#i am in TEARS from cackling too hard. was not expecting this in the SLIGHTEST

[cogito-dreams]

sorry to literally every other character ive got a new favorite

[littlemisswriter]

Saving London - Part 1

Summary:

What if the Frye twins never grew up to be assassins, yet to be working men and women in the city of London along with the others? What if Lily had been the only assassin to respond to Henry Green's plead for help? And what if she recruits the twins to work alongside her to stop the oppression and fight against Templars?

[Here is my promised written imagine, there will be more parts soon so don’t worry! Let me know if you like it; I am trying new concepts around the Syndicate storyline, types of AU’s that I don’t see much in this fandom, let alone this game specifically! So hope you all enjoy :)]

-

Society had been they way it had always been for the last hundred years. A biased dictatorship working in favour of their own gain and allowing those under them to indulge in nothing but their scraps. The world was a large place, with London in the very centre.

The blue skies above were being met with black hazes from the factories below, and those situated in those said factories were not faring any better. Day in, day out were workers worn to the bone. Hands calloused and dirty from maintaining the machines that built the technologies around them. Men spent most time away from home, doing their best to support families in spite of their decreasing health. Though it had not only been men that were subjected to this environment, but women and children as well.

Morally it had been frowned upon to have such a vast amount of workers, but business wise… those who held power could get away with whatever they wanted. Well, had been able to get away with what they wanted. Times were changing, people were oppressed, and a certain underground gang had taken it upon themselves to answer London’s calls.

Outside the factory walls in Southwark, the sun had begun to descend behind the horizon; the chilly night air settling in for those still out and about on the streets. But for those in the factory, the temperature had been nothing less of humid and uncomfortable. Those workers that kept away with their tasks had been there for hours, body’s aching and spirits broken, yet still desperate to cling onto what little pay they could get.

Among those had been a particular young man, muscles built deeply by his youthful ability to complete his tasks and those around in need of help. He had built up a sweat, resulting in the first few buttons of his shirt being undone to provide some form of air to his skin. His hair had been hard to maintain on its own, strands consistent to fall upon his forehead and block his view irritatingly, so he simply kept it slick back with the help of his newsboy cap. “Oi Jacob!”

The call of his name had distracted him momentarily, hands gripping around the broom as he watched an older worker approach him cautiously. His eyebrow raised.

“What is it, Tommy?” Taking a proper stand with a lean on his elbow and hand to his waist, he stood waiting for the chap to spit out whatever sat on his tongue. Tommy pointed behind him and Jacob’s gaze followed.

“Little Charlie seems tired, he does. Poor lad can’t barely keep his eyes open.” The mention of the young boy had Jacob’s brows furrow in concern, their eyes landing to watch the child struggle to pick up a basket from the corner. Tommy had not spoken a tale, the boy’s legs weak as he struggled to carry his own weight, and face red from exhaustion of working more than half the day. “Do you think you could ‘elp? I know it’s a bother to ask-”

He was interrupted by a raise of Jacob’s hand and a quick reassuringly smile. “No bother.” The older man sighed in relief, hands rubbing together stressfully as the lines on his face etched a smile to replicate.

“Thank you. I don’t know what we’d do without you.” The thought given a moment to linger at the consequences of those if Jacob were not there to aid them. It was chilling, and most unwelcome.

The broom was leant on the wall he found it, forgotten as Jacob made way quickly over to help the young boy. His pace was quick, but not quick enough as Charlie’s knees gave out and he slipped down to the floor. Jacob’s eyes widened as he came by him, hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright, Charlie?” The young boy could only nod and wipe his elbow out from under his nose, as if to hold back tears.

“I’m just tired, sir.” As would be expected.

“Jacob,” he corrected, not fond of the title from a boy he knew relatively well, “and don’t worry. Go take a rest out of sight, and I’ll take care of this.” Charlie’s eyes glimmered in relief, offering only an eager nod. But before either could move, they had been called. And not kindly in the slightest.

“You two!” A pair of Blighters had caught the workers dawdling, meaning now a confrontation was imminent. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Impulsively, Jacob stood with furrowed brows, his arm outstretched to the boy behind him as he acted as a barrier.

“I made the mistake, not the boy. I was about to rectify-”

“Stop your babbling, boy!” Jacob was shoved back, his footing catching his fall easily as he narrowed his eyes up to the guards. “What I see is two slackers! And you know what happens to slackers?” The brute standing behind the accuser had grinned evilly, knuckles cracking as he came forward. Slight panic rose through Jacob as he once again placed himself between Charlie and danger.

“I’ll take punishment, whatever it is. Just let the boy go.” A mere cackle came his response as the two made ground towards them.

“Boss told us to give a thrashing to those sitting idle.” As he would, seeing as that man had been the least compassionate foreman Jacob had ever come across. His only concern was himself and everything that he reflected. Ministered beatings had not been uncommon here, yet nobody seemed to adjust to the mistreatment or became brave enough to stop them.

The scene had many eyes turn, some stopping to witness the horror of the Blighters. Though nobody moved. Most had uttered a few courageous words before, but nothing drastic to make a change. They all knew their place, as uncomfortable as the reality of it was. And the truth was, if you wanted to eat, you did as you were told and took what was given to you.

Jacob stepped back a few paces, keeping Charlie hidden well behind him as he did his best to appear brave. If anybody had a shot at countering hits and supplying their own, it was Jacob. But that had not meant it was going to be any less brutal.

They came closer, almost cornering the man as the boy did nothing but whimper behind him; all in all, they had felt helpless. But yet… it appeared fate had other plans.

“I’m gonna hit you so hard, I’ll-”

A commotion could suddenly be heard from higher up, stilling the Blighters as they bore witness to yells and thumps at the top of the factory. It had not sounded too promising, especially when no one knew whose yells they belonged to and why they were suddenly prominent. Then, a body came tumbling down to the bottom floor, everyone gasping in horror as it lay limp and lifeless for everyone to see.

Jacob blinked back profusely, glancing back to Charlie before allowing himself to recognize exactly who lay dead before him.

The foreman. His throat continuously bleeding out as well as two stab marks to his chest. A sight that most may and did feel faint from. And so, panic ensured as the workers let down their tasks easily and made way for escape. Charlie had been one to catch himself in the mass of the crowd, yet Jacob’s feet were planted firmly to the ground. It was a horrible sight, yes, but he was also oddly intrigued as to what was going on.

“Oh shit!” The brute muttering, looking over to his partner before hesitantly making way to the body. Though he did not get far when a figure had abruptly dropped done next to the man. They had been covered head to toe in robes, their identity concealed with a hood though a belt masked with weapons had been on display for all to see.

A lump caught in Jacob’s throat as he and the few others that still remained quickly pieced together that whoever was under those robes had been the culprit to the foreman’s death. And rightly so, ruminating on the behaviour that led the man to his own demise.

“Who the hell are you? What have you done?” The figure stood straight, turning to face what appeared to be the last remaining Blighters in the factory. It was quiet, too quiet, and that had sent up an unnerving chill through their spines.

“Now, that is not a polite way to speak, is it?” The voice was female, a surprising notion in on itself. But yet it had been cocky, the calm demeanour of someone having just murdered another was terrifying. And her dry laugh that followed after had both Blighters step back in hesitance. “This man is dead,” she pointed to the body, allowing Jacob to capture a look at a glistening blade attached to her forearm. He swallowed back harshly.

“You’re the dead man!” The shorter Blighter had been snapped back into anger as the stranger merely found humour in his boss’s death. He yanked a blade from his pocket and charged at the woman, all bodies tensing as they waited for the clash. Though she had easily ducked his swing, her speed impeccable as she twisted the same arm intended for harm back behind his back. A crack had been heard, the Blighter yelling in agony as she took his own blade and ended him with it.

No sweat was broken, neither had her spirit. As if she was simply strolling through a park with infinite time on her hands. The brute had been next, fighting back resistance as he too took charge. His hits were hard, the man built on nothing but sheer muscle and height. Which left his weak spot open, something she took great advantage of.

A slip between his legs and a kick to the back of his leg brought him to his knees. He swung against vigorously, though his attempts had been in vain as she used her height advantage to slide the very same blade on her wrist down into his neck.

Blood came and sept through as he lay limp in it, all threatening seeming to disappear as now stood the workers and the dangerous stranger. She looked around, taking a moment to ensure that the factory had been completely wiped out of all Blighters before echoing a large whistle. It was a call, and soon enough, as if waiting for the signal, a handful of Rooks had stepped into the building and immediately made claim.

“What in the…” Jacob could not fathom what was happening, or how it had actually been done. Who was the stranger? Why go to all the trouble for a factory in Southwark? Why had he been more intrigued than fearful of it all?

“My fellow companions!” The stranger began, finding refuge on a crate as she stood centre of attention to all those around. “I know you may be confused, and even frightened, but fear not! We are not here to hurt you or any others that do not belong to the Blighter gang!” Precuring the safety and wellbeing of those who had feared had them relax, but not entirely. Their bodies still tense and hesitant as they gathered around.

Jacob had been one to come closer, arms crossed over his chest as he stood in the small surrounding crowd. His brows furrowed as he kept all attention to the stranger.

She looked around her, nodding to her Rooks before gently pulling her hood back. It was if his heart had stopped as he first lay eyes on the woman. She had been beautiful, no doubt about it. Yet she was foreign, dressed to what society would deem inappropriate for women. She was cocky and dangerous, a small grin still etched to the corner of her mouth as she spoke to those openly around her. “My name is Lily Harvard, and these here are my Rooks!” Arms out wide as she gestured to the green coated gang surrounding. “I am here to make you all an offer. To help us take down the Blighters in all boroughs and liberate London back to its people!”

An honourable quest yet a large ask. She had taken employment from those under an authority that much less cared about the health and wellbeing of its workers. But did not come empty handed.

“Join me! Join the Rooks!” Some had already taken to the idea, a few more Rooks entering with spare jackets to pass to those that were eager to be invested in something, and others that did not want to be left stranded. “You do not have to do anything you do not wish, but bear in mind that you will be apart of something larger than yourselves! Help us destroys Crawford Starrick’s hold on this city, and we in turn will welcome you like family!”

The coaxing appeared to deter a few, those leaving subtly out of the eye of others though most stayed, agreeing to the terms and enlightened to be better looked after in this new emerging gang. Jacob had not peeped a word, his eyes still drawn to Lily as she looked happily to those around her. A nudge had suddenly caught his attention and a woman holding a green jacket extended it out to him. “You in, sunshine?”

Jacob took a moment, looking from the jacket to the Rook, to Lily, and back to the jacket. Well… it could not possibly be worse than working in this factory with little to no regard. Plus… redemption for him and those around him did sound quiet appealing.

“Why not?” The Rook offered him a toothy grin and chucked the jacket in his hands. The man grasping to the material before ridding his own jacket and replacing it.

It was the start of something better, and he couldn’t wait to tell Evie.

[pinkprimrose05]

GX Month Day 7: Ojama Delta Thunder!!

@gxmonth

"That’s right! You know what today is! Today we celebrate The Chazz, the one and only Manjoume Thunder! Give sparky boi a hug!"

...I'm not giving Manjoume a hug. I...*cackles evilly* am gonna make him suffer as much as the actual Duel Links players do, maybe even more. And I'm not the least bit sorry, because hey, he gets something out of it in the end!

Manjoume Jun was not having a good day.

The Ojama Duelist grumbled to himself, kicking a non-existent pebble into the air as he made his way to the Duel Studio. The picturesque environment of Duel Links -too clean, too perfect- never ceased to amaze him and many others, but right now, he was too damn pissed to care about that.

After all, it's hard for one to appreciate the technology behind a game's setting when that same technology had just fucked up their entire collection of cards- And in the middle of a Duel no less!

The door slid open as he walked through, revealing rows upon rows of multicolored tables placed on either side of the massive ground floor that was the Deck Editor section, leaving a clear path to the spiraling staircase of clear blue glass that led to the Card Catalog and several other, more obscure sections. After all, the Deck Editor was the single most popular part of the Duel Studio, if the couple dozen Duelists buzzing around all day long were anything to go by.

Manjoume plopped down on a chair at the first empty table he could find, fishing out the single Deck box in his pocket and dropping it on the yellow, round surface. The twenty cards inside the box spilled out over the table (he had hundreds of those for fuck's sake!), and their owner groaned in frustration as he rifled through his completely reset Deck....Scratch that, it wasn't even his own Starter Deck. Battle Warrior? Flame Manipulator? What the hell?!

Briefly, he considered the benefits of marching up to Isono and demanding an explanation and solution to what happened, but that idea was shot down almost immediately. It's not like the guy would be of actual help; the last time someone asked about a bug in the game Isono had literally told them, quote unquote "Please ensure that no other house utilites are interrupting your connection, such as a microwave oven.", and while Manjoume was no tech expert, even he could tell how much of a half-assed excuse that was.

Stupid Duel Links and its stupid customer service-

"Manjo-kuuuuuuun!!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Manjoume only had enough time to gasp before a familiar blue blur put him in an unexpectedly tight headlock, already rambling at rapidfire speed straight in his ears.

"I'm so glad I could find you today!!" Kylie squealed "Had no idea I'd see you here, but that doesn't matter- do you wanna Duel?? I've been working on a new Deck and combos for days now and I can't wait to show you-" the second-year abruptly paused when she caught sight of the cards spread on the table, letting go of Manjoume in favor of taking a better look at them "Waaiiiit a minute, what's with those cards? They don't look like anything you normally play-"

"-It's Manjoume-san." He sharply interjected in a mix of annoyance and exasperation, shooting a glare at the oblivious blunette standing next to him as he massaged his neck "And yes, those aren't my cards. The game just randomly decided to reset my connection in the middle of a Rank-Up Duel of all things, yeet off all my Decks into nonexistence, and then gave me a shitty Starter in exchange, so now I'm stuck with almost zero gems and no way to recover my progress, which is just fucking splendid considering how close we are to the next KC Cup."

Manjoume sighed "Fuck this. Just, fuck this."

Truthfully, he wasn't as mad about the progress he lost as he was about losing his cards. It hadn't even been thirty minutes and, while he'd never admit it out loud, he already missed his trio of obnoxious Ojamas. They've been through thick and thin together, and it felt unnatural to have them just up and disappear like that. The last time they've been away from him wasn't exactly something he wanted to remember, and while the situation here was nowhere as severe as the Dark World, it still felt wrong for the air around him to be so quiet.

Kylie, who was uncharacteristically quiet as she listened to her 'friend' ranting about his current predicament, nodded along "So you...basically got your account reset?"

"No shit, Sherlock." Manjoume deadpanned in response. Kylie put a hand to her chin, humming thoughtfully with closed eyes, before suddenly slamming a hand on the table and nearly shocking him into falling off his chair.

"I GOT IT!" She exclaimed, snapping her fingers with a bright grin "This reset bug happened once to someone I know- I don't know if you remember Ruby from Heartland Academy, but anyway, she also lost all her progress a couple months ago after she got booted out of a Duel, and it turned out that her cards were just scattered all around the Duel World, so we went around asking everyone we could if they saw them, Dueled those who had some, and we got all her cards back in the end. It must be the same with yours, so let's get going and find them all!!"

Without warning, she grabbed the Legendary Duelists's hand, hauling him up and out of the Deck Editor before he could even get out a word. Manjoume gasped and spluttered along the way, trying to tell his companion to slow down a bit to no avail; as talking someone like Kylie out of anything was like trying to build a Deck around Cold Feet.

That didn't stop him from actually looking around and asking, though. If there was even the slightest chance of him finding his cards this way, then he'd be damned if he didn't at least try and go through with it. Compared to staking it out at the North Pole for a barely synergic mishmash of a Deck, to going down a haunted well in an empty forest for a bunch of 0-ATK monsters that were -figuratively and literally- bottom of the barrel, Dueling a couple chumps and scavenging for some lost cards was nothing, and he was ready to do so much more to get his partners back.

"See? I told you Aniki would come find us in the end!"

...I take back everything I said, Manjoume thought, cringing in disgust as Ojama Green and Black hugged each other and began prancing around him in circles, babbling and crying tears of joy while they were at it How could I ever miss this shitfest?

He just did, somehow. It hadn't taken too long to find the two Ojamas anyway; the sound of them banshee screeching weeping their asses off by the fountain was all he needed to know they were somewhere out there, and by some lucky miracle, their cards didn't get sprayed to oblivion with all the water by the time he came to retrieve them. As for his other cards, he and Kylie had stopped by the Shop, the Card Trader, the PvP Arena, the Gate and the Duel School, asking everyone they could about his cards, and beating the shit out of those who had some and refused to give them back

(Well, Manjoume was the one who did that, and only to Evan and Zachary, but that wasn't the point here, was it?)

By the time they decided to return to the Duel Studio for a small break, they'd gathered practically all of his key cards. He couldn't care less for the bunch of staples he lost -he'd just reroll the Selection Box or whatever-, so the only missing card that actually mattered, as much as it stung his ego to admit it...

...was Ojama Yellow. And after what happened with his brothers (and with Fairy Dragon, which he found resting on top of a very inconveniently high branch of a tree), Manjoume fully expected the third Ojama to be sleeping in the trash can or somewhere equally stupid. Because if he wasn't, he'd have found him before any other card by simply following the sound of high-pitched crying mixed with a lot of screaming and weird Ojama noises-

-A sudden rattling sound interrupted the noiret's thoughts for the second time that day, and when he stopped to locate its source, he let out a long, drawn-out sound between a sigh and a groan. Surely enough, the sound was coming from the trash can by the cliff, which was shaking wildly and practically begging to be opemed. Feeling a migraine coming up, Manjoume turned left, walked up to the can, and with some difficulty, pried the lid off.

"ANIKIIIII!!"

He instantly regretted it (he didn't) when the snot-faced creature that was Ojama Yellow exploded in his face, crying uncontrollably as he tried to hug Manjoume (keyword being 'tried'). His brothers all but sprang up from their cards, meeting him in a hug midair and effectively plucking him off his master for a bit as they all laughed and cried and did everything in between.

"Aww, look at how happy they are!" Kylie gushed, eyes almost sparkling. She lightly smacked Manjoume's back "You sure have a funny bunch of spirits, luckyyyy~"

Swatting away the Ojama trio and a pair of Catnipped Kitties before they tried sneaking up on him for a hug, Manjoume folded his arms and snorted in response "Yeah, sure."

But regardless, he found his lips quirking up in spite of himself. If it were me from three years ago, he mused I wouldn't have bothered with any of this in the first place.

But this wasn't the him from three years ago. This was the him of today, the Manjoume Thunder who'd gone through so much shit and learned from it to become a better Duelist, a better Duelist, and a better person. And while he had many people to thank for that, he also had to give credit for the monster spirits that followed him through all of the aforementioned shit, because as cringy, messy, bombastic and obnoxious as they might be, they were his partners, and he wouldn't give them up for anything in this world-

"WILL YOU FUCKING STOP THAT??!!"

-Unless they tried to hug him again. Pissed beyond reason, Manjoume chased after the quintet of Level 2's, ignoring Kylie's hysteric laughter and the surprised yelps from other Duelists as they dashed around the area in circles, all the noise merging into a cacophony of angry hollering and frightened squeaking, among other sounds.

In the end, some things never change....for better or for worse.

~~~~~~

Screw the actual Duel Links game for not including most of Manjoume's low-ATK monsters in his Starter/Lv 10 Deck (why tf is Catnipped Kitty a main Box card 4 years after his release?), and double screw them for splitting his Ojamas and Dragons into separate Decks.

I hate how his higher level Decks in the game completely disregard the former half of his cards; those are the ones that actually stuck with him in a meaningful way, not the Armed Dragons...they deserve some more recognition, so why not mix both archrtypes and slap in Ojamatch?

Also, yes, Standard Duelists actually exist here, so I decided to throw in my favorite GX girl AKA Kylie and have her interact a bit, and boy is she fun to write.

Headcanon: Kylie considers Manjoume (and everyone else, but especially him) her best friend because she basically has Yuuma's mentality of 'Anyone I Duel becomes an amigo!', and by sheer dumb luck, the two keep logging in at the same time and often get matched up in PvP Duels.

That's part of why she's so familiar with him (and also why she calls him Manjo-kun) and as you can see, Jun does not approve.

Aaaand this would be everything for Day 7! Expect to see me again...in a week from now. By Day 15 to be exact. In the meantime, if you’d like to follow my prompts for the month, I’m posting them all on ArchiveofOurOwn: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33473653/chapters/83489824

[writesowhatnext]

working up the courage // lee jordan

Summary: Lee Jordan is a flirt; who would’ve thought that he had a softer side?

Request: Lee Jordan flirting with one of the ravenclaw quidditch players during commentary? Maybe she’s chill and even replies back to his pick up lines?

A/N: I found it so hard to write Lee just because he’s not mentioned nearly enough but I’m excited but am unsure about my writing tbh after a bit of a break also CHARACTERISATION HELP who is lee Jordan that is my QOTD

Reader: unspecified, Ravenclaw

Warnings: nope, I don’t think

It was next to impossible to walk down the halls of Hogwarts without the knowledge of who Lee Jordan was. Even if you didn’t know him, you’d heard him or, at the very least, heard of him. He had the largest gob that the school had to offer and boy, was he proud of it. It seemed only natural when he was given the role of Quidditch commentator and Professor McGonagall liked to think of it as redirecting his talkative talents from the classroom to the Quidditch pitch.

To his credit, he did try to keep it professional.

There was the odd slip up here and there, of course. Especially when the Slytherin team were being ruthless cheats or Gryffindor caught the snitch; he was at heart, after all, just a boy with a favourite quidditch team. The worst it ever got was when he called Flint, the Slytherin captain, a ruthless toe-bag. He’d had more PG-13 insults in mind but McGonagall had swiped the microphone from him before he could deliver them to his adoring fans.

Just as it had been then, it was even harder to be professional whenever he noticed you in the crowds, bundled up in your blue scarf and chatting animatedly to your friends. The first time he did it, he’d seen you around a few times, even smiled a couple too if he was feeling particularly brave. You were definitely nowhere near friends, but something about the adrenaline rush of the Quidditch pitch had him buzzing and his inhibitions were dropping like flies.

“Hufflepuff scores again!” he roared, his words met with the cheers and boos of the stands around him. Unable to help himself given the look on the Slytherins’ faces, he chuckled.

“Now, where was the Slytherin keeper?” he goads, enjoying the glare he received from one of the Slytherin chasers as she flew past.

His grin faded as he spotted you a few rows below him, laughing at his provocation with your head thrown back. The warmth that flooded through him at the sight of your smiling features was unfamiliar and, for the first time in his life, he felt actually nervous about something.

“Doesn’t matter, though,” he shrugged, biting his lip. “Because I think I’ve found a keeper in the fourth row.”

Professor McGonagall tutted next to him, but he could hardly be expected to pay attention when you turned around with wide eyes and an even wider smile. Was he talking to you? He smirked, waving with his free hand. Oh, you realised, pleasantly surprised, he was talking to you.

“Fifth row, actually,” you yelled back, raising your eyebrows. Butterflies swam in your stomach at his interest and you felt warm under his stare. You sat around your giggling friends, not too abashed at the attention.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” he said cheerfully, not quite ready to tear his eyes away from you. Your witty response had greatly lifted his mood, but not quite erased the uneasy pit in his gut. “It seems I have a correction: I definitely meant the fifth row.”

You beamed at his words and all he could think was how much he hoped to see that expression on your face many more times.

“Mr Jordan,” McGonagall said, her tone stern, but a familiar twinkle in her eye.

“Sorry, Professor,” Lee replied, not sorry in the slightest. You laughed at his scolding, turning back towards the match. When you looked back at him again, he glanced at you, and your insides turned to mush.

Between that match and the next, you were rather disappointed that Lee hadn’t come to speak to you. You only caught flashes of him in the corridor between lessons. Often, you offered each other coy smiles and awkward waves, but never anything more. You were almost convinced that he’d forgotten all about your little interaction: that was, until the Ravenclaw game.

“The score is 90-30 to Hufflepuff!” Lee yelled. His almost cheerful tone was dramatically different from the foul mood you were now in and he could tell by your face that you were less than pleased. You were scowling rather deeply and whilst he hadn’t spoken even a syllable to you since the last time he piped up during a quidditch match, he found the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them.

“Maybe the Ravenclaw seeker will catch the snitch and put a smile on my favourite Ravenclaw’s face.”

Your mouth dropped open as you swung your head around, probably fast enough to get whiplash. He grinned at you; definitely you, you decided. You couldn’t help the smile growing on your lips: he hadn’t forgotten.

“And there it is,” he said, his voice amplified tenfold by the enchanted microphone. You bit your lip, attempting to stifle the squirming of your stomach. He didn’t speak again for the rest of the match, but he did wink when he announced Ravenclaw scoring, a fact that had heat rushing to your cheeks. You were almost certain that time that he’d find you after the game. Again, though, you were mistaken.

Lee didn’t know what was wrong with him. He was Lee Jordan. Everyone knew him and he was never nervous around people – that was just who he was. He was a bloody Gryffindor; he’d never been anxious about anybody until he thought about spending time with you. The idea alone had his mouth drying up and the echo of his heartbeat in his ears when you smiled at him made him feel like a child. It felt so stupid: why could he flirt with you when the whole of Hogwarts was listening but not just speak to you in the corridors? He told himself, though, that he was just too busy to come and find you, what with quidditch and schoolwork; as if his palms weren’t sweaty every time he saw you across a room.

“So, what’s with you and that Ravenclaw?” Fred asked, shadowing him as he walked down the corridor.

“The one you keep flirting with during quidditch,” George added, eclipsing his other shoulder.

“What Ravenclaw?” Lee said quickly, stopping in front of the portrait of the fat lady behind a couple third years. “Don’t know what you’re on about, mate.”

Fred and George paused, sharing a look at his blatant lie.

“Right,” they said, following Lee through the portrait hole.

“So, there’s absolutely no reason why you keep looking at a certain Y/N in the corridors?”

Lee frowned under Fred’s gaze. He didn’t even know that he didn’t know your name.

“Nuh-uh,” he insisted, cursing himself mentally for his poor response. “I don’t even know who that is.”

George hummed, rolling his eyes and pinching his chin between his fingers in mock thought.

“Do you believe that, Georgie?”

“I don’t believe I do, Freddie.”

“Do you know what I think?”

“No, I don’t, actually.” Oh, but he did. “What do you think?”

Lee threw his bag on the floor, letting his head droop backwards onto the sofa with an impatient sigh.

“I think that Lee here might have a bit of a crush.”

“A crush?” George asked, both twins plonking themselves down either side of him. “Never!”

“Yes, George, a crush. On that funny little Ravenclaw, no doubt.”

“Oh, piss off, you two.”

What Lee was reluctant to admit to himself, and decidedly never going to admit to them, was that, like a broken clock twice a day, they were, in fact, right. It wasn’t something he liked to realise, but he liked your effect on him even less. As he sat there, though, commentating the Slytherin vs Gryffindor game, he spotted you in your usual seat and found himself filled with the confidence only a microphone could give him.

“The sun is bright and it seems like a wonderful day for Slytherin to cheat again!” he said, laughing at the response from the crowd, more than pleased as you beamed at your friends.

“It seems that Hufflepuff will start this game; apparently Marcus Flint has not yet found a way to rig Madam Hooch’s coin toss-“

“Mr Jordan,” Professor McGonagall warned, her voice strict despite the slight curve of her lips.

“Alright, alright,” he said, allowing his eyes to drag across the crowd and settle on you. “Professor McGonagall is not a fan of my jokes… Maybe the lovely Ravenclaw in the fifth row is?”

He almost regretted it as his voice trailed off and he was scared, for a moment, that the twins, and the rest of the school, would tease him mercilessly. But then you turned around. He matched your expression as you grinned at him, shooting him a thumbs up and pulling your lip between your teeth. His chest tightened a bit and he found himself wanting to tell you everything he thought about you: how attractive you were, how much he loved to make you laugh, how much he wished he could ask you out. He couldn’t, though, and as McGonagall encouraged him to do his job, he resigned himself to another week of pining.

When the game ended, you’d decided you’d had enough and, despite your friends’ protests, you rushed towards the Gryffindor Quidditch changing room with one thing on your mind and one thing only. Your resolve, though, crumbled slightly when you shoved open the door and ended up face to face with a very confused Oliver Wood.

“Can I help you?” he asked, frowning as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder.

“I’m looking for-“

“Oh, shut up, both of you,” Lee shouted from the corner of the room, his exclamation followed by a round of cackles. Oliver turned to face the noise before returning to you, recognition plastered on his features.

“Ah,” he said, stepping to the side to let you in.

You thanked him quickly and immediately went inside to find Lee. In your haste, you forgot it was a changing room and your expression blanched at the sight of the Weasley twins shirtless and talking to the only person you actually wanted to speak to. Their eyes lit up when they saw you even though you’d never actually had a conversation with either of them and given their reputation, you figured that your nerves were preservative.

“Hello there,” one of them said, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning.

“How can we help you today?”

You frowned, watching Lee turn around. Surprise riddled his features as he pushed between the ever-so-slightly taller boys.

“You can’t,” you said rather blankly, lifting your hand to gesture to Lee. “I’m here to talk to him.”

“Um,” Lee said, regrettable mesmerised by the sight of you up close. “Yeah, yes, sure, yes, of course.”

“I think he’d like that,” one of the twins teased, earning a chuckle from the other.

“Don’t know what gives you that impression, George.”

“Oh, shove off,” Lee snapped, grabbing your wrist and pulling you over to a deserted corner of the room. You barely registered the twins cooing, too focused on the feel of his warm skin.

“Sorry about them,” he said, turning to face you. His brows drew downwards as he followed your eyes to his hand, immediately letting go of your wrist. “And that.”

“It’s fine,” you replied, far too quickly. It struck you as odd that you both, it seemed, were a lot more nervous without the crowds around you.

“You never came to say hi,” you said, frowning at your accidental accusatory tone. “I mean-“

“Would you believe me if I said I was nervous?”

You opened your mouth to retort sarcastically. Everyone knew that Lee Jordan was never nervous. Of you, as well? Highly unlikely. But then you noticed his almost ashamed expression and the sincerity in his dark eyes and you closed your mouth again.

“Of me?”

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “You’re very hot.”

You barked a laugh in surprise, even happier still when his features seemed to lift.

“Am I really your favourite Ravenclaw?”

He smirked a little, his tongue poking out between his lips for a second.

“Oh, without a doubt.”

“Then it seems only right I ask my favourite Gryffindor out then,” you said, feeling less and less anxious. “Doesn’t it?”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head to the side in jest. “That seems like the courteous thing to do.”

You hummed a laugh.

“Well?” you prompted, raising your eyebrow. “What do you say? Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“I’d love to,” he said, happier than he could remember being for a while. You frowned when his expression turned worried and he leant in conspiratorially. “Can we maybe say I asked you out? I wouldn’t hear the end of it from-“

“Too late!” one of the twins called from the doorway as they made to leave.

“We already know that Y/N here has bigger balls than you.”

Lee rolled his eyes as they left and you found yourself giggling, unable to keep the smile off your face. He realised, as he listened to your laughter, that maybe he didn’t mind them teasing him if you were there.

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator​ @decadentwastelandtrash @loveisblindness​ @xinyourdreamsx​ @brainlesspasta​ @hariosborn​ @staringmoony​ @rexorangecouny​ @alittletoomanyobsessions​ @peachesandpinks​ @yuptha-tsme​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @dreamer821​ @iprobablyshipit91​ @in-slytherin-we-trust​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @princesof-theuniverse​ @whovianayesha​ @msmimimerton​ @extra-trash77​ @potterverseimagine​ @my-own-mindpalace​ @sxrensxngwrites​ @damonwhitlock​

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Insufferable

Chapter two - A king’s duty is a king’s duty

Sander’s sides fanfiction - ‘Off the Devil’s head’ spin-off (can be read as a stand-alone)

Wordcount: 1928

Ship: intrulogical

TW: cursing - a lot of cursing (still Remus, lovlies, get used to it), confusion, cute bickering (I think...?), forests at night, very obvious autistic tics (based on my own, so I know they are real and how they work, in case you’re not sure ^^ I wouldn’t write something that I haven’t checked at least twice with someone who has, or deals with or is deeply interested in this stuff). And I think that’s all. If anything pops up, do let me know :) <3

Summary of the whole story: This might have not been the brightest idea - steeling from a cart right in the fucking smack-dab-middle of the Square. But Remus never claimed his ideas were bright. Never said his words and actions were appropriate either. So how in all off goddamned hell did he find himself sprawled out on a giant comfortable throne instead of a cold and dark (and very drippy) prison cell - with guards actually guarding his safety instead of assuring his imprisonment - is completely beyond him.

Link to AO3 for those who prefer reading there ^^

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

Chapter two - A king’s duty is a king’s duty

There’s not a lot of things Logan dislikes. There’s a total of fifteen so far. But disruption of order, change and tall grass is definitely in the top ten. And wouldn’t you look at that?

Green-haired hurricanes are tearing threw his peaceful kingdom, disrupting peace - thus creating an unnecessary change. Which caused his sleepless state, which lead him down a path where he has to hop from foot to foot like a dear, to eliminate any unnecessary contact with grass.

And the fact that all these things alone cause unnecessary stress, let alone combined, just makes it all worse. His movements are more jagged then usual, more frantic. Gestures all over the place in unorganized manors. And his eyebrows are stuck in a constant ‘thinking scowl’ as his advisors call it.

To any other person, his behavior would seem truly strange - Logan can’t say he doesn’t feel a little embarrassed by it, even now that he’s alone. But there are some things that just can’t be helped.

Besides, all of his kingdom know that their king is a ‘little weird’.

Since Logan first sat on the throne - at the mere age of thirteen - everybody’s been in love with their ruler. It sounds a little odd, that they let a thirteen-year-old kid on the throne, but Logan’s never really been a kid. Since when he can remember he read books far too difficult for the usual kid his age, listened in on conversations he probably had no business listening to, let alone understanding. Sat by his father’s side, while he made life-concerning decisions. Watched his mother as she took care of every problem with caution and care not everybody could offer. Although Logan never got around to fully understanding that care, he learned to act the same way. Same words, same gestures. Nobody was worried when the crown got passed down to him. All the people in the kingdom knew they were in good hands.

Logan’s very first mission was learning the name of every single person in town. It wasn’t an easy task, but it wasn’t as hard as someone would expect, since a surprisingly big amount of people shared the same name. And Logan had a really good memory when it came to association. A face to a name. A shape to a math formula. The smell, color, density and overall look to a chemical. And of course, the exact numeric measurement of a star’s whereabouts.

But there was no way of ‘associating’ his way out of this. He had no clue of the density, the weight, the pace, the name, nor the whereabouts of this mysterious disrupter of peace. All he knew was, that his hair was unnaturally green and he looked way too skinny for a wealthy towns-man - which just underlined the reason why he was steeling.

Oh, and let’s not forget he wanted to kiss Logan. Right there on the Square, apparently.

The young king scratched his arm, absentmindedly, trying not to think too much about it. Not that that’s helping. Questions keep popping up, tripping up his sane thought process.

It’s not like Logan liked the idea of the stranger kissing him. He didn’t like to be touched, let alone landing his lips to someone else. But the thoughts didn’t leave him alone.

Maybe that’s why he was here, stepping over unnecessarily high strands of grass in the middle of the night. He might not like the greenery touching him, and the jutting out branches and leaves of trees and bushes cause him immense panic (and make him scratch his exposed body parts like crazy), but he actually likes the forest. It is really calming (for the most part, anyways).

He hoped that this almost-calming surrounding would help him clear his head. But it just seemed to stress him out even more.

The thoughts kept on swiveling in his head - swirling and twirling, not letting the unknown thief out of their claw-clad grasp.

Logan needed to find out the thief’s name. He knows everybody’s name. And if this thief stays close to town, he’s considered a citizen. He needs to learn his name.

Not far from the obsessing king, Remus was lounging out in the hammock he hung outside Matilde’s old run-down cottage. One leg swung over the edge, he swayed from side to side, twisting the silver ring on his slender finger.

Bored out of his mind.

There wasn’t many days, when Remus’s screwed-up brain didn’t come up with things to entertain him; but some days even that head needed some rest, it seemed. Apparently today was one of those days.

Not a single fun thought. Even the inner monologue he never seemed to be able to end, somehow bored him to death. The only thing peeking even the slightest of interest in him, was the constant image of those scarily-blue eyes the king-dude possessed.

Seriously. In all his life, he has never once seen such ocean-blue eyes. Dark and deep, holding many a secret. It made Remus desperate to know each and every single one.

But that was not happening. No matter how much the eyes mesmerized him. How much he couldn’t get them out of his head. (Agh, Jesus fucking Christ those eyes…) There was just no way he could go back to that town.

The king has let him go once (he chalked it up to his good looks, charm and smooth words) and the second time is as likely as Matilde coming back from wherever she fled to.

So here he was. Bored as all hell.

He sighed heavily, wondering what kingdom was next on his agenda tomorrow. When suddenly he heard a scrunch. Then another. And another. This was no squirrel. Remus sat up immediately, eyes darting along the dark forest.

It was so late. What the hell would anybody be doing up at this hour of the night?

He darted out of the hammock - almost falling face first when his foot got caught in the fabric - hiding in the near-by bushes. Thank the lords that he didn’t forget to turn the fucking lights off again.

The scrunching got louder by the second, and Remus crouched lower.

Low muttering drafted into his ears. “…nice of you good sir, but I’ll have to decline. I am not sure that would be appropriate considering we just met…” A dark figure, drafted in shadow came into view. “And besides, you haven’t even introduced yourself. I know the name of every citizen in this kingdom. For the sake of consistency, I would also like to find out yours…” Jesus Christ, who were they talking to?  And what were they doing?!

One leg up in the air, like soldiers marching, then quickly stamped down, hopping to the other. Weird movements all over the place, not even in a straight line, like a sane person. Was this person drunk? They looked like a fucking goat, jumping from one small jutting out pebble on the mountain-side to the other.

The site alone would make Remus want to piss himself, but together with the inconsistent murmuring? He couldn’t hold back the snort.

The figure immediately froze in place. All movement and words falling into still silence. “Who’s there?” They called out cautiously.

Remus bit his tugging lip hard. Fuck.

Well, there was no backtracking now. Besides, it’s not like he was scared. It was more likely he’d scare the crazy-pants over there. So slowly, he razed from his hiding spot with hands in the air and a huge grin on his face. “What are you doing dude? You look like a fucking crazy person.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” came the person’s answer. Voice laced with nerves.

“Just a random dude in a forest.” Rem shrugged.

“That’s not a very satisfying answer.”

Roman bit back a laugh. Seriously, what the hell? “Don’t worry I won’t hurt you.” he snickered. Then this thought blinked into his head, and as you know, thought’s bring words. Stupid, embarrassing and unnecessary words. “Unless you want me to.” he winked seductively. Then realized the person probably couldn’t even see his face, let alone the wink he just threw at them. Ah well, at least it saved him some embarrassment, when his tongue betrayed him.

Swear to god, the person ‘Eep’-ed at this. He made this strangled sound that sounded like a nervous whine mixed with surprise cut in half and that just made Remus want to laugh even more. “That’s really unnecessary, thank you.” And they’re still being polite! How even…?

Rem couldn’t help it at this point. It was too much. He burst out cackling like to crazy idiot he is. Probably scaring the poor person to death. (But then again, the ‘poor person’ did come wondering into a forest in the middle of the night, muttering to themselves and jumping around like an idiot.)

“Am… You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh that’s right…“ Rem’s forhead creased in thought. “…what was the question again?”  

“Who are you.”

“I’m Remus.”

If Logan could allow himself to curse, he would. But he couldn’t so instead he just gave a long exasperate sigh. “And who might that be?”

The stranger stepped closer, allowing the fleeting moon-light to reach his features and gave a big bow. Hand gesture and all. “Me, obviously.” No matter how much he disliked to admit it, Remus was every bit as dramatic as his brother. If not more…

The king’s eyes lit up with recognition (not that Rem could see). Well, guess his duty’s done then - the thief’s name is Remus. Huh…Very interesting.

“Well, now that you know my name, it’d be nice to get yours, pretty.” Rem grinned, daring to get a few more steps in. Bringing him closer to the still standing-frozen person.

From here he could finally see more of them. Well, him. Because apparently the smooth deep voice he was conversing with was the royal-head himself.

And his royal head slanted to the left slightly, eyebrows drawing together. “Why should I give my name to unknown man in the forest?”

“Why should I give my name to some random bloke, then?”

“Because I asked you to?”

Remus wondered what this dude’s problem was. Logan wondered why even wanted to get out of the safety of his chamber in the first place.

“Alright then, weirdo, tell me one good reason why I should answer and you shouldn’t.” Rem crossed his arms over his chest. Yes, he was aware he was talking to the king. But that doesn’t mean he had to play nice.

Rem treats everybody the same way, because that’s how it should be. (Maybe that’s what landed his ass behind bars twice already…)

Logan jutted out his chin. He could use the ‘King-card’ - as his advisor calls it. Could easily force the thief to answer without any objections (that is if he abbeys rules; which he should.) But honestly, Logan felt like doing neither. It was late, and he was supposed to stop obsessing about this whole thing. Which he did. The thief’s name was Remus.

So, as gracefully as a king can, he shrugged. “I don’t have one.”

“Well, shit. Then you ain’t getting my name, darling.”

The royal couldn’t decide whether the thief was that simple-minded or just easily distracted. “You’ve already said your name.”

Our beloved idiot’s expression froze, grin falling. “Ah, fuck.” his shoulders did the same. (In a very overdramatic - and admittedly, impressively flexible - way)

Well, if he wasn’t screwed before, now he certainly was.

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

Jesus Christ, I’ve never cursed more in my life and I hate it so much! I don’t curse in real life, not even while texting with friends (I use shit, hell and damn, but that’s about it) and this is killing me on a whole other level! But this is Remus, and I feel like a good Remus requires a hella lot of curses. 

So here we are. Me actually cursing more then my brain can accept it. But at least I get to project on Logan, right? I love autistic Logan, too damn much. He’s too precious. And the greenery thing? Believe me, my mum constantly makes fun of it XD But I don’t mind, I know I look ridiculous.

Anyways! I hope you liked this chap! ^^ I still have no idea where the hell I’m going with this, but I guess we’ll see where we end up. 

[the-holy-ghosted]

He is Alone

Breekon tries to think about the events leading up to him sobbing in a delivery van on the side of the highway

hi im transferring my ao3 fics onto tumblr!! this was my first one that i wrote a long while ago, enjoy

Breekon tries to think about the events leading up to him sobbing in a delivery van on the side of the highway.

It's not flattering, the way he's acting. A stuffed up and runny nose congesting the choked sobs and sharp wails that come out of him unpermitted. He cries pathetically into his hands, covering his face and soaked with unending tears. It hurts, the place where he thinks his heart once was. It aches horribly. His wet hands and tears shield his vision from the slow-rolling fog beginning to surround the van outside, as well as the steadily lowering temperature. His head hurts, but he tries to think about how he got here. He was driving... driving away. What was he driving from? He ponders, unsuccessfully wiping away tears. The museum... he was driving away from the wax museum. As he was driving, he was overcome with the sudden realization that he was alone. Before he could even process the feeling, it overtook him, and his eyes were glassy and he couldn't see correctly. His shoulders shook and he let out the first of many, many sobs as he slowed down and stopped off the side of the road. That's how he got there.

It was shocking, how quickly the emotions came on. Normally he was good at suppressing feelings, for the times he did feel any. But he was broken, now. So, brutally broken inside and all the thoughts he was trying to push back came flowing full force to the front of his mind.

Breekon realized he was alone. Being alone released the waterworks; such a simple thing to crush a man so hard. But as he stopped the van, he realized how truly alone he was. It was the first time he had been fully emersed in solitude. He had spent the past few hours surrounded by police and firemen, sitting in the aftermath of an explosion. Only now, driving to nowhere at 2:34 in the morning did he truly feel the silence. There was no sound of another person breathing. No sensation of someone else's presence. There was no static-y voice in his head saying things that only he could hear. There was nothing. He never had nothing before.

The solitude was painful. Breekon was all by himself for the first time in centuries. He had nothing anymore. No companionship, no deliveries, no comfort. Nothing but a blood-splattered coffin sitting in the back of the van, silent and satisfied. No longer hungry, at the sacrifice of one of its handlers. It had hardly been the last thing on Breekon's mind, had it not been hauled back to him by some police officer. He didn't consider the coffin, then. The only thing on his mind was his companion's body limp in his arms.

Breekon allows himself to think about Hope. He thinks about the sensation of holding him, lifeless and cold. He wails and cries harder remembering the immediate horror that struck his face as hid throat ripped open by surprise. Neither of them expected it. He thought about the feeling of heavy weight that washed over him the very moment Hope had died, followed by the rush of unbridled rage as he threw that damned officer into the buried. He remembered feeling breathless, slumped over the coffin lid, enraged and disoriented and heaving heavily. It was so hard to turn around and look at Hope's face, stuck horrified and in pain. It hurt Breekon, too, emotionally and physically. He dragged himself over. Breekon remembers holding his face, telling him look at me, Hope, please just look at me, Hope look, please, only to receive no answer. He remembers closing his gaping mouth and dragging a shaking hand over his eyes, closing them permanently. He had begun to cry, then. Not strong and agonizing just yet, only small sobs and sniffles. He remembered the rumbling, but he does not remember the explosion. He recalls nothing after curling himself around Hope to protect his lifeless body.

Breekon's memory becomes fuzzy after the explosion. The steam organs joyful tune halted abruptly and gave way to screams of agony. His ears rang sharply, and the museum crumbled around him. Large slabs of concrete and stone hit him hard, the wind blowing his hat off and throwing debris in his face. It hurt him. But he did not move, and he did not let go of Hope. He does not recall how long he kneeled under the rubble, nor it being pulled away from him by firemen. He does, however, remember snarling at the paramedics trying to pry him away. They asked if he was alright, touched his shoulder, but he did not notice them. He only snapped out of his daze when they reached to pull Hope out of his arms. Breekon snapped at the paramedics, told them not to touch him. He wouldn't have let go, had his attention not been brought to the coffin. They asked if it was his, and he said yes. They did not question why, they just let him have it. The paramedics tried to console him, to tell him it's alright and he could let go now. He had no energy to argue. He let go of Hope, but not without taking something. Remembering where he put it, Breekon pulls out the gold ring that was once on Hope's finger. He turns it in his hands, observing it. He looks at the engraving on the inside: a small heart carved by hand. Breekon remembers it being his idea, just a secret little thing. Personal, only for them to know. It was... cheesy, perhaps... but he didn't care. It was special. He is too focused on the ring to notice the fog rolling in thicker, nor the lack of noise from the road.

The ring makes Breekon think of their purpose together. They'd always relished in making people afraid, looming over them, watching them become more and more unnerved in their presence. His favorite thing, though, was when people would notice the rings. They would glance down and the discomfort in their expressions would turn to confusion. Sometimes, if they really wanted to get it across, they would subtly intertwine their pinkies and wait for whoever it was they were with to notice. They'd look, momentarily considering that can't be right, really? and shake their head in surprise. They'd turn away, then, perplexed and a little unnerved, and Breekon and Hope would smile and their fingers would intertwine. It was amusing, scaring and confusing all they came across. It was their purpose, and they loved it. They loved each other.

And now look at where they are.

Breekon stops himself, not wanting to think about that just yet. He rests his forehead on the steering wheel and wraps his arms around himself, noticing the cold air for the first time. He ignores it and tries to think of another happy memory. He skims through his three century-long catalog of memories and finds himself thinking about Hope's laughter. It was the most beautiful sound, he thought. His darling Hope would laugh at almost anything, and it was delightful to hear him even snicker and the slightest remark. Breekon was usually quiet if Hope wouldn't say something first. He wouldn't come off as one for jokes to most people. But privately, in their own company, he would make a little comment or crack a joke that would make Hope cackle. He never joked much around anyone else. His remarks and and silly thoughts were saved only for Hope. Breekon would make him laugh on purpose, occasionally, just to feel it's contagion. Hope would laugh, and then Breekon would laugh, and they'd be laughing at nothing together for a while. Hope's giggles and snickers were a drug. It was beautiful. Everything about Hope was beautiful, though. His laughter, as well as his regular speaking voice. Low and nearly a growl. It would give Breekon shivers to hear him speak in close quarters, quietly and only to him. His teeth were sharp and animalistic, a grinning threat to those they encountered. Breekons special favorite thing about Hope we're his eyes, dark and looming, never changing no matter whose face he wore. They were cold. Emotionless. But to Breekon? They were wonderful. Filled with so much tenderness when they were alone together, a tenderness meant only for him. Hope's eyes would peer into him, peer deep into his soul, and he would let them.

He pondered a moment about that. About how they were so warm to one another. They were soulmates, in the most literal, mortal way it could be thought of. They thought as one. They spoke as one. They were whole together.

And now they were half. He remembers they are half now, and his smile turns into a grimace, and he sobs once more. The twinge at the pit of his stomach returns, and he curls in on himself in agony. Breekon forgets the momentary bliss he felt just seconds ago and swears violently to the empty space next to him. He swears at Nikola, for attempting a ritual at all. He swears at the cop, for ripping apart the love of his life. He swears at the coffin, for being so greedy and heartless. He swears at himself, for not acting fast enough to save the only thing he had in this world. He screams and he screams and there is nothing there to hear him. There is nothing anywhere but a heavy, cold fog that swallows the van outside.

Breekon wallows for a long time. He does not know how long. His throat hurts from yelling and his eyes burn from crying. He is alone, and he always will be.

Then suddenly... There is a car horn. It is loud, and it startles Breekon out of his miserable state. He forgot where he was, he was sitting on the side of the road. He was driving away from the wax museum. He realized he was alone. The time on the dashboard says 2:35 AM. He was sitting for a minute. A full minute that felt like hours. He stares at the headlights passing next to him, and realizes he shouldn't be parked on the side of the road.

Breekon puts the thoughts of loneliness and Hope and loss aside. He does not wish to spiral any further. He wipes the remaining tears away from his eyes and sniffles. He is alone, and from now on he always will be. Breekon does not think any more of the events that led him here, and he turns off the side of the highway.

[brandstifter-sys]

Molting

Word Count: 2479           (Ao3)

Rating: T+

Characters: Virgil, Remus, all other sides as of PoF mentioned

Pairing: Dukexiety (platonic but could be not platonic if you want)

Warnings: Body Horror, Spider!Virgil, knife, sex mention, grossness, Gore, swearing, physical strain, exhaustion

Virgil is a spider boy, and spiders need to molt. It’s not a pretty sight and it’s an ordeal Virgil hates. Lucky him, he has a best friend who is willing and able to help, even if it drives him nuts.

-----

"Hey Princey, where's Virge?—Whoa are you okay, you look like you need to sit down, kiddo!"

"Patton, Virgil won't be joining us for a few days, surely his eating habits and sudden baldness have been a sign of the time of year for him." Logan commented from his seat on the couch. Roman was curled up and shaking, pallid and horrified.

"You mean?" Patton squeaked and shuddered. 

"Yes. I will be joining Janus and Remus during the clean up. I suggest you try to avoid his room for the next few days. Molting is a delicate process." 

-------

Virgil felt like jello, trapped in a hard shell. He was on his back spread and nude, unable to move without the sickening feeling that came with it. His chelicerae and extra limbs were out and just as rigid, making his position more awkward. He couldn’t breathe and he desperately tried to force his gelatinous form to shift and expand where his head was. He was dizzy, just trying to crack the eggshell-thin casing like a chick about to hatch, only without anything solid to chip at the barrier.

Pop!

The casing around his head split in half, with a sickening crack, leaving him gasping for air. Oh that sweet, sweet oxygen was tainted by the taste of his own skin-flavored goo falling into his open mouth. His eyes were sealed shut, but not out of fear for what he would see, since they didn't do a great job at blocking the light. No they were closed until he was sure none of his shell got in his eyes, trapped in the gelatinous muck that would cause his eyelids to tear if he dared open them.

"I thought I might have to cut you out of there if you took much longer," someone, Janus he assumed based on the tone, hummed softly nearby, "Time to cut off the area around your shoulders. Do try and wiggle out of it once it's done. And yes, you have to get yourself out." 

Virgil tried to calm his breathing, waiting for one of the worst parts. He was too fragile and squishy to be nicked by a blade, let alone a full cut. But he trusted Janus more than the others, except maybe Remus, especially with his mouth wide open.

Virgil could feel the vibrations through the floor. The steady gait and heavier footfalls were different from what he expected, but he could chalk it up to Janus being tired, he and Remus did carry him here and set up when his outer layer went rigid and his bones melted into this disgusting jelly.

He heard the blade gliding over his shell just above his shoulders with such a slight amount of pressure. It was far too smooth to be Janus's work, and Remus wasn't there, so it had to be Janus, but something about the stiff meticulous nature was throwing him off. 

"Now you have to go up towards the ears on both sides and then to the crown. Once that's done you can carefully lift those pieces away." Janus said to the person cutting his head free. Virgil's heart pounded in his ears, at least his soft organs were still intact, as intact as the situation allowed. He struggled to keep his breathing even, unsure where the blade was. 

"Would it be more efficient to cut along the fault?" That was Logan. That was okay, he was not easily disturbed. His suggestion, however, was not okay.

"Do you want to risk slitting his throat?" Janus asked with an edge to his voice, "He is vulnerable and having that scalpel near his throat will make his anxiety worse."

"I understand. In that case—" Logan trailed off and continued his task. Janus hissed under his breath, in a way that only Virgil would understand, but he didn’t, which was concerning. For the smart side, Logan had his stupid moments and this Janus was regretting bringing him in so soon.

"And to be clear, I am not supposed to peel the exoskeleton." 

"Correct. And once you remove the upper half, will you have a suitable specimen?" this Janus responded curtly. He was done sharing this vulnerable moment with the nerd. 

"Yes," Logan said as the tips of his fingers brush Virgil's new skin, making him wince, "Remus has already called 'dib'—is that the correct phrase?" 

"Yes." 

"He has already called dib on the lower half."

Virgil winced as cool air hit his tender form. He could feel the slime stretching and pulling away from him with a soft, sickening snap, with the tendrils falling back into the near liquid of his body. Logan was quick to set that piece aside and remove the other with as much dexterity and grace as before. 

"Shall I tell Remus his presence is requested at this time?" Logan asked as he gathered his samples.

"No. I suggest you sink out to your room before he bursts in like the unhinged maniac he becomes when told to sit still and wait." this Janus droned. Logan nodded and sank out. And not a moment too soon. But it felt like the other presence changed rapidly.

"Virgil, I’m the only one here with you. I'm going to clear your nose before I wipe your eyes," Remus hummed, after dropping his disguise, and knelt down beside him on the old sheet he was laying on. The bulb syringe entering his nostril was a strange sensation when his nose was basically formless, as was the goo exiting his nose, but it was a relief. 

"Stay focused on breathing, Virgil, 3/4 time—that's it. One more time." 

The second his nose was cleared, Virgil closed his mouth. Remus giggled and conjured a clean rag. 

"Whatsamatter, Soft-skull? Don't like the taste of your own mucus? It's like a giant loogie!" Remus cackled and carefully wiped down his face. 

"I thought you said you weren't gonna pull that stunt," Virgil wheezed. 

"Nerd wanted samples more than I want my dick sucked. I had to pretend to be Jan to keep things calm in here—you think the nerd would listen to me? Besides, Janus isn't good at anything but the first cuts. He thinks it's nasty!" Remus laughed, "It is but that's not the real issue—it's the mess that you leave behind that's the problem!"

Virgil rolled his eyes and focused on wiggling out of his shell instead of the duke's rant. It was the same one every season. Whether it was Janus's scales or the molting, Remus would bitch about the mess.

"... and I know what you're thinking—what everyone thinks! 'Why are you so bent out of shape? You like grossness and garbage and mess!'" Remus rambled, "There's a difference between a messy aesthetic and a mess! Organized chaos, Harlot's Web, I know exactly where everything is and where it's supposed to be even if it looks like shit! It's mine to manipulate! Your body cast is not in the design plan!" 

"Talk cryptids, dammit!" Virgil hissed as he tried to squeeze his way out of his exoskeleton, weakly curling his toes, or attempting to, "I hate this shit too!" 

"Cryptids and cursed objects?" Remus cooed. 

"Fine!" Virgil grunted, feeling the goo on his skin shifting and stretching with the slightest movement, peeling him away from his old skin slowly. He was going to take hours to get out.

"Okay so I know you don't usually watch the videos of Dybbuk box openings and you should, gets the blood pumping, but you know those are fake, right? They're all a sham!" Remus started ranting. His rage was actually quite helpful as a motivator to move. 

"...and don't get me started on the bullshit wax! It's so hard to clean! You know I have a design aesthetic and wax is not a part of it! Especially when there's no restless spook involved! It's a lot of crap with no real payout! If I wanted to have a creepy old box covered in wax I could make one myself!" 

“Fill it with spider exoskeleton,” Virgil huffed and wheezed at the exertion, “It’ll make a good snack!”

“Just like you!” Remus giggled, “But seriously, those things don’t hold any angry ghosties, and they seem problematic in other ways too, which usually isn’t a problem for me, but no spooks? That’s crossing a line! I could create better cursed objects!” Remus paused as a wicked grin split his face. Oh no.

“Get me out of here and you can see something really cursed!” Virgil spat, venom shooting from his mouth, literally, and landing on the sheet under him. He broke into a fit of coughing, his form sloshing and molding in the shape of his exoskeleton. 

"Easy there, Swamp Thing!" Remus jeered, "If no one helps Bolt, Nimby, Cirrus, Cyoomy, Hansel, or Gretel when they molt, you don't get much more help either." 

"Swamp Thing? More like the Blob!" Virgil retorted bitterly. Remus clapped his hands and grinned.

"You are so right!" he cheered, "That's a better nickname when you're like this! Like an alien creeping out of a meteor all gelatinous and prone to leaving slime trails! Emo Jello! How you still have lungs is a mystery to me! You don't even have a digestive tract!" 

"Great reminder, jackass!" 

"It is! All your fluids and organs are blended up—except for your heart, blood, brain, and lungs!"

Virgil tried to ignore the glee in his voice and focused on moving. He didn't feel like telling him that his blood was traveling through his body through osmosis, always finding a way back to the heart and lungs, he would see it eventually. The rubbery slick kept him stuck to his exoskeleton, bending and stretching, but always pulling him back. 

"You look like a jaundiced Hellboy cosplayer in a deflated Paleman blow-up suit who's gonna eat a crap ton when he gets back to normal! And then there's the whole hair growth thing! Like throwing straw on a potato sack filled with rotten meat! Do you even have eyelashes now?"

"You. Tell. Me." Virgil grunted and grit his teeth, which were far too soft to actually bite anything or grind. Remus squatted next to him and leaned in close. 

"They're coming in!" Remus grinned and stood up. Virgil groaned and flexed his chelicerae. Some movement was better than none. He was trapped, like swimming in tar, and he had to fight to escape his full-body restraint. 

"Do you want some music? I can do a striptease!" Remus asked and wiggled his eyebrows. 

"Does this get you hot and bothered, sicko?" Virgil scoffed and tried to focus on curling his fingers with what energy and strength he had. Remus pouted and wiggled his mustache in thought. 

"No, not really. But just standing here is boring! Besides, it's just incentive for you to burst out of your shell!" 

"Not. Interested." 

"You and I both know you would do anything to stop me from getting naked for no reason!" Remus teased. He was right of course, but it was still irksome.

"Shut up," Virgil hissed, still not getting anywhere, "Put on some music and keep your fucking pants on!" 

"Fine!" Remus groaned and rolled his eyes. He snapped his fingers, filling the room with some sick emo jams. At least they made Virgil more at ease! 

Two Days Later…

"Remus, c'mon!" Virgil panted as he fruitlessly clawed at the soft carpet trying to remove himself from his exoskeleton, smearing goo all over. He was weak and exhausted from the endless strain. His body was still akin to a gummy bear with a dark cherry filling, but at least his bangs were back. 

"Nope! I already cut out your—" 

"Please! I'm not even stuck!" Virgil cried, "Pull me out of here!" He was so close to bursting into tears. Two days straight of wiggling just to get back to normal took its toll on him. Two days straight of moving two inches forward and one inch back with no food or water left him weak. There was no time for sleep and no time to rest. Remus didn't sleep the entire time either and it showed. 

"I could tear you in half, and then your guts'll spill all over the floor and there'd be a huge stain and you'd be pissed off while you bleed out!" he said with a bright grin that bordered on maniacal.

"It's just my legs! Please!" he begged, "I don't have the strength!" He was actually crying at that point. Remus ceded and carefully looped his arms under Virgil's. The goo stuck to his shirt as he carefully pulled the emo from his old skin and scooped him up into his arms. 

"Easy there, Raggedy Anx, you're free to crawl on the ceiling and scare those losers like some fleshy horror movie creature bent on devouring them, starting with the eyes," Remus said and stood up. He could have easily snapped Virgil's spine over his knee, watched him writhe in agony and scream until he couldn't manage it anymore. He could watch his fluids pool under his translucent skin and ooze out of the puncture wound from the snapped vertebrae. 

He did the smart thing and placed the fragile blob of emo on the bed and stepped back. Molting meant growing and that meant he needed space as everything took shape again. Remus could already see what changes happened under that shell as Virge gasped, forcing air in to help his expansion. 

"Stress workouts?" Remus asked and stretched his arms above his head. 

"Mostly." 

"You fixed your—" 

"Yeah and that was your fault!" 

"No no no, I didn't mess up the piercing—you let it get infected and tried to rip it off!" 

"I'll rip yours off if you don't shut up!"

"I can regrow it, without going all rigor mortis alien!" Remus laughed, "But I can't make it any bigger, so you have me beat!" 

"Go to bed," Virgil huffed, "You're losing it." He kept up his hyperventilating style of breathing and closed his eyes. Just a few more hours of this and he could finally get some rest. 

"But you're not sleeping!" Remus argued, "And I vowed to watch over you while you're weak and nasty!" 

"You sound like Roman," Virgil scoffed. 

"You take that back!" 

"'I vowed' c'mon that's a Princey line!" Virgil huffed, “You need to get out of this room. Come after you get some rest and food. You did your part.” Remus pouted and snapped his fingers. The exoskeleton and sheet on the floor vanished. That was the last thing he had to do before Janus could take over. 

“Fine, but I’ll be back and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” Remus laughed and sank out. Virgil rolled his eyes, like he could ever stop Remus from doing anything! This time he didn’t want to.

Reblogs > Likes

[musetta3]

Revka Cadash and the Great Nug Hunt

It’s done! Thank you to @jarakrisafis, who sent me the writing prompt of ‘Carta, twelve injuries, and a greased nug;’ this was so much fun to write. Introducing Revka Cadash, my new Dwarven OC; she’s Jarak’s Inquisitor, Edric ‘Dasher’ Cadash’s, cousin.  

PS: @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, you said that you wanted me to tag you when completed, so. Tada! <3

When Revka Cadash had agreed to a ‘Wicked Grace night with the crew,’ she did not expect this. She leaned back in her chair, half in the air as she balanced perilously between tipping backwards or slamming into the table. Perhaps the latter would’ve been the better option; she’d seen funerals livelier than this iteration of ‘Saturday Night with Cousin Edric.’

“Ed,” she said, “I’m bored.” He arched his eyebrow over his Wicked Grace cards.

“Go get another drink, then,” he replied, discarding a drake and picking up another card. “Although you’re already tipsy.”

She huffed in outrage, “am not.”

“You are; you can’t keep a straight face. Your cheating’s sodding obvious.” Revka’s mouth twitched in amusement. No one in the Cadash clan—not even Edric ‘Dasher’ Cadash, himself—could touch her when she played Wicked Grace. Sober, that is. When tipsy… Everyone, it was said, had their vices; Rev Cadash’s was being unable to keep a straight face when drunk.  

Well, that and sweets. She fished around in her belt pouch and popped yet another nougat in her mouth, toying with her cards. She fumbled through the fuzziness enveloping her for an idea to liven the evening. Drinking alone wasn’t much fun—she rarely drank with the crew on principle, to prevent overfamiliarity. Besides, half-drunk Carta were more trouble than they were worth. They already broke up a fistfight earlier over a card game. She needed something to distract everyone. Revka slammed her (losing) hand of cards on the table, causing several heads to turn.

“Mordhau, Verdin: break out the grease and a mud splasher. Let’s live a little.” She smirked at her cousin, pushing herself away from the table.

“You’re either bored to death, or slightly mad,” Edric replied, clearly amused. “Can’t tell which.”

“Both, sweet cousin, both… and perhaps the slightest bit tipsy.” She sauntered across the back room of their warehouse on the Docks. ‘Greywater Imports,’ it said on the door, which was true—the Cadash clan did deal in import/exports—but their merchandise’s origins were murky at best, and downright illegal at worst. Didn’t stop the Cadashes, however. Nothing did, not even the room spinning as Revka crossed it. 

Mordhau and Verdin reappeared, bearing a squealing nug and a pot of grease. The men cheered when she slathered the nug with grease and made a raunchy joke concerning the last occasion she’d used that much grease for something… something tall, horned, and incredibly muscular. Her hypothetical night with a greased qunari earned her some whoops and laughs.

“Five sovereigns to whoever catches this slippery bastard,” she called.

“Eight sovereigns say you can’t do it,” Edric declared from his seat in the corner, brow arched in challenge. “Too far in your cups, you are. The lot of you!”

She flashed a grin and let the nug loose. It squeaked, scurrying away. It was almost cute, if she ignored the creepy paw-hands and those beady eyes full of indignance. Her niece might like it for a pet, maybe. Her smile fell off her face as several Carta came barreling towards her and the nug. Revka stumbled back. “O-Oi,” she said, “oi! Slow down, you hear? Slow down—”

Alas, that she had forgotten the chair behind her. She backed right into tripping over it, and the others? Tackled by four hulking dwarva was not how Revka thought she’d die. She probably broke ribs from those fools, those squabbling, drunk fools too busy pommeling each other to focus. She crawled out from beneath them and rolled to her feet, jaw dropping.

It was pure chaos. Grown men and women—assassins, smugglers, deadly mercenaries alike—ran about the room like shrieking children, jumping over benches and faceplanting into the floor as they scrambled after the nug. Crawling under tables. Slipping on spilled drinks. Trampling fingers. Edric simply cackled from his corner, of course: the ‘Boss’ was far too reserved to join in the fun.

A flash of pink darted across her periphery. Revka dove under the table, pouncing on the nug with a triumphant ‘aha,’ but her grip was tenuous. The creature wriggled away, leaving her and her favorite gray shirt grease-stained past salvation. She cursed under her breath.

“Come back,” Revka exclaimed, crawling after it. It ran under the keg table, towards the wooden bars partitioning the rest of the room from the back office. If she hurried, Revka could catch it before it reached the bars. She reached out to snatch, it wriggled away. She tried again, but to no avail. She nearly had it when the nug slipped through the bars to the safety of the office.

“Damn it, get back here,” Revka said, reaching through the bars, her groping hands grasped for the nug cowering just out of reach. She looked about the room. What had begun as a nug hunt had devolved into a wrestling match in one corner, several discouraged dwarva drinking off their sprains, a few sleeping under the tables, and an earnest search in another part of the room. If she stood and opened the door, it would alert the others, and that wouldn’t do, not at all. 

Revka eyed the partition before her: the bars seemed wide enough apart for her to fit. She prided herself on her curves, but she wasn’t large; she could’ve squeezed through these bars, back in her twenties, and she hadn’t changed that much…

Revka Cordelia Cadash learned the hard way that she had, indeed, changed much more than she had realized over the years... and all the sweets she’d eaten had gone to her hips.

Her eyes went wide, the size of platters. The curves she had been so proud of not five minutes prior, it seemed, betrayed her in the worst manner imaginable. Revka sucked in her gut and shimmied, pulling herself through the bars inch by inch. She tripped on her own feet on the way out, landing on her broken ribs.

“Agh!” she bit her knuckle to stifle the shout. “Son of a nug-humping bastard, that hurt.” There was a soft coo above her head; Revka craned her neck to see the poor nug, trembling pitifully. Her heart softened.

“Frightened you well, didn’t we?” she asked, slowly extending her hand. The nug flinched.

“Shh, I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, “I think you’ve gone through quite enough in the name of fun.” The nug slowly crept towards her, nuzzling her fingers. She scoffed a laugh.

“Come on, you lucky nug,” she said, gently scooping it up and making for the door. “You’ve made me a nice bit of coin; no soup pot for you.” She balanced the nug on her hip as one did a toddler while digging her key from her belt pouch. She unlocked the door and sauntered into the fray.

“Alright, pay up, fun’s over,” she called, mounting a chair and holding the nug aloft. “Wounded against the wall for treatment. The rest of you, clean up this mess. Verdin, fetch the healer, we have…” Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Fourteen dwarva leaned against the heavy wooden crates and shelves, with injuries ranging from black eyes to sprained wrists and loose teeth.

Revka shook her head and sighed. “Make that two healers, Verdin. Come on, Lucky: you’re getting a bath.” The nug squirmed as she filled a bucket with water and found a mostly in-tact bar of Antivan soft soap she’d ‘borrowed’ from their stock. She plopped down in her seat at her cousin’s table.

“Did I hear you right? ‘Lucky?’ You named it?” Edric asked. “You broke your ribs for that thing.”

She shrugged, scrubbing the nug with a rag. “Won me eight sovereigns, though. Which, ahem…” she tapped the table expectantly. Edric grumbled and tossed the coin on the table, rolling his eyes at her glee.

“Lucky the Nug,” he mumbled. “You’ve definitely drunk too much.”

“Now, now: don’t bad-mouth your nephew, he’s a good little nug—” no sooner had the words left her mouth, did the nug upset the bucket and send a deluge of water cascading across the table and onto the floor. She grimaced when Edric picked up a sopping Wicked Grace card.

“Hang them up to dry,” she said, scrambling to salvage the situation. “They’ll be good as new—oh dear.” The poor Knight of Wisdom’s eyes had run, gray rivulets meandering down his cheeks as though he was in tears.

“‘Lucky.’ He’s lucky he’s not my sodding dinner,” Edric groused, collecting his soggy cards and departing for the office. Revka fell back in her seat, blowing out all her air.

When Revka Cadash had agreed to a ‘Wicked Grace night with the crew,’ she most certainly did not expect this.  

[jack-enbyfold]

I’m not writing a fic but I’ve got dialogue damn it.

After the final Trial. Ranboo played a rigged game for Wilbur’s death but his execution.

[He was thrown in a very deep pit themed like an old time print shop. He was forced to write down everything he remembered about the killing game in front of a timer labeled “deadline”. Every word he typed was 1 link added on to a giant chain out of his hole, attached to a journal-shaped weight at the top. He actually finishing and was climbing out when it hit 0. However, the timer changed to say “FIRED” and everything began burning. The chain he was climbing wrapped around him, pulling/tying him up as the ditch was flooded to “put out the fire.”]

What was SUPPOSED to happen was that all the top chain would shatter, implying his writing/memory was too weak, and he would be sent down to drown. (It’s called Weak-Link btw)

What happened instead was the players remaining, with information/tools Wilbur had given them before he forced Phil to kill him, had managed to stop it. Fundy gets a cool moment where they’re looking at the machine and everyone’s like “alright ultimate coder, can you stop this?” And Fundy goes “yeah” and starts smashing.

Ranboo ends up tossed to the ground next to the pit of water. Tubbo runs in to try and save him but is met by Technoblade and oops I wrote stuff.

——

“I thought you wanted despair!”

“I do- I- I did…”

“LAIR!” Technoblade lunged at Tubbo but stopped, letting him fall back as he tried to jerk away. He fell on his back with a pathetic thud.

“I’m NOT! I loved despair, I lived through it… but now I’ve tried something different.” Tubbo drew a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet the pig-masked gaze. “Something I’ve always had. I’ve always wanted! With Tommy I almost had it… I could have had it… but you took that. I hate you for it. Technoblade, Philza, even Wilbur. I hate you.”

Ranboo winced at Tubbo’s growing dark tone. He didn’t like it, he didn’t want whatever was going to happen to Tubbo for it to happen. He expected a laugh or a scoff, or worse, a slice or thunk or scream, but none of those came. Something sparked inside him. Something familiar, something good. The slightest sliver of hope dug it’s way into his chest, shot by the blessed silence. He  craned his neck, twisting in the heavy chains so he could look up at the masked man. There he was surprised yet again. There was no gnarled smile or vicious glare on Technoblade’s face, there was not cold empty apathy either, just a small humble frown. Ranboo squinted. Was the pressure of the weights getting to his head or was Technoblade… shaking?

“You…” he raped, not even flinching as both sets of eyes locked into him. “You… reg… regret it…” he gasped again, “d… don’t… you?”

A quizzical, piercing, glare was his only answer. It served more as a warning than a question but Ranboo answered anyway, even as just breathing was beginning to cause him pain.

“T… Tommy… you… regret… k…killing… hi-“

“SHUT UP!” The shaking in his hands became clear even to Ranboo at this point. The trident he was holding seemed to bend under how tight he gripped it, his eyes grew the wildest Ranboo had ever seen them even with all the bloodlust of this cursed game. He raised it up high and Ranboo wondered if it was more cowardly to squeeze his eyes shut or let them widen— And then Technoblade relaxed. His shoulders fell and the trident slipped from his fingers. It hit the ground with a boisterous clang, as if it too were confused by the shift in energy.

Techno stood there for a moment, looking down at the thing. His hands trembled furiously, he lifted them up to look at them, then he brought them over his face. “He… hehe…” he laughed. It wasn’t evil or wild or sarcastic- but it wasn’t humorous at all either. “Heheheh… hahaha… ahahahah… AHAHAHAHAH!”

Technoblades hands flew down; Ranboo could hear Tubbo’s gasp alongside his own as the hog mask came off with them. It was dropped to the ground with an unceremonious clatter mostly drowned out the the deranged laughter. It was off. Ranboo couldn’t breathe. That might be attributed to the weights and chains pinning him to the floor but he couldn’t help but attach it to the fact he could see Technoblade’s face. The mask that had haunted and tourmented them laid discarded a few feet away. Ranboo, almost wistfully, recalled a time they thought seeing behind the mask would solve their problems. What a stupid goal that had been. Technoblade’s skin was absolutely soaked with tears that still streamed down like lakes of acid, his eyes were bloodshot with pain and misery but his smile stretched ecstatic from ear to ear.

“Why are you smiling?” Tubbo demanded, audibly distressed by this turn of events. “Why do you try to hard to be miserable? You aren’t happy! I know you’re not!”

“Because,” Technoblade laughed. “You’re hurting me! I’m- it’s- DESPAIR!” Some awful mix of cackling and sobbing escaping his throat as he doubled over, holding his sides.

“You’re not happy.”

“Oh, Tubbo, I am! How can I not be? I’m miserable! I’ve never been so-“

“There’s another way, Technoblade.” Tubbo walked into Ranboo’s field of vision, leaning down next to the monster and placing his hand on his shoulder.

It was so easy to forget but Tubbo— him and Tommy— they’d been family to Wilbur and Techno. An awful, distorted, mockery of a family but a family done the less. Wilbur had certainly cared about Tommy and Tommy seemed to really love Tubbo. Ranboo wished he’d gotten to know him better.

“I will never, ever, forgive you.” Another round of hysterics spilled out of Technoblade. “But this isn’t right for anyone. There’s more, better, ways to find joy. Real joy. Honestly, despair is fucking overrated.” Despite the pain Ranboo found it in himself to laugh. He was too caught up in Tubbo’s speech to notice the figure looming behind him. “Please, Teachnoblade, have hope. Believe that there’s something better because there is. I’ve been in despair all my life, it’s all I’ve known, but—“

“Oh, Tubbo…” a pitying tone interrupted the moment.

Ice shot through Ranboo’s skeleton as the voice sliced from behind him. He tried to squirm himself around to face it but only hurt himself, he tried not to whimper as his shoulder and spine began to throb. He knew who the voice belonged to. He’d barely seen him but there was no way he could ever forget… Philza. “PLE-“ he gasped and sputtered. He didn’t have it in him to scream.

“If despair is all you know…” a cold hand gripped the chains around Ranboo’s back and yanked him sharply to his knees.

No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no. What was that? No. Was that his heartbeat or his thoughts? No please no. So fast. He couldn’t breathe. So heavy… he ached. The tank was still next to them. He’d lost the trial.

“Then you’ve never really known despair!” The delight in the voice was sickening. Ranboo hated it would be the last thing he ever heard.

He hit the water to quick and sunk even quicker. It froze and burned and stung, he barely had time to register the pain of being thrown before he was falling. He was falling right? There’s no way he was sinking he was moving much too fast. And he was cold. He was so cold. If he was drowning wouldn’t he need to breathe? He didn’t feel like he was suffocating… he didn’t feel…

He hoped Tubbo would keep his promise.

Yooooo, holy shit. That execution was a great concept honestly. And I forgot how fucking weird Despair folks could be honestly. Your writing is so good! Poor Tubbo!

[evil-giggling]

Pairing: Creativitwins

Romantic/Platonic

Triggerwarnings: Roman Angst, Unsympathetic!King, Swearing, Intrusive Thoughts

–––———

Days passed since Deceit had earned the Light Sides' trust, with Roman still being an exception. The prince knew Janus wasn't stupid–the snake felt his distrust, saw behind his faux friendly smiles, and noticed the subtle venom in the nicknames Roman gave him. And strangely, Roman was aware of this, though he could not care less. Let that slippery fiend do whatever he wanted with that information.

But, Roman was getting tired of everything. He couldn't keep on pretending like this–he was barely even needed in recent videos. It was always Janus in the spotlight–it made Roman feel like a disposable comic relief, but the Prince figured it was fine. He was, after all, still Thomas' hero.

Right?

He sighed at the thought, dropping it as fast as he picked it up. It was enough that it was obvious he was barely wanted in the videos, he didn't need this for the final nail in the coffin that secured his self-hatred. All he needed to focus on was to be as useful as he was allowed to be.

Yes, he needed to make the others proud. Needed to make Thomas proud.

He stood at his door, preparing himself for another video. He ran his hands through his hair, tending to it to make it look like he wasn't laying down for hours, contemplating his worth to Thomas. He took one deep breath, and adorned his face with a practiced smile, and opened the door.

He stayed there, in the darkness, as he was stunned. They already started – no, they sounded like they were almost through in solving the dilemma. He suddenly lost all energy to participate in the video, especially when he felt another Side taking his spot, and from the way he spoke, Roman could tell who he was. The prince scoffed, crossing his arms.

It was unbelievable. He was already shoved in the very back, waiting in the wings for his time to shine, that deep inside he knew would never come, and now the Scooby-Doo villain was taking his spot? He wouldn't have it. Roman prepared himself to pop up, and when he finally did, he wished he hadn't.

"You're our hero, Jan," Thomas said brightly, his eyes widening as he saw the better half of his Creativity appear, "er, hi Roman." he greeted, his posture tensed awkwardly.

The other sides stared at him, and he saw the expression in their eyes as clear as day. Virgil looked anxious–of course, when is he not? Patton looked unbearably guilty, so much that Roman couldn't look at him for long. Logan looked aloof, but there was a sympathetic glint in his eyes, as he looked like he was preparing to say something to fix this new faced dilemma.

And Janus. Janus was proud of himself, Roman could tell, but he seemed to still want Roman on his side.

Roman turned away from them, and uncomfortable silence hung in the air. He forgot that he was in front of a camera for a moment, and looked up, an unexplainable look in his eyes, his face as hard as stone.

"Well, Thomas, it seems like I was interrupting something," Roman uttered, a spiteful tone laced in his voice, "like I do everyday, so really, it's nothing new. Still, I apologize."

Patton looked broken, his face soft and tears already in his eyes, "kiddo, no, you didn't interrupt anything! Right guys?"

A beat, and then Logan spoke up, "what Patton said was true, Roman. There's no need to feel guilty, you are still needed on the table, there's no need to over dramatize–" Logan stopped, when Virgil sent him a sharp glare.

"Nice, specs, that definitely helped–" Virgil said spitefully, but was caught off by Roman.

"No, Virgil. He was right. There's no need to be over dramatic, but that really is just how I am," spoke Roman, his voice lifting into a pathetic version of his usually booming voice, "so I'll just see myself out, before I make a bigger mess of things, yeah?"

Patton looked like he was about to cry, and Janus gave him a look of concern, "kiddo, no, it's not healthy to keep things to yourself. I learned that the hard way. We can talk about it kiddo, I promise we'll listen–"

Roman let in a sharp breath, and let out a cruel laugh, full of pent up hurt from how many times he was dismissed and ignored, "yeah, you showed me how much you all could listen to me in the last days."

That shut Patton up, as he hung his head in guilt. Janus sent Roman a sympathetic gaze, "I know we've never seen eye to eye Roman, but I'd be glad to help you with this, it's been eating you up lately–"

"Yeah," Roman breathed out a laugh, "you noticed, and said nothing. Don't tell me you care now."

Janus paused, before opening his mouth to say something, but Virgil spoke up before he could get a word out.

"Janus, you're not helping, just let us–"

"Wow, first name basis now, Virge?" Roman said, and he shook his head, "what am I doing? You all don't care."

"Ro, don't. You're taking this too far, let's just talk about it–"

"Taking this too far? Me!?" Roman exclaimed, and Virgil flinched. The prince bit his lip, but didn't back down, "you don't want to concern yourself with me, I'd say you all are the ones that are blowing this out of proportion–"

"Roman, calm down–" Logan said softly, "fighting isn't going to solve any of your problems–"

"My only problem is myself. So let me handle it." Roman gritted out, crossing his arms.

"Ro, come on, let us help you, we'll listen this time–" Thomas said, before Roman let out a loud laugh.

"No. If I'm no use to you, I don't matter. I don't deserve your help."

Thomas' face fell, "Ro–"

But he never got to finish what he was going to say, as Roman sinked down without warning, the hurt in his eyes never leaving.

Darkness. He shouldn't stay here, they'll find him easily, but he couldn't go back to his room, as that was their obvious destination. But then, he snorted, they probably won't even care enough to look for him.

Regardless, he still wanted to make sure they wouldn't spot him easily. So, he went to the last place they expected him to be.

To Remus' Room.

It's been a while since he last visited his brother, so he had trouble focusing on the things so he could get there. But in the end, he did, and for a while, there was nothing but silence.

"Ooh~ it's the Prince of Prude!" Remus cackled, "to what do I owe the displeasure?" the Duke bowed mockingly, a demented grin on his features.

"I just wanted to get away, there's no need to be cruel, brother." Roman said, his posture softening, as he sat on the couch, ignoring the disgusting smell, and the mysterious wet stains.

Remus raised a brow, his grin dropping into a frown, "get away?" then he looked around, and his brows raised in comprehension, and something clicked in his eyes, "trouble in paradise, huh?"

Roman scoffed, crossing his arms, "paradise would be too much of a kind word for it."

A silence hung between the two brothers, and Remus shifted uncomfortably. He had no idea what to do, and Roman could tell that. His brother wasn't the most comforting side, and kindness wasn't his forte. Roman opened his mouth, about to bid his farewell, when Remus smirked up at him.

"Brother, would you care for a duel?" the Duke said, summoning up Roman's sword and throwing it to him. Roman caught it easily, his features softening, as he realized this was Remus' way of comforting him. He let a small smile grace his features, which turned into a smirk, as he looked up at his brother.

"You better prepare your white flag, brother, you'll be waving it as soon as we start." Roman said smugly, standing up as the room around them shifted, and they were now in the dark parts of the Imagination.

Remus cackled, a demented smile once again adorned his face, "the only thing I will be waving is your decapitated head on a stick in front of your weeping fragments, brother!" Remus said, waving his Morningstar threateningly at Roman.

"Is that a challenge, brother!?" Roman cried, lifting his sword up in front of him, a carefree and true smile on his face, for the first time in a while.

"No, it's a promise, Prince Bubble-bum!"

Roman laughed, exclaiming "en garde!" and he surged forward, going for the attack swiftly, but Remus was just as fast with his defense, pushing Roman back, with the intent of making him fall over, but Roman was determined to stay upright, and he retaliated quickly.

They went at this for what seemed like hours, neither backing down, as frustration built up inside them was expressed in their duel.

As Remus was being shoved down by Roman with his sword, he asked, "so, why are you so upset, princey?"

Roman raised a brow, thinking this was some tactic to distract him, but saw no motive like that in his eyes. There was curiosity, andthe slightest bit of concern, and the prince sighed, "it's nothing big." Roman faltered, and Remus took the opportunity, albeit with a hint of hesitancy, to twist the situation around. He didn't give up on the question though.

"Come on, Roman. I'm not exactly your usual company, you hate me, remember?" Remus scoffed, and Roman looked at him in pure confusion. He dropped his guard, and Remus followed suit.

Remus rolled his eyes, "don't give me that look, you royal fucktard. What went up your ass that made you suddenly want my company?"

It was now Roman's turn to roll his eyes, but he was, admittedly, surprised at the hurt tone in his brother's voice, "when I said I hate you, I meant it in a brotherly way." he sat down on a patch of dead grass, running his hand along his hair in frustration.

Remus raised a brow, sitting beside him, "really? Even if I'm the reflection you see in a funhouse mirror that shows you everything you hate about yourself?"

Roman shook his head, "I said everything I don't want to be, Remus. I've never hated you, only the things you do to the others, and how you affect Thomas... But I know you can't help it. It's too much of a cruel thing to pin against you."

Remus furrowed his brows at him, then let out a sigh.

"I was there."

Roman looked at Remus with a raised brow.

"On that day, when Janus told you you were almost exactly like me," Remus huffed, a cruel grin on his face as he set his head on his raised knees, "I know I shouldn't have been so hurt, it shouldn't have bothered me so much. That was my role wasn't it? To be the evil one? But... You looked so disappointed, and upset, being compared to me. And it hurt like a bitch, you know. To know that even your brother doesn't fucking like who you are."

There was a beat of silence, when little sniffles emerged from Remus' lips. Roman frowned, when Remus spoke, "what's worse, is that Jan has been spending more time with his precious little Light Sides than me. I mean, can't exactly blame him, right?" he chuckled darkly, "I'm just some freak that eats deodorant. Who'd want to spend time with a mistake like me?"

Roman's frown deepened, with a spark of renewed hatred for the snake-like Side. Was singling out Roman not enough, now he had to abandon his brother, too?

Remus raised his head, looking at Roman, as he felt a comforting hand on his back, "I'm sorry... That I ever let you believe I hate you. You're a good brother, even if you don't see it. Even if you won't accept it," Roman added, chuckling at the look of disbelief in Remus' eyes, replacing his usual vivdly crazy irises, "from now on... I won't be abandoning you anymore."

Remus let out a surprised noise, as he was suddenly engulfed in a warm hug. He fought tears, still unbelieving of his situation, as he hugged his brother back with hesitancy.

"I'll always be here, from now on, brother." Roman said, and suddenly, a bright light engulfed the both of them.

And when it faded, there was only one person standing.

"Roman? Kiddo, are you here?" a scared Patton said, followed by a sharp gasp, as he stared at the Side before him.

"Patton? What's wrong–?" Janus followed the Moral side's eyes, and his own widened.

The others stared in awe, as the fusion of Remus and Roman stood, in all his elegancy and pride, a smirk on his features.

"Guys... Who is that?" Thomas asked, his voice shaky, "whe-where are Roman and Remus? Guys?"

Virgil gulped, his eyes blown in panic, as he said, "i-it's the King..."

The King smirked, as he tilted his head in mock to the Sides. Logan was too shocked to speak, Patton looked terrified out of his mind, Virgil looked anxious–no, paranoid, Thomas looked confused as ever.

And Janus?

Janus looked like he didn't know what to do.

It pleased the King to no end.

"Hello, my loyal subjects," The King drawled out, "my name is Icarus," he smirked, snapping his fingers, and the ground shook beneath them, and they were suddenly in a grand castle of different hues of green, red, and orange, matching his attire, with Icarus sitting on the large throne. He was the fusion of two brothers' anger, hatred, loneliness and sadness—it was clear in his threatening heterochromic eyes.

Roman and Remus, rest, the King thought, your Highness will take care of everything, I swear to you.

With that final promise, he eyed the Sides with malicious glee, and finished,

"your King."

[mini-moongi]

missing you. || yoongi

Genre: Angst, unrequited love?, fluff ending

Warnings: Toxic behavior, abuse, uh oh bad relationship man. Please, if you are going through these kinds of things, seek out help, and talk to someone you trust about it!!

Summary: Your latest relationship is... well... not that great. When Yoongi tries to convince you to leave, it doesn’t end well. He’s forced onto the back burner of your life, and without him, it spirals out of control.

[requested!]

[Hi!! Can I request a yoongi x reader that starts off sort of angsty with reader in love with someone else in a not so healthy relationship - but then she gets out and realizes that yoongi has been there the whole time??? Like I wanna cry cause it’s sad then I wanna cry cause it’s happy lol]

a/n: heck yeah this was requested; thank you!!! To be honest, a good Yoongi fic from me is well overdue-- sorry yoongi! I still love you!

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yoongi’s voice is stern and laced with more concern than you had hoped. A simple brunch get-together, that was all you wanted. You didn’t mean for this to happen, but you’re sitting here letting Yoongi hold your arm out for everyone to see. Blues, purples, and blacks dance along your forearm; a twisted display of affection.

You try to remove yourself from his grasp, but his hold on you is firm. His soft brown eyes searches yours for answers you didn’t want to say out loud. The long sleeve sweater you were wearing rode up on your arm when you reached for his drink, and now he wouldn’t let it go. “It’s fine, Yoongi.”

You smile, but he knows you aren’t fine. Years of friendship and trust told him that much. Michael loves you, these.... these bruises? They were your fault; you were out of line. 

“Y/n,” Yoongi swallows the lump forming in his throat. You didn’t need to respond back-- he already knew the answer. God, how could anyone do this to you? “This isn’t okay. What he’s doing isn’t okay.” 

His bangs fall in front of his face as he leans his head down, lost in pensive thought. Yoongi’s large hands rub soothing circles into your skin, a rhythm you almost get lost in, but you’re careful not to give in too much; Michael wouldn’t like it if you did. 

“If it was ever really bad,” your voice wavers for a moment. “...I would tell you. I really would, Yoongi, promise.” You hope another weak smile will seal the deal, but he doesn’t drop it. Classic Yoongi, you think to yourself. 

“You’re too tough on yourself, you know that?” A dry laugh escapes him, and you wonder if this conversation will ever end. “Y/n, I’m telling you, this Michael guy is bad business. Please, you have to get out while you still can. If you can’t do it for you, do it for me.” He insists a little softer now; the melancholy tension hurts so gently.

You almost say yes, you almost make it out that day, but the man of the hour walks into the cafe. Your time’s up. Quickly you leave Yoongi’s warmth, a feeling you miss already. Even after he’s stopped holding you, his touch still lingers on your skin. Michael’s smile drops, and a glare is shot at your best friend. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” His voice is low and threatening as he nears you two.

“No! No, of course not,” you jut in,”I was just about to leave. Bye, Yoongi.” You gather your things as quickly as possible; you don’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting. Before you can leave, Yoongi gently grabs your wrist. 

It hurts a little inside when you ignore his pleading gaze, and it hurts even more when he lets go.

For a while, Michael doesn’t let you see Yoongi again. Your best friend dwindles away like all of the others in your life, something you wish would never happen. You’ve been working really hard to make Michael happy, and it finally pays off. When you finally meet up with Yoongi, he thrusts you into conversation as soon as your boyfriend was out of earshot.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Yoongi envelopes you in a comforting embrace-- one you associate with home and freshly brewed coffee. You’re stood stiff in his hold, too scared to reciprocate. “You don’t text back, you don’t call, I don’t even see you for how long? A week? A year?”

“...It’s only been a month.” You state simply. 

“Okay first of all,” Yoongi huffs,” Longest month of my fucking life.”

You snort in surprise, and laughter finds its way out of you. You nod your head in agreement, it has been too long, you realize. 

“Second, you’ve got to break up with him--” His hands rests on both of your shoulders. “--I’m sorry, I had to say it again.”

“Yoongi, we’ve been over this.” You frown, disappointed that you’ve come to this. “Michael loves me. We’re cool.”

“This,” he gestures to the sunglasses you’re wearing. Even a pair of shades and concealer couldn’t hide the black eye you’ve developed since he last saw you. “...This isn’t cool. Not even in the slightest. He’s using you, y/n, if this is his idea of love, it isn’t it. Y/n, I--”

“--I can handle myself you know,” You brush his hands away; you’d rather be left in the cold than bask in Yoongi’s touch and be reminded of what you don’t deserve. “I don’t need you to tell me this every time we see each other.”

“I’m just trying to help you--”

“I know. And it hurts, Yoongi,” you point to your chest, where your heart is already breaking into pieces. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, but evidently they’re too dry at the moment. You’ve done enough crying at home. “Just... Just leave. I’m done trying to explain myself to you.”

The pain that courses through you is unbearable as you watch Yoongi’s own heart fall apart in front you. His grip on you loosens, and he refuses to make eye contact with you. You can’t take back what you’ve said, no matter how much you want to, and you watch him slip away from your grasp. 

He’s cold, bitter. He won’t let you know how much it physically pains him to see you like this. Yoongi loves you; it’s a well kept secret meant for late night drives and movie night. His emotions are riding so high right now that one wrong step can ruin everything you two built over the last few years. So Yoongi does the only thing he can think of in that moment. He lets detaches himself from you, he walks away.

He’ll always be there, silently hoping that you make it out. Hoping that you’ll realize that you deserve better. Yoongi wants to be the one to make it better, but for now, he’ll have to settle for loving you from a distance.

You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve last seen Yoongi. 

That’s a lie, it’s been exactly a month and six days. His laughter and smile has become a distant memory, and you can’t seem to remember the last time you two had movie night. The faint smell of caffeine and cologne ghosts by; you instinctively breathe it in. 

Michael nudges your side. “What’s the matter with you?”

“..Nothing!” you blurt out. The last thing you need is for him to start another fire.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar, y/n. I bet it’s the guy you’re cheating on me with.” He grumbles. The tv you two were watching fades to background noise. If you don’t say anything, you’ll feed the lie, but if you speak up, you’re covering the lie.

“I’m not cheating on you.”

“His name is Yoongi, right?” He completely ignores your protests and stands up off of the couch. “What does it take to get you to stop being such a whore for once?” He’s stormed off, dismissive of the way you start crying.

No, this isn’t okay. This isn’t right. “Yoongi has nothing to do with this.” you’re begging at this point, trying to reach out to Michael. “Whatever you think this is, it’s all my fault.” 

All Michael can see is red-- hot, boiling anger runs through his veins. “Of course it’s your fault, it always is.” The metal on his belt glints in the light, flashing your reflection.

That’s all it took. A split second for you to see what you really looked like; Black eyes, bruises, bumps, cuts, they were everywhere. You’re living a miserable life with Michael, you realize. Maybe at one point he loved you, but not anymore.

As your pain and ignorance raises the belt higher, you start to recall Yoongi’s comforting, tender smile, like you’re living it all over again. The vivid details of him envelop you in a blanket of peace and serenity. These could be your last moments, and Yoongi’s on the front page.

You missed him; you missed Min Yoongi.

In a blink of an eye, you make a break for it. It’s last thing Michael expects, so you’re able to get a head start. You’re dialing for the police, tears streaming down your face with Yoongi being the only thing you can think of. 

You make it out this time. Even as your lungs burn with each breath, you keep going. You run as far as your body can take you and finally, you can breathe again.

You’re a broken husk of a person sitting in the police station. They’ve given you a blanket, but it does little to help. The kind officer has called your emergency contact, your best friend. You love Min Yoongi, but at this point, he’s not your best friend anymore; he can’t be. He’s always been the shoulder you leaned on, and arms you cried in. As each minute goes by, you let yourself admit that maybe, just maybe, you liked him a little bit more.

The rain starts to pick up outside, and you peer into the night sky. The wind howls, and the soothing rain eases your suffering, if only for a little while. It’s so dark tonight, and you doubt he’ll show in this weather. Not after what you’ve said to him. Thunder cackles in the sky, and the spark of light that follows after flashes a black silhouette. 

It comes closer and closer, and before you know it, he bursts through the door. He glistens with the rain and sweat that rolls down the sides of his face. He smiles, and a breathy laugh parts from his lips. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” His shoulders relax, and Yoongi looks at you like you have the whole world in your eyes.

Tears already start welling in your eyes; they missed that smile too much, it seems. The drenched black coat is quickly shucked off, revealing a dryer, white shirt underneath. His embrace is warm, the lovely scent of coffee and cologne filling your senses. 

You hold him close. Your grip on him is tighter, more desperate. You craved his touch an embarrassing amount, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just holds you closer, breathing in the fact that you two are together again. Peace, warmth, love; this is what it’s supposed to feel like. You might not date for a while, but you’re sure he’ll show you the ropes when you’re ready.

When he lets go, it’s cold again. But this time, you aren’t afraid. “Let’s go home.” Yoongi’s voice is choked up from the emotional rollercoaster, but he says it so effortlessly. You nod; You’re always home if it’s with Min Yoongi. 

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

A/n: wow this one just came out of me,,, I feel like I need a sugary snack to combat how sad this fic made me?? Anyhoo--- my requests are always open!! (just fyi lol) but yes, thank you so much for requesting!

[cheemerthelizard]

Crusader of Life (Kakyoin x Reader) Chapter 17

It was time. Dio. The man who took Joseph’s grandfather’s body and plotted a world takeover. You would defeat him, no matter what, and you promised yourself that. And with your friends by your side, you knew you could do it.

“Kakyoin, do something about your girlfriend.”

“We’ve just lost some of our teammates and friends, and you expect her to just stop crying?”

“We’re getting close to Dio’s room, and he’s bound to be in there. Her loud crying will alert him. She at least needs to quiet down!”

“Well, that much is true...”

Although you still couldn’t compose yourself, you all agreed that you had to keep moving. But now, as the dark, eerie feeling in your heart grew stronger from his presence alone, you needed to calm down. That was the problem; you couldn’t. With Polnareff’s oh so sympathetic instructions to Kakyoin, you found an arm around your shoulder, pulling you towards the body it was attached to.

“I know it’s hard,” Kakyoin sighed. “I’m sorry it’s hard for you to bottle up your emotions.”

You clutched his body tightly, as you tried (and failed horribly) to stop crying, feeling your throat tighten and your breathing become sharp and sudden. “I-I-I feel like I should’ve b-b-been there,” you chocked out. “I-I-I-I could’ve s-saved... th-them...”

“That may be true,” Kakyoin ran his fingers through your hair, “but none of this could’ve been predicted. Maybe, if you weren’t with us, one of us was killed. You would feel just as guilty.”

“Kakyoin, she’s getting louder!” Polnareff complained. “Just cover her mouth with one of Hierophant’s tentacles or whatever! We’re getting too close to risk anything!”

“Maybe if you would show her some sympathy and try to calm her down instead of trying to shut her up with force,” Kakyoin snapped, “she would be quiet quicker.”

“J-j-just leave m-me beh-h-hind,” you sniffled. “I’m becoming a h-hinderance, anyw-way.”

“And give Dio the chance to take your life while we’re not looking?” Kakyoin objected. “We at least need to be in groups of two, and that’s just for normal enemies. But with Dio, we need to all stick together.”

You nodded, feeling your breathing get a little more steady.

“Hay, look at me,” Kakyoin cupped your chin. “I know we promised to not put the blame on ourselves if one of us died, but know that I’ll try my hardest to prevent that promise from being relevant.”

You stuffed your face into Kakyoin’s uniform and let out all the final cries before wiping the tears away and putting on a tough face. “I’m ready,” you said, eyes stained from the tears and throat still tight.

“Are we almost there, Nukesaku?” Jotaro asked.

“We’re getting there, just be patient!” Nukesaku growled.

After some more walking, you had entered a room that was like a fridge. Even if it were a warm place, the feeling deep inside your soul, the begging of your heart to run away, it confirmed that Dio was in this room.

“Lord Dio,” Nukesaku’s arms trembled as he started to open the lid to his master’s coffin, “please don’t think that I’ve betrayed you. In fact, the only reason I led them all the way here was because you can take care of them easily!”

He had fully opened the lid, and revealed...

“Wh-what?” Nukesaku exclaimed from inside the coffin. “But... I was just opening it! How am I inside?”

The five of you were taken aback, as well. After all, none of you had taken your eyes off of him. That’s when you felt something. A murderous intent. A feeling that, if you didn’t get out of that room right now, you would die. It was the exact same feeling as before, but so strong it overtook every other feeling you had. Strangely, though, it was also relieving, like you had done something that put you in danger, and your loving father was hugging you tightly, comforting you, telling you everything was gonna be okay now, but you knew you were gonna get it when you got home. Apparently, everyone else also felt that, because Joseph shouted, “Everyone, run!”

All of you immediately jumped out of the hole that Star Platinum had punched through just moments ago, Joseph having to grab Polnareff with Hermit Purple.

“What was that?” you shuddered while everyone was still free-falling. “It felt like something was watching me, waiting for the moment to strike, like a predator watching its prey.”

All of you grabbed onto the sides of the mansion, and slowly let yourselves down onto an etch in the building wide enough to sit down on.

“Right, you’ve never felt Dio’s influence before,” Kakyoin said, “although no amount of knowing what it felt like prepared me for the second time.”

“Neither did it for me,” Polnareff agreed. “But I’m done running! I’ll face Dio head on next time!”

“We need to think of a plan first,” Joseph said. “And, I hate to say it, but that might involve running away. We’re going to be helpless until dawn, after all.”

“No!” Polnareff objected. “I told you, I’m done running away! I’ll fight him, even if I have to go off on my own!”

“Don’t you remember where that got you last time?” you argued. “Do you ever learn?”

“Shut up!” Polnareff shouted. “I’ve made up my mind!” And with that, he ran off.

“That man is stubborn,” you grumbled.

“Wait,” Jotaro said. “Maybe we could use that to our advantage. If some of us stay behind, while the others flee, then Dio will be in the perfect place for a pincer attack.”

“That’s a good idea, Jotaro!” Joseph complimented. “I’d expect nothing less from my grandson, though.”

After setting up your teams, you, Joseph, and Kakyoin all made an escape in a truck, while Jotaro went to find Polnareff and tell him the plan. It was decided you should be with the getaway group, because that was the one that Dio would be chasing after, and you would need to use Ace of Pentacles to mend any wounds.

“I can feel him,” Joseph said. “I can feel Dio’s presence gaining on us.”

“Is that some sort of Joestar gift?” you asked, almost jokingly. “Being able to sense a vampire a mile away?”

“Not exactly,” Joseph answered. “It’s more along the lines of, ‘I can sense another Joestar a mile away’. After all, Dio has my grandfather’s body. And with that body, he can probably sense me, but he doesn’t know whether it’s Jotaro or me. Hopefully, he assumes we’re both in the truck.”

“You don’t look very comfortable, (Y/N),” Kakyoin said. “Is it cramped in the middle?”

“I’m fine, I promise,” you reassured him. “After all, were going against Dio. The last thing we need to worry about is my comfort.”

“I feel Dio’s presence closing in on us!” Joseph exclaimed. “He’s in the car behind ours!”

“Hierophant Green!” Kakyoin shouted, summoning his Stand.

“Ace of Pentacles!” you called out your Stand, as well, just in case he got hurt.

“There’s a guy in the car with Dio,” Kakyoin described to the two of you. “That one is driving the car. He’s pretty banged up.”

“I hate it when people use others like it’s no big deal,” you growled. “Make sure Dio gets the worst, Kakyoin!”

“You got it! Emerald Splash!”

You heard glass breaking, then a door flying off.

“What? He brushed it off like it was nothing! I’ll try a more concentrated splash.”

This time, you looked in the back window, and saw the roof of the car break through.

“He still deflected it!” Kakyoin shuddered. “How did he...? Wait, when did he summon his Stand?!”

You saw Hierophant go flying back into multiple street signs, and heard Kakyoin make grunts in pain.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered!” you cried. Using Ace, you welded together the wounds all over him.

“Thank you,” Kakyoin breathed hard, touching the now mended spots where he had been hurt, and yelped when he touched them.

“It’ll take a while for your nerves to be used to it,” you told him. “Don’t touch the healed spots.”

“Right,” he grunted.

“Ah, good, the car stopped,” Joseph sighed, still flooring it.

“Mr. Joestar,” Kakyoin gasped, “something’s coming straight at us!”

Sure enough, a man covered in blood was sent hurdling though the back window, making Joseph spin out of control and crash.

Frantically, Kakyoin helped you out of the burning truck. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you said. “Don’t waste any time checking up on me. We have to get out of here!”

Kakyoin grabbed your waist and used Hierophant to hoist the two of you up to the top of a building right before Dio saw you.

“I think I have an idea,” he muttered. “I know how to figure out the secret of The World! (Y/N), you’ll have to stay with Mr. Joestar.”

You nodded, and Joseph hoisted you up on his back and used Hermit Purple to leap from building to building. Eventually, Dio started chasing after you, but something stopped him.

“Emeralds?” you wondered out loud. You watched as Dio leaped back, but then more emeralds shot from behind him. Of course! This was Kakyoin’s trick to uncovering The World’s secret!

Joseph landed on the roof of a building and set you down, allowing both of you to look at what was really going on. There, you saw a barrier that Hierophant had set up all over the area.

“Now, to see the real identity of The World!” Kakyoin shouted. “Take this, Dio! Twenty-meter radius Emerald Splash!”

The emeralds started to close in on Dio, but he didn’t look the slightest bit worried. “The World!” he yelled. Then, as the emeralds collided, Kakyoin was sent flying back with a huge hole in his abdomen.

“Kakyoin!” you shrieked. “No!” You rushed over to the side of the roof when you were held back by purple thorns.

“Let me go!” you screamed. “I know my limits, Mr. Joestar! I’m not gonna kill myself!”

“I can’t let you just rush off impulsively, (Y/N)!” Joseph cried. However, while he was busy holding your original copy back, you made a new copy of yourself that jumped off of the edge of the building.

“She’ll never make it to him,” Dio cackled. “Nobody can make that jump!”

You knew that. You knew that jumping off was suicide. But you knew what you were doing, and it wasn’t anything suicidal. Ace of Pentacles made a copy of you above, and that copy pushed off of you. Then, that copy did the same thing. Soon enough, multiple copies of yourself were jumping off of each other like a crashing screen on Windows XP, and one of those copies grabbed onto the ledge of the building that Kakyoin had landed on. You climbed up from that ledge, and saw a puddle of red-tinted water near a water tower, and Kakyoin’s motionless body sitting there, eyes barely open.

“Kakyoin!” Your eyes were already welling up. You lifted him from the tower and set him down in a dry spot. “Don’t move,” you ordered, but your wavering voice made it sound more like a plead. “If I mess anything up, you’ll be in constant pain.”

You checked all of his organs, and sighed with relief. None of his organs were completely missing, only damaged. Wiping the tears away from your face, you got to work.

Okay, vital organs first. Lungs, stomach, anything else that he would need. But lungs absolutely first. He’s gonna need to breathe. Ace of Pentacles patched up the missing spots in his lungs, and Kakyoin started breathing heavily.

“T-time...” he croaked out.

“What?”

“The World’s secret... is time...”

And his eyes closed. Frantically, you put your ear to his chest. He couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t be!

The thump in his heart proved you right. You let your tears flow free now, just happy he was still alive. But that wasn’t going to distract you from the task at hand.

Alright, lungs have been mended, now the rest of the organs. Carefully, Ace duplicated the cells, and fixed them up. Next was the bones. It would be hard to move if his ribcage was gone. That was a little easier than the organs, since it was a little more straightforward. But even easier was the muscles and blood vessels, and then, the skin. Soon enough, all of Kakyoin’s body had been restored to its normal state. Despite knowing he wouldn’t wake up for a while, you hugged him tightly. “I won’t let you go,” you whispered. “I won’t let you die. Not after Avdol and Iggy didn’t even get a chance.”

For a while, you held him in your arms, stroking his wet hair, getting some of the water from the puddle and washing off the blood on his arms and legs. You didn’t stop holding him until a helicopter hovered over you. A ladder was slowly let down, along with a woman who was hanging onto that ladder. Upon closer inspection, you noticed she had a SPW hat on. Thank goodness, a Speedwagon worker!

“He looks alright,” the worker shouted to be heard over the copter. “You healed him very well.”

“Thank you,” you shouted back. “Will he be alright?”

“He will be just fine, thanks to you,” the woman smiled. You handed Kakyoin to her, and she carefully held him in her arms. “It’s a long way down,” she told you. “You want a ride?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you replied. You grabbed on to the lowest rung, and the helicopter slowly lowered the ladder even more until you could safely jump to the ground.

“Now, go help the others!” the Speedwagon woman said. “Be the light at the end of the tunnel!”

“I will!” You rushed off, in search of your friends. You had to tell them Dio’s secret, as well. 

You started to run all throughout Cairo, in hopes of finding Dio and the others, but so far, nothing. You wondered if they were alright, or if you could get there in time. What if it was too late? No, you couldn’t think about that now, not while you still had to look for the ones you were so worried about.

Then, a silhouette came into view. Joseph’s silhouette. He seemed to look okay, to your relief. “Mr. Joestar!” you cried out. “Hey! I healed Kak-“

“Don’t come any closer, (Y/N)!” Joseph interrupted. “You too, Jotaro! Both of you, stay back!”

You looked a bit further down, and saw your classmate looking just as surprised as you were.

“Jotaro, Mr. Joestar!” you shouted. “The secret of The World’s ability is time! The World has the ability to stop ti-“

“The World!” Dio shouted. Soon after, he seemed to have teleported again, right next to Joseph, who had a knife puncturing his neck, and was lying on the floor.

“Mr. Joestar!” you screamed. Before you could run towards him, though, Dio teleported behind you, and grabbed your throat. No, not teleported. He stopped time and walked. Still, he had you in his grasp, with a knife in his hand. As much as you tried to struggle, nothing broke you free. You thought he would spare you for a little bit, and would most likely use you more as bait to get Jotaro closer, but you soon realized you were only right about one of those things, as he stabbed the knife through your chest and sliced it open, barely missing the heart. The whole thing made you scream in agony, with tears pouring down the sides of your cheeks. You were in so much pain you almost didn’t realize the mask he put over your face, and him reaching his fingers into the open wound. Wait. Joseph had told you stories of the stone mask, and how putting blood on it activated its powers, and destroyed the victim’s humanity, both morally and physically, making them a creature of the night. Dio wasn’t... Dio couldn’t... would he really... make you a vampire? The very thought of being the same as Dio made your heart thump so hard you could feel it.

“Such an innocent girl,” Dio smirked. “She wouldn’t be able to survive a week with vampirism. I don’t think she’d feed on blood even if her stomach was eating itself. What do you think, Jotaro?” He spat out that name like it was nasty food. “I just might have to use the mask on her, though, if you won’t get close enough for me to attack.”

That was enough to send Jotaro running towards Dio, fists clenched, Star Platinum summoned. Once again, Dio stopped time, and left you crumpled on the ground while Jotaro went flying back.

“You did the right thing, Jotaro,” Dio sneered. “I would have had the mask clamp around her face, but you saved her just in time.”

The wound on your chest made you much weaker, to the point where you couldn’t even get yourself off the ground. Still, you started crawling to Joseph’s side, summoning Ace of Pentacles. Although your vision was blurred, you could clearly see Dio’s blonde hair whip around, and his body get closer to yours until he picked you up by your neck, cutting off your air.

“Trying to heal him, are you?” Dio snickered. He violently threw you on the ground, and stepped on your head, putting lots of pressure on it. Despite your screeching protests, the pressure kept getting worse and worse, until you heard a cracking sound. Oh, but he wasn’t done, yet. Dio had The World pick you up, and fling you to the other side of the street with ease. You tumbled across the ground until you skidded to a halt. As Dio approached your beaten up body again, you prepared for the worst. However, before he could land another hit on you, Star Platinum sent a devastating punch through The World, making him fly back.

“Get out of here,” Jotaro ordered.

“But, but Mr. Joestar-“ your voice was as loud as you could make it, and even you could barely hear it. Still Jotaro seemed to understand what you were trying to say.

“The old man’ll be fine, just go!” he shouted.

Gradually, you shuffled along the ground, away from the chaos of the battle between Star Platinum and The World. You didn’t get far, though, before all of the pain Dio inflicted on you was catching up. You knew you had to heal yourself, even if it was just a little bit. Sighing, you rolled over, and summoned Ace of Pentacles again. But you had so little energy that you couldn’t even duplicate one cell. On top of that, your ears wouldn’t pick anything up anymore, and your eyes weren’t really seeing anything other than black. Was... was this it? Were you going to die here, alone on the ground? It seemed more than likely.

“Mr. Joestar,” you said aloud, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to you in time. Jotaro, I’m sorry I didn’t get out of the way in time. Avdol and Iggy, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. Polnareff, I’m sorry I lashed out at you on more than one occasion. And Kakyoin... Kakyoin, I’m sorry you didn’t get to say thank you to me for saving your life. Please don’t hold it against yourself.”

With what little vision you had left, you could see Ace of Pentacles flickering away from sight. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Ace, I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you alive longer.”

You took in the brilliant night sky one last time as your final view, then closed your eyes. For some reason, your last breaths felt... peaceful. Like you had fulfilled your purpose, and you told your now grown up child to pull the plug on the life support.

“Please fell my parents I loved them,” you said, knowing nobody could hear you.

“Goodbye.”

[shazam-levi]

Losing You

"Sleep well, Princess." Ali looks deeply into my eyes as he bids me goodnight.

I smile down at him from my balcony, but I am pleasantly surprised when Ali suddenly presses his lips to mine. I'm shocked at first, but I soon lose myself in him. I break away from Ali and head to bed. I quickly turn around and see him flashing his dashing smile at me. My cheeks heat up and I smile back, thankful I took a magic carpet ride with him.

Aladdin's POV

"Yes!" I jump back and the magic carpet catches my fall. I can't believe I actually kissed Y/N. I guess the magic carpet finally gave me the extra boost I needed. Nothing else could ruin this now.

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

Next morning

Aladdin's POV

"Genie? Where are-".

"Street rat. I hoped we would see each other again." Jafar sends his twisted smile towards me as I stop talking. I look when for a weapon when I don't see the lamp, the magic carpet, or Abu.

"Not so strong without all of your trinkets, huh? You are not who you say you are, and I will prove it. Take him."

I start to reach for Jafar, but I feel something hard hit my head and the world goes dark.

I suddenly open my eyes and am greeted by a bright light. The sun. I try to move my arms and legs, but it is impossible. I'm literally tied to a chair on Jafar's balcony. This isn't looking good for me in the slightest.

"Right, so without the lamp, there is no way you ever survive this, Prince Ali. But, I will let you go if you tell me where the lamp is."

Jafar presses the bottom of his staff against my chest, making the chair tip backward.

"I don't have it, and I have no clue what you're talking about."

"I thought we could do this the easy way, but I guess not. Goodbye Prince Ali."

With one last push, Jafar's staff causes my chair to fall into the watery abyss below.

"Wait!"

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

Y/N'S POV (A little bit before Aladdin is pushed off the balcony)

Last night was absolutely amazing. Prince Ali is exactly the opposite of what I had ever expected. But, there's something about him that is so familiar.

"Y/N! Jafar needs to see you in the tower. Promptly."

I can't help but be suspicious of what Jafar wants. Prince Ali. I suddenly get up and rush out of my room to Jafar's tower. Normally, my legs would've given out by now, but not this. My heart swells with worry and I scramble up the tower stairs.

"Jafar! What do you want-" I suddenly can't breathe as I see Jafar push Ali off of the tower.

"Wait!" I run forward to grab Ali, but my fingers narrowly miss his shirt as Jafar grabs me. His long fingers grip my arms tightly, causing bruises. "Princess, I'm afraid you're too late. Prince Ali has decided to take a long-awaited swim. Nothing can help him now."

If looks could kill, Jafar would've been dead by now. I yank my body out of his grasp and step towards the balcony. My hands shake as I think of Ali dead on the ocean floor. I can't. But I can't bear to lose him either. I need to make a choice. I climb over the balcony and my fingers tightly grasp the cold metal.

"I guess you would rather join him, Y/N. Be my guest." Jafar spits out at me, Iago cackling loudly on his shoulder.

"You-". I suddenly lose my grip on the metal as Jafar pushes me off the small balcony with his staff. The wind whips my hair as I wait to collide with the watery abyss.

"Who will be sultan now? Definitely not you."

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

As my body hits the water, I desperately search for Ali's white-clad body. Where is he? I feel my lungs losing air as my eyes catch sight of him. I grab his shoulders and find his eyes closed. Oh god. I put my arms around his waist and pull him to the water's surface. His eyes are still closed, and I can't tell if he is breathing. I breathe heavily and prepare for the worst as I swim him over to the shoreline. I drag his body onto the beach and I take off his jacket.

"Ali! Please wake up! I need you." I suddenly start banging my wet hands against his chest, trying to get him to cough up the water. Tears stream down my face as my fists rebound against him. I cry out in horror and sob into his soaked chest.

"No, please no. Ali." All of my hope is lost until I feel him jolt up and cough up lots of water. He looks out at the sea and touches his clothes in shock.

"How? How am I here right now-". Ali stops his rambling as his eyes met my own. "Y/N? What are you doing here? You should be-".

"In the palace. I know. I just saw Jafar push you off the balcony, and I couldn't bear to lose you. I thought you were dead when I found you, Ali. I just.." I continue to ramble, but can't bear to meet Ali's eyes. He notices, and his fingers lift my face up to look at him.

"I love you." Ali's hands find my blushing cheeks and kisses me. I smile into his lips and thank the heavens we are here in this moment together. I intertwine our fingers as our lips detach. It feels as if I'm leaving heaven.

"I'm never leaving you again, ever."

[carpecerevisiam]

Rumrollinsweek: Nov 27th  Home

Extra long fill for this one, since I don’t think I’ll be able to fill Hobby. Sorry if you’re on mobile. Oh, and very minor homophobic language.

It takes them far, far longer to find Rumlow and Rollins than Steve is comfortable admitting.

It’s close to three years before they close in on their location, and in that time S.H.I.E.L.D lose three good agents and hundreds of thousands of dollars bribing officials and paying informants.

Three years spent being led by the nose on a wild goose chase through dangerous, deprived, and miserable places filled with desperate, ruthless, and cruel people.

Three years, and in the end it’s a grainy CCTV image that gives them away. Nothing more, and nothing less.

—

In the wake of Insight, some Hydra agents fled to Mexico in the naïve hope of offering their services to the government or the cartels, but all were picked up shortly after they stepped foot on Mexican land.

S.H.I.E.L.D. and its sister agencies had infiltrated all levels of Mexican law enforcement a very long time ago. Nothing crosses the southern border unnoticed.

Others went to Alaska or Canada seeking to disappear into the wilderness, but occasional survival training courses are scant preparation for the harsh realities of a truly off-the-grid existence, and most staggered out of the forest and back into the waiting arms of the authorities quickly enough, whilst those that didn’t were found by hunters and drones.

The smarter ones—those with the foresight to plan for contingencies and the possibility of failure—left the continent before going to ground, finding positions with mercenary outfits and PMCs, or as private security for politicians, warlords, and gangsters.

India and China made a show of handing over those who sought safety with them, but Russia took in several and was ostracised by the rest of the world. But Steve suspects that decision had less to do with ideology and more to do with the many overt and covert attempts made over the years to destabilise the country—at least some of which had S.H.I.E.L.D’s fingerprints all over them.

Everyone expected that Rumlow and Rollins would have been amongst those provided sanctuary by the Kremlin.

To everyone’s surprise, they weren’t.

—

Greeley, Colorado, is a city of some 107,000 inhabitants.

Just twenty-five miles to the west rise the majestic Rocky Mountain range, but the city—and Steve struggles to think of it as such—is surrounded by just miles and miles of perfectly flat farmland, unbroken but for telephone poles and the occasional towering grain silo.

The city is a neat patchwork of wide streets and squat, bland buildings. It has none of the vibrancy or diversity of New York, none of the life. It is a perfectly ordinary and forgettable little settlement in a perfectly ordinary and forgettable part of a perfectly ordinary and forgettable fly-over state.

It makes Steve want to laugh and laugh and laugh.

—

“Rollins just left,” comes Natasha’s quiet voice in his earpiece, and Steve checks his watch.

Seven-thirty AM on the dot, just like every other day. That Rollins’ routine remains unchanged is a good sign; it means that he, too, hasn’t realised that he’s under surveillance.

“Copy that,” he replies. “Put Davies and Kaszynski on his tail. We’ll move in an hour if they give the all-clear.”

“Of course,” she says, in a tone of voice that tells him she has already done exactly that.

Steve knows she is as frustrated by his caution as the rest of the team, even if no-one will say anything. He doesn’t blame them; he’s frustrated at himself, but they have worked too hard and for too long to risk everything at this late stage.

Rumlow and Rollins are far smarter than any of the other targets they’ve been chasing. The slightest mistake might tip them off, and then Steve will be back at square one all over again.

He won’t let that happen. He can’t.

He stretches as best he can in the van’s cramped space and settles in to wait.

—

The house is as perfectly ordinary and forgettable as everything else. Utterly suburban. A single-story brick-and-render affair on a generous corner plot; two bedrooms, two bathrooms, open-plan kitchen and living room. The carpets are beige, the walls a pale cream.

“And I thought the gays were meant to be good at interior decorating,” Mackenzie drawls. She’s standing off to Steve’s left, looking around with an expression of disgust. “What did this place cost, anyway? Two-fifty?”

DeMarco laughs. “You kidding? Try three-seventy-five, oh and get this—they paid in cash.”

They still haven’t been able to trace the funds. Whoever is in charge of the finances, and Steve reckons it is Rumlow, knows how to keep things hidden.

“Alright,” he calls out. “Alpha team, you’re with Natasha. Take the garage and the yard. Don’t leave any stone untouched. Bravo, let’s start with the living room. Charlie, keep watch.”

Everyone nods and then the teams split up.

Mackenzie stomps off deeper into the house, scuffing her shoes and leaving grey-brown streaks on the carpet as she walks.

—

Steve keeps out of the way as his team tears the house apart with methodical precision, pulling up the carpets and levering up the floorboards, examining the walls for cavities or hidden safes, sweeping crockery and glasses onto the kitchen floor as cupboards are emptied and then pried from the walls.

Instead, he busies himself going through what he assumes must be Rollins’ book collection, because Rumlow never struck him as the type of man who would read for pleasure. There must be at least a hundred books; most are fiction, some by authors Steve has heard of, many by people he hasn’t. But there are some non-fiction books scattered here and there—books on history, on science, on literature, and music, and gardening of all things, all dog-eared and obviously second-hand.  

Steve tries to imagine it: Rumlow and Rollins strolling through downtown Greeley, sipping takeaway coffees and making their way from thrift store to thrift store, Rollins looking through the books with idle interest, running his fingers over the spines until something catches—

“Guys?”

Steve looks up to find Mackenzie standing next to an armchair that looks like it’s big enough for two. It’s clearly seen better days; the leather is faded and cracked in some places and sagging in others, but it looks comfortable.

She holds her knife aloft with a wicked grin. “I just wanna say, this is the best day of my life.”

Steve has never heard tearing fabric sound like it’s screaming.

—

Bravo have moved onto the bedrooms by the time Steve is done ensuring that nothing is hidden in or behind the books, and he can hear Mackenzie’s gleeful voice ring out as he makes his way to join them.

“Holy shit! Look what I found!”

“Is that a—”

There’s a peal of cackling laughter. “You’re damn right it is! Fancy one, too.”

When he reaches the door, he sees the team clustered around a dresser, on top of which Mackenzie has placed her find: a large, blue-green dildo.

“Who d’you think took it?” she’s asking, and someone—Steve can’t see who—offers up Rumlow’s name.

Mackenzie shakes her head. “Nah, can’t see it,” she decides. “I mean, sure, he had that whole look going on with the hair and all, but I can’t see him taking a dick up the ass like some kinda fag, even if it is just a plastic one.”

DeMarco scoffs. “You can’t seriously think it’s Rollins bending over and letting Rumlow dick him?”

“Indeed, I do not,” she agrees with a smile. “I think it’s Rollins bending over and letting Rumlow shove this beauty up his ass because that bastard’s dick has been burnt to shit and doesn’t work any—” She stops, eyes widening, as she catches sight of Steve in the doorway. “Oh…shit. Cap.”

The rest of them freeze where they are, waiting silently for a reprimand that Steve can’t bring himself to voice.

Rumlow and Rollins are Hydra. They are traitors. They’d consciously worked to take away peoples’ freedom and to enslave them under Hydra’s fascist vision. Mackenzie lost friends in the Insight disaster, as did Davies, as did DeMarco.

As did all of them.

He turns on his heel and leaves without a word.

—

An hour later, Natasha comes to join him out front.

“Bravo are done,” she tells him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “Do you want to check anywhere else?”

Steve shakes his head. “No point.” There’s nowhere else to check. It was just a house. A home. “We’re done. Let’s go bring them in.”

[longingfreesia]

visitations | ao3 mirror

mad paradox visits the alternate selves he comes across wading through time every now and then.

note: once upon a time, before i saw his 3rd job advancement cutscene, i "entertained" the idea of dominator creating grace as part of his “perfect virtual world.” then i watched it and realized ‘oh, shit, he moved on actually’ and scrapped it all. this is kind of a result of that, and me going “hm. i wonder if he won’t do that for himself he’d do it for mp” which he probably wouldn’t but will that stop me? this exists so the answer is no

also i dont know how to tag “mp kinda beats up dom.” its not too bad i think but just be aware of that i guess

previous “chapter”

Paradox watches his counterpart in silence for a moment. Was it perverse to take an odd fascination in observing people when they thought they were alone? It didn’t matter to him, and no one knew about it in any case.

Either way, no matter how fascinating it was, it was boring. His counterpart usually had something interesting for him to mess with, it was worth a shot.

“You're open.”

Dom startles, then softens when he sees Paradox. “I suppose I am now. Hello, Paradox.”

“Hello.” Paras eyes seem especially big, now, staring down at his counterpart.

“Was there something you needed?” Dom asks.

“No. I just wanted to be here.”

“Mm. I suppose that's fine. Don't bother me, though, I'm working on something very important.”

Paradox frowns, nose scrunching up and only further accentuating his round face. This other self treats him more like a child. ...Sometimes it's alright, but other timesーlike nowーit irritates him.

“Tell me what it is.”

Dom chuckles. “Insistent as always. Well, it's…” he waves his hand in circles by the side of his head, as if thinking, “virtual reality. Of sorts.” He gains that ever annoying ‘I know something you don't’ tone of voice. “Do you want to see it?”

“Show it to me.”

Dom nods. “Follow me.”

Dominator leads him into a decently sized space off of his lab. This was new, but it hadn't been added to the building, just cleared out… What did he need such a large dedicated space for? And entirely empty, at that...

“Close your eyes.” Dom says.

“No.”

Dom grimaces and rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine, but don't blame me if it ruins the magic.”

His dynamos swirl around him, following each other in a perfect line as they form a circle spanning the empty space. The thin lines sought through them glow, brighter and brighter until they split open, a jagged, mechanical motion they all execute in unison.

A wall appears around them. It looks like the same type of hologram Dom uses for his keyboards, that kind of thing.

A landscape appears before them, and Paras eyes go wide. The ground beneath their feet turns grassy and soft, and the walls formed by the dynamos looks as if nonexistent now, giving way in favor of a lush expanse of green and a clear sky, seemingly infinite. A large tree thrives in the distance. So this was what his counterpart worked on so tirelessly? At the very least, it was an impressive show of skill.

“This part… is something I have worked on for countless ages. I'm particularly excited to show you.” Dom says, and his voice sounds odd in a way Paradox can't name. “I implore you to close your eyes now.”

Paradox shakes his head. “No.”

Dominator sighs, then, “...Please?”

Wow, please? He was truly desperate, then. “Fine.” Paradox lets his eyes fall closed, and he hears the sound of something shimmering.

“Don't open them until I say.” Dom instructs, and Paradox grumbles. He doesn't like being told what to do. This had better be spectacular.

“Hello,” He hears Dominator whisper. “Are you ready?” What is he talking about? More importantly, who is he talking to? No one else was with them.

“Open your eyes now.”

Paradox does, and feels his heart drop.

A woman with long, white hair and a gentle face stands in front of him, smiling. Her clothes and aura make her seem almost angelic. Her shoulders rise as she smiles even wider, and says, “Hello, Add.”

Paradox, suddenly, cannot breathe. His arms fall limp at his sides and he's fairly certain he looks like an idiot but oh god, he can't breathe.

“How is it?” Dominator asks, seeming satisfied.

It takes a long moment for Paradox to remember how to speak. “That's…”

The woman kneels down in front of Paradox, taking his hand in hers. “Your hair is all a mess... “ A light, tinkling laugh. “Do you need me around to take care of it, even now? It's alright, I will. It's always made me happy to care for you.”

Paradox feels a foreign feeling set alight in his chest, in his throat. He doesn't like it. He hates it. He wants it to stop.

“That's… not… mom.” He mumbles.

“Hm? Ah, no, it's not, but…”

“That's… NOT mom!” Paras voice suddenly raises higher than Dom has ever heard it go, and he tears his hand out of not-Graces. Her face remains unchanging, unfazed by his outburst.

“...I see. It's not good enough, thenー”

“That's not mom! How dare you! How DARE youー” Paradox feels rage seething through his chest, up to his face, bringing hot, angry tears to his eyes. “How COULD you? You'd disrespect her like that? You'd ever think some fucking HOLOGRAM could EVER replace her?” This wasn't good for him, he feels his emotions causing him to lose his focus, lose his grip on realityーhe didn't care. He didn't care, he didn't care, he didn't care.

Dominator throws his hands up, and the simulation dissipates, leaving them back in the empty room they started in. Paradox faintly registers not-Graces face melting into pixels and light, smile never fading in the slightest through it all. Too much. “It wasn't meant to replaceー”

“Bullshit!” Paradox cries. “What else could it be? What other purpose could that have?! Stop trying to lie to me! I’m not fucking stupid!”

“Calm down. It was just a simulation, nothing more. It could never replace her, and it never would. I just wanted to experimentー”

“Exー She’s not yours to experiment on! Is that what everything is to you? Something for you to screw around with like some kind of lab rat?”

Dominator snarls. “Where did you get that idea from? I’ve never insinuated anything of the sort. Maybe you should stop making things up, the time-traveling might be affecting you worse than you’re aware.”

Of course he was being snarky, even now. Even now, even now, after something like that. Paradox can feel his body fighting him, losing his cool and the thin web of will keeping himself together. He didn’t let his emotions run from him like this, not usually, but this wasn’t normal, and more importantly, this was unforgivable.

“Fuck off.” Paradox mutters, trying one last time to compose himself before his body decides for him.

Dominator shrugs. “I tried to do something nice for you. It’s your own fault you can’t handle it. I’ve tried to help you move on from her, but you won’t liー”

“FUCK OFF!” Paradox shrieks, flying for Dominators throat. His eyes go wide seeing Paras form change, twisted and messy the same way the man himself is. He barely registers long, mangy hair and sharp teeth before his back hits the ground and the air is knocked out of his lungs.

“I thought you knew anything. I thought you understood, I thought you knew anything at ALL about how I felt.” His tone lilts up at the end, trailing into near hysterical laughter. Dominators gaze frantically flits around the room, attempting to order his dynamos to assist him.

Paradox rips Doms earpiece out and can hardly hear it when the man beneath him screams. He goes the extra mile and brings clawed hands down on the fallen batteries on Dominators sides. A loud clattering is heard as the dynamos fall.

“Don't try that. I hate you. I fucking HATE you. I can't believe I ever thought you'd get it.”

Dom can see more of the blinding ‘glitch’ of Paras body, now. This close to him, it almost burns. His hair floats impossibly behind him. He grins, and sharp teeth flash and send fear shooting down Doms spine. He's pinned, and there's not much he can do about it. Piling onto that fear like painful rocks was barely being able to breathe, or hearーthe angry voice above him was muffled, as if they were underwater, and the ringing, god, the ringing... Even if he did try to respond, it would only come out a broken wheeze.

“I should kill you. I should kill you for hurting her.” Paradox mutters, then laughs. “Was that some kind of sick fucking joke? Do you enjoy tormenting meーbastardizing her?” Claws dig into Doms shoulder. He's sure he's bleeding, but not enough to seep through his jackets. He can, however, certainly feel blood trickling from his ears from his earpiece being torn out. Motherfucker.

“Were you trying to piss me off? Be honest or I’ll tear your throat out. We both know I’m not screwing around.” Paradox glares down at him, rows of deadly teeth grit hard.

Dominator blearily grasps at Paras hands at his shoulders, knowing he couldn’t shove the flickering mass of ‘man’ off of him if he tried, but figuring he’d be damned if he didn’t at least struggle. It goes about as well as he expected it to, and he winces when Paradox expectedly retaliates.

“Can you not even speak? Can you not even own up to what you’ve done?” He cackles lowly, looking as if he were staring down his prey at Dominator. “Did I hit you that hard? Are you that weak? I thought you were better than that…” His expression shifts to a twisted mix of amusement-turned-disgust. “The version of myself in this timeline is pathetic too. I should’ve known, shouldn’t I?” The claws dig even further into Dominators flesh, now, and all he can manage is a pained rasp.

Paradox suddenly jerks himself up from the ground, taking Dominator with him, only to throw him back to the ground once he’s risen. Dominator grabs at his chest, coughing. His attempt at rising to his feet, or even just sitting up, fails miserably.

“It won’t do any good to kill you, will it?” His gaze is back to being empty, as it usually was, butーbut his eyes were so wide and wild, they didn’t seem to belong on such a hard face as he was making now. It hardly moves as he says, “I’ve seen enough dead versions of myself. I’ll leave you to your miserable false world. You can rot there alone. Howeverー”

His body distorts, and seems to flash back to that of a child when Dominator blinks. No, that’s not right. “I want you to etch it into your entitled brain that if I’m ever unfortunate enough to cross into this timeline again, I won’t care anymore about needless death.”

Paradox is blindingly bright, and Dominators head throbs from the flash and the beating against the floor. When he opens his eyes again, there’s nothing there but a ragged scar upon the ground where he had been, and a clear mark of his damage evident in Dominators appearance.

His glove comes back bloody when he presses his fingers to his collar. He’ll have to repair his dynamos’ batteries, but before then, find some kind of medical care since they’re unavailable to take care of it for him… How bothersome.

[huffle-dork]

Unreal meets Anibase

TeFA and Lauren were so excited to finally see each other! Thank god, Lauren finally got enough money to fly up to see her. It was gonna be so fun to see each other in person! And soon they’d go see Juri too. Things were gonna be great.

The day went by really fast with all the memes and laughter and freaking out over Youtubers. And soon it was time to sleep, though both wanted to argue that sleep was for the weak.

But, Lauren fought sleep for real. She could feel the bubble of ink creeping into her head. She couldn’t let Unreal loose here. Not now!

But the dark whispers wormed their way into her head and soon she couldn’t think straight. Everything was going dark, her eyelids growing heavy. It didn’t take long.

Unreal smirked and bared her teeth as she bolted up out of the bed and looked around to plot. It was time to cause some mayhem.

TeFA was never an easy sleeper, even since she was infant she would stay up for ages. And when she heard some noises around her house (thank God her walls couldn't stop sound despite how thick they are), she felt her anxiety peak. She sat up and grabbed her phone wondering what was wrong.

Relax… TeFA told herself. It's probably just Lauren, maybe grabbing a snack or something. But once she checked her phone and saw the time, she started hearing her heartbeat in her ears. It’s past two! I get that she's probably still used to her time zone but that's late!

She decided to set her fear and anxiousness on the side and laid back down into her bed, clinging onto the one thought that replayed in her head. It’s just Lauren, it's just Lauren, it's just Lauren…

Unreal creeped down the hall, adjusting to being back in control of her body. It had been a while. She heard a rustle from TeFA’s room and paused to listen. Almost immediately she could feel the fear growing inside the room. Unreal grinned wolfishly and pushed the door open quietly. Her ink splashed noisily to the floor.

TeFA bolted up and met eyes with the art glitch. As much as she loved the darksona in theory and ideas, seeing her face to face was another thing. TeFA clutched Nini close to her in a protectful manner, keeping her eyes locked onto Unreal.

“Well well well.” TeFA muttered. “I should've figured you would crash on this visit.” As much as she was doing to stay calm, she couldn't help but hear a sharp ringing starting to form in her ears. TeFA was utterly frightened, and just wished she could close her eyes and this would all disappear.

“Aw am I that predictable now?” Unreal purred with a tilt of her head. She finished banging the door open, all sense of stealth forgotten. She stalked to TeFA’s bed, eyes flashing wildly. She lunged and grabbed TeFA’s face, covering her mouth before she could scream. Unreal slammed her back to the bed, whispering sinisterly with a cruel laugh bubbling up in her chest. The smell of ink was sickening.

“Well little artist,” she cooed, “I can guarantee you’re not prepared for this! So, why don’t you just sleep for me dear?” She pushed her voice smooth and calm at her command to put her victim to sleep, letting her power wash over TeFA in a strong wave.

TeFA immediately passed out under her spell, and was sent to her black emptiness which is her dreamscape. There she saw Anibase, sitting on the floor looking up at her, quite surprised honestly.

“V2FpdCB3aGF0Pz8/IEkgd2Fzbid0IGV4cGVjdGluZyB5b3UgdG8gc2hvdyB1cCBmb3IgYSB3aGlsZSB5ZXQuLi4= ((Wait what??? I wasn't expecting you to show up for a while yet…))” Anibase said, her voice bouncing back and forth between TeFA’s ears. Then she grinned wickedly. “QXJlIHlvdSBqdXN0IHRoYXQgZXhjaXRlZCB0byBkaWUuLi4/ ((Are you just that excited to die…?))” The butterfly pendant flew in rather closely, and threateningly, close to TeFA’s head, preparing it’s first strike.

“No no NO! Anibase, it's Unreal! She's here!” TeFA shouted towards the dream demon. Anibase’s eyes widened. “And she might be coming for either of us! … I don't actually know her motive behind this.” TeFA ended with a sheepish laugh, which didn’t amuse Anibase in the slightest.

There’s a whoosh of wind that flies past TeFA, pushing her hair past her face. When TeFA manages to pull her face out she’s greeted by the sight of the ground being very far away. The wind screeches in her ears and she looks to see she’s standing on the edge of the rails of a rollercoaster. A car whizzes dangerously close behind her, threatening to push her over.

Suddenly there’s a presence behind her back and Unreal slams her hands on the girl’s shoulders.

“My My,” she whispers, “it sure did take you a second to get here. What took you so long?” She giggles madly and nearly shoved TeFA over. “No matter. We have all night, don’t we?”

The glitch then knees TeFA from behind sending her spiraling off the edge, flying past the steel grates of the coaster and past the sound of rushing cars. Unreal’s mad laughter echoes in TeFA’s ears as she falls.

TeFA couldn't stand rollercoasters, at ALL. She's been scared of them since she was a little kid, but the combination of falling from a huge height, TeFA felt like she was gonna pass out. She wanted to scream but couldn't; she wanted to cry but couldn't; she wanted to plead but she couldn't; Anibase still lurked nearby and she couldn't risk getting killed by her right now. And even then there was Unreal probably close by watching her suffer and planning her next move.

TeFA felt hopeless, and she just let the area all around her fall along with her as her mind slowly became tortured in silence.

The ground came up fast and TeFA fell through and into a burst of blackness. Voices echoed around her, they sounded like her friends. Like Huffle and Juri.

“Worthless.” “Annoying.””Terrible artist.” “Awful friend!”

The insults kept growing worse and worse and louder and louder, threatening to deafen TeFA. But she continued to fall through the blackness until suddenly she was splatting into a pile of something.

She saw she was in a hospital. And she shrieked as she realized she was on a pile of dripping sick patients. Each one with a terrifying disease. The air was thick with the sounds of coughing and sniffling. It also smelled like death.

Unreal appeared from a pool of ink in front of TeFA and leaned down in front of her, tilting her head in a condescending way.

“You’re being oddly quiet, through all of this. What is it gonna take to break you?”

TeFA backed up to get a better look at her. She motioned a talking motion, then proceeded with a finger along her neck. She also motioned crying or shouting followed with the same motion mentioned earlier. TeFA then covered her mouth and nose to avoid smelling the sickness, and so that way she couldn't breathe in the bacteria and germs emanating from them.

The demon cocked her head, knitting her eyebrows together in confusion.

“I didn’t do anything to your voice. I like to hear you squirm and scream.”

She gritted her teeth, angst flaring in her eyes as she surged forward and drove TeFA backwards into the pool of sick bodies. She gripped her neck and pushed her face deeper into the sick.

“So, scream for me!!”

TeFA squirmed, and she continued to cover her mouth and nose. She shut her eyes close and shook her head, fighting back as hard as she could.

Unreal growled in rage and pushed TeFA farther, while snapping her other finger. Suddenly they were back on the tracks of the coaster. The wind whipped their hair through the air and the sounds of metal screeching on metal permeated the air. TeFA’s head was leaving dangerously far over the edge.

“Are you deaf now too?!” She heaved, eyes flashing madly. She banged TeFA’s head against the metal and grabbed her shirt in her hands, letting her dangle.

“Don’t you dare pretend you’re some brave little hero. I can sense your fear. You’re nothing but a scared little child, so stop fighting! Show me how terrified you are!”

TeFA turned up to her and finally screamed, “NO!!!” which was followed by a familiar pendant bursting right through her skull. TeFA’s eyes rolled back into her head and she passed out. The pendant then proceeded to go through her heart, and her body was then tossed aside. Right where TeFA’s once life-filled body stood, was now the dream demon herself, Anibase.

“SHVoLCBzaGUgYWN0dWFsbHkgc3Rvb2Qgb3V0IGZvciBhIHdoaWxlLi4uIEkgd2lzaCBJIGNvdWxkIHRlYXIgaGVyIHVwIGEgYml0IG1vcmUgaG9uZXN0bHkuLi4= ((Huh, she actually stood out for a while... I wish I could tear her up a bit more honestly…))” Anibase muttered, then proceeded to giggle, then laugh. Her butterfly pendant then came back to her and faced Unreal. “Tm93IHdlIGZpbmFsbHkgZ2V0IHRvIG1lZXQh ((Now we finally get to meet!))”

Unreal stumbled back slightly, “W-what the hell?!” She stood back up to full height, staring at the child before her. “You’re real? Like actually?”

Of course, Unreal knew about TeFA’s darksona. But she didn’t expect to get interrupted by her. And she took her prey from her.

The scene around them slowly melted back into black ink and Unreal growled at the little demon, “you took away my prize.”

Anibase clicked her tongue together and wagged her finger. “Q29tZSBvbiBub3csIHdlIGp1c3QgbWV0IGFuZCB5b3UgYWxyZWFkeSB3YW5uYSBwbGF5Li4uPw== ((Come on now, we just met and you already wanna play...?))” Her right eye, which is a black sclera with the iris being purple and silver in color, faintly started to glow purple. The butterfly inched closer to her and started to inspect her. “RG9uJ3QgZm9yZ2V0IHdoZXJlIHlvdSBhcmUsIElua3k7IHRoaXMgaXMgbXkgZG9taW5pb24uLi4gSSBjYW4gY29udHJvbCBBIG4gWSB0IEggaSBOIGcgaW4gaGVyZS4uLg== ((Don't forget where you are, Inky; this is my dominion... I can control A n Y t H i N g in here…))”

Unreal cocked her head to the side with a dangerous smile. “Is that right?” She cooed. She lifted up her hand and let ink swirl around her arm.

“This might be your home, sweetie. But I can shape it how I want!” She cackles sinisterly and throws her giant glob of ink straight at Anibase’s face, driving her backwards.

Anibase drives her heels to the ground to make her stop. She laughs again and wipes the ink straight off. “V2VsbCwgbG9va3MgbGlrZSB3ZSdyZSBkb2luZyB0aGlzIHRoZSBmdW4gd2F5Li4uIQ== ((Well, looks like we're doing this the fun way…!))” The butterfly pendant touches Unreal’s chest causing the art glitch’s heart rate to increase rapidly. All of a sudden there are 100 Anibase’s surrounding Unreal, and the glitch couldn't help but feel her own anxiety increase.

All of the Anibase’s giggle in unison, their voices together even louder than before. “SG93J3MgaXQgZmVlbCBJbmt5Pw== ((How’s it feel Inky?))”

Unreal grits her teeth against the noise. Her breath was coming out ragged and sharp from the slamming of her heart in her chest. She could feel Lauren stirring in the back of her mind, whimpering at the anxiety they both felt thumping. Unreal had to be quick before she lost control.

She brought up her hand and twirled letting the ink that splashed at Anibase’s feet rise and firm into shapes. They took the guise of human bodies and they wrapped around Anibase much like lovers would. Feeling, grabbing. uncomfortably close and warm. They whispered sweet nothings and insecurities into the girl’s ears while Unreal struggled to keep their forms solid. The pounding of her chest and the constant noise of the demon clones had her ink monsters trembling. But she held firm.

“Ha, you’re pathetic. That’s what you’re afraid of?” She smirked. “This might be easier than I thought.”

Anibase snapped through gritted teeth. “ SSBoYXZlIG15IHJlYXNvbnMuLi4= ((I have my reasons…))” She sent her hallucinated-clones after the ink-clones to keep them distracted, and ran over to Unreal. Her sclera fully enveloped her eye to make it black, and it fully glowed purple: she was mad.

She quickly ran past her but her butterfly pendant flew past on Unreal’s other side, the thick rope pressing against her neck. Anibase quickly grabbed hold of the pendant and pulled back, while she put her knee on Unreal’s upper back and pushed, forcing her neck deeper into the rope, making her breathing shallow and uneasy. Anibase giggled, her voice bouncing between Unreal’s ears at a rapid pace.

Unreal grunted in pain and she felt Lauren jolt in her head. Damnit, she was losing time! She growled dangerously and flung her hand up, making a sharp jagged piece of ink shoot up, hoping to stab itself in Anibase so she could get away.

Anibase felt the ink shoot right up through her left arm, and she gasped in pain as she realized this was her first true blow. Unreal fell as the tension released off of her. Anibase stared at her arm, but then it phased out and rematerialized around the sharp ink, and she laughed again, but this time a true childish one, like if a kid was being tickled by their parent. She stared back down at Unreal in delight and flashed a wicked grin, too similar to the art glitch’s in a way.

“WW91IGNhbid0IHNpbXBseSBjaGFuZ2UgdGhlIHBhc3QgbGlrZSB0aGF0LCBodWguLi4/IE5vIG1hdHRlciB3aGF0LCB5b3UgY2FuJ3QgYWZmZWN0IHdoYXQgaXMgbm93IHNldCBpbiBzIFQgbyBOIGUuLi4= ((You can't simply change the past like that, huh...? No matter what, you can't affect what is now set in s T o N e…))”

The art glitch stumbled away from the demon with slight fear in her eyes. “What the fuck?” She whispers, “What are you?!” Panic started to rise in her throat, the feeling of not being able to touch this girl sending her mind reeling. She felt out of control, and she hated that. Huffle grabbed at that feeling, trying to take back control of her body and Unreal gasped, choking slightly. She winced in pain and stared up at Anibase. She refused to lose. She lunged wildly at Anibase with a loud war cry, an insane look on her face. They both crashed to the ground with Unreal pinning Anibase underneath her.

Anibase struggled underneath the slightly taller darksona, and she looked around for any sign of what she could do. She looked to her left and saw TeFA’s dead body, and above her Unreal. But Anibase looked deeply into Unreal’s eyes and noticed there was a wild fury in them, as well as deep fear of losing control. She slightly gasped and smiled.

“WW91ciBob3N0IGlzIHRyeWluZyB0byB0YWtlIGJhY2sgY29udHJvbC4uLiE= ((Your host is trying to take back control…!))” Anibase realized. She then sent a knee into Unreal’s gut and slid out, standing up and looking at the glitch. When did she start panting? She shook her head and stood directly in front of her.

“Li4uIFlvdSBuZWVkIGhlbHAsIGRvbid0IHlvdT8gSXMgdGhhdCB3aHkgeW91IGNhbWUgaGVyZS4uLj8= ((... You need help, don't you? Is that why you came here...?))” Anibase simply asked between breaths.

“No!” Unreal snapped, wincing against the pounding in her head. “I came to do what I always do! Break my pathetic host’s friends and steal something from them to make me stronger!” She grits her teeth as her anger morphs into a grimace, her fingers curl into fists and she sucks in air. “I don’t need anyone’s help..!”

Anibase chuckled. “QW5kIHlvdSB0aG91Z2h0IEkgd2FzIHRoZSBwYXRoZXRpYyBvbmUuLi4= ((And you thought I was the pathetic one…))” Anibase kneeled down to look at her at eye level. Her pendant lifted Unreal’s chin up and then pointed to TeFA’s body. “V2hhdCBpZiBJIHdlcmUgdG8gc2F5IEkgY2FuIGFpZCB5b3UuLi4/ ((What if I were to say I can aid you…?))” She then cocked her head in a playful manner.

M“SSBjYW4gaCBFIGwgUCB5b3Uu ((I can h E l P you.))”

Unreal withdrew her head back with a snarl. Then she follows the direction of Anibase’s finger to her dead host and she feels something. Oh if only she could get rid of her annoying host… but then again she was also keeping Unreal alive. Another pound in her head, as if Lauren is pounding her fists against their skull sends her reeling. She gasps and grits her teeth more, not wanting to give into her weakness. She weakly bubbles up ink at her fingers but she doesn’t have to energy to form anything new.

“I don’t… need help from a child!” She barks, glaring up at Anibase.

Anibase gives her a look of done-ness, and smiles. “QXJlIHlvdSBzdXJlLi4uPyBDYXVzZSBJIGtub3cgeW91ciBob3N0IGlzIGp1c3QgZCBZIGkgTiBnIHRvIGNvbWUgb3V0IHJpZ2h0IG5vdy4uLg== ((Are you sure...? Cause I know your host is just d Y i N g to come out right now…))” Anibase offers her hand out to be shaken with; a sign of a promise or deal, whichever way you want to look at it. The butterfly pendant flies in close, hovering right by the outstretched hand.

“TGFzdCBjaGFuY2UgYmVmb3JlIHlvdXIgaG9zdCB3YWtlcyB5b3UgdXAgSW5reS4uLg== ((Last chance before your host wakes you up Inky…))”

“My name is Unreal!” She growls, eyes glowing brighter in anger. Another burst sends a tremble through her body she resists the turning of her stomach. She gags slightly feeling her body start to numb, like she’s close to waking up. Desperation sends her hand flying into Anibase’s and she curls it to give her a handshake.

���Okay fine!”

Anibase grins and turn her around, making her face opposite of the dream demon. “V2F0Y2ggb3V0LCB0aGlzIG1pZ2h0IGh1cnQgYSBsaXR0bGUuLi4= ((Watch out, this might hurt a little…))” And with that, Anibase sends the pendant straight through Unreal’s skull, knocking out Lauren that was fighting back all this time. Anibase then turns to see TeFA rising up, Nini at her side.

“V0FJVCwgTk8h ((WAIT, NO!))” Anibase screamed, and all of a sudden TeFA had woken up back in her room, Lauren passed out on the floor at the side of her bed.

“Oh no no no no no no, Lauren, you awake?!” TeFA nearly shouted as she gets down next to her.

Lauren was lying curled up on the floor, the remnants of Unreal’s ink leaking through her eyes like tears. It takes her a while to fully wake up, and when she does she’s dizzy and disoriented.

“TeFA…?” She blinks through half lidded eyes and tries to look around. Her body feels like lead, “why… why am I in your room…?” She struggles to get up, feeling the room tilt slightly from her vertigo, “I-I don’t usually sleep walk, I’m sorry…”

TeFA sighs with relief and motions for her to stay down. She quickly hugs her tight. “It's alright, I know why. As much as that dream demon kills me, it doesn't mean I don't retain the memory.” TeFA quickly let go and held onto Lauren’s shoulders, looking into her eyes. “It looks like our darks are working together now to eradicate us.” TeFA pauses.

“Unreal and Anibase.”