#his body altered and before the mind broken. So broken in fact that the shards of this act

[madnessatdawn]

I want to add something. The comics were a big inspiration for Transformer One. Here is a fun fact: during Megatron's rise and OG rebellion, the government wanted to robo lobotomize him, and they almost did. That did not happen before shit went down. But, eh someone else that pissed off the government was not so lucky and got the worst version of it, and everyone paid for that sin.

Say hello to Shockwave, everyone.

[m00nsbaby]

Therapy.

(Marc Spector x F/Reader.) Warnings - Tags: Mentions of abuse, violence. Marc is kinda mean. (until he isn’t lol) Angst, but not that bad. Mentions of Steven. Word count: 960. Summary: The change was so sudden that you started to question if there was someone within it that you weren't counting on. That, or your best friend had been replaced with a highly unconvincing double. Because for exactly 4 months now, Marc Spector had been nothing but smiles.

You realized on an ordinary Thursday. Both of you were comically bumping into each other in Steven Grant's small kitchen, but he was two moves away from losing his patience.

You insisted on taking care of things yourself, and he refused, so stubborn that you had no other choice. Now, when your bodies collided and the plate in your hands went flying through the air, crashing loudly onto the floor, you stood there in complete silence, staring at him.

It was just a few seconds before your physical memory took over, expelling all the air from your lungs in a sigh. Here it comes.

You wondered what it would be this time. "I told you so" or "Look what you did," perhaps just a "Move" to get you out of the way and handle it himself without your interference.

"I'm so sorry." That's what came out of his mouth.

And you turned to him as if you had heard the filthiest word he could have uttered.

"Ah?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated as he bent down to pick up some of the broken pieces of the plate. Dark curls falling on his face as he squinted to locate every ceramic shard on the floor.

And that was your strangest interaction with Marc. Even after he talked to you about Khonshu, or about Steven.

Marc Spector has all those little and big points that people refer to when they ask you to promise to stay above everything else.

Sometimes it's the shouts. What was so striking about the whole situation with the plate was that you expected Marc to shout at you as he always did when he lost his patience, regurgitating the words his mother once said to him.

You had figured it out a long time ago, but you would never tell him what he was doing.

Other times, it's avoidance. Another thing you discovered over time is that Marc was engrossed in the idea of not allowing himself to feel any kind of affection for anyone. Not after Layla.

Romantic or not, he wouldn't allow himself to have his heart broken again. He couldn't bear the thought that someone would make him believe he wasn't as broken as he thought, only to prove him wrong.

Even after so many years together, his mind plays tricks on him. Sometimes he wakes up and decides that he no longer wants you in his life because the fact that you're his first thought upon waking up is terrifying. Or because he found himself smiling while responding to your silly 23rd message of the day, or because there isn't a spot in his house that isn't marked by you and how careless you are with your things.

So, he stops responding. He stops visiting. He stops existing. At first, it was worse, though. He disappeared enough to make you believe he was dead. Since then, the duration of these periods without him has decreased. The last time was just before this change, a week without any signs until he showed up at your door in the early hours of the morning with a bloodied t-shirt and a bruise on his eye.

The arguments, the alcoholism, that habit of blaming you because he can't stay away from you and accusing you of putting yourself in danger by being his friend as long as he continues to work with Khonshu, the number of times you've had to promise him that his alters are not more important to you than he is, the constant insecurity, his inability to communicate in a healthy way, and the fact that he never lets you use the blue plastic cup from his cupboard.

But you never wavered in your decision to stay. He never hurt your feelings; he just took care of filling a little jar inside you every time you realized how worried you should be about him.

And for the first time in years, you're seeing a favorable change in him that makes you feel good.

"You have to tell her, Marc." Steven's desperate voice echoes in his head, his own reflection doesn't look much better. Worry is imprinted on every part of his body.

That's what's been going on behind the scenes for the past 4 months.

"Why, huh?" Marc's aggressive tone is a good reminder that they are two different people, even though they share the same body. "So she can leave? Like Layla did, or like Mom did." The latter part is figurative; he was the one who left.

"She can help you."

"Steven." The mercenary runs his hand over his face a couple of times in despair. And it's not the other's fault for not seeing things his way. After all, even though they were as transparent as possible with each other, Steven would never know the emotional burden Marc carries. "Do you know how terrible it is to burden her with that responsibility? I don't want to drag her down with me."

And finally, the other falls silent. He understands.

Another gulp of his whiskey, and he's finished the bottle. "Well, I feel better." He thinks to himself now that the alcohol has clouded his mind enough to forget why he was crying in the first place.

That was his therapy, and it was proving to be quite fruitful from his perspective. Of course, on the days he wasn't with you, he would drink until he couldn't remember or until a burst of anger made him break a few things. Sometimes a lamp, sometimes his wrist from hitting the wall in an ill-proportioned strike.

But ever since he started lying to you, everything felt better in some way.

It was better until we reached exactly 5 months.

Only one thing had been treated suspiciously seriously with this radical change in Marc, and that was that visits were always scheduled. With a text message, a phone call. In fact, if you could send a carrier pigeon, Marc wouldn't even question why; he would just appreciate being informed that you were about to arrive at his apartment.

"Marc?" Your voice sounded on the other side of the door after two small knocks.

The bottle fell from his hands in a thunderous crash. His first reaction was to check his phone to make sure he hadn't missed any of your messages.

Nothing.

"I have Steven's book, the one he lent me." Somehow, your voice tensed his whole body, an anger he hadn't felt in... Well, not that long, maybe last week. "Can you let me in?"

No, he couldn't.

He felt like a mouse trapped in a glue trap; his feet wouldn't respond. How would he deal with your worried expression when you realized that tears were streaming down his cheeks and the smell of alcohol permeated his small apartment?

He chose not to open the door. He would stand there, waiting for you to leave.

Although the other occupant in his body disagreed, and he would let him know.

A few seconds later, and precisely the sight he didn't want was in front of him.

You, with your eyes fixed on him. Your brow furrowed and the small pout that formed on your lips whenever you felt worried.

Steven had given him the push. Although he almost vomited as he relived the sensation of the first few times they switched without realizing it, combined with the alcohol, of course.

"Marc?" You whispered his name for the fifth time, and his stomach churned even more.

"What are you doing here?"

"I told you, the book." You waved it in your hand without taking your eyes off Marc, who seemed seconds away from breaking down in tears.

"You didn't let me know." His voice cracked. "Leave."

Well, there was the Marc Spector you knew.

"Leave, go." He placed both hands on your shoulders, pushing you back enough to be able to close the door. And of course, the Moon Knight had skills, but being drunk wasn't much of a help.

It wasn't difficult for you to slip under his arm and enter the apartment again.

The slam of the door made you flinch, but once again, he would have to drag you himself if he wanted to keep you away from him at a time like this.

"Tell me what's wrong, Marc. Just tell me, I can help you."

"You can't!" Steven's look on the other side only irritated him further. He looked at him as if he believed Marc capable of hurting you, and surely he did. "You can't, you can't help me." His voice broke again, and the tears finally started to flow down his face.

You raised your hand slowly, intending to touch his cheek, but he took a step back.

With fear.

"I won't hurt you." That's all that came out of your mouth. /What's it like living to fight when every blow leads you to a traumatic memory that marked your entire life?/ You think as you see him so vulnerable.

Because Marc doesn't think about the damage Khonshu has caused to his body over and over again. He thinks about his mother's angry gaze and the burning pain of the blows full of contempt, which hurt a thousand times more than those from a stranger in battle.

He takes a step closer to you, just enough for you to rest a hand on his cheek, your thumb tracing his jawline as delicately as you can. His eyes close, and his head tilts to seek your touch.

"We're best friends, Marc." He furrows his brow at your words but keeps his eyes closed. "You can trust me."

"Don't leave." His voice is so soft that for a moment, you have to check if you're dealing with Steven. It's not difficult; Marc's body is always tense.

It breaks your heart to see how unstable he is when these things happen. In seconds, he changes his mind, and you don't know if it's just his brain or the alcohol in his system.

"Don't leave, please." He repeats with a sob.

"You have to tell me what's going on." You don't want to pressure him. You never have, but you have no way of comforting him if you don't know what's happening.

His arms slowly extend, encircling your waist as he holds you tightly against his body. He's begging for a hug, and you give it to him without hesitation, even though you feel the air escaping from your lungs as he tightens his grip.

Marc has a moment to realize how bad things are with you. His body is familiar to you; Steven's love language is physical—he hugs you, holds your hand, plays with your hair, and other things. But for Marc, your body is uncharted territory.

He doesn't know that his arms seem to be made for embracing you, or that your shampoo smells like honey and it's easy to catch a whiff of it by breaking the distance a little.

"You can't go." This time he whispers as his breathing seems to calm down. "Don't go, and I'll be fine."

It's a lie, and both of you know it.

Was it time to confront it?

"Marc, I can't." This time your voice comes out almost inaudible.

His arms tighten around you; he doesn't want to let you go. But you don't mean that.

"I can't end this." He hates how coherent you are. How stable. "I wish I could take away all your pain. Truly." For the first time, you feel his body relax as your fingers run through his messy curls. "But I can't stop this. You need to understand that."

He sniffles, and you wonder if he's still crying. He won't let you see his face while you're in his arms, but he nods.

"I couldn't wish for anything more than for you to be happy." His weight starts to wear you out, but you won't complain out loud. "I'm worried." It's good for him to hear it rather than having to decipher the expression he has memorized. "I'm so worried. You need help."

Marc nods again, and the hug starts to loosen.

"I love you."

This time, it's your body that tenses.

"What?"

"I love you." And for the first time in a long time, when Marc confesses his feelings, there are no tormenting memories behind him or ghosts from his past telling him, /You know what's going to happen./

Maybe this is a new memory. A good one, in some way.

"I've loved you since you broke my favorite mug." Marc tries to laugh; it's one of those times when you exhale loudly through your nose accompanied by a broken smile.

You remember it well. It was one of those times of "Look what you did." Never in a million years would you have imagined that your best friend would treasure that memory in his mind.

You finally lift your head; you want to confront him, but his lips are on yours before you can react.

Automatically, you close your eyes, savoring the taste of tequila and the mint of the stupid chewing gum he uses to calm his anxiety. Your fingers still in his curls, messing them up even more as he arches your back again with the force he uses to hold your waist in his arms.

"I love you," you mumble against his lips as best you can. It feels like lifting a thousand bricks off your back.

"It's too early," you complained against his chest. You could feel him scoff by the way your head moved. It made you laugh too. "Baby, it's already 12 PM," you could hear his smile as he spoke, and you hugged him closer to you. "No nightmares?" "Not at all. I dreamt about us having the cutest puppy ever," he said, marking three months without nightmares."I really have to get up." "What time is your appointment?" "It's in about three hours, so move," he laughed again as he finally pushed you out of his arms, making you complain one last time. "We should celebrate." There was no hint of joking in your voice, just a sincere smile as you watched him get up and search for his shirt somewhere on the floor. "One year in therapy is a big deal." "Do you think they make 'I'm glad you don't cry until you fall asleep anymore' cakes?" He pressed his lips together as he stared at you, trying not to laugh. "You are an idiot, you know that, right?" You were definitely going to bake that cake and decorate it with pink frosting while he wasn't at home. "Yes, I know." He leaned in a little, enough to rest his forehead against yours. "I love you." The words rolled off his tongue easily. It had been like that for a while now. "I love you," you whispered back, kissing his lips briefly. "Now move, or you're going to be late."

[justiceforskywarp]

Tbh my opinion on dead cells immortalis is just wasted potential. Now this is just MY opinion, and doesn’t reflect how the fandom itself feels, but to me? Yeah, I did actually just want an animated series that illuminated the events of canon. I didn’t want a whole ass new plot with ocs and a butchering of the queen’s character. And why? I’ve heard it said that a retelling of the canon would be boring, but in my mind, not really. The lore of dead cells is such that you see only what has happened afterwards, and you piece things together from the broken shards of the vase you find. However, you will never see the vase in its true glory and you will never have all the pieces. In my opinion, an animated series illuminating that could have fixed plot holes, answered questions, and provided perspective on the characters before the malaise. Let’s be real—how would it be to see the horrifying court drama of the king going crazy as his kingdom dies? We could have seen the Queen being dragged off to become a homunculus, the time keeper plotting to begin the time loop, the hand slaying and executing the giant as well as the civilians rising up against the king. We could have seen the scarecrow going crazy and the concierge mutating into a monster. We could have seen the collector discovering cells and deciding to use them on the king, only for him to become, well, the beheaded. And we could have seen the beheaded waking up in this new ruined world and beginning his plight to find his body, with animated battle scenes of all the bosses. Hell they even have an ending baked in—they could show us the beheaded slaying the queen to escape the island, or the true canon ending of dead cells—or maybe they could combine the two, with the beheaded getting off the island AFTER he retrieves his body, leaving behind a burned ruin of an island.

So to me, the fact that what we got was a bunch of ocs and a completely different story with altered designs and virtually no one I actually cared about in it…yeah I have to admit, I watched along because I love dead cells, but I didn’t really come away from any of the episodes feeling especially in love with any of the characters. And I wasn’t glad that they butchered the character of the queen and just turned the horrifying twist of the homunculus experiments into basically a shitpost. The malaise being a curse is fine, it doesn’t really change anything, and it’s one of the few things the series helped explain, but it still doesn’t clear anything up from the games, since in game the homunculus experiments were a response TO the malaise. Also, while the beheaded’s character is fine, there’s just…I came here for my beloved dead cells favorites. Who is this? She looks like a Sypha Belnades rip off they stuck a ponytail on after taking one character design course and deciding that her silhouette NEEDED to be recognizable.

So. I haven’t gone into any of the writing choices or the story or what because frankly I don’t want to. I just didn’t care enough about it to want to write an analysis. My opinion is literally just that the show is wasted potential. Dead cells is a beloved game and maybe some of us DID want to just see an elaboration of the canon, actually, because it’s that story, not the immortalis one, that captivated and drew us in. So forgive me for being disappointed in how the animated series handled everything (ESPECIALLY the character of the queen. God forbid)

[williamaltman]

The truth about Wanda's family and ScarletVision in WandaVision:

So, it has been a while since the show aired, but to this day, I think a lot of people don't quite understand the logistics of all that happened. Mainly, in regards to the existence of Vision and the twins. A lot of people still think that they're "not real". What exactly counts as real might be a bit subjective, but they're not "fake" in the sense that a lot of people seem to think. A lot of those misconceptions seem to come from the fact that in the comics, Wanda's twins are said to "not be real". This comes from the fact that their souls come from a shard of Mephisto's, and after Pandemonium comes to take those shards back, they're gone. In the show however, as we know very well, there's no Mephisto. So how do the twins exist? According to Agatha in episode 9, the Scarlet Witch is a being capable of "Spontaneous creation". Right before, she says "Your children, Vision, this whole world you created... This is chaos magic, Wanda." So how do the twins and Vision exist? Simple, Wanda created them. They're not fake. They're not "an illusion". In fact, it is established many times that everything inside the Hex is REAL, not an illusion. As per Monica, in episode 5: "It's not an illusion, Wanda is rewriting reality" "Wanda's twins are hers. Everything might look fake on the TV, but everything in there is real" So why do they disappear without the hex? If they're real, shouldn't they stay alive? Again, Agatha explains: "You tied your family to this twisted world, and now one can't exist without the other." Wanda's mistake was that the creation of Vision and the twins was made a part of the same spell that created the Hex. So if she takes down the hex, she takes them down along with it. It seems like a lot of people miss the fact that, Agatha explains the situation clearly to her, and then offers to make a deal with her: If Wanda gives her her power, she'll correct the flaws in Wanda's spell and allow her to live happily with her family. The whole time that they're fighting and Wanda is shooting her power at her, Agatha thinks she's doing that as part of their deal. But we then learn that Agatha was lying, as she then tells Wanda: "About our deal... Once a spell is cast, it can never be changed. This world you created will always be broken." Which also explains the criticism of "Why didn't Wanda just keep the hex at her house?". She can't. The spell can't be changed. She either keeps it as is, or undoes it. No in-between. Now, more in regards to ScarletVision. I've seen some takes about their relationship in the show that are... Wrong, or at least questionable. >"Wanda is having sex with an illusion of Vision/a mind-controlled Vision/forcing him to be with her" Vision is not an illusion. He's a real person (synthezoid) with his own life and mind and free-will, exactly like the original Vision. The reason he disappears along with the hex is already explained above. Wanda is not mind-controlling Vision, or forcing him to do anything. Because he and the twins were created inside the hex, they don't need to be mind-controlled to fit in on the sitcoms, and they're also straight-up immune to Wanda's powers as shown when she tries to make the twins sleep, and as said by the creators in many interviews. In episode 5, there's the "You can't control me the way you do them" "Can't I?" which a lot of people misunderstand and take it as Wanda having control over Vision. But she doesn't. Her "Can't I?" is referring to what she does next: Rolling the credits, to end the episode. It doesn't affect Vision's mind at all. It also just doesn't work, as Vision is able to stop the credits when he continues to argue with her. And as we find out next episode, even changing the decade doesn't take away Vision's memories and knowledge of there being something wrong in WestView. >"Do Wanda and Vision have sex? Can they?" This one is kind of a tangent, but, I've seen a couple arguments about the scene in episode 2 where they go under the covers in bed. First of all: Yes, they obviously had

sex. The implication of the scene is pretty clear. Vision makes a suggestive face to Wanda and tells her to turn off the lights, right after she turned their separate beds into a double bed. The reason they have separate beds is that couples in actual 60's sitcoms did. Because them being in the same bed, implied, well, sex. There's just also no other way to interpret them going under the blanket and moving and turning off the lights especially after the faces they make at each other, so I'm not sure why there's even an argument about this. And yes, the fact tha Wanda gets pregnant at the end of the episode DOES help with that. Yes, Wanda gets pregnants with her powers... But that's not the story she wants, she wants it to be as if she and Vision can just naturally have children. So, when she has sex with Vision that night, that should be the point where the twins are really "conceived." >"But how can they have sex if Vision is a robot and doesn't have a-" Just think about it... Vision, with his powers, can create his own clothes. Full-on outfits. His whole costume and a cape. He's able to change from that to his casual turtleneck outfit. He can even alter his whole body to look human. It's just logical that he's also able to create a penis. Besides that, Paul Bettany and even Lizzie got asked about that and Vision's sex life a bunch of times. And every time they have said that, yes, Vision can change his density, Vision can create a penis, they do have sex somehow... Note that, when Wanda does get pregnant, they don't question anything about how "But how can she be pregnant if we don't do that?", but rather just "How is she months pregnant in a matter of 12 hours?". It's true that Vision as a synthezoid shouldn't be able to impregnate her at all, but if Wanda got pregnant without them even having sex AT ALL, that would definetely be more of an issue rather than just how fast the pregnancy has advanced. >"But that doesn't matter, cause Wanda's pregnancy is psychological". No. How is it psychological if the children are actually born? I guess the logic here is that both the pregnancy and the twins she give birth to are fake, and "an illusion", but that has already been established as NOT being the case. And then part of that comes from misunderstanding the storyline in the comics. Wanda's pregnancy was not psychological. She actually got pregnant and unlike the show had a normal 9 months pregnancy. The idea that the twins were fake originally came from them being shards of Mephisto (which was a retcon btw). And then, when Bendis came to write House of M, he wanted to frame Wanda as being crazy and unstable. So he emphasized the idea of them not being real to make it seem like part of Wanda's mental issues, and also went with the narrative that a pregnancy and babies created through magic were inheretly not real. But that's only the interpretation of one write in a couple stories. He also said "chaos magic" wasn't real, and then other comics dismissed that and said that it was. And then, they turned out to be real enough that they were able to be reincarnated into Wiccan and Speed. So, even in the comics, Wanda's pregnancy isn't exactly fake or psychological. Even if you still see it that way though, the show is NOT like the comics. It has its own logic, which, to come back to the beginning, is that: Wanda's powers make her capable of "spontaneous creation". She fully created the twins and Vision as living people. She made the mistake of tying their existence into the hex, so when she undid the hex, which was a spell that ALTERED REALITY rather than created illusions, they were gone along with it.

[looselucy]

Fight

“Maybe… Maybe you should put me down now.” I whispered after spending some time admiring the look of exhilaration that had clouded his usual bright eyes. “Shit, yeah, fuck, sorry.”

He distanced from me so that I could unwrap my legs from around his waist, shedding his body from mine. My feet slowly met the ground once again, my back still pressed against the wall beside his door, Harry keeping hold of me until the very last second, like he thought I may still fall over without his aid. I sort of felt the same way. We were slowly coming back to our senses, and it was leaving us both in a state where we weren’t quite sure what to say to one another. I was still rather breathless from the kiss, budging uncomfortably on my spot and staring up to him, seeing the way he still smiled, practically giddy. “Stop looking at me like that.” I blushed. “Sorry. Can’t help it.” “We’ve still got work to do, Styles.” He nodded, trying to bite back his smile, but I had instilled this ray of hope within him that was making him shine in ways that could not be darkened. “Okay, m’sorry.” He strained. “M’behaving.” I didn’t believe that for a second, but it was nice to feel so endeared by him rather than angry or frustrated or just overwhelmed by him and his actions. Desperate to escape his stares, I headed back through into the living room, letting him follow my lead. Through the doorway ahead of me, I spotted the broken mug that had shattered across the kitchen floor, my coffee seeping into and staining the wood. “Woah, Alf.” I heard Harry cry when he noticed my rapid approach toward the mess. “Please don’t. Let me sort that.” “For fuck sake, Harry.” I huffed as I crouched down on the ground and began carefully retrieving shards. “Please-” “Just help me.” Sighing so that he could make it clear he wasn’t impressed by how stubborn I was being, he retrieved a small dustpan and brush from the kitchen cupboard below his sink and then crouched down in front of me and got to work, managing to easily sweep up some of the larger pieces, the smaller ones trapped in dints and cracks. We were quiet for a while. “I’m sorry.” He muttered. “Why?” “I dunno why I do shit like this.” He nodded down to the shattered ceramic. He was frustrated with himself, ashamed about an outburst he’d had only moments earlier. I felt bad for him, in a way. I didn’t want him beating himself up over a mindless bit of rage that hadn’t really caused any harm. “I guess… emotions are running high today-” “That’s no excuse. I’ve still got stuff I need to work on, I know that.” He stopped what he was doing, looked right at me, so I looked at him. “There are still things about myself that I don’t like, and I want to be better. I need you to know that this isn’t… a reflection of me. This is all stuff I’m working on, Fee-Fee, I promise.” “I know.” I whispered warily. He nodded and dropped his head, got back to work. Harry had always been working on himself, trying to better himself. Always. It came as no surprise to me. He hadn’t needed to explain himself, but I could see why he had, especially after all the worries and emotions I had already expressed to him that morning. But I knew him and I knew that he’d always be making an effort to be the best version of himself; that’s just what Harry was like, successful or not. We were down to the final few pieces before he spoke again. “I’m sorry.” “You don’t need to keep apologising. It’s fine, honestly.” He simply shook his head, overthinking his actions, overthinking how I might be viewing his actions. He collected the final few pieces from the ground, standing back upright and heading to dispose of them as I stayed on the ground, watched him. “I’m not expecting you to be perfect, Harry.” I wanted to make that clear to him. If we were really going to try and make a go of things again, I didn’t want Harry to do so feeling like he had to be on his best behaviour, like he had to manage and alter himself to suit me. I had fallen in love with everything about him, not limited to his good attributes. “Okay.” He accepted through a sigh. “Then… tell me what you want.” I got to my feet, cautiously made my way over to him whilst he leaned against the kitchen counter, apprehensively awaiting my answer. “I can tell you what I don’t want.” I stopped a few inches ahead of him, noticing how the proximity affected him, made him tense and rattled in a rather charming way. “Tell me.” “I don’t want secrets. I don’t want to hide away, like we used to. I don’t want a relationship that’s locked indoors like we have something to hide. If you really want me back, we’re not just gunna pick things up where we left off. It’s something new, and it’s open.” “I want the same thing.” He whispered deeply. “And I don’t want to ever feel like I’m trying to… figure out what’s happening whilst you pull away from me. I want you to be open and honest, like you have been since you got back.” “I can do that.” He nodded. “And I’m not gunna pull away from you, Fee.” “You don’t know that.” “No, I do.” He fought. “You have to believe me. I… I don’t care what happens… You’re the one thing I’m certain of. No matter what changes around us, it’ll still be us. Just me and you.” He had said those very words to me so many times since he’d entered my life, claiming it was just me and him. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so badly. I took hold of his jumper with both hands, looking down as my fingers tugged and fiddled with the material. He covered my hands with his, touching me softly as I closed my eyes and shared what I believed was the most important thing that I didn’t want. “And I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to monitor yourself around me.” I told him timidly. “When you’re mad at me, be mad. When you’re feeling down, just feel it. I don’t ever want you to feel as though you can’t experience your emotions honestly because you might run the risk of losing me, because that’s not how it is, at all. I don’t want you to be perfect. I… I just want you.” When he didn’t respond to me, I lifted my head to look him in the eye, seeing the mystified look of adoration that cloaked his features, as though he couldn’t even believe what I had just said to him. He didn’t need to put on a show to win me back. He didn’t need to be faultless, because I wanted him with all his flaws, all the honest and raw love he had to offer. Our relationship beforehand had been shrouded in secrecy, and now all I wanted was a life of honesty with him. Tears began to fill his eyes, coming to terms for the first time with the fact that I wanted him, exactly how he was. I always had. “I love you so fucking much.” He gasped when the first tear fell.

“You’re fucking kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.” Harry gasped, sitting upright on the sofa. “I’m deadly serious.” “Chloe and Sam?” “Yep.” “Fuck off. What the fuck? I feel like you’re lying and you’re just seeing what I’ll fall for.” “I’m genuinely not lying, I promise.” I laughed. “They’re together.” “When? Why?” “For ages!” I cried. “Like… it was going on behind closed doors when we were going on behind closed doors.” “No fucking way. What the fuck is she thinking?” “They’re in love.” I shrugged, because there was truly no better explanation. “He seems to be loads better now, y’know. I think she’s the right person for him and now he’s like… the best version of himself. For her, because of her, I dunno. But… they’re really good together.” He seemed rather dubious, but Harry hated Sam more than I’d ever even had the energy to. But I knew I was right, and I remembered so clearly the time my dad had said that to me; that one day Sam would meet someone and all those wonderful things would just come naturally to him, and he would become the best version of himself when that day came. I truly believed Chloe was that person. “Well,” Harry sighed, focusing his gaze on his lap, where his fingers fiddled a fidgeted, a distraction from the obvious. “I get that. I think… I think you always made me the best version of myself, so… yeah. I get it.” The sun was beginning to set and the two of us were sat across from one another on his sofa, where we’d spent most of our day. Since my attempt and subsequent failure to leave, we had revisited his paintings, he’d spoken to me about them more, gave me a brush and tried to instil some knowledge upon me, teach me some techniques, the two of us painting together again, as we had that one time. In the afternoon, we had eaten together and been playful and spoken about absolutely nothing and yet everything, eventually moving our conversation to the sofa where we still sat. And we hadn’t kissed since that morning. That felt like a good thing, though difficult. Especially when he said things like that. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. I had missed the simple pleasure of purely being around him; existing within his atmosphere and him existing within mine. I found that my most pensive and wistful moments were trapped inside his tiny movements, noises, his scent, his tone and mannerisms, the mundane tics of his that should have meant nothing that actually meant more than I’d ever realised. It felt incredible to just be around him. “What?” Harry sniggered. “Nothing!” “You’re staring. “M’not staring.” Clearly, I was lying. I didn’t cover it well and he certainly didn’t believe me, shaking his head and grinning wildly, mood lifting. The second I looked away from him, I felt the way he lifted his head and looked at me, blatantly obvious. It was no surprise he had noticed my stares. “Wanna hear the most unbelievable thing?” I asked him. “More unbelievable than Sam and Chloe?” “Mhm. By a mile.” “Hit me.” “Your mum knew my mum.” I lifted my eyes so I could see his immediate reaction. He went pale. Literally. The life drained from his skin as the knowledge I had shared settled in his mind, becoming so completely dumbstruck I wasn’t sure I’d ever get any words from him again. It was odd to have to catch him up on things such as Sam and Chloe, the way our mothers knew one another. He hadn’t even known that Louis and Libby were engaged. He’d missed out on so much since he had left, the little and large occurrences. Telling him had helped me to realise how much he cared, not just about me but about everything and everyone he had found in Rosebury. He'd missed it, I could tell. “When they were little, before your mum moved away.” I continued when I realised that he wouldn’t be able to form an answer. “Best friends, apparently. That’s kinda how me and your mum got talking. She came into my shop and she recognised my name, and then she mentioned the dog my mum had when she was little, and it clicked. Turns out they were pretty close.” “Holy shit.” He panted. “I know.” I’m not sure what I expected him to say. There wasn’t much to say, really, it was just incredible to think about. It had been almost a month since she had visited my shop and we had come to that astounding realisation, and it still hadn’t quite sunk in. It was such a wonderful thing. Somehow it made me feel more of a bond with my mother whilst also giving me more of a bond with Harry. It was a stunning sensation to experience. He shook his head, spoke breathily. “I… I don’t believe in fate, but shit. Meeting you makes me doubt myself.” “Turns out we go pretty far back.” I smiled. “And further forward, I hope.” The gentle optimism within his voice made me tremble, gazing down into my lap and failing to hide my smile. “Shit. I can’t believe they knew each other.” “Crazy, innit?” “S’weird. Makes me feel… even closer to you.” “I… I’ve missed being close with you.” I mumbled nervously. “I’ve missed everything about you, to be honest.” “I’ve missed you too.” His voice was quiet but confident, clear, rueful. “Just… this. Being around you. Talking to you. You were… everything whilst I was here. I guess I hadn’t realised just how much of a void there would be in my life without you.” “When you left… did you think that was it? Like… did you think that was the end? Or did you always want to… come back?” “I thought that was the end. But only because I thought things were better that way. That you’d be happier that way. I didn’t think your happiness could include me.” “Now you think… you’re my happiness?” “I think I could be.” He responded. “If you want me to be. If you let me. I could be a part of it, anyway. I know your friends and your life here is your happiness, I just wanna be a part of that again.” “I know what you mean, but… you had a life here too, Harry. You didn’t just come into mine. It was yours.” “Well then I want to live a life that’s ours.” He was being so incredibly forward, his endeavour clearly to make up for all those times where he hadn’t been upfront with me. But I knew that wasn’t the sole reason behind his earnest nature; I knew that he desired to be that way for himself. This was a new corner he had taken, and finally, he found strength in honesty, when all he had found before was weakness and pain. His truth was finally something that made him strong. I remained coy, still not giving him a certain answer whenever he had put himself and his wants out on a line for me to analyse. I just blushed, my stomach seeming to expand and shrink in quick succession as I tried to avoid his words. “Uh… It’s getting late.” I choked. “We should probably get some sleep.” “Spare room?” He asked. “Spare room.” I confirmed. He didn’t put up a fight, which I appreciated, but I didn’t miss the look of disappointment that danced over him, even if it was just for a split second. His shoulders dropped, his throat snagged, a gulp of air hitting the back of his throat before he nodded, his eyes looking anywhere other than at me. “Okay. You’re the boss.” He smiled. That didn’t help me, him saying that. Even more than him calling me boss, it was the simple fact that I knew he meant it. He wasn’t just saying it, he wasn’t secretly frustrated by where I wanted to spend my evening; I was the boss and it was totally up to me and he respected whatever my choice was. That made my decision to stay in the spare room even less appealing than it already was. Harry got up to his feet, offering his hand to me so that he could help me upwards. Placing my fingers between his set my whole body alight. Every fucking inch of it. I couldn’t believe it, but that simple touch we shared brought back so many feelings, ones I had spent that day with him trying to subdue and repress, ones I had tried to forget for the past year. I had wanted to talk with him and truly gather how I felt without the physical side of things, without my passions taking over, but then all I had to do was hold his hand and these undeniable emotions rushed over me. I could have cried it was so overwhelming, and all he’d done was take my fucking hand and it was as though I could see my future with him, map it all out and plan because I fucking trusted him. It didn’t matter what had happened, I trusted him and I knew I wouldn’t be a fool to open my heart back up to him once again. I just knew it. And all I’d done was hold his fucking hand. I withdrew my touch with speed, thanking him quietly for his assistance and then scuttling out of the room with my head down to the ground, deluded by thinking that may help me and my dire need to avoid both him and the feelings he was inflicting upon me by doing so little. I’d just wanted to be that bit stronger, a way of proving to him just how serious I was, just how much he’d hurt me. I had fooled myself into thinking that would be easy, that the infuriation and hurt that I had homed for the past year would be enough to stop me feeling fondly for him prematurely, before I’d fully made my point, before I’d reached my final conclusion. I was just drawn to him in ways I couldn’t deny. He was a few steps behind me as we made our way upstairs in silence for the second consecutive night, but unfortunately the fact it wasn’t the first time didn’t put me any more at ease. If anything, I was more tense than I had been the night before. “Thank you.” Harry said as I reached the doorway to the spare room, turning around so I could look at him. “For today. I’ve loved it.” It had been rather magnificent to spend so much time with him again. I hadn’t expected it to be quite as easy as it was, but being around him and talking to him had been as natural and wonderful as it always had been. He somehow managed to make me feel so relaxed, so myself. I’d loved it too. “Goodnight.” I smiled, beginning to close the door. “Night.” He returned. I shut him out as quickly as I could, then laying my forehead against the door and closing my eyes, fighting urges, taking a minute to myself before I ripped away and started undressing, pulling my t-shirt over my head as I wandered to the far side of the bed. I really wanted to snap out of it. I could feel my self-control slipping away as I undressed, begging me to stop being so stubborn and to face up to the fact that I should have been in the room next door. I should have been with Harry. I sat myself on the edge of the bed when I got down to my underwear, in two minds. I didn’t want love to have been the thing to shatter me. It had reached the stage where it was my decision, what love did, how it affected me, and I could either let it be something that drained me and caused pain, or I could let it consume me in the greatest way it could; with warmth and joy and devotion and desire and passion and every fucking thing he wanted to offer me. I made a split decision which side of my mind to follow. I decided how love would influence my life and command my soul. I got back to my feet, cursing beneath my breath as I stormed right back out of there, into the hall and knocking on his door as quickly as I could. He appeared within seconds, panting, he too stripped down to his underwear. “Please tell me you wanna stay in here.” He gasped, and I nodded. “Thank fuck, m’dying.” The relief physically poured from him, stepping aside to welcome me back into his bedroom fully as I giggled at his response to me, my eyes exploring the dimly lit space, the moonlight welcoming a murky glow into his stark room. My smile didn’t last long. “There’s no plants.” I mumbled as he closed the door. “No. I uh… I had to get rid of them when I left.” His room had always been a bare and barren place, but without those plants there was really nothing to it, just his low bed and unmade sheets and us. Nothing more than that. “It doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel like you.” I stated, staring down to the empty space where his plants had once been. “It does now you’re here.” My eyes drew back to him, seeing the solemn and serious look upon his face, marking just how much he had meant those words. He was somehow managing to make me so nervous, my stomach in knots, questioning how one person could make me feel so on edge and exhilarated whilst simultaneously being the embodiment of home. As much as I had missed him, I hadn’t necessarily missed what he could do to me, how weak he could make me. It was something I seemed to have a love / hate relationship with. It was both fascinating and infuriating. He must have noticed my uneasiness, my apparent inability to answer him. “C’mon. Let’s go to bed.” He suggested. We both walked around to what we knew were our subconsciously designated sides of the bed, Harry first quietly observing as I lay myself down and dragged the duvet upwards, and then he joined me, the two of us laying with a huge space between us in the centre, facing one another. I looked into his eyes for as long as I could stomach, seeing right into his soul. “This feels weird.” I hushed honestly. “I mean… it feels right, but weird.” “It feels right?” “Mm. I… For fuck sake.” I chuckled, hiding my face by dragging the duvet even higher. “Forget I said that. I’m embarrassing myself. Ignore me.” “I can’t ignore you, that’s my problem.” We had both tried to ignore each other, disregard that feeling the other inspired, but at that point I was sure that doing so would mean we were fighting a losing battle. Maybe it was better to surrender. He grasped the duvet, slowly easing it downwards so that he could see my face, then placing his fingers beneath my chin to gently nudge my head up, urging me to look at him once again. “I… I think it feels right because it is right.” He elaborated on my words. “There’s something about me and you, Alf. We’ve both tried to fight it but this is where we’ll end up, every time. Maybe we should stop fighting.” I had no fight left in me. Whatever it was I had been trying to dismiss, it wasn’t going to happen. It may have taken some time, but as I closed my eyes then, I felt I had accepted that within myself. I was making my peace with it, I just needed to sleep on it, and then it would be time to truly share that with him. I only opened my eyes again when I felt his touch move, the back of his fingers resting against my cheek whilst his thumb stroked sweetly back and forth beneath my eye. He had tears in his eyes. “Why’re you crying?” I asked with an ache in my gut. “I missed this.” He managed to smile, a tear rolling from his eye and hitting the pillow. “Even just seeing you like this. It’s fucking pathetic, but I… I’ve stared at the empty side of the bed for over a year, and now you’re actually here again and I… I can’t explain what it’s doing to me.” Whatever doubts I may have had when it came to Harry and his feelings towards me had been entirely demolished. Everything from the way he moved to the way he looked at me and the things he said, there was no way I could feel anxious or worry over the truth of his feelings; he lay himself totally bare for me. He was quiet, unbelievably beautiful and alluring even when he was in tears. I kept my eyes on him, my hand laying lightly on his chest. “Will you hold me?” I eventually asked. He nodded, still not quite able to believe that I was there with him, bewildered by my presence and how close I wanted us to be. And so leaned into him, placed the smallest and most delicate kiss I possibly could upon his lips, lingering within the moment a few breath-taking seconds before I pulled away, noticed the woozy look of bliss on his face before I turned myself to face away from him. His arms were around my waist within a second, pulling me back to him, breathing me in. I loved the way his body felt against mine, the strength he used to capture me and keep me as his own, kissing the back of my neck and keeping his snare secure, holding me as close as he could, tender yet intense. He handled me with care, compensating for the harm he had caused. Nothing felt better. I could have stayed there forever, knowing that I consumed every sense he had. “Goodnight.” I cooed once I felt totally settled, sleep only seconds away. “Goodnight, Fee-Fee.”

July 20th Waking up hadn’t felt that good in months. The sun was bright, casting shadows of the woodland onto his bedroom floor. Harry’s arms were still around me, like we hadn’t moved a muscle since we’d slotted ourselves together the night before, as though our bodies had relished in their chance to merge into one once more. I got this immediate sense of peace, as soon as I opened my eyes, slowly blinking in the morning, hearing Harry breathing ever so gently behind me. I could hear a bird chirping just outside his window, feel the warmth of his body radiating against mine. I didn’t even want to wake him, I simply wanted to stay in that moment, embrace it in all its glory. It was quite some time before he stirred, inhaling both the morning and me, snuggling closer. “It wasn’t a dream then.” He grumbled. “Huh?” “You’re really here. You’re really in my bed with me.” “I am.” “Fucking mad how good it feels.” He chuckled as I unhinged from him just slightly, enough so that I could turn around and look at him, propping myself up with my elbows, Harry keeping me wrapped in his arms as much as he could. “You sleep okay?” “Really well.” This time, I wasn’t lying. “Did you?” “Yeah. Amazingly, actually. Like I used to.” He always looked so good in the morning, with his eyes still droopy, hair messy, voice docile and deep. Harry was at his absolute finest mere moments after stirring, it was implausible. “Thank you for letting me stay in here.” “Letting?” He sniggered. “It’s hardly like I’ve done you a favour.” “I guess not.” I laughed lightly. “I feel like if anything, I should be thanking you.” He smiled. “Even for… giving me a chance. I know I probably don’t deserve it, after everything.” “Harry-” “Y’know what, this might be a little too deep, a little too early. It’s a bit much.” He grinned sweetly. “Let’s have a relaxed morning. I’ll start my begging again later.” My cheeks were already hurting thanks to the size of my smile. I admired him in silence, stroking my thumb across his bottom lip, taking my time to silently worship each individual feature on his face, noticing that after a while of staring back at me he just closed his eyes, cherished my touch. We stayed that way for some time, quiet, calm. And then I shattered it. “I love you.” I gasped. His eyes bolted back open. Frankly, I was as stunned as he was. Not only was that the first time I had told him I loved him since he came back, but it was the first time that I was able to admit to myself that I loved him, that I’d always loved him. It had never stopped. It had never lessened or frozen or weakened; it had always been there, even when he wasn’t. He was right with what he’d said the night before, about us trying to ignore and fight our instincts; no matter how we tried, no matter how valiant our efforts, we would find our way back to each other every single time. We didn’t quite seem to function fully without the other. Tears created a mist that clouded his green eyes, lips parted, body shaking. “I don’t wanna fight it anymore.” I started crying too. “I’m so tired of fighting.” “Don’t fight it.” He shivered. “I love you.” I lay myself back down on my side of the bed like even saying it exhausted me, made me need to rest my body. “I really love you, I never stopped. And I want this. I want all the things you want, but I’ve just been so scared to admit this because I didn’t know if you really did love me or-” “Don’t.” He tried to stop my words of doubt. “But-” “Fee-Fee, I…” He was struggling to word how he felt. “I gave you my heart the second I told you about my family. I just didn’t know what it meant. And… I didn’t know that you’d keep it.” I suppose Harry hadn’t expected me to look after his heart in the way I had. Too often his life had revolved around times of hardship and losing those he loved, feeling as though his heart had been misused or abandoned, misunderstood and jilted. I wanted to prove to him that his heart was finally in safe hands. As long as he wanted to keep mine, I would keep his heart close and fill it with all the love he had missed out on in his loneliest years. “I love you, Harry.” “Fuck, I love you too.” I hadn’t even known where his hands were beforehand, but all of a sudden they were on the back of my head and weaving through my hair, pulling me closer to him so that he could close the gap and put his lips on mine, his hands grasping so his fingertips pressed heavy into my head, his hips winding forward until his body pushed restlessly against mine. I snaked my hands up to clasp at his neck, feeling the way his jaw moved when his mouth widened as his tongue teased my own, one hand of his leaving my hair and moving down my body so that he could yank my waist so that I was closer to him even still. I hung my leg over his hip, pushed my groin to his, heard him bleat bleakly in response, hardening and swelling through his boxers and I could feel it. His fingers went to my bra as mine went to find the band of his underwear, pulling them down as far as I could without breaking our kiss, leaving him to do the rest of the work once they were out of reach, kicking them off his legs as I took his dick in my hand, heard the way he groaned in response, so loud and raw that it was obvious just how long it had been since I had touched him that way, the power of what I was doing to him. “Fuck, Fee-” He grunted. “I want you.” He lost his patience quite quickly, moving so that he was above me and he could easily make his way down my body, kissing trails right from my neck and over my chest and my stomach whilst his fingers dug into either side of my knickers and gradually guided them downwards, meaning that within seconds the two of us were completely naked, and his mouth was an inch away from my clit. “Fuck.” I was already breathless, just feeling him breathe against me, my head lolling heavily into the pillow. He turned his head, kissed the inside of my thigh, his teeth teetering tenderly against my skin, harsh enough that I was forced to bite my lip. And then his tongue was on my clit, his hands clasping my legs and forcing them to widen, eyes burning me as he watched my reaction, which was one of astonishment. I’d almost forgotten how good he was, how good he made me feel. He’d barely started, but it was the fact it was him doing it that made it feel so utterly extraordinary. The way his mouth moved was wonderous, my fingers digging into the mattress whilst his tongue worked my clit, hardly able to hear the way he moaned thanks to my panting and whining, pushing a little closer to him. For a few moments, it was as though nothing had changed, as though we hadn’t lost all that time. I closed my eyes, and all those months rewound in my mind, back to before his brother had broken into his home, before I’d told him I loved him. I was back in those perfect months we had shared, where it seemed like he was my whole world, when nothing else had mattered except us and our relationship. I wanted that again. I wanted to be totally consumed by him in every single way I could be. But I knew that this time around we’d have an honesty we never had before, an openness, a chance to build something that felt real, something that would last. If I thought what we’d had before was perfect, it would pale in comparison to what we were about to create together. “Harry,” I gasped, my left hand resting over my breast and my fingers rubbing my nipple as my right hand reached down, my fingers clasping at his hair. “M’so close.” I gazed down my body and pulled at his hair, harsh enough that he had to stop for a second, his eyes like saucers and his wet lips forming a blissed-out smile, appreciating my taste and my tight grip. He went back in as soon as he could, his hand moving from my leg so that he could touch my heat, circling and then easing his thumb into me, the perfect addition to what his mouth was doing. I unravelled, practically screaming as I did, Harry still with his mouth right against me, devouring my orgasm before he started moving back up my body, his wet kisses marking his journey back up to my mouth. He kissed me, but I struggled to respond, like everything was just happening around me and I was too out of it to actually do anything myself. “I’ve missed hearing you scream like that.” He grunted, two of his fingers rubbing slowly between my folds. He'd always liked that, how loud I was. I could still remember everything about that time in his gym, the first time he’d touched me that way, covered my mouth with his hand to try and drown out my cries. “Make me scream again.” I requested breathlessly, biting my bottom lip. He smirked, positioned himself, looked down between our bodies to watch what he was doing as he slowly pushed himself into me, filling and stretching me out, both of us cursing in time with one another. Fuck it felt so good. Too good. “Holy shit, fuck.” He almost sounded angry as he moved and kissed my neck, every movement and every touch heavy and harsh. It was us, it Harry and me, and I think no matter the circumstances it would have been incredibly intense, but it had been so fucking long since we’d been together that way, and neither of us had been with anyone since. It had been seconds, he had barely moved, and yet it was so vivaciously powerful and overwhelming that it was almost like this sexual awakening I was experiencing. Maybe on some level I knew this was it, that he was the person I would play my days out with, that no one else would ever touch me that way again. I thought it would be a tender moment, but it seemed our bodies didn’t know how to make this delicate. There was too much power, too much passion behind every movement. There was too much depth for this moment to ever be light. I clawed at his back, his thrusts driving me into the bed with so much power I thought my imprint may remain in his mattress from that point onwards. His messy mouth moved from my neck to my lips, kissing me with everything he had. “I love you.” He whined. “I love you too.” I just about replied, my words shrouded in desire. His hands were on my waist, so forceful that it was almost painful, but in this strange way it was enjoyable. I knew I didn’t want him to let go. The bed moved as he did, and I was already so out of it with pleasure that I could barely comprehend what was happening, how big and commanding he was, how forceful his kiss. He told me he loved me again, gasped those three words I had waited so long to hear him say, and then he said them over and over again until it felt as though that was all I could hear. He surrounded me with the love he had finally learnt how to give, and I wanted him to do that forever. I started to cry. I wasn’t sure when it happened, and those tears were not derived from any pain or sadness. I just started crying, tears quietly streaming down my face, my chest juddering. Harry noticed, stopped kissing me. “Alf? What’s wrong?” “Nothing, it’s nothing.” I shuddered, smiled up to him. “It’s perfect, I promise.” I didn’t need to reassure him more than that, because he understood it. He understood the emotions I was experiencing and why they had stirred that reaction. I remembered how it used to be when we slept together. We’d always had that connection that made our sex magnificent, unlike anything I’d experienced before him; it had never been bad, but there had been times where it had felt empty. There had been times where he was like a stranger and I’d struggled to find that real bond with him. He had gotten so accustom to locking himself away from others and sharing nothing real that sometimes being intimate with him had been anything but. Being with him then was like I could see and feel everything, all of who he was, who he had been, who he wanted to be in his future, our future. There was nowhere to hide anymore. He kissed me until he physically couldn’t any longer, his orgasm building up and conquering his body. I could literally feel the heat rising through his frame, watching him intently. “Fuck, fuck.” He broke, jamming his forehead against mine as he finished. I grabbed his cheeks in my hands and kissed at his lips as he came back around, smiling as I planted tiny pecks upon him, able to feel his shakes. He looked so beautiful, so happy. His face was this picture of pure pleasure and joy, which was exactly why I wanted to kiss it over and over again. We’d both been sort of spaced-out all morning, not quite able to comprehend where we were and how we were feeling. “This can’t be real.” He whispered. Harry never expected the best. Even after therapy, and how much that had helped him and assisted when it came to him viewing things that little bit differently, it hadn’t quite done enough to alter that part of Harry’s mind that always expected the worst, because so often it was the worst he had gotten. “It’s real.” I told him. “You love me?” “I do. And I forgive you. I understand and I forgive you and I wanna move on and build a future with you. If that’s what you want.” “Of course that’s what I want.” He gasped. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.” We started kissing again, wrapping our arms around one another and writhing around on his bed, obsessed with each other. He took me with him as he rolled onto his back so that I was straddling him, my long hair falling all around us, our smiles an additional part of our kiss. We cooled, Harry biting his lip as he gazed up to me. “So… where do we go from here?” I asked. “Uh… I guess we need to tell everyone. Fuck.” “Louis knows.” “Of course Louis knows, you tell Louis everything.” He sniggered. I hit his chest playfully, deciding not to tell him that Lin had also figured out that something had been gone on with us. I knew what Harry was like, and I knew it was no time for me to be mentioning Lin. “And I’m gunna move back here. Back into this house.” He said. “What? You are?” Even with all the things he’d said to me, I had still expected him to up and leave, sell that house. There was a reason he’d bought that building in the first place, and it had fallen through. I thought it might hurt him too much to stay there. “I think I bought this house convinced that it was for my mum and that was all it could be, but maybe it should be mine. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be about the past, but it’s supposed to be about the future. My future here, with you.” “I agree. I think you need to start putting yourself first, Harry.” “I wanna live here. I wanna be with you. That’s what I want. That’s me putting myself first. Being here is my happiness, I know it. You’re my happiness.” I had tears in my eyes. My heart was beating out of my fucking chest. “You’re coming home.” I quivered. “I’m coming home.” He confirmed, eyes misting over once more. My delight was so monopolizing, such a force to be reckoned with. Harry and the love we shared was my eschatology, proving that I had found what I needed and I no longer had anything to seek in order to make my life better. He was the finale, the end of it all, the highest form of heaven that I could reach. All my life, I had heard people say that love was blind, but being with him proved that to be untrue. Love is not blind, it is all-seeing, attuned, all-consuming, intuitive, omnipotent, almighty, observant, controlling and compelling. Love was not blind nor ugly, as I had always known it to be. It had changed completely. And I had Harry to thank for that.

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Reliving An Old Nightmare - Chapter 21

<= Chapter 20

Summary : We get to know more about the origin of the time rift. And maybe another element which is probably irrelevant. Or not. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337299/chapters/58602523 VOICE ACTING FOR THIS CHAPTER : https://erekiosuncreativeideas.tumblr.com/post/620755947531517952/voice-acting-by-a-good-friend-of-mine-posted -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

New chapter ! I hope you'll like it ! I'm currently working on the 23rd chapter and I decided to post the 21th chapter, since I think I'll work on it pretty quickly + I already drew 3 pictures for the future chapters. More are to come too !

Thank you so much for your support, it helps me so much !!

Also, yeah, the more I think about it, the more I want to write a sequel, so... Stay tuned :) I have so many ideas and they will all destroy you.

Happy reading !

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Chapter 21

Snatcher stared at Vanessa, astonished about what she had just told them. The hatted brat was looking at her with the same expression, perhaps even judgier than his. She couldn’t be serious… Could she? Did she just tell them she had believed a complete stranger and obeyed him without having any doubts about his own intentions?

He had always thought the Queen was naive… But this was not being naive, this was being absolutely stupid!

-“So… You just did what he suggested without thinking that maybe, just maybe, it might be a bad idea?” questioned the ghost, not wanting to believe Vanessa’s claims. But seeing how desperate she had seemed to be after his death, he wasn’t really surprised that she had accepted the first deal that had been offered to her. And, as a master in trickery himself, it was obvious that this “Moonjumper” had wanted something from her, surely using the Queen as a means to get the Time Piece.

But why would he go through the trouble of creating a whole new reality with it? This seemed rather counter-productive…

-“It was stupid, I know!” countered Vanessa, shutting her eyes hard and clenching her fists. Still, even if she had realized how foolish it had been, it was still too late. However, they didn’t have the time to bicker. He would still be able to do so once they were out of this collapsing world. Now, they had to act.

The kid added her own element to the discussion:

-“That guy lied…”

-“Well, no kidding! What was your first clue?” cut short Snatcher in a very sarcastic tone, only to receive a fierce glare from the little girl. Okay, no more interruption, he didn’t want to get hit by her umbrella again, not in this form at least.

-“No, I mean…!” she groaned, frustrated, and turned her head to the Queen: “I know how Time Pieces work. They’re-

-“Time Pieces?” asked Vanessa, apparently oblivious to the kid’s clear dislike of being interrupted. Though, said kid only sighed in defeat. Well, to the woman’s defence, she had no idea how this time stuff worked either. Blaming her would be quite ironic, seeing how Snatcher barely understood it himself. The little girl eventually started to explain the origin of the hourglasses with more details:

-“That hourglass you picked? It’s a Time Piece. It’s a magic artefact used by people like me -I’m from another planet, by the way. My spaceship crashed a few weeks ago. Anyway, they have the power to go back in time if you break them.”

Confusion was clearly visible everywhere on the Queen’s face. Snatcher had never seen her that unsettled by a topic before. If the circumstances were different, it would have been hilarious to him. In any case, her expression wasn’t that surprising, considering her lack of knowledge she had on the subject. Plus, it was a lot to take in. But a particular part of the girl’s explanation caught her attention:

-“Wait, but… He told me that breaking it would make it unusable…” murmured Vanessa softly, as if she couldn’t believe she had been manipulated that easily once again.

-“That’s why I’m saying he lied to you. If you had just broken it yourself, you could have gotten back to the past very easi-”

The shade shot her a powerful dirty look, which instantly silenced the small child. The meaning was clear: “don't give her any more ideas!” and the little girl understood it very well. She stepped away, pretending to look somewhere else with interest, as the adults started to talk again.

-“We’re not done with this,” he warned Vanessa, before asking her another question about their common enemy: “Anyway, you said he had contacted you while you were sleeping, right?”

His ex nodded and it only confirmed one of Snatcher’s theories. It had emerged in his mind as soon as she had mentioned this detail. He rubbed his chin, thinking about it. He knew he was right about this.

-“Alright, I think I know what happened. I’m pretty sure that guy possessed you in your sleep.”

Being a ghost himself, the shade knew how those things worked. He had already possessed many people in the past and everything just made sense. Vanessa had had colourful and enjoyable dreams, and then had woken up to notes she hadn’t written. But what if she had? What if she had been possessed by that evil spirit who made her write those things in her sleep? He couldn’t see any other explanations. The guy had certainly hidden his presence in her mind by creating perfect dreams so she could remain asleep as long as possible. And after that… An asleep body was just a perfect and docile puppet.

Vanessa gasped in horror as she curled up a little, visibly tensed and ill at ease:

-“W-what?” She shuddered in disgust at the simple thought of it.

Her reaction was a bit surprising to the shade: this scenario made perfect sense to him and the fact that his ex hadn’t even thought about it… Well, it only showed how hopeless she had been. In fact, she had been the perfect target. What could be better to an evil spirit than a helpless victim? The ghost was well placed to know that.

Then again, the big question remained: why? This spirit didn’t even know them! So why would he bother creating a perfect dimension for Vanessa? It certainly wasn’t out of generosity, given the way he had threatened her several times… Why didn’t he take the Time Piece and left with it? Why didn’t he pick up the shards by himself?

This guy had ulterior motives.

-“Uh, guys?” interjected a little voice next to them. Both the spirit and his ex turned towards the hatted girl, who was watching them with worry.

-“What?” replied Snatcher, unhappy to have been interrupted in his inner monologue. He glared once more at the child, yet the expression quickly faded away when he noticed the way she was staring at them. She nervously pointed at him and at Vanessa’s hands as she started to speak again:

-“I think we don’t have much time left,” she noted and continued: “The rift is going to collapse soon.”

Vanessa tilted her head and gave a curious and nervous look to the child:

-“How do you know that?” interrogated the Queen.

The child then explained what she had previously told Snatcher. She detailed how unstable time rifts worked and that the more unstable they got, the weirder the dimension became. She added that an unstable time rift would do anything to protect living beings over unimportant details. And since their bodies were affected…

Snatcher’s experience in the bathroom of the manor came back to his mind: his shadow had had trouble keeping its human form. The kid pointed at Vanessa’s hands and noted that the rift they were in would be collapsing soon, seeing how it was now affecting their appearance. She was still surprised that there hadn’t been many “glitches in reality”, as she had called them. Snatcher was, too, if he had to be honest. For a collapsing dimension, this was… Really calm. And this was starting to get really dubious.

-“Maybe it’s trying to keep us safe,” suggested the kid, staring into space: “I’ve seen that happen before: some places are fine while others are… Very different from what they used to be. I’m sure this room is fine just because we’re in there. The rift is probably trying its best to stabilize the places we’re in, while the rest of the dimension is mostly… Altered.”

The shade pretended to understand and nodded. This was a bit too abstract for him, but he trusted the child when it came to it. Vanessa, on the other hand, seemed very much confused but also very troubled.

-“So… We weren’t human in the first place, were we?” finally wondered the woman. The kid only shook her head in response. A slight form of compassion could be seen on her expression, yet just like the shade, she had too many negative memories regarding the Queen to fully sympathize with her.

Vanessa lowered her head and glanced at her hands sadly:

-“… I see,” she replied simply, though it was easy to see how upset it made her.

The ghost and the hatted kid remained unmoving next to her, not knowing what to say. It took her a few more seconds before she lifted her head back up, rubbing her tears on her wrist. She breathed deeply and finally said she was ready to continue.

The ghost turned to the kid:

-“So: where is the Time Piece, now?” he asked in a serious tone of voice. When she heard his question, the child closed her eyes and started to think. However, when she started to frown, the shade guessed that no matter what she was feeling, it wasn’t good.

-“What’s wrong?” he added, pressing her to answer his question.

-“It’s… Still in the attic, I think? But…”

Snatcher immediately understood why the little girl was confused about the location of the time artefact. Why would this “Moonjumper” keep the precious item in the same place as before? This was stupid!

-“Are you sure it’s not a trap?” he insisted, not liking where this was going at all.

-“I’m sure I feel something in the attic. But, like I said plenty of times before, it’s weird. It might be because of the rift collapsing, though I’m not sure… I’ve been in collapsing timelines before and yet, I never felt my Time Pieces like that.”

The little girl’s statements only made the spirit groan from frustration. This couldn’t be easy, could it? This had to be overcomplicated!

-“Okay, well, if time’s against us, I guess we don’t have many choices.”

The spirit and his ex contractor started to walk towards the cellar door, only to be stopped by Vanessa.

-“Wait! If you go that way, Sime- Moonjumper is going to know. There are guards and servants everywhere, and…” she paused and continued, on a darker tone: “I don’t know how, but he can see through them, I’m sure of it.”

Well, that explained why the guy had found out about their previous plan so easily, if she was right. He had probably seen the scene through one of the guards’ eyes or mind, whatever it was. Then, all he had to do was creep behind them and knock the ghost out.

But things would be different if the timeline was collapsing, right?

-“What does it matter? The kid said that the outside would be safe.”

-“Actually,” interrupted the child: “I didn’t say that. In fact, it’s the contrary.”

The ghost gave her a confused look, which prompted her to elaborate:

-“Well, either the rifts tries to protect us as we move, in which case it will recreate everything around us as it should be, guards and servants included… Either it won’t follow us and will keep maintaining the form of the cellar, only for us to risk falling into the void at one point once we’re outside.”

She took a deep breath and concluded:

-“So, no, we won’t be safe outside,” she stopped and glanced at Vanessa interrogatively: “But it’s not like there’s another way, is it?”

The Queen nodded and smiled a little, pointing to one of the kegs in the room:

-“There is,” she answered, “there’s a secret passageway to the attic from here. It’s right behind that keg over there.”

-“What?!” exclaimed Snatcher, both astonished and angry: “I wasn’t aware of that!”

-“Well,” retorted the woman with a tired tone, “now, you are.”

The ghost’s frustration only intensified. Oh, how lucky they were he didn’t have his powers back yet! However, before he was able to talk back, the little girl interrupted them, placing herself between the two.

-“Can we please focus, here?” she pleaded wearily. The ex-lovers glared at each other but still remained silent. The kid let out a sigh of relief and looked at Vanessa:

-“So, how do we activate the passageway?”

The Queen made a few steps towards the keg and pushed it aside, revealing a hidden trapdoor in the wall, which she opened swiftly. She then wiped her dusty clawed hands on her nightshirt, lifting her head to the other two, who had been expecting something much more… Elaborated than that.

-“Like this!” concluded Vanessa, as she crouched next to the opening. However, when she noticed that Snatcher and the kid hadn’t moved, and were still staring at her, she called them back to reality.

-“Come on, let’s go!” she pressed, clapping her hands softly. The gesture only exacerbated the spirit, who did his best to remain impassive. Oh no, he would not let her see how much she infuriated him. He still very much hated her. Some apologies wouldn’t change that fact. Never.

If they ever got out of this time rift… He still wouldn’t allow her in his part of the forest, certainly not.

The kid was the first one to move towards Vanessa and the shade followed her, crouching as well. The woman then entered the passageway on her knees. The child went after her and Snatcher was the last one to go.

He couldn’t help but have a very, very bad feeling about all of this.

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I wonder what will happen next ! We'll find out in the next chapters :)

See you in the meantime, take care !

=> Chapter 22

[mythandlaur]

Burai here on anon, rip Side-blog personal blog. Anywhoo-- The Will of the Swarm, Children of the Archives, Light Unseen, and are ya winning the tournament son. If you don't mind.

The WIP Tag Game

@buraidragon​ You should know these--you were involved in at least two of them.

Lots of text under the cut!

The Will of the Swarm (working title only) - Spiral Knights - 2018

A collaborative project with friends Burai and apprenticeNerd; a roleplay adaptation that would’ve made for a multichapter fic. Knight-Elite Ixtharion and his protégé, the slightly pyromaniacal Ashoza, are called on for a cryptic rescue mission in the Wildwoods, only to find the person they’re rescuing is none other than Parma, reconnaissance specialist of the lost Alpha Squad, who bears worrying information from the Core and evidence of her claims in the form of a dark miasma that appears to have eaten away her right arm. Ix has some knowledge on prosthetics, and takes over the effort to get Parma set up with one, facilitating interaction and camaraderie between the trio--and it’s them who chase after Parma when she delves back into the deepest layers of the Clockworks upon word coming back of the fate of the Alpha Squad’s technician...consumed by the Swarm and working for Herex.

I still really enjoy this concept tbh??? Like I don’t know if I could WRITE write it but if you guys still wanted to poke at it after all this time I’d be game. I don’t have a snippet, but I do have some nigh-incomprehensible notes from a document dated August 2018

Events:

Parma needs to recover a little bit, explore Haven when she can (her arm’s definitely going though)

Ix dinner party

Discussion of important things/she lets them in on what she found

Vanguards find Shadow Rulen in the depths and Parma immediately runs off looking, Ix and Shoza having to follow after her

Other ideas and stuff:

Scout slowly becomes a Seraphynx

Drunk Ashoza happens at some point

Concepts:

Shadow Rulen/Technomancer Rulen:

Is possessed/corrupted by the Swarm and taken in by Herex

Speaks in the plural in this state

Creates a very large mech (possibly named “Omega” something for irony?)

Swarm turret gatling gun

Shard bomb launcher

Tears out bits of the world and slams them down on enemies

Weak to overheading

Last ditch attempts to escape deeper into the core

Potential concept of Rulen losing his body to the Swarm and becoming a spirit who possesses/manipulates technology

Grantz’s Sword:

This dude took his oath way too seriously and stuck around even after dying, possessing his sword which remains around the core

Doesn’t realize he’s dead

Inadvertently possesses whatever knight holds the sword

---

Children of the Archives - Hollow Knight - 2019

Another collaborative project between the same trio, an AU affectionately referred to as “Monomom”. There isn’t so much a plot summation for this as there are a bunch of concepts; basically, in this verse, a very large amount of Vessels find their way out of the Abyss and into the Teacher’s Archives, becoming mainstays around there long before the Infection starts to take hold. Though Monomon still fulfils her duty, she isn’t happy about it or the Pale King’s plan, and Quirrel stays behind to take care of the Vessels after she’s gone, though becomes infected as a result. Several events in the game go differently, partially because Hornet is aware of the vessels and is more open with Ghost because of that awareness. Was meant to probably be a verse with a lot of domestic nonsense going on overall.

I don’t have a snippet, but there’s a doc with a lot of concepts, including about three pages’ worth of Vessels created between the three of us. Have some favorites:

Trio - Early model, has three arms. Acts like the older brother to other Vessels. Probably has three small Nails. 

Ase - Broken Vessel, stoic leader, mature, has been wandering longer than the others, cares about siblings more than themself - Insists they’re strong and independent and don’t need help, try to get to the void, fail, several others from the Archives sneak out to drag them back to the Archives badly injured and scare the living daylights out of Quirrel

Lantern - Likes putting lumaflies in their head. Yes, the eyes glow depending how many there are. Theoretically if they Consume the shock ones, they could have laser beam eyes? 

Vault - Taller and thicker vessel that likes storing stuff inside of them. Not a fighter. They fight by flinging stone writings at people and running.

Spite - Seven horns, is upset about that, breaks one off that forms the core of their nail, always down to fight. Will probably stab you if you insult a sibling.

Ink - Gets really good at making ink, their shell’s always stained, loves learning, pesters the students. Probably carries brushes instead, and would hang around Sheo for art.

Legion- One Shade spread over five Vessels. They act as a collective within a collective. If threatened will pile into a very stable tower and initiate a five-tiered Loom. Highly skilled in combat, as you need to take all five of them out within a short time period to fully incapacitate them. You might find one of their Shells roaming Fog Canyon, too keep a scout’s eye out for any potential dangers. If nothing else, they’re bouncing off of jellyfish because it’s fun. Each Shell of Leigon’s has a pentagon inked onto the back, with a dot in each corner responding to which Shell it is. Legion’s shade is as large as Hollow’s. 

Smith: Slightly-large Vessel, missing a leg, really wants to be a Nailsmith. Alters between studying under The Nailsmith and practicing Nailcrafting on sibling’s blades. Keeps them in shape, if nothing else. Has a metal peg-leg they are perfectly willing to take off and smack you with if they’ve lost their nail.

---

Light Unseen - Destiny 2 - 2019

A backstory oneshot for Kaira, a blind Guardian only capable of seeing traces of Light where it’s present, and her Ghost, Nel, who acts as her guide. This particular bit of writing was meant to be Kaira and Nel’s first meeting, and Kaira’s first (and second) revival, as Nel tries to figure out how to accommodate her and help her escape from a Cabal ambush in the EDZ, eventually assisted by more experienced Guardians Irina and Elara-4, who become Kaira’s good friends.

I really, really love this character and I really, really want to do something more with her, but D2′s writing has gone in the crapper since Forsaken and I don’t agree with basically anything Bungie’s done with the game in the last year, so I’m in a bit of a pickle. I do have a snippet, though. Trigger warning for a brief description of an extremely long-dead corpse/skeleton.

Other Ghosts do this for years, he’s heard. But for him, it only takes a few minutes.

Sticking out of some bushes, the Ghost finds a leg. Not much of a leg, of course; the flesh has long since rotted away, and the elements have left just the barest scraps of fabric from the deceased’s clothes. As he delves into the bushs, branches scraping and poking at his shell, he sees the rest of the remains tangled inside are similarly skeletal. The skull is the worst, mangled and caved in around the eye sockets. He wonders how they’d come to be in a place like this, in a state like that. Had they fallen? Had someone, or something, tried to hide their body?

There’s no way for him to know, and he doubts he ever will. But it doesn’t matter, because what he does know is that this is it.

He doesn’t know in any logical capacity, but he knows because he can feel something inside of those bones reacting to his presence, like a pair of magnets drawn to each other’s polarities. He feels...warm, and whole, and his shell is buzzing as if with errant electricity, except it is not electricity, it is Light, his Light, the Light the Traveler had given him with the sole purpose of passing that wonderful gift on to another.

Their body isn’t really in an ideal position for resurrection, and he can’t do much about that given his lack of both size and limbs. But that doesn’t dampen his growing excitement, as he looks at those bones and wonders not for the first time what they’ll be like, what sort of adventures they’ll go on together.

There’s only one way to find out, he knows.

The red-shelled Ghost hovers there, relishing this moment of anticipation for a few seconds longer. And then, he can’t contain it any longer.

He opens himself up to the gift of the Light, and it all but consumes him; his form expands, a little blue sun with little metal planets orbiting around it, and every mechanical sensor cuts out. The part of him that isn’t mechanical reaches out, and from the tiny floating solar system comes a beam that bathes the lost bones in Light.

Flesh reforms itself in the wake of shimmering waves, and clothes over that. The skull rearranges its broken, twisted parts and knits itself back together. After what feels like an age to him, his sensors come back online as his shell wraps around him again, and he drifts back to check his handiwork.

They wear the cloak, hood, and mask of a Hunter, hiding their face. Their shape is vaguely feminine--he’s going to assume until they tell him themself. Her chest rises and falls slowly with her newly-restored breathing, as if she’s not yet fully awake, and she doesn’t seem to realize the fact that she’s lying in a bush.

“...Guardian?” He quells his excitement, trying to keep his voice soft as he flies in closer to her face--then quickly back as he realizes he may be too close. The branches rustle with a slight movement of her arm, and her head turns sluggishly. “Guardian, wake up. I’m sorry, I couldn’t move you--you’re going to have to get up.”

She tilts her head slightly upwards towards his voice. For a moment, there’s no other reaction, but then the words seem to register and she starts pushing herself into a sitting position. Branches snap and crack as she pushes against them, struggling, before she seems to realize a better way and starts sliding her feet along the ground, dragging herself out with her knees little by little until she can sit up unhindered. Once she’s up, she crosses her legs under her and sets her hands in her lap, chin dropped towards her chest as he hovers around her to make sure she’s all in one piece.

He can hardly believe it. His Guardian, living and breathing once again, right here in front of him. The Ghost flies around to hang in front of her face. “How do you feel?” No response, no acknowledgment. He guesses she’s still a little rattled. “Not much of a talker? Okay, you don’t have to talk right now, but we do need to get moving, there’s--”

The Hunter abruptly raises her head, and he stops talking. In the silence, a loud rumbling can be heard, gradually growing louder. Seconds pass, and he turns his eye upward to see a shadow in the sky above the trees--a very familiar shadow, as he’s seen several of these during his scouting missions.

“...Maybe they’ll pass us.”

The dropship stops in the air, almost directly overhead. The side of a wing is all he can see, but he can hear grunts and shouts all too close nearby, feet hitting the ground hard.

So, he’d been quite lucky to find his Guardian so quickly and easily. But apparently, he’d used up all that luck at once, and now a Cabal scouting party is here, for whatever reason.

“You know what I said about moving? We’re going to need to start on that right now.” The Ghost quickly disappears in a shimmer of light, still keeping an eye out around them. “I’m still here. I’ll explain everything later, I promise, but right now we’ve got to run. I’ve got a marker up for you, just follow that and don’t stop. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

The Hunter stumbles to her feet, holding her arms out to steady herself. The Light is still waking inside of her; she probably doesn’t know how to control it, and without a gun, running is their only chance. She glances about wildly, and then takes off--not exactly in the direction of his marker, but he trusts she’s got a plan. If she’s a Hunter, she’s likely got impeccable instincts.

---

are ya winnin the puyo tournament son (doc name) - Puyo Puyo - October 2020

You know I had to do it. This is a oneshot based in an AU where Sig’s ancestor, Ajisai, is reconstituted by the deus ex machina duo themselves, Ecolo and (much to their chagrin) Satan. After spending a few weeks living in the middle of nowhere, Ajisai hears about an upcoming Puyo tournament and decides to participate in the festivities, using it as an excuse to endear themself to varying degrees to the students and visitors. Eventually, they confront Satan about his unacceptable behavior, and get a hint that Satan’s actions may be a bit more tragic than merely pathetic.

Basically this is just ‘what if Ajisai lived because I want to write more for them and I want to see how they’d interact with more characters’. It’s mostly just me goofing in 15th anniversary’s style and I don’t know if people would be interested, but I’m getting some enjoyment out of it.

Looking down on Primp Town from the ridge is rather like watching a beehive--except instead of honeycomb, the excited bees are rushing about building a network of colorful streamers and decorations hanging between buildings.

“You certainly have a lot of celebrations here, don’t you.”

Sig gives the barest of shrugs, not even bothering to glance up from the caterpillar that’s made itself at home on a finger of his claw. “Guess so. It’s fun, though.”

“What is it this time? The Primp Festival wasn’t too long ago. It can’t be that again, can it?”

“Puyo tournament. The school’s running it.”

“Ah, I see.”

“They did it last year, too. Bunch of Arle’s friends showed up.”

“You do realize I was there for the last one, yes?”

Sig finally looks over, and they patiently wait for him to arrive at the realization. “Oh, yeah. Right.”

Ajisai chuckles quietly under their breath as their descendant goes back to admiring the caterpillar. It is easy to forget that they’d been present during many of the major events in Sig’s life, if only because they look and act so different now that they have a whole body to themself again. It’s a small price to pay for their freedom, of course, and they owe Ecolo a great deal for the service.

Well, not just Ecolo, they suppose. There had been...others involved.

“It’s different playing in it yourself, though,” Sig continues after a pause. Ajisai shakes their head to dislodge the loose thoughts before turning back to him.

“Are you going to be joining in this year, then?”

“Yeah.” A tiny smile comes to Sig’s face, though he still doesn’t look up. Nothing more needs to be said, so a comfortable silence stretches on between them, as Sig watches the caterpillar climb his arm and offers his right hand to crawl on instead so he doesn’t lose the little thing. Meanwhile, Ajisai can’t help but glance back down towards the frenetic party preparations, slight fangs poking at their lower lip in thought.

They’ve been alive and well for at least two weeks now, and only four people even know about it; they’ve either been staying at Sig’s house rereading the collection they’d passed down to him or wandering about the Forest of Nahe aimlessly, occasionally slipping into town at night to have a look around before quickly leaving again. But...they’d like to go into town, if only to visit the library. There are so many of Sig’s classmates they’d never gotten to meet properly, too. After so long isolated, they finally remember what it’s like to feel a need for companionship.

There’s only the question of if they deserve it. If they’ll be welcome there.

Ajisai takes a deep breath. “Is this tournament only for the students?”

“No,” Sig replies without missing a beat, “Bunch of other people are probably gonna play. Arle’s friends, Ringo’s friends, the space guys, Ally…Dunno who’s coming, but I’d be surprised if those guys didn’t.”

“Hm.”

“You wanna play too?” Sig takes his attention from the caterpillar, looking over at them with half-lidded, questioning eyes and pursed lips. “You’re really good.”

“Well…” Leave it to their ‘nephew’ to see right through them. Ajisai looks away, hair flicking in slight agitation. They’ve picked up a thing or two about Puyo over the years, it’s true--they’ve even given some of Sig’s classmates a run for their money in the past. Though that only brings up the circumstances of those battles, which were...less than ideal. “Do you think they’d be willing to have me?”

“You’d have to ask Ms. Accord.” Typical Sig--doesn’t even notice their internal struggle, or perhaps he does and doesn’t think it’s an issue. He points down at the town with a clawed finger. “She’s probably down there helping set up.”

Ajisai narrows their eyes, considering it. They suppose the worst that can happen is them being told no and having to go back to the forest, but the idea of just walking into town as they are is a bit unnerving. Still… “Would you mind if I went down there now, then?”

“Go ahead,” Sig says, focus returning to the caterpillar. They can’t help but chuckle a bit under their breath at their nephew’s fascination, the same all-consuming interest that they had for books and stories. 

Ajisai stands, shaking the grass out of their cape before resting a hand on Sig’s left shoulder and squeezing slightly. “Don’t go running off,” they say with a wry smirk, fully aware that Sig will probably still be watching the caterpillar twenty minutes from now.

Sig knows it too, and huffs a little, amused snort through his nose. “Yeah, I’ll try not to.”

[tsukoyomi-fumikage]

The Wall (S/EraserMic)

Hizashi X Shota if you squint

Prompt - Write a character being thrown through a wall

Boi. BOI. Aizawa was made for this. 

.

Shota Aizawa didn't remember hitting the wall. He didn't remember the shards of concrete and brick flying around his face and touching at his skin as he broke through the buildings interiors, landing in a dazed heap on the floor. 

However he did remember the pain. It was shooting up his limbs, seizing his spine and making him unable to move. Small, fragile cuts littered his once healthy skin, and dust gathered on his back and hair, dirtying him almost instantly.

Shota's raven hair was stained red, as was the carpet as he finally drew a hand away from his throbbing eyes to attempt to push himself up to his knees. His arm wobbled dangerously as he tried to move it, sending white hot pain up his right side. Collapsing back onto the floor, his black eyes searched around for someone - one of the others had to be near by, right?

"Woah." A voice chuckled, and he froze, eyebrows narrowing and frown deepening. "Someone's looking a little dead right now."

The statement was probably true - and if it wasn't, he sure felt dead. A foot landed on his back, pressing down on delicate and sore skin: A whimper escaped Aizawa's bloodied lips as he attempted to stifle his cries. "Surely you want to call out?" Came a distorted voice through the blood rushing around his ears. "It means your friends will find you faster!"

A hand grabbed at hair, long fingers practically embedded into his scalp. He let out a groan of pain, squeezing his eyes shut. The throbbing in his head didn't let up, and the area where leather met clothes was roaring with agony. "C'mon, it's no fun if you don't call out desperately!"

There was blood collecting in his mouth, and Aizawa tried to spit it out, but his jaw refused to move - it was as if it was wired shut. Shota blinked his eyes open as his head was let go of, resting his cheek against the floor - he was certain his back was broken, so there was no use trying to move now. Although blurry, his eyes found the orange ones of the villain's; the man had crouched down in front of him, and was grinning eagerly, quirking his brows. "Well if you don't want to make a scene..." He shifted his hoodie sleeve, revealing a knife that had to be around nine inches, long, bulky and sharp. It wasn't even clean - some other poor soul's blood was dripping from the tip of it, running down in red streaks until it peppered onto the skin of the man. How hadn't Shota seen it until now? "I guess I'll just have to start without the heroes."

The pain had been unimaginable to begin with - nothing compared to the USJ incident of course, but then again, nothing could overrule that - but the agony he felt as metal touched cold skin, digging into his shoulders and finding itself embedded into muscle and ligaments, tearing through them easily was something so vile that he couldn't stop himself crying out. "Ahhh, finally!" The knife pulled out of his flesh, making a ripping sound that rippled across his body. "You're going to have to be a bit louder than that, EraserHead."

The villain sighed dramatically. "Gosh, do I really have to do all the work?" He sounded as if this whole fight had only been child's play - which Shota did in fact get 'schooled' like he would back in grade one, so he couldn't disagree. "You're ridiculous you know?"

There was no way in hell he'd win against this man - his quirk wasn't suited to mutant-types, something which, annoyingly, this man before him had. The blood dripped down from his torn open shoulder and from in between his cracked lips as he slowly bled out on the dusty floor.

Aizawa's mind was racing and wandering, calling out mentally for help, as if someone could find him just by his thoughts - shaking his head slightly to clear the thoughts, he looked down at the pile of blood growing steadily under him. "The League really got you this time, am I right?" He chuckled, waiting for Shota's dull eyes to meet his own again. "I can't stick around though, so I best just finish my mission, huh?"

Trying to quell his shaking of fear, pain, and loss of heat, he glared at him with the best look he could muster. All he got for his troubles was a smack in the face by a frustrated tail. "My mission isn't to kill you, dumbass." He drawled out boringly, walking back and forth from the downed hero as he thought out his plan, not paying attention as Aizawa struggled to heave himself up onto his knees - even if his injuries could worsen, that wasn't as bad as letting this villain get away. "Up so soon?"

Blinking rapidly to keep the blood out from his eyes, he griminced at the sound of his back cracking awkwardly. "Go... home.." Shota ground out, teeth chattering as his jaw was forced open. Blood splattered onto the floor - a lot of it too - but he was unbothered. "Don't... touch... them..."

"Aw that's honestly so sweet!" He gave a little clap, mockingly of course, and smiled down at him, tail flicking. "You know dude, you should worry about yourself."

Eraser's matted hair dangled in his eyes, poking at his cheekbones and eyelids. "Shut.. Up."

Letting out a hysterical laugh that sent shivers down Aizawa's spine, he turned to look out the window at the clear day's glows coming through the window. Orange eyes sparkling, he looked back at his victim. "I like you, you know? I was going to kill you, but I don't think I can make myself do it!" Running a hand through his slightly-damp looking hair, he sat down, curling his legs up tightly. "But then again, I have a mission, and I have places to be."

Grabbing the knife that had long gone been forgotten, he pressed the side of the blade into Shota's neck using one hand, the other tugging on his scarf, keeping him still. "I've always wanted to do this." He laughed, like one would at a childhood sleepover. This man was insane, he'd quickly concluded. "You'll have to tell me how it feels to get your neck sliced open when we meet again." He pressed harder. "Goodbye, EraserHead."

Suddenly, the weapon was gone from his throat, and he could move his neck again. Using that advantage, he turned his head to look at the opening where he'd flown through, finding Midnight and Present Mic at the entrance. They looked petrified.

"Look's like I'll be taking my leave now." Suddenly he sounded a little rushed, maybe he was just being cocky back there, because now he sounded like he'd just wet himself. "See you all!"

The only female of the four rushed forward, narrowing his eyes. "'Zashi grab Eraser and get out now." Were the only words she could ground out before her fists made contact with the villain's face, sending him wheeling back in shock. "You don't wanna be here when I give this bastard what he deserves."

Yamada, stoic as ever, charged towards the injured teacher, holding his face in his hands, thumbs rubbing at the cuts and bruises. "Shit, Sho'." He muttered before plucking him off the ground in one swoop, jumping back out of the hole and into the light of day. "Are you an idiot or something?" The blond scolded as he helped him sit down while they waited for Midnight. No one bothered to say anything about the thick pink mist that burst from the room - that was normal - That was Midnight being badass. "You knew for a fact that he was at the same strength as you and was a mutant type."

"Not my fault." He supplied, feeling too exhausted to keep talking: most people would be concerned, but Mic was just irritated at his lack of response.

Yamada scoffed, very different from his usual bubbly persona. "Sure." He couldn't keep the affection from his tone though, and sure enough he pressed his face gently into the raven hair. "You need to stop being so stupid."

"That's... my line."

A loud thump made them both jump, earning a hiss from Aizawa as his back arched in pain. Midnight was now there close by, within her grasp was part of Shota's scarf which was cut off, wrapped tightly around the villain, who was out cold, a bloodied nose and a now blackening eye. "Got him." She sounded pissed. Aizawa gulped awkwardly, feeling his throat protest at the sudden amount of fluid that wasn't blood. "Lets go you two numskulls."

Being picked up a second time that night wasn't something Shota expected but something he appreciated greatly - his back was going to take weeks to fucking heal thanks to that dick and that wall, but for now, having this simple ride gave him a small piece of his happiness back.

However being dropped off at the hospital was something Aizawa was expecting, but not appreciating. He'd been right with all of his diagnoses he'd done on himself - two broken vertebrae, three fractured ribs, a minor concussion, and one hell of a stab wound on his shoulder.

Some would say those were life-altering injuries, but Shota Aizawa liked to think of them more as memories of the day he lived rather than died. The Erasure hero spent the next two months wearing a back brace, chest bandages and a shoulder strap curled on the sofa watching movies with Hizashi and Midnight.

Oh, and did he mention that when it comes to injuries, it meant more naps and more privileges as an injured pro-hero teacher?

Yeah, being wounded isn't so bad when you're a teacher at U.A.

[smokeysister]

The Stepford Game (Part 2)

(This story features elements of brainwashing, mind control, physical transformation, stepfordization, and reality warping)

Carrie still couldn’t believe what was happening. It all felt like her wildest dream had been brought to life. She had bought some old board game, one about 50s housewives trying to make their way to a barbecue, but once she and her friends started playing it.... Well, it seemed as though the game was magic. Or cursed, as her best friend Vivian called it. Whenever a card in the board game was drawn and read out loud, it affected reality. First, Carrie’s short, unpainted nails were made cherry red and given a perfect manicure. Then Vivian’s jet black hair was swept up into a beautiful red ponytail, tied up with a cute little bow. The last change so far, as far as anyone was aware, was Mariah’s basketball jersey and shorts being stripped off and replaced by a gorgeous satin green evening dress, along with an elegant shawl. Mariah wasn’t too happy about it, but Carrie found herself staring at the ensemble with a mixture of jealousy and, well… A fair bit of lust!

She had always sort of enjoyed the 1950s housewife aesthetic, deep down. She didn’t much talk about it, since it was odd to most folks, but Carrie often had dreams of being a doting housewife, living in a suburban paradise and caring for her dream husband. And seeing her friend lose her sporty clothing and be forced to wear such a pretty vintage outfit… Well, that stirred something in Carrie’s loins. Meanwhile, Linh, the fourth girl in the group, was still looking exactly the same as she did that morning. But as the only girl who landed on one of the Stepford Game’s “reality spaces”, her own history, the very fabric of reality, had been altered, and nobody could remember the way things used to be. As soon as she read the card out loud, Linh’s workaholic, cold hearted mother was transformed into the perfect sitcom housewife, straight from the 1950s. Linh, who originally longed for her mother’s affection, had now grown up being doted on by a regular June Cleaver! And she wanted to be a housewife now, just like her mother. But now it was time for Carrie’s second turn, and she held the dice with bated breath. What kind of space would she land on? Would she get a pretty 1950s style dress, like the one that Mariah was huffing about in? Or would her drab blonde pixie cut be transformed, like Vivian’s hair had been? Would she get a reality card, like Linh? Or would she land on the third type of space, the mysterious “chore space”? She took a deep breath, rolled the dice, and moved her game piece along the board as everyone watched in anticipation. “Chore space,” Carrie said slowly. She glanced around the circle, and met the eyes of each of her friends. Mariah looked worried, Vivian looked curious, and Linh, well… Linh looked like she was having the time of her life. Linh hummed happily as she handed the top card from the chore pile to Carrie, who then read it out loud for all to hear. “Scrub-A-Dub-Dub. Your husband is on his way home, and you forgot to wash the dishes! No time now to run the dishwasher, you’ll have to scrub them all by hand! Better hurry!” When Carrie looked up, she blanched. Just a second ago, she had been sitting on the floor of Linh’s bedroom. But after reading the card, she was standing in what seemed to be a classic 1950s style kitchen, but one of the walls was missing. Where the wall should be, there was instead a wall-to-wall window. On the other side was Linh, Vivian, and Mariah, still in the bedroom, and watching her with wide eyes. Before anyone could say something, there was a loud buzzing noise, and the clock on the wall started ticking down. Below the clock was a sink filled with dirty dishes. They must have been stacked up three feet! And on Carrie’s hands were a pair of thick, pink rubber gloves. Without thinking, Carrie dashed over to the sink and turned the hot water on. She began scrubbing dish after dish with soapy water, silently praying that she would finish them before her time ran out. She hadn’t checked the rules to see how the chore challenges worked, but she remembered seeing something about a “punishment” if someone failed. Dish after dish, Carrie scrubbed off all the dirt and grime, then set them on the other side of the counter to dry. She could feel herself start to sweat, and her forehead went clammy. She didn’t even have time to check the clock, but she could hear the girls on the other side of the window cheering her on. Or, rather, she could hear Linh cheer her on while Mariah and Vivian watched in fearful silence. Eventually, Carrie heard Vivian whisper “come on, hurry up!”, and her nerves started to fray even more. And that’s when Carrie slipped up. She grabbed another plate, the very last one in fact, and started to scrub it, but once it was clean, it slipped right out of Carrie’s hands and fell onto the floor, where it shattered into a million pieces. Carrie stared in horror at the shards that littered the floor, and then the buzzer went off, and the door to the kitchen opened. “Honey, I’m home!” It was Kent! Her boyfriend? But what was he doing here? How was he a part of the game? Magic. Of course. It was a magic game, and she was in a fake little kitchen set, so naturally there would be a fake husband too. And he just so happened to look and sound like her boyfriend who she was on the rocks with, albeit wearing a suit and tie, with a briefcase in hand. “What’s this, then?” Kent asked, looking at the broken dish, and then giving Carrie a stern look. “Carol, what did you do?” “I-I’m sorry?” She stammered. Carrie glanced at the window, where all three of her friends, even Linh, were looking worried. “I lost, didn’t I?” “You made a mess!” Kent exclaimed, exasperated. He stuck his hands on his hips for a moment as he thought about what to do, and then he grabbed Carrie by the wrist. He sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and bent Carrie over his lap. No matter how much she struggled, his grip was just too tight, but not painfully so. But then he brought his open hand down on her bottom, and Carrie gasped as a loud “smack” rang out. “Oh, hell no,” Mariah said. “Carrie? Carrie are you okay?” Vivian asked. “Oh, he’s spanking her! That’s what daddy does whenever mom breaks a dish!” Linh said with a giggle. Carrie, however, stayed perfectly silent as Kent’s double spanked her again. And again. And again. It went on for what felt like an eternity, but Carrie didn’t resist after that first whack on the ass. Each slap that he brought down on her bottom made Carrie heat up just a touch more than the last, and she was already blushing as red as a beet. She had never fantasized about being spanked before, but right then and there, Carrie realized just how wonderful each additional stroke felt. Down in her pants, she felt herself growing slick, and it took all of her willpower not to moan with pleasure. But eventually her punishment came to an end, and when Carrie opened her eyes, she found herself sitting on a sore bottom, back in Linh’s bedroom, with all eyes on her. If it was possible to blush any brighter, she would. Meanwhile, Carrie’s red game piece moved back two spaces, without being touched by anyone, just the game’s magic. “Carrie… Are you alright?” Vivian asked, grabbing Carrie’s hand to show her concern for her best friend. “Y-yeah, I-I’m fine,” Carrie said, still coming down from the high of being brought so close to, well… To reaching the top of that hill. “Let’s just keep going, okay? Linh?” “Oh right, it’s my turn now!” Linh said. She rolled the dice, and moved her tiny purple housewife forward another three spaces, landing on the same wardrobe piece that Vivian’s black piece was resting on. A wardrobe space, which led her to draw a wardrobe card. “Sunday Best. It’s a Sunday, and you know what that means! Time to head on over to morning mass, and be sure to dress nicely when you go.” Just like every other time someone drew a wardrobe card, the tiny speaker in the center of the game board played a happy little jingle. And this time, just like when Mariah’s clothing was altered, Linh’s outfit vanished before their very eyes. For a brief moment, the 19 year old Asian girl was left nude, totally exposed for all her friends to see, before a new outfit began to appear on her body. First, a set of vintage undergarments appeared to cover her shame. A bullet bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings. Then, a white blouse with a peter pan collar covered her upper half, while a deep purple skirt wrapped around her bottom, with its hemline reaching her calves. Finally, a matching purple sweater went on over the blouse, and a cross necklace formed around Linh’s neck. “Ahh, this is just the sort of thing that I’d love to wear to mass!” Linh squealed happily, marveling at her new outfit. “I didn’t know you were religious,” Vivian noted. “Well, I’m not, really,” Linh admitted sheepishly, tugging at her skirt. “But it’s still a really nice outfit! It’s sort of like what my mother wears when she goes to church. I wouldn’t mind going more, honestly.” “It really suits you, Linh,” Carrie gushed. Like with Mariah, Carrie felt a rush of both jealousy and lust at the sight of Linh wearing the sort of outfit you’d see a 50s housewife wearing. She looked so demure, so pure, so innocent… And the arousal from her earlier punishment certainly wasn’t going away now! “Thanks, Carrie!” Linh said, giving her friend a quick hug. “So I ended up in some frou frou ball gown and she’s looking like a church girl. Great. Really fun game, Carrie,” Mariah huffed, crossing her arms and pouting. Unfortunately, her outfit negated any impact her grumpiness may have had, and Mariah ended up just looking a little silly and adorable. “Hey, she didn’t know any of this would happen!” Vivian spoke up, rather angrily, in Carrie’s defense. “And need I remind you that she was just spanked in front of all of us! If anyone has a right to be embarrassed right now, it’s Carrie. It’s an old dress, you can deal.” Mariah fell silent and looked down at her lap, sufficiently shamed. Vivian grabbed the dice from Linh and rolled for her turn, pushing through the awkwardness and keeping the game going. She just wanted to get it over with, and hopefully avoid any more unfortunate scenes that night. She moved her piece along the board, and wound up on another chore space. Everyone but Linh exchanged awkward, worried glances, as Vivian accepted the chore card from Linh. “Laundry Day. Your spouse needs a clean set of clothes, so don’t delay! Take good care of the laundry, and try not to end up with pink socks!” When Vivian looked up from the card, she found herself in a similar predicament as the one that faced Carrie earlier. The three walled, almost 1950s sitcom looking house set was the same, as was the giant window for her friends to watch her through. But rather than being in a kitchen, Vivian was trapped in a small laundry room. There was no ticking clock, but she was faced with a mountain’s worth of dirty laundry. Vintage frocks, stockings and undergarments, blouses… All things that one would expect a 50s housewife to wear. But mixed in among them, Vivian discovered as she sorted out the whites, were articles that likely belonged to other members of the supposed “family” she was doing this laundry for. Fitted suits, pencil skirts, ties of varying colors and styles, things that most likely belonged to her own false spouse, like how Carrie had a false version of Kent. The fact that she was currently single didn’t seem to matter to the game. And on top of that, there was also an assortment of small dresses, bobby socks, and cloth diapers. So she was doing laundry for a baby, too. Luckily, Vivian didn’t have to work with a time limit, and she had more than enough experience in washing her own clothes. She figured that the game cared more about her skill and knowledge in how to properly sort and wash the clothes than her speed at a simpler task, like Carrie got. In fact, time didn’t seem to make much sense at all during her little challenge. The instant that she put a load in the wash, it was all ready to move over to the dryer, without even a minute’s wait. She was grateful for that, at least. Otherwise, with the amount of laundry she was tasked with handling, it would take half a day to do it all, if not longer. But once she finished with the last of the drying, Vivian found that she wasn’t back in Linh’s bedroom, not yet. She looked at the window, to the others watching her, and hoped that they might have an answer. “You’ve got to fold them, silly!” Linh explained, rolling her eyes. “Right. Makes sense,” Vivian muttered to herself as she turned back around and started work on getting everything folded and divided up by who the clothes belonged to. As the time went on, she began to realize that the monotony of the chore wasn’t boring her. If anything, it was actually rather relaxing, just devoting herself to one simple task. And the smell of the clean clothes was rather enjoyable. She had never really noticed that before, but it was. There wasn’t anything about the task for her to complain about, and Vivian smiled to herself as she got into the rhythm of folding the various dresses and skirts and diapers, and setting them off to the side so that she could start on the next article. She had gotten off easy on the chores, she figured, but that wasn’t a bad thing at all. Once she set the last toddler’s dress aside, as neatly folded as everything else, Vivian heard a little ding, like the sound of a tiny bell being rung. When she looked around, she found herself, finally, back in Linh’s bedroom, with the other girls watching her. Carrie seemed relieved that Vivian had avoided being punished like she was, while Mariah breathed a sigh of relief and started looking for the dice. Linh, however, was busy fawning over Vivian’s appearance. “Gosh, those earrings are so cute, Viv!” Linh gushed, touching Vivian’s ear delicately. Vivian reached up and felt her earlobe, and understood what her reward for winning the challenge had been. Her gauges were gone, and the large hole they created was fully healed up. In their places were a pair of large pearl earrings, as smooth and cool as she always imagined pearls must feel. “Oh,” Vivian said, not sure what else to even say about the change. She should have been mad, just as upset as Mariah was about the changes, if not more. She had paid a lot of money for her various piercings, and to have two of them replaced ought to feel like a violation. But instead, she didn’t mind it at all. In fact, she felt almost happy about it. Thinking on it, the gauges were something she’d probably grow to regret someday, while a nice, classy pair of pearl earrings was something she couldn’t go wrong with. Even if they did clash with the rest of her appearance. But there wasn’t any time to think about that, since Mariah was already taking her turn. “Two spaces,” Mariah noted. She moved her game piece along the board, and breathed a sigh of relief when she landed on a reality space. “Reality space! Okay, you demon game, what fact about my life are you going to predict?” “Biblical Name. Your name is Mary. It’s the only name you’ve got, so don’t wear it out!” Mary stared at the card after reading it, confused. The other three looked at her as she slowly set the card down. “But my name isn’t Mary,” she claimed, getting defensive. “My name is Mary! Er, wait, what? My name is Mary. Mary. My name is Mary!” “Yeah, we know what your name is, Mary,” Linh said. “No! This isn’t right. I know that my name was something else, but whenever I try to think of it, my brain just says… Mary.” Mary started to get even more worried. The harder she thought about it, the more her original name seemed to elude her. She tried to spell it out inside of her head. It started with an M, and then an A, followed by an R… And then a Y. M-A-R-Y. “I-I think that these cards don’t tell us facts about reality,” Mary realized, finally. “I think that they change reality, just like those other cards change our appearance!” “But my card didn’t change reality,” Linh told her, growing somewhat annoyed by her friend’s little scene. “My mom is a housewife and I want to be one too. That’s how it’s always been, Mary. And I don’t remember you ever having another name!” “Neither do I,” Carrie agreed, and Vivian nodded her head. “You’re Mary. What other name would you have?” “I think you both might be right,” Vivian said. “I think that Mary knows she had a different name once, but we can only think of her as Mary. So whatever her name used to be doesn’t really matter, since it’s gone entirely now.” “But… But that’s my name!” Mary exclaimed. Even so, her outrage was subsiding. She just didn’t have it in her to keep arguing when even she couldn’t recall what her old name was anymore. The only name she could think of as her’s was Mary, and there was nothing she could do about it, and so she sank to her knees and folded her hands in her lap as she sniffled her tears away. Linh patted her on the shoulder sympathetically, but even Mary knew that she must have sounded ridiculous. The game was really starting to get to her. “Just take your turn, Carrie,” Mary told her, pushing the dice in the blonde’s direction. Carrie nodded and shook the dice in her hands, filled with a mixture of excitement and fear as she rolled them. She couldn’t wait to see what came next, even if it was a bit intimidating. “Wow, Carrie! Two chore spaces in a row!” Linh noted once she saw where Carrie’s game piece landed. Carrie drew the chore card and read it with bated breath. Would she fail this challenge, like she did the last one? Would she… Would she be spanked again? In front of her friends, as they watched a man bend her over his knee and treat her like a misbehaving child? What was this game doing to her, making her all hot and bothered at the thought of something so shameful? Or had she always wanted that sort of thing, but just hadn’t realized it? “Changing Time. Your baby needs a changing, and any mother worth her salt knows how to change a diaper! Can you do it in time?” Carrie shut her eyes as the world around her shifted. She could feel the air change, and her nose picked up the scent of... baby powder? When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a nursery, standing by a crib. Another smell cut through the first one, this one much more foul. Carrie wrinkled her nose in disgust, and then she heard a loud, piercing cry coming from the crib. She didn’t even waste time looking at her friends through the window in the wall. She had a challenge to win! Thankfully, Carrie had experience with babysitting from back in high school. Changing a diaper and calming an infant down was no issue at all for her, and she didn’t even need to pay attention to the clock on the wall as it ticked downwards. Her time wasn’t even halfway up when she finished, and a happy little chime played. And just like that, Carrie was already back in Linh’s room. But to her brief confusion, everyone was staring at her, just like when she had been spanked. Mary was, as usual, somewhat horrified and disgusted. Vivian was shocked. Linh, of course, was excited as she could possibly be. Then, Carrie realized that there was a weight in her arms. Something heavy, warm, soft, and… squirming? She looked down at what she was holding, and her own eyes went wide with shock.

“Oh my gosh, Carrie! Did the game give you a baby?” Linh asked. She practically flew over to Carrie and started fawning over the infant that Carrie had been saddled with. Carrie’s initial surprise faded fast. The more attention that she paid the baby, the more she seemed to know about it. She was a girl, eight months old, her name was Alice, and her father was Carrie’s boyfriend, Kent. She knew that just a second ago, she was a childless young woman. She had always practiced safe sex! But she also knew, without a doubt in her mind, that this precious little girl was her’s. This must be what Mary felt like, with the game changing her name. She knew, logically, that the game had changed a facet of her life, but that didn’t change that this was her life now. And so she hugged Alice close to her chest and sighed happily as the baby cooed at her “aunty Linh”. “This is the game, isn’t it?” Mary asked, her worries bubbling up again. “This game keeps screwing with our fucking lives, and we can’t do anything to stop it while we keep fucking playing it!” “Mary, stop that!” Carrie hushed her. “No cursing around the baby. Linh, why don’t you take your turn, okay?” “Look, I’m sorry, okay? But we can’t just keep ignoring this,” Mary insisted. “This game is messing with our heads, with our bodies, and now with our lives too! We need to quit while we’re ahead, before it, I dunno, makes Linh pregnant!” “Oh, Mary! That would be so amazing!” Linh gushed, her head filling up with thoughts about the prospect. “Okay, bad example, but still!” Mary moaned. She pointed a finger at Vivian as she continued. “What if the game removed Vivian’s intelligence or something? O-Or made me LIKE this?!” “Do you really think the game could completely change someone like that, Mary?” Linh asked, incredulous. The idea that someone could have their own thoughts and desires warped by the game was ludicrous to her. “Anyways, you can quit if you want, but I’m having a lot of fun!” “So am I, actually,” Carrie agreed as she stuck a pacifier into her new baby’s mouth. “I haven’t had this much fun in years.” “I’m staying in if Carrie is,” Vivian said. She didn’t admit that a part of her wanted to see just how deep all of this could go, and what else could change. Would she be the next one to end up in vintage clothing? Or would it be Carrie? Could someone else end up becoming a mother, seemingly out of nowhere? A small, determined part of Vivian desperately wanted to experience whatever the game had to offer. “...Fine,” Mary said, after a lengthy pause. “But if anything happens to me, it’s on you guys. Take your turn, Linh.” “Okie dokie!” Linh said with a giggle as she rolled the dice, eager to see what would happen to her next. “Two, three, four… Oh, yay! Reality space!” The young asian woman excitedly reached for an appropriate card and cleared her throat before reading it aloud to the group. She couldn’t wait to see what would happen, or rather, to find out if the game could really change something about her life like it did to Mary and Carrie. “Getting Your MRS Degree. You tried to give it the old college try, but college was just too smart for you! It’s okay, though. An aspiring housewife doesn’t need a degree to clog up her brain.” Linh nodded her head. That made sense to her. After all, she had dropped out of college after just one semester, once it became apparent that she was far too dumb to make it in academia. “Wait, but… But aren’t we all on break from school?” Mary asked, looking around the circle for confirmation. Carrie and Vivian nodded their heads. That was true, obviously. “Well yeah, you guys are,” Linh said. “But I dropped out during our first year, remember? I’ve been helping my mother around the house ever since, at least until a boy sweeps me off my feet and makes me his housewife!” “But Linh, what if that’s just the game messing with your life? Like how it changed my name, or made Carrie a mom!” Linh shrugged her shoulders. “Does it matter? I don’t really care about school anyways. I just want to be a housewife!” “I guess…” Mary said, admitting defeat. Did it really matter if it matched Linh’s own desires? Odds are she’d drop out eventually anyways, regardless of if the game had made it happen early or not. “See, Mary? This game isn’t making any of us grumpy except for you,” Linh told her, gently touching Mary’s shoulder. “If you try to enjoy it, like we are, you might have some fun!” Mary didn’t say anything in response. She just kept on sulking, trying to convince herself that Linh was wrong. It was a hard argument to win, though, so she kept quiet and waited for Vivian to roll the dice and let whatever change that’d come happen. Wasn’t like she could stop it, even if she tried. Could she? “I got a five,” Vivian mumbled, before picking up her little black housewife shaped game piece. She dragged it along the board over five spaces, moving right on past Linh’s piece, and ending up on the next reality space. Her heart rate picked up as she realized what that meant for her. Up till now, she had gotten by with minimal changes from the game. Just her hair and earrings had been changed, while Mary, Carrie, and Linh had all experienced massive shifts in either their wardrobe, their life, or both. But now her life was going to change, possibly forever, all due to the whim of a card in some old, possibly cursed, board game. It was terrifying, but also exciting. Why was she excited by the prospect of the game radically altering her very life? All she could do was draw the reality card and see what awaited her. “Clean As A Whistle. You’re not sure what these “body mod” things are, but you’ve certainly never had one! No siree, your body is a temple, and no tattoo needle or piercing gun has marred your beautiful skin.” Vivian looked down at her arm as the lights dimmed, and while her stomach turned, she could see the tattoos fade away, until there was just unblemished, ivory skin. She raised a hand to her face and felt around as her piercings seemed to sink into her skin, and then vanish entirely. Even her new pearl earrings vanished by the time that the lights came back on! And when the room went back to normal, Vivian found that she couldn’t remember ever sitting down to get a tattoo or piercing. She didn’t have the faintest clue as to what that experience felt like. She shuddered at the thought. It must be so painful, all just to have some ugly image ruin her skin! Thank goodness she had never gotten any kind of body modification before. “So… Let me guess. Vivian used to be covered in tattoos or something?” Mary said, looking Vivian up and down. Vivian nearly gagged at the very idea! “Vivian with tattoos? I can’t even picture what that’d look like,” Carrie admitted. The thought of her friend getting a tattoo was frankly absurd. Vivian always hated tattoos! She wouldn’t even sit down to get her ears pierced, no matter how much you paid her. “Viv with tattoos? Oh wow, that’d be a sight!” Linh laughed. “Can we just move on, please?” Vivian asked. “I don’t really like all this theorizing. We all know how I feel about the subject.” Still, Vivian felt that Mary must have had a point. Considering how the cards worked, she must have had some sort of body modification done to herself in the past, even if the idea disgusted her now. Did the game really change something so drastic about her, even down to her feelings on something like that? She couldn’t stop wondering...

[okuraiani]

Ikemen Revolution – Oliver Knight Part 12 Summary

Okay, that surely took me less time than I thought it would (*°▽°*) I am very pleased to present the next summary to those who have been patiently waiting for me to finally catch up with what I promised °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° Thank you so, so much for your patience! I hope you enjoy part 12 of Oliver’s route („• ֊ •„)  

PART 12

  Chapter 1

Upon seeing the King of Hearts, the tea cup drops from Alice’s hand and shatters on the ground. Lancelot notes that even though the security for her should have been strengthened that amount is no big deal to him. Alice is intent on escaping but in that very moment the King of Hearts’ eyes flash crimson. Before she can invalidate the magic, she gets extremely dizzy and feels her consciousness fading. Oliver, apparently drawn by the noise, comes running but Alice begs him to stay away since it’s dangerous. Of course, Oliver is having none of that, telling her that this is not the time for her to worry about other people. As Lancelot holds the unconscious Alice in his arms, ready to leave, Oliver tries to block his path. The King of Hearts, though, tells him that this is of no business to children and that he should hurry up and get out of his way if he doesn’t want to get hurt. Stating that it is his own home that Lancelot has trespassed upon and that he has no obligation to follow Lancelot’s command, Oliver grabs a nearby broom. He rushes over, determined to attack the King of Hearts with it. However, as he swings the broom down his opponent makes him aware of the fact that he is stuck in a child’s body with little power right now.

 Chapter 2

Lancelot effortlessly catches the broom with one hand and Oliver’s innocent face turns grim. Before disappearing with Alice by his magic, the King of Hearts orders him to tell the Black Army that the Red Army will treat her courteously. After any trace of the two vanished, Oliver curses his own helplessness and bites his lip while slamming his small fists on the table so hard they turn painfully red. Shortly before waking up, Alice faintly makes out two people talking. One of them, speaking in a very familiar tone with the other, notes that he has misjudged him. The other one, though, answers that it’s the best way for their army to win this war and that he doesn’t plan on sending Alice back. When she slowly regains consciousness and opens her eyes, Alice almost instantly pales as she remembers that she was abducted by the King of Hearts. Trying to get up she’s attacked by another wave of dizziness, but is luckily supported by a man in a white coat – Kyle, as she realizes a moment later. In his rough tone he advises her to rest properly since she had been put to sleep by magic. Seeing that she remembers him Kyle is kind of pleased, though, and even Alice relaxes a bit. Kyle then apologizes for the rough treatment she had suffered by his King. Suddenly remembering what had occurred before she had lost consciousness she is thrown into a mild panic. She tells Kyle what had happened before she was brought to the Red Army Headquarters and starts worrying that Lancelot might have done something terrible to Oliver. To her surprise, the man himself is present, telling her not to worry because he didn’t do anything to the boy.

 Chapter 3

Alice hadn’t realized that Lancelot had been standing at the window the whole time. He even swears not to put his hands on him if he won’t chase Alice any further. Alice says he’d better do that, the King of Hearts in return tells her with an icy gaze that she should worry about herself rather that other people. She can’t help but feel intimidated by him and get discouraged. But at the same time it makes her want to stand up against him. So, she asks what he plans to do with her now that she has been captured. Lancelot honestly tells her that he’s still contemplating about how to treat her. However, he notes that she’ll be a hindrance staying in the Black Army. If she is to obediently stay in the room they provided, he’d guarantee at least the bare necessities of life. A bit bewildered she asks him if he, in all seriousness, thinks she’d just obediently do as he says. In response to that, Lancelot almost threatens her to dare rebel against him if she doesn’t mind being thrown into the dungeon. In his opinion she should be grateful just for being given a room. Just then, Kyle steps in and tells Lancelot off for threatening Alice like that. However, the King of Hearts doesn’t see his words as a threat but as a clarification as to where Alice stands. Kyle clarifies that’s just what threatening someone is. But since he can’t exactly argue with his King he just places a hand on Alice’s shoulder. As a doctor, he advises her not to do anything reckless and that that’s the only thing he wants her to promise him. She doesn’t say anything but thank him, secretly glad that Kyle is around. Alice also hasn’t given up on escaping as everyone will surely worry about her and she wants to make sure with her own eyes that Oliver is okay. At that point Lancelot tells her that the second door in her room connects to his own private quarters.

 Chapter 4

He makes sure she realizes that he will immediately know if something goes on. Alice feels like she will be monitored directly by him thanks to their rooms being next to each other. Lancelot even almost teases her by saying he’d like to see her try escaping if she thinks she can manage that. Back at Oliver’s, Blanc finally returns home. However, he isn’t greeted by words but Oliver’s silent figure cleaning up the broken tea cup. Commenting that it isn’t like him to break a cup, Oliver answers that it wasn’t him who broke it. The boy can’t help but flinch when Blanc mentions Alice’s name. The older man then spots a crooked broom on the ground. As he wonders how in the world it ended up that way, Oliver accidentally cuts his finger on one of the shards, glaring at the line of blood. Blanc immediately attempts to stop the bleeding but Oliver himself doesn’t seem to care. He simply stares at the wound. Even though Blanc is worried about the seemingly deep wound, Oliver couldn’t care less. Not even listening to the older man he states that Alice has been kidnapped. Still occupied with the wound, it takes Blanc a moment to register just what the other has said. Oliver repeats his words and Blanc’s former calm expression turns stern. He asks what happened and with a grim expression on his own face Oliver recaps the events while Blanc tends to the boy’s injury. His face stiffens when the other’s explanation ends, saying that he wouldn’t have expected the King of Hearts to resort to such tough measures. Oliver is sure Lancelot would be pronounced guilty if he were to stand trial. However, the record keeper believes it wouldn’t be that easy.

 Chapter 5

Since Lancelot is able to use magic, even if he was arraigned, he might just alter everybody’s memory and get away with it. He even acknowledges that they probably should leave the matter to the Black Army, but Oliver adds that it would definitely lead to an all-out war with a lot of blood flowing in the process. And if Alice is the one to trigger this incident, both men presume that she will blame herself for the rest of her life. After a short, heavy silence Oliver states that it’s his fault. Blanc is surprised that the other says something so unlike him, but he just replies that she was taken right in front of his eyes. Such an unsightly loss isn’t something someone should experience in all of their life. He clenches his small hand into a fist and his hat falls down as he lowers his head. If he had just been an adult, if he had just been able to invalidate magic, then nothing of that would have happened. Blanc states that those are just ‘what if’s’ whereupon Oliver angrily raises his voice. For the first time he despises his childlike form. In an attempt to lighten up Oliver’s mood, Blanc declares that he’ll just have to become an adult if he can’t help her as a child. That, as the good-natured person he is, he wouldn’t just abandon Alice. Blanc picks up the hat from the ground and puts it in Oliver’s hand. Though the boy claims him being good-natured is a faulty statement, he puts on his hat and walks towards the door. Since the sun is about to set, he will go and take his assistant back.

[get-rammed]

Beasttale

I'M TALKING ABOUT THE ORIGINAL BEASTTALE THAT I CREATED A FEW YEARS AGO, AND STOPPED DOING A YEAR AGO. This is aimed at the Beasttale tag, as I know a few have cropped up since I iced mine. So I don't want anyone to think I'm attacking them or the AU they like

A lot of my stuff has been removed from the Beasttale tag making it harder to find me and the things I made. It's annoying. Or been buried. So if this does go into the tag and anyone checking it out sees this, hi. I'm Ram and once upon a time I created a Beasttale and it used to terrorize the tag. It was the most popular version of Beasttale at the time and since has been laid to rest allowing different beasts to grow.

Anyone who grows curious about my AU. It isn't like the current popular one. Mine is unkind and violent. It has its soft moments with my boys. But for the most part it's not for the faint of heart. Don't go in looking for a gentle but scary Sans. You'll come out scarred 😂 Bomber was gentle at times, but he would 100% eat your guts.

I know the 4 of you left from my reign of terror are asking me, "Ram, why the f*ck are you doing this now??" Because I'm bored as f*ck and it's always bothered me that the story I wanted to tell, never came about.

So I'm going to basically explain what the story I had planned was. This will be confusing as I'm going to go over ideas I teased and or introduced, but either didn't explain well enough, or did nothing. Also some ideas I never talked about. I'll do some fun facts at the bottom about Boys that I designed, but never implemented, and some other odd ideas I had.

Tldr; Bomberboy (Sans), was an experiment of Gasters. He had a human soul shard (Perseverance) along with 4 other monsters in his soul and brain, which is why he's a mess. BB shoved Gaster into the CORE, which corrupted the dimension. It made everyone big and a little meaner. But not too far as at the time I was too scared to go too far on anyone but Sans and Alphys. After that it's just basic Undertale plot. I'd do it all differently now. Tone down the violence and edge a bit…but increase the beast design a bit. But not too much. I'll explain later. 

I’m just going to warn everyone now that is about as professional as literally anything else I have ever written. Sorry. It goes from explaining sh*t to like, almost storytelling and whoops. I'm not very good at this. Imagine a lot of hand motions as you read. This is years of story that I've been sitting on. Just. Work with me here. A lot of these ideas are very very old. The original name for Beasttale was Testtale. Name got changed because me and a friend couldn't stop laughing because testicle. We're adults I promise. 

This whole thing takes place over nine years in universe. So I condensed the sh*t out of my ideas and it's all very rushed and bad. Forgive me. This isn't supposed to be written like a story. It's supposed to be written like I'm explaining things at him point 😂

Alright, alright, alright. So to start off. After reading the entries you can find in the hidden lab, and the idea that Gaster wrote them, I came to the conclusion that he was a massive asshole. As you do. Which is why Bomber hates him, and why I personally made him a massive prick. I like the idea of Dadster, but like, I had edgy designs, I had to have a reason for them. I had to have a reason for the scars Bomber had.

After an unknown helicopter pilot crashed ((this character does not exist in the universe of Undertale. She was made for this AU)), and subsequently went into a cave for safety, only to fall into the Underground, she was killed by Asgore. She fought as hard as she could, but she could do nothing against the powerful monster. Her soul was safely harvested and stored.

Asgore made the lie about needing 7 souls, which Gaster said he would corroborate if he was allowed access to one of the souls as they had 6 at the time. ((Another perseverance SOUL bearer falls shortly after. Which is how there are 6 SOULs by the time Frisk rolls around)) Asgore had two choices. He could deny access, in which case, Gaster tells everyone that any boss monster could easily open the way. Or allow him access. Of course Gaster reminded him that if the soul goes missing, then Monsters are trapped longer, which is what Asgore wants. Soul goes “missing”, Asgore claims it’s due to a small leak in the container, Gaster gets his soul and his plan goes into action.

A lot of Monster children just wander freely around the Underground because it’s safe! Monsters wouldn’t hurt other Monsters. Right? Well. Gaster is his own kind of breed. He’s very jaded from the war. Mentally broken. Saw a lot of good Monsters slaughtered. Has no empathy left for anyone. He casually snatches two kids that wander too close to his lab. A little skeleton, Sans, and a small lizard with no arms, Alphys. Something of note. I liked the idea of Alphys being Monster Kids older sister. So she lacks arms for this first bit. This was literally never mentioned at any point and if I do DeltaBeast stuff, Alphys will lack arms. It was a mistake on my part to give them to her in the singular piece of art that exists at this time.

Alphys is locked away as Gaster focuses on the mouthy little skeleton. Experiments on the kid. See how much he can handle before he needs a break. Then push him further the next time. Gaster is trying to make a monster that can break the barrier, and destroy humans. Sans, or J-5, as he was called in those years trapped with gaster, was hopefully going to be that monster.

Basic details for this as the actual details of the experiments were never really thought out. But I guess they could include. Breaking his bones and seeing how long magic took to heal them. Forcing him to fight rabid animals and see what he would do (mind you Sans would have been 10 when Gaster traps him). He fights them to protect himself. Physical attacks hurt. He's got a lot of tiny scars from them. Force him to fight for his life against half melted monsters. These he doesn't fight. Mentally and physically beat it into the kid that he fights or Gaster will hurt Alphys ((Which during this time she was just subject to SOUL testing as Sans always offered himself for the harder stuff)). All to get him to a fallen state so he can alter his SOUL. Things get worse later.

Sans isn't considered a boss monster here, and Gaster knows this. Giving Sans a full human soul would just kill him. Can't have that. Gaster has put too much time and effort into this experiment at this point. It's been a good three year of nonstop tests and beatdowns for Sans. He's ready. Gaster pulls out Sans soul and tears part of it away, slowly, carefully. Then wedges the human soul in its place. The piece doesn't fit right, but Sans also isn't dead yet. But blah blah blah, he's not strong enough to hold it and he starts melting down. Perfect. Time for phase 2.

Experiments J-1-4 were all failures. Note. It varies on AU on how many extra monsters were added to the boys. The monsters inside is what defines their heat form. Anyone remember that post with their forms that had some floating heads around them? Yeah. Extra note. The four monsters in Sans do not have names. They have designs, but any personality or names do not exist. Nor will ever exist. None could hold a shard of the human soul. But. Five monsters together trying to hold a soul? It might just work. Which it does obviously. He's kept all the failures in a state of falling down but not dead. Similar to the abominations in the lab currently. Alphys followed Gaster on accident. Just in a nicer way.

Sans is unconscious the whole time and remains as such for a few days. Gaster now waits as the tiny skeleton is reformed. It's boring. He's going to start up experiments on him when Alphys basically tells him to f*ck off and leave Sans alone. Which is when he turns his attention to her. 

Now he wants a fair fight for Sans when's out and about. Sans needs a watcher or guardian ot some form to regulate his ideas. So now it's Alphys' turn for the f*ckery. Beat the snot out of her. Pitch her against other monsters. See how well she fights. Similar to Sans, she refuses to fight. When she can't take anymore Gaster stops the fight. Casually pops her soul out and just as casually slices it up and wedges the little piece of Sans in. Forcibly bonding the two in a way no one else understands. It's not like a mated bond kinda thing. It's a connection akin to siblings on the same wavelength.

This finally wakes Sans up. The whole time he was stuck in a dream with the new voices in his head. They're all super unhappy and they all want to use Sans to get back at Gaster. The sudden added weight of Alphys' fear and anxiety gets him on his feet. Alphys can feel the terror and confusion from Sans. She can't feel the others, just him. Gaster f*cks about with her soul and essentially her DNA. She's got arms now. They're painful and new. She hates them. Gaster did what he set out to do that day and tosses Alphys back in with Sans. Mostly to see what happens.

Sans is on his feet, but he's lost and with so many trying to fight for control right now, he's basically stuck where he stands. He wants to move to comfort Alphys, his friend is crying and needs comfort. The way she comforted him every day. Every voice in his head is screaming to attack. But he doesn't. He's stronger than them. It's his body dang it. Comfort that crying lizard. It's like a mutual thing. She feels better, so now he does. Gasters happy. Alphys can still be used as a safety shield then. He lets them rest. The coming years have a lot in store.

Honestly he lets them rest for a few days. But when he thinks they've had enough, barges in. At this point Sans is halfway to his Meltdown form. A form that has never been posted or ever mentioned. So don't go looking. I might post art of old concepts if enough people are curious. Teeth growing out of his head, fur and slime showing up all over his body. He's beautiful to Gaster. It worked perfectly. Keep in mind a lot of ideas for SOULs I made on my own. SOULs would kind of be like their whole genetic code, but you can easily alter it if you know how. Which is what he was testing on Alphys for. 

Alphys sprouted feathers where her spikes used to be down the back of her head. Sans is now considered a Boss monster and Alphys a significantly stronger monster.

Sans has the strength to pull out of Gasters grip. Which gets him chained up. Which is how he got the scars on his wrists and ankles. Sans can't really do much besides pull away or mutter. Too much noise in his head. He can barely walk and is basically dragged. Alphys is trying her best to break out of Gasters grip because she has no idea what the plan is. But she knows it's not going to be good. Both her and Sans are different now. She's terrified. Sans just kinda stops and this causes Gaster to basically trip and nearly fall. Loses his grip for less than a second and Alphys tries to take off. Gets her new much longer tall grabbed. Scars from that.

Yay finally testing room. Seat them both in separate halves of the room. They can see one another, but can't hear the other or get to them. Answer some basic questions. How are you feeling and sh*t like that. Alphys is currently mortified and can't speak. Sans just can't speak. He can't even focus on anything. The person asking the questions is told to be ruder, ask more invasive questions. Things to rile up either of them. Nothing. "What would your parents think of you now?" Alphys starts crying. Gaster is testing for something specific right now. 

"Do you think they would recognize you?" Crying harder. "What do you think your little brother would say?" Now she's mad. Looks through the mirrored glass and tells Gaster to leave him out of this. Ranting. Years of pent up anger and frustration. Guards are coming in as she threatens the scientists and guards with her chair. Sans starts purring and chattering on his side. The panic is evident on what remains of his face. Alphys calms down out of her rant as Sans continues to calm himself. Gaster is mentally fist bumping himself. Perfect SOUL bond.

"They're both calm. Go back in and do what you have to, to get number five to break containment." Guards go back in and well. Sorry Alphys. Few more scars and another beat down. 

Sans is pretty quick to get up. Easily nudging his scientist down out of his way. He realizes he can't break the glass or break the wall with physical attacks. But magic. He got that good burn in his gut and zoop. He's got the ability to teleport now. Not what he was aiming for but it works. Gaster is so excited he might just do a little dance.

Easily knock the guards out of the way and hiss at them. Then comfort friend. Gather her into his arms and scooch into a corner where no one can touch her. Gaster is pleased with the results found, but he wants to do some physical testing with J-5. Instead of like, asking him to come along, Gaster goes the harder route. Uses a hook he's used before to move experiments. Hook it on their mouth and  pull them along. Well. J-5 is a little...soft inside right now. The hook slides through the roof of his mouth and just knocks right through his right lateral incisor. Which is how Bomber lost that tooth :) also why he's not keen on it being touched. It still hurts him a lot.

To the absolute horror of everyone in the room, including Gaster. J-5 starts bleeding. Blood just pouring from his mouth. Everyone is a gangster until a magic monster starts bleeding red blood. No one wants to touch him or the blood. Gaster basically grabs the broken tooth and acts like he didn't just internally scream. "Recontain them. Quarantine J-five. Decontaminate J-six and quarantine it as well."

Gaster does some testing and yeah, the blood is human and Sans' bone is partially human. So now he can survive at least some physical attacks from a human. Which funny enough. One just fell the other day. ((This Human has no name, and isn't important outside of the thing coming up))  The Guards are having issues locating the Human as they seemingly "vanished". Gaster literally just stood outside of Toriel's door and waited till it closed to grab them before the guards got there.

Sans is just tied to a bed. Chilling. Left alone with the new guys in his head. They want to dust everyone. They just keep chanting at him to kill. Kid is thirteen. He doesn't know what to do here. Maybe he should do as they're saying. Human in his head is like "dude. f*ck those guys. If you wanted to kill everyone you'd have done it. Just hang tight. We're all in this together now whether we wanted to be or not. We'll get out of this." Thanks dead human lady :D

Others don't listen. They're J-1,2,3,4. They've all lost it. They over power Sans internally and now he enters Meltdown mode. Full Meltdown. So he's an abomination of parts and teeth. He's f*cking strong. I mean, come on. Scientists had him held down with some cheap rope. Should be happy it held him down as long as it did.

Meltdown can't walk to save their lives. So they crawl. Large sticky arms that drag the dead weight of the legs and tail. Someone is trying to figure out how to leg while everyone else focuses on crawling to the door. Legs are moving. They use the door as leverage to help them up to their feet. Wobbly but they can move and attack efficiently.

First scientist spotted is blindsided. Meltdown crashes through them and immediately dusts them upon contact. Some others see this and the laboratory enters shut down. Gaster is alerted. Meltdown has killed a few more and is shambling around trying to find more to kill. There are thick plates going up their back. The ones near the tail are glowing purple. It's slowly traveling up their back through the spikes. I'm sorry but the effect looked really good in the most recent Godzilla movie.

Gaster finds and corners them when the glow is at the base of their neck. He immediately recognizes this is going to be bad and ducks out of the hall. Glow is all the way up and a purple laser beam shoots down the hall where Gaster had been standing. It hits a few people further down the hall and kills them. Melts through the metal at the end of the hall. This attack tires Meltdown out and brings Sans back to pilot his own body.

After that incident Sans is muzzled, chained, and monitored at all times. He's kept sedated until Gaster needs him. Like literally the day after the incident he throws Sans into a cage with the Human they had nabbed. Gaster tells the Human if they want to live, they have to fight the abomination in front of them. Sans tries to convey that he doesn't want to fight, but you know how people can be. Hits Sans pretty good in the head with a metal bar. The attack incites Meltdown. Which leads to a big laser beam, a very dead Human, and very shattered SOUL. 

Three years later, Sans is 16, and is basically stuck in the back seat of his own body. The other four have had the controls basically since the Human test subject. Gaster just wakes Meltdown up to test the laser, and take some notes. Then knocks them out again. Notes have been used to make the Gaster Blasters. They're not ready to be used. Get to that in a minute.

While Meltdown is unconscious, Gaster has been teaching Alphys her duties. She's basically there to make sure Meltdown doesn't have another, well, meltdown. There to offer energy and help if needed. There to keep the beast under control. She can be replaced is what he always told her. Reality is, she couldn't have been, because any more chunks of SOUL taken from Sans would have killed him. 

With Alphys finally brainwashed, she had no moral support the last three years, he moves onto Meltdown. Alphys is the only person Meltdown will listen to and the only one they will not attack on site. She can easily get them in and out of testing chambers. Get them to cooperate and not hurt anyone. To Gaster they're almost ready. He just needs to finish up his weapons. 

Next three years, both are 19, and are a lot calmer. With the both of them listening and cooperating at all times, Gaster is able to focus on his Gaster Blasters. He's got an ego. It took the past three years to build the shells and make sure the laser function worked. Once he was ready he did a test. Added what remained of J-2's SOUL to the machine. It worked, J-2 was within the Balster, and was awaiting commands. Perfect. But they didn't listen to Gaster. Instead stared at him until he gave up. Muzzled the massive skull and went to find Alphys.

The skull acknowledged her, but wouldn't respond to her commands. J-2 doesn't acknowledge or respond to Meltdown. It's highly annoying to Gaster as part of who is controlling Meltdown is literally in the Blaster. J-2 won't acknowledge anyone in the laboratory. Even tried a few civilians under the guise of it being to open the barrier. Nothing. King? Nope. His guards? Nada.  Gives up for now. He has to do something else. These Blasters were supposed to be his weapons of mass destruction, but they listen to no one. 

Except for when one little badger skeleton walks in. He heard about the big skull and he wanted to see what the fuss was about. Says his name is Papyrus, who is 17. J-2 responds to the name and acknowledges Papyrus. Doesn't listen to him, but it's something.

Gaster is very friendly with Papyrus. Trying a different tactic. J-2 follows Papyrus around, sniffing him, but still won't listen to him. Gaster decides to ask around. Having two little animal skeletons can't be just a coincidence. Asks around, and no one knows where they came from, and a lot of people have just been taking care of Papyrus when Sans went missing. Papyrus is treated like a guest not an experiment. Even helps Gaster produce three more Gaster Blasters.

Gaster takes a few more months to figure out that maybe he needs Sans, not Meltdown. Tries a kind tactic to help Sans become himself again. Both physically and mentally. Doesn't work real well. Sans has been just existing for the last 3 years. He's not strong enough to fight the other 4. Gaster figures maybe they want some revenge. Some dust. Gathers up some poor monsters and throws masks on them that match his own. Let's Meltdown loose. *jazz hands* lots of innocent monsters die in a pretty bad way. But Meltdown calms downs a lot after.

A lot of the extra monster bits melt back down and Sans looks like a human skeleton now. He's kept the sharp teeth, little tail and claws. Sans doesn't remember how to walk or talk anymore. It takes a few weeks to get him to walk again, and a lot more to talk normally. Alphys is very happy to see him and helps out where she can. She can feel that Sans is just playing along with what Gaster wants, waiting for his moment. She says nothing to Gaster. 

Sans is very very unhappy when he finds out about Papyrus being there now too. Gaster of course has been very kind to Papyrus. Which helps keep Sans calmer. But now he really wants out. Gaster tries out the Blasters with Sans.

The Blasters listened to him. They did everything he asked. Gaster isn't an idiot, he's in a different part of the lab, and Sans is down in the CORE. It takes a few weeks, but Sans can control the Blasters almost perfectly. Power cuts out because another Human has fallen. Gaster of course books it down into the CORE. Bad move.

Sans is ready for him and ambushes him. Shoves Gaster to the edge of the magma, but he manages to save himself from falling. All the skulls are pointed at Gaster. Gaster taunts Sans and tells him he never had it in him to kill someone. It was never him who hurt anyone. He's too weak to finish this now. Well. Sans has had a lot of time, he has no issue shoving Gaster into the CORE. Gaster's claws just hit Sans' right cheek as he falls. Earning him his other facial scars. Very sensitive ones that hurt on cold days. 

Gaster fell right as the human did. It f*cked with the code of the world. Gaster couldn't actually die. He's stuck in a forever melting loop. His hostility and actual monstrous form infected the code of the world. Everyone gets much bigger, much more edgy, and a whole lot more aggressive. Gaster is forgotten and the history of the world has changed. Since Sans was the one there the whole time, he forgot nothing.

Sans wakes up in Snowdin. Wearing a sweater he's never seen and pants he didn't like. He tries to find Alphys. He's terrified. She can tell and makes her way to Snowdin. He asks what's going on and she's very confused. Walks him back to the lab. It looks nothing like it just did for him. It looked so small from the outside. Inside was so tiny. There was nothing there but some robot parts.

He has a breakdown and Alphys hugs him close. When he's feeling better he explains what's going on. She stares at him for a few minutes just blankly. Her eyes saying she's reliving everything, but eventually she smiles at him and says she doesn't know what he's talking about. She can't explain her scars. What are you talking about, she's always had her arms. She offers for him to stay the night and have dinner with her. To see if he feels better in the morning.

Mettaton comes by. He's a super early model and has a few issues. Mettaton is offended Sans is there, but ignores him to whine to Alphys. Sans mumbles out what Alphys can fix to make the weight lessened. Everyone is surprised. Sans most of all. He's literally never worked in robotics. Mettaton laughs because everyone knows Sans is a lazy f*cker. No way he does robotics. Alphys shoos Mettaton away.

For the first time since he first ended up in the lab. He cried. Cried for all the years he was stuck inside his head as a passenger. Cried for everything that happened. Cried because he doesn't know where he is. Almost doesn't even know who he is. Alphys held him tightly the whole time. She doesn't know what's going on. He's never had a fit like this before. Small ones, but never this bad. 

He ends up crying himself to sleep and Alphys makes him some food for when he wakes up. Checks his numbers while he sleeps. Yeah, what he said could actually lessen the weight a lot. Crazy dude. 

To Alphys this is strange. Sans was his normal hostile and idiot self yesterday. Today he's intelligent and an emotional mess. She can't explain it, and just leaves it how it is. Reality is that Gaster is chilling behind her muttering things she can't hear out loud so she thinks a certain way. 

He stays a few days until Papyrus comes and finds him. Sans doesn't feel much for Papyrus as for Sans, it's been years since he saw Papyrus. It's only been a few days for the tall now human looking skeleton. 

Sans starts to realize over a few weeks that some days and moments seem to repeat. But he's still fine the whole time. Papyrus doing the same exact thing every morning. The people of Snowdin doing the same thing. He doesn't think anything of it until a big f*cking plant attacks Snowdin, killing everyone but him. He manages to keep the roots away with a stick when a little sh*tty flower pops out.

"Who in the sandy f*ck are you?" Flowey isn't super happy because everything is supposed to always be the same. There is no way in heck this guy has ever once been outside of his house during this attack. Flowey knows something is wrong. This guy isn't normal. Even when the world is paused, this skeleton is moving away from him. Time to f*ck with him.

Sans ends up dying a lot to Flowey over the next few months, which is just the same week on loop. Until Sans figures out, well sh*t. This guy has time powers or something. He's also had enough. He can't watch his friends die anymore. He has to teach this little brat that he's not the only one who can do neat tricks. Flowey pops up to greet him only to get laser blasted and the world resets back to the start of the week. Sans starts keeping a journal after that. Things he notices, things that don't change, things that do. Also starts seeing just how powerful he is. He's got plenty of time as Flowey keeps away from him now and is messing about with someone else now. 

Sans figures out he can teleport on accident. He trips and accidentally teleports to the waterfall area. He thinks it's activated by severe panic. Until he starts experimenting a bit and realizes he can activate it whenever. First time was when he encounters the void. The dark space between areas. The stink of wet earth and whatever else I said the void smelled like. That's the first time he sees Gaster again. But the guy is now a pile of goop with a mask melted to it.

Gaster has nothing worry to say. So he just watches. Then in his left eye hole is a bunch of tiny eyes that open to stare. Which scared the ever loving sh*t out of Sans. More Gasters appear in the void over time and he starts seeing different versions of himself. He tried talking to one once, but the Gasters started shrieking. He doesn't stay too long in the void space after that.

Sans finds out about his gravity powers on accident as well. Papyrus falls and Sans tries to catch him, but misses. His power activates obviously. Papyrus is confused but also super excited because yoU CAN DO THAT TOO?! Papyrus teaches Sans how to properly use the ability. Sans finds out through this that Papyrus has anomalous abilities as well. Papyrus is able to defy gravity entirely and walk on air. But the biggest punch to the gut is that Papyrus can summon and use the Gaster Blasters. He doesn't like to because they're so devastating, but he will if he absolutely has to. Papyrus has no soul damage at all, so he just befriended the Blasters so they come to his aide.

Sans is unable to defy gravity as Papyrus does, but he can float just a bit. It tires him out pretty quickly. He finds that a lot of things do. Sleeps a lot of days. Finds out the hard way that he only has 1 HP left after everything that's happened to him.

Sans has been living for five years in this crazy loop thing. But it's only been 2 years in reality. He's 20 now. Going to be 21 soon. But he's tired. Broken down to the skeleton we know. He's got no fight left in him. Flowey is bored of him and bored of everything, so he finally let's time move normally.

It's September 15th and a human has just fallen. Word spreads pretty quickly. Sans is curious. He wants to meet this one. Mostly because he's never seen Flowey panic before. He wants to go inside the old ruins, but he's never met Toriel and from his understanding it's her home. It would be weird.

So he just hangs out in some trees outside the door, waiting. He finds out that his sense of smell is crazy strong pretty early on, but he didn't know he could smell humans so strongly. He recognized another scent on the human before they even made it to the door. Dust. This human had killed monsters on their way here. Now he's worried. 

This human seems off somehow. Like they're not in control of themselves. He accidentally falls out of the tree making a fair bit of noise. Now he feels like he has to introduce himself because they're 100% staring at him rn. 

He's super friendly and tries to be nice. But this kid is weird. Stares through him and doesn't take his offer at a hand shake. He sees them pull out a knife and easily dodges the attack. In a panic he attacks back. Which yeah. That early on a Blaster shot would kill Frisk. 

He's reset to his home. It's the same moment from when the Human fell. Which it doesn't take much for him to figure out the kid has the time powers now. 

And after a few attempted Genocide runs, a few attempted Passive runs, Frisk finally does the good ending correctly. Sans is pretty friendly through the whole thing as he doesn't fully grasp that Frisk can reset to the starting point whenever they want. Flowey only did week or month loops. Frisk does years. He can't remember exact things like he could in Flowey's days. He can only remember ideas and some people. He writes a lot of things down after that. Important information. Dangerous people and things like that. 

He's happy and everything's fine until he wakes up standing on his porch in Snowdin one day. Frisk is doing a Genocide run and that's when Sans learns that there's nothing he can do. So he gets into a routine. Figures out how each possible ending goes. Sticks to a script. Gets a lot more aggressive and starts to lack empathy with each passing run.

Until he meets you on an off chance in a good run. It's random locations. Never the same. But something about you always draws him. Like you're something that can make him happy again. He's not excited about it though. It won't last. Frisk will just take it from him one day. Yet he still runs into you every good run somehow. He does get excited for good runs after a time just because he wants to see you.

And that's essentially the story I wanted to tell. The messy slapped down quick version anyhow. It's confusing sorry, but ahhhhhhhhh. 

FUN FACTS (Aka I ramble about sh*t that is not actually fun)

Unorganized because that's my life.

The monsters that become J-1, J-2, J-3, and J-4 I'm aware I said this up top just hush do not have names or personalities. They have designs made up, but they weren't ever properly introduced literally at any point. GG me. Honestly at this point they're just aggressive blobs anyhow so….

Hi

So all the Beasttale's I saw in the tag have the Gaster Blaster heads. An now I know none of you care, but I'm telling you anyways on why I personally didn't do it. Keep in mind my Beasttale was created a few months after Undertale came out. At the time, there were no Gaster Blaster head AUs or if there were, they weren't popular yet or I didn't know about them. Bomberboy was originally a bara Sans. Which is why he was never beasty looking outside of the claws, teeth, and tail. Plus this bit*h couldn't draw animal heads at the time. For me now it seems like a cop out. Slap an animal head on and bam. It's a beast. That's no fun. For me it seems lazy but I understand why with beast in the name. I personally like the idea of beast being a more metaphorical thing.

Bombers design came about in an art trade. I didn't like the idea of just scaling Sans up to make a bara version, so I made my own. Used the design until I figured out his name and an arbitrary AU name to slap on him. At the time Beasttale was nothing more than a place to stick my own bara Sans. People started asking about him and the others, and so it expanded from there :’)

Bomberboy got his name from an unused AU idea I had about planes. Don't talk about it. He got his name from a bomber jacket...anyways I dropped the AU in favor of drawing large monsters. Bara Sans was popular at the time which is how I started.

I have literally no memory of why he was ever drawn with scars. I think to make him more intense maybe? Idk??? Either way they spawned the story I was aiming for but never got to.

The g*re/hard v*re aspect was never originally intended. I posted art saying something like ‘you have a 50/50 chance of dying when f*cking him’. I honestly don't remember why I added that comment, but either way everyone immediately hit me with that ‘OwO what's this?’ and it went downhill from there. 

I never meant for Bomber to be as violent as he got. Again it kinda went downhill really f*cking fast. It'd be something that if I made him right now, I'd have scaled back on. I just wanted him to be an a*shole and he shot past that marker 😂 I did however make sure he was never r*pey, or physically abusive. He was a horny boy, but never super forceful. He was however mentally manipulative as at the time I had a lot going on. He's gross and he was designed that way.

There was a Glitchboy, who would be a BeastBoy of Error. His design was finished, and I fully intended on introducing him, but by the time I was going to, I found I didn't really care for the original, which made it hard to love my version. I think I was just going to do it to show how the power works in my Beast AUs. Which is why I was never attached. First to last created is how it works. First being strongest, last being weakest. Cherryboy (Beastfell), Bomberboy (Beasttale), Hotboi (Beastlust), Canine (Beastswap) and Loverboy (Horrorbeast) ((Canine and Lover were made too close together for me or Sil to remember who came first, so they are tied for power)), and finally Towelboy (Dancebeast).

I liked Alphys, and the idea of her and Sans being friends. Which is why she is featured heavily in the ideas for the AU, and why I've drawn the two together so often

Bombers distaste for other AUs comes from me. Some AUs I take a liking to, but after seeing some content I don’t really agree with coming out of most AUs, I kinda dipped on them. Which is why he can tolerate Beast versions, but not their normal OG counterparts.

I had started a comic for the origins of Bomber and Alphys, but if you’ve been here a while, you know I’m f*cking lazy when it comes to my art >:'D

At some point there were like, ancient versions of the main crew. They were Gasters friends and upon their death he turned them into Alphys, Sans, Papyrus, and Undyne. The idea was scrapped and the designs were reused for Beastswapfell. 

Speaking of which. Beastswapfell was always intended to be an unstable weird AU. The regular fellswap or swapfell never appealed to me. Plus cross too many AUs and things get unfocused. 

Frisk always in any Beast AU has red eyes and Chara has brown. Why? The one time we see Chara up close, they have brown eyes. When Frisk opens their eyes in the bad version of the good end, they have red eyes. I know it's to show them being evil or whatever. But it's more fun to imagine them always having red eyes

It annoys me to no end that Sans got the cool beast thing going but no one else did. But, no one came to me for a beasty Alphys or Toriel did they. We're all here for the chunky skeleton. It's actually why I had to create a reason for Sans being how he is. He's the only one like himself. Which wasn't the original plan, but by the time the heat form rolled around, I had so many different designs for so many different characters that I wasn't about to do that to myself…

A lot of stuff was created while listening to Lauren Bousfield and Andrew Jackson Jihad (AJJ for the newer fans). So like. Yeah.

Sans and Papyrus would have been animal skeletons as kids. Sans a cat and Papyrus a badger. Magic just kinda, gave some skeletons life. This plotline was scrapped forever ago. I don't remember why. 

Bomber doesn't drink ketchup. He did it to f*ck with Frisk. Across multiple timelines because he's f*cking bored. 

I made it canon at one point that Bomber can snap and will kill everyone before Frisk does if certain requirements are met. His fight is unbeatable then. He's LOVE 20. Frisk is 0. Fight doesn't go well.

The boys heat forms all vary because drawing 6 giant pointy skeletons is f*cking boring. Go big or go home.

Canine when in heat would have sounded like  OG King Ghidorah. Love me some f*cking BIDIDIDIDI

When Sans or Papyrus die, the Gaster Blaster eye that correlates to them, will have an X in it. When looking directly at the Blasters, Gasters eye is in the center, Sans on the left, and Papyrus on the right. Gaster's eye has a pointy oval shape with a dot in the center at all times.

Monsters in this AU are incredibly lightweight. Sans would weigh all of 50 pounds. Monsters are made of magic, which has little weight. They have to eat physical things to gain some mass. Before the underground the monsters ate humans as a retaliation and because humans contained magic nutrition and physical nutrition. Older monsters still have cravings, but almost all current Monsters don't have any interest in humans for food. Sans is just ravenous and always hungry. He won't go out of his way to eat a human, but if the opportunity presents itself well...yeah.

Papyrus can and will use the Gaster Blasters if Frisk does at least three genocide runs in a row. He doesn't know why, but he just knows he has to stop them before they hit him. So he lasers their a*s the second they enter his fight. Beasttale has unfair moves in the fights 😂

The world can glitch and you are able to fall down at the same time as Frisk. Because of plot, you override Frisk and their abilities. Which forces them to tag along you and your choices. Bomber is always hurt seeing you coming out of the ruins with dust on your pants. You don't encounter him until you're at the castle if you hurt Monsters on your way. No dust means he basically glued himself to your side. Partly to keep an eye on you, partly to get close to you.

Bomber and Frisk have a rocky relationship. He knows they've done bad sh*t, but he can never remember what. This distrust can be overridden with a few good runs in a row. He forgets. Or acts like he does. He's got his journal. Says on one page that Frisk aggressively ran in circles until Monsters checked to see if they were okay. Only to be attacked by Frisk.

The picture in that you can find in the game doesn't have whatever the speculation was. I think people thought it was the good end picture that Sans has. For Beasttale it's the four monsters that now reside in Sans, posing with Gaster. They're happy. Don't know what they're about to go through. There's an old picture on my blog somewhere that looks like this, but the picture isn't canon anymore as it has Sans and Papyrus. It follows a different plot point that was scrapped shortly after the art was made.

Less of a fun fact and more of a flex. I never got any hate or flak for my choices with my AUs. Which I mean, is super surprising. Seriously. Not once was I sent a hateful message in my whole time of having this blog. I feel like that says something about my followers then and now. So thank you for suffering through my AU with me 💕 I'm sure after reading this whole thing you'll feel like you wasted your time and you're welcome. I'm glad I can still waste people's time 😂

You know who's cute? The girl I forced to beta read this 👀

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Oblivion

Part Two: Can’t Fix Shit

A/N: We’ve seen what life of like for Logan and “Miranda” inside the park, but what about out in the “real” world?

WARNINGS: mentions and depictions of suicide, drug use, sex.

Word Count: 3,062

The room swam as your breathing slowed and the lights seemed to fade. Your head felt heavy and you couldn’t recall a time when your eyes were more tired, more desperate to close. You kept them open, trained on the thick crimson swirl in the pristine marble sink, mesmerized by the intricate patterns it made. That would be a great shade of lipstick, your barely there brain thought, I’d call it…”end it all red”. A sleepy, slightly delirious laugh slipped from your lips as your knees buckled and you collapsed to the ground, sinking against the vanity cabinet. The bottle of bourbon you’d swiped from Erik’s stash fell from the countertop as your elbow made contact on your way down, shattering and spilling what was left of it all over your legs, covering you in broken glass, little scratches and the smoky aroma of Erik’s most expensive vice. Oops... You tried to grab at the glass shards, tried to brush them off your legs, but your fingers wouldn’t do your bidding. You looked down at your hands and realized they were covered in blood. What… You watched it run down the lines of your palm and over the webbing between your fingers. You turned your hand over and saw that the diamond on your engagement ring-big, obnoxious, flashy chunk that it was- looked more like a ruby. You turned your hand over again before your eyes found the three small straight cuts running a few inches lengthwise on your pale wrist. Blinking hard against the floaters and shiners that were filling your vision, you managed to shift your gaze to the left, where next to what was left of the neck of the bourbon bottle, your mother’s pearl handled letter opener sat, the tip stained in “end it all red”.

As your head filled with static and your chest shook with each labored beat of your heart, the sound of hard soled shoes on the tile floor echoed in the cavernous bathroom. “No…” you muttered, that delirious quality still lingering in your voice. Even now, your body fighting for control of what you’d done to it, your mind slipping and your vision vanishing, the events of the evening came back to you. Your engagement party, your father’s bullshit speech about how happy he was that his little girl had found love, Erik’s stiff hold on you as the two of you danced, the way you felt like a prized pig on display at a fair, your fake smile aching your lips and cheeks. You recalled the amount that you’d drank, and how it did so little to curb the sickness that you felt when you thought about forever with Erik. His words in your ear as you danced with all the eyes in the room stuck on the happy couple; “You won’t embarrass me tonight like last time, do you hear me?” Your father taking you aside later to ensure that you were heeding Erik’s words, ensuring that you wouldn’t cause a scene or do anything to jeopardize your impending marriage... or the financial gain that merging Erik’s investment firm with his would mean. The footsteps rang closer as the static reached its maximum frequency, and a pair of arms slipped under your legs and behind your shoulders, lifting you off the floor. “No, no, no, no…” the word dribbled from your lips as Erik carried you down the hall, shouting for someone to call 911.

You couldn’t see him, eyes unable to focus on anything at all, but you heard his voice, muffled like it was travelling through water, and you could smell his cologne, burning your nostrils and choking you. He checked your pulse and brought a hand to your cheek before lowering his lips to your face and whispering your name. “You’re not doing this to me now…” The last thing you remember from that scene was the satisfied smile that crept up your lips at the fear in his voice: you knew that his firm needed the merge just as much as your father’s, and it was all hinging on the two of you getting married- keeping the business in the family. But you had no intentions of marrying Erik, and you’d do whatever you had to to make sure that you didn’t suffer that fate. Later that night in the hospital, as you lay there hooked to intravenous tubes and monitors, your father had said that he’d “fix” everything, make sure that you were relatively happy as you served your sentence as Erik’s wife. You looked at him, your face tear stained and full of pain, and answered “You can’t fix shit, dad.” He left your room then, and you didn’t see him again for a week.

That was nearly six months ago. After that incident, you had been kept on an even tighter leash than normal; under a closer eye and a more scrutinous lens. No therapy or rehab, of course, because the risk of that information leaking to the media would be bad press, but you were rarely allowed a private moment. Except for the three days a month when your father and Erik met with various Delos board members, ironing out details and working out the terms of the investment deal that they had been planning since talk of their firms merging began. Those three days were all yours, and they felt comfortable enough leaving you alone in the park while they met with people too important to bring you around, knowing that you couldn’t come to too much harm under the watchful eyes of park security. You were an asset to them, something they could trade and use to strengthen contracts, and neither of them did very much to mask that fact from you- you were used to it, having grown up with your father, having been groomed to be a prim and proper wife someday, to wear pearls and gowns at galas and smile in pictures, and perpetuate the myth that Harding Investments Incorporated was a solid, wholesome, deeply rooted American company. You weren’t sure how anyone in their right mind could buy that crock of shit. But then, you lived in a world where there existed a need for a place like Westworld- a place where you could lie, cheat and kill with no consequences; let alone the underlying interests in the technology that Harding and Delos were interested in- and you realized that in this world, no one was in their right mind, yourself included.

This was evidenced by the highly questionable game you were currently engaged in with the man who was laying ass up in the bed behind you, his quiet snores filling the room as you gathered your clothing and silently dressed. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what his story was, if he was clean or not, if he was abusive or dangerous, and therein lie the risk, the thing you craved most. He’d told you that his name was Logan after you’d made good on your promise to fuck him senseless, not stopping after that one mind blowing go, but letting him have his way with you a second time with a blow job thrown in the middle for good measure. You couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t lying about his name or playing a game like you, but something told you that he was telling the truth. You looked at his reflection in the mirror as you pulled your pants up over your thighs and noted the differences in his features as he slept. He looked peaceful, at rest, and not at all like the gruff, rough and tumble, borderline hedonistic cowboy you’d just done unspeakable things with. That’s not really you, is it, Cowboy? Suddenly you didn’t know which would be worse- if his name was a lie or the truth. You took one last look at him, eyes running over the perfect body that had just ravished yours, and quietly exited the room.

Before he’d fallen asleep, thoroughly spent not just from you but from the alcohol and the rigorous activity that you knew he was engaged in only minutes before you, he’d pulled you close and slipped his arms around your body. The feel of his skin making contact with yours in such an intimate manner was arguably more pleasurable than the last hour had been. You couldn’t remember the last time you were held like that, and you knew without a doubt that whenever it was it hadn’t felt this good. Part of you knew that this was never how he acted with the Hosts, and you wondered how much he believed your alter-ego story. You sighed against his shoulder, lips pressed to his clavicle, trying to control your breathing as he lazily trailed his fingers over your body- your hips, your abdomen, your arms...your wrists. Your eyes shot open as you felt the pads of his fingers trace the three raised pinkish lines that marred your left wrist. Shit, should have worn some kind of bracelet or something. Hosts didn’t have scars from suicide attempts. Hosts were perfect, and you were not.

“What’s this?” His voice was thick, mouth barely moving as he spoke, only half awake.

Your breath caught at his question, but you didn’t think he noticed, and you waited a few beats of your erratic heart before you answered, racking your brain for something that sounded scripted. “This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.” You twisted in his grasp and his fingers slid from your wrist to run the length of your spine, knuckles pressing into your flesh. “But let’s not talk about darkness, Cowboy.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you thought- hoped- he’d fallen asleep and forgotten about those damn scars, but then he tightened his hold on you as he spoke. “Logan...I told you, my name is Logan.”

. . . . . . .

What the fuck am I doing? It was the last thought that went through his mind as he held you and drifted off to sleep. Logan had always maintained a certain level of disconnect between himself and the Hosts that he fucked and killed, constantly reminding himself that nothing he was doing, nothing that he was seeing or feeling or experiencing was real, that it was all a very well crafted, meticulously detailed fantasy; that the power and the exhilaration and the ecstacy of it was all manufactured and meaningless- the most expensive cheap thrill around. He knew that. He’d known that from the start, from before he’d ever set his boot clad foot on that rickety train. But this one, this Host...Miranda...something felt different, and he hated the way it made him throw all that knowledge, all that acceptance of the illusion straight into the trash. They’re really making them lifelike if they’re giving them suicidal tendencies. Finally giving me something more my speed...But still...what the fuck am I doing?

What the fuck he was doing, was hoping beyond belief that Miranda...you...were real. He’d allow himself that hope for as long as he was in that room, and no further, knowing how dangerous it was to let the hope take root. Any other Host he’d been with had been submissive- sure they put up a fight if they’re prompted, they flirt and tease if they pick up on certain biometric cues, but they always ended up succumbing to whatever it was that he wanted, as they were designed to do. You, though, seemed to be operating according to your own will- calling him out on the gambling floor, taking control in the bedroom, even if it was just momentarily before you’d let him take the reins. It had been so long since he’d felt anything real, since he’d felt a reaction like the one that you invoked in him, that he’d all but forgotten that there could be more to sex than release. Outside the park, all of his conquests had been forgettable- due to the lackluster performance or the combination of alcohol, hallucinogens and speed, it wasn’t clear. He couldn’t even remember who the last person- real person- he’d fucked was: a man? A woman? Old, young? Was it someone new, a one night stand, or someone he’d kept on rotation? What did it matter- it hadn’t felt like this. He wondered if he’d ever find something real that felt like you, and for a moment he hated you for setting such an unrealistically high bar.

But unrealistic, unreachable bars weren’t new to Logan, so the hatred for you was fleeting. His father, James Delos, one of the Gods of Westworld, was notorious for dangling expectations just out of his son’s reach, and the hatred there was more deeply seeded. He claimed it was the only way to motivate a “deadbeat, drugged up, strung out, waste of time” like Logan, taking the “toss the kid in the pool” approach to teaching self-reliance and responsibility. It didn’t matter to him that this behavior, this part of his personality, this approach to life, to family, had driven his own wife to take her life. It didn’t matter that his son was never shown affection or approval. What mattered to him was his business, his legacy, and anything that could stain it was simply an obstacle that he’d find a way around and leave in the dust- even if that obstacle was his only son.

“Don’t fuckin show your face in the boardroom again until you get clean and land a deal worth running your mouth about, you hear me, boy? I won’t have you dragging down the name Delos with your foolish philandering and your weakness.”

“Weakness?” he’d scoffed, knowing all too well what he meant, but finding a sick satisfaction in watching his father actually say the words to him- in watching his father respond to him as the soulless monster that he was.

“Your addiction. Your destructive behavior…” those were answers Logan had heard time and again as he struggled to find something- anything- that he could grab onto in sobriety, something to keep him tethered to the moment and above the waves of doubt and pain and emptiness that constantly threatened to drown him. Those were the answers he expected from James Delos. The next word...just one word...was one he didn’t expect, one he hadn’t heard yet in this context. “You.” To his father, there was not one redeeming quality about Logan, nothing worthy of the legacy that James was building… nothing that told him that Logan should inherit the company one day. It didn’t seem to occur to him that that was because he’d done a piss poor job of raising him. Gods were never at fault. “And don’t tell me you’ll get clean, Logan. Don’t lie to me and tell me you’ll fix it. Show me. Because as far as I know, you can’t fix shit. You can’t even keep your own head on straight without snorting something up your nose or shooting something into your veins. So don’t waste your breath, boy, you’ll need it.”

Logan went through bouts of trying his hardest to finally catch that rabbit, but always came up short, like a tired dog after one race too many. If he couldn’t catch the rabbit, he could forget it, though, and he’d dive down the rabbit hole and into whatever vice, whatever coping mechanism, whatever poison could make him feel less like a failure; make him forget that he was reaching for something he’d never achieve. He’d nearly overdosed twice in the last four years, trying to forget that fucking rabbit, prompting the house staff to keep an accredited nurse on hand at all times- headlines announcing that the heir apparent to the Delos Corporation had landed himself in the hospital or rehab was simply something that James could not abide, consequences be damned.

Forgetting the rabbit was easier in Westworld. Sure, there were no hard drugs, nothing harder than moonshine, anyway, but there were endless opportunities to assert dominance and he took every single one that he came across in whatever form it presented itself to him. But Miranda...you... were the best distraction that he’d found in any of his many trips to the park or any of his escapades back home, and he wondered why that was...what was it about this one that made him soften his usually harsh edges, made him forget his number one rule and wish that you were real- that what he felt when he touched you, when you kissed him, when your bodies were entwined and your breath was on his skin was real? You’d gotten dressed and left that back room at the Mariposa while he slept, and he woke an hour later, naked, alone and left wanting for something that he knew he shouldn’t. Why?

He blinked his eyes open and ran his hand over the sheet where you had been, wondering if you hadn’t been a dream. Maybe he’d fallen asleep after that orgy and you’d simply been a figment of his now hung over imagination. But the tips of his fingers tingled and he vaguely remembered feeling the raised, rippled skin of your wrist and those three nearly unnoticeable scars. That wasn’t a dream...it happened...I don’t know if it was real, but it happened. Sitting up he looked out the window and saw that the sky outside had turned an inky black. He figured that Miranda had been called off to cater to the needs of another Guest. Lucky bastard, he thought about whomever that might be, as he stretched and redressed, but he felt something else rise up in his chest at the thought of your body doing for someone else what you’d just done for him, at the thought of your lips trailing along someone else’s skin, or your quiet breathing syncing with a different set of lungs- something like jealousy. What the fuck are you doing? He asked himself one more time, remembering your words when he’d asked you about the scars.

“This darkness I acknowledge is mine,” you’d said.

What did the Hosts know about darkness? Plenty, and he knew that. But the tone of your voice as you answered, the little intake of breath when he’d asked…

What are you, Miranda? Who are you?

@something-tofightfor @my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @ymariejp

Sorry if you were double tagged- something went fuckey and the whole post deleted. 🙃

[duraxxor]

The Dreamscar Part IV

[[ Warning: This entry contains graphic violence and imagery as well as language. You’ve been warned. ]]

Now you know your name has been echoed through many possibilities, Dura. And those are not the only occurrences either. There are many other worlds out there. But that's not what this is about is it? No. This is about the thread you exist upon. Like helpless prey you are entangled within the web of an arachnid. Azeroth has not never been kind or merciful to you though, has it? Never. Her bite is necrotic and you find yourself drained one death after another. Thrice-damned indeed. 

Not everything became hell because of the world around you. In fact, you've made quite a few interesting choices as of late. Isolation is such a common trait within your bleeding heart, is it not? Oh yes, I have tasted your bittersweet wine on many occasion. It seems to only get better with age, as it should. Your friends and family have always been in question, even when you thought you possessed the will to trust. Alliances are forged under circumstance and self-benefit. The Alliance. The Horde. The Scourge. Even now, those you hold dear claw at your flesh only to tear it from the bone, like ravenous vultures. There's only so much one can lose before they become nothing more than bone and eventually dust. 

Does that pull upon the sewing thread within your head? Then perhapssss… it is time we've properly introduced in a different reality...

The chittering of the nightly wings was the first thing that fell upon his ears after the familiar voice went dead silent. The scent of blood inhaled through his nostrils as sight returned to his right eye. His left, however, possessed next to no sight at all. But before the undead elf could take notice to that amongst other things, his senses were ensnared by crimson environment in more ways than one. The earth beneath him appeared tainted by some form of decay while the grass that protruded spoke otherwise. The skies reflected in comparison with a brighter tone of scarlet that was only altered by the haze of what appeared to be smoky mist. The confirmation of the chittering was given as the bat children fluttered by this strange platform he found himself upon. " Platform? " He thought to himself. Indeed, he was upon what appeared to be one of many floating landmasses. It was at that moment that he realized he was truly ensnared with a strange sensation to follow. Why couldn't he see out of his left eye? Why couldn't he feel even a needle-like sensation that occasionally irritated his left arm? 

" Because those are the shards of your flesh that were picked from the bone... " A young sounding voice replied to his silent question. That voice was different from the narration he had grown accustomed to yet once more it possessed the same familiarity. " … Your eye was burned out then snuffed by the void... while your arm was torn completely from you twice, the second being a false limb, of course. " It was when the youth revealed himself from the crimson dark that Dura would realize just who this entity was. White hair that protruded in a mess with the gleam of red that reflected off the world around them. The entity appeared truly young judging from height and the build that reflected the growth. He was male and wore torn clothing while also clutching something that set Dura's mind a spiral. 

" That dagger... " He quietly spoke as the object in the boy's hand was stained with the blood of old, curving only slightly due to it's purpose being to skin wild game. " …Where did you get it? "

The child may have appeared elven but the twin jewels of blood spoke otherwise. A faint smile curled upon his face from the humor within the question. " You already know the answer to that... It's the only thing we ever had left of father. For all the rage we for him leaving mother and us just like that, don't you look back and think that sullying it with blood was the perfect use for it? Blood of a murderer sacrificed to guide our fortuitous path. " The boy presented it in the direction of the missing limb.

" How are you... " His eye looked towards the same direction and realized what was missing was actually unraveled into a crimson silk that bound him to a crystalline formation. This set Dura in a state of alert, earning the false child a few choice words. " What in the hells is this? Who the bloody fuck are you? Get me down from this bullshit! " He snarled with a viciousness that only distorted his half face worse. 

" Oh my... didn't mother teach you not to speak in such a tongue around children? " The child chuckled while playfully twirling the dagger around his fingertips, an old habit that only confused Dura even more. " I'm you, silly. And you are me... " The boyish form began to twist and turn, crimson flames erupted from his form as if the youth had spontaneously combusted. The laughter never abated but rather, it deepened in tone. The billowing flame increased in height and volume before twirling into a tempest of hellish properties with the cacophonous chatter of bat children thrown into the mixture. The flames and avian creatures quickly dispersed, showing that the tattered clothing had transformed into a black coat. It shrouded the majority of the beings form aside from the arms and head. Ghostly threads that were stained by blood cascaded down from the top of the beings scalp that was slowly lifting in return to look back at the damaged man. " ... Or at least, I am what you could become if you would just listen carefully. " While the pitch of the voice perfectly matched his, there was confidence and allure that burst forth from every single word that could reel many in easily. 

" What in the bloody fuck... " Dura replied to this strange doppelganger who seemed in far better shape than ever had. "... You're me? You don't look torn all to hell and you most certainly aren't glued to a damnable crystal. Why the hell am I here? I am suppose to be in my slumber. " Duraxxor's tone may have been quite irritable but he was reluctant to cooperate and listen at the very least. 

" As I said before, I am you yet I am not you. " Clawed nails tapped the old artifact of butchery before he turned it backwards, using it as a nail file. " Of course I'm not torn or whatever you think you should be. Because I found a way around all of that. As for why you are infused with that crystal like that, well.... " The doppelganger's eyes illuminated with a sinister glow before the man moved for only a split second to be within Dura's face so that he may speak to him closely. The smile was fiendish as ever and possessed many sharp teeth much like the other. However, there was something truly destructive about that stare of his that even brought the half Faceless to be at unease. "... You're here so I can fix you. To put you on the right path. " That relic of a dagger was brought to graze across the cheek of the ensnared Daevara as he spoke with such malevolence. 

" Right path you say. Pffft. Give me a break. " The sleeper replied with a broken crescent forming upon his face. " Let me guess, the truth is you are some creature from the void or some other damnation here to take over my body? Or perhaps you are the Sorceress' test? I mean really... how can you truly be what I could be? What makes you any better than what I already am? " 

Dura suddenly found himself cut off by this abnormal twin's fingertips silencing his lips with a idle shush. " No void. No tests. No demons. There is only blood and shadows here. As for your late inquiry, well... " The fiend pulled his fingers away to tap along his own petals of flesh in thought before continuing his answers. " I am you once you have become enlightened. Unchained by the previous burdens and instead possess the ability to eradicate that which has taken from you. The Beast. Lindeara. They will all be consumed... " The final word was uttered in a hellish accent that rumbled with a terrifying melody. " All you need to do issss… let me take over. " 

" Let you take over? But then how exactly would it be me who destroys them if you are the one taking control, huh? " Dura retaliated with a stilling fact. How exactly could this entity of similarities not understand that Duraxxor Daevara does not allow anyone to take his glory away from him without proper reasoning. Perhaps this being was lying to him after all? The bindings suddenly released him from the crystal, leaving the broken puzzle to tumble into the soil below with a rough landing.

" I had a feeling you would reject the idea of even yourself controlling your husk like a puppet. I'll give you that much, you are just as precise as ever. " His arms began move in circular motions, weaving the very air around him to precipitate a flow of crimson liquid to form into a globe that was continuing to twist and turn into something less spherical. " Since you won't cooperate, I guess that leaves the sheer force option, doesn't it? But don't worry... you won't remember anything I have shown you. " 

Duraxxor attempted to pull himself from the ground, growling with wrathful intent in the precise. The torn fabric of his left arms slowly began to dribble with the same crimson substance as the bloodied mist. His eye stared at that conjured ability as it took the shape of a spike of crystalline properties. " You intend to kill me?! What the bloody fuck! " The broken monster hurled himself towards the demon that was attempting such a forceful possession of his mind and likely his body. 

" It is the only way for you to evolve and continue... make this easier on us both! " Once more the final word billowed, shaking the levitating earth they stood upon. With being said, the scarlet spike was launched as swift as a bullet, landing it's mark directly into the monster's chest dead center. Duraxxor had been impaled all the way through, causing the angered creature to drop onto his knees and hold at the very cavity that had been invaded by such a deadly fast attack. " Ssssshhhhh… just give up and let yourself go... " The doppelganger requested this to ease the creature that was said to fade because of this. 

Slowly, Duraxxor's movements began to cease as the substance that protruded both sides of his body began to mingle and infuse with his flesh. Vibrant hues of red seeped into his blackened veins as he truly felt a sensation much like when the Sorceress had brought him back a third time. Was this it? Was this the end of the original Duraxxor? Not even the Sorceress could stop this so how could he? Could he? 

The winner of this short trade of words and actions stepped forward to completely claim his prize, reaching forth and placing a hand upon the scalp of his previous monstrosity. " This chapter has ended for you... a new book will be wrote in your imagery, Duraxxor. " The hand brushed along the skull of this individual much like a parent did to ease a child who was the in the need of comfort. Something that both appeared to be familiar with. It was the least this strange double could give due to the circumstances of their meeting and their farewell. " … A fatal mistake... even for you... " The words were whispered into the wind which caught the ears of the being, bringing a surprised expression to his sharp features. " What?! " 

But the double was too late as he felt the entire right half of his body was being ripped into by something unfamiliar. The seeping wound from Duraxxor's left shoulder now possessed what appeared to be a pair of twisted jaws which possessed many gnarling teeth that were closed completely around this individual with only one intent in mind. " You expect me to kill myself... when have you ever known me to do such a thing?! " The ragged breath shifted into the voice of a ravenous beast. The jaws pulled the second Dura further and further into his maw. The lips of the original twisted forth into a shark-like set that lunged forth to vice grip the other's neck, tearing into him bit by bit. 

The doppelganger posed no fight for freedom. In fact, he openly welcomed the consumption of his own flesh. Happily, he rejoiced as the outcome had turned into quite the opposite of what was presented on the table. " ... That's the way... My flesh I give to you to... mend and empower... consume me and become who you are... truly meant to... " The final words fell flat once the snarling jaws completely consumed the other, leaving nothing more than a puddle of gore to stain the earth below.

Duraxxor had become the true victor of this endeavor. In doing so, his being had metamorphosed into something far more vicious in nature. The hungering limb slowly shrunk down and reformed into a hand that oozed and dribbled with the mixed essences that gave the claws a filmed imagery. The other half of his face slowly began to regenerate from the devouring he had commenced. And soon after, the animal roared to the bloodstained heavens a battle cry that shook his entirety. So much so that even in the waking world the bellowing noise shook the room that surrounded his steel coffin. Then there was silence. Perhaps there was nothing to it at all but a sleepless noise in reaction to the dreaming state he had placed himself in? 

Pow! . . . Pow! . . . POW!

The coffin's lid was launched into the air, crashing into the ceiling with a descent onto the metal floor, dented completely outward by the blows provided. A tangled mess of ghostly locks rose from within the vampiric bed that flowed with a sinister fog that veiled the floor around him. Both arms grasped the edges of the steel lining with the tapping of several sharp digits which had grown. To which, the next sound to be heard was the sudden opening of a door that crashed into the wall. Seven geists leapt into the room to surround the perimeter while a crimson haired woman in a dress sashayed into the room with haste. " Master! You have awakened! " Her voice spoke of the relief she felt knowing it was only he who had risen rather than someone to disturb his sleep. The geists spoke with muffled tones and raised their hands in rejoice that the Faceless had indeed returned to the waking world. 

" Tiramina… " The name was spoke with that jovial allure he possessed when he was in a good mood, pausing only briefly to allow her to acknowledge she was being addressed. " … How long have I been asleep? " He didn't even need to look at her as she knew he was seeing with sight. 

" Seven months, twenty-two days, twelve hours, thirty-six minutes, and seven seconds. " She answered such with complete accuracy. She had been keeping track of every single moment since he laid within the metallic enclosure. " Did anyone beckon or summon me in my absence? " Duraxxor inquired in an attempt to double check his options as the his half-nude form rose even further to reveal his chiseled shoulder blades which were revealed to possessed a emanating rune formation upon his back. It was as if the white snow that cascaded down his back was parted much like the seas of ancient legends. " None, Master. No one dared to intrude on your sanctum and all has been accounted for. " Her answer was not only satisfying but was also met with a optimistic expression. 

" Gooooood… Then everything will proceed. Phase two of Myotis will commence. But first... I have some work to do... " Slowly he turned to face his loyal servant with most glorious of expressions. A smile that trumped all the happiness he had ever shown to the world. And this joy was also rewarded with the orchestra of laughter that echoed throughout the sanctum and eventually outside of the cavernous home. Lord Duraxxor Daevara had awakened, arisen, and was now renewed. 

[ tags for mentions: @sanguinesorceress and @horridpoppet ]

[kyrzhanauvryndar]

The Calling

"Thousands of years ago, Celestian, god of the stars, cast a huge meteor into our world. This celestial body buried itself miles beneath the surface of the earth and passed into legend. It is said that the pulsing core of the meteorite has never cooled and that it contains a priceless gift from the Far Wanderer. No one knows what that gift is, however. Some say it is the purest adamantium in the multiverse, while others say the gift is a deep philosophical truth. The truth may never be known, as Celestian's Gift lies deep within the Underdark, apparently guarded by angels and monsters."

-The Celestiacrum by Phineas Morveniad

A drow seems like an unlikely instrument for the works of angels. Deep in the city of Corda'at, the dark elves and spiders of that city never know starlight or, as many believe, goodness. And yet, here we are.

The surname Auvryndar means "blood of the black hearts," and it carries a bloody, wicked legacy which members of that house are proud to perpetuate. Kyr'zhan Auvryndar, the youngest of the house, was the product of an affair between Phyrintra Auvryndar, a high-born priestess of Lolth, and Wodyrd Everhath, a captain in the city guard. Such a match was considered inappropriate, as Phyrintra was of much higher blood and station than her mate. Even though Wodyrd had distinguished himself in many a skirmish against the duergar, he remained unworthy of her and was not permitted to continue his association with Phyrintra. Their son's existence was inconvenient, the embodiment of a transgression, and his early life consisted of trying to validate his place among his people. Kyr'zhan grew up as a serving boy in his mother's temple, protected from slavery by the Auvryndar name. He tended to the priestesses' needs, learning all there was to know about their beliefs along the way through sacred texts and harsh, cacophonous hymns.

One day, Kyr'zhan heard a different song. Somewhere beyond the walls of Corda'at, a gentle, clear voice called to him by name in a language he did not know he knew and beckoned him into the depths of the Underdark. The boy left his city and followed the voice into a twisting, turning passage. After either minutes or hours, the passage became so small that he had to crawl forward on his belly. Suddenly, the soil gave out from under him, and he tumbled down a steep slope into a great cavern. He blinked, for the cavern was filled with an otherworldly light that hurt his eyes. At the center of the chamber was a glowing, crystalline rock, a rock which looked to be a shard broken off of something even larger still.

The voice now instructed Kyr'zhan to reach out and touch it. He was frightened and wished to turn back and go home, but an unknown force pulled him forward and caused him to reach out his hand. When his hand rested upon the crystal, its glow intensified and an awesome force launched Kyr'zhan back from it. He flew backward through the air and slammed into the cavern wall, rolling back down in an unconscious heap.

He awoke just outside the walls of Corda'at. Though he frantically searched his memory, he could not recall how he came to be returned home or even where the entrance to the tunnel could be found. With great alarm, Kyr'zhan next noticed his right hand. The hand which touched the crystal was no longer charcoal in color, but solidly golden. Pulling up his sleeve, he saw that the gold skin coloring extended up to his elbow, though its density thinned into a speckling as it went further up his forearm. It was as though his arm had become a night sky spangled with stars.

His mind had also been altered. Kyr'zhan now saw the world with new eyes and any bitterness or scorn that once inhabited his heart was expunged. He now looked upon his native city and his people with pity, for they had no desire, and in fact nothing but disdain, for the worlds above. How could the drow be so hatefully proud of their lot when there was a limitless cosmos beyond their borders? Kyr'zhan felt then, for the first time, the desire to wander, to learn, to understand. A pact had been sealed.

But first, he went back into the city of Corda'at and returned to his mother's temple. He was shocked when she told him he had been missing for three days, as he did not realize he had been gone so long. Then, Phyrintra noticed her son's hand and demanded an explanation. He tried to explain the light that had been revealed to him, the light that lived inside him now. She grew suspicious and furious, immediately dragging him before the high priestess of the temple and proclaiming him contaminated.

Upon examining the boy's hand, the high priestess agreed that he had been weak and made himself vulnerable to outside influence. "If you yearn for the outside world so strongly, then you may have your wish. You will go and never return to Corda'at." Still only a boy, Kyr'zhan was prepared for his exile with the gift of weapons and a small amount of money. He was then blindfolded and taken through the labyrinth of caves that led to the surface. His escort, none other than Captain Wodyrd Everhath, never said a word to him as they ascended. At long last, Wodyrd deposited his son at the mouth of a great cave and removed his blindfold. He then turned and started back alone, silent as ever.

Kyr'zhan stepped out into a forest for the first time, the cool, fresh night air a slight shock to lungs accustomed to mustiness. A breeze rustled in the trees, and he relished in the sound. He took in everything of his surroundings like a man starving. Best of all were the stars, scattered above him in the thousands as guides and guardians. Instantly, he loved them.

Not sure of where he was headed, Kyr'zhan began to wander. Simply wandering somewhere, he felt, was the right course. He soon discovered, as the stars dimmed in time for dawn, that his eyes were ill suited for the sun. From then on, he tried to travel by night and seek shelter and rest during the day. The first time he came to a village, he encountered another setback. When they saw him approach, the villagers recoiled, or sneered, or even drew their weapons. Kyr'zhan did not understand, as he did not mean them any harm. He soon realized, though, that the cause was his appearance. He invested in gloves and a cloak with a large hood. From then on, he did not approach civilization without obscuring his detestable appearance.

For fifty years now, Kyr'zhan Auvryndar has been wandering the world. He does odd jobs for a few coins, and whenever it is possible, he goes to the great libraries of the world and seeks out tomes that will help him understand. What is his purpose here? What do the celestials want him to do? And why, gods, why was a drow chosen to complete the works of angels?

[wymcrw-archive]

NIGHTMARE

Source: Drabble Prompts        Status: Accepting!

Over the course of five dreams Lucky is visited by the ghosts of the past, the present and the future. It’s like A Christmas Carol if all of the ghosts were Kang Jin and Scrooge went through some serious life altering trauma. Fun times all around!

TW: Dissociation, Traffic accident, blood, alcohol, hospitals, needles, guns

i.                    Park Jihun fears nothing.

He fears nothing because he has experienced nothing. Twoshort years ago he cheated the reaper and against all odds lived to tell thetale. Few things are more terrifying than the end, and after conquering deaththere is little else to be afraid of.

And so when he closes his eyes at night he sees nothing.That same tranquil darkness that had engulfed him before. Silent. Cold. Empty. Tonightthough, it’s different. Tiny whispers carry through the void to torment him,the black seeming to ebb and flow with each hushed syllable. “This secondchance is wasted on you” It hisses. “Liar.” A familiar voice. “You should neverhave woken up”

It isn’t loud. In fat it’s barely audible. But in theinfinite blackness with nothing else to focus on it’s louder than breaking thunder.“You will never be a good man” It comes again, harsher now. He can feel hisskin prickle with cold, his mind racing. “It should have been you” He’s aprisoner in his own body unable to run or hide, tormented by the darkest partof his own consciousness. “Useless. All you do is hurt people”

Silence comes as quickly as it had departed, and he is leftreeling. He can feel himself taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself butthe sound doesn’t come. Instead, a few parting words ring out.

“Nobody missed you last time. They won’t miss you next timeeither.”

With a loud gasp he wakes, eyes shooting open. He doesn’treturn to sleep that night, or even the night after It isn’t the first timethat he’s had that dream, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. Some fear death.But Jihun fears what comes after. The emptiness, and an eternity stuck withnothing but his own thoughts.

ii.                  Park Jihun fears no evil.

He fears no evil because morality is nothing but aconstruct. He has to tell himself that to get through his days. Not everythingin this world is black or white; in fact most everything is a shade of grey.

These thoughts occupy his mind as lets his eyes driftclosed, opening them again to find himself on one of the fittingly grey streetsof New York. Rain lashes his skin as he takes in the scene, the hum of traffic hangingthick in the air and the faint amber glow of nearby streetlamps illuminatingthe city that he once called home. A wave of nostalgia washes over him as hedrinks it in. As much as he has learned to like Wonyang, he truly misses this place.

Hearty and full bellied laughter catches his attention, andit’s only then that he notices the figure stumbling towards him from a baracross the street. Throwing an arm around him, the stranger looks up at Jihunwith a dopey grin before dragging him off down the street. Clearly his new companionis intoxicated. He once again finds himself a passenger in his own body, unableto move or make it co-operate in any way. The pair stumble down the street,sound of splashing puddle ringing out with each uneven step. The scene seemsfamiliar though he can’t quite place it.

The faint jingling of a man fishing around in his pocket givesit away, and it is only then that he realizes exactly what is about to happen.His nostalgic yearning morphs into panic as they approach a nearby car, but no matterhow hard he tries, there is no denying his vessel. He catches sight of areflection in the glass. It’s him. But younger. Two years younger. He fightswith all his will to call out, to get them to turn around and leave, but thewords get stuck. Instead he simply laughs at whatever the other says, the resoundingclick of the door locking behind him seeming to seal his fate.

You know how this story ends. The driver swerves to avoid ahazard that isn’t there, his hazard perception thrown by the alcohol in hissystem. Jihun tries to stop him but can’t. The car ends up wrapped around a streetlamp,and by all rights they should both be dead. Jihun is unconscious, and wakes updays later in hospital to find himself an amputee and his friend wheelchairbound.

Except this time he isn’t unconscious. Instead his vision isstained red from the deep gashes on his face and a thick smell of burning lingersin the air. Shards of glass litter their bodies and bent wreckage pins themboth in place. A searing pain rips through him as he struggles against thebonds, but he still can’t make a sound. No matter how much he tries, he can’tscream. The driver seems to be in an even worse state, but he can’t bare tolook. The best he can do is cough up blood. It’s only a few seconds more beforehe passes out, but it’s enough time to see the cold stare of something unmovingthrough the shattered windshield.

A figure. A man. A reaper. A dragon.

iii.                Park Jihun fears no man.

He fears no man because men are easily manipulated. Personalexperience tells him that they are even easier broken. The best stories alwaysrequire manipulation to some degree, whether it be the facts or the angle. Overthe years he’s learned just how pliable the human will is, and he has noproblem using that to his advantage. He always ensures that he has the strongerhand, no matter the cost.

In these dreams this is not the case. There’s no stackingthe deck, or counting cards. The twisted ghosts of the past bend the rules totheir advantage, baring the darkest parts of his mind and soul. He dreads sleepnow. Works through the night on his articles just to keep himself from driftinginto unconsciousness. He has lived through them once already, is that notenough?

But whilst the human spirit is malleable, the needs of thehuman body are not. And so when he inevitably falls asleep once more, he prepareshimself for the worst.

His head throbs as he fades back into reality, eyesfluttering as they adjust to the blinding white light of the room. It takes meremoments for him to register his surroundings, a sinking feeling taking over assoon as he glances down to the iv in his arm. Where his first nightmare hadbeen nothing but blackness, this was nothing but white. White walls, while floor,white ceiling, white door, white window, white linens, white light. White.

Last time he had found himself in this room, laying on thisbed, it had felt like a prison. An overwhelming sadness overtakes him as helays there, eyes fixed on the space above his pillow. That was how he had spentmost of his days: In silences, stewing in his own self-loathing and staring atthe ceiling. This place held nothing but the most terrible memories, from therealization that he had lost his leg to the moment his marriage truly fellapart.

At the foot of his bed he hears murmuring. One voice belongsto his ex wife, the woman who had effused t leave his side throughout hisrecovery and the other… didn’t belong. Another chill sent shivers down hisspine, and he slowly manages to glance down towards them.

Jin. Truly this was a nightmare. Or at least he hoped so.The two had never met to his knowledge, and knowing what he knew about Jin he’dhoped to keep it that way. He can’t make out the words but they seem intense.His wife seems distraught and Jin has that same malicious glint in his eye asalways. Their tones are hushed and they keep shooting their eyes towards himand then back to each other. “He’s no better than me. All he does is destroy.”He thinks he hears.

The scene fades, as if he’s been hit with some sort ftranquilizer, and when he returns his wife is stepping standing, slowly walkingaway. He reaches out a hand, tries to force himself to call out but the wordsswell and get caught once more. It’s only once the door slams shut behind herthat he manages to sob out a simple “Please… don’t leave me alone again.”

“You think that I trust you enough to leave you alone?” Itcatches him off guard and he flinches slightly at the question. Jin. Sat nextto his bed, cigarette hanging lazily from his lips and glare boring into Jihun.

iv.                Park Jihun fears no beast

He fears no beast, because no matter how feral they can betrained and bought to heel. Or put down. When he’d found himself cornered likea wild animal by his own family, he’d chosen the former. Work under theirthumb, tow the family line and pretend to like it or go back to languishing inobscurity with no support and tens of thousands of dollars of medical bills.

He finds himself at some formal dinner, mixing with an assortmentof deplorables and trying to keep the peace. The contempt on his face is evidentthroughout and he makes no secret of his distaste for such gatherings, but forthe most part he remains civil. ❝ i don’tsuppose you’ve been to the united states before, have you? ❞Jin asks at one point far too casually for his liking. It’s easier to justanswer the questions than to resist them.

There’s something about this that seems more real than the precedingdreams. He knows it isn’t real, but it’s almost disconcertingly convincing.Every movement, every line of speech is identical to the party just a few weeksprior. He has more control this time around, able to move and speak, though helargely chooses not to.

The night passes without incident, and it’s almost relieving.Compared to the visions that had come before this was nothing. But then, itwasn’t over yet. It began to diverge from reality as he began to make his waytowards the exit. A voice called him back, asked him to remain on the premisesuntil the other guests had departed. Apparently Mr Kang had requested a privateaudience. He hadn’t bothered to ask which.

And in this dream, he never finds out. Instead, afterwaiting for the building to empty, he finds himself on the receiving end of a bullet.“It’s nothing personal” Says the person who fires it, the only warning that isgiven before the tremendous boom sets his ears ringing. He doesn’t see a face.Doesn’t bother looking. He’s too busy writhing in agony on floor, desperatelyapplying pressure to wound. He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do, but inthe moment it’s all he can think of.

The awakening isviolent, Jihun thrashing to life in his covers with a startled shout. He sitsup in his beg, clutching at the space where the impact point had been. Hisheart was racing and breaths ragged as he sat there. That had seemed real,because it could have been. For the first time in a long time, something clawedat him: fear. He was in over his head in shark infested waters, and if they wereto get the scent of blood….

v.                  Park Jihun fears Kang Jin.

He fears him because he is no man; he’s a dragon. He fearshim because no matter what cards he holds, the house always wins. He fears himbecause morality is seemingly without meaning. And he fears him because hecould return him to the cold nothingness without so much as breaking a sweat.

Jin makes one more visit in Jihuns dreams before vanishinginto the ether once more. Once again he finds himself confined to a bed in a hospitalroom, the other sat beside him with that familiar cold and steely glare. Hegoes to sit up, wincing at the pain in his chest from the bullet wound of theprevious night.

A hand pushes down on it, forcing him back into the mattresswith a pained yelp. “This is your only warning. Don’t cross me, or next timeyou don’t wake up.”

[jimlingss]

His Name [1]

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Words: 5.5k

Genre: Angst, Multiple Personality!Au Summary: Jeon Jungkook is a puzzle with too many missing pieces from his past and too many sides. Somehow, it’s become your job to solve him. → Inspired by the Korean Drama - Kill Me Heal Me Warnings: Topics of mental health, mentions of death and medical disorders.  Disclaimer: Although this piece of work required lots of in-depth research and was attempted to be as accurate as possible, at the end of the day, I am not a psychologist and this is fanfiction. Specific things may be altered or exaggerated for story-telling purposes. Please take all medical terminologies and procedures with a grain of salt.

Cr.

His eyes flash open.

“You need us.”                       “Jungkook.”     “We’re only trying to help you.”

He bolts straight up, only to fall off the mattress and onto the hard ground. The thin, cardinal curtains are closed, trickles of sunlight pouring in and painting the unfamiliar room in a hue of crimson. His head is pounding and his eyes are swollen; he doesn’t know where he is or who he is.

It’s an unfamiliar motel room - the brown patterned covers are shoved in a corner, the drawers thrown open, chairs knocked over and the gray static of the television casts a glow, his shadow flickering with the screen. The full length mirror is shattered, jagged shards littering the carpet and coloured with the same dried scarlet that marks his skin. His fist is sliced in a line, gashed open but he pays no concern as he stares at what’s leftover of the mirror; his reflection is split to show more than two eyes, his face slashed with the splitting grooves.  

He ignores the stinging pain of his hand as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand - ten missed calls and a text message from Inhye. He can barely read it in the darkness of the room.

‘Thank you so much for everything. I really enjoyed myself.’

He doesn’t remember a single thing of yesterday.

Jungkook with his pounding heartbeat and in helpless desperation, slumps to the floor, curling his legs together. As his body begins to shake, his trembling fingers reach up to grab fistfuls of his hair, trying to rip the strands from his skull. A scream of rage tears through his throat.

The voices never stop.

//

No matter what corners you turn, the scent of disinfectant will always follow; perhaps wafting in the air or simply clinging onto your white coat. It’s become your consoling partner, reminding you where you are and keeping your feet rooted to the ground. It keeps your mind away from him.

You curl your fingers around the cool metal handle, sliding the door open for the blazing saffron shade on the wall to blind your eyes. Immediately, you observe the two nurses in the room and the white curtains pulled to separate the space between the beds.

The first girl lying in her bed has her eyes wide open, blankly staring at the ceiling. She’s fifteen years old and transported to the mental health unit earlier this morning when she tried to commit suicide. You’ll have to conduct a suicide assessment test in order to know how immediate the danger is. Depending on the results, you’ll bring Jieun over to find out the patient’s state of mind and decide what kind of therapy would be the most suitable to help.

The boy in the second bed is sleeping while grasping onto his teddy bear in tight fists. He’s been diagnosed with schizophrenia and alongside taking medication, he’s going through psychotherapy. In a few days, he’ll be able to function enough to be discharged from the hospital but it’s essential that he continues his therapy.

You scribble some notes on your clipboard, exchanging a few words with the nurses to get an update on the patients. Your entire morning is comprised of the same routine, your undeterred focus and concentration on each patient, checking and adjusting treatment plans. It’s when you walk back to your office that you recognize a figure standing by the window.

“Nayoung? Oompf.”

She swivels on her toes, racing up to you and engulfing your body within her arms. A tiny giggle escapes your lips as you place the clipboard down on your desk, returning her hug. The dark bags under your eyes seem to alleviate its pressure for a split second.

“Y/N! You didn’t tell me that you were back!”

“Well...I’m back.”

The both of you let go of each other, a good distances away as she studies your face with a smile. “How long has it been? A decade?!”

“Don’t exaggerate.” You grin at your old colleague. “It was only for a half a decade.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and digging her hands into her white coat. “And you didn’t even tell me!”

“I literally just got back a week ago.” You mutter to her in an attempt to ease her pout.

“One week and you’re already managing the Mental Health Unit, huh.”

“What can I say?” You shrug with a sigh, unclipping the documents on your clipboard and searching for the right file in your cabinet. “Going overseas and studying there made me more qualified back here, I guess.”

“That and the fact that you graduated as the top psychologist of your PhD class and before you left you were running this department anyways. It’s no wonder you’ve gotten your position back so quickly. I bet they were begging on their knees for you.” She teases, the tip of her tongue peeking out at you as she plops down in your armchair.

“Please. And what about you? Aren’t you doing well in the Pediatric Care Center?”

“I am. But as you can see. I’m currently on my break. Have you had any breaks?”

“Nayoung.” You draw out her name in exasperation, placing back the file into its proper place.

“Just answer the question, Y/N.”

“We literally just reunited after half a decade and you’re already nagging me?”

She ignores you. “I’m going to take that as a no.” She melts into a smile while shaking her head in disapproval. “You haven't changed at all. Even after all these years….when will you ever stop being a workaholic, Y/N?”

It’s your turn to ignore her.

You pull out a binder from your shelf, searching for a specific page that you've been thinking about all morning. It could potentially help with your patient that has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Nayoung sighs. “I really didn’t expect you to come back.”

Your hands halt, glancing up at her for a second before turning back down and murmuring under your breath- “Me neither”.

“What made you?”

“I guess I missed….I missed home.” You admit with a meek upturn of your lips. “No matter where I went….”

...you could never escape the demons of your past. The change of scenery could never change who you were.

“Nothing beats home.” She nods in agreeance, leaning back. “I get it. I’m glad you’re back, Y/N.”

“Thanks. I’m glad to be back.” You bring your full attention onto her, exchanging smiles.

“Say…” She turns around, having gotten up and ready to greet you goodbye as her break was nearing the end. “...have you….have you talked to Seonho, yet?”

With the mention of him, something uncomfortable lodges in your throat. She quickly retracts her words. “I mean...it’s just that...I know it’s a serious-..um...he’s asked me about you.”

You manage a strained smile but your voice comes out weaker than you expect. “No. I haven’t got the chance yet.”

She nods, eyes downcasting in sympathy and understanding. “If you can...Y/N...you should really visit him.”

The dark past that had been chasing you for five years comes to catch you faster than anticipated. It wraps its arms around your body and holds you captive to regrets. Your limbs are chained by bitter anguish and it’ll never cease to play the game of ‘what if’ with you.

“I will.”

//

His fingers are wrapped around the orange container, hand shoving the white cap off to spill the pills into his palm. His pupils never stop scrutinizing the reflection in the mirror - not for a mere split second as he presses the bitter capsules to his bleeding lips and his tongue twines them. He forces the medication down his throat, despite knowing that it has no effects, that it will never be any curative for his illness. The label has all but faded away, ripped at the edges but he pays no mind as he shoves it back into the bathroom cabinet.  

It is another day that he must walk in the body that is no longer his.

“Jungkook. Your father would like to see you.”

He brings up his white bandaged hand, motioning to silence the secretary. His eyes are pinned straight ahead, lips in a straight line to perfectly mask his pain in a blank expression.

“I am fully aware.”

The workers of the floor peek their heads past their cubicles, orbs glued onto him and their mouths draw open. Murmurs befall from their lips, rolling off like sugar and melted butter - words like rich and handsome, ‘it’s the CEO’s son’. Yet, he can’t find it in himself to be satisfied by the numerous titles they’ve branded him nor does it swell the pride in his chest. It’s not to say that he is modest. He finds it amusing. Black suits, swept hair, expensive watches and a home worth more than millions doesn’t account to anything.

If only they knew how broken he was inside.

“You called me?” He shuts the door behind him, taking measured strides up to the desk where his father is seated behind in a chair, his hands clasped together in thought.

“Sit.”

He hides his uneasiness, forcing his hands not to tremble as he obeys. His father’s tone is icy and malicious but his eyes are even colder; a glare that could drive Jungkook to run through the colossal glass windows behind his father and pummeling to the hundred floors below - greeting death would be more merciful.

His father cuts to the chase, throwing down a stack of papers on top of the desk, in front of his eyes.

“Look.”

Jungkook immediately recognizes the white pages. “It’s...it’s the deal I signed yesterda-”

“I said ‘look’.”

He takes the documents into his hands, seeing no faults and turning the pages. He racks his brain, narrowing his eyes onto the endless black and white to find the mistake. He turns the page. He turns the page.

He turns the page.  

He

       Turns

   The

              Page.

And on the very last one, he can barely recognize the swirling ink that signs the bottom of the sheet. It’s ordinary to see his name in someone else’s handwriting; work that he was suppose to do completed by another. It’s happened countless times before. But this time, it’s a clumsy mistake that has never occurred before. Instead of the name ‘Jungkook’, it is the signature of the name ‘Namjoon’.

“Are you kidding me, Jungkook?!” His father slams his fist against the wood of the table, his voice shaking with anger. Jungkook immediately winces back, not being able to help the shaking of his legs. “Do you take this as a joke?!”

“I’m...I’m sorry.” His teeth sink into the bottom of his lips, forcing the tears that well up in his eyes to wither away. “It’s...it was my...my…”

“Are you going to blame it on your fake disorder?” Jungkook’s father sits back in his chair, eyes still scrutinizing his son and after a full minute of silence, a chuckle falls from his mouth. It’s not a laugh of joy but one full of disgusted disdain and disbelief. “When will you grow up?”

“I’m…” He stutters before finally being able to look his father in the eyes. “..sorr-”

“Save your apologies.” He spits out sharply. “This. Whatever this is. Get it fixed. I can’t have someone signing fake names in contracts. I can’t have such an idiot taking over the company. You’re getting married soon, what are you going to do then? Stay home. Don’t come anymore. Not until you get it fixed or learn how to take responsibility and behave yourself.”

The two men stare at each other; the younger one with his hands trembling and orbs full of desperation…an ache to be acknowledged…..loneliness. The older dismisses him, looking away to the enormous towers out the window, each a rival and an ally. The two barely share any resemblances aside from the dark shade of their locks. Jungkook has softer features, a rounder face and contrary to his father’s cold ones, Jungkook has bigger eyes carrying an innocence that his father absolutely hates.

“Leave.”

The voices are screaming inside his head, his fingers twitching to switch but he holds it down, even when it pains him to the very core. No. No. Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!

Jungkook spares one last glance at the silhouette of his father before he withdraws into the darkness.

//

It must be urgent.

They had called you in the middle of the day, in the middle of your shift without giving much of an explanation, merely using the word ‘emergency’. And that awoke an instinct that you were trained with, causing you to run down the halls and past the other units to the third floor.

You swallow your gasps as you open the cream doors of the conference room, not wasting a second to knock.

“You called?”

Your arms are by your side, hands clenched in fists. Your white coat is slipping from your shoulders, the hair from your bun falling to the sides of your face. “Wha-what’s going on?” You take one scan of the vast room, the bleached coloured walls and the stretched wooden table sitting in the center. There’s an unfamiliar man wearing a business suit, sitting across from the chief who’s smiling at you.

They seem far too relaxed.

You’re on alert.

“Calm down, Y/N. Come. Take a seat.”

You follow the orders warily, narrowing your eyes at the stranger as you pull a black chair beside the older man. “How are you? You’ve only been back for a week. Are things going well?”

“Yes. They are.” It’s unusual that he’s asking you such trivial questions. “Is there something wrong?”

He hums, arms crossing. “Not wrong per say…But Y/N, this is Mr. Jinkey.” You nod at the black suited man who kindly smiles at you. “Mr. Jinkey, this is Y/N. She’s our modern day genius, entering university at an early age and the highest graduate amongst all her peers. She’s a certified clinical psychologist with a PhD and she recently came back from overseas. Currently, she’s running our entire Mental Health Unit.”

Your suspicions are only growing. He’s not one to give any compliments, afraid that egos will be blown up too big and end up exploding; ultimately causing harm. Your chief is known for throwing equipment at interns and shouting at nurses until they burst into tears. You’re certainly not a genius and you’re not running the unit either.

But for appearance's sake in front of the stranger, you give a tense smile. “Please. I’m just working my hardest…”

“Good. Good.” Mr. Jinkey nods his head in approval. “I think she’s suitable.”

“Really. There’s no one but her. If there’s anyone that can do it, it’s Y/N.” Your chief grows serious, staring at his clasped hands.

Your brows furrow together. “What’s going on?”

“Y/N…” He sighs, looking at you with a softened expression. “I’m going to give you...an off-campus job.”

“An off-campus job?”

The man in the suit pipes up, sliding over a manila folder across the table towards you. “Miss. Y/N, have you ever heard of Jeon Corporations?”

Of course you do.

They’re one of the biggest companies in the country. Even someone living in a rock would know of them. They own all kinds of land and utilities, areas of technology to energy plants. They employ over thousands of people and a large part of the country's GDP is on their shoulders.

You nod your head and he continues. “This is strictly confidential. The moment you open that folder, you’ll be bounded by contract. Of course, we have more official documents with us right now that require your signature.”

“Wait.” You hold out your hand, turning to look at your superior in utter confusion. “What’s going on. Can...can I get some sort of explanation?”

“Y/N.” He draws out a long exhale, dropping his voice into a low murmur despite no one being around that shouldn’t hear. “I need you to work at the Jeon household...to work in their abode. Their son….he suffers from-” inhale “….DID.”

Dissociative Identity Disorder.

The man looks at your chief in alarm for revealing classified information but your chief simply motions his hand. Mr. Jinkey fixes his posture as he stares at you. “Multiple Personality Disorder. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes. Of course..” You nod, questions finally being answered but your frown doesn’t cease. “I...I know of it.”

“Then will you help him?”

“I….Why do you need me to stay at his home? I can help him if he comes in regularly for therapy.”

“He can’t do that. There’s isn’t time.” Mr. Jinkey shakes his head slowly without moving his eyes away from you. “He must be cured within a year.”

“A year?!” Your jaw drops, fingers curling at the edge of the file. “This..that’s impossible! This disorder required a long term healing process.”

“Then make it short term.” Your chief cuts sharply and when you turn to him appalled, he gives you a sympathetic expression. “Y/N. I understand the difficulties but you can’t give up when you haven’t tried. This is a patient that needs your help and I sincerely believe that something can be achieved if you focus all your efforts into this one client.”

“He went to therapy previously but only for a few weeks. There’s little information but if you’re worried about it - he’s not dangerous.” The man tries to coax you. “He’s never been hostile since his diagnosis.”

“No.” You stand up, the chair falling behind you, colliding onto the ground. “I can’t.”

It’s all too much. You haven’t had much time to think. All of the sudden, you have to drop everything and all your patients for one. Someone you’ve never met, a rich boy from a wealthy household. You have to live with a stranger and cure his disorder within a year.

Things aren’t simple like that. Disorders like his take decades to improve, perhaps an entire lifetime. It’s a goal that is intangible, something outside the boundaries of your abilities. You can’t.

“I’m sorry.” You bow your head, turning on your heel to leave the room.

“You’ve changed, Y/N.”

The timber of your chief’s voice shakes the walls and causes you to halt mid-step. “The Y/N who came here six years ago as an intern would’ve never given up on a challenge. Especially when she hasn’t even tried.”

“Good.” You mutter under your breath as you turn around. “A lot of things in my life would’ve been less painful had I given up earlier.”

“That’s a foolish way of thinking.” He doesn’t look at you as if it’ll hurt him too much, staring at the ivory walls as his lips continue to move. “The drive and persistence to never admit defeat is what’ll lead you to a brighter future. If you stay in the same place, if you surrender to hardships, regret will simply build. It will build and build and build, until you wonder-”

What if.

“-what if.”

“Please.” The black-suited man turns to you and his stoic expression is ruined by the knot between his brows. “He needs your help.”

Ten seconds of quiet as you mull over the words and your own thoughts.

With your heartbeat pounding in your chest, you finally take one step forward.

“What is his name?”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

//

The first thing that you immediately notice is how high the walls are.

His house is encased by concrete stones and a metal gate entrance; reaching past the rooftop. But beyond is a luxurious residence, carrying a minimalistic modern style with sharp corners and flat ceilings. Enormous glass windows take up the spaces of the white walls, revealing the bare interior. As you’re walking up to the front door with the lights in the grass illuminating your path, you can’t help but feel like you’re treading through foreign territory - an adventure to save the prince trapped in the soaring tower.

You set the luggage down by your side, inhaling a huge breath to calm your nerves. Your fist raises to knock on the surface but then-

BANG!

“Mr. Jeon!” The black suited man who escorted you smiles.

You’re calming your heartbeat, startled to death at the door flying open, crashing against the wall from the force. And it takes one full minute for you to soak in the appearance of the so-called Jeon Jungkook.

He’s a lot younger than you’ve imagined. From the documents, you already knew that he was the same age as you but from his appearance, though looking tired and weary, he still somehow maintains boyish features. His cheeks are rounded, lips puffy with teeth imprints in his bottom lip exhibiting how he was nibbling on them prior to your arrival, most likely out of nervousness. His bangs are curled inwards into a comma motion, hair a dark shade of chocolate that matches his irises. If it wasn’t for the sick colour of his skin, the downturn of his mouth or the black bags under his eyes, you would’ve thought that he resembled an innocent rabbit.

Instead, with the way he sharply scrutinizes you, it looks like life has forced him against his will to become a predator.

Mr. Jinkey speaks up, shattering the silence and breaking your gaze on the boy. “This is-”

“I know.” He interjects. “You can leave.”

The older man bows his head and you watch his backside as he leaves to his car. Jungkook widens the door, abandoning it without sparing a second glance at you. Nonetheless, you exhale a huge breath as you step into his abode with your luggage, shutting the door behind you.

“How fast can you cure me?”

“Excuse me?”

You disregard the fact that he hasn’t introduced himself or asked for your name.

He huffs out as if each single word he utters to you adds to his exhaust. “How. fast. can. you. cure. me.”

“I...these things take time. Dissociative Identity Disorder is the most intricate and theoretically difficult dissociative disorder; it embodies the total variety of dissociative phenomena.” He continues to give you an unimpressed stare and you sigh. “We still haven’t talked about anything yet. This might...might take some time.”

“Do you think I’m lying?”

“What?” The handle of the suitcase slips out of your grasps in the moment that you grab it. “Why would I think that you’re lying?”

“A lot of people think this disease….disorder...whatever you want to call it...is a hoax. Fake.” He smirks at you, the side of his lip pulling. “I’m just a spoiled rich boy who’s ‘diagnosed’ with having multiple personalities. It’s my excuse to avoid inheriting the company so I can play all day.”

Your eyes examine him coldly. He’s in black dress pants, a black button-up shirt that’s rolled all the way to his elbows. More importantly, his arms are crossed together over his chest - a defensive position, body language that tells you he fears being vulnerable.

“I don’t really think that’s the case.” You smile gently and he falters, the frown alleviating for a mere heartbeat. “It’s not the sort of thing that someone can joke about either.”

Jungkook continues to gaze at you until he turns on his heel, mumbling something barely coherent about how your room is upstairs to the left. You don’t stop smiling, especially when you catch him rubbing his hands together out of nervousness.

//

The both of you are seated across each other, both on leather couches with the coffee table placed in between. You’ve dim the lights to create a relaxed atmosphere but keeping it bright enough for business to be conducted. With the way he’s tapping his foot, you assume he’s anxious with getting the first session started.

The first thing you have to do is establish the clear boundaries. “Jungkook, have you already signed the contract that was given to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should know that we’ll have at least one session every day. More or less can be decided depending on the circumstances.” He nods and you offer a kind smile. “If you need something from me, you can knock on my door since I’m down the hall. I’m here to help you with your disorder and any issues that you may have, nothing more and nothing less.”

“I understand.” He’s tapping his fingers on his thigh, a sign of impatience but he nods nevertheless.

“Good.”

“I’m also going to discontinue any medication that you’re taking right now. If I feel that it is necessary, I might prescribe you and then I can monitor you from there.” He nods. “Today I’m going to introduce you to talk therapy and psychotherapy. At any time that you may feel uncomfortable, you can tell me. Please don’t hesitate. You can refuse to answer any question. This space and session is meant for you. Whatever we discuss will also be fully confidential. Your safety is of my utmost priority.”

“Okay.”

“Our goal is to merge all personalities into one. Or at the very least, to resolve and make peace amongst all the personalities.”

You’ve taken a look at his documents before and the information of his few previous sessions. There was close to nothing aside from the notes that he had at the very least five other personalities. When met in any kind of danger, one of his personalities immediately takes over. Another common occurrence of when he switches to his alters is when he experiences strong emotions. It’ll be absolutely essential to build his stress tolerance and help him cope with stress and anxiety.

“Isn’t there a...quicker way? I want to get rid of all these other...things...personalities...whatever.” His brows are knotted together in frustration and he runs a hand through his dark brown locks. “Can’t you just make me...normal?”

“I understand your anxiousness, Jungkook. But all these steps are absolutely essential. They will help in the long-run.”

“Okay.” He leans back in the couch. “Fine.”

You smile at him, letting a bit of silence linger as you move onto the next topic. “We’re going to create a safety agreement. It’s just to reduce unsafe behaviours. This is a safe space but I want you to feel safe wherever you go.”

He breathlessly laughs, a mocking tone out of disbelief as he shakes his head. “Yeah sure. Tell that to the others.”

“This agreement is something that all the identities must acknowledge. They’re bound to it too.” He’s quiet, staring at the carpet. “This means that no matter who comes forward, I want you to recognize that you’re in control of your life no matter what, Jungkook. No one will be able to harm you or this body.”

He doesn’t respond for a long time, frowning with blank eyes at the wall. “Jungkook?”

“They’re loud.” He moves his eyes onto you. “I can hear them in my head.” There’s a pause before he breaks out into a smirk. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Well I do.” Jungkook mutters. You catch a hint of defeat in his voice but no sooner he’s looking back at you again, waiting for you to continue.

“During our sessions, I don’t want you to fight the different alters.”

He frowns. “What? You…….......don’t?”

You shake your head. “The very core of this process is to make all the identities become aware of each other. Nothing good will come out of ignoring them. The goal is to try to resolve everyone’s innermost conflict. That being said, you still remain in control. If an alter does something that is dangerous, I want you to believe that you have the ability to come back.”

He inhales sharply, tilting his head out of skepticism. “I’ll...try my best.”

“And that’s good enough.” The corners of your lips upturn and you motion towards him. “Are they still speaking to you right now?”

“Yes.” He grimaces. “It’s hard to concentrate.They won’t shut up.”

“Then if you’re comfortable, Jungkook...and only if you’re completely comfortable - is it alright if I meet one of the alters?”

He blinks at you as if wondering why in Heaven’s name you would want to do something like that. But eventually his tense posture loosens and he slumps back. “Okay. If...if it’s weird or you get freaked out, I und-”

“Jungkook.” You interrupt. “It’s okay.”

He nods before inhaling a deep breath and shutting his eyes. He frowns and his nose twitches. His body winces once. Within five seconds, his eyes flutter open again.

“Hi.” You mask your startleness with a smile. His orbs are painstakingly cold, face blank of any expression and you’re unable to read his body language. “I’m doctor Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

He stares at the hand that shoots out. After an extended pause, you withdraw it. “Not much of a hand-shaker, are you?”

He chuckles lowly. “Don’t call me an alter.” Somehow his voice has dropped down a tone, timber rumbling and husky. “I’m a damn person.”

“I see.” You tilt your head in curiosity. “Then what’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know.” He cuts off. “Are you here to try to ‘fix’ him?”

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning back in the sofa and throwing his arm over the edge. The side of his lip tugs upwards. “Good luck sweetheart. Don’t think you’re getting rid of us anytime soon. He needs us. You’re causing more harm by doing this.”

The knot between your brows deepen. “Why?”

But before he has the chance to answer you or evade your question again, suddenly he closes his eyes. Jungkook’s face contorts in pain and then he slumps over, falling off the couch. He grunts out, hands grabbing up to his chest as if something is pounding from within. You immediately flinch forward but you don’t rush to his side.

“Jungkook?”

He catches his breath, gasping for oxygen and he manages to sit up, hands at the floor to support the weight of his body. He looks at you with weary eyes, lips parted and his head thrown back. Jungkook is still shaking.

“Do you hear me?”

His pupils flicker to yours at the question.

“You aren’t many people within one.” You strictly affirm. “You’re one whole person, simply sharing many identities.”

The words wrap around him like a comforting embrace. You’re the first person who’s ever believed him, who has ever tried to help, who has been by him when he’s needed it most.

A deep determination begins to root itself in the pits of your chest.

You already know - you’ll help until the end, no matter the consequences.

“You’re one whole person.”

//

The voice message plays once more.

“It’s me~ Nayoung! I texted you the address in case you didn’t remember. I know you’re busy, Y/N but there will always be a hundred excuses.” A heavy sigh is heard on the other line. “I know it’s not my place to say anything. But he’s asked about you for the past five years. If you have some time….” A slight pause holds suffocating silence to overwhelm your guilt. “....you should really visit him.”

The door opens, the walls are closed together with a thin glass separating the other half of the room. “He’ll be here in a moment.” The guard huffs out.

“Thank you.”

Your palms are clammy and you’re sitting on the edge of your seat. Doubts of - whether or not you should be here, if you should leave right now, if you should run, if he really wants to see you - begin to cloud your mind. But before you act on any of the urges screaming inside your head, the other door opens.

He’s there behind a guard, scruffy shadow around his mouth and bright eyes, aged then you last remember but still as happy. He has faint lines on his face, most predominantly under his eyes. He’s still the same boy that is dormant in your memories; running on campus, up to no good and giggling with you. The moment his orbs land on yours, he rushes over, almost tripping over his own shoes. A huge grin splits his mouth, pinching the apples of his cheeks pink. His lips move to your name as if he’s screaming it out in joy. But you can’t hear.

Tears fill your eyes and you exhale a deep breath, picking up the phone handle with a trembling hand. He does the same, nearly exploding out of happiness- “Y/N!” He exclaims and you laugh, scrunching up your nose at the sheer volume that threatens to burst your eardrums.

His orange jumpsuit blinds your eyes.  

“Seonho.” You smile. “It’s been a long time.”

You don’t know how or why. Three years ago if you had told yourself you’d be in this position, you would’ve ran to the ends of Earth to avoid it. You’ve already ran away most of your life. One more time wouldn’t hurt.

But somehow, you find yourself sitting, once more, across from the man who holds your heart captive.