#however if someone acts possessive over my hair again I will chop it all off again

[fernweh-writes]

You could ask my question, if possible, of course. With the Slachers (Michael, Jason, Brahms, Vincent and Bo) with her beloved looking innocent and even angelic, but she is extremely jealous and possessive when a victim or survivor flirts with her slachers to the point of saying something in context: " he is mine !!" (while the reader embraces Slachers). What would be the reaction of the slachers, about the corpotamento of his beloved?

I don’t write for Jason, sorry but I can definitely do the rest. Since I don’t write for many slashers, with requests like this one I usually do a little snippet for all of the slashers I do write for. But I like this idea a lot so without further ado…

P.S. this took me so much longer than I expected, I definitely got a little invested in these lol. I left out Thomas and Jesse but I may go back and add them at a later time idk yet.

-Fern🌿

Slashers x Possessive S/O

Michael Meyers

Your innocent and kind nature would be one of the things that made Michael interested in you. You were the first person to take the time to actually figure him out rather than checking him off as Evil™️ and treating him as such. He also likes the fact that he can easily make you flustered, it feeds his need for control. Knowing that he can simply press himself against you and leave you blushing both pleases and amuses him.

We all know that Michael is very possessive. He often stalks you while you’re at work or out in town running errands. At this point, it’s no longer because he feels the need to be predatory, he’s just making sure that what’s his is safe from any harm.

One night you had decided to go out with a few friends, which Michael wasn’t very excited about, but eventually he allowed it. It was one of those busy clubs/bars that had opened recently, so of course the place was crowded. This left Michael with no choice but to ditch the mask while he followed you, another thing he wasn’t happy about.

He ended up sitting on the other side of the place by himself with his eyes glued to you. He didn’t like you being around so many people. Michael was so focused on watching you that he had barely even noticed the woman walk up and make herself cozy in the seat opposite of him. Now his attention was on her while she grinned at him like the Cheshire Cat, pushing her cleavage together to make it more apparent in her already low cut dress.

Michael could’ve sworn that you had teleported, after all he had only take his eyes off of you for a second. Now you had your arms wrapped around him with your head resting on his neck. “Can we help you,” you asked the girl in front of you. Michael had never heard your voice sound so cold.

The girl began to twirl her hair, not deterred by the fact that you were running your hands over Michael. “I was just wondering what such a handsome man was doing here all by himself,” she purred. She attempted to reach forward and grab his hand but you were quick to smack it away before Michael could even move.

“He’s not here by himself he’s with me. And if I were you I would keep your hands to yourself and away from what’s mine.” After you said that it didn’t take long for Michael to drag you back home. To him it was your way of saying that you were in fact a permanent part of Michaels life. Plus you threatening someone when you’re usually so polite was a change of pace that left Michael wanting. You can definitely expect the girl to turn up missing on the news soon after that night as well.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms adored your innocence and kindness. You never hesitated to follow the rules and care for him, which is why he kept you around. After all he needs a nanny that is actually going to take care of him. Brahms also had an easy time revealing himself to you since after the initial shock of it all you were delighted to find out you weren’t being haunted and that you weren’t in a huge countryside mansion all by yourself.

Seeing as Brahms is a major introvert and goes absolutely feral if there’s someone new in his house that he hasn’t allowed you usually have nothing to worry about. However, suppose something happens where Malcolm has to leave for a few weeks, meaning that a new girl is assigned to deliver the groceries until Malcolm returns.

You were in the kitchen chopping up ingredients for lunch when she arrived for the first time. You had to admit that she was pretty, she was tall and athletic looking with perfect curls. It was hard for you to not notice that she was blonde, Brahms had a thing for blondes…

“So Malcolm told me that Brahms isn’t dead or a ghost, is that right?” You didn’t like the fact Malcolm had told this random girl about Brahms but you muttered in agreement anyways. She helped you put up the rest of the groceries in silence, not speaking again until she had opened the door to leave. “So is he hot? Usually people with this much money that aren’t old are always hot. If he is I might just have to stick around for a little while longer.”

That struck a nerve. “He’s not available,” you said sharply and she faltered. “What do you mean?” It was easy to tell she hadn’t expected that kind of answer, much less the attitude you had suddenly adopted. “He isn’t single. So although he is hot, trust me, I would know, you can’t have him. He’s mine.” She quickly apologized and left, slamming the door shut behind her. You could also hear Brahms moving around in the walls nearby, letting you know he must have heard everything.

Shortly after you found Brahms wrapped around you while you finished making lunch. “So now I’m yours hmm?” You could hear the amusement in his voice. You turned and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in for a kiss, one hand finding it’s way into his hair. After pulling away you told him, “You’ve always been mine Brahmsy. My good boy.” He let out a small whine at your praise, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Vincent Sinclair

You were Vincent’s muse. He absolutely adored you from the way you acted to the way you looked. To him there was no aspect of you that wasn’t perfect. In other words he was absolutely obsessed with you. After all, you did take care of him and even helped Bo keep Ambrose up and running.

It’s no secret that Vincent was shy, but he was definitely intimidating as well. So you knew that the girl in front of him that was doing a terrible job of flirting was only doing so in a poor attempt to make it out alive. Still, watching her twirl her hair and smile at him made something inside of you snap.

“Come on handsome, you got to want some kind of company. I’m sure you’re so lonely here all by yourself… I could help with that.” She attempted to touch his chest but you grabbed her before she could. “Sorry,” you told her as you held both of her arms behind her back, “he already has someone keeping his bed warm. Didn’t your mother ever to tell you not to touch things that belong to other people?”

Vincent made quick work of knocking the girl out and carrying her down to the workshop. However, after dwelling on the thought he decided to just let Lester dispose of her body. He didn’t want to make you angry by turning her into a permanent wax figure for the town. Doesn’t mean that he won’t allow her to regain consciousness before killing her though, after all she needs to know her place.

Later on Vincent will make sure you never forget that he is yours the same way that you’re his. You can probably expect to have some trouble moving around the next day as well.

Bo Sinclair

Everyone knows that Bo is a major flirt. He enjoys watching the girls throw themselves at him, he just blames it on his “southern charm.” Although, he usually keeps you safely tucked up into the house whenever victims stumble into town. After all, “I can’t have my sweet angel in harms way now, can I?”

You never dwelled on how Bo dealt with victims, that was his business. Sure he had flirted with you a lot when you first showed up. Even now he was heavy on flirting and making inappropriate comments all the time. It was one of the things that made him Bo after all. So walking into his shop unaware of the newest batch of victims in town was a shock for you. Well not so much the victim part, it was finding Bo flirting with the girl leaning over the counter to display her cleavage that pissed you off.

She was smiling and blushing like she had a high school crush on the man in front of her. Not to mention Bo was unashamedly staring at everything she was flaunting. So yeah you were pissed, especially since he didn’t even seem to notice you were there. You quickly remembered the lunch you were holding in your hand, your reason for coming down here, and decided to use it to your advantage.

Instead of saying anything you just walked up behind him, setting his lunch on the counter right in front of the girl, effectively blocking his view of her boobs before wrapping your arms around him. Bo still didn’t shut up and acknowledge you so you decided to interrupt. “I brought you lunch baby.” The use of a pet name quickly made the girl Bo was flirting with falter.

“Oh, uhm, is this your girlfriend or something?” Before Bo could jump in you answered her. “Or something, I guess you could say. After all, he is my husband.” You looked up at Bo with the most lovesick expression you could put on your face as you pulled him in for a kiss. One kiss turned to two, to three, to a whole make out session in front of the poor girl. Bo’s hands began to roam around your body as well, making sure to squeeze all of his favorite parts of you.

When the two of you broke apart the girl was gone but Bo didn’t seem to notice. He was still to busy feeling you up. “Have I ever told you how fuckin’ sexy you are when you’re jealous? I’d never have guessed you had a possessive side to you angel.” You smiled knowing you now had his full attention, “Well surprise.”

He kissed you one more time, long and hard. “I promise we’ll continue this later up at the house. But right now I gotta go find that bitch n’ kill ‘er. You better be waitin’ on me when I get home darlin’.”

Billy Loomis

Billy was highly sought after by many girls due to his bad boy reputation. He always had girls throwing themselves at him wanting to be the one to fix him. You knew you didn’t have to worry, Billy wouldn’t leave you for someone else. He made it very clear that you were permanent. But still you couldn’t help but be irritated when they would flirt with him right in front of you.

You two were planning a movie night which meant a trip down to the video store. Apparently, Randy had the night off because some new girl was behind the counter. When the two of you first arrived she had been reading a magazine, not caring about the handful of people milling about. That was until she noticed Billy, not seeming to care that you were wrapped around his arm. She was watching him like a hawk.

You shifted uncomfortably, not liking the way she was staring down your boyfriend. Billy was observant and quickly noticed your discomfort. “Don’t worry about her babe, you know you’re the only person I’m into.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him, “Now, do you want to watch Friday the 13th or Nightmare on Elm Street?” You groaned, “Billy we’ve seen both of those movies a million times.” He smiled and held up Nightmare on Elm Street, “Well now we can watch this one and make it one million and one times.”

You rolled your eyes as he drug you to the checkout counter. The employee quickly perked up when she noticed Billy. “Will this be all for you hun?” She asked completely ignoring you. She didn’t even look down at what movie Billy had set on the counter before saying, “You have good taste, this is like one of my favorite movies ever. It’s a shame your little girlfriend doesn’t seem to like it though.”

“Cool, so who’s the main character?” You knew exactly what Billy was trying to do, elbowing him lightly. “Oh, uhm,” she finally looked down at the case, eyes lighting up, “oh, yeah it’s that really scarred dude!” Billy rolled his eyes, “No shit, what’s his name though.” You decided to have pity on the girl, “Ignore him, he’s a horror movie fanatic.” The girl mumbled, “Yeah no kidding.”

You smiled at Billy, using this as your chance to brag on the fact he’s yours. You knew him like no one else did. “He’s such a dork when it comes to the cinematography of these things but he’s my dork.” Billy hugged you from behind, “Yeah, whatever, you know you love me.”

Stu Macher

Stu absolutely loved throwing huge parties at his house. He was well liked and well known so it wasn’t unusual for a lot of people to show up, many of which you didn’t even know. Because so many people knew Stu, it also meant that they knew his family was pretty wealthy. It was pretty common to find girls hitting on him and since Stu loved attention he was prone to playfully flirting back.

Usually you would hang out with your friends during these parties, not being big on socializing with new people. Most of the time you didn’t worry about Stu wandering off, he would always show up at your side again at some point. Half the time when he would reappear you would have to pry him back off of you. He could be quite handsy at times.

Now the party was winding down and mostly everyone left was on the couch getting ready to watch a movie. You excused yourself, and headed to the kitchen to get another drink. You froze when you saw a girl running her hands all over Stu, he wasn’t making any move to push her away. You decided to help him out with that.

“Do you need something,” you asked her as Stu wrapped himself around you. “Are you his girlfriend?” Stu laughed, hopping up onto the counter. He pulled you up onto his lap, “Yeah she is dude. Isn’t she hot?” The girl scoffed, “Don’t you think that she’s a little… beneath you, Stu?”

That set you off. “I think that slutty little bitches like you need to keep your dirty hands away from what’s mine.” The girl rolled her eyes before storming out of the kitchen. You hopped out of Stu’s lap and turned to face him. “If you let mother whore rub all up on you like that again so help me I will be the next one to commit a murder in this house. Understand?” Stu stopped smiling, his goofy personality faltering for a second. He then saluted, “Yes ma’am.” You nodded. “Good.”

Stu jumped down and threw you over his shoulder, causing you to yelp. “You look extra hot when you’re fighting over me babe.” He quickly climbed the stairs and you pounded against his back. “You’re going the wrong way, the movie is downstairs.” He made it quickly to the bedroom, throwing you down on the king size bed with a huge grin. “We can make our own movie babe. I don’t know about you but I’m thinking romance,” he rambled, crawling on top of you. “Rated R of course.”

[thekitteninlove]

I admit that i kinda ship Dalim with Amon too, so i made a naughty fic about those two too. Since i prefer writing one shots these fanfics don't have anything to do with each other (unless i say that they're broken into several parts)

Warning: smut, oral sex, spanking (sorry, Dalim 😖)

Dalim was in Amon’s room, trying once again to convince him to stop doing illegal experiments on humans. Just insisting that he cease what he’s doing wouldn’t get him anywhere, so in order to persuade him he needed to emphasize the benefits that he’d get by doing legal experiments instead.

“But, My Lord, you have nothing to lose if you do that. On the contrary, we won’t have to go through the trouble of silencing the ones who find about that and we won’t have to hide those from the authorities either. Please think about it. I believe-“ Dalim’s words were suddenly interrupted by his lord’s harsh voice. “Silence. I didn’t ask you anything.” Amon didn’t understand why he was so insistent. Did he care about those people? But why would he care about some strangers? He turned his gaze towards his underling to see if his expression gave him any clues as to why he was telling him such things, but he couldn’t read his expression. If it was someone else he would make them leave right away, without listening to a word they said, but with Dalim… it was different. He listened to him. Well, until his patience ran out, which didn’t last long since he had a short temper. Still, there were many instances where Dalim managed to persuade him to do things he wasn’t eager to do at the beginning. He wondered why he was listening to him and why he was still alive with no limbs missing after all the blunders he’s made. He let Alice escape so many times. If it was someone else, Amon would’ve cut their head off a long time ago. But he forgave Dalim and kept giving him another chance. Maybe for the first time in his life he felt something for someone other than hatred.

Dalim looked at his lord, hoping that he’ll change his mind or at least appear like he’s taking what he said into consideration. But all he could see on his face was annoyance. His obstinacy frustrated him, but he was careful enough not to show it on his face. His lord was easy to anger and dangerous so he needed to be extra cautious. ”Could I ask why you rejected my proposal?” Dalim asked in a calm voice.

“Dalim, do you really think that people would volunteer to take part in such experiments?” Amon sounded amused, as if his underling just asked him a stupid question to which the answer was obvious. Dalim has been nagging him about this for a while and he still couldn’t understand why he was so bent on stopping those experiments. Was he afraid that they’ll get discovered?

“If we make those experiments safer then I’m sure there will be people who will volunteer and if we offer a compensation for them then even more people would come” Dalim said, hoping that this will get him to reconsider his methods.

Amon was so exasperated that if it was someone other than Dalim he’d behead him. But there weren’t many people as knowledgeable about magic as Dalim and he was hard to replace, so he left him be. Besides which, they’ve known each other for years, so he learned how to serve him well. He wasn’t called his right hand man for nothing. Their relationship was quite beneficial for him, so he didn’t want to let go of him. Amon gave Dalim a wry grin and said “I might just take your proposal into consideration if you add more benefits to it”

Although he was hoping to get his lord to agree to this, Dalim was still surprised to hear him say this. He almost couldn’t believe his ears. Was he serious or was he lying? Either way, he couldn’t let this chance slip by. “Do you have something specific in mind, My Lord?”

“Entertain me. I’m in a foul mood. If you manage to get me in a better mood then I might agree to your suggestion”

Dalim was in a bind, the only thing he knew would uplift his lord’s mood was torture, but he didn’t want to be tortured. So then what should he do? He looked at his delicate and beautiful features which reminded him of a pretty young woman and which made him feel some urges that were difficult to control. An idea crossed his mind, but he hesitated before acting on it. He was afraid that his lord might not like it and that he’d end up getting punished, so he tried to be really careful. He approached him slowly and put his hand on his cheek, which made Amon’s brows furrow in confusion. Then he closed the distance between them even more and pressed his lips against his, drawing out a gasp of surprise from him.

Amon didn’t know how to react at first. He was shocked by how brazen his underling got and he’d have made him regret he ever did such a thing to him if the one kissing him wasn’t his favorite disciple and if it didn’t feel so… good. He wasn’t kissed before and this was a new experience for him, so he let him do what he wanted. For now.

Amon’s reaction to his kiss startled Dalim. He didn’t expect him to react so favorably to it, so this encouraged him to do more. He put his hand in his long silky hair and drew him even closer, deepening the kiss, while his other hand was roaming over his supple body. His lord was as dangerous as a praying mantis during the mating season, so he needed to be careful. Those insects chop off the head of their male partner after mating if they don’t run as fast as their legs can carry them. If he shows any signs that he dislikes this form of entertainment the he’d have to run as fast as he can. The possible danger he put himself into added a lot of excitement to this meeting. This made his heart beat faster in his chest as he tried to make the most of this rare chance he got to do naughty things to this dangerous beauty.

So far, Amon was quite enjoying the kiss, which was getting hotter by the moment. However, he was also feeling a growing desire to make things more interesting, so after a while he decided that it was time to take the lead. He pushed Dalim away and said in a authoritative voice “Kneel before me”. Dalim was startled by this sudden turn of events, but did as he said. Although he couldn’t call himself a loyal man, his lord was the only person he was loyal to. Even though Amon possessed so much knowledge about magic he used it for such terrible things. He wished he could make him change his ways and make him use that acute intelligence of his for good things, which was why he was obeying his every command. The sensation of leather around his neck snapped him back to reality and realized that his lord just put a collar on him, to which was attached a chain leash. His lord then came up behind him and put his hands in handcuffs. He looked up to find his lord smirking at him and holding the other end of the leash in one hand, while in the other he was holding a paddle that looked like it was made from hard leather. “If you’re a bad boy, I’ll have to spank you” he seemed like he was having fun, so that was good. “Now you’re my dog and you should answer my every command with ‘woof’”

That was the strangest command he’s ever been given, but he obeyed him nonetheless and said woof. If that was what it took to get him in a better mood and hopefully agree to his suggestion then he’d do it.

Amon had been planning to make him do this for a while now and he finally found the chance to do this. What he liked most about his right hand man was his wild, untamable nature. It was so much more challenging and fun to tame a rebellious man than an obedient one. The sense of achievement he got from succeeding at that was far stronger and he really liked that feeling.

His lord looked so alluring, yet he was so dangerous, he was like a femme fatale and Dalim couldn’t take his eyes off him. Amon decided to seek another kind of entertainments from what he usually seeks, so he took off his robe before sitting on his bed. He then unzipped his trousers and pulled Dalim closer by the leash. He was completely under his control right now, which is exactly how he wanted him to be all the time. “You should do as I say now, Dalim. Entertain me down there too” Amon said in a commanding tone. Dalim obeyed him as he usually did and used his skillful tongue to pleasure his lord, who was still holding him tightly by the leash.

Dalim’s mouth made Amon feel a delightful sensation spread through his body and envelop him, making him want more. He pulled Dalim even closer, telling him to take it in his mouth. This made the pleasure coursing through his body intensify, which drew out some moans from him. Meanwhile, Dalim was feeling the growing need to satisfy his sexual desires, but with his hands tied up behind his back he couldn’t do anything but move restlessly. This grabbed Amon’s attention, who got a kick out of watching Dalim squirm helplessly in front of him. This was the reason he used those handcuffs on him. “What’s wrong, Dalim? Need some help down there?” he sounded as if he was mocking him, but at the same time the burning desire within him made his voice sound huskier than normal. Dalim wondered how he was supposed to answer that when he had him in his mouth and couldn’t pull away because his lord was keeping him close with the leash. This situation was quite frustrating for him and he wished he’d come soon. To his surprise he felt something between his legs and he realized his lord put his foot there and began to move it, eliciting some moans from him and making some delightful sensation flow through his body. Feeling Dalim moan against him was making Amon shiver with pleasure, so he continued to move his foot to make him moan more. Dalim continued to use his mouth and tongue to pleasure his lord, while Amon was giving him a really nice massage between his legs with his foot. This continued until he felt Amon’s grip tighten on the leash as he came in his mouth, filling it with a salty and nutty taste. Then his grip finally loosened and Dalim was able to pull away. As he did that he looked up and saw him breathing hard on the edge of the bed. Dalim wanted to do more dirty things to him, but he knew that if he did that he’d get in real trouble and probably lose a limb or two, so he stayed put. Dalim took this opportunity to gaze at his lord, who was wearing an expression he’s never seen before and which was making him more aroused. Amon noticed how Dalim was looking at him and decided to torment him some more.

“You look like you want something. I might just give you what you want depending on how good you’re at begging” Amon sounded and looked as confident as a lord can be despite his… disheveled appearance.

“Please keep moving your foot between my legs” Dalim would’ve asked for more, but he was afraid of how he might react to a naughtier request. However, as he soon was about to find out, Amon had other plans for him. His request wasn’t entertaining enough for his lord, so Amon did something else. He got up from his bed and went behind Dalim to take off his handcuffs

“Take off your robe, Dalim”

His lord’s sudden order baffled him, but did as he said. However, the next instant he felt himself being pushed on the bed from behind and as he tried to get up Amon grabbed his hands and cuffed him to his bed. Dalim felt the bed shift as his lord climbed onto the bed behind him before he heard his imperious voice again “Lift your hips”. Dalim could only guess what he was up to now, but the scenarios he thought might unfold from this turned him on even more. Amon took off Dalim’s pants and underwear, then he began to move in and out of him, holding his hips tightly. This drew out some moans from both of them and made Dalim grip the sheets beneath him due to the intense pleasure he was feeling. “Oh~, My Lord~”. Suddenly, Dalim felt a sting on his bottom as Amon spanked him using the paddle.

“I told you to say woof, didn’t i?” his lord said in his usual imperious voice

Daim almost forgot about that, but immediately said woof to appease his lord and avoid his wrath. Even so, he didn’t stop as he found another excuse to spank him. Not that he minded though, since he wasn’t hitting hard. Actually, his lord was so passionate Dalim was getting hotter and sweatier as the pleasant sensations within him were steadily intensifying. He clutched the sheets more tightly as he felt himself getting closer to the height of sexual excitement. Since Dalim began to moan louder, Amon bent forward and put his hand over his mouth, muffling the lewd sounds he was making.

“I didn’t know you were so noisy in bed, Dalim” Amon sounded amused while he spanked him once more with his paddle.

As Amon continued to move in a sexually stimulating way, Dalim was overcome by an intense and pleasant feeling that spread through his body and released all the tension from within him.

Meanwhile, Amon has been relishing in the wonderful sensations given by his own motions and in seeing this untamable man submit to him. He loved being in total control of… everything. That way he could do whatever he wanted and no one would order him around like a servant. His movements became erratic as he approached his climax and he bit Dalim’s neck to leave a hickey that showed he belonged to him. The same intense feelings as Dalim had a moment ago came over Amon too as he set aside his paddle and gripped the covers instead.

After a few more thrusts Amon pulled away and removed Dalim’s handcuffs. Upon turning around towards Amon, Dalim was mesmerized by how charming his lord looked right then. He noticed that Amon was still panting heavily and trying to regain his composure. His red cheeks were making him look more appealing than ever and Dalim had to restrain himself from going over to him and kissing his now red lips. Who knows what he’d do to him if he did something of his own accord. If his lord truly were a female praying mantis then he’d be in danger because he was so enchanted by his beauty he couldn’t move. Finally, his lord broke the silence when he said “Alright. I’ll take your suggestion into consideration”. His declaration startled Dalim as he didn’t expect him to agree to it; he only hoped he would. Before he could say anything, Amon added “But first you need to promise me you’ll never betray me”

Dalim sighed. His lord had some serious trust issues, which made him wonder what made him like this. Nevertheless, he promised he’d stay by his side for as long as he wanted him to. However, he didn’t mention that he was willing to betray him if he proceeded with his plan to destroy the country. The reason he stayed with him was to persuade him to work for the sake of the country, but if he didn’t succeed at that then there was no point in him staying at the tower. He just hoped that he’ll eventually listen to reason and change his ways. It would be such a waste to put a genius like him behind the bars.

After that they both went back to work and acted as if nothing happened, but deep down inside they were still thinking about what transpired between them. Dalim couldn’t get the image of his dangerous, but beautiful lord blushing and breathing hard in a disheveled state on his bed, while Amon decided that he found a new way to entertain himself.

[amachaheadcanons]

If they both survived or lasted longer through the killing game, how do you think will their relationship develop?

ヽ(゜∇゜)ノ o hyuuuuuuuuuuuuuss

If they both survived; making Shuichi, Rantaro and Tenko the survivors. I’d cry tears of joy. In this scenario, Shuichi makes Tenko accept the fact that men aren’t all bad (via her FTEs), using Rantaro as an example of genuinely good guys (which along with the thought of her master being male really kick-start her change in attitude towards males chapt 4+). It’d be slow since they’d be end game but a lot of small moments that make up their friendship. These guys would re-write the game’s story and becoming the new trio. With Tenko and Rantarou giving Shuichi the strength in the end to end DR, and Rantaro opening up to them about his perk and being able to use that to maybe end the game earlier? Haven’t given it much thought BUT!

If they lasted longer in game, however… {Cough, I’m looking at you, Taro} Oh-ho-ho…

This gets rambley…so it’s under the cut hehe~

 I would have loved a scene where Shuichi stumbles upon Tenko and Rantaro sparring in the courtyard or dojo, or even his dorm room…

Chapter 2.

The thought of Shuichi walking past Amami’s pixel icon and hearing heavy puffing and suspicious grunting from his dorm room would be the funniest thing in the game. Especially if he attempts to ignore the sounds and escape the dormitories just as the door bursts open with Rantaro dodging another move from Tenko.

I strongly believe physical conflict would ensue between these two because, 1, that’s how Tenko understands her opponent, and I feel like Rantarou’s adventure/survival instinct would kick in and he’d be the only person able to dodge/delay Tenko’s advances, making her {2} more infuriated and pursue a fair fight with him further and {3} grow to understand his character from wanting to challenge his strong resolve and claims of being the opposite of what Tenko assumes of him.

Chapter 3.

After this initial conflict between them, Shuichi would then encounter them sparring in her dojo. There’s tension in the air. It gets personal. Tenko learns just how much Rantaro blames himself for losing his sisters and in a moment of her bewilderment he pins her to the floor and wins the round. Tenko demands a rematch, he refused because it’s nighttime, but Tenko secretly makes plans to spar with him again. It’d be hinted in game whenever Shuuichi sought out Tenko alone mumbling to herself.

By their forth sparring session Tenko stops calling Rantaro a degenerate, it almost goes unnoticed. Thanks to Kokichi/Iruma’s acknowledgement.

When Tenko steps in to ease Himiko and be the victim to Kiyo’s seesaw, Rantaro insists he be the victim, his carefree attitude aiming to show Himiko it’s nothing to be scared over. Tenko refuses, they enter a back and forth that makes Himiko smile and takes the pressure off the séance, so she inaudibly agrees to Kiyo’s demands. When Himiko’s ready, Tenko promises she’ll be waiting for her on the other side with open arms!

Upon finding Himiko’s unmoving body, Tenko refuses to work with anyone. The trial gets emotional.

Chapter 4.

Following Himiko’s death and Korekiyo’s execution. Tenko shuts down. Locks herself in her room and dojo, but Shuichi stumbles upon Rantaro trying to talk some sense into her behind her dojo’s walls. Rantaro challenges her to another spar, and despite her refusal, he manages to get her to crawl out of her cave. During chapt 4 Tenko starts following Rantarou around since he’s a good support system and feels as though he’s the closet friend she has. Shuichi has the option to find them in the game room at nighttime, decks of cards spewed on the table, a half finished game of pool, as Rantaro was in the midst of brushing her hair on the couch as a movie played in the background. He was comforting her. It came naturally. From that night on, every few days Tenko would wear a new hairstyle, seemingly done by Rantaro. 

When Rantaro starts neglecting her, she finds Shuichi and asks for his help. They manage to corner him in the warehouse, he becomes very secretive. Tenko becomes offended. When Shuichi tries to talk to him, she pushes some foam mats together and readies an Aikido stance for when Rantaro tries to leave the room. She drags him onto the mats and declares a duel. If he wins, he’s free to leave and she won’t stop him. If she wins, he will be truthful. He shakes his head, muttering something like “I’m sorry Tenko, but I don’t have time for this.” her stubborn actions of dragging him onto the mats 3 times gets an aggravated grunt from him. He discards his shirt, the room swells with emotions. The battle is intense and painful to watch. In their haste, Tenko comes off the mat haphazardly, spraining something, she refuses to retreat. Thus, he does so for her. Exiting the room with an injured Tenko trailing after him and falling to the floor. Shuichi is by her side but Rantaro is no where to be seen. 

Kokichi makes a deal with Rantaro. They both want to end the killing game, they’re both growing impatient. Their plan’s elaborate and Kokichi manages to get Rantaro to set most of the pieces in motion while he motivates Miu to fix the mammoth computer. When performing the test run, there’s a malfunction, Rantarou dies because Ouma isn’t able to abort the test. He tried to save him. Rantaro dies by his own hands. Monokuma rules it off as suicide to throw everyone off. 

Shuichi needs to defend Ouma against an enraged Tenko. It breaks his heart knowing what he’s doing to her. 

Chapter 5.

Tenko comes to breakfast the next morning with everyone’s eyes on her. Her hair unevenly chopped off past her ears. It only served as a bitter reminder of their bond and the things his fingers could do woven threw her hair...

In her state of mourning, Iruma easily convinces Tenko to team up with her to take out Ouma. He’s too dangerous, too much of a wild card. Especially with the Exisals in his possession. Needless to say, they manage to override an exisal, shit ensues, yet Tenko actively seeks out the role of culprit to protect Miu at all costs. She has nothing else to live for expect the life of someone who could potentially change the world.

IDK there’s my 10 cents !

UGH i know it’s cliche but I could see this happening...though I really wanna hear people’s ideas for Tenko dying in the third chapter and Rantarou going awall trying to end the killing game and somehow surviving. With pinches of amacha in chapters 1 and 2 with Himiko running to him to save her from Tenko and acting like Himi’s big bro...yeah, i’d read that.

Thoughts?

[yandere-wishes]

The Sleep Over

So this is a gift for @poisonepel​ and @unofficial-twstd​ for everything she’s done for the twisted wonderland fandom! It doesn’t involve anything yandere relatted which means that the quality of my usual crappy writing has gone down even farther. Still I hope you enjoy! Oh and taking @juliefandom​ for this too!

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The winds whistle caused an eerie tapping of the tree branches against the broken windows of the Ramshackle dorm. Inside the weary old dormitory, a single lightbulb illuminated the master bedroom.

However, despite the gloomy, morbid atmosphere circulating around the run-down house, the residents both permanent and temporary where too wrapped up in their little game to note the environment. Laughter filled the room as Ace frantically hopped from foot to foot trying to relay a message, he slashed his arms back and forth loosely in an exaggerated manner.  

"...An elephant?" Deuce raised an eyebrow, brain trying to come up with what his dorm mate could possibly be.

'Isn't it obvious? He's a monkey!" Grim declared loudly from his spot on MC's lap.

"No Grim monkeys don't act like that! I'd say he's a dog that got his tail stepped on!" Grim craned his head to stare at the foreigner from a strange land, a dark shadow fell over his teel eyes, he stuck his tongue out then pounced onto a pile of forgotten pillows in the corner. " MC there is no way that THE Grim is wrong! Tell them Ace! Tell them I'm right."

Ace signed, flopping dramatically on the ground, the floorboards screamed in pain from his wight, but much like the other abnormalities of the house, the small crew disregarded it. The redhead crossed his arms and pouted, his orange eye glowed with frustration. "How dense are you morons? I didn't expect Grim or Mc to get it cause they've made it very clear they know absolutely nothing. But you Deuce? How in the queen's name didn't you figure it out?!" Deuce momentarily tore he attend away from a pack of cards he'd been shuffling. His gaze was dull and laced with border and indifference. "Because you couldn't act if your life depended on it..." The room fell silent, Grim snicked behind his paw and MC tried they're best to hold in they're laughter. Ace on the, on the other hand, had gone as red as the heart on his eye. His mouth stretched open, teeth parted ready to yell at the crude comment, but his rival beat him to the punch.

"Since Ace has proved to be incompetent in charades and I highly doubt Grim will be any better, let's play old maid, my mother uses to play it with me all the time back home." Deuce turned to MC, all signs of malice and boredom erased from his visage. Instead, there was a beaming smile. He didn't wait for MC's reply instead he started tossing the cards to the group.

Ace quickly seized his cards, eyes scanning the cards and a charming smirk playing at his lips and he peeked over his deck and mouthed a thank you to Deuce and pretended to blow him a kiss. Grimm merely stared at his cards, a confused look dancing across his furry face. "W-what the heck is....old laid?" the smallest member of your little pack asked.

Ace burst out laughing, his voice bounced off the walls, causing the ghosts that slept in the attack to start moaning and whining for you lot to keep it down. "Maid, Grim not laid, maid" MC corrected, they could vaguely recall reading about the game in an old history textbook back when she'd been studying old England. It was rather astonishing that such a trifling game from the "normal" world, was played -and commonly at that- in this paradox Eden.

"The game is pretty easy" Deuce started to explain "everyone gets an even amount of cards. You look at your delt cards and try to find any pairs like aces, kings, etc if you have any, you throw them in the middle. Then you get the player on your left to pick a card without looking at the deck. If the card they chose makes a pair with one of your preexisting cards then you toss them with the rest of the pairs. This shall endure until someone is left with the queen of hearts. That person shall be beheaded....in a manner of speaking" Noting the paled, mortified expression on grim's face, Deuce quickly corrected himself. "I-I mean they lose..."

"don't worry Grim Riddle won't randomly appear out of thin air and chop off your head" Mc tried to ease the cat's uneasy ness, they gently started stroking there back.

The first round went surprisingly well. Ace was so concentrated on every little move he made. Deuce was quieter than usual, his mind guessing who was the unfortunate soul with the queen in they're possession. It turned out to be Grim for that round...

and the following round and the one after that and the one after that one as well...

"This game is rigged! You guys teamed up on me! How could you!" Grim's shouting started leaving cracks in the already semi-broken mirrors. "This isn't fair-!" Having gotten fed up with the fire wielders' constant endless complaining, MC threw a pillow at them. They'd forgotten that despite is big mouth Grim was still just a cat, which made him very lightweight. The pillow despite also being lightweight and extremely soft sent the small creature flying. He crashed into one of the walls, causing the old, violet tinted materials to dent and small sharps to crumble onto the floor. The pillow wordlessly tumbled to the ground, Grim's corps followed landing with a thud on the soft feathery cushion.

A thick silence feels on the broken down room. No one moved, no one spoke, everyone held they're breaths. Waiting...

Grim didn't move, he didn't so much as make a peep. Deuce was the first to make a move. He crawled over to Grim and shook him, seeing if he was out of commission or not. The cat made a sudden hissing noise before springing up. Paws balled into tiny fists, he tried to lift the pillow and swing it at MC. But the headrest proved to be much too heavy for him. Watching him fail over and over and over again, Deuce reluctantly picked up the pillow and with more force than necessary threw it at MC's face.

"The hell was that for?" Ace asked already running over to Deuce armed with his own pillow. He brought down the fussy headrest on Deuces back. The sheer intensity caused Deuce to fall face-first on the dusty ground. Having bounced back MC charged forward with their own pillow and begun viciously attacking Deuce with it.

Noticing the gravity and defenseless Deuce, Grim tugged a pillow over to the poor navy haired boy. Quickly Deuce grasped it and swung ant Ace's side. This caused the redhead to lose his balance and trip backward. Seeing his chance Deuce straddled him and began to rapidly hit the pillow on his face. MC noting the distraction of the two boys crawled behind Deuce and pounced on him, shoving him away from Ace, who took the chance and shoved his pillow over Deuce's face.

While the commotion was taking place. Grim had plopped down by the window. He was scrolling through a tiny smartphone the director had provided him with. He smiled a flustered smile as he gazed upon the photo of a blue Unidragon named Julie. The furry kitty cat closed his eyes and let out an excited squeal, his pitch fork tail swung side to side in excitement. He was brought out of his happy state by MC calling his name.

"Grim get the lights and get to sleep, you trickster."

The cat's attention flew back to his friends, noticing how they were all lying on their sleeping bags and slowly dozing off. Once he'd turned the lights off, the furry fire creature curled up next to MC, eyes closed and ready to drift off to his dreams.

"Hey MC.." "Yeah Grim" "I'm glad you fell out of that mirror" "Yeah me two.." "Hey MC" "Yeah Grim" "Sweet dreams" "Somehow I doubt that"

MC finally shut their own eyes, prepping for yet another bizarre dream.

[huilian]

Statera

AO3

Characters: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne

Summary:  Moments in time, where Damian discovered who Dick Grayson is

A/N:  i finally finished this! i had to rewrite this like, four times because i keep losing my draft. oh well.... thanks to @caramelmachete for beta-ing this fic!!!! hope you enjoy it!

***

Damian always loved tinkering with something. Being able to build his own technologies showed that he had enough skill to do so, so Mother did not discourage it. Sometimes she even brought Damian things to tinker with. 

It was also one of the only activities approved by Mother that was fun. 

There was one rule that Damian knew, however. One rule that has been drilled into him ever since he could remember. Mother’s permission is critical. There was nothing that Damian did that was not pre-approved by his Mother. If he breaks that rule, well, there are only two options. One, Damian was commended for his extraordinary thinking. Two, he was punished because what he did was not acceptable to Mother. 

Mother may approve of his tinkering, but Damian did not live with Mother anymore.

It was almost involuntary. When he drove the Batmobile, the mechanics of the car astounded him. It was years beyond all the vehicles that the League possesses. After Pennyworth repaired it after a crash, it stood there, almost inviting Damian to tinker with it. Damian had been almost helpless to its call. 

He really should have known better. Mother would never tolerate this kind of behavior. Damian was getting reckless by being in Gotham. 

Damian had opened up the Batmobile while Grayson was at work. He had planned on only opening it up and closing it again, just a peek on the pinnacle of engineering that is the Batmobile. But then Damian started thinking about ways to improve the already impressive car. To make it more efficient would require tools and understanding of physics that Damian did not yet possess. To make it more aerodynamic would threaten its structural integrity. To make it more powerful would also require tools and understanding of physics that Damian did not yet possess. 

Oh! Father had a blueprint for making the car fly, hadn’t he? Damian remembered seeing it somewhere in the cave. He had been entranced with it, before. A car, flying! It was almost surreal, had Damian not known that Father was capable of making that a reality. 

A simple search on the computer yielded the blueprints for making the Batmobile fly. After that, Damian could not resist the call. There were the blueprints and the tools, and the car that Damian could make better than it was before. 

When Damian realized that Grayson was standing behind him, he panicked. The Batmobile was still stripped down to its parts, and Damian was standing in the middle of it all. Damian had forgotten the one rule he had grown up with. Never do anything without Mother’s permission. Except now, with him being in Gotham and with Father being… gone, it was Grayson’s permission he should have sought. 

This Batmobile was the one Father had used before. Grayson might not wish for anything in it to be modified. Damian did not know whether Grayson approved of him tinkering or not. 

Damian froze. He decided that he would not cry. He was an al Ghul and a Wayne and Robin to boot. He would not cry. No matter what happens, Damian would bear the punishments Grayson deemed appropriate, and he would not cry. 

Grayson did not seem mad. He seemed to be regarding Damian’s work intently, taking the piece that Damian had finished and viewing it from different angles. Throughout it all, Grayson made no sound. Damian did not know if it was something Grayson just did, or if Damian was slacking in observing his environment. He did not hear Grayson come into the Cave, after all. 

(With Mother, not noticing her presence would have merited him another punishment on top of the one he would have got for acting without permission.)

What if Grayson found his work subpar? That would merit another punishment. If Damian had dared disobey Mother, he better make sure that what he did is satisfactory, at the very least. If he did this with Mother, and his work with the vehicle was subpar, it would have been inexcusable. 

Mother would have given him so much more training. Mother preferred to punish Damian by lessons, experiences Damian would dislike but was still ultimately useful. Grandfather was fond of physical pain. Damian did not know what punishment was by Grayson’s standards, but whatever it was, he would get himself through it. He always did. 

“Did you do this?” Grayson signed. 

“Yes,” Damian said. He really should stop here, but he continued. “Flight would have been very useful in combat situations, Grayson. Why has it not been implemented into the Batmobile? Father must have…” 

“Stop.” A chopping movement from Grayson’s hand. Damian could not contain his flinch. It seemed that his rambling had not been appreciated by Grayson. 

(Damian would not cry. He would not.) 

Grayson saw the flinch. He must have. But instead of getting even angrier, Grayson relaxed his entire body. Damian did not understand.

Grayson signed something that Pennyworth told him was his name. It used to irritate him, to have a name given to him by this ingrate of a circus brat, of a failed Talon, but now it brought him comfort. If Grayson was still signing his name and not fingerspelling it, he was not angry. Damian had learned that distinction early on. The first sign that Grayson is angry at someone is when he fingerspelled their name. 

“This is amazing.” Grayson smiled. 

“Really?” 

Grayson nodded. “Are you using Bruce’s blueprints?”

“Yes. I adapted some of it to better improve the car’s maneuverability, but Father’s blueprints are serving as my base.” 

Grayson walked over to the bench that held the blueprints while Damian worked. “Are you making adjustments for the exhaust system? I don’t think this exhaust system can handle all the additions you put up.”

No, Damian had not. He hadn’t reached that part yet, hadn’t considered the exhaust system yet. He was too focused on maneuverability that he forgot that adding power would also require adapting the exhaust system to work better. “I…,” Damian considered lying. It would not work. “No. Not yet.” 

Damian waited for the punishment. He’s failing again, failing to consider all angles. Amateur mistake. He was too excited to work on maneuverability that he forgot about everything else. 

Damian had accumulated punishment after punishment in just the short time he was here, but why wouldn’t Grayson do anything about it? Was he waiting, luring Damian to a sense of security only to then burn that sense of security? 

Grayson lifted his hands. Damian braced for a hit. 

The hit never came. 

Instead, Grayson signed something that Damian didn’t recognize. Grayson must have sensed Damian’s confusion, because he then spelled, “T-O-R-Q-U-E-W-R-E-N-C-H,” then he repeated the sign that Damian did not recognize before. 

Grayson thought that Damian was confused about the sign. He was, but that was not what Damian was truly confused about. Grayson waited for a moment, then repeated the spelling, slower this time. 

That brought Damian out of his confusion. Grayson was asking for a torque wrench? Was he going to join Damian in working with the Batmobile? 

“I understood what you said, Grayson,” Damian said. He almost blurted out what he truly wanted to say, but he reined himself in at the last moment. If Grayson wasn’t going to punish him yet, Damian was not going to ask for it and risk making it worse. Of course, Grayson could be testing Damian, testing how much failure could Damian recognize before he knew he had to be punished, but Damian could not see the man being as cruel as that. 

Grayson waited with his hands outstretched. Oh. He was still waiting for the torque wrench. Damian gave it to him, and then returned to what he himself was doing. If Grayson wished to work on the Batmobile too, who was Damian to question it. 

They worked for a while, together, but separately -- Damian with his maneuvering system and Grayson with his exhaust system -- until suddenly, Grayson asked, “Do you think you can finish this before we move to the Bunker?”

Grayson had spoken to Damian about that a couple days prior. Apparently they were moving their base of operations to the Wayne Tower, at the center of the city proper. It was a strategic move. Moving to the Wayne Tower would mean less time in transport, but Damian suspected there were other reasons that caused Grayson to move. Father worked from this Cave for years, after all. Damian did not ask, because contrary to popular belief, he did possess a modicum of propriety. “Yes. I think I could,” Damian said. It was a challenge, even if it was phased as a question. Damian would rise above all challenges Grayson could give him, and it would prove to Grayson that Damian was the best. 

Grayson just smiled. “Good. Now come on, let’s go shower. We stink.” He then put the tools he had been using back to the toolbox, wiped his hands, and ruffled Damian’s hair. 

Damian could agree with taking a shower. He had, after all, spent almost the whole day tinkering with the Batmobile, and his clothes were stained with sweat, grease, and other unidentifiable things. He could not agree with the hair ruffling. “What was that for, Grayson?” Damian demanded. 

Grayson just laughed his way to the showers. 

*

After the showers, Damian couldn’t take it anymore. He had racked up enough failures throughout the day to warrant punishment, surely. Mother would have made sure of that. The combination of exhaustion after a day of working at the Batmobile and the sense of calmness that came after a shower made Damian’s mind to mouth filter off enough that he actually asked, “Are you going to punish me?”

Damian regretted the words as soon as they were out. Grayson, still putting on clothes after his own shower, froze. The calm, almost relaxed atmosphere tensed immediately. 

Grayson turned around slowly. Very slowly. Damian, for the third time today, braced for a hit. And for the third time today, the hit did not come. 

Grayson walked towards Damian, still moving very slowly. He stopped, then crouched down, also still moving slowly. Damian could not look at him, but he also could not take it anymore. The..., the carefulness of Grayson’s movement. But maybe this was punishment in and of itself. Keeping Damian on his toes, forcing him to be hyper-aware of all his actions. “Well?” Damian asked again, after Grayson had crouched in front of him. Damian kept his eyes trained on his feet. “Are you going to punish me?” 

Grayson signed something. Damian could not see what it was. Damian did not want to see what it was. 

A sigh escaped Grayson. A hand gently lifting Damian’s chin, coaxing him to look up. Damian was used to people forcing him to do something he did not want to. Normally he could outlast them by sheer stubbornness, no matter how rough they were to him. But somehow, this gentle touch from Grayson unraveled him thoroughly, because Damian let his gaze be pulled towards Grayson. 

Once Damian looked at Grayson however, Damian knew. Grayson understood. Grayson understood what Damian meant. Grayson had lived it himself. 

It was not by Father’s hands. Damian knew that much before Father had… gone. But now that Damian knew Grayson understood, his refusal to punish Damian perplexed Damian even more. Didn’t the man know what sort of results that system produced? 

“That will not happen here, Damian,” Grayson signed. “Whatever you think you deserve to be punished for, it doesn’t work that way here.” 

“So there will be no punishment? For anything? What sort of operations are you building, Grayson?” Damian knew he shouldn’t push. Damian knew he should be thankful that there would be no punishment today, and left it at that. But he can’t. Grayson was very confusing. He knew the system, and he knew that the system works, but he’s saying that it was not like that here? Damian needs to know. 

“We’ll have a very long conversation about what sorts of things will get you punished, and what kinds of punishment those actions entails. But whatever you were thinking before, Damian?” Grayson’s eyes clouded. That look again. The look that tells Damian Grayson understood. “That will not happen here.” 

And despite everything, Damian believed him. 

***

Damian was silent while stripping off his costume. He might have put on his usual chatter when riding back from that confrontation with the damned Pyg, but here, now, in the relative safety of the Bunker, Damian found himself unable to keep his shield up. He had failed, before. He had promised a girl and then failed to deliver on that promise. 

Would Grayson also fail to keep his promise of not punishing him? 

Grayson said the girl must have gotten out. Damian didn’t truly fail, then, because the girl managed to get out of that place. But Damian had promised the girl that he would get her out, and he simply left her to fight Pyg. A fight that he needed Grayson’s help to finish. 

What did that say about him? He had given his word that he will not kill anymore, but then he also failed in protecting people. What good was he now?

A touch on his shoulders. Damian looked up, startled, only to find Grayson’s concerned face hovering near him. “Are you alright?” 

Was he alright? Before he could think about it more, however, old instincts came out, and he gritted out, “Yes.” 

Grayson simply looked at him. What was it about that look that made Damian so helpless? Grayson didn’t even look threatening. 

“No,” Damian eventually said. There was no point in answering otherwise. Grayson would know. Grayson always knows. 

“It’s about the girl, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” 

“Want to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

Grayson smiled. “Will I get something other than monosyllabic answers out of you tonight?” The movement was light, but there was an undercurrent of … something in Grayson’s smile. 

Damian considered answering in a full sentence, just to annoy Grayson, but he really didn’t feel like doing so. The fight had taken more out of him than he thought. “No,” he finally answered. 

“Can I say something anyways?” 

Damian wanted to say no. He wanted to storm off and reject Grayson’s attempts at… something. Instead, what actually came out of his mouth was, “Fine.” 

Grayson’s face turned kind. Was that right? Yes. It was kindness, Damian was sure of it. 

“Sometimes we can’t save everyone, Damian. You have to learn to live with that. Even,” and here Grayson does a sign he can’t recognize, “can’t save everyone.” 

“I know that!” Damian almost shouted out. 

Grayson ignored him. “I know how you’re feeling right now. I wish I could say it gets easier, but it doesn’t. So you learn to live with it. And you try to do better next time. She got out, remember?” 

“I know that!” If the first one was shouted out angrily, then this one was choked out. He should be better than this. He’s Robin. 

This time Grayson stopped. “Then why are you so angry?” 

“Because I promised her I would get her out!” The tears almost came out, but Damian pushed it down. He’s Damian Wayne, he’s an al Ghul, he’s the heir to the Demon, he’s Robin. He would not cry over this stupid mistake. 

Grayson seemed to think otherwise. He pulled Damian close, hugged him, even, and stayed there. Eventually, as hard as Damian tried not to, the tears fell out. “I … promised her… I would get her out!” Damian said between gasps of breath. “And then… I didn’t. What did that ... say about me… Grayson?” 

Grayson pulled apart. Damian knew that he did that because Damian needed to see him to be able to understand what he’s saying, but it still felt like a loss. 

“It says that you’re a hero, Damian. Because even in the middle of everything, you still thought about getting her out. That makes you a hero, okay?” 

Damian wanted to believe Grayson’s words so much, he did. He couldn’t quite believe that though. Damian nodded anyways. 

“Grayson?” Damian said. The man hummed his acknowledgement. “What does this,” he repeated the sign he didn’t recognize before, “mean?” 

Grayson smiled at him, more real this time than the one before. He spelled out, “S-U-P-E-R-M-A-N.”

“Ah. The alien Father was so fond of.” 

“Yeah, kiddo.” 

“... Do you really mean that? What you said earlier?”

“I meant every word of it, Damian.” 

***

It was a day like any other. Grayson went to what could charitably be called work, while Damian was left at the Penthouse to do what could charitably be called schoolwork. Then, Grayson returned, and they came down to the Bunker to suit up for patrol. 

After patrol ended (much too early for Damian’s tastes), they were supposed to be training. It was an acceptable routine for Damian. School, patrol, then training. But strangely, that night, Grayson did not lead Damian to any of the training facilities, from the sparring ring to the computer where Grayson usually ran simulations for Damian to solve. No. Grayson led Damian into a room full of… was that trapeze equipment? How had Damian missed an entire room of trapeze equipment? 

Grayson was, for lack of better word, jittery next to him. He gave Damian a smile so wide it should have been fake (somehow, when it was Grayson who did it, it was as true as the sun), and then signed, “I thought you might want to try this? Learn trapeze, I mean.”

This was a test. Of course. How foolish Damian was, thinking that the tests ended when he had left Mother’s doorstep. Grayson might have promised no punishment, but he did not promise no tests. Batman and Robin were the best, and so Damian would have to be the best too. That was the only reasonable explanation. Nobody asked Damian if he wanted to learn something. They simply gave the information to him and expected him to learn it. To excel in it. Mother did. Grandfather did. Father did. 

So this was a test. It has to be. Only Damian could not figure out what was going to be tested. Was this about Damian’s ability to learn new things? Was this about his knowledge of Grayson? Was this about his focus on the mission? 

If this was Mother, Damian would refuse. Trapeze has nothing to do with the mission. Acrobatics are very useful on the field, it allows Damian to move unhindered, but trapeze is another thing entirely. Damian could see no use of it in his mission to be Batman. 

With that, Damian has decided, and he said, “No.” 

Grayson’s smile faded in an instant. It left only hollow eyes, nothing like Damian had seen before. All the energy that always seemed to be buzzing underneath Grayson’s skin disappeared. 

“Okay,” Grayson signed. Only that. Then he went out of the room. 

Has Damian miscalculated? No. Impossible. He did what Robin, what Batman was supposed to do. Focus on the mission. If Grayson forgot about that, it was none of his business. 

*

It was Pennyworth who came to Damian in his room, hours later. That seemed significant, but Damian could not figure out why. 

“Master Damian. May I have a word?” 

Damian scoffed. “Even if I say you may not, you will say it anyway, Pennyworth.” He would. Damian had learned that much throughout his stay with the man. The question was asked out of politeness than an actual question. 

Pennyworth nodded. “That is wise, Master Damian.” 

“Well?” 

“I believe that today Master Dick offered to teach you the trapeze. And I also believe that you refused that offer.” 

Was this another test? Was Grayson not satisfied with the previous one, that he sent Pennyworth here to test him again? 

“What is the matter with that, Pennyworth?” Damian finally asked. 

Pennyworth sighed. “Master Dick had gone through a … difficult childhood, shall we say. You know that. The trapeze is one of the few things that the Court did not take away from him. It was one of the last things he had from his time with his parents.” 

Damian stood up. “I know that, Pennyworth! Get to the point!” Damian felt a chill through his body. He did know that. Grayson and Pennyworth had said all of that already. What was the matter? Why did both Grayson and Pennyworth make such a big deal over it? 

“That was not all, Master Damian. Please, sit back down.” 

The butler’s tone was kind enough, but Damian knew it broke no argument. Pennyworth waited until Damian had sat back down, then continued. “Teaching the trapeze is how Master Dick connects his new family with his old one. He taught it at some point to every single person he considered family. Master Bruce, Miss Barbara, Master Jason, Master Tim, Miss Cassandra, myself, and his closest friends.” 

Oh. Oh. 

“Teaching you the trapeze is his way of showing you that he considers you family.” 

Damian had miscalculated. Badly. 

“Are you certain of this, Pennyworth?” 

“Yes, Master Damian. I am quite certain.” 

Damian looked down to his lap for a moment, then looked back up to Pennyworth. He had to fix this. If trapeze was Grayson’s way of showing Damian that they are family, then, earlier that night, Damian had just blatantly rejected Grayson’s offer of becoming family. 

Months ago, Damian couldn’t care less. He was not there to become family to the other children of his father. He was there to succeed Father. Nothing more, nothing less. But now, well, now Grayson has somehow made Damian care about him. 

Damian had to fix this. Fast. 

“How do I fix this, Pennyworth?” 

“Well, Master Damian,” Damian could almost hear the smile in the butler’s words, even if Pennyworth would never do such a mundane thing as smile, “I believe you should ask to be taught.” 

*

Damian found Grayson working. Of course. He would not expect any less. 

Damian had to play this right. He had already offended Grayson by dismissing his offer of family. He would not offend Grayson furthermore by being callous about this. 

“Grayson?” Damian finally settled on asking. He would base his next actions on Grayson’s reactions. 

(If Grayson did not react… No. Grayson will react.) 

Grayson did not turn to meet Damian, as he always did before. But he stopped typing, at the very least. It was something. 

“I…” Who knew that this could be so hard? It was not as if the next words out of his mouth might push Grayson away forever. “I have reconsidered your offer. I would like to learn the trapeze, if you are still willing to teach it to me.” 

That got Grayson to turn towards Damian. The smile was still missing, but at least Grayson’s eyes were not hollow. Progress. 

“Do you want to learn?” Grayson asked. 

Without hesitation, Damian said, “Yes.” 

The answer brought a smile to Grayson’s face. Small, yes, but it was a start. 

*

“Who ratted me out? Alfred?” Grayson asked, after they had geared up and climbed the trapeze rig. 

“Nobody ratted anything to me, Grayson. Are you losing your mind?” 

Grayson snorted. “Nah. Just trying to distract you from this.” 

“Distract me from what?” 

A smile. Then the bastard pushed Damian down from the platform. He had made sure that Damian was grasping the bar properly, but still. The bastard pushed Damian down from the platform. Alone. 

If Damian was laughing all the way down, well, that was between him and Grayson only, wasn’t it? 

(Besides, he was not just laughing all the way down. He laughed throughout the whole lesson, and even more after that. Damian could not recall when he last laughed that much, if that occasion even existed. The experience was something Damian would not balk at experiencing again.) 

***

Sometimes, when the city wasn’t as chaotic as it could have been, when it seemed that they could actually have a handle on the situation, Grayson and Damian could spend hours just being in Grayson’s room. It was not often. More often than not, Grayson would be too busy from being Batman and all that entails from that and trying to get a handle on Hush and the Wayne Enterprises, to be able to take a few minutes off of his day. More often than not, Damian would be too proud to seek comfort from this man who claimed to be his brother. So these moments, where Grayson and Damian could just be, were rare. And Damian treasured every single second of it. 

In the rare occurrence when Grayson actually finished everything he meant to do that day, he would lay down on his bed, tired from all his responsibilities. When Damian could swallow his pride enough, he would join him. (Sometimes Damian wouldn’t not because he was too proud to do so, but because he was afraid that the mere sight of him would remind Grayson of the abundance of responsibilities he had now. After all, Damian knew very well that he was one of those responsibilities Grayson had taken upon his shoulders when Father had.. gone.) 

In those moments, Damian felt safe. 

How absurd was it, that he felt safe with a broken man, when he could not feel safe in the company of his own mother and grandfather? How absurd was it, that he felt safer inside this admittedly secure room than inside one of his mother’s compounds, where every single person there was sworn to protect him? How absurd was that? 

Damian usually slept in those moments. He was never a deep sleeper. His training with the League had made him aware even in sleep. Being left, alone, in an unfamiliar country with unfamiliar people had not done any favors for his sleep. But with Grayson, in those moments, the infamous Canary could unleash her cry inside the room and Damian wouldn’t have woken up. 

He knew he was safe. Grayson himself never slept. As tired as he was, whenever Damian joined him in his bed, Grayson always kept himself awake. He rarely even moved. The only way to describe it was that Grayson kept watch. It perplexed Damian. He could take care of himself. But Grayson always, always kept watch in those moments. It was as if he knew that Damian couldn’t completely relax if there was no one keeping watch. And so Grayson kept watch. Like a bird. 

Like an owl. 

(If pressed, Damian would admit that the reason he felt safe with Grayson was that he knew that Grayson would never hurt him. Not intentionally, anyways. He made that promise months ago. Damian kept waiting for Grayson to break that promise, to hurt him anyways, but he never did. Damian allowed himself to believe that Grayson was telling the truth.

Damian knew perfectly well that Grayson was able to hurt him in other, unintentional ways. His promise could only extend so far. Damian knew that. Mother made sure that Damian knew that. Sometimes Damian cared. Sometimes he didn’t.) 

***

Every breath was painful. Damian knew it could have been worse. The bullet could have pierced his uniform, and then instead of just cracked ribs, Damian could have a collapsing lung. But it was hard to feel grateful when every breath felt like fire. 

He should have seen the bullet coming. He should have dodged that bullet. He should have forced himself to fight through the pain and help Grayson anyways. But it had been too long since Damian had to fight through this much pain. Sloppy. Weak. 

And so, after he incapacitated the man who shot him, Damian could only sit down in the alley, just watching Grayson fight. He should be helping Grayson, instead of just sitting like some helpless child. It was not the first time he had been shot. The bullet didn’t even pierce his skin. 

Weak. 

Damian could hear the sounds of the fight winding down. It seemed Grayson finished it shortly after Damian was shot. Good. Damian didn’t want to have to stand up and fight again. 

Weak. 

A hand touched Damian’s face. He looked up to see the emotionless cowl staring down at him. Was Grayson mad? Would he be punished for letting himself get shot? 

No. Grayson had promised. Months ago. He hadn’t broken that promise. Yet. What if this was the time he broke it? 

Grayson made the field sign for hurt. Damian nodded, not wanting to speak when just breathing already hurt. 

Would Grayson force him to continue patrolling through the pain? Damian could do it, but he didn’t want to. It had been so long since he had to continue being functional even through the pain. He didn’t want to. 

Damian waited for the order to stand up, to continue anyway, to brush off the pain, but it didn’t come. Instead, Grayson called the Batmobile. He lifted Damian, so very gently, but it still jostled Damian’s ribs. Damian hissed in pain. 

Grayson mouthed, “Sorry.” Why wasn’t he signing? Oh. Both his hands were full with Damian. Damian tried to stand up, only for Grayson to adjust his grip so that Damian couldn’t. 

Okay then. Damian let himself be carried by his older brother. It was safe, those hands. He didn’t even realize when Grayson gently strapped him inside the Batmobile. 

*

Damian woke up to the sound of Grayson pacing. Grayson must have been very worked up. Normally, Damian wouldn’t even be able to hear Grayson moving, much less be woken up by it.

“Sorry,” Grayson smiled sheepishly. “I’ll be quiet.”

“It’s fine, Grayson,” Damian said. “I’m up anyways.” 

“Are you feeling okay?” 

“No, I was shot,” Damian said. He meant it to be sarcastic, because getting shot is basically an occupational hazard at this point. Besides, Grayson knew about his training at the League. A shot that didn’t even pierce the skin was not worth mentioning. 

Grayson apparently missed that memo, because he started to sign frantically. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t good enough. I’m so sorry, Damian.” 

Damian frowned. “I was joking, Grayson. It’s fine. It’s just a few cracked ribs.” 

“Bruised.” 

Ah. It wasn’t as bad as Damian thought. It made his inability to keep fighting much more shameful, though, because bruised ribs were not even worthy of a mention back at the League. “See? It’s fine. Bruised ribs are practically nothing.” 

“You were shot, Damian.” 

“And it didn’t go through. I’m fine, Grayson.” 

“It was so close to your,” and here Grayson signed his name.

“It was close to me? I don’t understand, Grayson. I was shot, yes.” 

Grayson froze. His face did a complicated thing before going blank, something Damian now knew meant that he was pushing his emotions away for later. It would have been admirable at the League, but why did Damian hate it now, when it was Grayson who did it? 

“H-E-A-R-T.” 

“Pardon?” It couldn’t be. Damian must have seen it wrong. 

“It was so close to your H-E-A-R-T.” After he spelled it, Grayson signed Damian’s name again. Only it couldn’t be, because that sign meant heart. So it couldn’t be Damian’s name, because, because. 

Grayson named Damian ‘heart’. 

“What?” 

“Do you want me to change it?” Grayson looked away. His face was still blank, but his eyes were sad. 

Heart. Grayson named Damian ‘heart.’ Was this why it was always Pennyworth who explained his injuries to him? Did Grayson not want Damian to know what his name meant? 

“D-A-M-I-A-N,” Grayson spelled out his name. Was he angry? He only ever spelled out Damian’s name when he was angry. Only, the usual sign for his name apparently meant heart. And Grayson was… “Do you want me to change it?” 

Did Damian want Grayson to change the name? He should, anyone who knows ASL would instantly know about Grayson’s weak spot. He didn’t even want to be Grayson’s weak spot. 

But he found himself not wanting to. He wanted the name. So he said, “No.” 

The smile that adorned Grayson’s face made the entire fiasco worth it. 

***

After he and Grayson had stormed into Mother’s base, Damian stood next to Grayson back in the bunker as he typed reports into the Batcomputer. 

Damian waited for Grayson to start the conversation, but nothing seemed to be coming from him, so Damian had to start then. “Why me?” he asked. “You could have had Drake be your Robin. He was practically begging for it.” 

Grayson hummed. 

“Grayson. Why me?” 

Grayson finally looked away from the report he had been typing. “Because you’re you,” he signed. 

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re you, Damian.”

“So?”

Grayson sighed. He turned his chair around, facing Damian. “You need Robin. And I need you.” Grayson shrugged. “That’s all there is.”

“No,” Damian shook his head, “that can’t be it. Drake could have been Robin.” Damian remembered all too well the sensation of his body moving without his control. Of his body moving to hurt Grayson. All because he had been returned to Mother after he was shot during that altercation with Red Hood and Scarlet. Mother, never the one to throw away opportunities, had planted a machine in Damian’s spine and used it to control Damian’s actions. After all, it was why they had stormed her base in the first place. “Maybe better. He wouldn’t have allowed himself to get shot. He was right about Father, after all.” 

Damian forced himself to look at Grayson. To face whatever judgment Grayson would give him without flinching. He had failed, after all. He had allowed himself to be shot. It was his fault that Mother was able to make a tool of his body. 

Grayson put his hand on Damian’s cheek. Damian steeled himself for the worst. At the very least, his actions merited a slap from those hands. (Those hands that had cared for him much more than anyone else in this world, Mother included. Grayson had promised, way back in the beginning, that he would never punish Damian like that. Grayson had never broken that promise before. Damian kept waiting for him to break it.). 

At worst, this was the last act of kindness Grayson would ever give him. 

The slap did not come. Grayson’s hand retreated, causing Damian to follow it before he remembered himself. He would not give Grayson even more things to be disappointed in.

“Being Robin saved me.” The hand was only retreated to sign with, not because of anything Damian had done. Damian suppressed a sigh of relief. “I hoped it would save you too.”

“But why?” Damian couldn’t stop himself from asking. He knew he should stop, before he gave Grayson even more reasons to throw him out. He had cut ties with Mother earlier today. He did not need Grayson, the only person left who cared for him, to throw him out too. But he needed to know. “It would have been easier with him. You did not have to train him anymore. He knows you, have been your Robin before. You told me that. Why me?” 

“Tim needed to be his own hero. I can’t be his Batman.”

“Bullshit. You can. He was ready to let you be his Batman. Even if that’s true, you didn’t have to take me in. You didn’t have to make me Robin. Why, Grayson?” 

This was it. Grayson was finally going to realize that Damian is a failure and he was going to kick Damian out. Damian felt his spine, the spine that Mother had implanted machines on, stiffen. 

“Because you’re you, Damian,” Grayson signed.

Damian did not understand. What kind of answer was that? Taking someone in, training them, caring for them, simply because they are themselves? Damian knew he was not an easy nor agreeable child. Damian knew that by keeping him, Grayson had sacrificed so much. But he still did it, because, because Damian was … Damian? 

“I don’t understand,” Damian said. 

“Maybe it’s because you’re Bruce’s son. Maybe it’s because you don’t have anywhere else to go. Letting you go back to Talia was not an option, as you know now.” A twist of displeasure on Grayson’s lips. Some misplaced sense of charity then, or a sense of obligation to Father. Damian could work with that. He was about to say that he did not need charity when Grayson continued. “Maybe it’s because I saw myself in you.”

Oh. Damian stopped. That was unexpected. 

If Grayson had said it a few months earlier, Damian would have raged. How dare he equate Damian’s own superior upbringing with his time with the Court of Owls? But now, after what Mother had done, Damian was starting to doubt about the so-called superiority of his upbringing. After all, if Mother could implant that machine into Damian’s spine, was she any better than the Court? Not to mention the clone of himself that Mother was making. 

His destiny, Mother had said. But it was not his destiny, was it? It was the destiny Mother had wanted for him. As if Damian was nothing but a pawn to be played with in her plans. 

Grayson had a destiny too, from the Court of Owls. Damian knew that. Mother had played with him like the Court of Owls had played with Grayson. 

Grayson smiled sadly at Damian. Damian could see from his face that Grayson knew Damian had understood what he meant. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” Grayson signed. 

Grayson had rejected the Court. By being Robin, by being Nightwing, and now, by being Batman. From what Damian knew about the Court of Owls, it should not have been possible for a Talon to live in defiance of the Court. Except Grayson escaped. Except Grayson was courtless, and he was here. 

Damian was born, no, he was made, designed to be an assassin. He was designed to fulfill Mother’s plans, and so he was designed to thrive within the League of Assassins. Mother had made that abundantly clear with the clone she was making. Months in Gotham, under Grayson’s tutelage, had shown Damian how ill-suited he was to live outside the League. Except, hours earlier, Damian had stood in front of his mother, and rejected her. Rejected the League. An enemy of the House of al Ghul, Mother had said. 

What would he be, without the League behind him? There had never been a member of the League that left. They were all killed immediately. Damian was the first person to leave the League without being killed where he stands. It was uncharted territory, now. 

But was it, really? There’s Grayson in front of him. It was not uncharted territory as long as Grayson was there. Grayson would help him. 

So Damian nodded, and said, “Yes. We’re quite the pair.” 

A courtless talon, and a leagueless assassin. Two things that should never have existed in the first place. 

Batman and Robin. 

***

“You want to return to Nightwing.” 

Grayson, still with the damned bandage on his head, turned around to meet Damian. He had his smile on. Damian didn’t like that. 

“You were ready to… to throw away Batman just like that!” Grayson still had his smile on. Damian wanted to wash that smile off his face. “What about us?” 

“I didn’t, though. I’m still Batman.” 

“Only because Father had that Batman Incorporated idea,” Damian refused to be calmed down so quickly. “You would have, wouldn’t you? Give Father back Batman, just like that.” 

“He is Batman, Damian.” Damian usually liked it when someone is rational and able to argue their points calmly. He didn’t like it now, when Grayson turned that to him. 

“What about us, Grayson?” Damian shouted out. When no reply appeared to come, Damian said again, softly this time, “What about us?” 

“I’m still Batman, Damian. This is not about Batman and Robin, not really, right?” 

Damian hated it when Grayson figured him out. He sighed. “You… You want to become Nightwing again.” He stopped there, not wanting to say it out loud. Somehow, saying it out loud would make it tangible, make it real. Grayson waited patiently, though, so Damian continued. “Is it, is it because Nightwing… doesn’t have a partner?” 

Doesn’t have me. That was what Damian actually meant, but he couldn’t bear to say that. The answer might still be yes. 

“Damian. I want to be Nightwing because it’s mine. Batman was Bruce’s first. It has nothing to do with you.” 

Damian looked up at Grayson. He knew, now that his father was back, Grayson no longer had any obligation towards him whatsoever. “Nothing to do… with me?” There were multiple meanings underneath that question. Am I still your partner? Am I still your Robin? Do you still want me? 

“You’re mine. Yeah?” 

Just like all those months ago, when Grayson told Damian that there will be no League-like punishment here, Damian believed him. It worked both ways, after all. Grayson was also his. “Okay,” he said. 

***

[pandastern]

Gravity (Bakugou x OC)

Part 13:  Same Chains - Different Colours

If youd like to be tagged to the taglist for upcoming parts please dm me :)

Masterlist  II  AO3

Bakugou x Vigilante!OC

Warnings: angst, explicit language, violence

Word count:   1715

Genre: enemies to lovers ; angst ; romance, slow burn

When a new student makes an entrance, Bakugou has a real bad feeling. There is something about this girl that just doesnt feel right. From the flaming hair to the calculating glint in her green eyes, everything about her just pisses him off.

Little does he know that his fate is intertwined with the person he despises so much, defining his future path in a way he would have never expected

By the time Artemis arrived at the tribunes where her class were seated, she still hadn’t quite shaken off her most recent discovery. Her classmates greeted her, Iida and Ochako making some space for her to sit down.

“Hey, Artemis! They announced you're dropping out of the competition. Are you doing okay?” Ochako asked.

“You missed the Cavalry Battle! Most of our classmates made it into the final round,” Iida explained in full class rep mode, gesturing with his signature hand chop motion.

Despite their enthusiasm, Artemis could sense the concern beneath her friends’ expressions.

“Yes, I’m okay. I guess I wasn’t as healed as I thought I was, so they took me out of the competition.” Artemis sighed inwardly and tried her best to crack a smile, despite the discomfort she felt. “I’m… sorry I worried you.”

“We’re your friends! You’re allowed to make us worry once in a while,” said Ochako.

Artemis frowned slightly, but decided not to respond. Was it really that natural to worry for someone? These people barely knew her, and yet all of them acted like they’d been friends for years. 

Taking a deep breath, she put on her best friendly face and listened as Kaminari and Sero behind her updated her on the latest events. She was a little surprised to find out that Ojiro had dropped out voluntarily, though she could understand his reasoning. For some people, pride was very important. More so than results.

“It’s as if that Shinsou guy brainwashed me or something. I don't exactly know what he did or what his quirk is, but Midoriya had better be careful,” Ojiro grumbled once he’d finished his story.

“Shinsou?” Artemis asked. “Wait… wasn't he the guy who tried to start shit with us? The fuzzy purple head?”

“Yep, that’s the one. Midoriya is up against him in the next fight. I just wish I could give him enough pointers to win.”

“Brainwashing, huh?”

That was an interesting quirk, Artemis thought. How was a person like that not in the Hero course? When you considered the possibilities a quirk like that could give you during fights, it seemed stupid and an incredible waste not to utilise powers like that for the Hero course. Then again, it explained his antagonistic attitude.

Before she could dive deeper into her thoughts, a lady with a snack cart pushed into their seating area, offering food and drinks. To Artemis’s absolute delight, she spotted a selection of much-needed energy drinks.

“Oh God, yes!” she groaned.

Finally, something was going her way today.

She jumped up, pushed forward and grabbed two cans of her very own survival liquid and a bag of chips. The thought of the treats was already lifting her mood. She’d paid and had just pushed past Denki to get to her seat, when suddenly a hand shot forward and grabbed the drinks in her hand.

“Oi, what-”

“Should you really be drinking that garbage, dumbass?” Bakugou growled into her ear.

Artemis hadn't even noticed the bane of her existence entering their seating compartment. When had he gotten up here? The sound of his voice sent a shiver down her spine and her stomach lurched again.

“Are you gonna police what I drink now?” she hissed, though she didn’t look up at him.

The scent of burnt sugar wafted around her, making her heart race. Fucking hell.

Instead of arguing further, Bakugou pulled the cans out of her grasp and put them back in the cart before handing her an iced tea.

Words couldn't explain how badly Artemis wanted to throw his ass over the fence and watch his body plummet several stories down into the arena. She let out a frustrated growl and finally met his eyes, ready to snap at him, an action she regretted instantly.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realised just how close Bakugou was standing next to her. It also didn't help that her brain instantly replayed the scene in the infirmary. Heat spread across her cheeks.

Thankfully, Bakugou seemed to have the same problem, and Artemis decided that even though she was in desperate need of caffeine, it wasn’t worth causing a scene right here in the open. Especially since she now realised that everyone was staring at them.

She pulled away with a huff, took the tea and sat back down, very determined not to look at Bakugou again so as to calm down her rapid heartbeat. What the hell was wrong with her, anyway? 

“Dickwad,” she muttered to herself.

The curious whispers of the classmates who had witnessed the whole spectacle didn’t go unnoticed by her. However, she opted that ignoring it was the better strategy for now. Stubbornly sipping at the drink in her hand, she tried to focus her attention on the competition in the arena.

Artemis watched as her friend Midorya scored the first victory against Shinsou. And while she was happy for her friend, she couldn’t help but be more interested in watching Shoto Todoroki fight next. The words of his father echoed in her mind, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand. She’d never paid much attention to the quiet boy, mostly because he usually prefered to be alone.

As Midoriya and Todoroki’s flames clashed in the arena, Artemis realized that she’d never seen him use the fire side of his quirk before today. And seeing Endeavor’s reaction to his son activating his left side told her why.

With a loud roar, the number two hero’s voice echoed through the entire arena: “Shoto, have you finally accepted yourself? Good! It all begins from here. With my blood, you’ll be able to surpass me. You will fulfill my desire!”

Artemis’s body stiffened as the memories of her father started to flood her brain.

Your power is my gift! You shall pave the way for New Olympus!

Why was it that men like Endeavor and her father always glorified their own blood, thinking it justified to turn the people around them into tools, not caring about the price other people had to pay for their hunger for power?

Ice spread through Artemis’s veins. She understood. And for the first time, she saw Todoroki. He was like her, in a way, rejecting the chains that bound him to that monster he had to call father. Todoroki was a tool, a weapon in the eyes of his maker, existing purely for the selfish gains of a Hero who didn’t deserve his title.

The revelation hit her like a gunshot, flinging her back into the dark, cold room she’d once called her home. A cage built only for her, robbing her of any humanity she possessed, until she couldn't feel anymore. The rage she saw in his eyes was the same that burned inside her.

A warm hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her out of the endless stream of memories that threatened to drag her into the dark.

“Artemis?” 

Instinctively, she swatted away the hand that had touched her without consent, then flinched. Her head whipped around to the person who’d said her name.

Ochako gave her a concerned look. “Are you all right? You’re as white as a sheet. Do you feel unwell?”

Artemis took a deep breath and forced herself to smile at her friend. “No, I’m… I’m okay. Sorry.”

She could tell Ochako didn’t quite believe her, but she didn’t pry, which made Artemis very grateful. After all, her story wasn’t something she wanted to tell anyone. It was bad enough that she had to carry the memories inside her heart, having them haunt her dreams the moment she closed her eyes.

These flashbacks were getting annoying. It frustrated her that she had no control over what could trigger another episode, and the lack of caffeine that usually kept her brain buzzing and distracted didn’t help either. She’d have to come up with more effective ways to keep her brain busy from now on.

The Festival progressed without any further surprises. Artemis tried to pay attention to what was happening inside the arena as best as she could, but her thoughts kept drifting off. To her annoyance, the time her attention peaked was when Bakugou was standing in the ring. Watching him fight was fascinating, not that she would ever admit that to anyone.

It seemed to her that Bakugou was made of pure determination and strength. Every attack, every explosion, was well-planted. The man was a ferocious fighter and strategist, brimming with talent. So, it didn't come as a shock to her that Bakugou easily moved forward in the competition into the finale. And yet something felt off. Artemis couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something in Bakugou’s demeanor told her he was growing more and more frustrated by the second. 

Unlike the fight with Midoriya, Todoroki seemed to refuse to use his fire again, which seemed to rile Bakugou up even more.

Artemis leaned over to Midoriya, who’d joined them on the tribunes after his fight with Todoroki, and whispered into his ear. “Say, is it just me, or does Bakugou seem more aggressive than usual?”

“Hm, so you’ve noticed too,” Midoriya replied with a serious look on his face. “I can't be sure, but it seems to me he’s taking Todoroki’s behaviour as a personal insult.”

“Insult? Why? Because he’s not using flames?”

Midoriya nodded. “Kacchan has this mindset that if you don’t give a hundred percent, it’s because you think he’s not worth it.”

What was it Bakugou had said to her in the infirmary? If you can't give your best, why are you even here?

No wonder he was screaming at Todoroki to use his flames. In his head, he probably thought since Todoroki had used both sides of his quirk in the fight against his childhood rival Midoriya, he was looking down at Bakugou by not doing the same thing.

He didn't understand what using the fire side meant for Todoroki, what was connected to that part of him. Artemis wasn't sure he could even if he was told.

She couldn't explain why, but watching that fight was painful. Maybe it was because no matter whether Bakugou or Todoroki ended up standing last, neither of them would be able to enjoy their victory.

Tagg list:  

@sammyluvzz​ @chicledechoclo

[manikas-whims]

Kiss it better

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki X Momo Yaoyorozu

Words: 1639

Rating: T

Read on: AO3 | FFnet

“This is foul play!” Momo protests against her friends with an adorable pout. “You can’t be serious.”

“Now now Yaomomo, don’t try using your pout on us. We’re very serious.” Hagakure teases.

“Yes, this is just how a game of Truth Or Dare works.” Ashido says matter-of-factly, high-fiving an excited Uraraka.

This is so unfair. Momo Yaoyorozu has never had the luxury of enjoying fun activities that every teenager had. A courtesy of her strict parents. For fifteen years of her life, she was bound by the rules and regulations of the Yaoyorozu household and being the only child to her parents, they were even more stringent on her.

Last week, she informed the girls in her class about her lack of knowledge when it came to games like these. They were beyond flabbergasted and made it their personal mission to make Momo experience atleast half of what she missed out in these past years. Thus, they’ve promised to play one of their childhood games together on every weekends.

Today they’ve introduced her to “Truth or Dare”, a simple game in which the only rule is to choose between the two aforementioned terms and then do as instructed by the rest of the players. It sounded entertaining in the beginning but now she’s starting to regret ever agreeing to this.

“Can I switch to truth?” she asks hopefully but Tsuyu wags a finger at her in complete rejection.

Momo whines, her lips jutting out in another pout and Kyouka pats her back reassuringly but then sides with the other girls. She places the palms of her hands on her waist, breathing out in defeat as she motions her feet in the direction of the common area. Knowing well about her massive crush on Shouto Todoroki, her friends have dared her to kiss him. How is she supposed to lock lips with him when she can barely look him in the eye!?

In the common area, Bakugou and Todoroki are lounging on the couches, wet towels hanging around their necks. They must’ve just returned from their provisional license class and taken a shower. The wounds from their training are visible and fresh. She scoffs. Such a boys thing to carelessly let their scars remain untreated.

She observes the two who are too busy with their cellphones to pay attention to the show being broadcasted on the television or to each other. Craning her head back, she finds her friends standing stealthily at the wall near the stairway, expecting her to execute her dare. She sighs. How can she carry out such a task when she easily gets flustered by him. She racks the gears in her brain to come up with some kind of solution and her eyes widen at a sudden realization— she’s been asked to kiss Todoroki! However, it hasn’t been specified if the contact between their lips is mandatory, which means anything counts as long as her lips touch any part of his skin. Great! This has reduced her nervousness, albeit only slightly. She still has no plan on how she should convince him about this since she isn’t even allowed to mention about the game to him.

She frowns, her brows creasing in concentration as she watches the boy of her dreams, staring with disinterest at his phone.

Yaoyorozu is acting strange tonight. She’s been standing by the staircase for a while now, doing nothing but..observing him? Her charcoal irises hold a fiery sort of conviction in them. It may look like he’s indulged in something on his cellphone but she’s actually making it hard for him to concentrate.

He wonders if she’s mad at him for reasons unknown. Maybe because his wet hair is soaking the headrest of the couch? Or is it because he’s carelessly left his dirty shoes on the carpet? Whatever it is, he’s too tired to deal with it. He’s just returned from his provisional license training (yes, they aren’t allowed rest even on their days off) and he’s so drained that he took a quick shower and decided to dump himself on the couch until its time for dinner.

“Todoroki-san” the dark haired beauty finally approaches him and he tilts his head up to listen. “Does this wound hurt?”

He blinks as he realises she’s referring to a particularly deep cut on the left side of his cheek. Inasa had been too rough during their sparring session. Well, it obviously does sting a little as he hasn’t put a bandage on it. As a child, he was always told by his father that real men don’t cry over a little pain from their wounds. That these wounds are a constant reminder of his own weakness at being unable to protect himself from getting hurt.

“Don’t worry, it’ll heal.” He responds, his face stoic as ever.

Her eyes widen on hearing his precarious words and she shakes her head in disbelief. “I can help it heal faster.”

He arcs a brow in interest. She can? How? Has her quirk evolved further? Does her quirk now possess healing properties like the Recovery Girl? His mind starts nerding-out like Midoriya, a myriad of questions swarming his head but he curbs his curiosity and asks, “How?”

His vice class representative chews on her petal lips as if contemplating whether or not she should explain. But with a hesitant voice, she answers, “I..I can kiss it better.”

If anything, his confusion doubles. Kiss it better? Like the Recovery Girl does? She really isn’t making any sense right now.

“When I was a child,” she speaks up in a small voice when she notices his puzzled look, her hands fisting into her pink top. “My mother told me that every wound heals faster if someone kisses it. That the kiss transfers that person’s concern and affection into the wound to help it get better. So she used to do it a lot.”

The youngest Todoroki is at a loss of words. “Oh..” he says innocently.

“Yeah, everyone’s mom does it.” She adds sweetly.

He chuckles bitterly. How could he have known this when his mother wasn’t around for ten years of his life? How could he have any knowledge about such small gestures of love when his father didn't let him!? But before the thoughts of his tragic past can consume him any further, he sees her bend forward. Levelling her face with his, she inches closer and her lips gently caress the cut. It’s brief yet powerful, making him clench his left hand to keep his flames at bay. And in a heartbeat, the warmth is gone. The feeling of her soft lips is gone as she straightens back up and smiles the purest smile he has ever witnessed. A bit of the un-dried blood from his wound has smeared her lips but he finds it even more attractive, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The hell is wrong with you two!? I’m sitting right here!!!” The booming voice of Katsuki Bakugou instantly shatters their moment and the two teens jerk away from each-other to see their classmate fuming.

Ignoring the blond’s usual angry outburst, Shouto turns to Yaoyorozu. “It worked.” He states, thankful.

The girl’s face starts flushing with embarrassment at his admission and she only nods in response before running off.

A combination of squeals greet her by the stairs and Momo finds her girlfriends grinning at her.

“You sly girl!” Ashido teases, slapping a hand on Momo’s shoulder in approval.

“The puppy-like look on Todoroki’s face made it all the more adorable.” Hagakure adds as they all ascend upstairs.

"Jeez you got some of his blood on your lips." Jirou comes forward and wipes it away with the back of her hand. Momo blushes lightly but smiles at her bestfriend.

Upon catching sight of Todoroki's wounds, Momo came up with that brilliant excuse to kiss his cheek and thus, complete her dare. But the child-like look on his face as she told him about the custom of mothers kissing their children’s wounds, was priceless. So innocent. Has he never been kissed by his mother? The mere thought saddens her but she pushes it away as she follows her friends back to her room to continue playing the game. She can’t wait to get her sweet revenge.

.

.

.

It’s seven in the morning and most of her classmates are still asleep. Yaoyorozu enters the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She didn’t expect Bakugou and Todoroki to be up so early but then again, they have their rigorous provisional license classes regardless of today being a Sunday. She nods at them in acknowledgement and walks towards the refrigerator, pulling out some tomatoes. She begins chopping them but in her drowsy state she ends up injuring herself, the sharp edge of the knife tearing through the skin of her index finger.

“Ouch!” she moans at the painful sensation. Okay, so maybe an early morning snack was a bad idea afterall. Should she go back to her room to get some bandages. Or should she save herself the trouble and make one right now with her quirk? So then what are ingredients used in the making of a bandage?

Her thoughts are interrupted by her dual haired crush as he’s immediately at her side. Shouto takes her fingers between his own to examine the wound. And before she can even process whats happening, his thin lips are grazing the cut. She yelps and blushes as he pulls back, a small smirk evident on his face.

“There, I kissed it better.” He supplies smoothly and she averts her eyes, her face turning as red as the tomato she was chopping.

“Seriously you two! Right infront of my coffee!?” comes the shouts from Bakugou, whose presence they had failed to acknowledge yet again.

A/N: hello TodoMomo Fam. If you've read this fic, then please feel free to share your views about it via comments ☺

I'm still new to this ship so I'm trying to practice writing these two before starting an actual multi-chaptered fic. I have a plot in mind but I'm still practicing with one shots so i hope you appreciate my contribution to this ship ☺

Until Next Time...

~Manika

[bbrandy2002]

Happy Birthday Burnsy!

@burnsoslow​

Burns,

You probably don't remember this, but the first time I ever talked to you was a reply to your comment on my fic, The Breakfast Club, in early July. I'm not sure what possessed you to reach out to me a week later in chats but, you did and its been one wild and crazy ride since then. You've certainly come a long way since we were new and mulling over those earlier stories-or in your case-Heavier Things, Chapter 1 (YOU ARE STILL WRITING THAT...LOL) . And while you have sooooo many friends here, for some reason you chose me to be your Tumbler Bestie. I hope you know you are so much more than that though ... you're my sister, my twinsie, a truly good friend. You've inspired me in ways you'll never know. I have watched you grow in your craft and reach an unprecedented level of talent that is evidenced in the quality of your work and through the amount of enthusiastic readers who can't wait for you to post the next epic chapter. You did it all through a tremendous amount of hard work, lot of tears and because you have a likeness that draws people to you. You're just truly an incredibly, special person who possesses a certain spark that makes this crazy place even better. And I think I tell you enough, but you really are one of the best writers in this fandom. And as you say to me all the time, I'm gonna say to you ... I'm one proud TBFF!! I can't thank you enough for all the late night laughs, bull sessions, real talks, 6 hour chats about nothing, letting me know when I'm being a dumbass or just being there when things get really, really tough. The fic I wrote isn't anything special and definitely could have been better, however I hope in some small way it captures the essence of our crazy friendship. Keep growing and shining and being your amazing self.

Love you my friend and Happy Birthday!!

Brandy

**You asked for Drake, Alyssa, Riley and Liam shenanigans. I don't know if this will be what you were expecting, but its what I came up with after 20 different versions. You'll recognize some of this as inside jokes or dialogue and situations from your own stories (yep, I stole them...lol). This is wacky and crazy and makes no sense. Okay Im shutting up now.

Thank you @sirbeepsalot for gutting the hell out of this on Monday night and @emceesynonymroll for SO MUCH of your help and suggestions. Also to my lovely pre-readers/keep me saners @jessiembruno and @loveellamae

Song Inspiration: You're Still The One by Shania Twain. **Drakes final dialogue will come from these lyrics.

Alyssa pulled her black mini-van through the palace gates, running over a cone and nearly taking out Michael, the security guard, in the process. Her hair was swept up into a very messy bun and her sunglasses were perched atop her head. She was wearing a blue, faded Bears sweatshirt, black leggings with a small hole in the crotch, and a mismatched pair of flip-flops -- both were for the left foot. Unable to find a close parking space, she double-parked her van in two handicapped-accessible spaces. She checked her reflection in the rear view mirror and wiped away the smudges of mascara that had run below her eyes. 

She was hurt and mad as hell, yet waited until, 'DIRRTY’, finished on the radio before shutting the van off and tossing the keys in her oversized mom purse. Alyssa’s dainty fingers fumbled hastily as she tried to release the lock on her seatbelt with no luck. "You son of a bitch! Let me go!"

After pulling and tugging, twisting and karate chopping at it as hard as she could, she finally freed herself.

“HAHA! MOTHERFUCKER! GOTCHA!”

Alyssa snatched her purse and cell phone before she swung the door open, hopped out, and kicked the door shut. Still mumbling obscenities, she walked a few paces before turning back around and hitting the van’s hood with her swinging purse. “Fucking hold me hostage like that again and I’m driving your ass into a ravine!” 

Everyone who knows Alyssa Walker would say she is generally a fun, loving, and sociable little woman. She’s a devoted wife who has been married to the man of her dreams for several years and a wonderful mother to their children. She's very successful professionally, having served as the Royal Education Director for 8 years. A social butterfly of sorts, she’s been known to give Maxwell a run for his money, in regards to being considered the life of any party. On most days, Alyssa is typically outgoing and joyful.

Today is not one of those days.

Her flip flops were barely hanging on as she trudged across the lawn that led to the palace gardens,  thoughts of her morning crossed her mind. 

For every single birthday since marrying Drake, she would wake up to the smell of bacon, scrambled eggs, and french toast wafting through the cabin. She would lay in bed and pretend to sleep until Drake and the kids burst in with a tray full of freshly prepared foods, a hot cup of coffee, and a glass of orange juice. They would shower her with kisses and hugs, sing Happy Birthday, and then wait anxiously as Alyssa took the first bite to see if their mother approved of the time and effort they put into making her birthday morning special. When she finished, like clockwork, Drake would send the kids outside with the eldest child and give Alyssa a gift that only he could give her; one that required the skilled use of his lips, hands, and the colossus that was his … well … colossus.

Except, there were no bacon, eggs, or french toast. There were no kids jumping on the bed to wish her a happy birthday and fighting over which one hugged her first. Drake did not send the kids away when she finished her breakfast nor had she risen from the bed barely able to walk from the most mind-blowing sex she’d ever had. 

None of the things she expected happened. 

When Alyssa woke up this morning no one was home. All she found was a letter by the coffee pot from Drake, telling her the kids went with Maxwell for the day and that he would see her after work. To make things worse, her 20 attempts to call him that morning went straight to voicemail.

Drake had been working late and acting shady for months, telling her he was helping Liam take care of some horses they were preparing for next month's derby. Lately, she was beginning to wonder if there was something more he wasn’t telling her.

Now she was late for her luncheon with Riley.

As Alyssa rounded the corner that entered the gardens, she saw Riley on the patio arranging a tray of fresh fruit and sandwiches on the table. An array of metallic birthday balloons danced and bounced from the chairs with the changing breeze. Alyssa frowned with resentment towards her best friend of over 20 years. Bitch is still in her 30s.

Riley’s focus was averted when she heard the sound of rustling leaves behind her. She turned on her heels and said, “Happy 40th Birthday, Old Lady!” Her cheery voice trailed off when she caught sight of her disheveled friend. 

“Lyss? What the hell happened to you? You look like shit.”

Alyssa strode past Riley and threw her purse on the ground beside a chair before she slumped down into it.

Riley furrowed her brows with a snicker. “Bad day?”

Alyssa reached for a strawberry and dipped the entire berry, stem and all, into a dish of melted chocolate before leaving behind a trail of droplets from the dish to her mouth. As she chewed, she mewled. “Ma life if ofer!”

Riley scrunched up her face and arched back in an attempt to avoid the spittle of food that sprayed from her friend’s full mouth. She sighed heavily, grabbed a napkin, and wiped away the chunks of fruit-and-chocolate-mixed saliva that landed on her arm. “Oookaay, what’s going on? Why is your life over?”

Alyssa threw the stem on her plate and leaned forward into the table, gesticulating dramatically. “He didn’t tell me happy birthday, Ri! There was no breakfast, there was no spoiling, there was no fucking, colossus dick! There was nothing!”

“Who? Drake?”

“No, fucking Santa Clause! Of course Drake.”

Riley bit into her sandwich as Alyssa complained about Drake’s lack of attentiveness over the past few months. It wasn't the first time her friend had mentioned this to her; however, judging by how upset she was and the fact that she was dressed like a $2 hooker, she knew it was really serious now. 

Alyssa continued to point out how Drake was always working and, supposedly, was helping Liam out with the horses too. When he returned home each night, his clothes were sweaty and dirty but never smelled like horse shit. To make things worse, the sex had dwindled. Alyssa could give up a lot of things in life, but Drake's dick was not one of them.

“I know he’s cheating, Ri,” she lamented, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

“Nooo.”

“YES! He’s found another woman … someone younger, sluttier, who hasn't popped out a bunch of kids!”

Riley scoffed. “Lyss, everyone knows Drake worships the ground you walk on. I’m sure there is a good reason why he hasn’t paid as much attention to you lately.”

“But he KNOWS I’m needy and clingy and desperate for love!” she wailed.

Riley lifted the napkin from her lap and tossed it on the table. Her friend was a hot mess -- a more than usual hot mess -- and she wanted to help. She stood and walked around the table to her grieved friend and grabbed her tiny hand. “Come on.”

Alyssa’s weepy eyes stared up at her in confusion before she let out a small sniffle. “Where are we going?”

“We are going to the stables. You said he is there today, so let's go talk to him.”

Alyssa sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I’m not going, Ri. He needs to come to me!”

Riley began pulling on her friend's arm, but Alyssa was not being very cooperative with her efforts. “Get your ass out of the chair, Lyss, and go get your man.”

Alyssa pulled back harder. “Get off me, you skank ass ho!”

Riley continued to tug at her, surprised there was so much strength in such a little body. “Bitch, I will drag your ass and this chair all the way to the stables!” 

“I’d like to see you try, dumbass!”

With a hard jerk from Riley, Alyssa’s chair tipped over and she landed on the ground. Her resolve never once faded. While Riley continued to tug at her arm, Alyssa reached over and grabbed her broken flip flop and began smacking vigorously back at her. 

Riley immediately let go of her and stumbled backwards. “You have gone insane!” she groaned. “I tried to help you and, if this is how you’re gonna act, leave me out of it!” She turned to walk away and glanced back quickly. “You know the way out.”

“Ri … wait.” Alyssa called out softly to her.

Riley stopped and quirked her brow with a huff. “What?”

“Can palace security take us down? You know my ass ain’t walking that far.”

Riley called for a guard to take the 30-second drive to the stables. Both girls hopped off the cart and entered the empty barn. Riley called out for members of the stable staff while Alyssa’s eyes roamed the perimeter for her husband.

“Your Majesty? Did you need something?”

Riley turned to face the man in charge as he walked around the corner wiping his hands off with an old cloth. Before she could acknowledge him, Alyssa popped in front of her, nearly knocking her over.

“Eric!! Where’s Drake?”

The Queen smiled at the stable manager. “Eric, we’re looking for Drake.”

He looked between the two women, confusion etched across his face. “Is he supposed to be here, ma’am?”

Riley looked at Alyssa, who looked like she was ready to snap at his question, then back to Eric. “Um … yes. He told Mrs. Walker here that he would be helping in the stables today.”

“Hell … I’d say its been a good --” Eric paused to calculate before turning his attention back to the women. “--three  … maybe four weeks since I last saw Walker here. Came down with King Liam to take the newest horse, Driam, out for a ride … it made me real hard ma’am”

“Hold the fuck up!” Alyssa yelled with one hand on her hip and the other covering her forehead. “He told me he has been helping out here for the last several months. Is that not true?”

Eric, realizing what is going on, backed up defensively. He could sense this was not something he wanted to be a part of. “Nope. I'm not getting in the middle of your marital woes, Ms. Alyssa.” I just want in the middle of your husbands.

Alyssa approached him and aggressively poked at his chest. “Oh, you are in so far in the middle of my woes now, Ricky boy! So drop the bros before hoes bullshit and spill what you know.”

Riley grabbed both of Alyssa's shoulders from behind and pulled her aside. “It’s not his fault, Lyss. Plus … I think Eric’s the ho in this case”

Alyssa shrugged her away and began to pace back and forth frantically. “I’m seeing sounds, Ri. I am seeing fucking sounds all over this bitch!”

“Oh God, Lyss! No!  Don’t look at the sounds ... Don’t look at the sounds” She turned her frantic friend around to face her, squeezing her arms soothingly. “Look at me.”

Alyssa’s lips quivered as she stared back at her best friend. “I’ve lost him, Ri. I’ve lost him.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Alyssa sniffled through her tears and wiped her nose on her shirt sleeve. “Can me and the kids live with you now that I’m a single mother with a cheating ass husband?”

Riley pulled her into a hug, rubbing comfortingly along her back. “Of course you can, but maybe we should talk to Liam first.”

Lyss wiped her tear-stained face on Riley's shoulder and pulled back. “Liam loves me. He won’t care if I stay with you.”

Riley smiled with a nod. “Yes, he does love you, but Drake loves you too and you know that. There has to be a good explanation for everything.”

“Then why did he lie? He’s never lied to me, Ri.”

Riley gave her friend a sympathetic frown and shrugged. “I don’t know, girl, but let’s find out”

Palace security was once again summoned to haul the girls back to the palace.

Liam was in his office taking part in a video conference with Queen Elizabeth when his door burst open.

“WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?!”

His eyes went wide as he cut them to the flash of Alyssa barging in and stopping behind him at his desk; Riley was just a step behind her. Liam’s face flushed as he looked back at the camera and apologized for the interruption.

“Alyssa, dear,” he whispered. “Now is not a good time.” He motioned to the video feed on his laptop.

Alyssa turned to the laptop with the 106-year-old Queen’s face still illuminating from it. “Turn the hearing aid down, Lizzie! Unless you know where Drake is, this conversation doesn’t concern you!”

“ALYSSA!!” Liam stood, towering over her petite frame. “Are you coming for your King?” (had to put that in there lol).

“Liam, she's had a rough day and, remember, we love Alyssa,” Riley interjected with an innocent smile.

“We do, but she can’t just barge in here while I’m working!”

Alyssa grabbed his tie and yanked him down closer to her face. “Please, just tell me you know where Drake is. He said he was working for you and he’s not. He didn’t tell me happy birthday, he didn’t make my breakfast, and he didn’t fuck my brains out this morning!”

“Oh My!”

Alyssa turned back to the laptop. “I thought I told you to turn your hearing aid down, you old coot!”

Liam’s hands covered his face in embarrassment as he fell back into his chair. 

Alyssa crouched down in front of Liam and pulled his hands from his face. “Real talk, Li. Did you or did you not ask Drake to work for you?”

He stared at her for a moment with a deer-in-the-headlights look. He knew exactly where his best friend was and what he was doing -- he had known for months -- but he couldn’t tell her that. 

Nervous, Liam knew there was one way to solve this problem. He reached over to his intercom and pressed the call button. “Bastien.”

A split second later, the door to Liam’s office opened and the head guard entered. “Your Majesty?” he said as he bowed.

“Yes, could you see Alyssa and my wife out, please.”

Exasperated with Liam's request, Alyssa stood back up and eyed Bastien with a steely glare. “I’m not afraid of this bitch! He’s the one who raised the man whore my husband became with all his hookers and shit. My children are fatherless now because of you!”

Refusing to leave, Alyssa plopped down on Liam’s lap and gripped the armrests of his chair tightly with both hands. Her bony ass caused him to yelp as it dug into the muscles of his thigh. She reached for Liam’s scotch  and took a sip before leaning down so that her face could be picked up by the camera.

“Alright, Liz, help a fellow girl out here! You have a lot of experience with a cheating ass spouse and son … should I rip his big, beautiful nuts off? Orrrr … just take it up the ass like you did?"

The Queen of England clutched her chest with an exasperated expression. "Little lady … your behavior is simply prudish and insulting. I highly suggest you learn proper etiquette when addressing me … and, as for your husband, I can see why the poor man's eyes have roamed with such an immoral and, need I dare say, crazed woman such as yourself for a wife."

"Conversation over, bitch!" Alyssa threw the rest of Liam’s drink at the screen, hoping it drenched the queen and slammed the laptop shut.

"God Dammit!" Liam yelled out while he wrapped his arms around her from behind before standing up and handing her off to his guard.

With Bastien holding Alyssa in his arms, her little legs dangling and kicking at his shins, Riley took action.

The Queen grabbed her friend's feet, which were now bare from her crumbled flip flops, and tried with all her might to pull her back.

"You’re gonna break her hip, Bastien! She's an old, feeble woman now! She could have osteoporosis or the menopause!”

Giving their best efforts to escape, including Alyssa's teeth being firmly sunk into Bastien’s upper arm, neither were able to overpower his strength. 

While carrying Alyssa and dragging Riley -- who was still holding onto her friends legs -- Bastien was able to get the two of them out of Liam's office and into the main corridor.

Alyssa followed Riley back to her quarters, where she was given a pair of flip-flops and new leggings from Riley’s 12-year-old daughter’s closet. The hole in the crotch of her leggings had completely blown out during the struggle with Bastien. There were still no answers or replies from Drake, and Alyssa was beginning to feel utterly hopeless. 

Alyssa started to raid the royal couple’s liquor cabinet, happy to swipe a bottle of Balkan vodka, when Riley had an idea. She snapped her fingers with a sly grin. “I know someone who can help us find Drake.”

“Who?” 

The ladies left the quarters and walked downstairs to the ballroom. Once inside, Alyssa took a hard swig of vodka and eyed the utility closet Riley stopped in front of with a questioning look. 

The Queen gave four quick knocks followed by two slow ones and the door unlocked. Mara had been working out of this closet for years, having been fired after a fall out with Alyssa during a costume ball that nearly got her killed. The former guard walked in there during that ball and just never came back out. Riley and Bastien were the only two people who knew about this and told no one -- Bastien purely for comical reasons and Riley for a certain skill the woman possessed.

Alyssa was surprised to find the woman hiding out there after all these years. "I thought you fired her ass! I nearly got a traumatic brain injury and hearing loss from her incompetence!" 

"Shhh!" Riley pulled her friend inside, peeking around the ballroom to ensure no one was looking, and shut the door quickly. 

Riley explained how Liam revoked her cell phone pinging privileges with the guards before the costume ball all those years ago. Apparently, he wasn't too keen on her stalking the entire cast of Friends. He did what he had to do when a restraining order from Matthew Perry came across his desk. Mara, however, was still able to ping into anyone’s phone, thus, the Queen allowed her to stay.

“That's amazing,” Alyssa remarked. She pursed her lips as she scanned the tight space of the closet. “Can she find … maybe … Dwayne Johnson?”

Riley nodded. “Bitch can find anyone.” She looked to Mara, who was sitting at her desk, and winked with approval.

“Okay,” Alyssa clapped and leaned over Mara’s shoulder. “Let’s find him … I wanna know where Drake is!”

Within several seconds, an unfamiliar address popped up on the screen. It was close to the Walker cabin but still not somewhere Alyssa knew of.

She reached for a pen and a pad of paper from Mara’s desk and started to write down the location. “I can’t believe he lied to me this whole time! I must be really stupid for him to think he could actually get away with this.” Alyssa tossed the pen back on the desk and ripped the sheet of paper off the pad. “They’re gonna write a country song about me, Ri,” she cried. “Poppa’s in the graveyard and Momma’s in the pen! I just need a shotgun and for my damn dog to run away and I’ve got a hit!”

The two snuck out of the utility closet and ran to Alyssa’s van. Alyssa pulled the ticket for double parking in handicapped spaces from her wiper blade and threw it in her glove box with the rest of her parking tickets.  Riley shoveled away the piles of empty, diet coke cans and cheese whisps bags from the passenger seat  into the parking lot when she opened her door. 

Alyssa squealed her tires as she burned rubber down the palace drive, taking out the same cone again, nearly running down Michael again, and driving straight through the lowered arm of the security gate.

“WOOOO!” Riley yelled as they sped through the streets of Cordonia into the countryside. “This is just like old times in college, huh, Lyss?”

“I suppose. We’re just not high as fuck.” Alyssa raised her eyebrows and grinned slyly with an all too familiar gleam in her eyes that Riley recognized immediately. “Say … grab my purse, Ri.”

“Oh God! I know that look. We're gonna get smashed aren't we?"  Riley extended her arm behind the driver's seat. Alyssa reached into the side pocket of her purse and pulled out the rolled up, clear baggie and tossed it to her friend.

Unrolling the bag, Riley began to bounce in her seat with anticipation of smoking weed for the first time in 15 years. The excitement quickly faded.

“Um, Lyss?”

“Hmm?”

“I know I haven’t smoked pot in a while, but this looks like a bag of carrot sticks.”

“Give me that, dumbass!” Alyssa glanced over and snatched the bag. She held the bag over the steering wheel and examined it for herself. “Well fuck!! Looks like one of my kids had a really interesting snack yesterday at school. Oh well”

After a twenty-minute drive from the palace into a forested section of Cordonia, Alyssa and Riley stopped in front of a long gravel road. Riley double-checked the address on the van’s GPS with what was written on the paper.

“It says this is it. Look’s kind of desolate,” Riley mused, not sure where the isolated road would lead.

Alyssa turned the steering wheel of her van, probably a little too tipsy to drive considering she had consumed a quarter of a bottle of vodka (that the author of this story forgot about). They made it there, nonetheless, and no one was hurt. Never drink and drive!!

Lush, plentiful trees and a wooden fence lined the gravel road that seemed to lead to nowhere until they came upon a clear view of Lake Cordonia. Drake’s truck was sitting in front of a large wooden cabin with a huge, flat yard and one of the most stunning views of the lake either woman had seen anywhere. Alyssa tried to keep it together ... until she didn’t. When she saw Drake standing on the front porch, casually drinking a beer, shirtless and wiping his forehead with his denim shirt, she skidded the van into park next to his truck. 

Drake’s eyes widened when he saw his wife get out of the van wielding an ice scraper in one hand and a tire iron in the other, a look of pure hell in her eyes. 

He took a small step back. He hadn’t seen her like this since a drunken Olivia grabbed his ass at a Beaumont Bash two years ago. Drake waved his hands in front of her defensively. “Baby girl … wh … what’s going on right now?”

“Don’t you baby girl me!” Alyssa threw the ice scraper and Drake ducked just in time as it flew over his head.

Drake had no idea what the hell she was so pissed off about, but she was approaching him quickly and twirling the tire iron in her hands. He jumped over the railing of the porch and took off running around the side of the house. As he rounded the rear corner of the home, he ran directly into Riley, who was waiting to block him. The plan was a good one -- it really was -- but her thin frame was no match against the much larger Drake. With a hard thud, Riley fell backward, which caused his body to trip over her and land face down on the ground.

Drake rolled over on his back and shook his head in an attempt to get the daze out of his frazzled brain. There she was, standing over him, holding the tire iron like a bat, ready to pounce him without a second thought.

“Baby! Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“You … you’re a cheater and a liar!”

Drake went to sit up but laid back down when Alyssa flinched the hardened steel at him. “The fuck you talking about, Lyssa?”

With months of building suspicions and hurt, Alyssa took a long, deep breath and let it all out with a wail.

“I’m talking about the late nights, the shady-as-shit lies you have spewed to me over and over again. I’m talking about you missing out on dinners, coming home and falling on the bed without a word to anyone. I’m talking about only having sex with me every other day and forgetting my birthday. Now, me and the kids have to live with Liam, who hates me now because I told Queen Elizabeth she got fucked in the ass! It’s because I’m old now, isn’t it? You wanna be a Bastien and have bunga bunga sex parties with skank ass whores who have big boobies and wear their panties around their ankles! And … I just can’t compete, Drake … I just can’t.”

Drake held his hand up to block any sudden swings in his direction. “Can I get up?”

Alyssa nodded her head before she turned away from him and dropped the tire iron to the ground. “Just tell why, dammit?” she whimpered. “Was I not enough?!”

“Not enough? NOT ENOUGH?!!” He quickly rose to his feet, twisted her around and brought her flush against his hard body. With tears in his eyes, he kissed the top of her head, his thick hands sunken into her lush, brown hair.  He was barely able to mutter a single word. He was visibly shaken and broken by her accusations and that she held those feelings about herself for so long.

With both hands now on the sides of her face, he tilted her head so that she was looking directly at him. “Alyssa!” he sobbed softly. “Don’t you dare ever say you aren’t enough for me … ever! You’re literally my whole world. In every single life, in any alternate universe … I choose you every single time. And you wanna know what I’ve been doing? Look!” He turned her around to face the house.

“This is what I’ve been doing all those months! I built it, with my bare hands, just for you, for your birthday. I wanted you to have a bigger home so you could get out of that small cabin and have the view and the yard you always dreamt of. I wasn’t cheating and I didn't forget your birthday.  I just wanted you to have everything you deserve”

Alyssa gave Drake a quizzical look. “But … you’re terrible at woodworking.”

Drake chuckled. “Maybe I love you enough I learned.”

Alyssa sunk to her knees, not to give a blow job, but realization and understanding of the last few months had set in. She stared up at the beautiful, two-story log cabin that had every bit of her husband’s heart and soul for her in it and wept. “Drake.” Her voice was raspy and full of guilt. “I’m so, so sorry.’

He crouched down behind her and wrapped his loving arms around Alyssa before placing a gentle nip at her ear. “You've nothing to be sorry for. I guess I gave you plenty of reasons to think that, but I was crunched for time and wanted to surprise you. Just hope you like it.”

“It’s magnificent … and it’s our home?”

“It's our home. Happy Birthday, Baby girl.”

Drake and Alyssa checked on Riley, who was still knocked out cold. After assisting her and giving her a moment to collect herself, Alyssa thanked her friend for all of her help and gave her the keys to the van to return home in.

Drake showed his wife around their new cabin, pointing out the lowered cabinets in the kitchen that would be easier for her to reach. He had built her a library where she could work from and read without the noise and chaos of a house full of children running around. She was thrilled over the balcony that sat just off their bedroom, overlooking the lake and featuring private jacuzzi tub where they could relax together and, of course, have sex in.

Drake took her outside and walked down to the lake, where he had  put a gazebo in overlooking the water and ushered her to the center of it. 

“Drake! This is amazing. How did you know I wanted this?”

He drew her closer to him and kissed the tip of her nose. “I know everything about you, Lyssa … there’s nothing I wouldn’t give you.”

She smiled up at him lovingly. “And I love you so much for it.”

He reached for one of her tiny hands, brought it to his chest, and wrapped his other arm around her back. With very little room between them, he kissed her lips tenderly. “Dance with me, Alyssa.”

Alyssa gave him a knowing look with a grin. “Drake Walker doesn’t like to dance.”

He began to sway with her to music that wasn’t there, but he felt it in his heart. “Drake Walker will always dance with his girl.” Kissing her once more, they began to slowly dance together and Alyssa had never felt more alive or loved in her life. He has that effect on her--always had and always will.

He spun her in a twirl and pulled her tiny body back into his own. “Ya know, Lyssa … when I first saw you, I saw love.”

Drake reached down and lifted the bottom of her sweatshirt over her head and tossed it on a nearby bench. He caressed her cheek and trailed a gentle line down her neck and across her shoulder. “And the first time you touched me, Baby Girl ...I felt love.”

His lips found that sweet spot just behind her ear before he whispered to her. “And after all this time ...”

Drake’s thumb grazed across her bottom lip before he stared into the blue eyes of his yesterday, today, and forever. “You’re still the one I love.”

What happens next? .......

[lefaystrent]

Everyone's talking about Virgil Angst but meanwhile I'm sitting here thinking about Roman because like?? Presumably he's on Broadway right? And to wake up finding you're a known broadway star has to be a dream come true even if it's jarring that suddenly finding yourself so much older. But like Roman has no memories of the years between hs and now. He wakes up, finds he's performing in a show that very day. bUT NOT ONLY THAT, it's a new show, one he's never heard of so he has no lines 1/?

no lyrics, noblocking memorized. And he's expected to perform. So a thespian's nightmareright there. Maybe for extra Angst points the understudy is out sick. Or hejust forces himself to perform, not wanting to disappoint or miss this"chance" to be on Broadway. Either way it doesn't go well and Romanis left with his spirits crushed and still completely lost as to how he endedup in the future. 2/2

Back to theFuture, part II

Fandom: Thomas Sanders,Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic LAMP

Word Count: 2620

Masterlist Link

_______________________

Roman wakes up with a pillow beingthrown at his face.

“Chop, chop! Time to go.”

Roman groans, “Is it time forschool already?”

The person laughs.

It’s then that Roman realizes thatit’s neither of his parents, nor one of his friends who would sometimes sleepover.

Roman sits up, shirtless but that’susual. What’s not usual is the man fixing his hair in the mirror of a largevanity table.

“Who are you?” Roman asks,instantly suspicious. He snatches up a hair brush that’s lying on the bedsidetable, wielding it like a sword. “Where am I? What do you want with me?”

The man meets his eyes in themirror, sees something funny, and rolls his eyes with a laugh. “Alright, Mr.Big Shot. Save the acting for the stage. We’re gonna be late if you don’t hurryup and get dressed. And Dot will have both of our asses if we’re late foropening night.”

Opening night?

Stage?

Cute guy?

Oh, this had to be a dream.

Roman was good at dreams.

“Very well then. Wouldn’t want todisappoint all of my adoring fans, would I darling?” Roman boasts, to which theguy snorts and tells him to hurry up again.

Roman slips away and finds thebathroom. He’s debating whether or not to snap his fingers and conjure up amagnificent outfit. That is, until he catches a glimpse of himself in themirror.

He screams like he’s in a horrormovie, which maybe he is.

“What—what’s wrong?” the no-nameguy from earlier yells, banging on the bathroom door but Roman had locked it.

“I’M OLD!!!”

He’s over thirty now, and to a guywho was just seventeen yesterday, that’s pretty old my dude.

Frantic, Roman throws open thebathroom door and demands, “What magic did you cast on me?”

“What?”

“My face! Look at it!” Roman screeches,looking into the mirror once again and rubbing at his face as if the signs ofaging would disappear. “I mean, I’m still gorgeous, BUT I’M OLD!!!”

The guy looks at him like he’scrazy, which maybe he is but wow, no need to judge. “Uhhhh, are you going througha mid-life crisis right now? Because can you do that later? When, ya know, wedon’t have somewhere to be?”

“I was just seventeen yesterday,”Roman tells his reflection mournfully.

“Okay, if this is the kind ofbaggage Roman Prince has, remind me not to sleep with him again.”

Roman chokes at that.

“E-excuse me? We did what?!”

“Just cut the crap already,” theguy grunts and leaves. “I’ll be waiting outside,” he calls before a door slamsclosed.

Roman is left alone with hisreflection.

He snaps his fingers, but nothinghappens.

He gives a grin anyway. “Just gottaget into the swing of things is all.”

*

Roman meets the guy outside. Hedoesn’t bother asking for his name, since it’s not important to the dreamanyway. And really, this isn’t unlike a lot of Roman’s other dreams. Waking upto a cute guy? Check. Performing in a Broadway musical? Check.

Being the headlining actor for saidBroadway musical?

Super big check.

They’re in the theater now, andRoman is smiling and greeting a bunch of people who seem to know him. He goesalong with whatever they’re saying. He runs into the director Dot that theno-name guy mentioned earlier. And somewhat confusingly, he finds his dressingroom. It’s amazing and wonderful and in such detail, and sitting on the chair bythe dressing table is the script they’re performing tonight. Roman picks it upwith a wide grin.

He nearly drops it.

He’s the headlining actor for aplay he’s never even heard of.

Okay. Okay, okay okay.

Roman is in his dressing room—HISDRESSING ROOM ON BROADWAY. This whole place is designed by him to work how hepleases. If he just looks away and looks back again it’ll change—

Nope, that didn’t work. He squintsdown at the font, hoping to place the title.

“A New Lease on Life.”

From a skim through it’s somethingabout a parasitic demon trapped in the body of a magically gifted human?Roman’s character is the parasite.

“I know musicals are weird, butwhat in the name of Julie Andrews,” Roman says to himself.

But this is a dream. It’s okay. Hecan just…get up on stage and have the time of his life!

That’s not how it happens though.They do last minute run throughs. Roman is not magically landing the lines.Hell, he doesn’t even know them! The director yells at him to stop messingaround, and Roman is honestly hurt and disoriented enough to start crying rightthen.

But this is supposed to be hisdream! He can’t cry. He’s a Broadway actor! He’s got this!

*

Remember when he said ‘he’s gotthis’?

Yeeaaah . . .

The evening is upon them, theaudience files in, and Roman is standing on stage with no clue as to what he’sdoing.

He skimmed the script earlier,curious because usually he couldn’t read things in his dreams. He says thelines he remembers, but he misses a cue, and then the actor who’s playing therole of the character he’s possessing hisses under their breath what his lineis. It’s appreciated, but Roman can’t hear it over the thundering roar in hisears. The audience is waiting for something incredible to happen and Roman . ..

Roman’s waiting too.

*

This isn’t one of Roman’s dreams.

This is a nightmare.

Roman is a deer caught in theheadlights. He’s sweating and breathing so loudly that surely the audience musthear it. The lights are too bright and he’s standing on the edge of the stagein the middle of what’s supposed to be this sinister monologue.

This isn’t working. He just needsto take a breath, take a step back, listen more carefully to his costar’s constanthissing, and maybe things will get back on track.

Roman’s leg buckles when he triesto move it. He’s too close to the edge of the stage. He thinks for a momentthat he can catch himself, but his palms are slick with sweat and he slipsright over. He lands on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and he doesn’tremember much after that.

He wakes up, not in his bedroom athome but in his Broadway dressing room. Someone’s there, someone that Romandoesn’t recognize.

“Sloan picked up where you leftoff,” she says. She’s looking at Roman with pity.

“Sloan?” he questions. In thedistance, he can hear the muffled noises of the show going on.

She looks pissed off now. “Youknow, your understudy? Maybe if your head wasn’t shoved up your ass all thetime, you’d remember the names of us little people.”

She storms out of the room.

Roman lets his head thump back downon the bench someone laid him on.

He could wallow in his misery. Hecould let this nightmare beat him down. He could curl up and have himself anice cry. Princes are made for bawls after all.

“Sorry, but this prince has toleave before midnight,” he says.

He hops up to his feet. His headhurts and there’s a painful twinge in his leg and arm from where he must havefallen on them. But he can still move. He has to.

Roman turns his back on Broadway togo search for answers.

As he’s walking down the sidewalk,he ignores the busy city life. He pulls out his phone, immediately searchingfor his emo sidekick’s number.

He doesn’t find it.

What he does find though areseveral missed calls from Patton.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” hequotes. He calls Patton up.

“Roman?!” Patton answers after thefirst ring.

“Hey Padré! I hope you’ve got sometime to chat because you will not believe where I am right now!”

*

Roman was all the way in New York.

That’s a little more than a carride from Florida.

Logan had known that Roman became aBroadway star. He’d even told Roman that he would one day become one, but thatwas back in high school when Roman was an upset seventeen-year-old and Loganwas an eleven-year-old kid who knew too much. The news might have given Romansome form of comfort when he was figuratively down, but he certainly hadn’tbelieved it as Logan foretelling the future.

When Logan woke up as twenty-nineagain—after the initial freaking out period—he decided to contact his friendsto test a hypothesis. He needed to encounter someone who he’d never been affiliatedwith before in his future time, people like Roman, Virgil, and Patton.

Roman was too far off however. Notto mention it’d prove difficult to request a celebrity’s time, one that wasn’tsupposed to know you.

And Logan did doubt that any ofthem knew him. He suspected that he hadn’t been pushed forward through time butreplaced back into his own time, a timeline separate from the past one he’dbeen in. Nothing in his house had changed, no signs of his friends. No texts orcontacts on his phone to match.

So Logan searched for the othertwo. Virgil proved to be all but nonexistent upon his initial online researching.Patton immediately garnered results.

“An advice columnist,” Logan hadsaid to himself, unable to smother down the smile that tugged up his lips.Patton had made quite a name for himself in northern Florida. He’d been hostedseveral times on talk shows and was working on promoting his second self-helpbook that had recently released.

Logan had set off to find Patton,and find him he did.

And Patton . . . Patton had rememberedhim.

And even though Logan felt trulysorry that this disorienting situation caused his friend a great deal ofdistress, he couldn’t help but feel a wash of relief knock into him at the factthat his friend was still his friend. That those memories weren’t worthless ora vivid dream.

And then, once they had workedthrough establishing the existence of time travel, Patton suggests that theothers might be in the same boat.

“What boat? We’re not in a boat.”

“Figure of speech, Lo,” Pattonsmiles a little, despite himself.

If he and Patton are here afterjumping through time, it’s not impossible that Roman and Virgil could be thesame.

“They might not be here,” Logansuggests, swallowing down a sharp feeling of disappointment. “Whatever happenedto us, they may not have been a part of it.”

“Or they might have,” Patton pushesstubbornly. He can see the same hope welling in him, the same selfish desire tonot be alone. “We’re always hanging out together. They might have . . . gottencaught up in it? Whatever it is.”

“. . . and you already tried callingRoman?”

Patton tries all day. Logan wandersthe house a lot, investigating what kind of person Patton grew up to be. It’s .. . interesting to say the least, seeing his friend who had previously been ateenager suddenly as a grown adult, older than himself at that. Logan pondersover whether Patton feels the same amount of puzzlement. Although, Patton doesn’tseem to be interested in much that requires moving from the couch.

Ever since Logan theorized them notbeing friends in this timeline, Patton has become lethargic. Logan is ill-preparedto deal with this kind of Patton.

That night, Logan hears Patton’sphone ring. Logan doesn’t pay it much mind. The phone had been ringing off andon ever since Patton had run away from work that morning. Logan continues to pokearound the kitchen, relishing his normal body and the height that allows him toeasily reach into the tall cabinets.

“Roman?!” Patton screams from theliving room.

Logan immediately abandons any notionof dinner.

“Did he call you?” Logan blurtsout, racing into the room. It’s an unnecessary question, because what elsecould have happened? Patton waves his hand at him to shush him.

“Where are you kiddo? Are you okay?”Patton asks. He clutches the phone to his ear with both hands as if he couldhold Roman there.

Impatient, Logan sits right besidePatton and leans in to eavesdrop.

“Where else would a star like me beother than Broadway?”

Yes, that’s Roman’s proud voicefiltering through.

“Broadway?” Patton repeats, lookingat Logan questioningly.

“He’s in New York,” Logan affirms.

“What is he doing there?” Pattonasks.

“Is someone else there?” Roman interrupts.“You’re talking to someone else when you have me on the phone?”

“Sorry, Ro. I was just talking to—um . . .”

“To?”

“To, um . . . Logan.”

“Oh, well tell that nerd that I’mon Broadway and I’m fabulous, even if I am old now.”

Patton and Logan share a look.

Logan pries the phone out of Patton’shold and puts it on speaker. “You remember who I am?”

“Who? Wait, who’s that?”

“That’s Logey, kiddo.”

“That doesn’t sound like the littletwerp I know. Wait, is he super old now too? Are we all old geezers? Man, thisis a really weird dream.”

“Yes, it’s me. Yes, we’re older,”Logan answers. At least Roman is understanding the situation they’ve beendropped in. “Roman, I need you to answer a couple of questions for me please.”

“If I’m older now, why do I have toput up with more study sessions from you?”

“This isn’t school-related, Roman.”

“Please, Ro. It’s important,”Patton urges.

“Fiiine, if you must.”

“Did you wake up today in anunfamiliar setting with no memory of how you got there?”

“Yeah? Nothing too unusual.”

“How—how is that not unusual foryou?”

“Happens all the time in dreams,duh. Use that big brain of yours, Jimmy Neutron—wait, you’re not a kid geniusanymore. I’m going to have to come up with new nicknames. Not to worry, I’mgreat at improvising!”

Great at ignoring reality as wellit seems.

“Um, Roman?” Patton prompts. “Whatdo you mean by dreams?”

“This isn’t a dream,” Loganpresses.

“What else could it be?” Romanlaughs, and it doesn’t matter that the sound is slightly distorted through thephone. Both Logan and Patton can tell that there’s something off about it.

“Roman, that’s not—” Patton starts,but Logan cuts him off.

“Roman, do you have Virgil’scontact saved perhaps?”

“No, I don’t actually. Weird,right? Oh, I know! He must be hidden away from us in a tall tower in amonster-filled forest. Never fear, we shall rescue our emo in distress!”

Patton bites his lip, staring atLogan. “He doesn’t have his number either? What does it mean, Logan?”

“It could mean that Virgil doesn’thave a phone,” Logan tries, but neither of them buys it.

“Virge . . .” Patton whispers, eyeswelling up.

Logan focuses back on the phone.Roman keeps asking if they’re still there. “Yes, we’re here. And that soundslike an excellent idea, Roman. Why don’t you meet up with us here in Floridaand we’ll brainstorm a plan of action in order to locate Virgil.”

“Can do!”

Later, after Logan has helped Romango over how to book a plane ticket (“No Roman, you can’t just teleport here.Think of this as a . . . side quest, like in the video games you like.”), heends the call and turns to Patton. Patton’s sitting there, arms wrapped aroundhis legs and face buried in his knees.

“We’ll find out what happened tohim,” Logan tells him.

Patton doesn’t respond.

_____________________________

General Tag list: @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @notalwaysthevillian @rose-gold-roman @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @katie-the-noble-fangirl @yourroyalydramaticanxiousness @aroundofapplesauce @merlybird500 @beach-fan @jemthebookworm @whats-going-on-kiddos @randomsandersides @gamerfreddie @unring-this-bell @analogicallythinking @lilygold23 @punsterterry @levy-the-b00kw0rm @tacohippy56900 @accio-hufflepuff-power1 @just-another-rainbowblog @georganabanana @grey-says-heck @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @thesynysterunknown @idont-know-what-im-doing @idioticsky @fadingglowcloud @whizzie72 @theinvisiblespoon @greyyy523 @opaque-puppet @just-fic-me-up @wowimsogoddamnoriginal @sos-fandoms @loganeatsbooks @trust-is-overrated @theitalianalchemist @im-crunchie @mourning--star @4amanxiety @hogwarts-my-love @enby-phoenix @justanotherpurplebutterfly @internet-or-sleep @absolutesandersidestrash @seaspider10 @nonasficcollection @small-words-to-say @satanblessi @an-absolute-failure @analogical-mess @noisyeggpizzapatrol @hamilsandersfam @cefinitely-rolo @thgjclw @knight-shives @no-no-no-no-6 @savingshae @rabbitsartcorner @buddypallady @midnight-tragedyy

Kid Logan AU list: @under-the-blue-moonlight @broadwaytheanimatedseries @joyful-milkshake-observation @absolutesandersidestrash @midnightmagi @justcallmepancake @nerd-in-space @thestrangedino @deathshadowrules @entitydark @vintage-squid @max-is-tired @deceitfullyanxiousprince  @shai-uwu @teacupfulofstarshine @the5thcoy @occasionally-pauciloquent @oakskull @teepee-honesty @mrtacothethird @fandomobsessed-nerd @mychemicalcheezwhiz @that-smol-tired-gay @skittlesun @caterpiller-tea @sanders-sides-rebloger @penguinkool @its-the-cat-queen @liz-a-bell @theresneverenoughfandoms @i-know-im-smart @ever-after-aaa @007ardra @starbucks-remy @lovebug5151 @yyeeeeeeeeett @adoratato @theobsessor1 @soijusthavetoask @ab-artist @always-in-a-fandom @iris-sanders-athena @doing-my-demibest @connors-writing-sux @lizziepopanime @charakitcat @dall-off-weekes @wowimsogoddamnoriginal @sign-from-god-complex @pumpkinminette @cosmic-melodies @sullycreatesstuff @lovesupportandcookies @som3thing-cr3ativ3 @unicornlogansanders @rainysharkfreaklover @potato--justpotato @ghostscantdie @virgilneedsahug @thatonenerdphotographer @the-cactus-lord @cocobearthe4th @neverasherpoetry @midnight--fox @falsehoodx @crazy-rat-man @lokinas @rosiepupper @insert--self--hatred @dorkoverse @herestheanxietea @spirits-in-my-thoughts

[lildevyl]

Septicscape, Chapter One: The Mad Doctor

Summary:   Jack is trapped in his own mind and something is terribly wrong! The "Corruption" is everywhere and is taking control. Now Jack, with the help of his Alter Egos, must find a way to out and regain control of his body. Before it is too late!

TW: Dark Theme, Corruption, Button Eyes, Mad Doctor/Scientist, Needles, Possession, Mentions of Blood and Mild Mutation, Depression, Quarantine, A Psychiatric like style atmosphere towards the end of the chapter, and a living doll like OC, and Mention of Non-Canon Anti, Self Doubt.

A/N:  This FanFiction is based on the fan made game called Septicscape.  I haven’t had the chance to play but I did enjoy the Let’s Play of it by @dolphintreasureart​.  It gave me the idea for this story and this is the first time that I’m doing a fanfiction based off a fan made game.  And I got little carried away so it’s a long ass chapter about 10K+ words.  Sorry.

Also, depending on the "Ending" you pick reader, this story will either be before the whole PMA (Positive Mental Attitude) movement or it will be set after PMA took off but just before Jack took his vacation.

Enjoy The Story!!!!!

Chapter 1:  The Mad Doctor

(Sean's Apartment)

“Well, that does it for this episode. And thank you guys for watching this video. If you like it. PUNCH the LIKE button in the face LIKE A BOSS! And high fives all around.  Whapoosh! Whapoosh!  And I'll see all of you dudes. In the next video!”

Jack's outro music played in the background as Jack wrapped up another video for the day. Editing has become a whole lot easier now that Robin came aboard. Jack still helps with a lot of the editing and both of them go back and forth on what they think to do for different sketches and videos. And Jack appreciates every single effort and idea Robin gives. When the video starts to render, Jack's stomach decides to make itself known.

“Okay, time to eat something,” Jack said to himself heading to the Kitchen.

On his way, Jack spots a box in his Living Room and smiled fondly. Gifts from the fans that unfortunately he hasn't had the time to open yet. Hmm, maybe that should be his next video? Opening gifts from his fans has always been a joy, so much creativity that went into each them. It never cease, to amaze Jack just how talented his fans are. Another grumble from his stomach brought Jack back from his musing and to the task at hand. Supper. He needed to eat something before he uploads the video for tomorrow.

In the Kitchen, Jack grabs many different items from the freezer and the frig and started to prepare supper. There was no one else in the apartment as Robin went home for the night and Signe was on her trip. But Jack felt an ominous feeling swept over him, as he reached for the small preparing knife on top of the cutting board.

*Did you miss me?*

Jack stopped chopping the potato and stared off into the distance with a blank expression on his face. As if he were in some kind of a trance. The small preparing knife loosely held in his hand. Jack started to slowly bring the knife toward him. Shaking his head breaking the spell, Jack continued to cook his supper as if nothing had ever happened. However, that ominous feeling never left. It felt like someone was watching him.

*I missed you very much*

Jack put his hand to his head as he staggered slightly into the Living Room. He thought about unwinding a bit by watching some TV, but now he started to seriously rethink that. This headache just came out of nowhere! Even with the cup of coffee he just finished, the headache wasn't going away. What had caused it? Was it too much salt?

*Did you even miss me, Jack?*

The last thing Jack remembered before he passed out on the couch, was seeing someone standing in the hallway.

=======================

(The Mindscape)

“Ah, ow, my head,” Jack said looking around.  “Where am I?”

It looked like a cell of some kind but with a sense of  .   .  .  familiarity?  The walls were patted with the foam from his recording studio.  The floor was back with a Sam the Septiceye rug in the middle of it.  The bed had green sheets and the blanket had all the different egos on it as comic book characters.  Across the room, had a desk with what looked to be either a TV set or a computer on it.  Not knowing where he was or how he got here.  Jack quickly got up and off the bed, steadying himself, and walked over to the desk, turning the computer on.  What he saw didn't make any sense.

“Welcome to the Mindscape.”  Read the opening screen.  The Mindscape? What’s the Mindscape?  Where was he?  As Jack continued to scroll through, more and more things popped up that still confused the hell out of him. Schedule a doctor’s appointment with Dr. Schneeplestein.  Dr. Schneeplestein? As in Henrik von Schneeplestein from the Jacksepticeye Power Hour and the Bio Inc. videos?  An ad saying, “If you ever need a hero just call on Jackieboy Man!”  Jackieboy Man?  Wait from the South Park: Fracture But Whole series, and the Cool Patrol video?

A sound caught Jack's attention.  Footsteps.  Someone was coming, but who? Looking around Jack didn't see any place for him to hide nor any way to ambush his attacker.  Looks like Jack has no choice, but to wait and see what will happen.  Maybe he could get some information on where he is and how he got here.  And maybe he could formulate a plane of escape.

There' a sound as if someone’s trying to pick a lock.  A click.  The door swings open and   .   .   .

“There you are!  I've been looking for you everywhere!  I knew I picked the right place!”  Jack's rescuer said excitedly.  He wore a gray shirt, blue jeans, and a trucker’s hat.  But the weird thing was, he looked exactly like Jack!  Except with light green hair.

Come to think of it.  He does look vaguely familiar, but Jack just couldn't put his finger on it.  “I’m sorry but who are you?”  Jack asked very confused.

“Wait?  Seriously?  You’re asking who I am?  You of all people should know who I am.  You created me after all!”  The man said excitedly.  “Chase Brody at your service.”

“Chase Brody?  As in the Bro Average Chase Brody?”  Jack asked in disbelief. How was this possible?

“The one and only!”  Chase said proudly.  “And it took me like a week to find you.  Look, we need to get out of here!”

“Where are we?  And you said it’s been a week?!”  Jack nearly shouted.

“The Mindscape,” Chase said matter-of-factually ignoring Jack nearly shouting at him.  He was surprised that Jack didn’t do that sooner.  “And yes, it has been about a week.  When you disappeared, a lot of strange things began to happen. So, I had to find you.”

“What’s the Mindscape?”  Jack’s curiosity getting the better of him now that he’s calmed down a bit.

“It’s hard to explain but in basic terms.  We’re in the part of your “Creative Mind” that created a world for us Egos to live in.  It’s a lot more complex than that though.  Henrik should be able to explain better than me.”

“Henrik?  As in Henrik von Schneeeplestein?”

“The one and only,” Chase said.  “Except that now – He’s gone missing!  And I don’t know where to find him!”

“We’ll find him, Chase,” Jack said reassuringly.  “Where did you last see him?”

“About a week ago.  I saw him in front of his Lab door and then he went missing.  Come to think of it. He was acting weird.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start. Lead the way, Chase.”

==========================

(Dr. Schneeplestein’s Office)

“So, this is Henrik’s Lab?  It’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be,” Jack observed.

“Well, yeah,” Chase shrugged.  “He’s the only doctor in the Mindscape, so his lab would be pretty big to fit all of his patients.”

“That – That makes a lot of sense now that think about it,” Jack said following Chase inside.

Inside the Lab, there were many cozy looking chairs.  A Receptionist’s Desk, but no one was there.  Several different doors for different labs and patient’s rooms.  A green septic eye on the floor moving all around excitedly.  Wait, what?

“Sam!” Jack shouted and ran over his best friend.

Sam jumped and bounced off the floor and floated over to Jack.  Sam landed on Jack’s shoulder, curling their tail around the neckband of Jack’s shirt so as to not fall off.  And nuzzled in the nape of Jack’s neck.  Sam was so happy to have his best friend alive and well!

“Yeah, I saw Sam outside and brought the little dude in for safe keeping.  I think Sam was looking for you dude,” Chase explained.

“Jack! I’m so happy to see you!  Are you alright?  I was so worried!”  Sam said.   “Don’t worry Sam.  Chase got me out,” Jack reassured.  Chase didn’t know why but he felt a pang in his chest at seeing how close Sam and Jack were.  He quickly brushed it off, there were more important things to worry about.  “Are all the other egos here as well?”  Jack asked turning to Chase. 

“Oh, yeah! Jackieboy Man, Marvin, Anti, I think even the new guy is here too,” Chase explained.  There was something off about the way Chase explained that, but Jack quickly dismissed it.  Thinking it had to be the stress Chase was under.

“Maybe when we find Henrik, I could meet them.  One of them might know how I got here and be able to get me home,” Jack said.  “When was the last time you saw Henrik?”

“The last time I saw Henrik was about a week ago.  After you disappeared things started to go haywire. My world collapsed.  I don’t  .   .   .  I don’t know if Stacy or the kids ever got out. Henrik’s all I had.  Then he began acting  .  .  .  Strange.”

“Strange?  How so?”

“Dosing up on coffee more than he usually did when he used to work at the hospital.  Bags under his eyes as if he barely slept.  If he has gotten any sleep at all.  His hands were shaking so badly; I’m surprised he was even able to write! He kept looking over his shoulder, being paranoid about – something!  Then he kept mumbling and muttering “I can’t fail, can’t fail, can’t fail!  Not again!”

Then when I found the place you were in, Henrik really was out of it. His eyes man. Then he ran into his Deep Lab where he does a lot of his research and experiments.  And I lost him!”  When Chase finished explaining to Jack.  He was on the verge of tears.  He felt abandon again. Like he had somehow failed his friend and brother.

“Chase.”  Jack put his hand on Chase’s shoulder.  “We’ll find him. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out, Chase. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Chase said sincerely. “C’mon. Let’s go find Henrik.”

=============================

(The Deep Lab)

“This was where I last saw Henrik.  He was acting really weird.  Then something wasn’t right with his eyes.  There were  .   .   .  They were  .   .   .  Bleeding?  He ran in here and I never saw him again!  That’s when I knew I had to come and find you.”  Chase explained.

“Don’t worry Chase.  We’ll find him and figure out how to help him,” Jack reassured.

“How?  I mean  .   .  .  I never   .   .  .  Really came down here.”

“You said this is Henrik’s Deep Lab right?  Where he did all of his experiments and research?”  Chase nodded.  “Then maybe we could find Henrik’s Office.  Maybe we could find something there to tell us what’s going on and maybe where to look for Henrik.”

After several minutes and many dead ends, empty rooms and Labs, Chase and Jack found Henrik’s Office.  The place was littered from ceiling to floor with bookshelves stuffed and crammed with several different books, folders, files, and countless notebooks.  Drawers were filled to the brim with pens/pencils and many assorted objects that would only make sense to the good doctor.  Notes were scattered all over the floor as if it looked like a hurricane had come through the office.  A computer sat on the desk with his screen saver flashing and what looked to be a webcam with its light blinking.

Quickly going over to the computer, Jack sat down in Henrik’s chair and brought the computer to life.  Chase came over to the see what Jack was doing.  “You think we might find something on Henrik’s computer?”  Chase asked peering over Jack’s shoulder.

“Hm, maybe?”  Jack shrugged.  “It’s worth a shot.”

“Just be careful.  Henrik had a disgruntled employee when he used to work at the hospital, put a virus in the system.  It took both Jackie and Anti to get everything up and running.”  Chase warned.  He remembered all too well the aftermath of that disaster.  Luckily, no one in the house or his kids knew German.

Jack nodded and thanked Chase for letting him know.  Anti and Jackieboy Man working together?  Huh, well stranger things have happened. Let’s see. Patients’ files, experiments (Jack did not want to know what Henrik was thinking with that one), several different theories that could give MatPat and many Conspiracy Theorist a run for their money.

“I see where Jackie gets his hacking and computer skills from,” Chase complimented.  Seems like they all have a bit of Jack in them.

Jack continued going through Henrik’s computer trying to find something. Wait. What’s that?  A video?  Henrik made videos?  No, wait.  It’s not a video.  It’s a  .  .  .  Vlog?

“Why would Henrik make a vlog?  That doesn’t make any sense!”  Chase said seeing what Jack pulled up.

“Only one way to find out,” Jack said clicking on the video.

=============================

(Entry 1)

Henrik was at his wit’s end!  He didn’t know what to do so he decided to do what his Creator and his brother Chase sometimes did. Henrik decided to record his findings and theories.  Now, what did Jack and Chase call them again?  Video Blogs?  Vlogs?  It’s very new to him but might as well get some out of that birthday present that Chase gave him.  At least Henrik could always go back and watch these videos to see if there was any connection or if he might have missed something.

“Alright now, what did Chase say to do again? Oh, right.  Three, two, one, clap. Camera good. Testing, test, 1, 2, 3.  Alright. Entry 1.  I’m recording my findings to do what my fellow colleague and brother, Chase Brody had suggested I do. That and if I could get our Creator, JackSepticeye, to take a look.  We might be able to get a second opinion on what’s going on with the Mindscape.

Some things not right with the Mindscape.  Dark clouds are coming in and looming over different parts of the Mindscape.  Several of my patients have been experiencing mood swings and many other different systems of them acting of character.  Unfortunately, some the Egos, my brothers, have been affected by it as well.  But it seems to pass quickly with them.  Others not so much.  I’m going to keep a close on the situation in case something happens.”

The video ended. Jack turned to Chase with a raised eyebrow.  Silently asking what did Henrik mean?  Chase downcast his eyes never meeting Jack’s gaze. 

Too embarrassed and ashamed to say anything.  Jack catching on to the discomfort in Chase, turned his attention back to the computer.  Another video popped up.

============================

(Entry 5)

“Entry 5.  The Corruption, there’s just no other way to describe it! It’s – it’s getting worse.  Many of my patients have been experiencing severe mood swings. Some had to be put into Quarantine.  I don’t know what’s causing all of this!  I need to do some major research and see what could have caused this and how to reverse this!

First things first.  I need to start with our Creator, JackSepticeye.  Maybe something in his personal life or quite possibly something in his professional like might have caused some sort of “rift” to transpire.  If not, then I need to check on the other Egos to make sure they are alright.  I have never seen something like this before. Hopefully, this will pass soon.”

The video ended. Jack was very confused.  Was Henrik the one that Jack saw before he passed out?  Maybe Henrik was trying to get Jack for help and somehow, Jack ended up in quarantine?  Only one way to find out and that was to press on.

Another video popped up.

===========================

(Entry 15)

“Entry 15.  This isn’t good.  The Corruption, it’s – it’s spreading throughout the Mindscape.  No one is safe.  Even some of my fellow brothers, the other Egos, are also starting to become affected by the “Corruption.”  It seems like the younger Egos are more prone to the “Corruption.”  My only theory to this is because I believe the younger Egos haven’t been able to get as much of a “following” as some of the other Egos have with the Community.

Unfortunately, one such Ego, Chase Brody, has been experiencing some severe mood swings.  He’s even starting to show signs of deep depression now.  Chase is currently staying with me for the time being.  I’m hoping to find what might be causing this and to see if I could reverse the effects.  I’ve reached out to BingSepticeye to see if he could find any trace of the “Corruption.”  So far, I haven’t heard anything from him as of yet.  I’m going to try and make a serum that will introduce positivity to my patients.  It’s only going to be a temporary fix but until we can find the exact source of the “Corruption.”

The video ended. Jack kept his focus on the computer screen, pretending to find another video. He decided not to say anything to Chase about what they just heard. Opting to let Chase volunteer when he was ready.

“Jack?” Chase asked barely above a whisper. “Please, don’t  .  .  .  Please don’t think any less of me. It really was  .  .  .  A bad time for me.”

“Chase.  I would never think any less of you.  If you want to talk about it I'm here but I won't push.” Jack explained.

“Thanks, Jack.  That means a lot,” Chase said.

Jack went back to the computer to see what else they may find.  At least they were figuring out what had happened to Henrik.  Now, maybe, they will find out where Henrik might have disappeared too.

===============================

(Entry 25)

The background in this video was completely different from the other videos. The lighting was very bright but it only focused on one area.  Several different medical supplies and equipment were on the far left and the far right of the corners.  And was that a surgical table there behind Henrik?  Jack didn't know why but a sudden feeling of dread came over him as he clicked on the video.

"Entry 25.  The Corruption is getting worst!  It’s now affecting all of the Mindscape!  Anti, had come to me even his world is starting to be affected by the Corruption.  Parts of his world are starting to gray out.  I have never seen something like this!

But the worst is what had happened to one of the newer Egos.  Robbie was starting to experience unquenchable hunger like systems.  Anti, brought him in hoping that I could help his younger brother.  Unfortunately, I had to put Robbie in quarantine at least for right now.  It’s only until I can find out what has happened to Robbie and fix it!  I better keep a close eye on Anti as well.  No telling what the "Corruption" might do to him."

The video ended.  Jack was confused and concerned about what was happening to the Mindscape.  What had caused all of this and how could he help?  Who brought him here?  It was starting to look as if Henrik had nothing to do with Jack being here.  Jack frantically searched for another video.

“We might have to go deeper into the Deep Lab if we’re going to find out where Henrik disappeared too.  Or to see what had happened to him.”  Jack told Chase when his search came up empty.

“Gnk.  Are – are you sure, Jack?”  Chase asked not like the idea.

“I’m sorry Chase, but we don’t have a choice here if we want to find Henrik.”

“Alright.  Where do we start?”

“Hm, let’s see,” Jack said typing away at the computer.  “The last video had a different background.”  Jack pulled up the video and focused on the background. 

“Do you recognize any of this?”

“Yeah, I do,” Chase answered reluctantly.  “It’s the Operation Room.”

“Then that’s where we need to go.”

================================

(Operation Room)

Jack and Chase made their way to the entrance hall of the Operation Room. Chase hesitated in following Jack.  Chase’s breathing became heavy and he started to shake.

“Chase?  Are you – are you okay?”  Jack asked concerned.

“Y-yeah.  It’s just – it’s just really bad memories.  I really don’t want to talk about it. I’m just – I’m scared!”  Chase admitted to Jack.  Chase has always hated hospitals ever since  .  .  .  No, let’s not go down that rabbit hole!

“Chase,” Jack put his hand on Chases’ shoulder.  “I won’t press.  Just know that I’m here for you.”

Chase gave Jack a weak smile.  Taking a deep breath.  “Let’s – let’s go find Henrik.”

Entering the corridor, Jack searched for a light switch and instantly wished he were back in the safety of his recording studio.  It looked like they just entered a horror game.  The lights were flickering on and off, making Jack wonder when they might go out.  The floor was cover with different medical supplies. A wheelchair slowly moving back and forth.  The pictures on the walls looked as if the paintings were doubled faced or melting.  The walls  .  .  .  The walls themselves were the worst.  Blood splattered, bloody hand-prints and smears covered the walls as far as the eye could see.

“Stay close Chase,” Jack whispered.

“D-don’t need to t-tell me twice,” Chase stuttered shaking. ‘This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare.  You’ll wake up Chase and find Henrik had fallen asleep at his desk again.’  Chase kept repeating that thought as he followed Jack to Henrik’s Office.

The office looked similar as in the vlog but not at the time.  Stealing his nerves and avoiding the operation table (Jack did not want to know what was underneath the sheet).  Jack went over to the computer to see what he could find.  Sam decided to hover around to keep an eye out on things.

A few minutes later, a video popped up.

========================

(Entry 30)

“Entry 30.  So far, the results of the serum I have made to introduce positivity to my patients have been good.  Their anxiety has decreased, many of the mood swings have lowered.  But I’m afraid that with me doing all of this, that I could be the next target of the “Corruption.”

I’m already starting to see the signs.  My nervousness and anxiety are already increasing but I must not lose focus!  Our Creator, JackSepticeye has disappeared! Worst yet no one seems to know who’s in control of the body!  I’m hoping it’s one of the other Egos until we can find Jack.  Until then I will be keeping a close eye on myself and will be documenting any and all sudden changes in my behavior.”

The video ended and Jack could already see the signs of the Corruption starting with Henrik.  His speech pattern was off. He was talking more rapidly than he did in his previous videos.  Signs of stress and not sleeping well were showing as well.

Another video popped up.

==========================

(Entry 40)

“Entry 40.  I have indeed become the next target of the Corruption!  These nightmares.  They plague me every night. I can’t – get them out of my head!  I’m back in the hospital I used to work at but my friends  .   .   .  My brothers  .   .   .  Their voices keep echoing in my head!  They keep saying that I failed!  That I failed as a doctor!

S-someone comes into the hospital and I’m r-responsible for him.  But something happens and he doesn’t make it.  My friends’ voices – they keep telling me it’s all my fault!  I failed.  I don’t know who the patient is but every night I wake up screaming “No my friend!  NO!”  Worst yet, I think the audio hallucination are starting to take effect.  I need to start giving myself a dosage of the serum.  It might combat the effects of the Corruption.”

The video ended.  Both Jack and Chase shared a look with one another.  If Henrik was a target, then they need to act fast.  One, of these videos, has to lead them to Henrik!  Crossing his fingers and hoping for the best, Jack search for another entry.

Another video popped up.

===============================

(Entry 50)

“Entry 50.  These nightmares.  They won’t stop!  Not even the serum is helping! These nightmares plague me every time I so much as I close my eyes.  I’m dosing up on coffee just to stay awake.  I can’t  .   .   .   I can’t relive those events. I know they’re not true but it feels so real.

I’ve decided to record my nightmares.  Maybe with them being out in the open will lessen the effects and maybe I can connect the dots as to what might be causing them.  What might be making them so   .   .   .  real.”

===============================

(Nightmare 1: Chase Brody)

Henrik was in the Staff Room of the Mindscape Hospital sipping his coffee.  Just a couple of more hours then he can go home and relax. It has been anything but a quiet day today.  Sighing heavily and rubbing his tired eyes, Henrik checked his phone for the hundredth time during his break.  He had a bad feeling that he just could not shake.  He hasn’t heard from Chase all day.  Ever since that gold digging bitch of a wife, filed for divorce and took the kids.  Chase has fallen into deep depression.

Henrik kept his mouth shut but Chase deserved better!  Ever since Chase’s YouTube Channel wasn’t doing as well because of some bull crap from the higher-ups.  The money wasn’t there like it used to be. And according to Stacy, it was all Chase’s fault!  Stacy had the nerve to call Chase up when he was working on a video to tell him that she was filing for divorce and took the kids to her sister’s house.  Claiming to her family, that “they were right all along.”  Gold digging bastards the lot of them.  If you are not making the money, then you are not worth their time.

Henrik seeing no response from Chase.  Decided to try calling him.  And that was when things took a turn for the worst.

The sound of an alarm blaring retched Henrik back to reality.  He ran out of the Staff Room and down the corridor at top speed.

“What’s happened?”  Henrik demanded from a nurse seeing them pulling in a gurney.

“Male.  Mid to late twenties.  Attempted suicide.”  The Nurse quickly explained.

“Chase!”

“You know him?”

“Get him in the Emergency Room at once!”

“But Doctor  .  .  .”

“NOW!!!”

In the Emergency Room, Henrik prepped Chase for surgery hoping to save him. Chase didn’t deserve this!  The Operation Room was nothing but a living hell for Henrik.  Chase’s vitals were rapidly dropping.  Too much, blood loss and not enough time to get the blood transfusion in him.  The heart monitor was going crazy, dropping by the minute.

“No!  Chase!  No, my friend!  I will not let you die!”

Flat-line.

Charging the shockers, Henrik pressed them to Chase’s chest.  One, two, three, Clear!  Nothing.  Increasing the voltage.  Clear!  Nothing. Once more. C’mon Chase!  Come back!  Come back to me, come back to us! Chase never came back.  The heart monitor stayed silent.

Henrik went to put the white sheet over Chase.  When he was about to put it on top of Chase’s head.  Chase opened his eyes and turned his head looking right at Henrik but his eyes!  Chase’s eyes weren’t normal.  They were button-like! One was black on the outside but orange on this inside, the other was orange on the outside but black on the inside.  Blood was dripping down his from his button-like eyes like the puppet from Five Nights at Freddy’s.

*Why didn’t you same me?*

==========================

(Entry 50)

“I wake up screaming after that.  Sometimes shaking.  Then I hear this  .  .  . This voice.  It sometimes sounds like Chase but other times it would sound like Chase’s ex-wife Stacy or the other egos.  Asking me, why I didn’t save Chase. Saying that it was all my fault!  That I should have been able to save him.

“But the worst one  .  .  .  The worst one.”  Henrik took a deep breath.  “It – it involves our Creator. JackSepticeye.”

=======================

(Nightmare 2:  JackSepticeye)

Signe rushed Jack to the hospital calling Henrik over for help. Neither one of them knew what was wrong.  At first, Jack and Signe thought Jack had caught a forty-eight-hour virus or the flu. But then Jack kept getting worse by the day. Henrik got Jack in and quickly began running diagnostic tests to see what was causing Jack’s illness. Once they found out a few things and began treatment, Jack started to show signs of improvement. Then more things started to go wrong.

They quickly transported Jack to the I.C. Unit. More tests were run; more treatments were given. Jack continued to fight for his life but it seemed like every time they made progress. Something else went terribly wrong. Henrik was at his wit’s end. He didn’t know what was going on.

“Don’t worry Jack!  I’ve got you.  I will not let you die.  Not again!  I almost lost you once before!”

The events of Halloween the previous year played through Henrik’s mind as if he were watching a video.  Jack was doing his annual carving pumpkins video. Then the strange sounds started.  The giggling and stomping, but when Jack went to check it out no one was there. Then the video began to glitch in out with different images of someone there when Jack wasn’t in the room.  But the worst  .  .  .  the worst was when Jack got the end of the video where he was about to show his fans how to do some fine tuning.

The glitching happened again. Jack stared blankly at the camera, holding the knife in his right hand. Slowly bringing it towards himself. His hand shaking, a clear sign of Jack trying to resist.  Then the knife was pressed against his neck. Glitching in and out of the video showed someone was standing right behind Jack controlling him. His hand over, top of Jack’s hand with the knife. A smile on his face.

“D0 1t. N0 0n3 W1Ll C@r3. Th@T d0Ct0R c@N’t $@v3 Y0u. N0 0n3 C@n. Y0Ur F@n$ L13d T0 y0U. tH3y W1Ll F0rG3t @Ll Ab0Ut Y0u W1tH1n @ Y3aR.”

Then Jack slit his throat, falling right on top of Gerald.  Then Anti took over giving his cryptic and creepy message to the Bosses.  But as soon as Henrik got there, Anti had vanished, leaving a very venerable Jack.

The heart monitor beeping like crazy brought Henrik out of that horrible memory and straight back to a living hell.  Rushing to stabilize Jack, Henrik can’t help but wonder what the hell was going on?!  Was Anti behind all of this?  Henrik hoped not.  He knew when Anti came to be an ego that many of the other egos were wary around him.  But soon they discovered that “off camera” Anti wasn’t that bad.  But now.  Now, Henrik wasn’t sure.

Jack turned his head toward Henrik and opened his eyes.  That was when Henrik took a step back.  Jack’s eyes!  They were   .   .   .  They were  .  .  . Button-like!  One eye was black on the outside but green on the inside.  The other one was green on the outside but black on the inside. Blood was beginning to drip from the button-like eyes.

*Help me* Jack manage to choke out.

“No my friend!  NO!”

Jack remained still.  No response.  Signe ran into the room seeing Jack dead. She screamed and cried.  “NO!!  Why didn’t you save him?!  It’s your fault!!  It’s all your fault!  You could have saved him!  You should have saved him!!!”  Before she ran out.

The lights in the Operation Room began to flicker then popped.  Henrik quickly went to the hallway dreading the news he would have to give to his friends and family.  When Henrik came out to the hallway, no one was there. he went down the hallway thinking they must be in the Waiting Room.  The lights started to go out, one by one, until the entire hallway was pitch black in, total darkness.

Clickclickclickclickclick.

The lighter Henrik carried around with him finally flickered on.  It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing.  Henrik heard a rattling breath behind him.  He turned around and nearly dropped his lighter.  There standing down the hallway was what Henrik hoped to be a person.  Henrik couldn’t tell if it was a male or female but what he could make out.  It made him want to run.

Pale like skin, button eyes with what Henrik hoped to be, paint dripping down its cheeks, sprayed painted stringing hair.  Its mouth looked like it was stitched shut.  Its shirt or jacket or possibly both looked to be patched together in different shades of colors. It saw Henrik and smiled.

*You killed them*

================================

(Entry 50)

“I wake up screaming after that one.  Twice Chase came running into my Office thinking that I was getting attacked.  That one – that one was the worst of them all.  So, of course, the two reoccurring nightmares are of Chase and Jack.  Every single night. I have to be careful though.  I’m already showing signs of auditory hallucinations and quite possibly the start of visual hallucinations.  If this keeps up, I might not have a choice but to put myself in quarantine.”

The video ended. Chase was growing more and more worried by the video. He feared that when they do find Henrik, that it might be too late. Chase hoped that that wasn’t the case. Crossing his fingers, he waited with bated breath for Jack to find another video.

Another video popped up.

==============================

(Entry 65)

“Entry 65. It’s worst then I could ever imagine.  The hallucinations.  I can’t get rid of them!  It’s getting to the point where I can’t even tell the difference between what’s real and a hallucination. And something is truly wrong! My eyes! They are  .   .  .  They are  .   .   .  Mutating!  Just like in my nightmares when I saw Chase and Jack.  I have to see something right away!”

The video ended. Jack and Chase were increasingly growing more worried by the minute.  Henrik’s eyes  .   .   .  They were  .   .   .  Button-like!  Not only that but it also looked as if they were bleeding. Jack also picked up on something else.  When Henrik spoke, it sounded glitchy.  Like the auto of the recording had gotten corrupted or something like that.  Dreading what they might find next, Jack searched for another video.

Another video popped up.

=======================

(Entry 79)

“Entry 79.  I have indeed been infected by the “Corruption.”  My eyes have mutated into a button-like a state.  Worst yet, they began to bleed but as the blood gets to a certain point.  It just gets absorbed then it starts all over again. Another thing I’m noticing.  I’m beginning to glitch like Anti!  I do not ask for his help for fear of what the Corruption might do to him!

I’m also noticing the hallucinations have become more and more frequent. I’m hearing the voice of Chase accusing me of never being a real Doctor.  If I was one, then why did I never saved him?  Why did I not help him when he was about to commit suicide?  I’m seeing the other Egos, my brothers, all of them accusing me of never saving anyone.  That I just pretended to be a real Doctor.

That I failed of ever being one and that I will never truly be a Doctor.  Otherwise, I would have saved our Creator!  I would have saved Jack!  I would have saved Chase! I would have figured out how to stop the Corruption. I  .   .   .  I need to put myself into quarantine.  I can’t risk putting anyone else in danger.”

The video ended. Chase cursed himself for being so selfish.  Why else would Henrik run away?  He wouldn’t abandon Chase unless he truly felt like that was the only option.  Henrik ran into the Deep Lab to protect Chase from himself because Henrik knew that he was becoming Corrupted.  Henrik felt like he was becoming a Mad Doctor or a Mad Scientist.  All Chase wanted to do was to find Henrik and apologize for ever doubting him and forever thinking that Henrik would ever abandon him.

Jack feverlessly searched for another video.  He a pit in the bottom of his stomach that what they might find won’t be good.

Another video popped up.

============================

(Entry 93)

This video was completely different from all of the others.  It looked like a hallway with metal doors, that had some kind of key lock that you needed some kind of code for.  The camera looked as if it was a handheld camera that Henrik was using to wirelessly record. Henrik, himself, didn’t look good. Very pale skin, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in days.  Button-like eyes, one blue on the outside but black on the inside, the other one was black on the outside but blue on the inside.  Both his eyes were bleeding making him look like a human version of the puppet from Five Nights at Freddy’s.  Henrik kept his surgical mask on but Jack had a feeling it was hiding something.

“Entry 93. I have no other choice.  I’m sorry Chase.  I’m so sorry.  I know you must feel like I’m abandoning you but I don’t want to hurt you or anyone else.  My body aches all over and I have this overwhelming feeling this  .   .   .  Urge to just prove that I’m not a failure.  That I am a real doctor, but if I do that I might  .   .  .  I might   .   .   .  Please, Chase, whatever you do.  Don’t try to find me.  It’s better than I lock myself away instead of risking a chance that I could hurt you or anyone.

Chase if you do find our Creator, JackSepticeye.  I think I know how to save the Mindscape.  You got to  .   .  .  Gnk  .   .   .   You  .   .   .  Oh the pain, the pain.” Henrik kept glitching in and out as if he was having trouble keeping himself together.  “You have to  .   .   .  You have to  .   .   .   Aahh  .   .   .  Introduce positivity  .   .   .  To the  .   .   .  Gah  .   .   .  To the ego that the world represents.  I  .   .   .  Don’t know how  .   .   .  But –  ah gnk – that’s what you need to do. Chase  .   .   .   I have always seen you like as a son and as a brother.  I’m so sorry my friend.”

Henrik dropped the camera and limped over the door.  He put in the key code and went inside.  It looked as if he was having trouble controlling his own body, but he managed to lock the door.  An agonizing scream could be heard from the other side of the door.  The camera continued to record until the card was full.

=============================

(Operation Room)

The video ended.  Chase turned to Jack with un-shed tears, silently pleading. They have got to find Henrik.  They have to save him.  Jack nodded to Chase. He understood the silent pleading.  They came this far.

“Do you recognize this part of the Lab?”  Jack asked Chase pulling up the video.

“Yeah, I do.  That’s the Quarantine Section but I have no idea where that is. Henrik only mentioned it a few times but very rarely has he ever used it,” Chase explained.

“Looks like we're going to have to search then,” Jack said.  “C’mon Sam.  We’re going to need you.”

They left the office heading down the hallway with Sam in the lead.  Jack every now and then would put a reassuring hand on Chase's arm or shoulder.  Doing his best to keep Chase from blaming himself, with what happened to Henrik. Even if they do find Henrik, Jack has absolutely no clue on how to help the good doctor.  Henrik said that they had to introduce positivity to the Ego, but how? Jack remembered when he first thought of doing videos of different Egos.  Asking his good friend Markiplier for help and advice, throwing ideas back and forth.

Sam stopped just a few feet ahead of them.  With the soft green glow that Same was giving, Chase and Jack could see there was something on the floor. “Henrik,” Chase whispered.  He picked up the powder blue cap and the stethoscope that Henrik always carried with him.

Jack looked at the door, and the sign read Quarantine Section.  “This is it.  I think this is where we’re going to find Henrik.  It looks like it needs some kind of key code.” Jack said silently hoping he was right.

Going down the hallway, Jack and Chase stumbled upon another corridor. The lights were out covering the entire corridor in darkness.

The sign read “Experiment Rooms.”  Taking a deep breath, Jack followed Sam through the corridor.  They came across an empty Lab that looked like Henrik had used. Looking around, they found different test tubes with different color liquids in each one.  On the counter to the right laid a notebook but the only legible part of the handwriting that anyone could read was “Positivity Serum.”

Test One:  Blue. Failure Test Two:  White. Failure Test Three:  Orange. Some Success. Test Four:  Red. Failure. Test Five:  Midnight Blue. Failure. Test Six:  Septic Green. Success.

“Do you think this was what Henrik meant by “Introducing Positivety” to the Ego?” Jack asked seeing the test vial that the notebook mentioned as a success.

“I – I don’t know. Maybe?”  Chase said with uncertainty as Jack pocketed the vial.

“C’mon.  Let’s see if we find that code and help Henrik.”  Jack tried to keep his voice even for Chase but he be lying if he didn't say he was on edge.

They haven't come across anything as of yet and that was making Jack extremely nervous.  He didn't what to expect or what state Henrik might be in if - when - they did find him.  They looked around the room some more, opening drawers, cabinets, and anything else they could think of.  Jack finally found a notebook with what looked to be the key code they were looking for.

“Found it! Now, let's go help, Henrik.”  Jack nearly pushed Chase out of the Lab. 

His nervous was on an all-time high and for the life of him, Jack couldn’t figure out why?  It felt like someone was – watching? –  them.

========================

(Quarantine Room):

Chase and Jack returned to the door that led to the Quarantine Section, but it wasn’t like it was when they left it.

“Is that – Is that blood?”  Chase nervously asked half afraid of what the answer might be.  Oh god! Henrik!

Jack didn't say anything.  Too shocked and nervous to even come up with something.  He wanted to calm Chase down, to reassure him that Henrik would be fine.  But it felt like something was preventing him from forming any words. Like it was stuck in his throat.  Reaching a shaking hand out, Jack put in the first code from the notebook.

19-5-1-14.  Buzz. Click.

The door opened revealing another corridor with many metal doors and something else that looked as if it came straight out of horror movie.  Several different patients in either hospital gowns or costumes were in the hallway. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jack nervously and cautiously moved forward. Doing his absolute best not to touch or interact with anyone.

“Deceit?  Who’s she?  Never heard of her.  Oh, are you looking for the Doctor? He’s doing splendidly!”  A guy who looked like Thomas Sanders dressed as Mr. Hyde said to them as they passed.

A female with blond hair pigtails that could easily pass for Harley Quinn's sister sat there.  Laughing and giggling at nothing.  “Hahaha! Do you want to play hospital?  I’ll be your nurse! Nurse Ash!  Heeheeheehahahahah!”

They went further down; Jack was wondering if this was what his friend Felix felt like in that one episode of i  What was it going to be like when they found Henrik?  Another few rooms down the hall, Chase, and Jack saw someone they couldn't believe.

“MatPat?!”  Both of them picking their jaws off the floor upon seeing him.

MatPat, YouTube’s Gaming and Movie Theorist, was wearing what could only be described as a Mad Hatter's outfit.  Diamond shapes covered his eyes, mismatch colors, and patterns on his pants, shirt, vest, and jacket.  The hat MatPat was wearing was so small Jack was wondering how the hell it was staying on his head without a headband or string.

“You'll theorize too!  You'll theorize too!  You'll theorize too!  You'll theorize too!”

Chase and Jack moved on.  They were almost there, or at least Jack truly hope so!  There were only a couple of doors left in this corridor but none of the others even looked like the one they saw in the video.  They were about to approach the one towards the end of the corridor when another “patient” come towards them.  She was a high school student with, brown hair, brown eye, wearing a choker, dressed in all black and carrying  .   .   .  a knife?

“Hahaha.  I’m Leah! Leah Woods!”  Leah gazed upon Jack and her eyes lit up seeing Jack dress in all black and wearing his gauges.  “Anti!”  Leah happily hugged who, she thought was her absolute favorite JackSepticeye Ego.  Not realizing that the trademark neck wound was absent.  “Anti! You’re here!  You’re here to take care of that Mad Doctor for hurting us!  Aren’t you Anti?” Her gaze then landed on Chase right behind Jack.  “Oh!  And you kidnapped Jack too?!  Feel free to make him watch!”  Leah giggled handing the knife over to Jack and was about to skip, away.

Jack stopped Leah and quickly switched to his Anti voice, “Which door is that Doctor in?  Hahaha!”

“Through that door!”

When Jack and Chase came to the door that Leah pointed out, it was the same door they recognized from the video.  The handheld camera was still laying on the floor in front of it.  A few feet, to the left of the door, was a girl rocking back and forth, muttering to herself.

She was dressed in a patched hospital gown in several different shades of gray and stringy spray painted hair.  Her eyes though - her eyes were covered in bandages but they seem to be bleeding.  Her mouth looked as if someone had stitched it.  Giving the impression of her being a living rag doll.

“Help me?  Help me?  Experiment 10-1-3-11.  Mad Doctor.  Help me.  Help Me.  Mad Doctor.  Experiment 10-1-3-11.”  She kept repeating the same thing. Never once did she notice the two new arrivals.

When Jack went to the door, a cold feeling of dread washed over him.  That was the key code she was repeating.  “Hang on Henrik.  We're coming.”

============================

(The Mad Doctor)

When Jack and Chase entered the room, what was left of their hopeful hearts shattered.  Henrik stood in the middle of the room, white as a ghost, glitching in and out uncontrollably.  His once bright styled hair, was now a pale green, matted and stringy, hanging all over the place.  His once calming ocean blue eye was now completely button-like! One eye blue on the outside but black on the inside. The other eye was black on the outside but blue on the inside. It also looked as if someone had sewn them into place on the top and bottom corners of his eyes.  Henrik's trademark mask was gone. His once soft smiling mouth was looked like a stitched doll-like mouth. Black strings with a strange weird like light or - static, maybe? - flowed across them, and was wrapped around Henrik's neck.

“H-Henrik?” Chase nervously asked not believing his eyes. ‘This is a nightmare! A nightmare!  C'mon Chase!  Wake up!  Just wake up now!!’

“ Ch̴̢̡as̴͠e̵͘͢? ̨J͢͜͏ack?́ ” Henrik now noticed them and gave them an uncharacteristically evil smile. “Ho̷w ni̴ce t͞o ̡s̸ee you.̴    J̧̀u͜͢s̴̨͜t̷̶ ̷͢͞in̵̵͢ ͝t͠i͏me̶ ͜͢f̷ơ͟r ҉̢͢y͘o͟u҉r̵ annua̴̢͟l̶͏ ̵͜҉ch͠eck̷̡͡ up!”  Henrik glitched uncontrollably as he approached Chase and Jack.

“Henrik?  Please?”  Chase begged, stepping back from his once beloved friend. “This  .   .   .  This isn't you!”

“ D̛̕ơ͟n̢’̵t̡͢ ̡͢͠b҉ę a̵̧̨fra͡i̸d Ch҉͠͠ase͘͢.͝ ̵͡ ̛į͘t͝ won'̸̢͞t ̵͘͠h͟u̕rt͝ ̕͝͠ . ̛͏̡ ̢̕ ̀. ́͜ ͏̸͢ ̨.͘͢͡ ̡ Mu̷ch .”

Henrik drawing a syringe, out of his coat pocket, lunged at Chase.  With years’ experience of trick shots and stunts on his side, Chase easily dodged out of the way.  Henrik then his full attention on their Creator, with a sadistic widening grin. Jack held the septic green vial in his hand, but he had no clue how they were going to introduce positivity to Henrik.  Upon seeing the syringe in Henrik's hand, that could be the way.  But how to subdue the Mad Doctor?

Henrik tackled Jack to the floor knocking the septic green vial out of Jack's hand. It completely shattered upon impacted.  Struggling against Henrik, Jack did his best to keep "the good doctor" from sticking him with whatever it was in that thing.  But Henrik in this state was proving to be a lot stronger than Jack realized.  Angling the syringe and about to plunge it into Jack.

Sam burst through the air at top speed.  Knocking the syringe out of Henrik’s hand. Shattering completely upon impact.  Jack bending his knees and getting his legs in front of him.  Shoved Henrik off him, making the doctor stumble and scramble to reach his medical cabinet.

“Henrik!” Chase shouted tackling Henrik to the ground pinning his arms to the side.

“ L̢͟emm̶̛e g̨o!  ͏L̸͠e̛mme͝ g̢͞͝o!͝  ̛I̷ hą̡v̴͟͞e̴ t́̕ơ ş͢a̵͟v̷̡͟e͠͡ ̵̧͝him!  S̷ave ͢J̷ack͠!̶  Sa̛ve̷ ̧Chase!”  Henrik struggled against Chase. “ I̸̧ ̡c̶̢a͘n̵̛’t̵̕ ̨́–̴͠ ̴͠I͠͞ c̷ań͜’͟҉҉t͘͢͞ ̛͡͠f͏̕͏ail̴̴ agą͘i͞n!͘҉́ ” Henrik’s eyes begin to tear.  Why are they doing this?  Can’t they see how much danger they are in?  He has to save them!

“Henrik!  It’s me!  It’s Chase!”  Chase pleaded.  His heartbreaking upon seeing his friend like this.  “You always have been there for me!  Even with the divorce! Always there for me when Stacy and I had our problems!  Now, let me be there for you!”

Something in what Chase said caught Henrik’s attention.  He momentarily stopped struggling and through his foggy haze.  He saw his friend and brother. “Ch-Chase?”

Jack grabbed Henrik's hand and put it to his heart.  Eyes glowing the septic green.  “Henrik!  This is Jack!  You need to wake up!  You need to come back to us!”

In Henrik’s mind, Jack could see Henrik in his lab. Strings tied to his neck and wrists, connected to faceless bodies leading to the Morgue.  All of them saying: Failure.  Murderer.  Monster.  Not good enough.  Not a real doctor. Useless. Pathetic.

“Henrik!” Jack’s eyes glowing brighter.  “Henrik.  You are a good doctor!  You've saved lives!  You have a family!  Chase needs you!” Henrik lifted his head and he heard what sounded like his Creator's voice. Then he saw images of several different patients thanking him for helping them. Families coming to him for help and support.  Chase coming to him and Henrik being there for him.  The strings began to break as the bodies slowly fade away. Henrik started to feel the warmth coming back to him.  Going towards where he heard his Creator Jack call to him.

But something had stopped him.  A strong yank on one of the strings of despair that remained. A voice echoed.  “Henrik?”  It asked softly, caring, alluring.  “Did you forget, Henrik?  Jack's dead.  You killed him.”

“Nein!  Nein!  Nein!  Es war nicht meine Schuld!” Henrik pleaded.

“Henrik!  You did save me!  You did save Chase!”  Jack nearly shouted.

The last string of despair finally snapped.

==========================================

Translation for German to English according to Google translate:

“Nein! Nein! Nein! Es war nicht meine Schuld!” “No! No! No! It wasn’t my fault”

Tagging:  @dolphintreasureart, @kisstheashesi, @septic-dr-schneep, @egopocalypse, @epicfangirl01, @i-am-parsec, @power-of-friends-games, @isa-ghost, @huffletrax, @shadowsinyoursoul, @thevampireauthoress, @a-humble-narcissus, @dezzydynamite, @kangaroo-roux,

[ledonggcui]

Poetry Suite A Quartet of Love and Death in the Cloud

Poetry Suite

 A Quartet of Love and Death in the Cloud

 1 Cloud

 Clouds is of solitude that clutters

Around the night of Whole Darkness

Something is revealed a scar in the Fog

Weeping thorns are ambitious

They are transmitted over in the Air

Yellow wailing of peasant women showers purple

On the earth…

Ripples of lights expand

 Solitude is not a lonely piece of Cloud in holes of smiles

Not in my pants

Facial expressions stopped our Love and Pains of Shadow

Often -----------

 It appears to be the sorrow of your Childhood

Flushed and floating over the Lake of Paradise

Bouts of laughs strokes the Body

Now they are gone with the Wind and Cloud

 Sinking underneath…

 Blue rolls over

Lightening strikes by

Sallow

 Physical draught blows towards

- @ eyes

- fair plaits shine through

- pale

you have become

 Beauty in the Castle of Vampires

 Ghosts trains carry the Emptiness into our Platform

That was the twightlights of a Morning

 Don is Goo

 Closer and closer together///

This is Now

Understanding experiences of the Spaces and

Physical magnetic fields of a snail’s pace

Urgent is our Homo Sapien’s certain qualities

Tragedies yell at the yellow killing Moon.

Urgent is the telepathic trio

Shouting and screaming and hollering

Towards the Mountains of Fountain and Pines

Our intimacy spun around an endless black holy

Hole…

Your high heels are blogged

The paradise is occasional

The Tables in the house of No. 8 … …

It meant ------- being disturbed up

Inside out

Inside on

In between…

 In the cherry Blossom

- there was your lust longing

- so

- we split

The birth of Darkness we shared the Same Emotion

Smile of bitterness are the Waves of blood and flesh

The bridges has splint and sprint

Good-bye! Chives have been chopped up

Both of you in triumph and the hands that stroke through

Hills and mountains in glory, which are

Darting up up up

 Resplendence

The morning light is not on the Fence

Though when evening approaches,

K is agitated

The fire is pure until now

Occasional coincidence no more in the Front

Frame is the portraiture in the Paint

Abstracted

 i stomp into the maze of an animal-licking disaster

that is the overall impression

in the dream, desire upsets the satisfaction of a finding that

means losing someone or something or somehow for good

madness has bid us farewells for a while

publishing is recording in the dark

our sight-seeings were simulated vision synchronize

even when we were young

when we ate and shit

 fear needs not attack us, amputate us and ambush us

that is why i am looking forward to the vacuum

limbo of no-time, non-space

there will be no tortures on the other side

though that is only an image of a maze

 i enter your oval and the navel in the morning

a cave that shelter from the shower

the tangible flesh burs-ted into flames

possession is not important here

love is not important here

memory is not important here

trains of abstract thoughts wield themselves onto our vision

that is still abstract in the dim lights

a vision that is a curve becomes the cave

conceives the poetic emotion in motion

harbouring our ambiguous

rendevouz

the morning was grey

 Moments of decaying firefly is over the other side of the

Ocean

At the aft a swift jump is a

Rendevouz means that Nothing’s non-action

Common news together with the Sea Wind blows over

Let’s be romantic! Years toils and peasants coils are buried in the Earth

Only the banal rodents screech occasionally ugly

In a perverse high, there was a longing for the Amour of Vertigo and Delusion

The artificial sun-light is saturated in the Sunset

Smearing the Floats

Then on this side of the Otherness…

Cloud rolls by

   a blind leads a blind: the end of the age of innocence

 approached...

orange haze...in the distance

groan is a daze

yet the dark cloud meshes the pleasure of words

mechanically

monotonously

it is a misread dead misconception

 conceivably, boredom wrinkles

they do not snore

when you listen to the void

glaringly, you are in a trance

are we together?

 matrix array

a maze

you and me are a craze

the significance of the well in the desert of h-division

is nowhere

you turn around and see

nobody

 is it dead out there?

sublime

patterned

underneath the moan of the moon

dots of tinkles sacrifice our pleasure of inferno

with the crater of volcano

your megalithic compound is

squared

  ritual of deities - shaving

 hair grows: the longer, the slower; the shorter, the faster

white noise comes again, a mushroom cloud

let's reason the reasons

when someone is lynched

 hands, thousands of hands shout: ' name Anita Buddha

mantra thinks

image stinks

as future comes as a hole not as a whore

 then slow motion is shot backwards

yes, man and woman have a history of shaving: right NOW

- regenerate and degenerate -

by a sex metaphor

we interpret the same texts

- those talking asses

 bomb catches up with our Brahman

some say woman is cloned from an egg

no, tomb is womb, they reckon

some try to clap their hands with one hand

no reasons, no

but the ritual of shaving in both sexes, the hair

 now is a hole with a whole

intentions segment to five portraits of communist revolution

- splintered shaving heads are somewhere

the talking asses, understand?

 don't you mind that you don't have a mind but hair?

   claustrophobia 2

 god's testicles were slashed and stashed away upstairs

we are packed like sardines into a night

train travels in vain: clicking and clanking to the black and red

utopia

no, a dystopia

three monkeys were conceived in a giant leap

industrial revolution turn us into pollution

people still rant about abortion and castration

 I saw your face and I bump into a grimace

kill that dog.  It will not bark

lock up those monkeys. They will not rebel

in this animal farm, I am dragged behind

the black psychic of a schooner of some queer beer

It make the nation opening up

god is alive

 abattoir

 having acted out to kill a MP

people start to believe a 'bad trip'

constitutional wisdom is equal to black

that is white and that is black

fallen angels are being tempted by underground

propaganda, that is:

100% beef topside mince $4.49 a kilo

chicken wings $4.99 a kilo

lamb legs $4.99 a kilo

BBQ thick sausage $1.99 a kilo

lean round steak $5.99 a kilo

tender bone steak $7.99 a kilo

corned silverside $5.99 a kilo

sirloin steak $5.99 a kilo

rump steak $5.99 a kilo

scotch fillet $9.99 a kilo

 - human intestines stir-fried with a bit of red wind -

I shouted

Intellectuals are flayed

Nine peasants are roasted

As my soul is cheap in Glebe morgue

 2 Wonky

 mattress filth lies a mannequin

wonky laugh is however a phone number

Cadillac turns the other way into heaven/hell;

shoes hanging loose with laces disturbingly fragmented

supermarket shaver kissing a pair of knickers

dream represses a loft; Scared

only too used to be scared the Ugly

mind the deviant Decadence, someone thought

no conflicts, no tragedy

absurd-um and residue of genome ...

1838 J. Hogg wed and shed his romantic crime

'ruse of reason'...

all youngsters suspected and yet looked up to

their god-father

backwards toward the Self

other side is pointed by the lay-out of point-out;

just a pair of Reebok

high-tech is now and nay

simulacrum presents the House of Disturbance and Dis-Esriture

system fails and shut down: still files are in the Network

oblivion + ignorance = wonky

 Square

 skeletons are arranged in a yellow rape seeds field

retch your souls out !

growth and embrace stand still in the centre of a square

subtle reactionaries rush towards/away the deinstitution

 mimic smiles are zipped up on the slits of a bald head

fuck you ! you fucking dentist

as well as the liberty of a tooth

it can not undo the knot of a square abattoir

as crimson creeps in

  Patchy rains drops onto your

Corny lips

She is being panicked

The Trains of Memo-ria has run in the Mountains of

Fragmented Recollections of Hers

Inferiority and suicidal lying-down over the rails for the Trains

It has ascended over some Skills of hers

She has no sensible and sensitive passions

Only beastly-like

Only too soft for being purry cat

The self-doubt on the Podium of Monument is pretty vacant

Between the Red Walls the black remembrance and shade

Uphold themselves

The madness of yours and mine twirls high over the Autumn Leaves

They seem to be decadent and listless

There are diagnostics and symmetry

But sighs of Eminence

The ring bells of the Waif Waist starts to tumble and tinkle…

   Poetic weirdness is stuck into the navel of a half crescent

Pollen blows wild

A cross

Blizzard! Stunned! By your paranoid

Numbed by your endless crimson tails

I am being tickled by your Fat bums

Flicking are you in the Flame

A 3-D picture switch to a 2-dimensional flat tron

Back and forth……

That’s it

The euphoria submerged into the dust storm of

Our desert.

Yet the whirlpool of those spirals regenerate our

Very Mirage

Disturbed is the sound that drills with our twenty-one grams of Hearts

Unbearably light and low………

   In the Dark of the Hearts

 wisteria melts its colour in the snow

avanlanch is not for the maniac

I squint from the dark

I see the rattling plastic bags in the caravan

I am not sure of the Together of your hippodrome

on the other side;

is just a war memorial

a view with

an Attitude

in a radical flight

Wings grow later after the delivery

still fledgling

as that is not a farewell because

we have not met yet.

 rainbow testifies itself in the valley

as night approaches

what we need is a dialogue

under the blue winter sky

BEFORE it get ugly

Just when the cloud draws a sketch of Innocence and Indolence

In the dark of the hearts

  Sick colours are manipulated off a Space

Whiteness stabs into a concept called Love

Violence twists the Flesh of a Child

It swallows the flagrance of the Breast Myth

Milk full-cream stalks our Flirts

 Screams are sick on the Hospital beds

Screech is a dagger

Darting

Through the Room unfettered

 The yellow fluids frightens the Horse tails

Copper’s baton.whistles.pistols

Kiss’s women mop up the Red dreams

 Chaos expands

Ambiguity sink in the sands

Repressing the Hell of flirting

Space

It tells…

    Smoked lives

Nothing new will happen

Some scattered thoughts of the No.! vision from the

Atlantis is 101

Navy man smothers the young kisses of Fear

Over herself,, monitored,, is

Money substitutes of Credits and Debts is

H/er story

A strings of histories attaches to the Kite with

Five wings of rings, which is the Olympia Uprising,

Something is left and someone is reigning

Bland is the streamline of convey belt

Bitter cave of naves

Are shone in a beam

    Speaks aloud spoken

- the endless wait…

with me sitting back of the Hill

protruding into the Blackness of a swan

Estuary ~

The down-trodden and mentally disturbed youth;

Ready for a Ride into the heaven of cells of hundreds of

Years confinement with the Megalithic

Monument in the Memoria of this Lonely Planets of a

Cluster’’’

Anchored for the Karma Tantra Mundra and Yantra

It is telling something somehow in Silence

Decline and reclines of Postures are those Demons’ Dances

 Spelt under the Sky we try to tell a

Story; psychic group are weary of the

Glances of those strangers

It is hard to guess –

All is too quick for a lonely gunman

   The grim cloud destroy the angst-driven alcoholic

Only temporary

Transitory is the soft light mix a Fix of noisy Uneasiness

The hue is an happy face

The saturation is a skirt

Is our future a Dream?

A girl opposite to the Chord is expecting

The prelude which is the Impulse

Suddenly the Bats glide in the Night of Phantom of

Imperfections

I woke up

In fright I saw an Embroidery Silk Shoe

Please do not frown

The guilt has turned into the Water Organic

 Ripples is expanding in Virtuality

In Memoria, your facet is in love with the Distance?

Of a Poetic Decease that is

Vomiting the Sorrow of Longevity

Vomiting the Yesteryear’s Shadow

Plus the menstrual blood and filth

It is not the refusal of Hate

The forms and shapes of cloud on the edge of the Sky and You

Has vapoured a red stain in the Idea

I saw you are stripped naked streaking among the Walker and Talkers

In the marble cold Square

- as Shadows of ghosts are stalking you

- since the Law is slightly different to the Morality

 Then the emotional clashes mutate into the Tumour in the Brains

    The lanterns burst in flames

Up to the starry sky;

Wasted, tasted…

The memories of us, now and then

It’s only 40.41.42 and 43 years

Smothered are your constant stares of Emptiness

Smirks and sleeps of a visionary Image of destitude Mist

Are gone with the Wind

It flies high

As we swam down the tide

As it was drizzling.

    The method of slow discovery

 I did not know why before…

The only bliss

Day in and day out…

Mistresses squeal on the Industrial Debris

The Medieval Myth somewhat has wrecked itself

Into a Rubble

Crumble and tumble so far

Night in and night out

People are gossiping the Bottom Line Murder and its Compulsion…

The Doom has its end

Currently ---

We are against the Waves of Raves of indifference

We are against the meaningless freeze of Existence

We are against ---

Life is but a course of action and no-action and non-action…

They again start to brag about the Ruse of Reason and the cause-and-effect

 Trains hisses and fizzes in the Metalicaland

The invisible melody is triste of Sorrow and Pieta

Standing is the Constructed Pile Driver Machine

In far and wide footling lands in the Nightmares of Drum beats of

Cacophony

Now, the Images of a dark night has set in

Cobalt moonlight chaser the Drizzles of

Universe and the Meditation of Tranquility

 I am longing for…

 But It is only a course of certain kind

A Trip of hearts’ journey!

    The shopping spree is stronger than the Digital Desire

People are shrieking

The pollen floats over the soil of Fences

They have a running nose

The spring’s storm is a telephone buzz vanishing in the

Voltage current of the Trams

They are vocalising

We don’t need anything

As the Cat is tasting the cans from the Supermarket

 The bones downstairs connects with my Hands

There is an Entrance Door of a scene of

Resurrection

That was not a reason

Indulgence is not a justifying season

 Breathing hard…

Puffs of some cuffs

 The finger-nails of Positive and Negative are reduced to

Absurdity

Only the dialectic pierce is tender

Dancing full moon is fictitious seven strings

The chord is wonderful

However, their Fear and Threats, still…

Then we are all posing a gesture of Danger

 Life is sweet who would wish to die?

It is the raindrops hitting the Iceberg of the Antarctica

Smile is doubt

Sometimes they need calamity

Of being Calm

Fearless flames unite our Tenderness

The realistic tradition is no infinity

The transaction monetary is not telling a Story

It is but a course

   The shrunk gum of Teeth shone the Sunny craze

In the telephone rings

Sturdy shade is short

In the Sky of Sorrow

Illustrating our Rings of Survivals

The moustache and goatees don’t intent to argue with

Emptiness and Blankness

We met in between the Paranoid’s Rant, Slap-across-the-Faces and photos

Languages stresses your Rouge’n’Noir

When my field of Hearts is being irrigated

 Fallacy is a Medusa shakily drifting around and around

Our regrets are the early experiences and courses of Production

 3 Rant

 Untitled

A free-verse rant like the freckled digits of yesteryear

 The vials of your jelly, across the deck of the insidious creases

Into the hearts of your ac/dc melody

The position is upset

Down the north by south-west, that is our feet direction

While we are wasted in our heads

In the sky !

The polar magnetics attract each other as if in the

Classroom of experimental in the School

Since the steam engine and electric theories were powered

Propelled and sailed Like the dark varrukers Anarchy

Without tanks, fishes and the bullets I bitten

A belt a pistol and the graveyard’s hierarchy

The skins and records

On the turn-tables spin over since the Summer of a four

Digits

Not because we are born for the Facts of Roots

Something is pretty dry

Something is moistened

Something is deep underground,

  Thick dark hair expose your Hands of Azalea Red

Butterflies flutter the Sweet Life

Only the Past of Mountains hook up the Soul

You said, my stares are a bit sore

Your perfume is smelt like a font of Phantom

Your belongings is smelt  here  and  Now

I said something

You said,,

 Withered sunflowers project over the Earth

Is the mad woman

In elongated limps mermaids by the Sea

Shells breathe

Is proportioned to the Flirt

Rifle points to the Vagina of the Girdle

That is a Desert Scenery

In vague.,

 Woke up in the sirens of ambulance and Lullabies

The chords complete are curvaceous

Re-constructed sounds creates another 17

Discordant notes actions of Thoughts are another Praise Song

Beauty is unified and pulled

Beauty is not important here

    This is the monologue of a clown

Olympic committee is holding a conference in Sydney

Utopia has a Gang of Five and its members

The extreme confession owns a Past

Today the weather is nice, very nice

The forecast does not predict that of tomorrow

The theory is grey; the pure is takes of some film shots

Please drink the running water after you wash your hands

It is difficult to find the Water in the desert

Although the running water is bleached,

We can release ourselves in the W.C. of the cinema

The discourse of the Power represent a few Buddha statues, bodisattvas and Dories

The operas have got its tune and beat; vacant and lonely

Criterion, critic plus the footnote and commentary are superb.

Colourful environment is beneficial to the Personal Hygiene

Times has changed and men and women are equal

Aunt Guo has just opened an Auto repair Shop

The technicians are busy working

I gave the Car to the boss to relax

Step forward a bit…

Many problems can not be solved straight away

Returning to the Grassland is not impossible

Equality is always centred ; central is -

Anyhow this is a simple fact.

  Until now we chatted

There is a polluted river

Talk is cheap

Words’ goal is one.

The beast in the cage tears apart the rod

For the sake of Love and Scold

Where is the Ideal and Passion?

Lets start to mention the Fear

The smashed guitar openly announces in full mouth

This is not an unreplaced melody

Her throat was slit with a steel wire.

Gimme pleasure

  Vanishing faces of red and green

The lies on the Side

Drifting away from the Shore

Of my floating mortal coil

Snoozes in the copulation of Flesh and Death

Being here and now

Redenvouz in the Other Space

I touched your lips

The facial is gone in the Morning

Endless…

Another is the trouble of another

It is just a mistake

Blinking melancholy of Lips

Kissing the stairway to the Vain Hope

My wishes are dirt cheap

   With you, in the Square

 Heat wobbles through your swathe of Memory

Groan,purring and growl smut the Dark

Edge that eats up the 69 poses

Waves no longer imitate the mechanic

Motions

There were no Love lotion in your

Dream

night in, night out...

day by day...

Ambient embraces

Shout us a fairy tale of Floss

The nymphs swim and slither over

my Ocean

 day in, night out...

We are together longing for the throbs of

No-space

Negation of a Non-space

Serpent's colours and shapes

Still

Mark and reveal the Images

Phenomenon, which are

Simple

Heat will be with us tonight

In your square

   A Phantom in the Creek

 Ye! The Phantom  is at the arm's length

In my Spright the elf of Anna coles

Haunts the Bits and Bytes of the I.T.

A superhighway of Desires

Indolence is the 18 years old with a Top Gun

Crashed and smashed into the buffalo

Over the rocks of the Solitude

 Yes! The Phantom is looming in the masquerade

With mercy, melancholy and magarain

A tongue licks fast on the Brim

The cloud of your forlorn eyes

Emotions of a 1967 erotica

Simply twists and turns

Only a U-turn recalls the Pieta, Vanitas and Las Vagas

 Yeah! The Phantom is away on the window of the Desert

Our sorrow casts a shadow of Grimace

Over the Psyche, in the name of the Death, Poesy

Nights vapours the flies that

Sneak into our smell

Indolence is a sad washing machine

  no no no

in the trenches of the gunshot wounds

remembrance is the domestic civil war

the parade of Woman's Red Brigade march into

the catwalks of Light Blue sore

such was the dialogue of Freedom Village

 mayhem it was

 Still reek of the disfigured and burned soldiers

Piled in the Square parade

Flag sings in  the Plastic Flowers of dolls

Still aligned to the Meridian of the Zodiac for sure

Time froze till

A romp with the spectators

Is too much of a goose

Gliding into your Oblivion

 Tragedy it was

 Backward glances+flashbacks+demigod status

approximately equals the Sorrow

Of the Nuclear Mushroom cloud flirting

Yes it is true that love can not be borrowed

 Armour it was !

 no no no

in the trenches of the gunshot wounds

remembrance is the domestic civil war

the parade of Woman's Red Brigade march into

the catwalks of Light Blue sore

such was the dialogue of Freedom Village

 mayhem it was

 Still reek of the disfigured and burned soldiers

Piled in the Square parade

Flag sings in  the Plastic Flowers of dolls

Still aligned to the Meridian of the Zodiac for sure

Time froze till

A romp with the spectators

Is too much of a goose

Gliding into your Oblivion

 Tragedy it was

 Backward glances+flashbacks+demigod status

approximately equals the Sorrow

Of the Nuclear Mushroom cloud flirting

Yes it is true that love can not be borrowed

 Armour it was !

  untitled 171108

 means of engaging with human rights status quo by willingly taking over the

good intentions of neo-liberal state

it has increasingly withdrawn the focus strictly on art's content

to fill the gaps left with reasons why a number of co-ordinated donations

and freedom cultural and its destruction of its collections of

a collective concern

human rights struggles long after its occurence, its maintenance

it has been a collaboration's goal

successes thus depends on a concentrated

respects for different intents

and psyche, immersive drones of two-pieces

themselves, their own benefits

and recordings

the project really took off

what has been documented here is only scrapings

applicable to Spanish Magic and other factors

either in abundance or sadly

it zeros in on the process

not something more Spanish magic

lo-fi duo win over the sinks to heil spirits

and the missing links

rock the horse in 2008

80's might not have stood a chance

only time will tell.

 to discover the tactics is to rediscover 465 of disused railway yards

of darling harbour and the sound of Sounds

unpoliced and unregulated in a way

the textures are shared

neoliberal going there

and traction of each in the glosses

 an incredible band and a lots of bands

  You say, I say

 to pixy

 mermaids swim against

the wind in the sky

along the ocean road of pains

ages of expectation lie by your side

 slithering was your scarlet impressed

writhe-ring flowers had me arrested

waiting is a mind game

my heart sadden timid and tame

 dance dance to the bass beats

our imaginations perform best feats

wicked are those sublime fairies

submarine seewees twist my beings hairy

 wisteria creeps up your heart of walls

wedges squeeze your very angle of falls

my love cream molten away

be a smooth operator, you say

be a smooth operator, I say

  YOU vibrate to the beats of a solo act

my kunadili is risen to the

swirls of an Union

twirls of the Ruptures

surrendering the surrendered

Gaze

 I can feel your Cosmic Dance

Returned to the loop of a Resonance

Rotated to the Total Embrace of Succulence

Yieldingly

Peach-flowers have been

In bloom

In the fields of

Grace

 In the steam there is a tune

A melody swishing in the mountains of Love

Pieta and Melancholy and

Your face

 YOU vibrate to the feats of our Imagination

In this mortal coil

An act without audience

In silence

Heart against heart

Heavy pounding and thudding provoke the Providence

Of a taste

 I can not yell that I LOVE YOU

Because you are so far away in the Gaze

I can not yell that I LOVE YOU dream-lover

Because you are so close in the Glaze

 So its resonated again over again in our Cosmic

Dance of a trance

 4 Seals

 Seals of our six’n’sevens are stamped onto our vulnerable skins

Love is evolving

All we need is evoling Love

Objective in a subjunctive mood

Installed is the Object Love that circulates around

Such are your poses, your stains and pains

The florescent tubes brighten and dim the horns of the

Colourful ghosts runs

Thus, the rashes of our Spectrum rant in the Concrete Boxes

Thus, the innuendo of our Love is rejected, refused and gagged

   Smouldering is our Love

…12,13,14,15…

Smoke is far away

It is destructive no more, you say

Come on

Groan and grunt were 12 years ago

Mystery was coming

Artery I felt and your veins I witnessed

 Smouldering was the Past in present tense

Future is now and

Our futuristic worries smother a Thought

Mother tongue was arbitrary

So a spirit translates itself in the Court of Poetic Justice

After all it wasn’t a crime being a Smooth Co-ordinator

   As we approached the Fed Square not Time Square nor the Red Square,

Fifteen degree

The funny fanny wedges away like the balloons of Orlando

So I looked back and saw a Wolf; Mum is talking again to me

Wicked laughs echoed in a Six_Dimensional Seascape

So I looked back over again

Nothing but a cat was teasing, purring and tantalizing the crowd

And the Rising Cobra

Music was mesmerising around us

They were pretty clicky

Then we tried hard to be nitty-gritty

The moon would not tell us all

Only the toad in the sugar-cane field illuminated

   albatoir

 having acted out to kill a mp

people start to believe a 'bad trip'

constitutional wisdom is equal to black

that is white and that is black

fallen angels are being tempted by underground

propaganda, that is:

100% beef topside mince $4.49 a kilo

chicken wings $4.99 a kilo

lamb legs $4.99 a kilo

BBQ thick sausage $1.99 a kilo

lean round steak $5.99 a kilo

tender bone steak $7.99 a kilo

corned silverside $5.99 a kilo

sirloin steak $5.99 a kilo

rump steak $5.99 a kilo

scotch fillet $9.99 a kilo

 - human intestines stir-fried with a bit of red wine -

I shouted

Intellectuals are flayed

Nine peasants are roasted

As my soul is cheap in Glebe morgue

  Since the trumpets and trombones were blown……

 Feeling are the wings clipped as the sea-gals glide across the Y river

We went up to the balcony of the lounge

Thursday Thursday nights were the darkness of silence

After the underground had the times changed in the wind

In the names of the tainted Love

Uneasiness jumps jams and jinxes at the intersection of

A path:

Our hearts of wails remorse and wrinkles of a hidden Angst

Pumped 70 times per minute

When you rode the pony

When you were young

When we showered off the aftermath of responsibilities well-beings

And crises

 It is called…

It is called…

In the vicinity of our Brittle Dreams which are scaffolding a

Framework of the futuristic noisy tantrum

It was called as

The wind, trumpets and trombones were blown…

  I screamed into the Void

and discovered the Real you

Reflected in the constant reminder of

a longing for the Future

 Your Uranus curve girdles our special dimension

In the Cyberspace without your portraiture of a

Past

Concrete is the music

Yet the trip is beyond our Galaxy

Resonance is the sound without feelings

In the mist of our evening twilight

Here comes the rain again.

Here comes the rain again !

 In the darkness of some aesthetic of Saxophone,

Surfaces of sensualities and shapes of Danger's

Freedom looms around

We will set free again

In the wildness of some kooky memories of Spoken words spoken,

Fog of uncertainties now and then...

Being affected has no reasons at all.

  In our slumbers there once was a story

Not to be told

Your yellow smileys are coming as a grimace of

The pace of walking into the Unknown

A ghostly spectrum of mists in the early evenings

Looming in the Distance

 Smile is your face of Flowers longing for the Radiance

Oh! Something is in the way

Our experimental stares are timid

 Sonnet-Elf

 The dark cloud dissolve some entities of elves

As I fainted over and over on the ground

Why don't we dance to the wild beats ourselves

Because last night I went up there but never found

Your moon-lit face was sunken in the tainted mirth

As I've been waiting for a tantalizing kiss

Yet what I am left is dull and plain piss

Maybe you know too well the ecstasy of pains of birth

As a sprinkle of morning dew will cleanse off painted filth

Since the congealed blood scarlet evokes to my lost mind

- Loneliness of longings and belongs within it dwells

With elf, nymph and pixy flying low

Advertising something special and spectacular for sell

Love's shadow of lust tilts from toe to toe

Ah! the purple haze shrouds your beguiling souls!

[agirlinjapan]

Red Data Girl: My Longest Day of School (Week 3)

Red Data Girl: My Longest Day of School By Noriko Ogiwara A Translation

Miss the last piece? Read it here!

Check out the RDG Translation twitter!

I’m graduating on Friday! Whoa! I’m going to have my Master’s and my teaching certification! I’m also going to be a year older because my birthday’s on Tuesday. :D

I wrote a bunch of notes on today’s RDG installation. They’re mostly picture references but check out the wiki on the Tensho Embassy if you have time. It’s pretty interesting!

Translation Notes:

Miyuu calls Izumiko a “soot sprite” (makkurokurosuke). These are the same soot sprites you can see in Miyazaki movies. :D

The text doesn’t go into detail on what the boys in class 1-C are wearing besides their hakama pants, straw sandals, and hats but I would guess they’re wearing simple kimono with them.

Class 1-A’s cafe has a Tensho Embassy theme. The Tensho Embassy was the first Japanese embassy sent to Europe. The embassy was made up of four young Japanese noblemen, two servants, their tutor, and a translator. They set off in 1582 and traveled around Europe (as well as India) until 1590 when they returned to Japan.

Castella is a type of sponge cake. It’s originally from Portugal but it’s very popular in Japan.

Just in case you needed a picture of a frill-necked lizard to help you imagine 1-A’s ruffled collars.

Red Data Girl: My Longest Day of School By Noriko Ogiwara Chapter 1: Groundwork Part 1 (3 of 3)

While Izumiko was looking at the shrine, someone suddenly began giggling forcefully behind her. When she turned around, she found Miyuu Hatano standing there.

“That’s strange. There’s a soot sprite here. The kuroko actually makes you stand out.”

Miyuu was dressed in a shin-length, light bamboo green kimono with an apron over it. Her sleeves were pulled back with a red cord and there were straw sandals on her feet. She wore a wig, its hair pulled up into a bun with a cloth wrapped around it.

Izumiko looked at her.

“Miyuu, you’re so cute!”

“I know, right?”

She spread her arms to proudly show off the sleeves and then laughed again.

“Our class was right not to aim too high and just choose peasant costumes. They’re easy to wear and move in.”

All the girls wore different colored kimono while the boys wore brown hakama pants and a traditional cloth hat on their head. While no one seemed used to wearing the straw sandals, they all moved around quickly with them on.

“You’re right. It was a good idea.”

“That’s because we’re going to sell the most today,” she warned proudly. “Did you know? Class 1-A’s theme is the Tensho Embassy. I hear they’re wearing ruffled collars. I hear some of them are dressed up like priests.”

“Ruffled collars?— Priests?”

Miyuu shrugged at Izumiko’s confused look.

“They’re doing a tea room. You can buy castella there. Castella’s a Portuguese word after all. It’s definitely still in the Warring States era theme but they found a tricky way make it European, don’t you think? Check out their clothes with their ruffled collars. The exchange students are a huge hit.”

Hearing Miyuu’s words, Izumiko could picture her history textbook in her head. There had been ruffled collars in a portrait of a 16th century royal family. They had looked like those frill-necked lizards from Australia.

“…Huh. We didn’t see that in the catalogue.”

“I think they got them on their own. One of the exchange student’s connections, probably. That’s practically against the rules,” Miyuu complained, forgetting their own class’s lack of historical research.

Izumiko nodded but inwardly she was surprised.

…Takayanagi put together a European theme? Priests?

She spotted Manatsu but at the same moment, Furuta called out to him from one of the stands.

“Hey, Manatsu! Get over here and help me! You said you wanted to try out the cotton candy machine, right?”

“I did! I did! Let me try!”

Manatsu glanced at Izumiko but then excitedly headed towards Furuta. Miyuu moved in that direction as well, happily saying, “You can work behind the counter for a bit too, Izumiko. Karin can’t come during the first hour so the cooking crew is stretched thin. We’d love you to help, just for a little.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Izumiko went around the back of the stand and washed her hands. A vinyl tablecloth had been spread over a few desks back there and the girls in the cooking group were chopping cabbage on it. It was cute to see all their sleeves tied back with cloth cords. They were all clearly working hard.

While Izumiko diligently opened bags of precooked noodles, she thought about what she had heard regarding 1-A’s tearoom. Ichijo Takayanagi’s behavior worried her more than she cared to admit.

Of course, the fact that he was the head of Class C’s rival food stand worried her too but that was out in the open here at the festival. There was also a serious battle progressing under the surface.  

Takayanagi was the hope of the current collective diviner community. Izumiko was one of the few students who was well aware of this. More than that though, she had created a problem for herself by refusing to join forces with him.

Takayanagi was well versed in using his own type of magic and he was trying to make it to the position of top student in the school. The only things standing in his way were Mayura and Manatsu Souda. His goal was to be chosen as the World Heritage Candidate. This was also Mayura’s goal.

Despite what Mayura had said, the top student in the school supposedly wasn’t decided by the standards of academic ability or sports. He or she was decided by some sort of aspect that made them stand out from the rest of the students at the academy. The top student could be chosen even when that student didn’t think they had anything to put them in the running. As a result, Mayura, Takayanagi, and the rest of their fellow magic users were all in a fight to see whether or not they could get the rest of the school to come to their side.

As a judge, how or when the school consensus came into choosing the top student was the decision of the acting shadow student president, Hodaka Murakami. His existence was so hidden that he was almost never seen on campus. Despite this, he seemed well informed of what was happening at the school through the help of the current student president, Honoka.

Takayanagi had declared to Izumiko that he would settle his dispute with Mayura at the school festival. And so today on campus along with his unknown allies, he would be using his barrier. Izumiko knew that the barrier had been calling the ghosts from the castle ruins. No one could ever say that the current situation wasn’t threatening.

I wonder if the European theme has some sort of meaning in all of this. Maybe it’s related to the barrier…

No matter how much Izumiko mulled this over, it wasn’t something she understood. Seeing as Mayura and Miyuki were both in Class 1-A as well, there was no reason why they shouldn’t have known about their class’s café theme in advance. If there was a problem, she was sure they would have done something about it.

However, even on his own, Takayanagi worried Izumiko. After all, she had angered him during their face to face meeting a few days ago. She had a feeling that he would retaliate at some point. From what people had said about the World Heritage Candidate, even Izumiko didn’t seem so far removed from the whole thing.

The goddess that possesses me has already become a part of World Heritage… That’s in the past for the goddess but it’s somewhere in my future…

It wasn’t clear if the goddess’s future was the same as Izumiko’s. Izumiko still couldn’t say that she fully understood the goddess’s words. All the same, she couldn’t shake the bad feeling deep in her chest.

“Izumiko! What did you do with your long hair?” Miyuu called out.

Lost in thought though, Izumiko didn’t respond.

A mischievous look appeared on Miyuu’s face and she quickly grabbed Izumiko’s black hood.

“Ha!”

“No!”

Flustered, Izumiko tried to keep the hood on her head but she was too late.

“Whoa! That’s great! Amazing, Izumiko! Your hair is awesome!” Miyuu exclaimed when she saw the other girl without her head covering. Her words seemed to echo throughout the classroom.

In an instant, all eyes were focused on Izumiko. She was horrified.

“I said no…”

The truth was that Izumiko had let Mayura play with her hair. The other girl had wound her braids into buns, using different colored hair ties to keep everything in place. The ties were bright shades of pink, green, and yellow. Mayura had persuaded her that this was fine as long as she didn’t take the hood off and seeing as Izumiko hadn’t had time to redo her hair, she had left it as it was.

“Give me back my hood.”

Her face turned red as she tried to reclaim her hood but Miyuu impishly jumped out of the way.

“You shouldn’t hide it! Hey, everyone! Isn’t Izumiko really cute today?”

As Miyuu addressed the area around her, everyone came closer.

“Ooh. You’re a China Girl!” That was Manatsu’s voice.

“You’re right!”

“You’re so cute, Izumiko!”

“Are you going to join a Shanghai acrobatics group?”

If there had been a hole available, Izumiko would have wanted to climb into it. She was extremely uncomfortable with the fact that she was attracting more and more gazes.

Now red all the way to her ears, she held her head with both hands and blurted out, “I know this is a weird hair style for the Warring States era so… It’s just so that I can wear the hood on my head… Don’t make so many comments about it…”

Sagawa, who was in the same work group as Izumiko, stepped forward and said in an unusually serious voice, “Your hair is fine. Everyone’s just excited because it looks so good. Class C’s theme is overthrowing the upper class so anything goes. Izumiko, will you stop working back here and come invite customers into the room with me?”

“What are you saying?”

Sagawa had to explain that the class was trying to support her and the outfit she was wearing. Seeing as it was almost time for the festival to begin though, she gave up her idea of getting Izumiko to hold a sign. Still, Miyuu was determined not to give Izumiko her hood back and she declared that she would stay firm to this decision until Izumiko left to patrol the festival.

After that, Izumiko became so busy that she forgot about her hair.

The announcement saying that the festival had begun traveled around the campus. Right from the beginning, students who weren’t on duty streamed into Class C’s room, almost as if they had been waiting to get in. Even though they had only put together a food stand, it seemed like they might win the popularity contest. The “winds of change cotton candy” was inundated with people immediately. The people there had to form a line and wait their turn.

Students, fascinated by the process of making the cotton candy, pressed around the machine with its cling wrapped inner workings. Thanks to the cotton candy’s popularity as well as the fact that it was time for an early lunch, the “coup d’état yakisoba” was seeing decent sales too.

For Izumiko, the time seemed to race by in the blink of an eye. When she looked at the clock, she saw that it was time for her to go on patrol. Because she was having such a good time at the successful food stand, it was hard to pull herself away.

“Izumiko, Furuda said this is payment for your hard work.”

Manatsu jogged over to Izumiko, who had been just about to pull the hood back onto her head, and handed her a small “winds of change cotton candy”.

“Oh, this is perfect. I wanted to taste it.”

As she took a mouthful of the sweet smelling, fluffy candy, the area around her mouth grew sticky and the spun sugar immediately dissolved on the top of her tongue. Her eyes grew wide in surprise and she quickly swallowed the bite.

“I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

“Haven’t you eaten cotton candy before today?”

“No. Today’s the first time I’ve had it,” Izumiko answered with a smile.

Manatsu gazed back at her in appreciation when he saw how genuinely happy she was.

“Izumiko… You seem very content.”

Izumiko heard voices coming from the direction of the crowd in front of the food stands. They were talking about her.

“Oh! Hey! It’s Izumiko Suzuhara!”

“She’s eating cotton candy.”

“Her hair! It’s so cute!”

Although the voices were behind her, it was obvious that the food stand patrons were staring at her. Izumiko realized how much she stood out in her kuroko outfit. What was more, she still hadn’t put the hood back on her head. Based on the schedule, she was already supposed to be on patrol.

Thinking about how much she was slacking, she moved to put the hood back on. However, she wouldn’t be able to eat the cotton candy with the hood’s veil over her face. It would be a shame to leave without finishing it. She was seized by indecision.

Manatsu laughed at the strange look on her face.

“It’s fine. Just bring it with you. There’s lots of people walking around while eating in the hallways.”

Izumiko had never had the experience of walking while eating before. She nodded her understanding and finally left the classroom.

Keep reading!

[skittidyne]

blood will have blood

pairing: kuroken rating: e chapter warnings: major spoilers for chapter 8, minor spoilers for act 2, smut, possessive behavior, improper use of magic, facefucking, minor choking/asphyxiation, aftercare gets a little tricky at first but they’re both fine at the end

side story: like blood magic

“Humans are so fragile,” Kenma says as he cups Tetsurou’s jaw. “I look at you every day and fear you could break.”

“It’ll take more than a little magic to break me.”

“I want to do far more to you than share a sliver of magic.”

Tetsurou is aware of the mounting tension between Kenma and Koutarou. He’s not stupid, nor blind, and in fact is quite the opposite of those. He’s been walking a razor’s edge the past few weeks as it is, playing nice with everyone and struggling not to have favorites. Daichi needs him not to alienate either witch. (Daichi also needs him in one piece.)

Still, no one’s perfect, and it’s only a matter of time before Tetsurou messed up.

He hadn’t even anticipated this one.

His afternoon had been spent helping both Daichi and Koutarou pack for their trip; it still stings that he’s been forbidden from accompanying his Prince, but with things as they are, no one can afford to piss off the King any further. Tetsurou and Asahi must remain behind and do their best to behave. No one knows how the King will act without the Prince around, or if he’ll make any move regarding Kenma. They must be wary, on guard, and sharp as hell.

Tetsurou, apparently, is none of these things when he meets with Kenma later that evening.

There is no scheduled meeting; Tetsurou simply wonders sometimes at Kenma’s eating habits and tries his best to bend them to something resembling in-line with humans. He’s still in his formal uniform from saying his goodbyes, and he’s bolstering his own mood through sheer willpower. He’s hoping seeing Kenma will help this further.

But Kenma takes one look at him, gifts of food and proper appearance and forced smile, and narrows his eyes. “Where have you been?”

“Saying goodbye to our Prince. I take it you’ve been avoiding the King?”

Tetsurou sets down the platter of semi-stolen tarts onto the desk Kenma is hunched over. He doesn’t notice, at first, the way Kenma recoils from him and the food both. He does, however, notice the way Kenma wrinkles his nose. It’s cute, like most of his expressions. Disarmingly cute. Tetsurou wonders how much of it is on purpose.

“You smell like him,” Kenma accuses. His voice is sharper than the sword at Tetsurou’s hip.

Tetsurou resists his first instinct—to sniff his own clothes—as well as his second—to wonder who the hell he’s even talking about. But who else does Kenma ever get prickly about in private? “Kou went with Daichi and his envoy. I said goodbye to them all, yes.”

Without warning, Kenma leans forward and smushes his face into Tetsurou’s collar. He starts, hands coming up to brace Kenma’s shoulders, but freezes moments before touching him. Kenma shifts, and his lips move against the strip of skin between Tetsurou’s collar and his jaw; he’s very aware of how close that puts Kenma’s teeth to his throat. “You smell like Koutarou. Strongly.”

“We hugged goodbye. That’s nothing new, Kenma, we’re friends.”

“You didn’t have to rub all over him like a cat in heat.”

“Like a—?! Kenma, it was a hug! I hugged Daichi, too, wished them all safe journeys. I won’t get to see any of them for weeks now, and we won’t have news of what happens until there are official announcements. I’m allowed to see them off for something this important,” Tetsurou exclaims, and finally grasps Kenma’s shoulders to pull him away.

Kenma doesn’t seem annoyed, not by the movement, but his eyes still blaze and his mouth twists into an ugly pout. “He’s gone, and you still smell like him. He did it on purpose.”

It’s better than this ire being directed at him, but Tetsurou is still exasperated by the possessive streak. He’s had years to get used to it from Koutarou; even then, it’s dispersed between Tetsurou and Daichi, and he’s never had an obvious rival before. For all of his petulance now, it’s a miracle Kenma’s acting kept up as long as it did.

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Tetsurou tells him, as evenly as he can.

“He did so,” Kenma replies at once.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“He thinks you’re his, just because he’s known you longer, but you’re not.” Tetsurou knows what Kenma will say next, but his breath still catches at the blunt, “You’re mine.”

Tetsurou wishes he could tell them he’s not a piece of meat for them to fight over like starved dogs. He doesn’t want the metaphor to inspire any more biting, that’s for sure, but he also isn’t certain just how far witches would take this. Tetsurou hadn’t known about Kenma when he’d first caught his eye, and he’s had time to relax into a friendship with Koutarou.

He’s never been dunked into something like he has been with Kenma. There’s no bracing for witches.

Hoping to placate him, Tetsurou leans down to place a kiss against Kenma’s forehead. Kenma’s frown relaxes, just a hair. “I brought you food, because I care for you, Kenma. Have you eaten today?”

Kenma dodges the question with none of his usual finesse, and instead tells him, “You don’t look good in white.”

Tetsurou laughs and picks up a tart. “I have some terrible news for you then, Kenma.”

“White is a poor color, anyway. It doesn’t hide stains,” Kenma says, and sighs, probably because he’s been forced to do all kinds of menial tasks in the palace in the past.

“Stop thinking of laundry, and here.” Tetsurou takes a bite of the apple tart, does his best not to leave crumbs all over his nice crisp uniform, and leans forward to offer his mouth to Kenma.

Kenma stares at him like he’s something that crawled out of a sewer.

Tetsurou pulls back with his own pout. He chews and swallows, then takes another bite, trying again. Kenma actually leans away from him this time. “You’re disgusting.”

“It’s not like I’m chewing it for you! Though that’s not that bad, either, if you need it.”

“Why would anyone need that?” Kenma asks, horrified.

Tetsurou awkwardly chuckles around his food. “I mean, if someone is sick or weak, you gotta take care of them. I had to do it for my little brother a couple times when we were young.”

“I’m not weak,” Kenma flatly replies, “or sick. I don’t appreciate it. I’d appreciate it more if you didn’t visit me to rub your closeness with Koutarou in my face.”

Tetsurou is going to smother him with one of these tarts, he swears. “Bringing and sharing food with one another is a sign of caring for someone,” he grits out, as evenly as he can. Kenma cocks his head, too steep, exactly like Koutarou does.

“I can get food whenever I want.”

He disappears for a moment, and Tetsurou sighs into the empty room. When Kenma reappears, he has a plate of what appears to be someone’s ingredients; it’s full of chopped vegetables and cubes of raw meat. Kenma shows it to him, not as an offer to share, but as an example.

“Go put that back, please,” Tetsurou sighs again. “Daichi gets huffy if you mess with the cooks.”

“The Prince isn’t here,” Kenma responds, but he takes the food back. When he returns, however, he has a celery stick in his mouth. He looks rather proud of himself. “See, ‘m eating,” he says around it.

Tetsurou leans down enough to bite off the proffered end of the celery with a grin. “And see, sharing food is a sign of caring.”

Kenma looks offended, then suspicious, then shoves the rest of the celery at Tetsurou.

Tetsurou laughs, and though it’s far from his favorite vegetable, he makes a show of eating it. This is the Kenma he likes, the one he wants to spend time with and get to know better. “Well, thank you, little witch. I knew you cared beneath all those layers of jealousy.”

“Rightfully jealous,” Kenma is quick to correct.

“Not truly.”

“You’ve fucked Koutarou,” Kenma points out, with a surly hunch to his shoulders and bitterness dripping from his voice. “And he still claims you as his.”

Tetsurou blinks down at him, off guard. It takes him perhaps a little too long to form a cohesive response to that. “Um… no, I haven’t, Kenma. Koutarou and I have never been intimate with each other.” Judging by the fact that Kenma had been unaware of that, Tetsurou wonders what else he’s unaware of with the current royal dynamics. He doesn’t think it’s his place to share this information, however, though he wants to inform Daichi.

Kenma stares up at him.

It’s rare to see him genuinely shocked, much less openly expressing any manner of emotion while fully facing someone. There’s something incredibly unguarded about this moment, and Tetsurou studies the brightness of Kenma’s eyes, the slight parting of his lips, and the round features softened further with surprise.

It is with a grip like iron that Kenma pulls him down to crush their lips together.

This manner of affection is still fresh with them, and Tetsurou still struggles with the power of the witch as well. He nearly unbalances, but Kenma catches him effortlessly and moves his mouth against Tetsurou’s, trying to coax him into reciprocation.

Not that Tetsurou needs much coaxing, but surprise dulls his reflexes.

The way Kenma kisses is a stark contrast to his docile appearance; he kisses like this is an assault on foreign territory and he’s determined to win the onslaught. Tetsurou is easily swept away by his pace. He hardly notices that Kenma is still tugging him down, past his level, down to his knees, so he’s kneeling before Kenma, seated on his chair.

He gasps against his mouth at the press of teeth. Kenma is not cruel—never cruel—but he is firm and maintains control of the kiss. He tastes only faintly of celery, but more of something deep and musky and spicy, something that makes Tetsurou’s tongue tingle. He wonders if this is what magic tastes of.

Heat already prickles against his skin and down his nerves. Kenma releases Tetsurou’s collar and rakes his fingers up through the thick hair on the back of Tetsurou’s head, then grabs a fistful. He angles Tetsurou’s head as he pleases, in order to better lick into his mouth.

Tetsurou’s fingertips are going numb, staticky and twitching, and his cock begins to stir in his pants. Kenma has hardly touched him. Kenma tilts Tetsurou’s head again, this time to trail wet kisses across his cheek and down his jaw. By the time he makes it to his neck, they’re more licks than kisses; Kenma laves his tongue against the thin, delicate skin of Tetsurou’s neck and he doesn’t even process the proximity of teeth toward his throat this time around.

“Will you be mine?” Kenma murmurs against him. His voice is deep and rough and it’s hardly a question proper.

Tetsurou flexes his fingers against Kenma’s shoulders. Addled as he is, he knows not to voice the traitorous thought of I could have been doing this with Koutarou for the past few years? His tongue feels thick in his mouth when he responds, “Yes, Kenma, yes, but…”

But what? Tetsurou can’t exactly pinpoint his hesitation here. The body is certainly willing. …Strangely so. He may look like he belongs in a brothel, but Tetsurou is usually not so easy to rile.

Kenma pulls back and Tetsurou gets lost in his eyes as he examines him. “Ah,” Kenma mumbles, and the haze over his mind leaves like a candle snuffed out. His skin still prickles, but now it’s like feeling coming back into deadened limbs, and Tetsurou squirms uncomfortably, panting. It’s suddenly far more difficult to breathe. “You’re fine, just breathe for me.”

“What was that?” Tetsurou asks between heaving breaths.

“Magic,” Kenma replies. It takes a long beat for Tetsurou to realize he’s not going to elaborate, and he groans. He pitches forward and Kenma does not catch him; he finds himself resting against Kenma’s lap, heart pounding and body still thrumming with leftover energy. It makes him restless, and restlessness has always made him needy. “You’re alright,” Kenma adds softly, and combs his fingers through Tetsurou’s hair, gently this time. “I’m… sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“Apologies are so rare from you,” Tetsurou chuckles. He twists enough so he can glance up out of the corner of his eye at Kenma, who leans over him, hair falling around them both like a dark curtain.

“Humans are so fragile,” Kenma says as he cups Tetsurou’s jaw. “I look at you every day and fear you could break.”

“It’ll take more than a little magic to break me.”

“I want to do far more to you than share a sliver of magic.”

Tetsurou finds it suddenly difficult to breathe again. Kenma rubs soothing circles against his scalp, tugging so lightly on his hair, and stares down at Tetsurou like he’s something infinitely precious, infinitely fascinating. Tetsurou swallows, and wonders how he can approach this. A mere kiss had nearly undone him, but he must stay on Kenma’s good side, both for Daichi’s sake and because his own heart yearns for these tiny, gentle moments between them.

And, he can’t deny that he’s drawn to this power.

“You like the idea of marking me with your magic, don’t you?” Tetsurou asks. His voice remains unusually breathy.

Kenma’s hand tightens in his hair. “Yes,” he replies, frank as ever. “Then you’ll smell like me.”

“Kou’s not even here, Kenma. No one will notice.” Well, there is the third witch, and Kenma’s eyes skate away from his as he undoubtedly has the same thought. Tetsurou cannot handle becoming a territory war between three witches, and he lets out a weak laugh. “Alright, mark me as your own, if it’ll make you happy.”

“It would make me very happy.” Kenma coaxes him upright again, movements soft and adoring, until he binds Tetsurou’s wrists behind him with a flick of his fingers. Tetsurou freezes, testing the magic reflexively, and Kenma stands, forcing Tetsurou back onto his heels. “I’m going to make you feel good, but you’re not used to magic, so I need you to trust me.”

Tetsurou isn’t certain he has a choice in the matter.

Kenma frowns, and for a brief, terror-filled moment, Tetsurou wonders if he could glean the thoughts from his mind. “This could be accomplished by sleeping together in my bed, too,” he offers. “…Multiple nights.”

“That’s a little too teasing, don’t you think?” Tetsurou asks with a pleading tilt of his head. “Alright, I have some reservations, but I’m not afraid of you, Kenma. I’m not afraid of witches and their strange magics. Not that afraid, at least.”

“Do you want to be?” Kenma asks quietly.

“Uh, no, I like liking my sex partners.”

“Most humans who seek out witches want thrills and fear. They want to be undone and left a trembling heap afterward.”

“Can we do that… without the fear bit?” Tetsurou asks hopefully. He tests the unseen binding, and yet again there’s no give to any of it. “I sought you out initially without knowing you were a witch. I just liked you as a person.”

Kenma blinks, uncharacteristically surprised again, though the moment passes swiftly. He brushes Tetsurou’s bangs back out of his face, and keeps his hand in his hair. “You’re so charming when you don’t mean to be,” Kenma says, and his cheeks are pink. A thrill shoots through him unrelated to the binding and the magic tingling against his skin.

“I’d love to be charming for you,” Tetsurou eagerly offers. He leans up, as much as he can, but Kenma pushes him back down with inhuman strength so he’s sitting on his heels again.

“Then close your eyes.” Kenma covers his eyes, though Tetsurou willingly obeys. The skin contact between them feels abnormally warm, and the staticky feeling from before is returning as well. He knows it’s not his legs falling asleep.

Heat drips down his spine and pools in his belly, and despite knowing he’s not moving, he feels the room sway around him. Kenma’s hand on his head is grounding, but vertigo kicks at him, and he leans into the touch further. Kenma combs through his hair, and Tetsurou keeps his eyes closed, though he can see spots of color dancing against his eyelids.

His pants are beginning to feel tight. Kenma still hasn’t touched him below the neck.

Without warning, Tetsurou’s head is yanked back by the hair and his gasp is swallowed up by Kenma’s hungry mouth. Their tongues clash and Kenma’s sharp teeth catch at his bottom lip. The pain does not ground him, as expected, but instead Tetsurou falls deeper into the sensation.

His eyes flutter open without meaning to. Kenma is staring at him, clear and calculating, even during the kiss. Tetsurou groans against him. He groans again, louder and edging into a whine, when Kenma sucks on his tongue; the feeling shoots straight to his cock and his pants are certainly too tight now.

He doesn’t have the words to ask for Kenma to touch him. Kenma pulls from his mouth, this time trailing nipping kisses along his jaw. Tetsurou is sweating in his uniform and he’s squirming against Kenma’s hand in his hair and the magic holding him.

Kenma pulls back and licks his lips. Tetsurou stares at him, at the swirling gold of his eyes, and pitches forward again. It is only the binding that keeps him upright.

A whine builds in his throat when Kenma releases him entirely. His breathing is rapid and shallow, but he doesn’t grow dizzy from it, or at least not any dizzier than the magic is already making him. The room rocks with the same motions Tetsurou struggles to follow with his hips. “Ken… Kenma,” he forces out through the haze.

“Shh, you’re being too loud,” Kenma says. His whisper caresses Tetsurou and he shudders again.

Kenma unbuttons and pulls off his shirt, and Tetsurou tracks the movement as well as he’s able. Kenma’s skin is flawless, unmarred by scars or blemishes or any lines due to age. Tetsurou wants to taste him again, taste any inch of him offered. Though it’s little surprise considering their positioning, and nothing Tetsurou is unused to, he is pleased and gratified when Kenma moves to pull down his breeches.

Tetsurou is still fully dressed—in full state uniform, no less—and Kenma makes no move to rectify this. Tetsurou doesn’t mind for the moment, aside from the confinement of his pants. He squirms again, but his full attention is on Kenma’s cock as it is bared to him.

He’s not fully hard yet, but he’s certainly not uninterested, and Tetsurou obediently opens his mouth when Kenma steps closer. Kenma’s lips quirks into a little half-smile, and that seems to be a reward unto itself; pleasure once again shoots through Tetsurou, unbidden, and he cannot bite back his moan with his mouth hanging open.

He doesn’t even understand how this is happening. Kenma isn’t even touching him, but his body throbs, and his cock twitches and strains against the fabric restraining him. He fears he’ll see a growing wet spot if he were to look downward.

Tetsurou groans again when Kenma rakes his hand back through his hair once more. He’s exceedingly gentle when he guides Tetsurou’s mouth to his cock, but his touch is like fire regardless.

Tetsurou laps at him, just to be coy, but he’s surprised at the bolt of arousal that strikes him. It’s not mimicking the sensation of a tongue against him, or truly any sensation at all, but instead it’s simply pleasure in its rawest form. Tetsurou squirms again against Kenma’s magic. His body is unsure if it wants this kind of stimulation, yet his mind sinks deeper into a haze of yes.

Tetsurou’s breath puffs out hot against Kenma’s cock, but the witch doesn’t display any impatience, nor voice any further concern or reassurance. His fingers rub against Tetsurou’s scalp and it drips further static down the back of his neck.

When he takes Kenma back into his mouth, he’s better prepared this time.

Yet when Tetsurou looks up at Kenma with fluttering lashes and a need for approval singing through his veins, he finds Kenma smiling down at him, and his heart is certainly not prepared for that.

Tetsurou squeezes his eyes shut and ignores the slick feeling in his pants; instead, he concentrates on the weight of Kenma on his tongue. He is hot and growing harder in his mouth. Tetsurou bobs his head a few times, pulling suction along his length, and he earns his first sound. A soft, nearly mute sigh drips from Kenma’s lips and Tetsurou’s insides quiver with the noise.

This is going to be a lot. Static and fuzz tingle along his skin, and he rocks his hips up into nothing, straining against his clothing and wishing for friction past that. Kenma’s hand tightens in his hair—a signal, to warn him that Kenma will be taking back control of the pace, and Tetsurou blearily opens his eyes again.

He pulls off, the head of Kenma’s cock resting against his bottom lip, but he has no words for him. Tetsurou swallows, and Kenma continues staring down at him with a heartrendingly tender expression.

It’s a stark contrast to the way Kenma’s hands fist hard in his hair and he shoves his cock down Tetsurou’s throat. Tetsurou’s gasp is cut off, and he swallows again, this time just trying to work around the suddenness of the movement. Kenma does not give him time to adjust, but thrusts in and out of his mouth with a brutal pace. It takes him less time to get used to keeping his jaw relaxed and throat open than it does to figure out how to time his gasping breaths.

Kenma does not taste like any man Tetsurou has ever done this for, but instead of something strikingly clean and decidedly magic. His tongue and throat burn like he’s gulped down too much alcohol. The heat spreads through him with each thrust, and it only gradually pools deep in his belly, making his entire body thrum with unspent energy. He pulls against his bindings again, and the lack of movement makes some other kind of thrill shoot through him.

“Ohh,” Kenma pants, not quite a groan but more than a sigh, “you’re so good, Tetsurou.”

Tetsurou moans, loud and long and muffled by the cock stuffed in his mouth; there is no magic in his words, not like he can feel with everything else Kenma does, but they affect him almost as strongly.

Kenma’s golden eyes glitter and he continues talking. “You look so good, on your knees for me like this. I rarely find humans as attractive as you, but you’re a special gift.” This time, Tetsurou feels the magic, and he screws his eyes shut and nearly shouts against Kenma.

The witch takes the opportunity to shove himself deep in Tetsurou’s throat and hold himself there. Eyes prickling, body demanding friction and even release without it, Tetsurou swallows frantically around him. His nose is pressed against Kenma’s coarse, dark hair, forehead against his belly, Kenma’s hands still fisted so tight in his hair.

When Kenma pulls Tetsurou off his cock, Tetsurou takes deep, gasping breaths that sound more like sobs than anything else. His eyes feel traitorously wet. Kenma rightfully does not pity him for it, but gives him a mere moment to breathe before he pushes Tetsurou back down.

“You’re doing so well,” Kenma says, voice completely even, almost unaffected. Tetsurou finds that nearly as arousing as his words, and vows to examine that later, after his mind is less hazy with pleasure. He does not hold Tetsurou’s head down this time, but keeps him moving at a steadily quicker pace.

Every one of Tetsurou’s nerves feel like they’re on fire, and his clothing sticks to himself with sweat. He feels confined, by more than just unseen restraints. His body climbs toward its peak, with no stimulation of his own, only this feedback loop of what he’s doing for Kenma.

Tetsurou could get addicted to this.

His thighs burn both from the wild effects of the magic as well as from his straining against it. His own arousal throbs along with the hammering of his heart in his ribs.

Kenma releases his hair without warning, and Tetsurou makes a strangled sound deep in his chest, though Kenma’s hands never leave him. He cups his face, not gently, but with firm fingers hooked around his jaws and ears to move him. Tetsurou cracks open one eye, vision hazy with tears and too many sensations, and Kenma brushes away some of the moisture with a thumb.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Kenma tells him with little inflection. The coil within Tetsurou’s belly tightens, hot and needing. Needing just a little more—or anything at all, really, anything Kenma would give him— “You’re beautiful, and you’re mine, Tetsurou.”

Kenma forces him all the way down on his length, and Tetsurou comes in his pants with a muffled sound. He can’t breathe, not with Kenma occupying all of his mouth and throat, and he swallows frantically in a vain bid for air. Tetsurou bucks against his bonds, groans and cries against Kenma, cherishes the stars and spots in his vision.

Kenma pulls him off and the air back in his lungs nearly seems to prolong the orgasm. Tetsurou shudders and this time, his low, hoarse moan isn’t muffled. Kenma holds him upright and doesn’t appear to notice how wrecked he is.

Kenma keeps Tetsurou still with one hand cupped on the back of his head; his other jacks himself, and in moments, he’s coming in white streaks over Tetsurou’s face and open mouth. Only belatedly, sluggishly, does Tetsurou try to catch any in his mouth just to save himself the mess.

He blinks, slowly, and finds Kenma kneeling in front of him. Tetsurou’s arms dangle at his sides, freed, but indescribably heavy.

Tetsurou catches his breath, and Kenma studies him with those sharp, inhuman eyes. Tetsurou is afraid of breaking this fragile moment, and he doesn’t trust himself to have the presence of mind to not say something foolish. His body still trembles from the stubborn dredges of his orgasm.

Kenma reaches out, uncharacteristically tentative, but Tetsurou meets him halfway by tipping his head forward. Kenma’s finger swipes through the mess on Tetsurou’s cheek, but soon, he’s smearing it all over the pads of his fingers and thumb, with something like wonder sparking in his eyes.

“Happy now?” Tetsurou asks and Kenma draws away at once, expression shuttering. “No, I meant—you, uh, was that alright? F-For you?”

“Why are you trying to reassure me?” Kenma asks accusingly.

“I, uh. I don’t know.” Tetsurou shivers again and manages to force his arms into movement. He reaches out for Kenma, and he’s unexpectedly gratified by the fact that Kenma does not shy from him. Kenma comes into his open arms, and Tetsurou wraps himself around him, seeking out the skinship and warmth.

Not that much skin contact, however, and he shudders again in a decidedly less pleasant way at the feeling of his pants sticking to him.

“You smell like me now,” Kenma says against the crook of his neck. He sounds horribly smug.

“Congratulations, little witch.”

“I don’t know how to progress from here,” he admits, voice still a little muffled (and less smug now), “since most humans don’t like to touch me afterward. But you seem very content to hold me, and I don’t know if that’s the aftereffects of magical influence or—”

“Yes,” Tetsurou interrupts, huffing a laugh against Kenma’s dark hair, “I want to hold you. It would be better if we were in a bed, but—”

With a sudden rush of vertigo (far less pleasant than before), Tetsurou finds himself not in the little study Kenma had holed himself up in, but a small, musty room with a bed and a high window. He startles, both from the jarring location change, and the surprise that he’s actually seeing Kenma’s chambers.

It takes some awkward jostling, but Kenma manages to pick Tetsurou up and deposit him gently on the bed.

Kenma stares down at him, expectant.

“I’m still a mess.”

“I told you white was bad,” Kenma murmurs, but he’s smug again.

Tetsurou wonders how much of this had been premeditated.

He sighs, chalks it up as another defeat at the hands of a witch, and makes to wipe his face off with his shirt. Kenma stops him with an iron grip on his wrist, however. “Let me,” he says, and Tetsurou gladly lets him, anticipating a quick cleanup, or maybe more magic, or at the very least, Kenma’s hands back on his body.

He gets none of this.

Instead, Kenma, straddling his thighs as they lay on the bed, leans down and licks up a smear of seed from Tetsurou’s cheek. Kenma calmly drags his tongue over Tetsurou’s skin, but he’s not like a cat cleaning itself; it’s very clear he’s savoring this. He licks across one side of Tetsurou’s face, down to his jaw, and laps at the sweat on his neck as well.

Tetsurou cannot help the interest his body suddenly has in this action. “Ah, Kenma…?” He isn’t certain what he’s asking, other than he’s never had a liaison with someone that ended with more licking. He isn’t certain how to progress, either.

“You smell like me,” Kenma repeats.

“Yes, I gathered that. You like yourself that much?”

“I like you that much,” he petulantly replies, and Tetsurou’s face goes hot. He half-wishes he could hide from the man atop him. “Why are you becoming shy now? You’ve had more embarrassing things to say yourself, you know.”

“It’s different if I say it!” And that’s not to say he doesn’t get embarrassed by himself, either.

“Not really.”

“Is too.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Kenma bites down on his neck to halt the argument, and Tetsurou jerks beneath him. He laves his tongue after the sore spot—Tetsurou felt how sharp those teeth are, he worries about broken skin—and carefully shifts Tetsurou’s head around in order to lick up the mess on the other side of his face.

“How are you feeling?” Kenma casually asks as he works.

“Tired, I suppose. My throat is a bit sore. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Maybe if you stopped focusing on the little part and focused more on the witch part…”

“Yes, yes,” Tetsurou sighs, indulgent, “you’re strong and powerful and possessive and I’m yours. I understand how you work now, little witch.”

Kenma, shockingly, does not bite him nor verbally lash back out at him in retaliation. His head is ducked out of Tetsurou’s sight, but with a bit of wiggling and prodding, he manages to get Kenma to raise his head, if not make eye contact.

His cheeks are rosy. Tetsurou’s heart thuds in his chest.

“You’re too much,” they tell each other, at the same time. Tetsurou bursts out laughing whereas Kenma appears quietly horrified. Tetsurou continues, breathless and raspy, “You are hopelessly endearing, do you know that? And endlessly fun to torment.”

“Am not,” Kenma pouts.

Tetsurou opens his mouth to retort, but Kenma is quick to cover it with his hand, and then, his own mouth. The kiss is purposefully chaste, borderline sweet, and Tetsurou hums and lets Kenma win this. He appreciates the gesture.

“You taste like me, too,” Kenma murmurs against his lips, and nevermind, not chaste despite the lack of tongue or movement against each other. “This is definitely something we’ll need to maintain.”

Heat spreads from Tetsurou’s face down his neck, and he worries about it trailing further south still. “Or,” he suggests, half curious and half desperate, “what if you smell like me?”

Kenma stills against him. He blinks those large, captivating eyes, slowly, like a thoughtful cat. “…And who would even notice?”

“You,” Tetsurou replies. Kenma now squints at him, lips pursed in a pout again. “And Kou, and any other witches who decide to appear in our lives. Not that we need any more, but—this goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

Kenma doesn’t respond for a long time, long enough that Tetsurou begins to fear overstepping his bounds.

But once again, Kenma prevents him from speaking when he opens his mouth, this time with a gentle hand instead of another kiss. “Yes, it does, so don’t fret yourself into some tizzy. I’ve never had any human who dared propose something when they knew what I am, so it was just… surprising.”

“I didn’t offend your delicate sensibilities, did I?”

The way Kenma nips at his chin is decidedly not delicate. Tetsurou rears back, tilting his head out of range, but Kenma just goes for his bared throat. After a warning press of teeth, he’s back to nosing at him with small brushes of lips and softer nuzzles. “Aren’t you afraid of me? You’re in a very fragile position right now,” Kenma points out.

“I’m afraid of offending you, as I’m afraid of offending the King, or getting thrown out a tower window. I’m afraid of a lot of things, some of them directly or indirectly involving you,” Tetsurou frankly replies. Though it’s subtle, he feels Kenma tense against him. “But I’m not going to hold my tongue because of it. How would I face my fears otherwise? I like you, and I want to learn to trust you. I hope you can do the same for me.”

Tetsurou cannot see his face, but Kenma is very still against him, and he has the suspicion that he is a charming shade of scarlet yet again. For as unflappable as he normally appears, it seems that once one knew how to approach certain topics, Kenma is actually very easy to fluster. But, from the sound of it, he hasn’t had much experience with this sort of relationship or banter, so Tetsurou will greatly enjoy pressing his advantage while he has it.

“I suppose I could smell like you too,” Kenma finally mumbles, “and I suppose I like you, too. Your company is enjoyable, and I want more of it.”

“Just think of how Kou will react,” Tetsurou says again, and Kenma peers up at him with eagerness bright in his eyes. Tetsurou smiles down at him, then leans down, awkwardly, to place a quick kiss against the tip of his nose. Kenma sulks, and squirms downward until he’s out of range. “You know you want to win against him.” Even if he doesn’t understand how this is winning.

“I do,” Kenma cautiously replies.

“Then it’s settled. May I now please get out of these clothes you’ve ruined for me?”

Kenma starts, apparently having forgotten (because it’s not his pants sticking so very uncomfortably to him), and at least he has the decency within him to help Tetsurou strip. When they both lay back down upon the bed, it’s side by side, facing each other, and they’re both nude.

Neither move to sleep or nap or even rest; they stare at one another, Tetsurou with his cheek propped on one hand, Kenma with his big, unblinking eyes. Tetsurou finds himself getting lost in them when Kenma speaks up. “For dinner tonight, can I feed you?”

“Uh,” Tetsurou replies, eloquent as always.

“You said sharing food is a sign of affection. I want to be able to be seen in public with you, and keeping up appearances means picking up human mannerisms. You’ll teach me.”

Tetsurou doesn’t point out that Kenma hadn’t asked, but (fondly) rolls his eyes anyway. “You know how to eat, Kenma. You won’t ruin your cover with a dinner with us once in awhile.”

“With you,” Kenma corrects, sourly, and purposefully shoves his legs in with Tetsurou’s to tangle them. There is no blanket on this bed, but for the moment, Tetsurou doesn’t feel cold. He feels more comfortable with Kenma sharing his heat, however.

“I eat with Daichi, and Asahi,” Tetsurou says.

“I want private dinners with you.”

“A guard and an advisor would raise eyebrows.”

“Nothing others don’t already suspect,” Kenma flatly replies, and Tetsurou concedes the point to him. “I’m trying to show you affection, so just let me already. I’ll do what you like—stop being stubborn about it.”

“I’m the stubborn one?” laughs Tetsurou. Kenma frowns. “Alright, alright, we can steal away sometimes to spend time together that doesn’t involve you ruining my uniform. Does that make you happy?”

Kenma squints up at him, and asks, “Would that make you happy?”

Tetsurou knows they’ll just go in circles at this rate. So he pulls Kenma against him, relishing in the warmth, and kisses the crown of his head. “Yes, that would, little witch. Very happy.”

[xdepthsofwinterx]

Through the Looking Glass: Act 2 [w/t TaedisLavellan] Complete

After finding a very confused elf and his broken eluvian, Dhana travels with him to some form of civilisation. She only hopes his mind can last that long. Part of a series.

Grit crunches beneath her boots, her gait causing the mud to ooze with each step. From a warm, pleasant afternoon to an evening of naught but rain. The blackette tugged at her hood, willing away the sloppy sensation of damp socks. She’d need to get her soles check in the next town.

And on that subject…

Karth crowed overhead, ducking down from the tree-line and circling. She frowned, grateful for his diligence, but not thrilled by his news.

They were lost.

Hours of traipsing through dry rocky plains, framed by untamed bracken and gnarled woodland. She relied on the crow implicitly when it came to travelling through unknown regions. But since acquiring their elven guest her emotions had been causing the avian nothing but troubles.

“Can you not contain your curiosity, even for an hour? Broadcast any louder, and he might just hear you.” Dhana sent the bird a half-hearted glare. He was completely right of course, but she couldn’t help it. Couple the elf’s appearance with the eerie mirror fragment stored within her pack….she was a whirlwind of questions.

She came to halt at the crest of the hill, glancing back at the traipsing form behind her. He looked exhausted – not from the walking, that much was clear. The elf moved as if he were part of the wilderness - practised ease that wasn’t just hereditary elven grace.

No, he looked emotionally shattered.

Karth eased himself onto her shoulder, wings batting her cheek as he settled. Dhana tilted her head as to look at him, trying her best to look conspicuous. The last time she’d done this in front of their newest companion he’d looked at her as if she were mad.

“We need to find the trade route. You last placed us near Lake Esmel? Surely it would be visible by now. Yet we’ve seen nothing but dust.” Her familiar pecked at her ear, earning a yelp. So much for subtly. Dhana rose her hands in placation, “I wasn’t blaming you. It’s just bizarre. Did you seen anyone out there?”

“I was more focused upon finding civilisation. So, no. Would you like me to return when I have found a more suitable scout?” The mage sighed, reaching out and stroking the crow’s head. He was insulted, but his sulking wouldn’t last long. After all, sharing a link with someone like herself was nothing but petty squabbling.

“Thank you, Karth. I’ll buy you all you can eat next time we’re in town. Hell, I’ll even help you find a pretty crow friend if you’d like?”

With a disgruntled caw, Karth pushed off. He swept up her hair a bit in lift off, and she swore it was done deliberately.

“Safe travels my friend.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving the mage to stand silently. She heard the elf arriving at last, and offered him a wry grin.

“Looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”

There had been a woman come to the Inquisition one day; pale of hair and sharp of tongue. A climber, Josephine had warned him. Vivienne had simply said she was a woman of the court, whose every word and movement would be a lie.

Only Lelianna had talked to her, staking a claim of bonds formed in Kirkwall. The girl had then been turned away before Taedis had had time to speak with her, but not before he had seen her just as she was about to leave.

A liar she had been called, but as Taedis came across her in the stables he could see the truth. The woman stroked the horse’s muzzle, while leaning her forehead against the mount’s. Her lips moved with soft words, even his elven ears couldn’t pick up, and the horse nickered back.

The woman and horse had a bond few humans managed to form. He could see the woman take comfort and strength from the horse and the horse willingly giving any comfort it could provide.

The woman had long since gone from Skyhold but as Taedis trudged onwards, he couldn’t help but be reminded of her. Pale hair was now black, but the bond remained, this time with a crow.

Again Taedis couldn’t pick up on any words, but he still felt as though a conversation was being had between the woman he now followed and the bird.

He shook his head. It was just one of many strange happenings that had occurred since falling through the mirror.

“Safe travels my friend.”  

Taedis took the last few steps to come stand at the woman’s side, watching as the crow took wing and soon disappeared into the low lying clouds.

“Looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”

At the woman’s word, Taedis brought his gaze down from the sky and peered around at the landscape. It hadn’t changed  much since they had left the temple, barren rocks with sparse woodlands.

“Well.” He returned Dhana’s grin. “It’s not the best place I’ve set up camp, but it’s not the worst either.”

It was good to see his face light up, even a little. The elf had been so quiet, so solemn, a wraith in her periphery. If not for the odd crunch of stone beneath his boot, Dhana would have thought she travelled solo.

“Least it’s got a view.” A leather clad arm swept across the dusty plains, the mage’s melodrama evident, “Well…somewhat.”

The blackette wasted little time lowering her pack beneath the only withering tree. Snarled roots dove in and out of desiccated earth, parched and starved. She kicked one of these in thought, mentally checking off her camping supplies.

She had a makeshift tarp, desperately patchy, but it would keep the sun and rain (should a cloud ever find this place) off their backs. Wood could be a challenge, but as dark eyes lifted to their aged sentinel, it seemed they were in luck. Nothing her magic couldn’t handle.

Now, that only left one thing.

“I hope you can cook.” Dhana was removing her robe, rolling it carelessly between her arms before chucking it atop her pack. She gave the elf a lopsided grin, “Otherwise we’ll have to make do with my chargrill expertise.”

A chuckle escaped her.

“Heh, a true test of your survival skills that one.”

Taedis chuckled at the blackette’s antics, a feeling of light-heartedness that soon drained away from him as he watch Dhana’s next movements.

The mage swung her pack from her shoulder with a quick shrug and quickly began taking stock of her equipment and possessions. The movements were swift and practiced, repeated over and over again most likely. Taedis shuffled his feet, edging an inch closer, not wanting to feel quite so useless but unsure that he was actually needed. The woman had obviously needed no help and with the suddenness of his arrival, he had no equipment of his own to see to.

Dhana’s next words stilled Taedis however and he dropped his hand from the crystal that he had involuntarily reached for. The grin returned to his face and he allowed every lesson the Lady Josephine had ever given him enter his stance. Setting shoulders back and lifting his chin he maintained his grin before bowing low to Dhana while his arms spread out wide.

It was a move he had seen countless times from Dorian, He was sure he didn’t have quite so much confidence or charm that the Mage had been able to put into it, but he hoped he achieved something like it. Something told him his new friend would appreciate it.

“My dear Lady,” he said while straightening his posture. “I will of course provide the most scrumptious meal for my timely rescuer.”  Moving forward, he went to sit opposite Dhana and ducked his head. “Leave everything to me.”

So this pretty fellow was capable of mischief after all. The underlying awkwardness that had hung between them dissipated, Dhana’s gravelly laughter echoing across the plains. It ended with a snort, the mage shaking her head.

“Ah, you’re full of surprises, are you?”

Calloused fingers stretched out and pulled a worn satchel from her pack. The luggage creaked as she tugged, but relented and she passed the elf what little ingredients she had.

“I am no hunter, so don’t expect much.” Getting to her feet, Dhana began sizing up the tree. Several branches looked worse for wear. “Last I check there was still some dried vegetables, bit of game…should be a small jar of salt somewhere too.”

Reaching for her staff, the blackette gave it a experimental spin. It took a moment to centre herself, the magic within her veins lethargic from hours of walking. Fingers tapped rhythmically against wood and steel, the weapon’s maced head glowing with a fierce light.

Inhaling sharply, she brought the staff down upon the weakened junction. A hiss of enchantment, a groan of wood, and before the third stroke fell the branch gave way.

Blowing hair from her vision, the mage moved onto the next tree limb. Grumbling at its thickness, she raised her staff again.

“What I would give for an axe.”

Cooking had always been something Taedis had enjoyed. Watching the mage move forward, staff spinning expertly in hand, a fond smile appeared on his face at the first display of magic brought a branch shuddering to the ground. It was an easy familiarity that had him feeling somewhat content in this new situation. With a small huff of breath, Taedis knelt besides the bag, Dhana had left for him.

“Well this isn’t so bad,” he said mostly of himself, as he took stock of the ingredients available. Dhana had been almost completely accurate, not surprising given what he had observed of her over their short acquaintance. Even the small jar of salt she had mentioned, Taedis had found, almost hidden within the folds in the leather satchel.

Soon Taedis had all that he needed collected on a small piece of sanded and polished wood, and the rest of the food packed away. By that time, Dhana had a small fire going, flames crackling merrily and sparks dancing up into the darkening sky.

He was silent as he boiled water, chopped veg and diced the tough meat, but as the stew bubbled happily over the fire, relaxation and lethargy settled over his limbs and his thoughts, as they usually did, turned to Dorian.

He remembered nights spent under the stars, Old Reily snorting and nickering to Dorian’s steed. He remembered nights lying next to the man, a cool breeze stirring their hair and their thighs touching just slightly, a whisper of contact that had made him feel safe. He remembered him talking, a soft murmur of Dorian’s voice, whispering him secrets and weaving stories into the night that he fell asleep to.

I don’t regret these memories, he suddenly thought. There was no pang of sadness that had become so familiar over the last year. Instead only contentment spread as he reached over to give the stew a last stir.

“Do you have any magic you could show me?” he asked Dhana, peering over to her through the haze of steam rising from stew. He gave the mage a slow smile, and if through the mist, he imagined the dark hair shorter, the skin darker, well she didn’t have to know that.

She was sweating by the time she was finished, brow slick and torso uncomfortably sticky. Once satisfied with her woody haul, she dragged the collection into the centre of camp. Haphazardly she stacked the branches one atop the other, before kneeling down. Exhaling slowly, the blackette closed her eyes and centred herself.

Like a comforting hand upon your shoulder.

A few moments passed before the scent of smokey brimstone marked the air, flame igniting from her cupped palms. It took to the wood with a hunger, the dryness only fuelling its ferocity. After tending to it for a further few minutes, Dhana plopped down with a content sigh.

Regardless of how much fire hated her, she would forever love that smell.

For a time, the mage let her gaze wander the plains, her perspiration slowly drying into her clothes. It was so barren out here, exotic and yet so familiar. Although greener, it reminded her of the Anauroch Desert, and with that all the fond memories of travelling via caravan. As her elven companion placed the chopped ingredients into a pot, Dhana found her attention returning there instead.

A cool breeze snaked between the branches, encouraging the woman to retrieve her patchwork quilt from her pack. Wrapping it about her shoulders, she took to playing with the laces upon her boots, watching Taedis work idly.

When he spoke, Dhana had almost forgotten what he sounded like. As their eyes met, she was taken aback by how…happy he looked. Such a look of contentedness…she wondered, what had caused it? Whatever it was, the expression suited his softly angled features to a T.

Sharing his easy smile - though a tad bit smugger - the woman lifted her hands from beneath the quilt.

“Depends of the kind of magic you want? Something flashy, explosive? Something to rend the flesh from your enemies?”

A faint buzz, just audible above the crackling fire, grew between her palms. It began with a ball of energy popping into existence. It hummed in differing shades of pastel blue, licking at her fingers with spidery tongues. Dhana motioned with both index fingers, carefully pulling her fingers apart until the electrical display formed a web. Hands twisted this way and that, with each gesture the web pulsed into a different colour.

At last she slowly brought her hands together, extinguishing the magic trick with a crackle of electricity. She smiled softly, nostalgic herself now, and oddly peaceful. Her words were spoken more to herself than anyone else.

“Sometimes…can-trips prove far more effective than complex incantations.”

Taedis knew his smile was growing, stretching across his face until his cheeks began to hurt, but he didn’t stop himself.

The electricity crackled and twisted around Dhana’s hands before leaping up into the air, weaving patterns that almost made their little campsite look like daytime rather than late evening.

Lightning had always been Dorian’s element. Flashy and powerful, it could do untold amount of damage while being strangely hypnotic and beautiful. He wondered if Dhana somehow knew. Impossible really, he hadn’t spoken of Dorian to her at all, or of anyone, he thought suddenly.

He wondered if they were looking? Of course people would be looking for the Inquisitor, but would they be looking for him, just him?

His mood dipped slightly as the light show the mage had put on dimmed also. He managed to keep a softer smile on his lips however and he murmured a quiet thank-you.

“You are quite skilled,” he continued after a brief pause that could have gotten awkward. “I have a friend who is also fond of using the spirit and lightning magic and he tells me it is quite difficult to control such a chaotic element,” he pauses, giving the Mage a bigger grin. “You must have been persisted with your training.”

His voice drew her gaze, and Dhana found the sight of him grinning quite intoxicating. That was an expression that belonged there. So contrasting with the sober atmosphere that seemed to follow Taedis wherever he went. Despite that, the elf commanded an air of respect and silent reverence…it was all very strange.

‘I’m going to have to question his arse off when I get the chance.’ Dhana mused as she tugged up her quilt, fingers coiling gently within its softness.

“Well in general, yes. Evocation dictates a high level of control in most cases.” Lips pursed as she continued, mind turning from business to playful boasting in seconds. She flicked her fingers in a mock wave, the digits sparking brightly. “But in the case of electrical magic, I’m a natural.”

Leaning forward, Dhana curled deeper into her blanket before gently broaching the subject.

“This friend of yours sounds like quite the mage. By spirit magic I imagine you mean necromancy, right?” She whistled impressed, “Proficient in both evocation and necromancy. Wow.”

“Necromancy is another name for it,” he agreed with a twist of his lips that made the smile slip from his face. He had never been entirely comfortable with that area of Dorian’s expertise. Memories from battles slipped unbidden into his mind.

“But lightning,” he gave a chuckle, covering the horror of  un-dead limbs twitching and contorting with the flash of blue streaks. “He would be most jealous of your apparent natural ability to wield the element.” He could just imagine the lips pressed together if the two mages were ever to meet. The way Dorian would straighten up, feathers ruffled and pride leaking out of his every move. He knew then that Dorian would spend a week in the library trying to find the flashiest spell that could surely never be outdone, and then claiming it had taken naught but an afternoon. He gave another low chuckle, and stared into the flames that crackled merrily between him and the other mage.

“I must confess I have always wondered what it would be like to have magic. To be able to control the very elements that make up this world.” He remembered watching the Keeper heal wounds that should have been mortal for the patient. It was a powerful gift, but not one that was given lightly. His train of thought led to the cruelty mages were given, humans with their Circles and even with his own people and their… methods. Taedis shook his head and glanced back up at his companion, a sudden question in his gaze.

He had realized early on that she was a seasoned traveler, used to the road and well-practiced in the skills needed for such a life. An apostate then, maybe?

“But,” he continued. “I realize what a burden it can be sometimes. I wonder…” he trailed off, curious but not wanting to cause any offense to someone who had been so kind. “I wonder,” he repeated, biting the bullet. “How have you fared in all the recent conflict?”

Dhana found herself entranced as he spoke, the quilt slipping through her fingers. Taedis spoke with such warmth, his face and eyes softening as he recalled whoever this mage was. She leaned forward chin in hand, elbows atop her knees, brows knitting softly. This man had to be someone dear to him, that much was clear.

‘He sounds like he’d be a laugh at parties.’ The blackette mused with a twist of her lips. She took the chance to press buttons whenever it arose – the more inappropriate the better.

A lull in conversation pulled her from her thoughts. Eyes flickered to the first few stars overhead, darkness beginning to creep ever closer. A ripple of anxiety rolled over her, hands seeking her satchel. When she’d found the tea pouch, her heart eased.

‘It’s all good.’

Dark eyes flicked up as she felt Taedis gaze on her. He was looking at her with such intense curiosity that she paused midway lifting the kettle to fire.

“Conflict?”

A frown descended, the mage looking at her companion oddly. What conflict? Did he mean the recent unrest along the Sword Coast? Or the Waterdeep campaign? Surely not. Yes, that whole King of Shadows thing had risen up suddenly, but months had come and gone now. And Waterdeep – well, it was nearly a year now.

“Unless I’ve missed something important, I’ve not seen hide nor hair of war for some time.”

Depositing her sachet of herbs into her teapot, she hung the container up to boil. Flicking her attention back to the elf, she raised a brow.

“You alright?”

“But that’s impossible.” He barely registered Dhana’s final words. Memories were whirling around his head.

Snow capped mountains, refugee’s huddling in all that remained to them to try and keep some warmth.

Shadows moving in a forest, preying on the weak that moved, looking for a new home.

Blankets huddled against a mother’s chest, an attempt to shelter a child from the scorching heat.

It hadn’t mattered where he went, the images had all been the same. He had tried to help, but the suffering always continued.

Abruptly he stood, sending his plate skittering to the ground.

“I-” he didn’t look at Dhana, instead choosing to look into the darkness that the fire couldn’t penetrate. “I’m sorry.” Dhana had been so kind, had stayed with him, helped him when she could have just left him on his own. He didn’t want to be acting like this, a burden, always a burden. But there was an itching under his skin, a tension in his muscles. His fists opened and closed, fingers grasping at nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “But I’m going to get some air.” A stupid statement considering they were already outside, but he still couldn’t breathe. It was too hot, too close. He turned on his heel, leaving the safety of the mage and the fire and stepped into the night.

Her hands froze as the elf rose sharply to his feet, dark eyes widening a tad. The fire whipped sharply in Taedis’s wake, his stew spilling beneath his boot. Her heart pressed hard against her ribs as she realised something was wrong, really really wrong - and she was being left alone…without Karth. 

Left to listen to the cracking flames, eyes still upon where Taedis had disappeared, Dhana couldn’t help but shiver. Something odd settled over her, something ever so…wrong. 

Whatever was going on here felt completely surreal all of a sudden…and Dhana wasn’t sure she liked it. 

                                                   ~End of Part 2~

[rainbows-of-mystery]

The Heart Caught in the Web

At the address 221b Baker Street in London, England resides The Sherlock Holmes Museum, a location for fanatics of the Sherlock Holmes books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. “Holmesians” as they are sometimes called, come in all different varieties, from the mildly deranged ones who simply really like the stories to those who have structured their lives around the renowned adventures of Sherlock Holmes the Consulting Detective and his companion Dr. John Watson. The stories have, of course, inspired many different reactions and life-styles, however some are perhaps a bit more extreme.

Take Maggie Hart, a modern Holmesian and beginning murder mystery writer. Her love of the stories has lead her down the path of creativity and sitting around all day thinking up ways to kill people. Naturally, her internet history is... suspicious to anyone who is not aware of her profession, but then again, she’s not the only one, but we’ll get to that later. At this moment, a new mystery novel is on the shelf due to Miss Hart, it won’t draw huge crowds, but at least she has a small following, not really enough to pay rent in London alone, though. Which is why Maggie is left in her flat wondering who would want to share a home with a person who possesses such morbid thoughts as she because her roommate, Amy has just moved out to live with her fiance and her rent is not exactly cheap. Standing in her kitchen, she is chopping something or another for a sort of experiment she’s running to test a thought she had about a murder method to include in a story some day. Unfortunately, aside from new methods with which to off people, she’s stock out of ideas for stories and she has little to no inspiration or motivation. She loves writing but, what with her current dilemma, she’s too busy trying to make herself write to actually write anything of worth. So there she stands in her kitchen, dark rusty colored hair tumbling forward in a messy bun, decked out in a purple bathrobe, dull green shirt, and striped pyjama pants, evergreen eyes transfixed by the knife in her pale cinnamon colored hand as she contemplates an end to her writing career. After all, what good is a writer with no ideas? As she begins to drift off further into the land of thought she’s interrupted from her musings by a cat wrapping itself around her calf. Startling a bit, she glances downward at her golden-brown striped tabby, Honeybee, smiles affectionately at the goofy fuzz-ball, sets down her knife, and leans over to lend her attention to “her darling little fluff-nugget” who, in turn, purrs affectionately.

“Honeybee, what do you think? How will I manage? I could try to find a new flatmate, but even Amy didn’t really enjoy sharing this place with me and she and I have known each other forever! Oh well...”

At that particular moment, she remembered that she always felt most inspired in the library, and elected to head down to the nearest one. After re-dressing in outside-world appropriate attire, gathering her writing supplies in her bag, saying goodbye to Honeybee, snagging a cab to her favorite library, and arriving at said library, she immediately headed to the section of the library in which she knew the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle were kept. It was wandering this section that she bumped into a woman slightly taller than herself with striking light blue eyes, medium-brown boy-cut hair with a dramatic swish over her forehead, and slightly darkish skin with a golden tint to it which she observed was holding a Holmes book, wearing very masculine formal-looking clothing consisting of black trousers, a black vest with gold buttons matching her stud earrings, and, ironically, an extremely pale pink dress shirt, and looking as transfixed by her as she was by the stranger. She was snapped out of her assessment by a crisp, clear, and otherwise alluring low female voice.

“You are that mystery writer, Maggie Hart, are you not? You enjoy the Holmes stories like myself, I can tell in your novels that you were at least inspired by Sir Doyle’s works, the style is very reminiscent of his and you are very knowledgeable in your murder methods, explaining logic and reasoning expertly as if you can enter the minds of both murderers and detectives. In your bio you said that you own a cat, or rather it owns you as one cannot really own a cat, I see this is true by the cat hairs on your legs, a golden-brown color it would seem, most probably tabby would be my guess as you seem far too reasonable to purchase a persian and the furrs are far too short for one anyway, so tabby it is. You appear to be stressed, I can tell from the dark circles under your eyes, either that or you just don’t sleep well anyway, but no, you also are acting anxious, you seem in a rush, and your hair is also messy, so yes, stressed. You once wrote in a forenote in a book, Scarlet Honey, I believe, that you go to the library to find new ideas, so you’re short on ideas right now. I expect you are looking for a Holmes story or something like it although, there is really nothing truly like it, so I’ll get out of your way. My name is Eliza Webb, by the way, nice to meet you.” the stranger had announced, rapidly increasing the speed of her speech as her voice elegantly lilted in a vaguely Irish fashion.

The fascinating stranger then walked away leaving Maggie dazed, flushed, and struggling to catch up with what was going on, when her mind finally caught up, she turned right around and tried to locate the alluring woman with which she had, in a manner of speaking, just acquainted herself. However Eliza was already long gone, and so she attempted to move on with her prescribed activities, trying to put the entirely out-of-place interaction behind her, thinking that dwelling on the fleeting moment would do no good as London is a location of considerable size and she would likely never meet Eliza again. She retrieved some Holmes novels of her favorites and plopped down in a comfortable seat and began her process of reading, jotting ideas down, and bopping gently along to her calm lyric-less music which she listened to by way of headphones and smartphone. Or, she would have, if not for her spinning thoughts of the fascinating individual she’d met just moments ago. Really, this Eliza Webb was going to be occupying her thoughts until her petty little obsession passed on to far more likely candidates of relation. Still, the voice echoed in the back of her mind, and after sitting there for needless amounts of time without actually doing anything, Maggie resigned herself to returning the books and heading home to Honeybee.

The next day she returned to the library, feeling considerably more focused than she had the previous afternoon. She had managed to actually jot some reasonably okay ideas down and was returning her books when, yet again, she happened upon Eliza Webb. Feeling accomplished and therefore considerably more confident with herself she smiled brightly at the fascinating woman who, in turn, proceeded to look very much confused and even a little frightened. That was, however, soon replaced with a contemplative look as she cleared her throat and spoke.

“You’re back again, so you must be really strained for ideas, but you look more cheerful today so you must have gotten something worked out.” Eliza perceptively announces, then contemplatively tilts her head. “I wonder why you feel so obligated to write so soon after a new publication? Short on money? That would explain that, but I wonder why? It could be-” at which point, a confident Maggie interjected.

“Roommate moved out. I’ve rent to pay and a cat to look after, and I live in London.”

“Which would explain your insistence upon working despite the fair success of your current book, great stuff, by the way, loved it. I wonder why you don’t just find a new flatmate, though. Can’t be hard for someone of your astute character.” Now Maggie was definitely enraptured by this person, no getting out of it, she’d be stuck for a while. Then she remembered that this person knew her so little that they genuinely believed that locating a new flatmate would be easy for her.

“Well actually... um...” was Maggie’s attempt at explaining her situation.

“You’re a writer, so you’ve probably got odd habits.” Eliza astutely interjected, helpfully supplying a simple explanation of her problem.

“Yeah.” Maggie affirmed lamely. Falling back on her previous discomfort with her life. When Eliza’s crisp voice interjected and drew her back out.

“Hmm... you’re a writer, in fact, a murder mystery writer, a good one too. You say you need a flatmate?” Maggie just nods in response, a bit too preoccupied by trying to work out what was going on to actually articulate anything like verbal language. “Well, I myself have been looking for a place to stay, I just moved out of a shared space with a person who irritates me more than I’d care to think, but I’ve got a fairly good understanding of you from your writing, so I think we’d get on just fine.” Okay, Maggie was definitely lost now, yesterday she’d met a fascinating, amazing, alluring person, and today said person was inquiring as to the possibility of sharing a residence due to her, apparently, agreeable personality.

“Um... uh...” Maggie lamely verbalized her current thoughts.

“It’s okay if you’re not sure yet, we’re not exactly properly acquainted yet.” Eliza reassured Maggie, when she was struck by a bit of genius. “How about dinner?”

“What?” Maggie questions, bewildered and sure she’d misheard.

“Dinner. We can eat and get to know one another properly, perhaps discuss interests and arrangements.” Her head swimming, Maggie almost felt she was about to fall over, but if this alluring woman wanted to have dinner with her, who was she to argue?

“Alright then.” she said hesitantly.

Eliza’s face visibly lit up and she grabbed Maggie by the arm and rushed her out of the library to some unknown location of dining. When they reached their destination, it was one of Chinese food. She wasn’t quite sure how Eliza could have predicted that she’d been in the mood for that particular genre of cuisine lately, but resigned herself to acknowledging that perhaps Eliza was just that perceptive. It was only once they’d sat that awkwardness seemed to settle in, at least on Maggie’s part. Then her curiosity got the better of her and so she asked.

“So... what do you do with that cleverness of yours? You said you were a Holmes fan, I’m assuming it’s something related to that?” Eliza looked a little embarrassed, possibly a lot, and began to look around nervously before settling herself and looking intently at Maggie.

“Ah yes, well... it may be silly of me, but I’ve decided that I’m a consulting detective, I try to be anyway. Really, I’m more of a Private Detective. I’m not all that good, honestly. Nothing like Holmes.” Suddenly Maggie looked altogether up-in-arms and energized.

“Nonsense! You are quite clever! I saw it on both occasions I met you, you are very talented, you read me like a book! Truly! Perhaps you wouldn’t be any kind of a rival to Holmes, but you are certainly cleverer than you seem to think! You’re absolutely amazing!”

Anyone watching this exchange would have seen Maggie getting more and more animated and Eliza getting more and more flushed. By the end of Maggie’s outburst, she was alight with passion and practically glowing, and Eliza’s cheeks, nose, and ears were burning red and she appeared to glow in a completely different way. Eliza, entirely embarrassed by being excessively complemented by a favorite author of hers and a person she greatly admired, turned her head to the side to hide her face and cleared her throat before forcing down her blush and turning back around, intent on diverting the conversation to discussion of living arrangements in the hopes of distraction from her embarrassment and the potential of further contact with this delightful person.

“So um... you er... if we’re to share a residence, which would appear to suit both our needs, um... you wouldn’t um... have any erm... significant other over on a regular basis would you? That would be... irritating for me, to say the least. Get in the way of my work.” Eliza stuttered inelegantly.

“Oh! Nonono! I’ve not got anyone! Um... what about you, I would be surprised if someone of your figure and mind didn’t have someone.”

“Oh uh..... I’m not really... um...” Recognizing how utterly lost for words Eliza looked, Maggie decided to simplify things for the brilliant wonder.

“So you haven’t a boyfriend?” Eliza wore an expression of confusion, which quickly slipped into one of distaste.

“Boyfriend... no, not really my...” she flutters her left hand around in a circular motion, searching for the proper wording “glass of tea...” She finished as best she could, given the topic of discussion at hand. Maggie felt she had a feeling what was going on, and she instantly became very interested.

“Do you have a girlfriend, then? Which is fine, by the way.” Eliza flushed, looking quite shocked to be asked that particular question, but recovered quickly and replied in a mostly even voice.

“Good to know you think it’s fine but, no, I’ve not, I’m not really much the dating type.” Maggie wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, but decided to drop it for now.

They ended up both eating a considerable amount and settled into very natural and interesting conversation. By the end of the evening, both decided that they were very much liking the other’s company, and Maggie had all but said that she’d be delighted if Eliza moved in with her. When they ended up going their separate ways, because Maggie had, swept up in the joy of conversation, failed to mention that Eliza could move in, Maggie headed back home and felt a combination of pleasantly exhausted and absolutely giddy as she spoke aloud to Honeybee about the amazing Eliza Webb whose mobile number was now in her smartphone.

The following morning, Maggie awoke unusually well-rested and smiling, flipped on the news to discover that apparently there had been a murder in her favorite library. Immediately tuning in, she discovered upon further listening that the murder had taken place in her favorite section, too, next to the Holmes stories, with ‘Rache’ written on the bookshelf nearby in what initially looked like blood, imitating A Study in Scarlet, but was actually written in red ink. Then her phone rang, and she was called in as a suspect due to her having been in that particular section for both of the two previous days, her being a known Holmes fanatic, and her aforementioned suspicious and murder-y internet history. She’d been asked many questions as to her whereabouts the previous evening and ended up sitting in the station long after they actually finished questioning her, mostly because their main two suspects’ only alibi was that they’d been in each other’s company. Incidentally, Eliza had been called in for questioning, too, mainly due to similar reasoning. Eventually the police released them, and they ended up going out to early lunch together and discussing the mysterious Holmesian-based murder that Eliza was determined to solve.

“So what do you think of all this?” Maggie enthusiastically inquired to Eliza over her Reuben Sandwich and Chips.

“The murder? Oh it’s a fascinating business, isn’t it? It was likely done by a fellow Holmesian, although one who followed a slightly different path than you or I. Truly a fascination. Do you know of anyone in this area who holds the Holmes stories to that level of regard?”

“Afraid not, London is a place of considerable size.”

“So it is... “ Eliza seemed a bit discouraged before suddenly looking rather alight. “Oh!” she exclaimed in a manner that Maggie would be trying for a long time to forget “If one of us was to take to the internet and post something ludicrous to draw out our homicidal Holmesian then-!” Eliza was beginning to draw the eyes of a few fellow patrons with her loudly spoken potential strategies.

“-Eliza,” Maggie interrupted cautiously and gently “has it occurred to you, that perhaps the murderer was not at all a Holmes fan and that the inclusion of Holmesian references is an elaborate distraction? A red herring, if you will?” she finished just as delicately, making an effort to not upset the fairly obviously self-conscious Eliza.

Eliza looked shocked, she tried to stutter out a response before resigning herself to thinking about it. After a long, and, for Maggie, excruciating, moment, she seemed to reach some form of clarity.

“Oh.” Eliza quietly began, her voice calm and subdued “Thank you for pointing out that possibility, my mind began to run away with me...” she briefly trailed off, then remembered her earlier ideas and mentally cringed at her beginner's mistake of just assuming the relevance of a detail. “Sorry for, you know, going off on a random rant of-” she had begun to pick up volume again when Maggie kindly interjected.

“Shhh... It’s fine, I like your ideas, I just thought I’d give you my thought before you got too into yours.”

“Oh.” Eliza smiles gently, eyes sparkling, because she really was right about this Maggie Hart, together they’d make a great duo. Maggie smiles back, glad that’s settled and moves on to another vein of conversation.

“Would you like to meet Honeybee?” Maggie says, voice quiet, but not in a self-conscious way, but in a private and intimate way, this is important, too important to include strangers in it.

“Wha...?” Eliza looks dazed, she’d not seen that coming, Honeybee was almost certainly her cat. Meeting her cat would entail visiting to her residency. Was this a subtle way to let her know that Maggie was open to the idea of living together? With that affectionate sparkle in her eyes, slightly anxious facial expression, and slight redness to her cheeks that would seem to be the case. That was plenty to process. “Hum.” Eliza contemplatively audiated. She was a bit worried about this part, what if ‘Honeybee’ hated her? What if she managed to mess something else up? Oh dear. Oh goodness. What if Maggie decided not to let her move in? Oh, even worse. What if Maggie stopped talking to her altogether? She’d seen Maggie in that section of the library before, and she’d recognized her, but never said anything until two days prior to this one. She’d never had the courage before. I mean, Maggie had plenty of people who followed her works, true, not an outrageous sum, but still, she had a name for herself, Eliza was just a nerd who plays at detective. Breath, breath, breath. It’s fine. Eliza promised herself she’d be fine. She may have been lying... Breath. Okay. Eliza looked up at an expectant and increasingly nervous Maggie and nodded slightly. Maggie breathed out her relief in a gust of nerves and looked much more serene afterwards.

“Come on then, you’ve already finished your salade. I’m just done with my sandwich. Let’s call a waiter, get payment sorted, and head out.” Maggie resolutely uttered, ready to be on her way. They did just that, heading out faster than would have been anticipated from any other establishment. Maggie insisted on paying for Eliza’s meal, and after having overheard some chattering staff refer to them as “a cute couple” Eliza was too stunned by the universe to argue.

Eliza resolutely paid no mind to Maggie taking her arm and leading her to her flat which was, apparently, within walking distance. Eliza resolutely didn’t notice the light blush on Maggie’s face when she did this. Maggie resolutely didn’t blush when she, in a surge of confidence due to overheard chatter of being a perceived as a couple, took Eliza by the arm. Maggie resolutely hadn’t observed Eliza resolutely not looking at her. Resolutely, the two of them made their way to their, hopefully, future location of shared residence in the most platonic way possible.

“Honeybee, I’m home!” Maggie called out to a charming and cozy flat as the two of them entered, Eliza’s arm finally falling from Maggie’s grip. Maggie was about to go look for her silly little feline when a small-ish bundle of cuteness, energy, and fluff skittered around a corner and across the floor at top speed to the sound of an excited Maggie shouting “High speed kitten!!!” with unnecessary levels of volume. Maggie met the fuzz-ball halfway and greeted her with soft coos of ‘Hey Honeybee.’, ‘My little drop of sunshine.’, and other assorted phrases, voice oozing with affection as Eliza looked on awkwardly from where she still stood at the door. Eliza was lost for what to do. She desperately wanted to keep Maggie in her life, but also the little being of pure softness a few feet from her was irresistibly adorable, flawlessly causing a swell of affection in her heart upon first sighting and she very much wanted not to mess things up with that lovely creature either.

“Erm...” vocalizing her discomfort, Eliza decided to collect herself and do as she normally would when acquainting herself with a small fluff creature. Slowly lowering herself to the floor, she began gently cooing cat summoning phrases in what she hoped was an affectionate and attractive tone.

Honeybee, a friendly creature that was, rightfully so, shy around strangers, was strangely enraptured by this stranger. This new person certainly seemed kind. Possessing of a rather lulling voice, too. Honeybee hesitated for just a breath longer, glancing up at her caretaker before elegantly striding across the room to this alluring stranger, her tail gently swishing back in forth in the air in unhideable excitement.

Maggie was genuinely surprised when her normally fearful Honeybee strode right up to Eliza, then proceeded to sniff Eliza’s palm-down outstretched hand and immediately butted her head against it for petting. When Eliza started petting Honeybee gently and Honeybee started crawling on top of Eliza as her new friend giggled joyously Maggie felt a swell of affection in her heart. Maggie wondered why she was ever worried in the first place. Of course they’d get along. Both of them chose her of all people, they must have similar taste.

After watching the heartwarming interaction for a few minutes she stood up and walked over to her couch, sitting down and patting the space next to her, calling to Honeybee who looked up excitedly and skittered over to her, awkwardly hopping up onto the surface and plopping herself down on Maggie’s lap after making sure she still made a proper pincushion. Maggie absentmindedly stroked Honeybee as she looked over to a beaming Eliza and made a beckoning gesture at her.

“Eliza, would you like to live here together? I can help you solve cases and we can look after Honeybee and... yeah. Would you?” Maggie tried to sound confident, but she was desperately trying not to pour out her heart too much. Eliza sat down in the seat next to her, reached over and petted Honeybee once, then retracted her hand to set it in the space directly next to Maggie’s idle one, turned to Maggie, brightly but nervously smiling, hopefulness dancing in her sky blue eyes, and spoke, in a warm voice, the mood of the room taking a sharp turn, the energy between them seeming to buzz.

“Yes, I think I rather would.” Eliza uttered quietly, almost as if she were afraid something would break if she spoke louder, gently nudging her pinky finger against Maggie’s, and both stomach’s swooped uncomfortably in unison, they smiled at each other.

“Good, then.” Maggie said, just as quiet, and perhaps a little dreamily. “Miss Eliza, do you have a girlfriend?” Maggie said maintaining the delicacy and volume, but with slight cheekiness slipping into her voice, having finally riddled Eliza out.

“Would you like me to?” Eliza gently shot back in playfulness.

“Depends.” Maggie definitely understood now. A silence set between them for a bit, both of them beaming at each other. Eliza was the one who re-started the conversation.

“Why, are you offering?” Eliza gently teased.

“Depends.” Maggie teased back.

“On what.” Eliza had a teasing tone even though she was starting to feel a bit uncertain about how this would actually go.

“Whether you would accept the offer or not.” Oh yes, that was good, Eliza could relax, it was all fine.

“Yes, I think I rather would.” Eliza replied openly, teasing tone slipping away as she let herself be genuine, her hand slipping fully over Maggie’s.

“Good, then. Would you join me for dinner tomorrow?”

“Oh yes. Would you like to help me with this case? I could use you on it.” Eliza really did need Maggie, when Eliza ran off with a thought, Maggie gently caught her before she got too far, as evidenced by earlier.

“Oh yes. Would you be okay with it if I wrote about it later?” Maggie was sure that writing about Eliza would give her a never-ending supply of inspiration. Eliza would make a perfect muse for her writing.

“Oh yes. I love your works.” A smirk crept onto Maggie’s face at that, had she been on Eliza’s radar long before Eliza was ever on hers?

“Oh. Really? Are you a fan of mine, then?” Eliza smiled slyly at Maggie as she pulled out her phone and flicked into her notes on the case. She began to settle into reading off her notes and ideas about possible meanings and leads as Maggie listened along, nodding to things that she agreed with and pulling Eliza back to reality when she began to drift off from reality a bit. Maggie just knew she’d have so much writing material later that day and on into the future.