nothing. Except a photo frame you have been handed, and the clothes you are to wear when working.

You think you feel grief at the concept of not having him. You think that there are moments where something aches so deep in your chest that you can't find an answer to it. Like you are missing something integral. Seeking something out, but can never find it.

Sometimes in the shadows, when you enter and forget to turn on the lights, you think you see plushies along pillows… you have seen some with them on their desks. They are not for you though, you do not even know where you'd begin to find one.

There is a cold broken feeling in your chest, whenever you turn the lights on and they are gone. Just a mirage from a mind you think is fractured by the tests. You don't know what the feeling is, but it hurts, so you move onto another job, and move forwards.

You wonder if Caleb would look at you with disgust, to see no recognition in your eyes, to see you, with dagger in hand and blood splattered over your mouth and face.

Or was he like you? A tool to be used.

It is a question that has no answer, the dead don't speak. You will never find out. You will never have a voice answer you back, questions you speak out loud, when the room is too quiet and too cold.

So you scald your skin with heat in the shower, and burn away the remnants of the memories of voices calling out for you, and the pain. As the blood rushes down the shower drain, and leaves you as close to clean as you can get.

—------

Leon is cleaning up the blood when you return to the lab to pick up your arm, it is hours later, but he seems harried. Hair falling out from where he normally slicks it back.

You debate saying something, but decide against it, especially when you see that the gore has been scrubbed from your arm. A job you did not wish to have to handle. Even thinking about it, makes you think of the feeling of muscle under your claws. The hissed pain through clenched teeth. The arms pressing around your ribs, tight but wary. Like you would break under them.

You strap it back on, and spin the dagger in practiced claws in relief. No nics, no cuts. You don't remember who taught you, you never taught yourself. It eases you though, something familiar. A motion that is practiced and quick.

"You can get a better weapon than that, you know." Leon sighs, standing, relieved to be finished removing the mess you'd spread. So that he experiments could continue on. His finger points over at the dagger in your claw and you watch as he throws cloth into bucket.

The way he looks at the dagger makes your hand clench around it, slipping it back into its sheath at your side, and glaring, baring canines. It feels like an open wound. To be separated from it. Like it is as much a part of you as… your arm…

Itching in the back of your neck, a feeling of wrongness. It is not your arm.

Silver, and painted. A beautiful red fish swimming over metal.

You shake your head, pulling away from Leon before he can get his hands near you, or near the tool at your waist.

It is yours. It cannot be replaced. "It's killed enough of EVER's targets to be a fine weapon. Perhaps you should be replaced instead."

The bite does not agitate the man, but it does satisfy the little voice asking you to snap him. A little. There is no response but you are done with him, until a question gnaws.

Like a little beast at your heel. Demanding something.

You're not quite sure what.

"Why won't the doctor join you?" You ask, pushing some equipment to the side none too gently to sit on a table.

"Stop throwing things around, we need those." Leon snaps, "Your temper is too short, little bomb."

Your laugh holds no humour, it is a choke of a noise, that means nothing, "You call me that, and expect my fuse to be long? Unluckily for you, Leon, you are the only one who doesn't fear to talk to me. So you are to bring me orders, and answer my questions. If your things are in the way, that's not my problem."

He rubs the space between his eyes, and for a moment you get a flash. Forests, and snowflakes. Drifting through branches and alighting on white petals. Blending, and freezing, then falling.

Pushing his glasses back up, he speaks, "He doesn't agree with the tests we are running."

"You think capturing him will help?"

"I think capturing him will make him less likely to help, but surely the order came for a reason."

You scoff, but shrug, "Can't imagine what they could offer him, that means enough to make him agree. I suppose all of you science types have a price though. Something they can tug at to make you abandon your souls."

His voice is cold when he speaks, and you watch the spark of irritation. It's rare, he tries to keep his calm false mask, but sometimes. You can poke and prod. Like he is a beast you want to see bite. White hair ruffled and soaked as he laughs through-

You blink, and Leon returns to his bespectacled brown hair, and brown eyes. He speaks but you don't hear, and you push off the table, waving a hand, "Whatever." You don't want to hear it anyway, whatever he has to say won't remove the scalpel. Won't ease scars that don't disappear.

Won't mean you can lay down a clawed arm of beasts that they experiment on.

You're not too different you suppose, if you were maybe your arm would have rejected your body. Demanding something closer to home. Instead it follows your demands, moves smoothly, easily. You were told it was the ideal weapon and tool, and using it has certainly made missions easier.

It does not mean you wish to see it more than you have to.

Fabric catching on the segments of hard stone-like skin. Every sensation through it feels like it's felt underwater. Distant and abstract. A picture you can't fully see.

You step through the hallways, flexing the clawed hand carefully, as you approach the testing rooms. Inside is the usual, an old man with goggles on his head, greying brown hair. Wrinkles. He pushes the goggles up as he looks over at you, "Phi, I need my check." You approach.

His chuckle is low, and he eases you. There is something about him that is familiar, against all other backdrops of the compound. This man is familiar.

Sometimes if you stare at him for long enough, you can hear his voice telling you to stay calm.

You're not sure what it means, if he was there during your hazy wake-ups that you barely remember. Just the pain of the pressure on your heart.

"The Unicorn has wandered over finally. Come on then, you're weeks late." He indicates the black reclining chair beside him.

It normally grates at you, Unicorn. It is not a name, it is a subject title. You don't remember if you've ever been called anything else though. If any other name has ever mattered to you.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

'Cutie'

'Darling'

They swirl and then you shake, like a dog shifting water from its coat. You will not drown to voices.

The chair is cold to the touch as you lie back, but Philip's hands are steady and careful. He checks over you, scans with his tools, checks your EVOL levels. "How are the new additions?" When he asks, you can actually hear concern. It's rare… it's not offered often. He is here just to manage your health, to track it. Leon is here as your keeper.

He proclaims that he knows you best. His little bomb. His reason to be in that lab. The core in your chest is his proudest test subject.

You think about the 'additions'. EVOL's fed into your resonance, powering it, making it more useful. You think about the pain, the snarling voice that wishes to devour and swallow. You would tremble at the sensation of the heat in your core. The ripping and tearing. The gold enveloping, and the rippling power that explodes outwards.

Broken glass and twisted shards of metal.

You think about how hard they are to control.

You think about fiery red eyes watching you as you fall, and the resonance failing to come to your hand at will.

You think about heat from skin like a memory you could grasp if you tried hard enough.

You think about when it finally answered you, so you could leave the call of snapping beasts at heels behind.

Questions left unanswered. Blissful ignorance, so your heart does not shatter. You don't want to know the origin of the fever or the broken splinters.

There is nothing on the other end of the thread.

"Temperamental." You finally answer, "They're harder to control than just my resonance is. I can't call them at will."

He nods, jotting things down, as he reads. As you look at his goggles, you see a leather jacket reflected in it, but when you turn there is nothing there.

Perhaps not sleeping is leaving you as useless a tool as Leon is.

A problem to solve later, when you can finally chase out broken parts of your brain, and swallow something to ease the screeching behind eyelids.

"You need to practice with them."

You huff, turning your head away, "I didn't need to practice with my resonance, what kind of tool can't be used straight away?"

When he doesn't answer, you return your gaze to him, watching as the man frowns. Staring at his tablet, like it holds news he does not want to see, but the tablet is empty. "Phi?"

He looks up, wavering eyes, and tired bags. He also does not sleep, you remember. You've never had it in you to ask why. If he's as haunted as you are. If this place keeps him from escaping his nightmares. You could ask, or you could dig for information… You do neither.

You always do neither.

"Your tests are fine, you should get some rest though, and make sure you take your medication. Leon said you've skipped it for two days now." He extends a hand with pills shaken out into them. Suppressants, for the core in your chest. To stabilise it.

You've taken them since waking up. They taste bitter, and they stick in your throat.

You grab them out of his hand, and throw them back. You feel like spitting them back up into his face, but manage to swallow them down, relieved when he has water prepared. You down the bottle, easing the sensation of the chalky taste, and run your tongue over your teeth to clear the residue.

It's no surprise to you that Leon would rat you out. Like he thinks he is your keeper. Like he owns your soul, and your body. Not just the warden responsible for your pain. The object of your abject hatred.

The cool of the seat starts to burn, so you pull up and step away. Shoving one hand into pockets, claw loose at your side. "Anything else?" The man asks, his expression becoming warmer, a smile loose on his worn lips. The familiar feeling sparks in your chest, and you wish you could ask.

Maybe if you ask you'd understand.

If you ask, you wake up from a nightmare, and you're not sure if the outside is better.

So you shake your head, "No, see you." and turn on a heel, leaving as quickly as you can. You can't thank him, you can never thank him. He is the only one who does not treat you like something to cut open for experiments, and you cannot thank him.

Because it is a low bar to clear?

Because you should not have to thank for that?

Because you blame him too?

You do not go to find food, though there is a cafeteria. You don't need to stay here. With the cold walls. Stared at by wary mad scientists.

You have a job, you can always do some research. Something that requires the movement of your feet, and the use of your brain. Something to distract from the feelings that bubble and overflow. That leave a lingering bitterness in your mouth like chalky medication.

That make you look over your shoulder, and not focus on the target.

It is an agitation you cannot shake out, so you have to focus it.

Your feet take you back to Leon's lab, but his lab coat is over the chair, as his tools are left behind. So you dig into his pockets, and pull out his wallet. Relieved to find cash, and not just card. You could figure it out, but it's always a pain.

Instead you take all the cash he has to hand, and leave, throwing his wallet back on the table.

If he wants to demand a punishment, he's free to. If you get results, he's less likely to get what he wants.

You want to watch him chafe under the pressure.

—------

Linkon is familiar in a way you aren't sure how to word. You've been told you lived here, that you lived with Caleb in a house in a nice little neighbourhood, before it was taken from you. You've walked to the area before, and while you sometimes can feel heat against your skin, you cannot quite bring the image to mind.

Like you're staring at a static tv screen. Sometimes there's a shape you think you can make out, but it could just be the broken image, flicking so fast you've fooled yourself.

It's like desperately grabbing at something, only for it to slip further under sand. One thing you do know, however, is that your feet travel before your brain focuses. That you pass by things called kitty cafes, and hesitate for a moment. Looking through glass, and wondering what it is you're seeing. You almost entered once, before dread settled somewhere in the pit of you. Pushing you back.

A warning.

So you simply look through the windows, to watch the small creatures and the floating OTTOs that tend to them.

It is enough. Perhaps.

The acknowledgement of something that you enjoy. Or think you enjoy. Perhaps you played with Caleb.

Before he was taken away from you.

Would he be able to remind you of things you have forgotten? Records of things you should know, photos of times you'd spent together? Would he be able to spark the image if he stood before you?

Your memory just a casualty of EVER's saving your life… It is a low price to pay, you've been told. That memory can sometimes be reclaimed. That your life cannot.

You cannot help but feel like a haunted ghost though. Sparks and flashes with abstracts and feelings you can't explain or name. Things that lurk along the edges but cannot be grasped. You have nothing for yourself, but the jobs you are given, and the titles you cannot shake.

Perhaps if you keep following the path, you'll find an answer at the end of it. Even though you want to turn from it. Run the opposite direction. Would the answer even make you happier? Or would it make the feelings worse?

Could Caleb really have cared about someone Leon calls little bomb? Could a tool be more than itself? Or were you both tools?

Perhaps it was easy to exist, because neither had anything else to claim.

If that were the case, you think you could accept it. At least then you would not be alone, surrounded by things that want to twist and snap and break and bend you. Make you into a weapon sharper than a dagger.

You still await the moment they pierce your skull with a sword, so you bear the horn of the beast, they're so proud of naming you after.

It is the smell of sweets that draws you to a cafe, and you are relieved that no one bothers to look at you for your arm. Though you have passed at least three people with panda costumes, so you think perhaps, this is a low scale of concern for Linkon residents.

As you enter, money in your pocket, you rattle off as many cakes as you can read, and afford with stolen cash, and then ask for a black coffee.

You pause, and then correct yourself. Cream, two sugars.

You can see it placed next to your head on a bedside table, you can hear a snort of disgust against your neck. You shiver, the sensation of lips on the back of your neck making you scratch at it with sharpened claws.

The blood that catches at the edges, makes your panic rise, but no one is looking at you. Couples too caught up with each other, groups laughing, and people alone working. Linkon, you decide, is an interesting but strange place.

At the compound you are stared at. Watched warily. There is no step you can take where you are not eyed, as though you could begin howling and snarling at a moment. You wonder if they fear you will turn into a wanderer. Will the core in your chest make you as horrifying a beast as the Myst's that EVER manipulate? Augmented protocores giving them powers beyond understanding?

It is an interesting thought. You hope if that happens, someone will silence you quickly. Lest you lose even the semblance of you that you have.

As you find your way to empty chairs, stuffing a macaron into your mouth, hunger tearing at your edges, you feel the aggravation and sensitivity calm somewhat. The itch easing, and the feelings leaving you be.

'Food is important, sweets can fill your heart as well as your stomach.'

The voice isn't familiar, it is a whisper on the edges. It does not bite at you though. The edges softened down, no longer sharp and broken. So you stuff more into your mouth, unconcerned with the world around you. Sating the beast that purrs as you feed it sugar.

As you finally stop starving your body, though you still refuse to let it sleep. Perhaps the confectionery will do for now.

With one hand you continue to claim sugary treats, while the other flicks through information Leon had sent you.

Zayne Li, cardiologist. Highly respected, has rejected offers of work over sixteen times.

You can't imagine why he'd suddenly decide to take up EVER's offer, if he has steadfastly rejected every time they had tried. Perhaps they finally had enough money for him. Money, equipment, a curiosity. It was always something that summoned the science types into EVER's hands.

They never fought or rejected for long. Denied enough opportunities, they would come running. Desperate.

Ice EVOL, uncontrolled, appears to create backlash when used.

Ice shards, tearing through skin, ripping into flesh, and rattling air from the chest. You choke on a sip of your drink, spitting the coffee on the table as you rub at your forehead. You can feel the cold on the tips of your fingers, and you aren't sure why.

It is not one of the EVOLs that was fed to you.

Just more static, things that don't belong to you, that won't stop haunting your vision. The lack of sleep has to be the reason.

Still, to have an EVOL you cannot control… That hurts you when you do. You think of the ones that aren't yours, that have been devoured by your resonance, and you rub at the space over your chest.

The core in your chest will eat anything it can grasp.

The file gives you his main location, Akso Hospital. Kidnapping a doctor from a hospital, would likely result in more mess than you want to deal with. You'll just have to follow him to somewhere else when he leaves.

Surely he has a home.

Why it's not in the file is a question you will have to ask Leon later. You'd expect them to give you more than minimal lines.

It is not as though you will fail… failing means tests. You think of isolation rooms. Of fighting people haunted, with protocore syndrome. That shatter when you fight back. You think of the agony in your limbs when they poke and prod.

You think of shocks, and scalpels. You think of what EVER means when they make you their tool. When you are their test subject.

You think of how, even if you run, they will always be able to find you.

You think of how pointless it is to fight back, when they break you down.

You think of their buildings in Linkon, office workers who mill about with their symbols on their chest.

You think of the news reports you hear, with their technology selling to everyone you pass.

It is an encompassing web, and you are barely a fly.

EVER have reminded you, that being a tool is better than breaking.

You're unsure if that's true, but you know that death never seems to save you. You have plunged your beloved dagger into your chest, trying to cleave the core out, but woken up on a table. Unsuccessful, reminded of your place.

You are hazy, if someone stops you, if you're always being watched that they can grasp you before. You wake up though, staring around you, and it continues. You continue. Dagger in hand, EVER's mark on your collar, and given orders.

It is as you lean back, finished with your bounty, sipping the last of your coffee, that the door swings open.

"I don't think now is the time to eat sweets."

"And I know you're not feeling great, when you can say that doc."

Static.

Like in that broken down apartment building. Staring at a man who looks like a ghost to you. Slowing your dagger long enough to look.

Crackling along the edges, filtering through your vision. Overlaying so many images against the other. It is noise and it is broken images.

It is a force of a wall you cannot break through.

You look, as two men enter. Tired, drawn eyes. One you know by the file in your hand.

The other, you know by the signs and posters.

Zayne Li and Rafayel Qí.

It is an easy thing to sit and watch as the one rubs at his eyes, and the other nudges him, hand easing strain from back.

They do not know you. No matter if they pick out the symbol on your collar, there are countless EVER employees, and your face is only known to the ones you're ordered to kill.

And now capture.

Still, your eyes want to move away. Looking at them hurts. The static is loud, and the feelings are back. An uncomfortable ripping at the fabric of what's inside you.

So you stand to leave, hoping you can pull away and come back another day. It is no use tracking a man when he has company, for all you know the artist is a bodyguard in his spare time.

Complications are not worth testing with.

It is the movement of your chair, and the way you stand, grasping at your chair to push it back in, that draws their gaze to you. It sends a chill down your spine, as they look.

As forest green eyes and burning pink and blue stare at you. Wavering.

You are hit with the static, louder now, pushing down on your head, trying to drown you. You want to cover your ears, but you can't. You can't stand out. You can't be odd. Not out here. Not more than you already are.

No one has looked, or cared. So you put one foot in front of the other, and it shatters the silence.

"Cutie?"

"Darling?"

It tears at the fabric, and it rips at the gauze. The open wound in your chest. You feel the ice though skin, the water in lungs. There is a sensation of falling, and an aching where you land.

They approach, and you wave off. Claw in the ground trying to right yourself, pull yourself together. Remember what you're supposed to do. Get out, leave. It doesn't matter if they remember your face… It won't matter when you knock out the doctor and take him back.

Even if the artist remembers you, EVER can cover it up.

They've never failed to do so before.

You just have to get out. To find your feet.

Why is there so much static?

Someone kneels by you, and a cold hand touches the claw digging into the ground. It cuts through the carapace, rips at the seams. You pull away, and it gives you enough shock to cut through, to give you a door. You back up, and shake your head, "I'm fine, sorry."

You don't look at teary eyes, or stop long enough to be grasped at, you don't want to know why they looked at you, or saw something.

You don't want the static.

You just have to get back, and do your job… Then shake out the voices who call out names that settle softer than Unicorn.

[worldlxvlys]

prettiest girl

part nine of the CRUSH series

bsf! matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: very suggestive, kinda smutty but no actual p in v, cursing

a/n: read the previous part here

when i began to wake up the next morning, i was immediately filled with a sense of warmth. my skin absorbed the rays of sunshine pouring through my window as i sunk further into the comfort of my pillow.

refusing to open my eyes, i moved my hand to find matt’s, which was laid across my stomach.

he didn’t run away this time.

a small smile growing on my face, i intertwined our fingers together. i received a small squeeze in response, and a quick kiss to the shoulder.

“good mornin’” he spoke in a soft, sleepy tone.

i had woken up next to matt a million times before, yet this time felt different. it was more intimate than all the other times he had spent the night he before. granted, we didn’t usually wake up next to each other half-naked.

my eyes fluttered open as i turned around to face matt, taking in his adorable morning face. his eyes were barely open, a small smile decorating his lips, as though just my presence alone was enough to make him happy.

“morning, what are you all smiley about?” i asked, lightly poking his cheek.

“you” he voiced cheekily, “being able to wake up next to my girl makes me happy”

his girl ?

his girl.

his girl.

those two words alone were enough to make my face heat up, as i fought the smile threatening to grow on my lips. in fact, his words left me speechless while i attempted to find the right wording for a response.

his words seemed to turn my brain into mush, causing me to get up quickly and walk towards my bathroom before i could say anything to make a fool of myself.

matt trailed behind me, walking into the bathroom as i began to brush my teeth. he watched me intently, eyes boring into mine through the mirror. i tried not to show the affect that his words and gaze had on me, but matt was always able to read me easily.

“what’s got you so flustered?” he asked just as i finished up, rinsing out my mouth.

“i’m your girl?” i asked, fighting another smile as the words left my mouth.

“you tell me” he started as he reached for the toothbrush he often left at my house, “whose name were you screaming while i was nose-deep in your pussy last night?” he casually asked before pushing his toothbrush into his mouth.

his bluntness caught me off guard, my eyes widening as i thought back to the night before.

the way he spoke to dylan in that cold, gruff tone.

the way he defended me.

the way he didn’t let dylan go until he apologized properly.

the way he checked to make sure i was okay after.

the way he kissed me like the week he spent without me was the worst week of his life.

the way he pulled me onto his face.

the way his fingers dug into my thighs.

the way he talked me through it.

i felt the familiar aching grow between my thighs as i gripped the counter in front of me, eyes connecting with matt’s once again. it was almost as though he knew what i was thinking about, his eyes raking up and down my body.

it wasn’t until he raised his eyebrows expectantly that i realized he was still waiting for an answer to his question. i was too far gone to even attempt to give him one.

“uh, what was the question again?” i asked, crossing my legs in an attempt to relieve the pressure between them subtly.

when he finished rinsing out his mouth, he turned towards me. without saying a word, he lifted me onto the sink. his hands found their way under the shirt that i was wearing, which happened to be his, fingers gliding across my bare skin.

he moved his hand up to my boob, taking a nipple and tweaking it, pulling a low moan of his name from me.

“yeah, you’re my girl” he whispered as he bunched my shirt up at the waist, exposing my lower half.

he ducked his head down, laying his tongue flat against my heat and licking a slow stripe from me drenched hole to my clit.

“hmm, fuck matt” i whined as my head fell back into the mirror behind me.

“just needed a taste, you’re too fucking sweet” he spoke before leaving a gentle kiss to my core.

he began to creep back up my body until he was eye-level with me, “see?” he asked before pushing his lips to mine.

he slipped his tongue into my mouth, letting me taste myself on it. i couldn’t help but moan at the gesture, receiving a groan in response. before things could go any further, matt pulled away.

“this isn’t just about sex, okay ? i need you to know that” he whispered, his thumb caressing my jaw lightly. “i thought it was just a crush at first, but its way more than that. it’s deeper than that”

“that’s why i left before you woke up that day, because i knew after being with you like that i wouldn’t be able to act like it didn’t mean anything to me. but that week away from you made me realize just how much i love you”

“no matter what i’m doing, or where i am i’m always thinking about you. about your eyes and the little flecks of color i find whenever i stare at them. about your smile, how it manages to make your face look even prettier. about your voice, and the way it instantly makes me feel warm and safe.”

the intensity of his gaze made it clear that he meant every word that he said and that he needed to make sure i knew that.

“you consume my every thought, no matter what i’m doing. the thought of you is always floating around somewhere in my mind, whether i realize it or not. i’m so fucking dependent on you, and i don’t know if that’s even healthy, but i honestly don’t care. all i know is that i can’t live without you, because you are my world.”

tears began to cloud my vision at his confession, all those years of trying to push aside my feelings for matt beginning to catch up to me. i had fantasized of this exact moment before falling asleep with a smile on my face too many times to count, i couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

matt’s gaze fell down to my lips, his nose brushing against mine lightly. his brows were furrowed lightly and his jaw tightened as his forehead pressed against mine.

“you asked me if i had feelings for you ? of course i do, i’m in love with you. and i know it’s pretty crazy of me to drop a bomb like this on you, but i’ve been holding that in for way too long. i’ve been in denial for too long, but i’m done with that shit. my feelings for you are crystal clear now. i don’t want to watch you be with someone while i stand on the sidelines, i want to grow old with you”

he wiped away the tears that spilled from my eyes while he continued to stroke my cheek comfortingly. he gave me time to process his words as we sat in silence.

i could practically hear my heart pounding in my ears as my breathing grew shaky. there were a million things i wanted to tell him, but the words seemed to be caught in my throat.

i had practiced what i would say in this exact scenario, running over it in my head whenever i spent time with him. there were so many times that i was so close to confessing. but now that i actually had the opportunity to, i didn’t know what to say.

the longer i stared into his eyes, the harder it was for me to find the right words to say. so, deciding not to waste anymore time, i opted to tilt my head up and push my lips to his instead.

matt let out a moan of surprise as his hands ran down my waist, pulling me in closer. the kiss was light, but it was enough to make my head spin.

when i pulled away, matt’s eyes were still closed as he chased after my lips, going in for another kiss. our lips brushed each others as i spoke, “i love you matt. there’s no one else i’d rather be with, only you. it’ll only ever be you”

his smile grew against my lips before he left a quick peck to them.

“good. make sure you tell your buddy dylan that”

i tilted my head, shooting a deadpan look at him “i think he got the message when you punched and humiliated him on my doorstep”

“and i’d do it again, you don’t deserve to be talked down on like that” he places another kiss onto my lips.

“you deserve to be praised” he whispered as his fingers crept up my thighs suddenly. “you deserve to feel like the prettiest girl in the world, because you are”

“ you think so?” i couldn’t help but question as he began to trail soft kisses down my neck. his movements halting abruptly as he moved back to look at my face, his finger hooking under my chin.

“of course i do, and you should too. i’ll fuck you in front of this mirror until you believe it if i have to”

my eyes grew wide at his sudden change in demeanor, my legs clamping shut in anticipation.

his gaze dropped down to my legs momentarily before he spoke up, “bet you’d love that, huh? watching those pretty faces you make while you make a mess all over me”

i nodded my head frantically, lips parted as i watched the smirk on his face grow.

“good” he spoke as he gripped my thighs, pulling me closer to him. “cause i would too”

sorry y’all i was too lazy to write the smut 😄

anywayyyy this is the final part of the crush series, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @matthewscherrypie @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @selenascorner @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nickgetsmewetter @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

[randomstoryenjoyer]

(It's fine if you don't want to do this but-)

Can. I please request a Pitaya, Ananas and Longan. Cookie with a dying reader in there hands who only smiled up at them telling them there last words to take care of themselves, stay safe, and not continue being(insert one of the dragon's flaw) and they love them and kissed hem before they went to the other side?

(PS: GN Reader and the fact Pitaya, Longan and Ananas Cookie is panicking about there S/O leaving them wanting to save them but fails)

“Please, Pitaya… take care of yourself, stay safe… and please don’t be so belligerent to everyone else anymore. Treat them with kindness like the one you treated me with… I love you”

This would be one of the few times Pitaya Dragon Cookie would shown any other emotion besides excitement, anger, or the unquenchable desire for a good fight. Ever since Pitaya Cookie had met their beloved, their original thoughts about weak little pieces of dough called cookies had started to change, though they couldn’t properly understand why their thoughts were being influenced so greatly ever since they had laid their eyes upon you. What Pitaya Dragon Cookie started understanding, however, was the feelings that they felt towards you specifically. They liked these feelings! They found themselves becoming attached to you like they never had to anybody else before, and your presence became even more endearing when you actually began to reciprocate their feelings as well! Life was greater than ever for them with you by their side, providing him with something else to look forward to besides endless sparring with anybody they wanted to.

But you can’t expect to last long in a relationship with the fearsome red dragon themselves…

Maybe the endless sweltering heat present within Pitaya’s lair finally caught up to you, maybe they got too careless in during one of their sparring matches and ‘trainings’, or maybe for some other reason at all that only you knew, Pitaya Dragon Cookie would yet again be reminded of how easily cookies crumble, and in the worst way possible this time.

The thought of you leaving them in such a horrid manner pained them deeply, Pitaya Dragon Cookie couldn’t control themselves as they refused to accept what was happening, the panicked tones of their voice sounding more unnatural than ever for someone like them. As you those painful yet truthful words slowly leave your mouth, their widened eyes meet yours, and the kiss you two share makes everything else feel non-existent for just that moment; Pitaya Dragon wished with al their heart that it wouldn’t end, just for the futile hope of you not leaving them so soon.

They promise right there and then to take your words to heart in a bid to ensure your final moment with them is a special one.

Their beloved deserves no less…

Ever since then, any cookies that visited the Dragon Valley and Pitaya Dragon Cookie’s lair would have meet a a dragon cookie that acted slightly different than the legends had described them. They were more pacified, often willing to calm down when needed, and the odd sentiment of longing for something missing was always present around their every move.

Without their endless belligerence, Pitaya Dragon Cookie’s life took a different turn after their loss of you. But it was a price they’d always be more than willing to pay if it meant honouring your last words!

“Please, Ananas… take care of yourself, stay safe… and please don’t be so self-absorbed anymore. Treat others with the same care you treated me with… I love you”

In this moment, themselves would be the dead last thing Ananas would dare to think about. Their focus stolen by you and you only, their entire being shaky as they kneeled besides you, and their mighty, proud voice reduced to a hushed tone.

Their beloved had been an essential part of Ananas’s pride. Though they were often too focused on keeping up their“holier-than-thou” image, they still always cared about his you as much as all their other treasures, maybe even more so. Their islands were your home right next to their side, and they were content with living out their days with the cookie than truly made them feel like the mighty, high being they knew they were

So why was this happening? Why was their most precious treasure of all being torn away from them like this?

They were more than ready to do anything within what their vigour and riches allowed them to do in order to save your untimely demise. But much to their dismay, they knew that it didn’t matter whether what was affecting you was a disease, fatal wound, or even something like a nasty curse; everything they tried had failed, no matter what their position as a dragon allowed them to do or achieve.

In a sense, it’s as if losing you was them being humbled. He saw himself as one of the most superior cookies cookies in Earthbread, yet in this very moment he was as powerless as the feeble cookies below him.

Anger turns into sombreness as his hands hold you close to his scales in your final moments before you go to the other side…

Ananas’s benevolence over the Pineapple Isle’s inhabitants and visitors would increase by tenfold since that fateful day, except for defilers, of course. Cookies who found themselves in trouble or in need of help near their lands would now be graced with the endless assistance of the prideful yet considerate golden figure that passed in the sky more often than ever before, increasing the joy of all who were amongst their mighty presence, but only a few handful of cookies would only ever know the reason why.

Though whether the dragon’s new behaviours were simply a sign of respect for the last wishes of their deceased dearest, or a sign of the desire to truly become a less self-centred person not just for their dearest but for all those he watched over, or a sign of something else entirely, nobody would ever truly know. Interpretations are something left to an individual, and only Ananas Dragon Cookie would ever know for sure.

“Please, Longan… take care of yourself, stay safe… and please don’t view other cookies so negatively anymore. Treat them all with the same warmth you always showed me… I love you”

Out of the three, Longan Dragon Cookie would probably seem to be the most composed on the outside, focusing on simply staying with you for your final moments and making sure you felt loved ‘til the end.

But on the inside, the Ivory Dragon would also be the one who would feel the most pain out of three over your passing. Why did the one cookie that somehow achieved the impossible and gained the Longan’s affections, out of all the pathetic and petty wastes of crumbs that plagued the lands, have to be the one to fall and crumble helplessly?

After all, Longan Dragon Cookie was nothing short of the highest authority on Earthbread. in their eyes, every single occurrence and event that ever happened only happened because they currently allowed it to, and they can take anything away from existence as quickly as it had been granted. And yet now they were the ones having to suffer having something taken away from them, for you to slip away from their watchful eyes without their agreement.

As you lay there in their hold, your weary eyes barely even able to open anymore, your view is met with the gaze of the Ivory Dragon’s draconic eyes soften in a way you hadn’t ever witnessed before. His lack of words are more telling than anything he could even say in the moment - you know they desperately want nothing more than to find a way to save you of your fate, but the culmination of past failures over this has already proved to them the ugly truth. Instead, the warm feelings of their lips gently making contact with the dough on your forehead are the last thing you feel before all your senses fall into a gentle numbness…

Ever since that mournful day, Longan Dragon Cookie found themselves at a loss of of a plan for the future. Reclaiming the nostalgic past felt meaningless is it was a past he would have to experience without you. Cookies from all over the land would inexplicably breathe easier at the subconscious feeling that the unstoppable fire threatening to change the landscape had finally been extinguished, and had now been replaced with the mournful embers of grief.

Longan Dragon Cookie knew that someday, the fire of desire for their original goal would someday return, but for now, they were content with simply following your last words and not turning any cookies into stone. Only when they lost their beloved did the dragon ever truly experience what if felt like to be one of those pathetic little crumbs littering all over Earthbread, and the memories of your time with them would always remain latched onto their cold heart.

(phew, finally managed to finish a prompt-)

[munsonify]

ice cold

pairing. eddie munson x afab!reader

summary. after forgetting his gloves you bought him, eddie resorts to sticking his frozen hands up your shirt.

content warnings. slightly nsfw/alludes to smut, neck kisses, below the chest touching, gendered terms.

word count. 830

It was no secret that Eddie’s hands got cold during the winter. Every time his joints lock up uncomfortably, he curses himself out at his forgetfulness for never buying gloves. He always seems to forget he needs them until it’s too late, his hands unable to function properly. It’s worst when he’s trying to play guitar, his once beautifully working fingers barely moving.

Eddie was grateful you came around. As if a miracle, you made sure you remembered every small thing he needed. Water, medicine, sunscreen, wallet, and especially his gloves. You bough him a nice pair, pitch black and wool to match his usually dark clothing. He pretended to grumble annoyingly about the material, though he was beyond appreciative of you.

However - like his normal forgetful self - he forget the pair of gloves you bought him in his trailer. Eddie was rushing out the door in desperate attempts to make it to your house in time to pick you up. You two had plans with your friends, plans that you insisted would be fun! The town of Hawkins was having their annual tree lighting ceremony, and you practically begged Eddie to join you and your friends. Steve seemed to be dragged along too, though he was not nearly as reluctant as your boyfriend was being.

Despite all of this, he went anyways. He could never say no to his girl.

So, with all of this on mind, the idea of the gloves you bought Eddie seemed to slip his mind. He realized soon after he started driving to your house that his hands were bare, because despite his van pumping out warm air, his fingers still locked up. With an instant groan, Eddie threw his head back against the headrest of his seat, continuing his drive to your house. He just knew you’d notice his gloveless hands immediately.

You did, of course, notice in an instant. Your eyes naturally zoned in on his hands the moment they opened the door for you. You couldn’t help but pout at him. His face immediately fell with guilt.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Eddie said in a soft tone. “I was running late, I forget.”

You soon tried to tug your own gloves off to give to your boyfriend, but he immediately told you no. It was a long shot trying to give Eddie your gloves, though it was worth the try. Ultimately, you knew he’d never take something like that away from you.

After helping you into the van, he drove off to town center, where he was certain he’d struggle to find parking. He spent a few minutes searching for a proper spot, his loud metal music the complete contrast of what was happening outside. Though the parking spot was far away, he insisted it wasn’t that bad.

Eddie ate his words as his fingers instantly locked up after a minute of walking. He tried shoving them into his pockets, though his leather jacket only seemed to absorb the cold weather, rather than deter it. He also refused to admit how cold his hands were to you. He’d be caught dead before he admitted a fault like this.

Gently, you scolded him for his forgetfulness, though not fully upset with him. Your soft, glove covered hand enveloped one of his, engulfing it in the most warmth you can. You were desperate to give him some sort of relief from the cold weather.

Eddie quickly became irritated waiting outside in the freezing weather. You two had finally caught up with your friends, who were all bundled up properly. While looking around, he seemed to be the outcast. As always, he thought. Even Steve had gloves on.

With the sky darkening, and the anticipation for the lights began to rise, Eddie grew restless. He resorted to what he thought was his last resort. With soft touches, he slowly came up behind you, pressing his front against your back. His arms wrapped gently around your waist, his hands slowly inching to the hem of your undershirt, until his hands were finally submerged under your clothes.

Eddie pressed his cold, long fingers shamelessly against your bare skin, snaking them up your stomach until they rested below your clothes breasts. You jolted immediately from his cold touch, gasping out and whispering ‘Eddie!’. His cold breath hit your ear as he laughs, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“What?” He question, a knowing smirk playing on his face. “Cant get warm?”

“You can, just not up my shirt!” You exclaimed, eyes wide as his hands stay steady underneath your breast. The closeness of his hands made you shudder, though you were sure it could’ve also been from the cold.

“Oh c’mon, princess,” Eddie cooed, his cold lips pressing against your neck. “You don’t mind too much.”

His voice lowered to a whisper, a smirk still playing on his lips as they reach up to your ear again. “I’ll make it up to you later, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

[sufferingsokkatash]

THAT famous zukka hug in the atla north and south comic : an essay you did not need, by me.

i was thinking about how, in writing, there should be no accidents or coincidences in how and why something is described, or the detail the writer chooses to use. for example, zuko tapping his hand on his desk would be used to show that he is impatient or anxious about something.

so THEN i decided to apply this to the zukka hug, because why not be delulu about these things idk.

first of all, here are the zukka hug pages for context:

disclaimer: i don’t really know how the fandom feels about the comics. personally i like them, so i will proceed with that bias in mind. also please take this with the humour that is intended, it’s more fun that way.

i go down a sabre tooth moose lion hole below the cut.

this whole scene to me is largely what we all love about atla - humour and good characterisation combined with serious subject matter. king kuei and bosco are the comic relief and oblivious party in the face of quite a complicated issue, as zuko himself acknowledges. this humour then extends to kuei offering zuko the chance to join in on his hug with bosco, which zuko politely refuses. obviously, there is the clear issue of zuko being afraid of being eaten by a bear, but we’ll pretend that ernest hemingway is grading our papers here, okay.

it is a very deliberate writing choice and contrast to have zuko refuse hugs from one person/animal and then immediately and happily accept one from sokka. (see also: sokka running excitedly with a big grin on his face at the bottom of page 17 to greet them, naming zuko first, but remembering that he is a good ambassador to the swt and using their proper titles despite his excitement. more silliness mixed with seriousness. see also, also: HE RAAAAAN!) zuko may be touch averse and not a huggy person, but screw that when it’s sokka who’s offering the hug.

remember there are no accidents in good writing. kuei happily says: hello friends! to which, in both that panel and the next, he is clearly ignored. sokka and zuko are so absorbed in hugging each other that sokka neglects his duties in welcoming them both properly. zuko : 2 swt ambassador role: 0. also ignored is the fact that kuei brought his bear, which would normally be subject to some kind of smartass comment from our boomerang boi, even if he knows he’s obsessed with his pet from the ba sing se episodes.

this could be an actual mistake, but sokka ran towards zuko, who was standing in front of kuei. but in the hug panel, sokka is between them. that means kuei walked all the way around them trying to get their attention, and it still didn’t work. sokka, nor zuko, say a further word to kuei. like exactly how much tunnel vision is there in this, my goddddd.

bosco is protecting kuei and sokka is protecting zuko. could be why they mirrored them and their positions in the hug panel, so not a mistake. a swt person says: protecting foreigners, sokka?! but that is exactly what he does by ignoring the protesters and telling zuko not to worry about them. despite wanting to do his duty to everyone sokka puts zuko first, basically, and doesn’t care about what they all think of him. that’s kind of huge for sokka.

yes, hakoda is injured at this time and yes he’s proud of sokka, but surely as chief he would have gone to meet the earth king and firelord? why did the writers go to so much effort making sure that sokka was there to meet zuko and have them hugging take up a third of an entire page when printing and space in the comics is such a consideration? it is clearly important, y’all.

their faces when they see each other. sokka can’t stop grinning and zuko closes his eyes in relief he’s so happy. enough said.

sokka says: thanks so much for coming! like he doesn’t already know zuko would travel the world just to make him happy or help in what’s important to him. have you forgotten boiling rock, sokka? because that dude you’re wrapped around, acting like he’s been starved of you, sure hasn’t.

this comic is all about nations coming together and traditions being upheld and shared. in other words, marry him sokka. it is in your diplomatic interests to do so.

in utterly insane conclusion:

i am always surprised at how much they made the effort in the writing for this one scene. i don’t see the comics as something that tease ships, they aren’t natla. what i do see is two guys who clearly care about each other, almost to the detriment of their roles and responsibilities, and their relationship was worth the effort taken in the writing and artwork to show that. it is super heckin sweet. does this mean i think zukka is canon or could be? no. maybe did i have fun pretending and overanalyzing every detail? yes.

ps in all seriousness, the answer is that this is about my fav boy and how far he has come in his character growth journey - exhibit a from ‘the avatar returns’ episode:

the end, i am getting blocked and going to jail but it’s okay because zukka is my bosco hug.

[the-once-ler-in-superjail]

CHAPTER 36: The Asylum - Part 2

Finally here, sorry this one took so long, we both got really busy this time but it's here!

Lineart/cleanup, flats & writing- @wiggybe

Layout/roughs, shading/lighting & writing- @self-made-madman

(TW: Mental illness/health/asylums.)

PART2

Once-ler: *He holds the Warden in his arms, relieved to have another moment alone with him, knowing that they're going to get out of here and that people are following his orders. At least he can have his glasses, they're just glasses, prisoners get to wear their glasses because they're visually impaired, this should be no different. He sniffs and wipes his tears with his hand, whispering.* I love you too. *Kisses the Warden's head and sighs out, hooking his chin over his head and bundling him up in his arms.* You're going to be okay, we- we're going to get you out. *He can't let him down.*

Warden: *His eyes shut, and as he floats in the vague numbness of what's been done to him, he absorbs all of Oncie's love, the feeling of his arms, the scent of his clothes and the way his voice vibrates through his chest. It helps to calm him, more than anything else ever could, but there's an instinctive part of him ready to have it all ripped away.*

Dr. Zazzerzump: *She strides straight into the room and states in a simple, curt voice.* Mr. Once-ler. *She has the air of a headteacher who won't be suffering nonsense, but because she isn't a blustering, loud older man, and hasn't brought the chaos of a crowd with her, she doesn't cause the same flinching reaction in the Warden as everything else. To him, this is just one more thing to trust Oncie to handle for him.*

Once-ler: *Pulls his head back from his boyfriend and looks over to the new doctor walking into the room. He knows this lady to be the woman in charge here. Good, that means he can sort this out properly rather than having to slap drones around. He doesn't get up though; he won't leave Edmund unless it's necessary, and he doesn't care how he looks holding him. If anything it only shows that he means the man no harm and that they do share a relationship.* Hm. *His eyes meet hers and he lets out an acknowledging grunt.* Doctor... *He looks her up and down as for a moment her name escapes him, but he does know all the names in charge of his cities' institutions.* Doctor Zazzerzump. *That's the one. He frowns, glancing around at the other nurses as they follow in behind her as if he's pretending to wonder where the Warden's glasses are, like he's making a point. Two male doctors join also, including Snickberry-Shoo, who all keep their distance.* Thank you. I requested the nurses bring this man’s glasses to me, where are they?

Dr. Zazzerzump: *Her eyes flit to the way the Once-ler is holding the patient only once, to take in the information and judge it. It's inappropriate, maybe, but it is proof that they know each other. Or proof that the patient has been so well-drugged that he doesn't know what's happening. Well, the Once-ler is a sane man, so it's presumably the first one. And yet, policy is policy for a reason.* The patient is in here because he proved to be a danger to himself and others. We can arrange for his glasses to be reconsidered, but he cannot have them back just because you asked... *She searches for a word that isn't rude.* 'nicely'. I will have the administrators put in a request, and he will be re-evaluated for his tendencies.

Warden: *He curls tighter, pushing his bare face against the Once-ler's chest so he doesn't have to see the world without his filter.*

Once-ler: *Feels a spike of adrenaline in his chest when he's refused, the thought of having to wait making his frustration build all over again.* That's not soon enough. Can't you make an exception?! Look at him, he needs them. Even prisoners don't have their own glasses confiscated. What could be so bad about him having his when I can supervise?

Dr. Zazzerzump: They could break - he could break them - and then we have glass shards, sharp wire, and an unpredictable man in the same room. The hospital would be liable if any harm came to either of you, even - *she anticipates the potential solution he might offer* if you were to sign a waiver. I'm afraid your friend must follow the rules like everyone else in the secure wing - no special treatment. But we can have him seen by our resident optician if necessary.

Once-ler: You’re already causing harm to him by treating him like this. *Breathes in a sharp, frustrated breath as he clutches onto Edmund harder. He knew these were the reasons. He doesn't care. Edmund is more dangerous to himself without the glasses. Besides, it’s not like he isn’t already drugged up to his eyeballs, bound in a straight-jacket, and not being watched over by a sensible and powerful man.* Don't you have security cameras here for the same reason? Just keep a closer eye on him for god sake! *He knows that what he's asking is exactly special treatment, but why shouldn't he? Parole exists so that those facing trial can pay to be in a comfortable environment while they wait. He raises an eyebrow.* I'll sign whatever the hell you like, if any harm came to either of us I'd take that responsibility on myself and see to it that no repercussions fall on the hospitals reputation. I can do that. *He tilts his head to the other side, frowning harder.* On the other hand, however, I can't promise the same should my requests be refused. *Hisses as one hand releases Edmund to slip into an inner pocket inside his jacket to fine his cheque book.* Fuck sake, how much do you want for them? *Looks at her like she just personally hurt him* He’s not dangerous, not with me and not right now, look at him. I’ll pay you extra if we could just arrange to have him monitored so that he can have what he really nee-

Dr. Zazzerzump: I cannot be bought, Mr. Once-ler. *As corruptible as the bribe of money can make people, sometimes those with the a more selfish agenda than just greed can be more malicious.* *She doesn’t care for money, she cares for maintaining an old archaic institute that she holds power over. Taking small wins, keeping control over anyone in her immediate vicinity, and insisting on her old fashioned ideals. And it just so happens the vulnerable patients in this place make those objectives a lot easier. She remains totally unmoved, as cold as steel, although she does for a moment feel a skip in her chest at the thought of more money towards their operations here. Still, she will have no preferential treatment for the wealthy or connected, even if the town's founder himself starts writing a check. She doesn’t quite realise that anyone, poor or wealthy, known or noone, would be willing to give up everything in their possession for the people they love. She holds a fundamental belief, a false ‘moral’ virtue about herself, that those of the mentally impaired are a danger to be hidden rather than human beings to be treated, despite having little to no modern research supporting her biases. There is no grey area that could suggest that the pain of others might warrant an empathetic reconsideration of the ‘rules’, she just holds onto these old ideas being ‘correct’. It’s as if Thneedville, and the people in it, are a product of a time where mindsets like this were the modern standards.* As I said, we cannot sign our duty of care away.

Warden: *He shifts, yielding as easily as a doe when Oncie's hand releases him to pull out his cheque book, but never stops gripping onto him. It's all going over his head, whoever that voice belongs to. Oncie is fighting a battle above the surface of the water while he sinks down below, and all he can do to avoid going (further) mad with fright is to hold on and make sure he never leaves him by himself. Right now the world is very simple - everything outside of their arms wants to hurt him or worse, abandon him to his own mind. Everything inside their arms is safe and loves him.*

Once-ler: *Sneers at her through his teeth in a low voice.* Ev-ery-thing can be bought. *He lets her speak, and as she does, he removes his thneed from his neck as if he's already made up his mind about something, not needing to hear the rest of it- because one can’t reason with a person who’s already accepted their own world view as fact. One can’t engage debate, even the most civil, with a person who has already made up their mind. The only thing that matters now is protecting his own pack. Something about the way this woman speaks is making it both harder for him to breathe the fire he usually does and at the same time makes him want to burn it all down with even more fury than when he spoke to the previous doctor. It isn't just a bigger dog biting at a smaller yappy dog, it's a fox VS a snake, both fighting for the fallen rabbit, and he's met a snake like this before. Thankfully the two women are nothing alike, but that doesn't stop the vitriolic, rebellious feeling in his gut needing to prove her wrong. He hisses again, almost scoffing at the irony of her words.* Your ‘duty of care’… *He glances to the Warden in sympathy, then back to her with far less.* Why is he so out of his mind?

Dr Zazzerzump: *Adjusts her glasses.* Is that a trick question, Mr Once-ler? All of the patients here are ‘out of their mind’, that’s what this place is for. We haven’t begun analysis or treatment on this particular patient yet, but he’s here for a reason-

Once-ler: That’s not what I meant! *He steams. Treatment of this sort has nothing to do with the rationality of the person involved, they shouldn’t be strapped up, sedated, and left in a cold corner for someone to find them- if someone ever comes to find them- without sympathetic care.* I meant why is he so sedated? Why is he all drugged up out of his mind?

Dr Zazzerzump: He was acting out, Mr Once-ler. a danger to everybody. We sedate all of our patients. It makes them feel better and it makes it easy for us to handle them and treat them. *Of course, she has no understanding of how these patients might truly feel, she’s just trying to come across as caring to hide that all she really cares about is the efficiency of her control here.*

Once-ler: *He almost screams out lout to her; ‘Even when he’s already in a straightjacket?!’ But he doesn’t, it wouldn’t help. He looks down at Edmund who can barely hear this conversation through water, he just knows Oncie is there somewhere and is trying to protect him, but if the man wasn’t here then the confusion would only be making him panic more as he looses an extra layer of stability and understanding.* He’s not comfortable at all, he doesn’t feel better at all, he’s scared. *Maybe he was being a menace, maybe he did deserve to be brought somewhere, but then shouldn’t he have been brought to a jail cell for disorderly conduct? Somewhere he can be held for safety reasons, call someone he knows, speak to a lawyer and at least be reviewed before taken to an asylum? Who authorised that he be brought here? Were they called before the police and just snapped him up to fill one of their patient cells?… He had no idea this sort of conduct was going on here, in his own city. This is old, archaic stuff. For as abstract as Thneedville is, sometimes he does feel that it’s oddly stuck in the 1970’s, as if it’s a product of a mind that’s frame of reference is a world straight out of the late 60’s. Maybe after all of this is over he really should review this place top to bottom officially and write up a report, not just because he’s been personally hurt by it and it’s employees, but because there might be things here he’s not looked at, that could seriously do with reforming.*

Dr Zazzerzump: *Says nothing. She hasn't spared a second glance at Edmund, she's been too busy watching the angry man making his demands and she clearly has no intention of treating these patients like human beings.* If you have no further requirements, I shall leave you two in peace. Visiting hours close at 6.

Once-ler: *Almost hisses at the way she ignores his genuine concerns.* That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?! *He huffs, and in a sweep of his tailcoats, he turns back to the Warden and strides strictly over to him. He glares over his shoulder to the doctor.* I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying here with him.

Dr Zazzerump: *Suddenly spikes. He can’t stay here! That’s an obstacle between herself and the power she holds over everyone in the place.* Visiting hours close at 6 Mr-

Once-ler: I heard you! And I don’t care. If you won’t let me take him out then I have no other option than to stay with him overnight while I make preparations to have him removed.

Dr Zazzerzump: *Sneers* Mr Once-ler if you do not leave, I will have to have you removed by security.

Once-ler: *Turns around and folds his arms.* Who do you think your security is funded by? Who do you think your very institute is funded by? *He squints and tilts his head.* The Thneedville government? *He scoffs at her*. You think your governments have more power than corporations? Where did you hire your security, from the government or from a company?

Dr Zazzerzump: *Remains quiet and clenches her jaw.*

Once-ler: That’s what I thought. *He tilts his head to the door.* Go on, call them, tell them to remove me… If you really think they’ll listen to your orders over mine. *Fine. He’ll play her games of ‘procedure’ and ‘protocol’, she can make this harder for him as much as she wants, that doesn’t mean she’s going to enjoy it.*

Dr Zazzerzump: *Her icy demeanour starting to crack, she tries to hold herself together, keep her composure, refrain from forming shaking fists with her hands at her sides. By the second, the Once-ler is revealing to her what little power she has, despite her doing her best to hold onto it.* Fine. *He hisses under her breath.*

Once-ler: *Turns his back to return to the Warden.* You understand then. Good. I’ll stay here with him for as long as I need. *He won’t leave until Edmund is in his custody, until he can take him out of this dreadful place. Every part of him just wants to drag him our right now, hire his own security, pay theirs off, rip him out of the straight jacket and take him home, but the amount of chaos that that would cause in both the short and long term just isn’t worth the trauma that it’d have on Edmund. For one thing he’d need to leave him to get it all done that fast, and he couldn’t bear to leave him with them- who knows what they would do while he’s unsupervised? The manic of all the action and panic could have a terrible effect on him, while doctors are grabbing at them, large security men are shouting and the Thneedville public are watching him like a spectacle. It’d be cruel to drag him through that. It’d also cause more problems in the long term for them both if if he acted so unofficially. The best thing he can do is be sensible and assertive, plan his escape right by his side, make sure it’s as easy as it can be, and never leave him alone so long as he’s still in here. He’ll need important files and equipment to do it, and that’ll take time to arrange that if he wants to stay with him the whole time, but it can be achieved. Anything can be achieved by the Once-ler. He leans down by his boyfriend and tucks the thneed into Edmund's bound arms across his front so that he can hide his face in it. He leans into his ear.* I'm not going anywhere. *He straightens up and turns to the doctors, standing between them and Edmund and acting as a barrier while looking incredibly tall at his full height and the extra tower of his hat.*

Warden: *He curls up when Oncie gives him the thneed, and the scent of butterfly milk and truffula tufts proves to the animal in the back of his mind that he's still safe. Still, he shivers when he feels Oncie pull away, and buries himself in the fluff, focusing on the gentle way Oncie spoke to him as his sluggish mind tries to hold on to whatever it can through the grey and depressing mire. He doesn't even remember what he did to deserve being locked up in here.*

Once-ler: I didn't get to where I am today, to owning all of your jobs today, under the false idea that 'not everything can be bought'. *His hand forms a fist by his side, the other one pointing a sharp finger.* I've been nice, I’ve played your game, now you're gonna listen to me. This man is leaving this building no later than tomorrow.

Dr Zazzerzump: *Opens her mouth to speak*-

Once-ler *His index finger and thumb pinch together before anyone can interject, as if making a ‘zip it’ gesture.* I don't wanna hear anymore goddamn bullshit recited from ancient documents! You can either make this easier for me or you can make it harder on yourselves, either way I'm getting what I want. I don't care what strings I have to pull, he's leaving tomorrow. You wanna know why? Because if you won't comply, then I can have all of you replaced with people who will by just making three phone calls. So it makes no difference to me other than the fact you're wasting my time!

[The nurses behind the head Dr Zazzersump and take a step back, they straighten up with a spike of adrenaline in their chests, listening to the orders like soldiers. Dr Zazzerzump blinks at him, momentarily surprised and panic setting in at that threat, which quickly turns into cold anger to hide it. She looks around her staff and can feel her own sense of control slowly crumble as the medical teams have their attention stolen away from her by the Once-ler. The man has always been very good at claiming almost anything as his own.]

Once-ler: *Starts to count on his fingers. Without shouting, now sounding more like a very strict, growling army general. Suddenly they all feel like they work for him.* I want his discharge signed. I want his duty of care handed to me. I want his clothes ready. I want him off whatever shit you've been shoving down his throat. I want his goddamn glasses! And I want it all done by 3pm tomorrow because that's how fast it will take me to fuck up your whole system here and make it mine. *If he were an animal, the hackles of his fur would be rising and his teeth would be bearing, the gruffness of his voice growling through with that last word.* Every single one of you is going to be bought because all of these procedures you're following can be bought, so you better not waste any of my goddamn time once I slam that gavel down onto your precious procedures and shove them in my back pocket! *Points a finger towards each of them.* Get it all done by 3pm tomorrow and not a second later, because The Once-ler will not be late.

[The frightened shocked doctors and nurses behind Dr Zazzersump all stare at her with gormless speechlessness. They’re ready to skitter away and do everything he’s asked without question, because, SHIT, they need to get on this fast to have it all ready by tomorrow. Dr Zazzerzump herself is sweating, and every bitter bone in her body wishes she wasn’t. How dare he turn the tables on them and make such unrealistic demands with such a short deadline, they’d have to drop everything to get this done by then.]

Dr. Zazzerzump: *She attempts to straighten up at the same rate that the Once-ler rises, meeting his eyes and paying cold attention but not interrupting him now he’s on a roll. She holds rigid against his threats and swallows, but as she notices her staff becoming more restless at the mention of procedures and paper work, she can’t find a reason to oppose it. What he's asking for is technically reasonable, if unorthodox, so he’s trapped her in a dead end, all her talk of procedures turned back on her, and thrown the threat of a deadline at them all. Thank god that it is reasonable though, in the tightest possible way of tip-toeing around all the orthodox rules, because by this point not even she wants to deal with what wrath he might bring if she refuses him again. At the end of the day, he owns this town more than anyone else, more than she owns this asylum- regrettably.*

Warden: *He hears a man yelling, and like a dreamstate he simultaneously recognises the voice as his Oncie, and expects it to belong to a very different, much more violent man - because that's the man who would normally be in a locked cell like this with him unable to fight back. It’s confusing as his hearts instinct battles his learned neurological instinct. He curls further, clenching his eyes shut even tighter and reminding himself beneath all the numb and rubbery haze that Oncie is protecting him, Oncie will come for him, and that despite the sound of that powerful voice reminding him of things more dangerous, maybe it’s only so powerful because for once it’s actually protecting him. It does sound a lot like his strong Oncie after all. He’s safe.*

Once-ler: *Pulls in a deep breath and grabs the lapels of his jacket, pulling on them to straighten them. Clears his throat.* I will stay with him here overnight, I will keep the button alarm on me should I need to make anymore requests, no-one is to come near him unless it's for very specific medical reasons I'm unqualified to perform. Food, drink, medication, cleaning, anything else will all be handled by myself, and I want him weaned off the medication ASAP. *He raises an eyebrow.* You better hurry up then.

[The nurses scatter like a flock of pigeons, forgetting for a moment that Dr Zazzerzump needed to give an official before they can, but the Once-ler is right, they do need to hurry up if they want it all done on time. They need to turn the place upside down to avoid his wrath if he’s ready to leave tomorrow at 3pm and they’re late for it. How can the man work so fast when there’s only one of him and he can’t leave a cell? They have an entire team of people but they’re the ones frantically panicking for a deadline.)

Dr Zazzerzump: *Behind her, the doctors and nurses have backed off skittishly and darted off to work, trapped between the demands of two different dangerous animals who could both ruin their lives if they make a wrong move, but the bigger one clearly won. After a pause to collect her thoughts, Dr. Zazzerzump clears her throat and raises her hand to them. They’ve already made up their minds who they’re taking orders from now, but she throws out an official instruction, just to maintain a semblance of composure.* *Clears her throat.* Yes!- Mh.. Do as he says. For 3pm tomorrow.

*They scatter out of the door like spilled marbles, leaving the two alone. Then Dr. Zazzerzump continues.*

Dr. Zazzerzump: *Bitterly* The medication is a temporary sedative; it will wear off by morning and I shall make a note that no further doses will be required. There will be a nurse on call to arrange for overnight accommodations. *Grimaces, but tries to maintain professional. The decision has already been made now, all she can do is go along with it and appear as reasonable as she can to avoid receiving that harsh report.* Should you require anything further, the staff will assist you. Is that everything, Mr. Once-ler?

Once-ler: *Finally seems like he might consider withdrawing his claws the moment people start following his orders, especially when the woman confirms it to her staff. The fact that she doesn’t even question his power, influence or ability to have everything done by tomorrow in order to take Edmund out, goes a long way to placating him. He’d have really started ruining lives, he doesn’t care who the head doctor in this place is, if she’d said something like ‘we can’t guarantee, sir, that the changes you claim to make will be completed by then, if at all, and so signing documents and making preparations for rules that aren’t already in place would be a misdirection of time as well as possibly setting us up for illegal- blah blah blah.’ Good thing they all know when they’re in the jaw of the lion.* Yes. You can leave us alone.

*Dr Zazzerzump leaves with a slight twist in her expression, letting out a silent frustrated, but almost relieved that it’s over, sigh of relief. As she and the rest of the staff move away down the corridor and the door swings shut with a heavy thunk, she can be heard issuing clipped commands to everyone else. She tries not to rush too much, because rushing tends to make mistakes, but these things will move quick.*

Once-ler: *When everyone leaves and they’re finally left in private again, he turns back to Edmund, curled up on the floor, and all the anger sighs out of him (at least for now). Drops back down to his knees and leans over him, places his hand on his shoulder.* Edmund…? *His eyebrows knot up.* Edmund it’s me, they’re all gone.

Warden: *He pulls slightly tighter around himself when he feels the pressure of someone's footsteps on the floor beside him. The pressure on his shoulder doesn't make him jump - it can't – but he feels a spike of fear, in automatic self defence he tries to strike like a cornered rat and bite the hand. In reality though, he just manages to turn slowly and gasp. And then Oncie speaks, and he forgets everything except that his knight in shining armour is here.*

Warden: *He cracks open his eyes and looks up at Oncie, his brow creased with worry, desperate to get himself moving enough to talk but unable to force it.* O-okay. *He needs those bright blue eyes so much, but they're so bright he can barely look at them. His pupils visibly shrink against them. He shuts his eyes tight again with distress, hating the grey and how close he is to everything terrible around him.*

*This is so much. The cogs in his brain try to turn, and he thinks that he wants to break the bad feelings with a joke, or a flippant comment - it's not a conscious thought, but it's what the instincts in him tell him to do. He forces himself to speak again, his voice a hushed whisper.* ...I’m s- I'm really... Really scared.

Once-ler: *Sees the way Edmund almost tries to flinch and his eyebrows knot up harder. He can't even protect himself, it's so sad. Then that recognition comes and he swallows, his stomach fluttering with sad little butterflies but fluttering nonetheless.* I- I know, I know you are. *Sighs out and immediately drops down to wrap his arms around him and bundle him up again. He knew he'd get nowhere asking for them to release him from the straight jacket, not if they won’t even let him have his glasses because he's too unpredictable apparently. He was hoping he might be able to fumble with it himself once alone, but as he hugs him and feels around the back of it, he feels the padlocks and realises that not just anyone outside of the wrapped patient himself is free to mess with it. He mentally sighs, but just becomes more kind and gentle in response.* It's okay if you're scared. *His voice becomes thick but he holds himself together.* It's okay, but you don't have to be scared now, because- because I'm here s- so you're safe, and nothing is going to hurt you or scare you anymore. *Cups his hand around the back of his head and pulls him into his shoulder, and plants a long pressed kiss into his head.*

Warden: *His arms shuffle what little they can in an unconscious attempt to reach out and hold onto Oncie, but the best he can do is curl up as close as he can into the hug. Eyes shut, surrounded by his scent, he listens to the words and slowly translates them - he has to wait for each word to pop into meaning like bubbles from the ocean floor. His body relaxes a little bit, unable to protect himself anymore - no powers, no strength, not even his special filter that means nothing is real and nothing really matters. Suddenly everything matters, and it all wants to hurt him. Except Oncie. He's still here, he didn't leave forever. He sniffs, still tearful, and nuzzles into his shoulder and the thneed still tangled up between them. That kiss sends a wave of relief and love through him, and he realises without surprise that he's crying again. He shuffles again against the jacket, not enough to be considered 'a struggle', but miserably testing what it is. In a slightly thicker voice of his own, he asks,* What did I do? *He's obviously in trouble, he obviously did something, because he's in prison. If he wasn't so addled he'd be mad on his own behalf and flailing about it again, but all he can figure right now is that everyone's upset with him except Oncie, and that doesn't feel great.*

Once-ler: *Opens his eyes wide when he's asked what he did wrong, and he doesn't know how to answer. Even if the Warden wasn't sedated and put up a good fight, he'd crack eventually. He might go feral for a bit, but these people are… ‘trained’ to handle a dangerous, damaged psych patient like him. He's the Warden to himself, he's The Once-ler's soulmate to the man holding him, but the reality is that to them he's just another severe case like so many other names on a list and fading faces in the facility rooms. Their treatment of him is completely wrong, but he’s not a stable man, that’s the reality, and right now there's a lot of reality, there isn't a lot of Edmund. A runt might try to put up a good fight with it's teeth and it's ratty snarls, but in the end it'll still drop down under the teeth of a dog bigger and scarier than it, when it’s adrenaline has worn off and it knows it can’t put up a fight, when it's instincts tell it how small it really is and that it should just conserve it's energy and lie down. Edmund, at his heart, is a meek man. The thought of him being lost here, hiding fearfully in the corner of a room away from the dogs that beat the defences out of him, just like his father did, is the worst nightmare he ever could have conjured up.*

Once-ler: *His arms grip around him tighter, tighter than the jacket, and the way he feels him weakly squirm makes his heart break. He pulls back just enough to see his face, hand still cupping the back of his head, so it isn't heavy for Edmund to hold up.* Ohh... *His eyebrows knot.* It was just... *He doesn't even know what to say. He glances down his body and starts to shuffle them so they can rest against the wall in the corner of the room where it's most secluded.* You must be cold, let me help. *He shuffles up into the corner, carrying his boyfriend slowly with him, and takes the thneed back. He lets him rest between his legs against his front while he stretches out the thneed and turns it into a blanket. His heart is pounding and he's trying to swallow down an emotional lump, then he lays the thneed blanket over Edmund and then shuffles out of his own green tailcoat and lays that over him too to create a second, heavier layer to keep the warmth in. Pressed between Oncie's front, then the thneed and Oncie's weighted jacket, he wraps his arms around him and hugs him to his chest.* There. There, that's better.

Warden: *When Oncie cups his face, he looks up into his eyes as best he can and tries to understand what he did. Deep down, beneath all of his delusions, the current sedatives, the self-denial and the fantasies, he knows he's doing bad things. But if he didn't do those bad things, he'd be doing something even worse by letting down the terrible spirit of his father. To be good he has to be a good prison warden, and a good prison warden is vicious, cruel and controlling. But, because he's always been an empathetic baby, he knows that to be vicious, cruel and controlling makes people hate you and makes you a bad person. He can't win. There is no condition where everyone likes him and is pleased with him, so the only conclusion he has ever been able to come to is that he's just an inherently bad human being. But that's okay if he's louder than everyone else, insists to everyone else that he isn’t until he’s *delusional*, and tries to make them happy occasionally by making things fun. That's why he includes the prisoners in his science fairs and vacations and car races – bad, boring wardens wouldn’t do that, right?*

 *His expression breaks, tears filling his eyes as his mouth quivers and devastation spreads across his features. When he was a little boy, the scariest thing in the world was the thought of being abandoned for being bad. Now, here, it feels like reality itself is doing just that - he's been shoved out the way and left behind. He clamps up and tries not to make a sound, in case that's bad too.*

*He's completely pliable as Oncie moves them, trying to help but he can only move his legs and he can't move them much. When they settle, though, and he's covered in layers of warm weight and held all tightly in his protector's arms, reality feels that bit further away and he remembers that he's not been abandoned. Not fully, not by everyone.* *With a little bleat, he nods. It is better. His bare feet push against the cold floor beneath the blankets so that he's pushed against Oncie's front.* *After a moment, he finds the words to say.* Whatever I did... I- I didn't mean to... *That's a lie. But he'd do anything to be kept.*

Once-ler: *Feels his heart break when he sees the tears and tries to catch them with his thumb as he cups his cheek. He hugs him to his front, treasuring him like he's the only teddy-bear his parents have ever been able to afford, and clinging to him like a child hiding from the shadows in a wardrobe. Gasps at his words and whispers.* You didn't- It was an accide- it was a mistake- *He feels distinctly, innocently, devastated and sick to his stomach with guilt and worry, in an almost confused way that a juvenile would. As if he's at fault of doing something so bad to the younger kid living next door, who he often goes out to play with, but it's also his responsibility to take care of. But this time he convinced him to jump into the lake, climb too far up a tree, go too close to a wild animal, and it's his fault now that something terrible happened to him, and he's terrified of being told off by both their mom’s. So he just hides in the woods with him, trying to fix it and not knowing how, and just telling him that he's okay and everything will be fine, but he also feels sick with horror. His voice breaks.* But- but I'm going to fix it- I will! I'll fix it!

*He gasps as tears form in his own eyes and he curls around him. He's letting him down, he can't do anything right, he can't even get him out of this place in a city that be basically owns.* I- I'm so sorry- It's my fault. *His expression breaks down and he pulls him to his front, hooking his head over his shoulder and shaking it with guilt. He's useless. He can't even protect him from his own damn city.* I'm sorry, I'm s- so, so sorry, Edmund. I'm so sorry.

Warden: *He nuzzles against him, drying his tears on Oncie's front and pressing against him for safety until his muscles start to soften - he can't keep the effort up for very long, but he always stays hugged up in his arms. He lets out a soft hiccup when he hears that it was an accident, or a mistake, whatever it was. He can't remember how he ended up here - every memory is fuzzy and indistinct like a dream that fades faster the more he tries to grasp for it - but at least Oncie doesn't blame him. Right now that's the very final thing that matters, like the last star still burning in the sky. Everything else has failed, but Oncie is always there, and he never leaves him.*

*He doesn't quite understand when Oncie says he'll 'fix it'. He doesn't know what there is to fix, because prison is an inevitable force that can't be changed. It's like saying you'll fix a sunset. His eyes crack open again, wet eyelashes fluttering against his boyfriend's neck while his own dears don’t cease.* Hm? *The cogs try to turn again.* W-Why? *His voice is hushed, but it's still his usual loopy, lyrical lisp, with a quiver of sadness.* You're here. *That is the only thing that matters. The only thing.*

Once-ler: *Looks down at him with wet eyelashes too.* Because, well because you're still here too and I think it's my fault you are. *He sniffs and begins wiping the Warden's tears away with his hand, since he can't do it himself.* But- but like I said, I'll fix it. *He makes sure not to talk too quickly, to let the words sink in.* I'm going to take you back home, I'm going to make you feel better. It just- *he hiccups as another tear appears and he wipes it away on his shoulder,* It just won't be right now. But I'm not going anywhere, I'm staying here with you until I can make everything okay again- and then forever after that.

Warden: *He looks up at Oncie with half-lidded eyes, still tight enough in the corners that the middle-aged creases around them are visible, but more relaxed than they have been thus far. He blinks slowly when Oncie wipes his tears away, foggy from the sedatives, believing everything he says because he has no choice but to do so, and trusting him because how could he not? He knows in his heart that nobody should like him enough to be here, but Oncie is because they're in love.*

*His subconscious can't quite believe it when he's told they're going to get out of here, not because he doesn't trust Oncie but because he's never known a reality where a prison wasn't an ultimate and inescapable thing. If he was sober he'd believe him, but he can't right now. However, when he says he'll be with him forever 'after that'... something shifts. To hear that Oncie wants to be with him forever shakes up the foundations he otherwise fully believed in, and the idea that there might be a forever after this suddenly becomes plausible. His eyes widen just a little bit more - even as glassy as they are - and a smile slowly spreads across his face, welling up with hopeful, emotional, grief-stricken tears as raw feeling is able to bleed up through the sedation.* Ye... yeah? *He sounds so hopeful, and with the tone of a soldier wanting someone to keep talking to him as he bleeds out on the battlefield, his chest shuddering with emotional hiccups. Nuzzled up against him, able to feel his heartbeat and bury in his scent, looking up at him and hearing his voice - if he can't have his glasses, he can put a new barrier between himself and the rest of reality.*

Once-ler: *His heart breaks and clutches at the hope in the Warden's voice, seeing him smile makes some ray of hope bloom in him too. Nothing can stop the happiness that the Warden brings to the Once-ler when he smiles, no amount of sedatives or guilt, when the man shows that grin, shows the cute gap in his teeth and has that hope in his eyes, it can’t stop Oncie from smiling back to greet him. As his eyes well up again with painful love at the way the Warden’s overflow, he smiles a little too.* Ye-hes...* He almost sobs out silently, between his quivering, smiling lips. He sniffs, then leans in slowly, gently cups Edmunds cheek to tilt towards him, and presses his lips to his. The kiss lingers in softness, barely any pressure applied but the sentiment still clear. His arms squeeze him tenderly a little bit, and after he pulls away he gazes into his eyes and replies in a low voice.* Yes. I promise.

Warden: *He drinks in Oncie's smile like it's sunlight, fortifying him a little better and feeding that faith that everything is going to be alright. He can't envision what it might look like (which spooks him, because he has a very vivid imagination) but he believes that he'll feel better soon. Like a feedback loop, Oncie's returned smile only makes his bigger too. Then they kiss, and under the sedatives it feels like his stomach has erupted like an underwater volcano, something hot and wild and frantically desperate, dampened by a thick layer of vacuum, but unmistakeably there. It feels like he’s been kissed for the very first time, by the only person he’ll love for the rest of his life. It takes him a second to react before his lips twitch and then he's kissing back too - with a similar light pressure, but still very much a presence. Oncie is here, and Oncie loves him, he’s been saved. They draw back, and he looks up at him with utter trust, wide and glassy-eyed, but believing in him as the most powerful force of nature to exist. His eyes might be foggy, but his smile shines through for him.*

Once-ler: *Pulls away from the kiss and adores the smile on Edmunds face. He desperately needs that belief- because no-one else has ever believed in him. Strokes his thumb over his cheek as he cups his face and he gazes into his eyes, wiping away some more tears for his boyfriend. His eyebrows knot up as he blinks his own away and he sighs out sadly.* My little bunny... *Kisses his forehead again and tilts his head in concern, squinting his own eyes as if trying to stop them from being so bright, because he knows they're bright for the Warden without his glasses.* Do your eyes hurt?

Warden: *The combination of Oncie's gentle handling, the safe weight of the covers and the kind tone of his voice softens the Warden's body until he's a warm, heavy weight against his front. He still squints as he looks up into Oncie's eyes, but he doesn't want to lose him by shutting his own.* *It takes him a moment to translate the question, especially since he's still glowing over the kind and loving pet-name, but then he replies quietly,* Mmhmm... a little. *He doesn't care anymore, though. As long as his world is so small that it's only the two of them, he can survive even if they do ache.* I-it's okay.

Once-ler: *Eyebrows knot up in sympathy.* I can't get your glasses but- *Reaches up above his top hat where his sunglasses rest on his head and takes them, while also removing his hat and placing it down.* You can wear mine if it makes you more comfortable. *He helps him try them on, knowing that they're not yellow lenses so can't make anything warmer, but they are dark and so might helps soothe some of the brightness or overwhelming peripheral vision. The weight of glasses on his face might also just provide something of a placebo effect, who knows?* Does that feel better, or no?

Warden: *He watches with glassy docility as Oncie places the glasses on his face, and as darkness falls over his vision he blinks in curiosity. Then the unseen tension in his shoulders relax and the lines around his eyes soften. That feels much better - even if they still aren't right and don't make him feel like he's in his own little fantasy world, he does at least have the separation and some rest for his weak eyes.*

*He smiles up at him from behind his sunglasses, looking quite the picture in his colourless hospital clothes, restraints, and Oncie's sunglasses.* Much better. *He shuffles against him, unable to inch any closer but just wanting to feel the action of drawing nearer to him anyway.* Thank you... *He thanks him as innocently as a child knowing to be polite, but with all the love they share together.*

Once-ler: *Gently smiles when he sees that it's made him feel somewhat better.* Good~ *Leans down and kisses his forehead.* You're welcome. *His stomach squirms as he feels Edmund shift and for a moment wonders if he's uncomfortable, but then he settles against him.* They suit you. *He says with a quiet chuckle, wanting to ease some tension with a playful compliment.

Warden: *Blinks at Oncie with his own, slightly delirious, giggle. He looks up at him with endless gratitude, even just for the slight attempt at play with the compliment, because any amount of play is a good distraction away from bad feelings for the Warden.*

Once-ler: *He smiles back with depth behind his gaze. His heart then skips a beat as he thinks about saying it again, and maybe hearing it back, although he wouldn't worry if he doesn't because knows now that he's capable of it at least. His arms squeeze around him gently, lovingly and he mumbles by his ear.* I love you.

Warden: *He's so glad he's squeezed back, too. He wants that tangible sense of being as close as possible, so his senses are full with the fact that he's protected - because it's really spooky being unable to do anything to defend himself. When he hears those three words again, his body rises with a deep breath of relief and a rush of giddy - if woozy - happiness. Hearing those words still doesn't feel real, those words never applied to him before this man came along, and on some foggy level he understands that even now in all this bad feeling Oncie still wants him enough to be here and say that. Emotion rises in the back of his throat and for a moment his heart flutters. He loves him too.*

*He wants to say those words back. In the addled and muzzy confusion of the past few hours, he's not sure if he's ever been able to or not, but those are also dangerous words that might mean something very bad happens if he says them out loud. He doesn't want to bring down an axe on Oncie right when they're at their weakest, but at the same time he wants to say it so bad.* I-I... *He swallows, then quickly nods as a lump rises in his throat. Silently, he begs Oncie to understand.*

Once-ler: *His hand rises into the Warden's hair and he strokes his fingers through it. He smiles as he watches him try to reply, and doesn't force him, the fact that he's trying to is proof enough, it always has been. His stomach flutters and he leans down to press his lips against his head. He adds quietly when the Warden stops himself.* I know.

Warden: *He's so relieved to hear that Oncie doesn't need him to say it. If he did, the pressure would be too much, especially right now, and he wouldn't know what to do to make it go away. As it is, rather than struggle with the darkness, he's able to float in his arms, and even though he's far from home and can't move his body and doesn't know what to do, he's still kind of cosy. Even a little bit happy.*

*A few moments ago, he said those words because he wasn't sure if he'd ever see Oncie again, and if Oncie was getting away from him then... he was escaping, so maybe he'd hear them and wouldn't be hurt. That was the thought process, the desperation, that managed to coax those words out of him. As he clings to his soulmate's front as best he can, calmer and more aware that they're both here and both 'in danger', he isn't sure they have that freedom. A big man with an axe might enter at any moment. But somehow he still feels like Oncie might be a bigger man. He tilts his head closer to Oncie's chest and says very quietly, forcing the words forward,* A-are we safe?

Once-ler: *His hand comes round and clutches his head protectively when he feels him tilt towards his chest, and when he asks that question he opens his mouth to reply, but then a quick knock taps against the door and the sound of locks clicking with keys echoes through. His attention flicks to it and his grip tightens around Edmund, not to worry him but to make him aware he's protected. He stares towards the incoming sound like a wolf ready to pounce with sharp eyes, ready to snarl at the threat. But he suddenly remembers to collect himself.*

*The knock isn't so much of a request to enter as it is a warning someone is entering, the kind of half assed knock an aged mother gives on her teenage sons bedroom door before sweeping in to dump a pile of laundry on the bed. It's not so much of a knock and entry as it is two hard taps and the immediate creak of the metal hospital door as it sweeps open and white light floods through. An older, plumper woman enters with a younger nurse by her side. The former has been a carer for forty years, the latter didn't want to come back here alone.*

Older nurse: Evenin' Mr. Once-ler, sorry to disturb, but we've brought the overnight stuff by instruction of Dr. Zazzerzump. *She has bags under her eyes, her voice is nasally and she speaks her words with a slow drawl. She's a chunky, round figure and is the type of old nurse who has changed so many bedpans over the years that nothing disgusts or surprises her anymore. Although some patients occasionally do, including this one, but she's good at brushing it off and getting on with her job.* C'mon Lissie! *She enters further into the room holding a large roll of bedding like a lady Viking shifting a boulder. Lessie, a younger, fairly new nurse shuffles in hesitantly after her with pillows.* Do you want it assem-ba-lin' for you, Sir?

Warden: *Suddenly there's noise and voices and loud rattling, and it hits him all wrong because his brain can't process things properly right now. If he was by himself he'd panic and fear would strike and thrash him at them like a prey animal caught in a net. Flinching at and away from them somewhere between impulsive attempts to snap defensively and simply shriek from fright- or, that's what he'd think he'd be doing. In reality the sedative is too much to let him do anything shake out of fear and try to hiss. But his instincts are different now that there's someone else to take care of him, a bigger predator able to fight for him, and so that panicked, protective aggression doesn't trigger. Instead, he's just terrified and begging for rescue. He yelps at the sudden noise, and instinctively dives further against Oncie as if he were trying to dig himself into the ground. His body can be felt to begin to shake, and his hands tighten under his restraints as he grips onto himself in an automatic attempt to protect his organs. He lets out a small sound of fear and manages to dig his heel into the ground and shove himself as hard as he can into Oncie's arms, trying to hide in him like a deer hiding between the legs of a stag.*

Once-ler: *Is frowning towards the noise, but he blinks at the Warden's sudden rustling and hiding and feels his heart clutch in his chest as the same rate his hands clutch around him. His gaze snaps towards the door, now not so furious because things are more in his control and he has his soulmate back in his arms, but still protective. He assumes it's nurses returning to drop off the overnight accommodations he was promised, but Edmund doesn't have enough comprehension of what's happening to understand that's all this is. He pulls him into his front, hiding his face in his chest as he holds his hand against the back of his head and pulls their makeshift covers up a little more over him. He feels the shaking and hears the sound, and as his stomach clenches he can't help but whisper down to him that he's okay. Then he orders at the women.* No, just drop them down there and go. I'll do them myself.

Warden: *He's tense - really, really tense - as he grits his teeth and tries to block out the fact that reality is once again intruding on his world just when it was starting to arrange itself in a tiny little bubble he could kind of begin to handle. He was okay, for a second when it was just them. But the noise leaves him exposed to the real world again, to people who threaten everything about him. Even them just looking at him means he's not The Warden, which is the only thing his mind can deal with.*

*He's not sure if he'll end up bending his sunglasses with the force he's putting on them as he buries himself in Oncie's front. His arms shove, just once, in a panicked attempt to grab around his boyfriend's waist or flail at oncoming danger, but it's not strong and the jacket prevents anything from really happening. He can hear his breathing squeak, but he does at least calm a little bit when he hears Oncie talk to him. He stops his minute attempts at struggling, though his heart still flutters and he still freezes against him like a rabbit caught in an open field.*

Older Nurse: *Shrugs and drops the things on the floor. Lissie does the same, dropping down the pillows and a bag containing some overnight supplies. She grumbles on her way out barely heard.* A 'thank you' would be nice… Young men these days-

Nurse Lessie: *Nudges the older nurse and points over to the Warden. Whispers to her.* Nurse Julie, is that allowed?

Warden: *He doesn't really follow what they're saying, but he recognises the tones enough to hear when they drop the things on the floor - which makes him jump anyway - and start to leave. He begins to soften, just a little, but then they start talking again and he kicks at the ground beneath the covers and whispers Oncie's name in the smallest voice, begging him to make them go away.*

Once-ler: *He feels the pressure against him and doesn't care if his sunglasses are bent so long as they don't end up hurting the Warden himself. The kicking and the little whisper of his name only makes that anger surge up harder because now he's responding to his soulmates fear and feels anxious to defend his space. He just made a warm nest for him and they're invading it.*

Nurse Julie: *Huffs and looks over with her hand on her hips, adjusting her own glasses when she notices the new ones on the Warden.* Sir, I can't say that won't count as contraband like his own if he's-

Once-ler: *Is currently hooking his chin over the Warden's head and stroking his back with his hand under the coat and thneed. He rolls his eyes and snaps at her, the demand barked and final.* Just get out.

Warden: *Flinches at the sudden loud voice, his common sense even more inhibited with the sedatives and therefore his learned behaviour responds instinctively with a flinch to the shout of the angry man. But a split second later, he recognises the voice as his Oncie, which makes sense because the shout was very close and Oncie is hugging him right now, and that flinch immediately settles because he knows he’s being protected. Oncie is so powerful and has such a presence, he’d recognise that voice of his anywhere, it’s the voice that shows strength and makes demands around Superjail despite everything. Even in the jaws of Superjail, Oncie is still a force to be reckoned with. For some reason, that foggy thought almost makes his throat close up.*

Nurse Julie: *Rolls her eyes and shrugs as she turns and then leads Lessie out of the room.* There, that's your answer. *They close it all back up and leave them in peace.*

The Once-ler: *Once the women are gone, his attention immediately turns back to the man in his arms, even if a part of him is still watching their surroundings so that Edmund knows someone is.* Hey, hey, it's okay, they're gone. *He curls around him and rubs his lips against his head, speaking in a softer voice.* You're safe now.

Warden: *He's shaking like a leaf when the door shuts, eyes clenched shut, and realising beneath everything that he's in a really, really bad place, and that for him to be in this really bad place, something really has gone wrong. A certain existential understanding falls over him, but he doesn't have the processing power to handle it. He's actually in trouble. This is a situation that might not just go away like a sickness or a nightmare, but this might mean his life has really changed permanently. His eyes fly open and he looks up at Oncie like he's desperate to see something other than the terrible world he's landed himself in, and he whispers the word that signals that he wants everything to stop. His white flag, his safe-word, the sign that he wants to be in his bed now, and for the ride to stop so he can get off.* I'm sorry. *His voice is barely audible, but his expression is a mask of anguish. He pants with the appearance of falling into a pain-induced panic.* I'm so sorry.

Once-ler: *The shaking only makes him grip harder, as if it might keep him stable, especially at the way Edmund tries to hug for him but just can't. All he can do is hold him back with more strength, and at the least it keeps him warm so the chill doesn't make the shaking worse. Then he feels him lift his head and so he looks back down to him, and that expression of complete, traumatised surrender breaks his heart so hard that it makes him gasp out loud. Then those words come, and he loses his own. He doesn't know what to say, he feels his tongue go cold with a kind of horrified nausea. He shakes his head, eyes wide with knotted eyebrows as he gazes into his eyes and tries to just understand what he means.*

*Something in his expression, in his eyes, is telling him and he thinks he might just see the existential anguish in them. He just wants it to stop, he knows he's been bad - because he's in a bad place, and that's how he knows it works - but he doesn't quite know or remember what he's done. But he feels it, and he'll just apologise for anything, to anyone, to hope it might make the pain go away, that it might stop the punishment. When has he ever offered that grace to anyone himself? Maybe he doesn't even know it's an option, which makes this even more devastating if it's just a broken last cry for help that he knows is hopeless. Nevertheless, what he begs for is a thing that, in his childhood and world view, has always been nothing but an inconceivable idea that’s as real as the Easter bunny. That thing is mercy.*

*He sighs out a shuddering pained breath and cups his face gently with his hand.* Ohh... Bunny... *He swallows, feeling a small lump in his throat. He can only think of one thing to say, whether or not it's appropriate to come from him. None of this seems personal, none of it seems specific, it's all just highly emotional and much like Edmund will say anything to make the punishment end, Oncie will say whatever he needs to hear to ease him in this moment.* I forgive you. *He pulls him into his shoulder and curls around him, his knees coming up even more to cradle him.* You're forgiven. I can't make the bad things stop right now but I can promise you that you're not in trouble, not with me. You were never in trouble with me. *He kisses the side of his head a few times* And I'm staying here, and as long as I'm here with you, you're in a place where you're not in danger, you're not in trouble and you're not being punished, even if you're upset and hurting.

Warden: *His wide eyes stare up through the sunglasses and lock onto Oncie's, desperate for them. When his hand cups his face, he tilts into it so that his cheek is slightly smushed by his palm, a sliver of his teeth visible between parted lips, and big, terrified eyes filling with tears. When Oncie says those words, for a moment his world stops. His eyes can't pull any wider, but his breath pauses and something settles deep down in him - the little motor that had been driving him to higher and higher panic, telling him that he was in trouble and to run. When he hears that he's forgiven, it starts to very carefully melt down.*

*He's pulled in, and again he tries to hard to hug back but the best he can do is press against him and nuzzle into his warm embrace. His eyes don't shut but they do tighten as tears fall again, and he watches Oncie from the hug like he doesn't dare turn away and find out that he's a figment of a dream. He hears Oncie tell him that he's not in trouble, that he's never been in trouble with Oncie, and that he's going to stay here. That he's not in danger and he's not going to be hurt even though he doesn't feel good. A little bleat splutters out of him as he absorbs those kisses, needing them so badly.*

*'Forgiveness' has never been a word in the Warden's vocabulary. In day-to-day life, sure, he'll forgive a slight. He'll forgive his friends for mistakes and accidents, or deliberately pretend they don't hate him if they do something that hurts, but that's not mercy. Mercy is different. He's never once granted mercy to a prisoner without an ulterior motive. The only other time he ever showed mercy was when he dared to feed that puppy, and they both know what happened after that. Justice and mercy are two sides of the same coin, but he's never flipped his over. His father never flipped it over either - all he's ever known is black-and-white punishment for crimes. Mercy is ‘cheating’, as his Father would think. But he's so scared, and he'd do anything to make the fear go away. He'll cheat if he has to, not realising that he's not 'cheating', but genuinely crying out for help because his mind and sanity are still fighting for a shred of survival and he’s too small and weak to do it himself. His whisper of those words might as well be a scream from a burning building.*

Once-ler: *He doesn't realise that what the Warden’s psychology really reads is him granting him mercy, although that is the truth to what Oncie is offering him. Because as Edmund begs the universe for mercy in his moment of pain, the universe has granted it to him in the form of The Once-ler. Out of everything around him, this is the kind offering, the acceptance of the white flag, the hearing of the safe word and the offer to help cease the pain. That doesn't mean he can change the rest of his situation, but one corner of this situation is merciful. He does consciously know forgiveness however. He knows guilt and he knows how much freedom forgiveness can bring a person, because he knows that he himself would still be in a terrible place had the Lorax not forgiven him for all he'd done.*

Warden: *After a moment, he gives a pitiful nod. With a wet, little laugh he nuzzles his nose into his neck. He's still scared, but as Oncie insists on those promises, the dread begins to lift. He plants a gentle kiss against him.*

The Once-ler: *That lump in his throat grows as he sees the Warden's reaction, but he stays strong, his stomach flutters at the gentle kiss against him and he bundles him up in a little squirm. They couldn't be closer but he still wants him to feel cuddled.* You're safe, Edmund, it's just you and me, and nothing can hurt you when I'm with you. *His voice is low and soft and he kisses his head again.* I love you. *He pulls back just enough to look at him and cup his face, he smiles softly, wiping a tear from his cheek with his thumb.* And in a moment I'm going to wrap us up in that soft blanket, lie us down in the pillows, and we're going to cuddle up together all night. Now that doesn't sound much like punishment, huh?

Warden: *The fear leaves him in layers, each one peeling away or falling to dust, one-by-one as Oncie handles him so tenderly. The existential dread leaves him first, as Oncie promises him that he's not in trouble and reminds him that even if he's uncomfortable, he's not going to be harmed by anyone so long as he's here. Beneath that is an animal tension, ready to spring and try to run or try to defend himself, or cry for help as his instincts prepare for a wolf attack. He's so vulnerable, and he knows it, that he's been flooding himself with adrenaline that's been battling the sedatives in his bloodstream for what must be hours. As he's cuddled up and as Oncie gives him a warm place to curl, as he kisses him and cups his face and says he'll always protect him, that slowly falls away as well.*

*Soon he's left only with the fear at the very bottom of it all, that will probably not go away until they get out of this place. That fear is manageable - it's just an undercurrent of knowledge that he hasn't got his shield and that life is scary and that he's not in Superjail anymore, and that can be carried so long as he's not left by himself. As long as Oncie is handling everything else, he can handle that.*

*It takes him a second for Oncie's words to sink through the fog, but then he nods with a weary, relieved smile, even a little chuckle in his voice.* Mmhmm~ *The smile pushes a final tear down his cheek and over Oncie's thumb, and he blushes ever-so-slightly pink when he's told that he loves him. Soft blankets and a warm bed sound very good right about now.*

Once-ler: *Lets out a soft, loving hum of laughter that's only just audible. His own chest doesn't feel quite as panicked anymore even though he still wants to get Edmund out of here as fast as possible. He's accepted what he can't change and is focusing in what he can control, and now that he can tell his boyfriend's heart rate is calming down, his own is relaxing too and becomes a calm thud against Edmund's front. A hand slides into his hair and he pulls him gently down under his chin and rests his lips against his head as he softly draws his fingertips through his hair in rhythmic circles. He loves him, more than anything in the world, he loves him, so even if Edmund couldn't be released in some ridiculous universe where the Once-ler doesn't get what he wants, he'd stay here in this room with him for an eternity. He whispers.* We'll stay here a moment and then I'll sort the bed out, okay? *He kisses his head, and just so soothe him a little more, he starts to slowly hum a little jingle he once made up about Thneeds and how everybody needs one.*

Warden: *His eyes close as Oncie's hand slides into his hair, his senses still trying to be alert for danger but failing as a sense of comfort, of utter relief, overwhelms him. He curls up under his partner's chin as he's guided, and a few more tears fall down his face - healing tears after a long day fraught with terror, rather than the cry for help they were before. He makes a soft sound that he understands, when Oncie tells him he'll move in a moment to get things sorted, and the softest, most musical little laugh escapes him when he hears that jingle. If he's playing, they really must be okay.*

*The fear fades as his world becomes encapsulated in the Once-ler's arms, and the emotions rush in slowly but surely, like an avalanche of honey. He adores this man. He needs him more than he has ever needed anything else, because he's saving him - not just protecting him like his glasses or his prison. His lips quiver with just how intensely and just how truly those emotions hit, and after a moment he pushes his face into Oncie's neck to whisper words that would normally be so terrifying but right now feel like the only things that matter.* I-I... *His voice is so quiet, not wanting the universe to hear his confession of guilt and weakness, because these words were always treated like that's what they were. But if Oncie has the power to make even mercy exist, then maybe he’s right, maybe his Father was also wrong about those three words. He said them already, in a fit of desperation that he only half-understands, but he says them now like it's a secret he's privileged to keep.* …*He takes a soft, deep breath and pushes himself harder into his arms.* I-I love you...

Once-ler: *He's happily curled around his boyfriend, loving the way he nestles into his neck and starts to calm down. When he starts to speak, he thinks he's about to try and ask or say something else; it's only when he actually says the words that it surprises him.*

*He wasn't expecting to hear the response, but he realises that Edmund finally feels safe enough to say it, because he's here with him. His chest clutches, time slows down again and he feels a lump in his throat that makes emotional, incredulous tears appear in his eyes again. He sniffs and lets out a quiet breath of laughter, grinning from ear to ear. His heart can be felt racing, hammering in his chest with a rush of joy and excitement despite the terrible circumstances they're in. This could be the most happiest he's felt in a long time, despite them both being in the most awful nightmare, all because he adores this man more than life itself and the man has the courage to tell him the same, finally. He sniffs and leans in, nuzzling his nose just under his cheek to gently tilt his face like a kind, larger animal shifting a smaller one.* I love you too, Bunny.

*He meets his lips and they press together, his own parting slightly and softly to linger against his with a few nuzzling smooches, as his arms squeeze around him with the same strength of push that Edmund presses into him. He doesn't overwhelm him, but he does consume his meekness with affection and adoration, surrounding him with his arms and capturing his lips like a flurry of flowers blooming against his skin. He tilts his head into it and lets out a soft sigh as a tear rolls down his cheek. As he pulls away he gazes into the Warden's eyes, the pair of them both tear-filled over their love for each other and he smiles. He grins and whispers* I love you too.

Warden: *It takes a moment, but when Oncie kisses him his lips respond in kind, his heart beating like a fluttering bird in the cage of his ribs, and his cheeks blooming with more colour. They part just a little bit and brush against him, as slow and earnest as a leaf bending for the sun. He bends with the gentle, primal nudge of his face, and dares to crack open his eyes to gaze up at him. The corners of his mouth weakly pull into a broad smile, all the more quavering but all the happier when they're said to him again.*

*He's so happy to hear those words returned, because even though he's certain of their love, he isn't certain about those words, and there's always a chance that they could magically make everything terrible if he's heard to say them out loud. Oncie's voice, however, is bigger than his is, and it's like he drowns out all the threats and dangers that start to clamour for his mind the moment he says the same thing.*

The Once-ler: *The Once-ler closes his eyes and pulls Edmund under his chin again, he begins pressing repeated kisses into his head and around his face, slowly and softly so he's not overwhelmed, but showering him in love still, and holding him like he's the most valuable thing the Once-ler has ever worked so hard to earn. And then, he rests his cheek on his head, safely tucked under his chin, within the warm comfort of his makeshift covers. They rest in the moment, they can face the world again together tomorrow, right now, all that matters is that they’re back together and nothing will pull the Once-ler’s greatest treasure from his greedy, loving hands.*

Warden: *He closes his eyes as he's tucked under Oncie's chin, his whole body melting against him, relying on him entirely to bear his weight. That is, until Oncie starts to push those gentle kisses into his head and face, his drugged senses reading that movement as he would a flurry of kisses if he were at his best. His feet give a very weak and heavy kick of delight as a breathy, lyrical laugh falls from him, delighted at so much fuss and adoration. The Once-ler came back for him, and that’s the only thing that matters. He's loved, and he loves, and even though everything seems to have gone wrong, and even though the whole world seems to hate him right now, and even though the loud, angry, scary voice in his head would disagree, that love is the only thing that matters.*

[insomniaruler]

I’m thinking A G A I N

(Someone needs to put me down like a lame horse)

Once Eurylochus got to the gates of the underworld and the all consuming gnawing in the pit of his stomach had subsided he sat down on the barren rock the final 40 members of the crew wailing around him, cursing Odysseus, cursing him, cursing the god of storms himself. They had not been buried, each dying in the roaring blast of heat and pain before darkness. No passage would be granted.

But Eurylochus was silent. All he could see was Odysseus, his friend, captain and brother. All he could hear was Odysseus pleading with the gods themselves, they could not need make him choose between himself or his crew. Eurylochus cradled his trembling hands, thinking back to the last conscious moments before hunger had taken his mind and soul.

Ody was right if Eurylochus had been given the chance to see home again, to see the shores of Ithaca, to taste fresh fruit, to hold his dearest Citmene just once more. Eurylochus would have taken it, anything.

The worst part is that he knew in his heart of hearts where only The goddess of love could see he had been the one to ruin their chance of going home only a year after the war when he was enraptured by the little bag Odysseus so guarded.

It was him who lead them too disaster after disaster. What would Odysseus his own sister about Eury’s death? Would he tell her the truth or refuse to answer, maybe tell her he died like a dog? Realistically Eurylochus knew Odysseus would not lie to his sister, he couldn’t. Citmene would see through it, she too was blessed by The goddess of wisdom and a descendant of the God of Trickery. His eyes grew heavy as the ferryman approached for the souls who’d been properly buried.

Looking down he sighed, translucent. Not whole, he’d never be because he was stuck on the other side. Perhaps this would be best, Eury hoped to avoid Polities for as long as possible, the man who’d once been one of his closest friends would not forgive him any time soon. Thus he let his eyes close, maybe he’d be absorbed into his misery.

He slept for a long time tucked against a wall of the seemingly endless chamber, cradled by the cold hard stone he felt he deserved. Eurylochus woke to whispers surrounding him, “you Eurylochus of Ithaca?” “You’re holding up the boat!” “Come on get up” “who paid your fare!?”.

Blinking Eurylochus shook off the deep sleep and started in the direction the fading hands had pointed him too. There on a rickety old dock sat an even older and rickety trireme which was packed to the walls with souls, some he recognized some he had forgotten.

As soon as he stepped into the boat it set off across the acrid Styx river. Approaching a face he recognized nudged him. “Who paid for us?” Eurylochus whispered. “The Captain did. He’s going home.” Then the soul spat “Don’ matter to me, when he gets down here I’ll show him exactly what lightning does to you.” The soul spat.

Once they reached the other side Eurylochus shuffled through the wailing masses towards what he hoped was rest, he really hoped he hadn’t pissed of the sun god enough to land himself in the pits of Tartarus.

Shuffling through lines of souls Eurylochus muttered a whispered prayer. It was all a blur but somehow Eurylochus avoided the pits and now he was walking through a marble, gold and gemstone lined cavern. Was this..? Elysisum? Someone was going to come to him and banish him to the nothingness.

As he walked he his mind flickered with images of the living world. Carefully he wandered, feeling out of place in this hall of heroes. suddenly the world flipped around and standing above him was a furious Polities, somehow he’d ended up on the floor staring up at the glimmering ceiling.

Then Eurylochus was pinned, a firm fist planted right into his eye. “How DARE you! How dare you.” Polities shouted yanking Eurylochus up by his shirt front. “Polities I-“ Eurylochus whispered as he was getting dragged to a small brazier holding a small fire. For a second he was worried Polities was about to throw him in it. But then he was in a heap on the ground in front of the flame.

In it he saw Odysseus, handing two large bags of coins to a ghostly figure. “He’s paying your passage, to Hermes. All of you. You- you traitors.” Polities whispered, fuming. “I’m sorry-“ Eury whispered. “I don’t need apologies, I knew you as a brother in arms, I’ve fought with you since childhood. Just like Odysseus. You’re a traitor to our oath.” Polities said, his glasses were whole again, Eurylochus had stowed Polities’ shattered wire frames in his breast sachet.

“Is- is Citmene okay?” This had been the one thought plaguing him since he crossed the Styx. “She’s fine, she won’t be when she finds out her husband was killed by The king of the gods himself.” Polities spat, he let Eurylochus up and eventually they found themselves watching as Odysseus smiled for the first time in years as he saw his home on the horizon.

“He’s doing it. He’s made it home.” Polities whispered in awe. “But what of the palace something is wrong.” Eurylochus muttered slipping into his old roll with ease. “Shh Let me bask for a little bit Eury.” Polities shushed him.

Thus they watched their Brother go home. Too where they could never return. Eurylochus saw Citmene sitting near a pillar looking out at the sea, she kissed her ring. Polities had to stop him from leaning so far he’d fall into the fire. “Oh Argos.” Polities muttered as the faithful companion went still. Eurylochus cried when Citimene sobbed openly over his armour, saved from wreckage after wreckage by Odysseus.

[am-i-interrupting]

How about Vox trying to befriend one of Alastor’s close friends, to know Alastor’s secrets and weaknesses. Months later Vox falls in love and forgets about the plan. Then Alastor reveals the secret plan to make Vox look bad. Your choice if you want it to be a sad or happy ending.

Vox was tired of losing. He was done. That is when the brilliant idea came to him. Find Alastor’s weakness but how?

He saw Alastor enter a tailor’s shop, right in front of one of his store displays and he saw you.

He recognized you from his casual spying on Alastor. The two of you were together more than Alastor was around most people.

Vox tore his claw down one of his suit jackets and brought it to you.

He wasn’t shocked your recognized him.

“Get out.” “What a show of hospitality! But regardless, I don’t think I will. I require some assistance.” “Isn’t one of you Vs a fashion designer? Ask them for help.”

Vox had to squash down the offense at the phrase “one of you Vs” and even more so that you didn’t know Velvette’s name.

It took a lot of convincing and you only did it to get him out of your store.

You returned the wrong suit. You did it on purpose. It was bright red instead of his cool blue.

He returned again and again and you continued to give him the wrong jacket suit.

Over time the hostility turned to playful teasing.

“Oh, back so soon? It’s only been a week? Did you miss me that much?” “Oh, but of course.” “Predictable, men as self absorbed as you are so easy to rope in. Make them feel special and then they just won’t leave you alone.” “Maybe I’d leave you alone if you’d give me my jacket.” “What jacket?”

One day Vox walks in and sees you bent down at the skirt of some demon’s dress, with a needle between your lips.

The demon saw him and called your name several times but you were too absorbed in your work. A trait he found admirable. It wasn’t until they hit your shoulder and you stabbed yourself that your focus was broken.

“Ow! Shit! Mare, what the fuck?!” “The TV demon.”

You looked over your shoulder. He quickly replaced his soft(-ish) expression with a smirk and a wave.

“You can wait,” and he did.

It wasn’t long after that day he asked you out for dinner.

The dinner was a lot more upscale than you were used to and he could tell you felt out of place. With a seat in the back and some carefully placed words he got you to relax.

Afterwards, he walked you back to your shop because you refused to let him walk you home. He placed a kiss to your hand and didn’t walk away until you were inside.

Dates became somewhat common between the two of you. Both of you only able to clear your schedules once or twice a month for it to happen but it was something to expect.

He learned from his mistake the first time and made sure to make things more mundane.

On the second date, he brought you flowers.

On the third date, he insisted you try some of his food and brought the fork to your lips, only letting it down when you took the bite.

On the fourth date, he took you dancing and managed a kiss at the end.

On the sixth date, he tripped into a pile of blood so you took his suit to properly wash it. He had it back the next day.

On the seventh, he walked you home.

On the eighth, he told you he loved you.

Alastor came to you to commission a suit for an upcoming event.

The two of you were talking about everything and nothing as you were prone to do when he casually mentioned:

“I’ve heard rumors about you, my dear. They’ve got me worried.” “Oh? And what is the rumor mill saying about me that’s so worrisome, hm?”

You were sure it was going to be something silly. Alastor had pulled this number before because yes, he was one to follow the gossip train but he never got aboard. He never believed something until he had reason to.

“They’ve been saying you’ve been getting close to a certain picture box.”

You felt your heart stop. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, quite the rumor, indeed! Now, I know you’d never be so thoughtless as to do such a thing but still, one worries nonetheless.” “Oh, you don’t need to worry about me, Alastor.” “Ah, but I do. Especially since it reminded me of something I overheard some months ago, why— No! It’d have been over a year ago actually. To think, the gall of the man to say his plans right in front of the radio.” “What?” “Let me see, I do believe I have it stored somewhere, just for my own amusement.”

A moment later Vox’s voice sounded through Alastor’s microphone, “It’s easy. Just go in and try to get some information out of them. That’s it. You’re a master manipulator. It’ll be easy and if they put up a fight? Well, you’re an overlord. It’ll be fine. Okay? Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

A few days passed since then when Vox came back to the tailor shop. He was befuddled to see a sign.

Closed Until Further Notice

He came back several days later to a new sign.

For Sale

He got worried. He started looking for you but no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find you.

Sold

Four and a half months passed until he got an answer. There was an overlord meeting after the extermination.

Alastor strolled out of it with Rosie beside him.

Vox didn’t pay much attention to Rosie. He paid as much attention to her as he did other overlords with the occasional sight of her when he was spying on Alastor but he noticed Rosie’s smile seemed tense. He caught her glares at him.

“Ah, Vox, my dear man! What a stunning suit you’ve got on today. No match for my own but I had a very good friend make it for me. Wonderful craftsmanship, don’t you think?” “What did you do?” “What did I do? Oh, no, no, no. What did you do?”

The knowing smile and glimmer in Alastor’s eye made it clear he knew something, something that Vox should know too.

It took a minute for Vox to remember, to remember the day he met you and all the things he’d said as well as the fact that your shop wasn’t just in front of a television but a radio too.

A fight broke out. It was big and catastrophic and took hours to finish. But in the end, Vox won or Alastor decided that he was bored. It was always hard to tell.

Rosie came up to Vox at the end of it.

He’d never spoken to her outside of a business setting but that strained smile and those looks were well deserved, he realized.

“I try to keep out of yours and Alastor’s feud but you just had to go too far, didn’t you? You know, they never told Alastor about ya but they did tell me. I feel so foolish to have told ‘em to go after you.”

She shook her head and reached into her bag. She pulled out a folded blue suit jacket and handed it to him.

“Where are—“ “You don’t get to ask that, Vox.”

He unfolded the jacket, uncaring that his blood covered hands stained it. It was mended so why did he wish it was torn?

[misscinnamonroll16]

Brozone headcanons

John is afraid of flying. If he can't walk to where he needs to be, he'll talk Rhonda. If it's too far of a drive, he'll hustle. If he can't hustle his way there, then it must not be important enough for him to go. Probably stems from fear of having someone else in charge of things and it going wrong.

Clay was always the kid who basically refused to wear clothes. They'd get home and he'd be in his underwear/ naked before John Dory could stop him. As he got older, it still happened just he no longer got completely naked. Baby Clay running from JD who's trying to put a diaper on his naked ass.

John Dory knows his brothers and knows them well despite how they've changed. He hears someone softly padding down the hall and chuckles "Clay getting up to get a glass of water because he got absorbed into a book." He just knows them so well because he watched them grow up.

John Dory despite that he's been living by himself for twenty years, is still kinda strict about manners.

"Get your elbows off the table!"

"Cover your mouth when you burp."

"Sit properly."

JD, Clay and Floyd often crinkle their nose when expressing happiness, disgust, or when being playful

All the bros push things closed with their hip/butt

Bruce and John often give Clay shit for being a nerd. It's such a little thing but they each missed it so much

JD/Bruce: you're a nerd

Clay: I am not a nerd!

JD/ Bruce: you're great at math and read dorky books, you're a nerd.

John Dory directs the newer Brozone music videos. He has the most experience with a camera, usually has a solid vision and the bros tend to listen to him despite how they don't like to.

Growing up, John Dory and Bruce were fiercely protective of Floyd. Because they KNEW before Floyd did. Because he saw how protective his older brothers were being, Clay was also super protective of Floyd. He didn't know why but he assumed there was a reason

John and Clay are LOUD mouths. Their voices carry

All the bros are nosy, Floyd's just the most idgaf

All the bros hair has a slight wave to it

John Dory was a chunky baby

All the brothers are protective when it comes to their brother's partners. Brandy and Poppy are excluded. John takes on the "father" role with the shovel talking and openly talking about killing and hunting things. Bruce is much more open and doesn't directly threaten but implies it. Clay uses his ability to walk silently to make sure they're going to treat his brother right, more or less eavesdropping. Floyd is SASSING and backhanded compliments, making sure they know he doesn't like them right off the bat. Branch doesn't understand this protective feeling but doesn't fight it, he's practically waiting for his cue from the others to go feral if need be

Floyd didn't know how to tie his shoes until he was like 7. Nothing the oldest two did made it stick for him so for the longest time he wore Velcro