#i saw the prompt and thought ''what if there were no skeletons'' and it spiraled from there

[unknown-limes]

"When you reach the bottom, we will cut the ropes. May God have mercy on your soul."

That was to be the last thing she heard. She did not respond. Instead, she watched the darkness below her come closer every time the workers above loosened the ropes, inch by inch. The bottom was still too far to see. Perhaps when she gets down there, there would be enough corpses and bones that she could survive for a few more days. After that... well, maybe if she can last a few days, she'll be able to figure a way to climb back up once all the looker-ons have gone home to their little beds.

They will die in those beds should all go well for her. Not that she dealt in vengeance. It was simply foretold that every soul in that village would die save for herself, and who was she to disobey God's will? She imagined how their screams would sound and smiled.

She felt the bottom of the well just as soon as she was enveloped by the total darkness. The ropes loosened and fell down around her, revealing a sear wherever they'd been hugging her body. She rubbed her poor wrists and looked up. The opening was like a bright moon against the hollow void of night. Altogether, not too far up, it seemed. She felt around her to try to locate the rope (maybe it could aid her escape).

Yet, grasp as she might, she couldn't feel a bit of it. Frowning, she looked into the darkness, willing herself to see where the lengths had disappeared to. The void didn't begin to reveal shapes as her eyes adjusted though. It just remained pitch black.

She felt with her hands until she found the wall, then leaned back against it. For now, she would let the ropes be. They weren't useful for any escape attempt so long as the damned people of this village were still above. Going about their lives, trading fish for bread and letting their nasty little children run around trying to catch hoops with sticks. They would all burn. If not for the great noise they make, for giving her a vegetable soup as her last meal. It was meant to be a final blessing before her condemnation was carried out, but at least they could've added a little bit of meat for her. She wasn't a vegetarian like the man who'd been lowered down the week before.

Speaking of him, she wondered where he'd gone to. She hadn't felt him under her heels when she'd touched the bottom of this well, though the ground was quite squishy. It seemed to be a very small well, too, so he probably wasn't hiding on the opposite side. She tried pushing herself off the wall to start groping around for him. Yet, it felt like something was holding her in place. Tug as she might, the back of her dress was stuck like the world's strongest glue had been painted onto the wall. She put her hands against the wall and pushed as hard as she could. Yet, she was not released.

She tried lifting her feet instead. But, they'd been entirely encased. In fact, the mud below her had swallowed up half her shin. Her hands were stuck up where she'd put them against the wall, too. No matter how much she wiggled or fought, not a bit of her could be pulled back out. In fact, she could no longer pull her back off the wall. And her fingers were engulfed just as she felt the mud squish up to her knees.

A panic blossomed in her chest as she kept fighting against it, trying desperately to free her legs, her back, a pinkie. She could no longer even wiggle her toes. She realized in horror that her head wasn't even able to turn. She looked upwards to the opening. A rounded shadow was peering over one side. She opened her mouth to scream for help, and the mud flooded in to muffle her.

Yet, as she chokde against it, she realized it didn't feel like she had any less air in her lungs. The mud filled her body through her mouth, and she could breath despite it. Any hunger she might've felt was gone.

There were legends about this well. She'd heard them all a thousands times growing up in this village. Nobody knew who'd dug it, but the water that was drawn up was the sweetest anyone had ever tasted. It was rumored that a sick woman could be made well by drinking it, too. But, this time of year was the dry season. If a bucket was lowered in during this time of year, it was impossible to draw it back up. It'd be weeks yet until the water came back.

She closed her eyes as the mud engulfed her and prayed for death to come. It was the first time she learned that not all prayers were meant to be answered.

As the ropes grew tighter, she wondered just how many intact skeletons laid at the bottom of the pit promised to be her punishment.

[lizbotw]

SEVEN MINUTES IN HELL: INTRODUCTON

YOU’VE ENTERED THE FOREST: CHOOSE A PATH (MASTERLIST)

pairing: various (bakugou, iida, jirou, kaminari, midoriya, todoroki) x reader

summary: You go adventuring in the woods with your friends as part of the Halloween spirit, but things don’t exactly go as planned.

a/n: this is the intro post to my collab with kristy! since it’s a choose your own adventure story, check out the masterlist here for additional details and for links to the other routes ♡ i hope you all enjoy and feedback is very much appreciated!

word count: 4.1k

Go exploring in the forest for the hell of it. It’ll be fun, they said. Halloween isn’t complete without late night adventures, they’d said. We’ll only be gone for a few hours. Mr. Aizawa wouldn’t mind.

Well, you know what? They had lied. And by they, you meant Kaminari because of course he had been the mastermind behind this grand idea. He was wrong about all of it and especially that last point because in your heart of hearts, as much as you wanted to believe you were all magically given permission to go perusing on your own, you knew that a detention notice awaited all of you when you got back. Not that anyone seemed to care.

Leaves crunching underfoot, jackets and sweaters wrapped snugly around you, Kaminari’s victims—ahem, your friends that he had roped into this scheme—trudged behind him as he jabbered on about the positives of this bonding experience.

“Do you think we’ll actually find anything?” Midoriya piped up after Kaminari’s latest spiel about this forest being infamous for the random skulls travelers always swore they spotted conveniently resting at the bases of trees or perched upon its branches. There was a barely noticeable tremble in his voice at the prospect.

You heard a scoff. “Slim chance,” Bakugou sneered from next to you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His hands had been stuffed into his pockets the entire time, kicking stray rocks in his path at every opportunity. “Who the hell would believe that anyway?”

As much as you wanted to scold him for ruining the Halloween spirit, you had to agree. What were the chances of you finding anything noteworthy during this expedition? There was a reason no one could ever produce actual pictures or evidence of the horrors they had supposedly witnessed.

Kaminari was apt at ignoring skeptics though—maybe a little too good at it—and Midoriya’s interest seemed to have lit a fire in him as he whirled around to face the group now, walking backwards. His expression said it all—Finally, someone believes me! “Duh, we have to carry something back to show the others. They’re totally missing out!”

“I don’t think a skeleton is an appropriate thing to bring back to our classmates. Perhaps they’d enjoy something educational, like a sample of leaves from the different trees or-”

“No one cares, four-eyes.” You’d lost count how many times Bakugou had interrupted Iida at this point. And each and every time it had resulted in an argument—including now. That would be entertaining and all if not for the fact that you were pretty sure your right ear was going deaf from being next to them.

You tuned out the biting remarks (Bakugou) and the gasps of surprise at the vulgarity (Iida), as had become routine to you at this point. What was that saying about groups tearing each other apart during horror movies before anyone even gets killed off? Or maybe you had just made that saying up yourself… hmm… well whatever it was, it definitely applied right now.

“This is stupid,” Jirou mumbled from your other side and you almost groaned. How did you end up sandwiched between the resident pessimists of the group again?

Maybe it was the combination of Bakugou and Jirou that was starting to make you skeptical, or maybe it was the fact that you had been walking for who knows how long and your legs were tired, or the fact that you were hungry and thirsty, or that there was no reception out here, or—or maybe it was just all of it. You wrinkled your nose the more you thought about it. Maybe everyone was right, there really was nothing out here. You suddenly wanted to go home, sick of the whistling wind, the towering trees, and the flits of rapidly fading sunlight that shone through the leaves.

“Kaminari, maybe we should turn back.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Jirou threw her hands up in exasperation. “Why did any of us agree to this anyway?”

“Just for the record, I’m only here to make sure none of you do anything irrational.” That was true. The only reason Iida of all people ended up on this expedition was because he’d heard Kaminari advertising the idea a little too loudly and realized there was no way to talk him out of it. So here he was, playing babysitter.

“Yeah? Well, just for the record, I don’t need you to watch me.” And Bakugou was back to stirring up trouble, just when the latest argument had started to die down and the ringing in your ear had stopped.

You almost felt bad for Kaminari being at the receiving end of everyone’s frustration until you saw that his grin was no where close to faltering and in fact he seemed to take the challenge head on. You admired his drive but you were wondering for the umpteenth time why he didn’t just bring Kirishima, Mina, or Sero on the expedition too—they wouldn't be complaining… much. (Probably because those three were so into Halloween it was insane. Tough chance of getting them away from the yearly Halloween festival planning. They didn’t want to miss anything.)

He clicked his tongue in disapproval, shaking his finger at the others. If anything, you were impressed how he was able to navigate the forest walking backwards while continuing his chiding. On second thought… your eyes darted up ahead to a rapidly approaching object. Wait, was that—

“You guys seriously have to lighten uHHH-AH.” A crash echoed through the trees as Kaminari tripped over a well-placed log, his back hitting the ground and knocking the air out of him. In the distance you saw a few birds fly out of the trees in surprise at the noise, beating wings black against the afternoon sky.

“You really should’ve been watching where you were going,” Todoroki spoke up from the back of the group after a moment of shocked silence from everyone—even Bakugou had shut up.

“Are… are you okay?” Midoriya was the first to check up on him, walking forward and crouching down next to his friend, craning his neck to examine him closer.

Kaminari sat up, rubbing his head. “Yeah, never been better.”

“We should all be more careful. We don’t have a first aid kit to use if something goes wrong.” Please, Iida, it’s not that serious—but also, good point. In the middle of the woods with no first aid kit—way to make this seem way more scary than it actually is.

“Guys, quit worrying—”

“I wasn’t worrying,” both Bakugou and Jirou cut in.

“—I’m fine, see?” He stood up, rustling the leaves at his feet further. He did seem fine, although you were sure he would start complaining later. “I’m tough!”

Kaminari admitting that everything was alright opened the floodgates for the concern from the others to morph back into claims of how you should definitely not be in this forest at all, now paired with chastising him for not being more observant.

“I’m turning back. And you’re coming with me so we don’t get lost.” Jirou took a hold of your arm to pull you after her. “You're the only rational one around here.”

“Wait, but I-”

“I uh… I don’t think it's a good idea for us to split up.” Midoriya’s attempt at stopping Jirou didn’t exactly work as intended.

“Then we should all go.”

“That’s not really what I-”

“It’s probably for the best,” Todoroki said. He shrugged when you looked at him in surprise; he had been fairly neutral about the ordeal up until that point. “Kaminari,” he turned to look at the blond now, “We should get your head checked out too, to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“I didn't hit my head,” Kaminari whined, “Seriously guys, you worry way too much.” He shifted his weight to his other foot, crossing his arms as he took a second to think. “...but fine, if you really want to go back, we’ll go. Not just because I fell though.”

“Finally,” Jirou breathed out. You felt her grip on your arm tighten for a second and then she released it.

“So… which way?” Midoriya prompted, eyes scanning the trees that were starting to look a little too similar now that you thought about it.

Everyone turned expectantly to Kaminari, although it seemed that the same idea was already budding in their minds as well.

He blinked at the sudden attention and then a sheepish smile overtook his features and he rubbed the back of his head, averting his gaze. “Well…”

“We’re lost,” Bakugou deadpanned. It wasn’t a question.

Kaminari tried to skirt around the issue, making up half-excuses and telling all of you not to worry, fumbling with his words. He wasn't very convincing. Realizing it was a lost cause a minute into the act, he gave up with a deep sigh. “Okay, yeah, we’re lost. We have been… for a while.” He mumbled that last part.

“We what?”

Kaminari held his hands up in defense. “Woah, woah, Bakugou, calm down. I'm sure I can get us out of here, no sweat.”

“I knew we passed that tree before. We’ve been walking in circles this entire time.” You looked over to see who had said that and found Todoroki, hand on his chin, staring contemplatively at a large tree with a spiral carved into its trunk. Now that you thought about it, it did look familiar.

The quiet that had followed ever since Kaminari fell was slowly falling apart, being replaced with loud, frantic discussions about what the fuck were you going to do. The bordering desperation in some of their voices wasn’t well hidden—it didn’t help ease anyone’s nerves that none of you had told a single soul where you were headed off to, hoping that no one would notice your absence at all. You were starting to realize just how many bad decisions everyone here had made up until this point. Note to self: maybe don’t get mad at horror movies portagonists for acting stupid once you get back to your dorm and flip on a new show to watch (now you were thinking about your dorm and how cozy you could have been in it right now, safe and sound with all of your friends for an impromptu movie night).

You shook your head. No time to think about what you could’ve been doing. Someone around here had to do something about this chaos because it seemed like everyone was seconds away from being at each other’s throats and you're pretty sure that's exactly what happens before things go horribly wrong in horror movies.

You cleared your throat, clapping your hands together. You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before opening your mouth and— “Shut up!” The echo of your shout had even more birds in the distance fleeing from their trees (oops?).

Everyone fell quiet, all looking at you now and their pinning stares were not happy. “Um…” You hadn’t actually thought of what to say once you got their attention. What could any of you do? “We need a plan.”

“No, duh.” Bakugou rolled his eyes.

You fixed him with a glare. “I said shut up. Anyway, we’re not going to get anything done at this rate if we all keep panicking.”

“You’re right,” Iida spoke up, “We all need to remain calm. Let’s discuss this properly.”

Looks like your plan to instill some order among the group hadn’t been a complete bust because everyone was nodding in agreement now. Maybe this could work and you all would be safely back at U.A. within a few hours.

That had been until the downpour had started, rain splattering through the trees and soaking into the fabric of your shirt.

A drop of water came from above, landing on your arm and chilling to your core. Then there was another and another, cold and unrelenting. No one had noticed the gray clouds heavy with moisture rolling in and it was like it all came down at once, stunning you all in place before you realized you were getting absolutely soaked.

It was a blur what happened after that, but let’s just say that the sense of order from before didn't last long. Those who had hoods on their jackets pulled them up, and anyone who didn’t held their hands up to shield themselves, or pulled their jackets up and over their heads by the collar. In a frenzy to find shelter, you all took off, feet thumping against the ground, yelling about your horrible luck so far. It was as if the forest had decided that you had been standing around too long talking and that it was time to get a move on.

The canopy of trees darkened the area, and you had to focus on the forest floor to prevent yourself from tripping several times. It was a miracle you all were able to stick together considering that it felt like you ran off in a seemingly random direction. The search for cover was suspiciously short though when Kaminari spotted a cabin in the distance. No one thought to question it much and before you knew it, you had shoved open the unlocked door and collapsed inside. The sound of the rain against the roof was deafening, but once the door was shut the clatter wasn’t as bad.

After everyone had caught their breaths and settled in, they’d gone back to arguing, mostly because no one was expecting to get drenched like that. Cute outfits? Ruined. Kaminari was going to be put on the chopping block for that one.

“It doesn’t make sense for us to be stuck here. Can’t we just use our quirks to find our way out?” you asked. The solution seemed obvious to you and you folded your arms against your chest, trying to keep warm.

Todoroki stood near one of the small windows, dusty from years of disuse, and swiped a hand over the glass to clean it. “I don’t think we should go out just yet. There’s low visibility with all this rain so there’s a high chance we might lose track of each other.”

Grumbles of agreement at that brought you to where you were now, sitting ducks in an ominous building in the woods with some of your best friends. This was starting to seem like some over done, predictable horror movie plot more and more.

“Can you help me carry those?”

You snapped out of your stupor, eyes drawn to the fire blazing in the mantle, and then up at the person who had spoken. Jirou.

She was pointing at a stack of logs near the door that Todoroki was crouched in front of, running his hands over the wooden pieces. You wondered how long you had been sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall for, acutely aware of the ache in your back and the stiffness in your legs now. This was boring.

“Well?” Your eyes snapped back to Jirou, her head tilted expectantly.

You cracked a smile, rising to your feet. “What? Are they too heavy for you?”

She rolled her eyes and pushed your arm lightly in retaliation before walking over to the stack. You followed in her wake.

Up close now, you could see that Todoroki was using his quirk to dry off the wood, the dripping droplets that splattered onto the wooden floor slowly dissipating away under his touch.

Strangely enough, aside from a light coating of dust, the cabin seemed ready to live in (or, er, crash in… for now, until you got back to U.A. and could forget this ever happened) and a small pile of logs had been situated next to an empty fireplace. Todoroki had thrown the wood in and lit it up no problem, casting light over the tiny room and providing some much needed warmth, but there wasn’t enough to keep the flame burning long.

The rain had eased up not long ago and with that Iida had decided to venture out to find more kindling. It didn’t take him long to skirt around the area to find branches and fallen logs that could be lugged back to the cabin with his super speed, and currently he was still out there gathering extra pieces that you’d surely need through the night. Despite the rain no longer pouring down, the sky had darkened significantly and it was decided that it was probably best if none of you went very far out there; same reason as the rain—low visibility. (You’d already been stuck here for a few hours so a few more until sunlight breached the horizon didn’t seem too bad… right?)

Normally wet kindling wasn’t ideal and would be a recipe for disaster once the flames caught ahold of it and the room filled with smoke from the combination, but luckily for you, Todoroki was perfect for survival expeditions. The plan was that he would simply dry off the wood with light heat from his hands, similar to how he had dried off most of your clothes earlier on to prevent anyone from getting sick from the cold.

While Iida went looking for large enough logs outside, Todoroki worked diligently to dry them off, sitting expectantly by the door for the next bundle. Then, one of the others would lug the wood either to rest next to the fireplace for when you needed it, or throw it into the flame when it started to die down. There weren’t exactly perfect pieces of wood laying around the forest, so many of them burned out quickly if they were too small and had to be replaced frequently.

You noticed the flickering light of the current flame starting to die down. Todoroki noticed your footsteps behind him and looked back at you before standing and moving so that you and Jirou could grab either end of a large log, slowly walk it over to the flame and then swing your arms for momentum a bit before throwing it in. You repeated the process with a few more smaller pieces and within no time the flame was back to its healthy, roaring self. The glow it cast would be cozy if the situation was any one but this.

Wiping your brow from the exertion, you had your other hand on your hip as you stared into the fire and admired your work. Jirou lingered a second by your side doing the same before walking off to go slump down in a seat somewhere, and you felt eyes on the back of your head once she left. You spared a glance over your shoulder to find Todoroki still standing in the same spot as before with his arms crossed watching you.

“How long do you think these will last us?” you asked to break the tension, referring to the slowly growing pile of wood.

Todoroki’s eyes shifted away from you and to the pile on the floor. “That should be good. I’ll tell Iida we should be set for the night when he comes back.”

You nodded and looked down. Not able to think of anything else to say, you padded back over to the corner you had been sitting in before and slotted yourself against the wall as had become familiar at this point, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. Maybe if you ignored the situation it would all pass faster.

“This is just plain depressing.” You pried one eye open in exasperation at the interruption—come on, you had just gotten in the “zone” (oh well, not like you had a time limit on doing that anyway). Kaminari was standing right in front of the fireplace at the head of the room, addressing all of you. He was back to giving you that disapproving shake of his head, the same kind he gave when he thought you guys were being boring. Uh oh… where’s this going to go? It was great and all that someone wasn’t feeling down in the dumps over this whole thing, but with it being Kaminari you weren’t sure how high the scale of how great it was actually went.

Bakugou’s eyes were following Kaminari’s movements now, waiting to see what dumb idea he had probably come up with this time—preiovusly, Bakugou had been staring out of the window at the full moon, elbow resting on the window sill and head in his palm (it was nice to see him calm and peaceful like that for a change). Even Midoirya, who had been alternating between sit-ups, push-ups, and planks in the the opposite corner of the room (where he got the energy for all of that right now was beyond you), had sat up to focus on Kaminari, his knees bent and his arms looped around his knees.

“You guys seriously need to lighten up,” Kaminari continued, dismissively gesturing with his hands as if to ward off the negativity all of you were emitting right now.

You saw Jirou quirk an eyebrow. “Yeah? And how should we do that? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re stranded here.”

“Well, yeah, I know that, but that doesn't mean we can't have some fun.” He could tell he was already losing everyone’s attention as you diverted your gazes, each wanting to go back to being solemn on your own. “Why don’t we play a game?” he tried as a last ditch effort.

You let out a huff through your nose. “And that game would be…?”

“Truth or dare! Obviously.”

“Right,” you breathed out to yourself, rolling your eyes, although you couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Bless your heart, Midoriya.

“Awesome! See, at least someone around here knows how to enjoy themselves.” Kaminari planted his hands on his hips and the light of the fireplace behind him illuminated his outline. “Okay, the rest of you sticks in the mud have to play too. Form a circle in the middle of the room. Chop chop now. You have to admit it beats sitting around like this.”

You looked over to your side when you heard Jirou sigh and then the creak of the floorboards when she got up. “I guess.”

Midoriya had already gotten up from his spot and had lowered himself down to sit near the center. Jirou followed suit.

“Whatever.” Bakugou cast the window one last look before he moved towards the forming circle.

Just as Todoroki stepped forward as well, the door swung open with a creak, and Iida stepped inside, dropping the wooden bundles in his arms to the floor. Just as he moved to go back outside to no doubt collect more, not even sparing a glance further into the room, Todoroki stopped him, reaching out a hand to grasp his arm. “We have enough, Iida. I think we’ll be fine tonight.”

He nodded. “Sounds good then. I guess all that’s left to do now is wait this whole thing out,” Iida said. His gaze flickered from Todoroki’s face to the wood pile near the fireplace in order to see if there really was enough and that was when he noticed the circle forming in the center of the room. “…what’s going on?”

“We’re playing truth or dare!” Kaminari declared from the head of the circle where he’d sat down.

“You don’t have to play if you don’t want to,” Todoroki said.

“Nonsense. I think it’ll be good to lift our spirits. Excellent idea, Kaminari.” Kaminari was absolutely beaming at the praise from Iida.

Iida stepped further into the room and leaned forward to shake his head out from side to side, water droplets flying from his hair—they’d probably dripped down from the towering trees onto him as he moved around outside, even after the storm.

As Todoroki and Iida choose their spots in the circle, you did as well, rising from your place against the wall, stretching, and then situating yourself among the others.

Once everyone was done squirming in their seats and getting comfortable, Kaminari clapped his hands together and leaned forward as if he had a secret to tell you all. A mischievous, almost dangerous glint was in his eye and the fireplace cast shadows over his face. “Let’s play.”

Catching the shine of the full moon in the far edge of the room in your peripheral, you shivered. You had a feeling the night was about to go from humbling to downright horrifying in true Halloween fashion.

TRUTH OR DARE: WHAT WILL YOU CHOOSE?

[vex-bittys]

Flufftober 2020: Day Twelve

Prompt: The Perfect Gift

Pairing: Fellswap Gold Skelebros

Category: Familial

----------

It’s difficult to plan the perfect gift for your brother’s graduation from stripes to monster adulthood when you’re so busy worrying about his future. Thankfully, Wine prided himself on his strategizing. He started by listing all of the reasons that he worried about his brother, whom he affectionately called Coffee. If he listed his worries, he could organize and solve them more efficiently before turning his attention to the gift choices.

Wine’s primary concern involved the dangerous nature of their universe. Monsters in stripes enjoyed relative safety in the Underground, but adult monsters were always at risk of attack by ambitious monsters seeking to increase their status. Coffee possessed no combat skills; he hated conflict and avoided it whenever possible. The solution for this issue led Wine to his second source of worry: the party.

In order to guarantee Coffee’s safety (as much as anyone’s safety could ever truly be guaranteed), Wine had arranged a grandiose party for the milestone celebration. Many powerful monsters would be attending, showing that Coffee boasted powerful allies who would retaliate against anyone who harmed him. The Queen herself had RSVPed to the event! Wine hoped the sight of a Queen, a Royal Guard Captain, and a variety of influential guests would ensure that no monster dared to threaten his brother.

The party itself presented the third major worry that took up residence in Wine’s thoughts: Coffee would not enjoy the spectacular celebration at all. Wine’s brother became very uncomfortable in social situations. He disliked talking to others and being the center of attention. Thus far, Wine had not devised a solution to his brother’s social aversion. The party needed to happen, and Coffee needed to mingle. Forcing his brother into such a situation, whether for his own good or not, did not sit well with Wine.

The solution dawned on him like the sun that he hoped to someday see: he could kill two proverbial birds with one brilliant idea… if Muffet agreed to help him.

Thankfully, Muffet adored Coffee, so when Wine proposed his master plan to her, she agreed to help without argument or repayment.

Time careened forward as it often did when deadlines needed to be met. Working diligently, Muffet combined her talents with spider silk with Wine’s abundance of magic to craft a gift worthy of Coffee’s new status as an adult. The day of the grand event arrived, and with the party only a few hours away, Wine knocked on the door to his brother’s bedroom.

Coffee opened the door just a crack to see who might want to speak to him, and when he saw his older brother waiting on the other side, he threw the door wide open in welcome. Wine quickly assessed the room for threats, tactical advantages, and escape routes, a habit he’d developed as Captain of the Royal Guard. This room was where Coffee felt the most comfortable, surrounded by the things he enjoyed the most, all gifts from Wine intended to provide a happy life for his brother.

Coffee had a video game paused, the controller abandoned on the floor when Coffee got up to answer Wine’s knock. Rubik’s cubes and other puzzles were scattered about, and an army of figurines marched across the dresser top. Blankets and an overabundance of pillows hid the bed, and Coffee’s clothes were sorted in numerous piles in a system that only made sense to him.

Coffee stood in the center of the room, his private retreat, and wrung his hands, nervous about the upcoming social event. Wine gave his brother a gentle smile and held up the box that contained his brother’s gift. Coffee took the box reverently. He opened the gift by carefully untaping each end and sliding the box out, leaving the wrapping paper intact and tube-shaped. Wine chuckled warmly at this typical behavior of his brother’s. All of Coffee’s idiosyncrasies made him who he was, and Wine took a great deal of comfort in the routine-ness of them.

“NO MORE STRIPES FOR YOU, DEAR BROTHER,” Wine announced as Coffee lifted the lid off of the box. “I THOUGHT YOU WOULD ENJOY THIS PARTICULAR ARTICLE OF CLOTHING INSTEAD.”

Coffee lifted a black hoodie out of the box. The hoodie material felt extremely soft, and when he pulled it on over his skull, the fabric wrapped around him like a comforting hug. The hood allowed him to hide his face so he didn’t feel so exposed. He lifted one soft hoodie string to his mouth and chewed the end of it. 

“i like it,” Coffee said quietly as Wine led him to a full-length mirror in the hallway. It took a moment for Coffee to actually look at himself in the mirror, but when he did, he gasped in delight. The hoodie read “Nervous Guy” when he first saw the lettering on it, but the words changed to “Happy Guy” as soon as the skeleton noticed the words and smiled.

“NOW YOU CAN EXPRESS YOURSELF WITHOUT NEEDING TO SPEAK,” Wine explained unnecessarily. Coffee gave him a rare and cherished hug, and Wine savored it with closed sockets before speaking again. “THERE’S ANOTHER GIFT IN THE BOX TOO.”

Coffee darted back into his room. Underneath the hoodie, the box contained a spiral-bound book with blank pages and a marker. Coffee already had sketchbooks, so he looked to Wine for a (necessary this time) explanation of the gift.

“THE PEN NEVER RUNS OUT OF INK, AND THE BOOK NEVER RUNS OUT PAGES,” said Wine. “IF YOU AREN’T COMFORTABLE TALKING, YOU CAN WRITE WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY IN THE NOTEBOOK.”

Coffee sniffled, tears gathering in his sockets. Wine truly understood him. Coffee had been so afraid of adulthood, so afraid of the implications of a social gathering that focused on him alone. He should have known that Wine would take care of him. He always did.

Leaning over the notebook, Coffee wrote a few words on the very first page, turning them to show his brother.

The lettering of Coffee’s hoodie (which now read “Grateful Guy”) and the message scribbled in the notebook blurred as Wine wiped tears from his own sockets. He and Coffee shared yet another of their treasured embraces, and the notebook laid on the floor, open to the page with the words “Best Brother Ever” written on it.

READ ON AO3

DAY ELEVEN | INDEX | DAY THIRTEEN

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “The Wrath of Conn.”

Lol, I couldn’t resist. Anyway this is for the multitude of you Conn groupies who wanted a little something form his perspective. Well cue a couple pages of him sort of being an asshole. But also it is totally plot relevant so there is that. 

Hope you all enjoy. This was actually kind of difficult to write, and I had to re-write it at least once :) 

The ship was a strange place now, months had gone by without his presence, and without his connection to their thoughts, and in that time, things had changed. Conn wasn’t entirely sure he appreciated it, but only because that meant he had to re-gather all the information he had originally collected on his human crew members to begin with.

It had been a difficult few months, the most difficult the ship had ever experienced. Conn wasn’t exactly displeased at that fact considering that it was the collective fear and horror from the Cannibal incident that had finally broken him out of his Coma, but he was also displeased to find that things had changed somewhat. Conn didn’t lie change, especially the change that he saw within the Commander. The only person aboard the ship that he could actually communicate with mind to mind.

Well actually scratch that, there were a few others he could speak with, but currently the weighed about fifteen pounds and had language ability so rudimentary it was like trying to talk with the dog. 

Regardless, the last few months  had absolutely ruined what tentative trust the two of them had garnered. 

After returning to the ship, and after putting the Commander into a sort of psychological coma to deal with shock, a HAZMAT team from earth had been called to deal with the issue. Ensuing autopsies had proven that the crew had, in fact, been eating each other despite their being plenty of food left in storage. The remaining survivor, who the commander had been forced to kill in self defense was one Captain Everett Malaney Ex UNSC officer and current freelance ship contractor for both tourist and colonist divisions. By all right he had been an upstanding decision. 

His autopsy had shown that advanced scurvy including kidney failure was the main reason for his monstrous appearance, bruised skin, thinning hair, infected gums and so on. As for the behavior of the crew, it could only be put down to some sort of exaggerated mass hysteria when people realized they would likely die alone in space billions of miles from home in the blackness of space.

Commander Vir had been….. Ok at that point,  but the subsequent venture into a border-world prison had shattered his already cracked composure.

Conn was the only one who had been able to experience the fall from the man’s own perspective. Watching inside his head as he careened into a psychological spiral that had eventually brought them to the earth for treatment. 

Generally conn would have said that he totally didn’t care about anyone’s mental status, and he still would say the same upon being prompted, but this was something that needed to be taken care of and it needed to be done quickly. It wasn’t his fault he was the only one who would truly be able to handle it.

So there he floated in the darkness of early morning, down the hall and towards the mess hall, a ghost town in the early morning devoid of both the sleeping crew-members and the skeleton crew who were off working at their perspective jobs.

He could sense five minds on approach to the room. Three rudimentary and childish minds, and one completely alien guided primarily by smell and hearing. She was the one to  sense his first, with that powerful nose of hers. She didn’t like his smell, it was a burning and caustic thing that made her uneasy, and generally caused her to sneeze.

The next to notice were the spiderlings underdeveloped noses that were already almost as good as the dogs. They were strange creatures to be sure and Conn wasn’t sure how he thought about them.

Tendrils billowing at his back he floated into the room. 

With a whine of agitation, the dog lifted her head from where she had been grooming one of the spiderlings cradled between her two forward paws. Her tongue was still out from where she had been dragging it down the monstrosity’s back. Finally recognizing that he wasn’t going to leave she went back to her grooming. The soft scritch scritch scritch sound of her tongue on fur echoing around the room. She hadn’t originally known how to feel about the spiderlings, but they did smell oddly like Adam, and they looked enough like puppies that she could almost ignore the fact that they had extra legs.

He floated a bit closer to where the commander was sitting alone at one of the tables pen in hand making soft scratching noises as it moved across the paper.

Clinging to his back, like some sort of grotesque backpack, was another one of those little monstrosities. This one’s name was Glados, and Conn was almost sure that she was entirely a creation of anger and hatred aggressively protective of the commander even more so now that they considered his current psychological state.

Conn was only halfway across the room when the scratching of the pen slowed.

Adam paused, and Conn listened as a chill went up the man's spine. He could feel something watching him. And Conn marveled at that fact not entirely sure how the human could know that he was here when he had made no noise. Glados turned her head and hissed at him, but Conn flicked at her with his mind making her shrink back with a whimper.

Setting down his pencil, Adam turned slowly in his seat.

His expression registered absolutely no shock upon seeing Conn floating towards him. On the surface, he looked older as if he had aged ten years in the past month. He was slightly disheveled too hair mussed over his head, skin pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Everything about him seemed washed out.

“Conn.”  The man said, his voice echoing about the room. It was soft, flat, and uncharacteristic of him.

Conn paused glancing through the man’s mind to get a good look at the paper. His vision wasn’t so good in the dark confines of the ship. Generally his species spent much of its time in the direct light of stars, so much of his world was seen through other people’s heads. He saw the sketchy line drawing of a zombie head with hesitant crosshatched marks of shading.

:”Still haven't bothered to tell your therapist about that?” Conn projected into his mind.

He felt a sudden flash of anger in the man before it faded away dimmed as soon as it had come. That fact made Conn displeased.

He didn’t like the man without some sort of passion, and if he couldn't get happiness he would have settled for anger.

Not that he cared of course.

“No…. I haven’t.”

“Why not?”

“You should already know the answer to that.” The commander said turning back to his drawing, “Go on, I know you’ve already looked.”

Of course Conn had taken a look. 

“Why do you insist on getting over this yourself when someone payers her a truckload of cash to help. It seems stupid and prideful.”

“Keep going.” The man prompted.

“Well consider now that I am here you no longer have privacy, so there is no reason to try and hide it anymore.”

There was a deep sigh, and the man tilted back his head. Inside Conn could hear his inner monologue urging his anger down. Conn couldn’t understand what kind of privacy invasion this was, in fact he should have seen this coming, but he still didn't want to explain himself to the strange creature and it’s freaky black eyes.

“Why do you want me to explain myself when you can just read my mind anyway. Why do you need to hear it from me.”

“I don’t need to hear anything, you need to hear it.”

The man paused setting down his pencil and turning again to look at Conn, one of his eyebrows was raised and the expression he had taken on was almost one of a disapproving father, which was a strange expression on a man that spends most of his time in the mental headspace of a 12 year old.

“Why do you care.” 

Con kicked his feet a little causing himself to float upwards towards the ceiling, “ I don’t care accept for your constant inner pity party is putting me off my relaxation time. I did just wake up from a coma after all, and the last thing I want is to have to deal with your dysfunctional thoughts invading my snooping. You see it is very difficult to dig up juicy secrets on the rest of the crew when your ‘oh woe is me’ attitude keeps breaking into my concentration.”

Another little spark of anger, this time a little stronger.

yes , that was good, better to have to moving out and being destructive that way than moving in. However, the human locked down his troughs with an angry twist of his lips, “Will it get you out of my head.”

“Alright.”

“What do I need to do.”

“Nothing really. I am going to say something to you and you are going to respond, that’s it.”

The human hesitated his chin lowered a bit, but eventually he sat back arms crossed, “Ok seems easy enough.”

“Bitch”

The human frowned, “Hold on.”

“Bitch.”

“Hey,” Another flash of anger, “What the hell kind of statement is that.”

“Whiny pathetic bitch.”

The human stood, “Hold on, I said I would play your game, and then you just come at me with insults.” That little spark was growing inside his chest heating up nice and warm. Conn could almost feel it as if it was his own. He liked the sensation. Human emotions were so fun to feel, so fun to play with. They gave him physical sensations he was physically incapable of having.

“Whiny- pathetic - bitch.” he repeated 

“You know what Conn screw you and the horse you rode in on because I have no idea where you are getting this.”

“Really. Someone once told me that actions speak louder than words and here you are moaning to your therapist about how hard your life is, and how hard it is to sleep and how hard everything is wa wa…. Wa.”

The human thrust a finger at him, “You shut your trash mouth. I am not going to be shamed for getting myself help. What I had to go through was rough, and I wasn’t ready for it. I could sit in the corner and cry about it, but here I am getting help holding myself together, so you can just shut up.”

“Doesn’t seem to be working.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean.”

Conn held out his hands to either side, “Look around Commander. Here you are sitting alone in the dark at three in the morning drawing pictures of cannibal zombies. I mean honestly you have gone and lost it. If you really wanted to get better you would probably tell her that you keep seeing him when you look in the mirror.”

“Fuck you Conn. I needed time, I STILL need time, and I will TAKE all of the TIME I NEED.”

If he could have cracked his knuckles he would have. This was fun, “No you can’t. You have a job to do, and by acting like this you are letting the entire crew down.

“Id let the crew down more if I took over not being ready.”

“Then why aren’t you ready?”

The human stepped forward right up in his face. The spark had lit into a flame fanned. The anger was billowing outwards, “I think I deserve to feel like shit for a little while. I watched a man die.”

“You mean the man you killed.” Conn went on smuggly 

The human was even closer to him now, chest to chest, “I DID-NOT-KILL-HIM. I survived. That man may have deserved what he got and maybe he didn’t, but no one died and made me GOD so it's not my place to decide.”

“You didn’t help him though, did you.”

“No, I didn’t, but why was it MY job to help him. Me against an entire prison. The guards weren't going to stop them, they hated that guy just as much as the rest of us, and while we are on the subject. YES I wanted him dead, any normal person would. I’m not a saint, I’m not perfect and yes I have those sort of thoughts. In fact, I got what was coming to me; my punishment was the beating I got. Anyone who blames me for any of that can go right to hell.” The flame was roaring nice and warm now. It was anger, and it was making both of them feel light. Blood ran through their hands and into their heads. 

It felt sort of nice to be mad.

“Oh please, if you really believed that, you wouldn't feel so guilty.”

The human snarled. The dogs and the spiderlings on the floor had retreated under a table, but Glados hissed along with him. “You think I feel guilty because of HIM, no. I feel guilty because I didn’t live up to my own standards. If I really am who I thought I was, I would have helped him no matter what, but I didn't and that's why I am frustrated. I am not the man I thought I was, and that PISSES ME OFF.”

Conn floated a little closer two dark eyes looking into one green one, “You know who you remind me of?”

“Oh please tell me more, I am DYING to know.”

Conn paused allowing the tension to build, “Mr. Everett.”

The room had gone very silent. Glados stopped growling, and her little ears went back, “Take…. That…. Back.” The human hissed in a horse whisper.

“Make… me.” Conn whispered back 

He watched from the Commander’s peripheral vision as Glados crawled across the floor and under the table. He was getting into dangerous territory, but that was no matter. He would manage just fine, “Come on, just look at his career, mirrors your own now wouldn't it. I can just imagine it, the ship goes dark and poor little Adam Vir loses his mind and starts eating the crew.”

A vein was pulsing just above the man’s good eye, “I would not.”

“I wonder what the Drev taste like. I mean Sunny is small enough, you could probably catch her and chop her up into bite sized pieces if you really wanted to.” 

‘I said SHUT UP.” “Why should I!”

The man lifted his hands as if he was going to choke Conn, but held back balling them into fists, “I would never do that, and I don’t give a damn what you say. I would keep my cool, and we would find a way out because that is what we always do.”

Conn shrugged intentionally and quite completely blowing him off as if it was nothing.

“You know it’s just sad. You trying to justify yourself.”

“What do you want from me Conn. Why are you her. Does messing with people get you off or something. Is this some kind of sadistic pleasure for you?” 

There was silence in the room for a long moment. 

Waffles whined below the table, and the spiderlings chirped nervously along with her.

“No Commander.” His voice lost it’s edge, he let it slip take on a more distant quality inside the man’s head.

“These thoughts aren’t mine…..” The human looked on in confusion, the flame in his chest pausing.

“They’re yours.” The flame was snuffed blown into smoke which rose into confusion on his face. He took a step back.

“What are you talking about?”

“None of those words were mine. I stole them all from your own head. All of the insults all of the illogical assumptions.” He grinned, “they made you mad, didn’t they because they didn’t make sense.”

The man just stood there mouth agape jaw working furiously though no sound came out

“You argued pretty heavily with me didn’t you. Thought I was being some sort of asshole….” Laughter, not that he could make the sound, but inside the man’s head he could sound like anything, “I’m not the asshole, Commander...you are. Calling yourself names, doubting yourself. Personally my opinion is that if you are allowed to do it, than I am. I mean if it’s inside your own head than you must believe it.”

“But I don’t.” the man whispered 

“Than what do you believe commander?” He waited there, knowing the answer but watching as the human struggled to find it inside his own cluttered head. Parts of his subconscious doing its best to hide the truth, but then he snagged it. Just a tendril, but it was enough.

He sighed deflating, “I want to feel normal again, I want to get back to work. I wanted someone to be angry at me, someone to yell at me like I won't shatter. I want them to tell me that I am NOT doing as well as I could. I want people to expect MORE from me not less because less means that they believe in me less. Even if I can’t reach it, I want people to honestly believe that I can because maybe if someone believe it, it’s true.”

“You feel like people have been making excuses for you.”

He threw his hands in the air, “Exactly. They’ve been going so easy, they've been so nice, but that's not what I want… It’s not what I need. I know it sounds stupid, but I want someone to come in here and tell me to my face that I need to do better because they'd be right. All the doctors and all my friends they think they are being supportive, and they are, but that’s not what I need. I need expectations.” 

Conn crossed his arms, “Fine, do better. Get off your ass and get back to work.”

He sighed, “it’s different coming from you.”

“Why?”

“Because You know exactly what I want, but you're probably don’t mean it. I don’t need platitudes Conn.”

More laughter. He liked the sound it was fun, and it was a great way to mock people, “Platitudes. Do you honestly think I care about your feelings enough to give you platitudes. I am being honest. I think you’re being a selfish asshole sitting here all alone in the dark coloring when you have a job to do. Do better.” The man was glaring at him again. That little spark in his chest had come back easier than it had before, Conn reveled in the feeling of his anger.

“What do you want Commander, right now what do you feel right now.”

“Probably the desire to strangle you.” Conn didn’t even bother flinching.

“You don’t really want that.”

He sighed in annoyance, “Fine, I don’t want that…. I….” Conn waved a hand trying to prompt him on. Conn could feel it, a sort of buildup of emotion inside the man. Physically it felt like a cap on a shaken up bottle filling his entire body up till just under his head, like he was trying to keep his face out of the water in order to avoid drowning.

“You now what, honestly I’M PISSED OFF. IT’S NOT FAIR DAMN IT. If I could just…..”

“Come on….” Conn coaxed.

“If I could just, clear it all out then maybe I’d feel better, but I have to act all civilized because of my rank. I have to be in control.

Conn waved a hand dismissively and motioned around the room, “Well go on, no one is stopping you.”

“Not on the ship.” The man hissed in return.

“It’s your ship isn’t it. Look around, Commander what is the worst you could do, break a couple of chairs bust the coffee machine , nothing you couldn’t pay for.”

“What if the crew sees. 

“Screw them.” Conn said, “everyone will be better off if you get a little destructive now versus not doing it and being a lot more destructive later.”

THe man held his eyes for a very long moment, “It won’t be pretty.”

“I’m inside your head, I have seen plenty of things that aren't pretty.” 

There was silence for a few seconds before.

“You should probably step back.”

This time Conn did as directed floating back and high watching as the man turned on the spot. His head was bowed, his hands curled into claws at his side. He watched from the sky as one dog and three spiderlings slunk across the room and hid under the salad bar.

He allowed himself to feel the buildup as the man’s hands began to shake uncontrollably, his breathing grew heavy, blood rushed into his face and neck, and then, the cap burst from the bottle….

WIth a scream of anger, almost inhuman the man lashed out with his prosthetic leg kicking the table. The power was enough to snap some of the bolts holding it in place and it hit the floor on it’s side with a crash. Chairs went flying along with creative curses Conn would have to save for later. Silverware crashed onto the ground. Lights hung from exposed wires. Metal screeched as it was dented. Paper was rent and scattered about the floor like confetti. 

Minutes passed by followed a reign of destruction so impressive Conn admitted he actually underestimated what was going to happen. 

The commander  stood at the center of the room surrounded by carnage. His hands were bleeding. He tilted his head back towards the ceiling screamed again and fell to his knees breathing hard. There he went quiet and Conn could feel as the last bit drained from him, dripping onto the floor and dissipating away.

The red faded from his neck and face, and with an exhausted sigh he flopped onto his back one bloody hand resting on his stomach, the other resting on the floor as he stared at the ceiling. Conn floated over, adjusting the gravity field so he sunk to the floor, and lay down as well. Their heads were side by side, though their feet were going in opposite directions.

They lay like that for a minute.

After a few moments, There was a soft shuffling on the floor as waffles slunk from under the salad bar crouched close to the ground, her tail sweeping fast and slow to the ground her ears back.

She scooted closer to the commander, whimpering and yawning with agitation.

The commander patted her ears as he stared up at the ceiling, and she lay against him in the crook of his arm. 

Noise down in the hallway, along with the sound of rushing feet and a group of humans charged onto the deck carrying an assorted array of weaponry. They paused in the doorway to the mess hall from two doorways looking both worried and confused spotting the commander lying amidst the carnage.

“Commander wha-”

The man held up a finger, “SHHH…. Shhhhh.” 

The humans went quiet looking between each other with confused expressions. Dr. katie poked her head around the door frame and glanced around the room, then with tentative steps she walked quietly into the room and towards where the commander lay. She didn’t say anything but paused, then shrugged and slowly lowered herself to the ground, adjusting herself till she was flat on her back staring up at the ceiling. The other humans looked between each other in surprised confusion, but one of the marines shrugged walked forward and lay down on one of Conn’s other sides resting his hands atop his stomach in silent contemplation.

Following their baser social instincts, the other humans followed until, one by one, he was surrounded by an array of human bodies all staring up at the sky in deep contemplation. Conn reached out to them feeling their solidarity to their commander, and then connected the two together allowing the Commander to hear them for one brief moment.

There was silence and then, inside his head.

“Thank you, Conn.”

“don’t mention it.”

...

“Conn.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t EVER try that on anyone else.... ever again.” 

“You have my word, Commander.” 

 Whatever..... its not like he cared.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Gene Pool

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Word count: 2917

Prompt: Speaks in a terrible Shakespearean/Elizabethan style to woo/make the other laugh

———————

A loud groaning noise vibrated through the walls of the theater, catching Anne’s attention as she was getting dressed to leave after that day’s evening show. To her left, Aragon wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“They still haven’t fixed those damn pipes?” She said. “Some high quality theater this is.”

“I think it’s fine,” Cleves shrugged. “It’s fun to tell young fans that it’s a ghost.”

“Of course you would do that.” Anne laughed.

“Shall we wait for you?” Aragon asked the green queen, as she and Cleves had finished changing.

“Nah, go without me,” Anne said. “I’ve got some things to do.”

In which, those “things” were cheering up a certain blonde girl.

Anne noticed Joan acting rather stressed and aloof for awhile, but it wasn’t until she spiraled into a panic attack out of nowhere the day before that she finally decided to really do something. She was going to treat the poor music director to a dinner of her choice and just be there for her, and hopefully get the truth of her current state out of her in the process.

“Oh, m’lady!” Anne chirped, prancing into Joan’s dressing room. “Gath'r thy belongings, mine own lief! It’s timeth to wend!”

She stopped in the doorway, noticing that Joan was still in her costume.

The girl didn’t acknowledge her...or maybe she didn’t even hear her. She just remained hunched over her desk. Anne thought she may have been asleep, as she did sometimes nod off, but she saw the subtle twitch of her shoulders and heard the smallest sniff emit from her timid music director.

“The young wench gaveth nay cleareth response.” Anne narrated. She dramatically leaned against the wall. “Ign'r'd by mine own owneth kin! Thee curs'd robe stealeth'r! How couldst thee doth this to me?!”

No response.

Anne pursed her lips and stepped closer.

“Prithee! Doth not doth this to me! Pri— Joan?”

Anne stopped her charade when she heard the tiniest whimper. In an instant, her maternal instincts are kicked in and she sets a hand on Joan’s shoulder, which causes a second whimper to bubble up. Then, Joan is twisting around in her chair and burying her head against her stomach, weeping.

“Anne— Oh, Anne, I-I messed up! I-I thought I could—” Joan’s strange babbling broke off into incoherent sobbing.

“Hey, hey,” Anne wrapped her arms around the trembling girl. “Hey, shh... Shh... It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Joan ripped away. Her eyes are wide with terror. “I-it’s not okay! I-I...”

She looked down at her hands as if they were drenched in blood and broke down into a fresh fit of tears.

“Come here, sweet girl...” Anne gathered Joan back into her arms and held her tightly. She rubs her back comfortingly. “Shh, shh... I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

“A-Annie,” Joan squeaked out. “I-I’m s-so sorry...”

“It’s okay, Joan. You’re allowed to cry.”

“N-no—“ Joan sniffled. “N-not...not about that. About...”

Anne furrowed her eyebrows in concern.

“What?”

Joan leaned back. She’s hugging herself tightly, not making eye contact. Then, her gaze shifts to her desk, and Anne follows.

Joan’s work table is always a mess, but now it just looks like a hurricane had blown across it. Dozens of papers are scattered across the top, and there are several more that are crumpled into balls or ripped or completely shredded. Ink of various colors is splattered on the white wood, staining it permanently. Books are open and leaned against the wall- books about human anatomy and skeletons and body parts.

It takes a moment for Anne to realize that this was not music director work.

“Joan, what’s all this?” Anne asked. She picked up the nearest paper and read it over.

The paper had a crude drawing of a human at the center with notes written all over the sides, several of which were scribbled out, seemingly incorrect. The person had an animal skull over the head, which Anne assumed to be a deer’s. On the top, a few words were written, “Cadaver?? Deer??? Stag??”

“Are you taking up an interest in forensics?” Anne laughed slightly. “Joan, sweetheart, that’s nothing to be ashamed of! Bessie already—”

“No!” Joan cried. “Y-you don’t...” She gripped her forearms tightly and rocked back and forth in the chair. Something was making the poor thing very distressed. “I-I can’t... I can’t hide this from you anymore, can I?”

Anne blinked. She slowly set the paper down and cupped Joan’s tear stained face.

“Joan, baby, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

A few fresh tears slipped out of Joan’s eyes. Anne gingerly wiped them away with her thumb.

“Talk to me, darling.” Anne murmured to her. “Please. I’m worried about you.”

Joan sniffled. She pulled away from Anne and scrubbed at her eyes before standing up.

“Okay,” She whispered. “Do you have any food?”

“Food?” Anne blinked

“Yeah.”

Confused, Anne dug through her purse and pulled out an energy bar. Joan smiled weakly and took it from her, then also swiped a small journal from underneath a pile of papers, causing it to topple over in an avalanche of white.

“Thanks. Come on.”

Anne followed Joan out of the dressing room, down a hallway, and towards a back section of the theater that nobody really went to just because it seemed creepy. And they were right to think that, because Joan opened a set of double doors that were usually always locked with a key she slips out from her back pocket.

“Where are we going?” Anne asked as they walked down another corridor, this one much more rundown and dim.

“The basement.” Joan answered grimly.

“This place has a basement?”

“...Yeah.” There’s anxiety flashing through Joan’s eyes. Anne tried to calm her by placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but it did little to help. “Anne— I-“ The words die. Joan has to think for a moment before she tries to speak again. “I was...alone for a long time before you came along and took me under your wing. I had a lot of time to think. And one thing I could never get out of my head was how we got here. Reincarnation, I mean.”

“Yeah...?” Anne said, not really understanding.

Joan stopped at a staircase that seemingly led into a pitch black void. She spun around to face Anne. An unreadable emotion has replaced the anxiety in her bloodshot grey eyes.

“If we could be brought back to life, could the same happen to other people?” She said. “I— I was so fascinated by this that I started coming up with all these scenarios.” She opened the journal and showed Anne a page scrawled with pictures of humans and skeletons, triangles, beams of light, and other strange symbols. She’s smiling slightly. “I call it the ‘reincarnation theory.’ It’s what I’ve been using as an answer for all of this.” She points to three lightning bolts. “Think of it like Frankenstein. With enough electricity, a person can be revived. But what about a person who’s been dead for five hundred years?”

Anne wasn’t sure how to answer that, but Joan wasn’t looking for a reply.

“And do they have to be important? Like you and the other queens! Perhaps you being here is the ‘electricity’ that me and the ladies in waiting needed to come back. So would that work with other people, too? Other- other people from our time? People close to us?”

Then, her grin fell. A look of guilt and fear twists her features again.

“I...I haven’t been staying late to work on music director stuff.” She whispered.

Joan spun around and promptly walked down the staircase, nothing bothering to turn on any lights. If there were lights at all.

Anne hesitated, then followed.

“What are you talking about?” She asked. She had never been so confused and unnerved in her life.

Joan doesn’t answer. All she does is look at Anne pitifully, then turns her gaze forward again.

After a few seconds of walking, Joan opens another locked door at the bottom of the staircase, and they step into a nearly pitch-black room. The only light inside was a furnace-like piece of machinery in the back, which glowed a soft orange color. It seemed to be a boiler room of sorts.

“Joan...” Anne whispered warily.

She quickly realized why Joan hadn’t been speaking.

The low groan of the leaky pipes rumbled from somewhere in the darkness.

But it wasn’t the pipes.

Anne watched in frozen horror as something slinked out of the shadows. Its greyish skin and misshapen figure was like anything she had ever seen before. Inhumanly long fingers with hooked nails scratched quietly against the cracked tile in front of it. Long, disjointed feet pushed the rest of its scraggly, naked body along. When it raised its head, it had no eyes, just black sockets, and an stubby, elongated nose and mouth, like a bat snout of sorts. Patches of wiry brown hair that seemed more like fur stuck up along the head. It almost looked like a very large hairless dog in a weird sort of way.

The thing crawled on all fours out of the darkness, sniffing loudly as it went. Then, it jumped up, nearly making Anne run out from the scare of the jarring movements, and perched on a low hanging pipe. It extended a bony hand towards the pair, making loud noises as it waved it in the air. Joan gently squeezed the hand and then let the creature feel her head and face. It seemed to recognize her that way and let out a delighted hum, leaning over to nuzzle her cheek.

“Hey, Johnny Boy,” Joan murmured, smiling softly. “Sorry I’m a little late.”

“Joan—” Anne choked out. She’s backed up to the doorway, ready to run. “What the fuck?”

“Anne-” Joan whirled around to face the queen. The creature above her head began to growl. It sounded like when a human tried to imitate a dog, which made it that much more terrifying. “Please don’t run.”

“What the fuck?” Anne whispered again. Her eyes don’t leave the thing sitting on the pipes like a jungle bird.

“Anne, listen to me,” Joan said. She walked forward and took Anne’s hands. “You— You have to let him smell you. Or else he’ll think you’re a threat and—” She broke off.

“And what?” Anne asked fearfully.

“You...don’t want to know.” Joan said grimly. “Now please. I promise he won’t hurt you if you do this.”

Anne looked at Joan, searched her eyes for the same malicious glint Henry had in them when he sent her to his death, but found nothing. The girl was genuinely trying to help her.

Tentatively, on wobbling knees, Anne took a step forward. Joan helps her along, keeping on hand on her elbow and the other on her wrist. They slowly approach the creature on the pipes.

“Hey, Johnny,” Joan murmured sweetly. The creature turns its head in her direction, rumbling in acknowledgment. “I have a friend here to meet you. Her name is Anne. You remember Anne, don’t you? The queen?”

The creature chuffed in recognition.

Anne’s hand is held out to it and it sniffs her gingerly. Then, it leans forward, fingers and toes curling around the pipe for stability, and begins to smell the rest of Anne. It took everything in Anne not to run away when it feels her facial features and hair with one of its cold, bony hands.

“See?” Joan said to her, smiling in relief. “Was that so hard?”

“I-I don’t... I don’t understand.” Anne whispered.

“I’m not expecting you to,” Joan said. “This is my brother. John. I tried to bring him back when the loneliness became too much and it...kinda worked.”

“Why does he look like that?” Anne asked, earning an offended snort from John. “Sorry.”

“I...I don’t know.” Joan admitted. “I’ve been trying to figure that part out. So...I’ve been...testing more...”

Anne’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, Joan, no-”

A clicking noise cut her off. She slowly looked over her shoulder into the darkness of the boiler room and searched the shadows. It took her a moment, but she eventually found what had been mimicking the sounds The Predator would make.

It lunged out at Anne, screeching inhumanly. Anne screamed, too, as she’s knocked back against the wall. The thing was clinging to her body, nails pressed into her shoulders and thighs as it raised above her hand and-

“Juana, stop!!”

Joan shoved the creature away and it toppled backwards. Its long brown limbs flail widely in the air before it manages to roll over and back away on all fours, arching its bony spiny up like a cat.

The thing is humanoid like John, but not as bony, has darker skin, similar to Aragon’s tone, with a yellowish-bronze tint, and its legs are more noticeably hock-jointed. Its shoulder blades are grotesquely stretched out to inhuman lengths like wings that are waiting to sprout. The tailbone is extended, too, and waved back and forth in the air as some kind of warning. Tufts of something are sprouted along the nape of the neck, collarbone, elbows, and knees. A gas mask is attached to the face, shielding any facial features.

“Will you cut that—” Joan sighed and looked at Anne, who is horrified all over again. “Sorry. Juana is a little cranky sometimes.” She makes sure that’s directed to the creature, who clicks angrily. “Umm. This is Juana. Aragon’s sister.”

“Ara— What?!”

John hisses and Juana clicked when Anne yelled. She quickly shut her eyes and just stared at Joan with wide eyes. The music director anxiously rubs her sweaty palms against her pants.

“I didn’t have anyone else from my life I could test my theory on.” She said. “So...I started using others. Because maybe if I could bring back down siblings then everyone would like me.”

“Joan, that’s— that’s insane!” Anne exclaimed. “Why would you—”

“I don’t know, okay?!” Joan snapped. Tears were brimming in her eyes again. “I don’t know! It was stupid, I get it! But there’s nothing I can do about it now! They’re here. And I can’t just get rid of them. They’re alive, Anne.”

Anne is silent for a moment.

“Who else is here?” She asked quietly.

“There’s four in total.” Joan answered. “Isabel is another.”

“Isabel...?”

“Leigh.” Joan specified. “Kat’s sister.”

From further back in the room, there’s a creaking noise, followed by a low grumbling.

A tall creature with shiny black skin with grey speckles lumbers out of the shadows. It’s so large it bonks its head on one of the pipes, causing it to rear back in surprise before ducking under the oppressive piece of metal. When it gets close enough, Anne could see horn-like formations curling out of the top of the bald head. The only facial features it has is solid, piercing blue eyes.

“Here she is.” Joan said. “Isabel, this is Anne. She’s Kat’s cousin.”

Isabel tilted her head slowly, almost like a dog. She lifted one of her clawed hands, which is as big as Anne’s face, and tentatively touched one of Anne’s spacebuns. She makes a low cooing noise and then waved her head to look at the other two malformed reincarnated creatures nearby.

“Are they...in pain?” Anne asked. “Does this hurt them?”

“I don’t think so,” Joan answered. “They aren’t bad, I just— I messed up.” She lowered her head. “I want to help them, I just don’t know how and I-I keep making it worse. I can’t bring them out because-“ She gestured vaguely for the trip. “You know…” She raised a hand and Isabel pressed her cold, black cheek into it. “But...they’re my friends.”

John clambered across a pipe and leaned over to nuzzle Joan’s temple with his bat-like snout. Joan smiled weakly and gave him the energy bar she had gotten from Anne. His empty sockets widen when he realizes what’s being offered to him and he snatches it up, devouring the treat with the wrapper still on.

“You have to tell the others.” Anne said.

“What?!” Joan looked at her, startled. “N-no! I can’t! Do you know how they’ll react? Especially Aragon! This— this is basically black magic!”

“They can’t arrest you or anything for it.”

“But they can shun me!”

“They deserve to know!” Anne argued.

She was getting angry. Joan knee she shouldn’t have told her.

“No, they don’t!” Joan cried. Her tears spill over. “Why don’t you deal with your family member before you tell me what to do with theirs!”

Anne froze. Her eyes go wide. There’s a low, but harmless and curious growl from the darkness behind her.

“Wh...what?”

Joan sniffled and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. John hangs over her head, and she can hear Juana and Isabel’s claws clack against the tile floor as they stand behind her, watching Anne.

“I told you there were four.” She mumbled hoarsely.

Anne was frozen for a tense half second before she slowly turned around and watched as a humanoid with a deer skull head, the thing from the drawing on Joan’s desk, stepped out of the shadows towards her. It tilts its head like a puppy and the bony jaws open up in a small smile.

“Anne... This is George.”

Tears start to rapidly fall down Anne’s cheeks.

“Your brother.”

[thedeitychildren]

Breath of the Sea (Short Story, Prompt Response)

Prompt: “I’ve died here before.” They stared at the sunset casting a warm orange glow over the sea’s horizon. By @givethispromptatry

    The cave was hidden on the side of the cliff. He had spotted it one day while out on the sea fishing, but before he’d had the chance to explore, his mother had called him home. Now he returned to the cliff, and carefully rowed towards it.

    It was his day off, Their stores were full so Mama needed time to prepare the fish. Father had gone off to the bar to spend some time with friends, and hadn’t bothered to give him a task before leaving. With his new freedom, he snuck out of the house and ran all the way down to the bay.

    He tied his boat to one of the rocks, his fingers expertly forming the knots. He stepped back and admired his handiwork, giving his fingers a little wiggle as he did so. Then, with more trepidation, he began to climb the few feet up the cliff.

    His arms ached as they hauled his body up, but it wasn’t that much harder than a day of rowing. He winced each time the rock crumbled before him, and his breath came out in short gasps. He could hear the splashes of water each time another rock fell, and his brain imagined the splash his body would make.

    Finally, he managed to pull his body up into the cave, and he collapsed onto the ground. His eyes fluttered closed as he breathed. The burn in his chest slowly retreated, and he opened his eyes. Standing up, he looked down at where he had come from, and smiled. He cupped his hands around his mouth and wordlessly hollered out into the sea. He had made it! He was in this cave that surely no one else had explored before! He was here!

    Then he turned around and faced the dark maw of the cave. He took the flashlight out of his pocket and flicked it on, its dim light piercing into the cave. Forward he went, the call of adventure driving his feet forwards. 

    The floor of the cave was wet and slippery, probably from waves crashing into it. The whole place smelled of salt and dust, and he had to blink some tears out of his eyes and cough some dust out of his lungs. 

    He continued through the cave carefully, roaming his eyes across the walls as he walked. The markings on the walls were almost hypnotic, and he traced their spiraling patterns with his fingers. They were cool underneath his fingertips, and smooth in a way he forgot rocks weren’t supposed to be. Entranced, he followed the pattern, his fingers twisting and turning as he continued on its path.

    “What are you doing here?” A voice snaps him out of his… whatever it was, and he turns to see a young girl glaring at him. She looks maybe two years younger than him, and holds a sharpened stone threateningly in his direction. Her ripped, white dress trails behind her on the ground.

    “What are you doing here?” He echoes her, backing away instinctively and hitting the wall. He bares his teeth at her and raises his arms to defend himself.

    “This isn’t your cave,” the girl states, and her eyes flash with warning.

    “So what, it's yours?” He spits back, for of course someone else will have claimed his discovery. Of course he couldn’t have this thing to himself. Mama would shake her head at his useless endeavors when he returned home and the kids in the town would laugh at his stories.

    “No, no it’s not,” the girl whispers, and shivers travel up his spine. “Leave.” 

    But his fingers have touched the carving again, and isn’t it wonderful. It continues on and on and on and he must find the end. In the end he will finally understand every swirl and twist of it. His feet begin to move and his fingers lightly trace the lines.

    Is that chanting he hears, those whispers in the wind? His own mouth is moving, is he the one saying those words? 

    The girl screams and yells and she is interrupting the beautiful song.

    No matter, he can drown her out.

    And another voice joins his own. There are no words, only sounds.

    And then the girl slaps him across the face. He stumbles, and falls to the ground. She stands over him, breathing heavily and eyes wide with terror. And looming over her are two beady eyes and a mouth full of silver knives.

    “Run!” The girl heaves, and this time he does not hesitate. He scrambles to his feet and sprints away. He reaches his hand back and he feels the girl grasp it desperately. Behind them, the thing lets out a horrible screech that rattles the cave, dust and tiny rocks fall down onto their heads.

    He cannot see in the darkness, he had dropped his flashlight a while ago. He does not know which way to go, and his feet slip on the wet rock. The girl quickly steadies him, and he latches onto their joined grip. She passes him and pulls him along, and he allows himself to trust her, she knows the way out.

    Sunlight breaks through the darkness as the exit appears up ahead. If he had any brathe to spare, he would have shouted his relief. But as he was, he could barely stumble to the opening. It was only then he realized he was still trapped. 

    Behind him, he could hear the monster banging against the walls, shaking them, as it grew closer. He could almost feel the snapping of its jaws as it crunched his bones.

    “Jump!” The girl orders him, and before he can protest because that will kill him, she is pulling him along. 

    He cannot hear the sound his body makes when it hits the water. Liquid fills his mouth and his screams bubble out. 

    He is sinking.

    S

      I

       N

           K

               I

                 N

                    G.

    He can remember as a child Mama bringing him down to the beach. She had set him in the sand and told him to stay. He had fidgeted restlessly as he wished to go play, but did as she said. The waves had lapped at his feet over and over again, in a rhythm that had lulled him to sleep. He could still remember the lullaby of the sea.

    He opened his eyes and floated up to the surface. He breathed in and out the water. Next to him, he could see the little girl sinking deeper and deeper, so he grabbed her arm and pulled her up with him.

    They broke through the water and the girl gasped for air next to him. She grabbed hold of the boat and pulled herself up into it, with his help. She reached down and pulled him up after her.

    Even when he left the sea he could still feel it, rolling in his gut and humming in his fingers. Every breath he took tasted of fresh, salty air.

    In the cave, the monster roared, and burst out into the light. 

    It was made of dust. He could see the way the light shined through it. It’s mouth was sharpened rocks, and it looked like a tornado, spinning and spinning and spinning.

    Grabbing an oar, he began to roar.

    The girl remained on the ground, in shock, looking up at the best with wide eyes. It lunged towards them and he felt the sea respond to his resolve, pushing them out of the way.

    That seemed to snap the girl out of her trance, and she gripped her rock tighter in her hands. “Not again, not again,” she whispered over and over. Tears streamed down her face, which was twisted in rage.

    The monster let out another howl and snapped its jaws at them, but this time the girl responded. She slashed at the monster with her stone, screaming as she did so, a primal sound that resonated through the air. And the wind responded.

    Wind so strong that he could feel it from here slashed at the monster, sending the dust flying. The monster roared in pain, slowly pulling the dust back to its makeshift body.

    The girl slashed again and again, tearing her rock through the universe to get what she wanted. She was a figure of rage and revenge, and nothing would stop her. Nothing, except perhaps the monster that reformed after every strike. 

    They still had a ways to go before they reached land, and he slowly realized he could not lead the monster back to the shore. It would hurt his family, his town. His town wasn’t going to suddenly be safe, he would just be putting more people in danger because he had decided to go on this stupid adventure.

    He looked at the girl in front of him, fighting with every last piece of power in her body, and joined her.

    With a thought, the water rose.

    Protect, he thought, and the water obeyed, crashing into the monster. It swirled into a whirlpool, faster and faster, separating the dust before it had time to reform. The girl joined him, swirling her arms to create a mini tornado, sending the dust flying.

    “What is that thing?” He yells his question towards the girl. He has never seen anything quite like it.

    “A monster, made from magic,” the girl huffs out, then she gestures at the sea rolling beneath them. “At the bottom there will be a ship, on there is a talisman that binds this monster to life. I’ll hold it here, you go destroy it!”

    And he does not hesitate to leap back into the water and let it embrace him.

    Before he had ever been allowed on a boat his parents had forced him to learn to swim. Hours and hours he’d practice in the bay, coming home soaked every day. Yet that practice paid off, for now his feet kicked through the water with grace, and he tunneled down to the bottom.

    He breathed in and out, water filling his lungs. Despite how salty the water was, his eyes didn’t sting. And in this sea, he felt powerful, he felt warm, he felt like he was home, he felt right.

    Wreckage of a ship littered the seafloor. Pieces of wood flowed in the current, and he looked at them sadly as he imagined how many people must have been on the boat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a silver-gray thing buried in the sand, and he turned away, trying not to heave. Now was not the time to dig up skeletons.

    The body of the ship was huge, as the trail of it would suggest. Pieces of the walls had broken off, forming dozens of holes for him to enter through. The mast had broken off the ship and laid half-covered in sand and rocks. 

    He swam in and looked around. Despite how broken this ship was, everything in it felt sacred, preserved. Like, if this ship was destroyed, an important monument would be. He did not belong here, the ship did not want him here. His skin itched with the need to leave, to leave this place to wallow in its misery.

    But up above the surface, the girl was fighting with every last bit of strength she had to keep the monster from destroying him home.

    In and out he breathed the water, and he swam deeper.

    The talisman was far too easy to find. There it floated in the center of the ship, the water parting around it. It cast an eerie glow on the wood around it, bathing the entire room in red. 

    It looked like a gemstone, the type his mom would look at longingly in the market.

    He forced his hand to move, and curled his fingers around the gem.

    The water in his lungs had changed to dust. He was sinking, he was far too heavy. He couldn’t move his limbs, couldn’t swim.

    It was far too much.

    He couldn’t change, he was just stuck in this misery, in this final moment before he died.

    He didn’t want to die.

    Blood was trickling down his hand and water forced its way into his lungs. Through blurry vision, he could pieces of the broken gem sink to the sea floor.

    And then he saw nothing.

    His chest burned with the need to cough as air burned his lungs. He turned on his side, coughing and spitting as he tried to breath. Opening his heavy eyes, he saw mud trickling out of his mouth. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.

    “Slow down, breathe with me.” Hands maneuvered him upright and pressed one of his palms to a chest. Desperately, he tried to match the rising and falling.

    In.

    Out.

    In.

    Out.

    In front of him sat the girl. They were in his boat, drifting on the sea. In the distance, he could see his town.

    And there was no monster.

    She rowed them home, he was still focused on his breathing. Together, they stumbled out of the boat and back to his house.

    Mama hadn’t understood what was going on, but quickly scolded him while wrapping him in a warm blanket. She placed pieces of bread and lukewarm soup in front of them both, and they dug in.

    The girl snuck out of the house as he tried, again, to explain to Mama what had happened. He could see her move out of the corner of his eye, and a minute later, he went after her.

    She led him all the way to the top of the cliff. There, she sat, her legs dangling off the end. He joined her, and it was silent for a while.

    “I’ve died here before.” She stared at the sunset casting a warm glow over the sea’s horizon.

    “You were on the boat,” he doesn’t really ask, but she answers regardless.

    “Yes.”

    He thinks about the heavy stone of misery that had nearly sunk him on that ship, and he knew that’s what the girl had felt as she died.

    “But you’re here now.”

    “Yes.”

    He wraps an arm around her shoulder and does not ask the hundreds of other questions he has. Because right now, he doesn’t need answers. They both just need this.

    And the sunset is beautiful.

[ebelwrites]

Hi I'm a massive fan of your works and I adore your writing very much, may I ask for some Crink? Something post X-Event, perhaps, when Ink regrets starting it? That or, post X-Event, and Cross has the overwrite not Ink and is able to use it. Ink misses the Overwrite, and while Cross won't hand it over, he will create little things to make Ink smile?

*Flails and screams!* I love your work too! I hope you like this, though I think I deviated a bit from your prompt idea. Still, I hope you like it. It’s my first time writing Crink, though I love the pairing.

The bright yellow of the flowers stood out heavily in the monochrome world in which they grew. Ink knelt in the field to feel the petals, and also to block out the sight of the otherwise colourless world with the yellow. The black and white background tended to give him the chills when he stared at it for too long; he didn’t like places that didn’t have much colour in them. But there were plenty of yellow flowers for him to focus on and he’d long since figured out what to do in order to avoid a panic. Ink was intimately familiar with this place. This was the original state of the X-Tale, after all. A recreation of what it had once been, so very long ago. The hands taking charge of the AU had changed since that time long ago, though. In Ink’s, admittedly biased, opinion, it was a change for the better.

“Hey,”

The voice made Ink smile and he turned around to see Cross with his hands out and a shy smile on his face. Ink took his time standing up and walking over to Cross, intertwining their hands.

“So, this surprise of yours all ready?”

Cross seemed to be too excited for words, tugging at Ink’s hands to lead him away. Ink let Cross pull him through the flowers to wherever Cross was taking him. Some shapes that were not typical began to appear in his vision, revealing them to be a pair of chairs and a garden table. The garden furniture was of the same monochromatic colour scheme as the rest of the AU, with only some yellow decoration on them to make them stand out. It was what was on the table that got Ink excited, though. Two sets of paints with colours, actual colours, and a full set of brushes sat on the table. Around it sat white, paper lanterns, just waiting for some decoration.

Ink practically dragged the monochrome skeleton over to the table.

Brushes dipped first into the desired colour and then onto the canvas, the colourful line joining others similar to it in the growing picture. Ink washed off the now unneeded colour, pondering the current progress and what should be added. The brush tip slipped in between his teeth subconsciously as he thought. A glance across the table showed Cross focused intently on his own lantern, tongue poking out of his mouth as he swirled red spirals over the white surface.

Ink stared until he realised what he was doing, hurriedly ducking his head and dipping his paintbrush in the purple. A flourish finished off his lantern and he placed it alongside the other finished lanterns. A mischievous grin split his face as he thought of his next lantern and he hurried back to his seat, grabbing a new lantern and sipping his brush in the black paint. Cross was too preoccupied with his own creation to notice what he was doing.

“Hey, Cross!”

Cross’ eyes darted upward at the call and Ink presented his new creation with a cheeky grin.

“What do you think?”

“Real funny.” The sarcastic tone only made Ink burst into laughter, trying hard not to drop or shake his newly painted lantern. A stray streak would ruin the cowhide pattern, after all. Ink places it to dry, Cross next to him setting his own down. They each grabbed one of the two final lanterns and set down for the final painting. Ink wondered what he should paint, chewing idly at the brush as he thought. A flash of inspiration hit him and he went to start painting but paused with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” He looked up startled, not expecting Cross to speak.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just thought that this would have looked better if the lantern was black, that’s all.” Ink didn’t see much of what happened next, focused on his lantern rather than anything else, but, after a tiny bit of glitching, the paper of the lantern turned from white to black. He looked up quickly; Cross was very obviously keeping his left hand out of sight and nothing left to see. Cross wouldn’t meet his eyes. It took more time than Ink would like to admit for him to stop searching for the button that he knew had once been there but he soon turned away again. There was an odd type of wistfulness in his chest. He did his best to ignore it.

“Easy, easy,” The line of dried lanterns, each with a lit candle inside, slowly rose into the sky. Ink held one end, Cross the other. The two carefully lifted the line higher and higher into the sky, being careful to not tip it too much to one side. A burnt lantern shell to the side stood as testimony to what would happen if they rushed this.

“This looks good.” With an appropriate height reached, the two skeletons each tied off their own end to the support poles and clambered back to the ground. Lines upon lines of lanterns were strung up over the field, their colours dancing over the flowers. Ink and Cross met in the middle and stared up at their work.

“Only one final touch,” Cross commented. Ink was pulled to his side, his left hand intertwined with Cross’ right. Cross gave him a peck on the cheek. “Keep watching the sky.”

In an instant, the usual white sky was replaced with a dazzling starry sky. Clear and bright, a thousand twinkling stars glistened alongside the glow of the lanterns. The new darkness made the candlelight dance on the yellow petals below. But Ink only saw it for a split second before he was drawn to look for Cross’ left hand. Cross was keeping it hidden by his leg, just out of sight of Ink. Ink knew it was not his hand that Cross was hiding from him, not really. The wistfulness was back; not even the beautiful view could make it go away. Ink stared up intently at the lanterns, head leaning on Cross’ shoulder, as though if he stared long enough, they would fix everything.

“I miss it sometimes.” Ink felt Cross squeeze his hand. More telling than anything, Cross would not look him in the eyes. Gaze stuck firmly on the sky, it took a while for Cross to bring his other hand around to clasp Ink’s.

“I know you do.”

The lanterns shone onwards, without a care in the world.

[blackaquokat]

Prompt: "I'm going to keep you safe" ActingAttorney. Maybe after WKM? And actor mark is taking care of a reincarnated DA(Van vlog y/n) who doesn't remember the events of WKM. Sorry if this is too complicated

Yay, my second everActing Attorney prompt! I’ve actually wanted to write this specific scene for along time now, so thank you, friend! It’s not too complicated at all! I’m not completely satisfied (pun intended) with this final product, but I always end up coming back to these if they turn out canon for my series. But yeah, this could be considered a future installment to my Acting Attorney story MayYou Always be Satisfied (currently at 4 parts) if you like.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

44. “I’m going tokeep you safe.”

Oo00oO

A century is a long time to live with the agonizing guilt ofpast actions. An awful long time because the average human should not live forthat long.

But Mark hasn’t been an average human since the events athis old home so long ago.

He’s had time to move on, physically at least. Starting his channel, playing games, raising money for charities…it’s all good, thekind of public performances he always wanted to do, but on a smaller, lesscorruptive scale.

Emotionally?

The guilt still runs strong. Whether Mark was influenced bythat darker entity or not, he would always be responsible for all the death anddestruction that took place that day.

His thoughts are spiraling into reflections of that time, ashe sits in front of his computer to edit his latest video. Questioning how hecould have ever considered doing the things he did, reaming himself for beingsuch a heartbroken idiot…

…missing his friends…

Life is for the living. But your friends are dead, and you’re close enough.

Mark shakes his head and returns to the tedious void ofediting. It’s hard to remind himself not to dwell on the past, but lately, he’sbeen doing better about it. It helps to keep busy.

He’s startled out of his momentum by a pounding at the door.He goes to open it and sees Benja—Tyler onthe other side, hands on his knees, panting like he’s run thirty miles.

“Why the hell aren’tyou answering your phone?!” Tyler demands, holding his own cellular device asproof of trying.

“My battery’s dead, are you okay?” Mark asks. “I thought youwere just going to get McDonald’s—”

“I’d be fine ifyou actually charged your phone more than once a day, but that’s not the point,you gotta come with me, right now!”

“Wait, why—”

But Tyler just grabs Mark’s hand and tugs him out of thehouse and into the car. As the vehicle speeds down the road, Mark suddenlywonders if his only surviving friend has finally lost it.

“Tyler, what is going on?”

“It’s better that you just wait and see—”

“You can’t just break down my studio door and not expectquestions—”

“Just shut up and wait!” Tyler shakes his head. “Look, I’msorry, but really, you wouldn’t believe me unless you saw yourself.”

Mark settles into the hot leather of his seat, arms crossed.He feels highly uneasy about this, but he can’t put a finger on why. Aside fromTyler definitely speeding to whereverthe hell they’re going.

“Slow down! You keep going this fast, you’ll get us killed!”

“Oh, you came back just fine last time.”

This is really notthe time to make petty jokes about that. “I think the circumstances would begto diff—”

Mark lurches into his seat belt hard enough to hurt as Tylerslams the car to a halt and leaps out to the street.

“C’mon!”

Mark hesitates when he sees the suspicious alleyway Tyler’sparked in front of. “Um…Tyler, if I’ve done anything to offend you—”

“MARK!”

“Okay, okay, keep your pants on!”

Mark follows Tyler into the alley.

“No, no, no, no,”Tyler mutters, as his gaze rakes up and down the alley. He finds a vacantcardboard box big enough for a person and gestures wildly to it. “They wereright here, I swear to God, they wereright here!”

“Tyler, who are you talkingabout? What’s going on here?”

Tyler’s hand runs through his hair. The look in his eyes isalmost manic. “They should be here, I told them to stay—”

“Um…hello?”

A hoarse voice cuts through Tyler’s frustration. Markswitches his attention from his friend to the newcomer standing a littlefurther into the alley, half behind a dumpster—

Mark does a double-take.

No.

No, it’s impossible.

The person is obviously homeless, in a heavily stainedoversized hoodie and jeans so tattered Mark can’t believe they’re holding up.The shoes are in a similar condition to the jeans. Their face is gaunt andsickly, eyes nearly popping out of their head.

But those eyes, century-old eyes…

Unmistakable.

In another life, those eyes broke his heart.

The District Attorney shuffles forward, a limp in theirstep. They’re looking at Tyler. “I…I didn’t think you were actually coming back…”Their hands are stuffed into the pockets of the hoodie. “Thanks for the burger…”

Wait…why aren’t they speaking to him? They looked right at him—

“No problem,” Tyler dismisses. He grabs Mark by theshoulder. His grip is tight, a silent message to play it cool.

(What does Mark even look like right now? Hopeful? Indenial? Heartbroken? What’s he supposed to say? Why don’t they recognize him?)

“This is Mark, the friend I told you about,” Tyler introduces. “Theone who’d like to help you, I mean.”

Their eyebrow lifts, and the shy bemusement, so achingly familiar,nearly sends Mark to his knees. “The one who wasn’t answering his phone?” Theysound like they haven’t spoken in years, a voice like a scratched record.

“Yeah, he’s bad at battery management,” Tyler jokes. Hepulls Mark back and gives him a very purposeful look. “Our friend here,” Tylershifts his head in the DA’s direction, “is a little lost. Has been for a longtime.” Tyler turns back to them. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah…I guess…” They shake their head. “My head is a little…blank,I guess would be the right word.” They pull their hands out of their pockets,thin and bony like a skeleton, and hug their arms around their body. “I sawTyler on the street, and…I swear he looked…and you look…so familiar.” Theyswallow, the action rather frightening in light of their veiny neck. “I’msorry, I sound crazy—”

“No!” Mark interrupts, the first thing he’s said sincelaying eyes on them. He pulls out of Tyler’s grip and steps closer to them. “No,you—you’re not crazy, you don’t sound crazy.”

Shit, he’s acting weird, he needs to back off.

My head is a littleblank.

No clear recognition in their eyes.

They’re alive, somehow.

They don’t rememberhim.

And at his word, they finally make direct eye contact withMark. His breath catches at how hesitant they look, the fragile hope anddespair in their face.

“You…” They clear their throat. “Tyler said you could helpme…but I’m a stranger, I’m sorry, this is weird, if it’s too much to ask—”

Mark reaches his hands out and grips their upper arms. Whenthey immediately flinch, he draws back.

Shit. This is…this isn’tgood, how are they here, they’re alive, they’re alive, but…they look so dead. What the hell happened to them?

Mark straightens, a new resolve coming over him.

“Yes, I’m going to help you.” Mark glances over his shoulderto see Tyler watching them both carefully. It all makes sense now. He looksback to the DA. “You’re going to come with us, you’re going to have a home,food, and maybe even a job, if we play our cards right.” Mark takes a chanceand steps a little closer to them. “I’m going to keep you safe. I promise.”

He’ll never let them get hurt again. He’ll never hurt themagain, he swears on his life.

A rash promise, perhaps, but seeing a brighter hope light upthose dim eyes makes it all worth it.

Oo00oO

 Sendme a prompt for Mayor Attorney, DAtective, or Acting Attorney! NO NSFW PLEASE!!

@creamdream0426 , @cosmic–frappucino , @beereblogsstuff , @musical-jim , @silver-owl413 , @sassy-in-glasses , @chelseareferenced , @sketchy-scribs-n-doods , @intemperantiae , @im-also-dead-inside , @timelords13 , @determinedrevolutionary , @ur-fairy-god-dragon , @conceitedink , @unknown-maned-wolf

[skerbb]

FUSW: Listening

Direct link to Ao3 Get in on the action here!

Prompt: Listening Summary: Sans tries to fix things. Grillby doesn’t quite get the right idea. Sans is willing to go along with things anyway. Rating: M (swearing, drinking cw, references to sexual behavior)

Sans drew in a deep breath, leaning against the back of Grillby’s restaurant.

It had taken everything he felt was left of him to come back. There were memories from when he didn’t. He knew that if he skipped a day Grillby would notice, no matter how angry he was with him he would… worry. He rubbed over his eye sockets, attempting to grate away the lingering hangover from the previous night before the building cleared out. Only a few more patrons and maybe he could talk before things went sour again.

It was always like this. He was shaking and his heart hurt to even think about it. All those times they were together, most bad, some even had a spark of affection and dare he think it - something mutual? Something twisted in his ribcage with that and he reflectively grabbed the front of his hoodie at the thought, still smelling like booze and bad decisions.

Sans huffed out a longing sigh as he heard the door’s chimes with the signal of closing time. Many times before Grillby had chastised him for stepping out of the void and into the bar after hours, skipping out on his bill when he was in a hurry in the same way, or… the list went on, really.

Man, it was a miracle he wasn’t banned from Grillby’s entirely, Sans thought.

As quickly as his sore bones would allow, Sans rounded the corner and stuck his slipper into the closing door, just in time to see a surprised - then agitated - flare-up from the owner.

“hey, grillbz,” the skeleton started. Slowly, so the other knew he hadn’t been drinking. He was always on guard lately, he noticed. Things could spiral out of control if he wasn’t careful. “got a few?”

“…….Closing. Bar’s locked.”  There was an irritated snap to the end of his words, as though ready for an impending argument.

“g, please listen… m’sorry. i really fuckin’ am. i’m a goddamn idiot.”

“Such a shame you didn’t realise this much earlier,”  the biting voice continued. Both the door push against his toes and the words stung deeply. “Remove yourself from my doorway.”

“i just wanna talk. honest. no yellin’, no accusations, just…” It hurt to talk when he knew the bartender would just reject him again, but he couldn’t leave it like this. If they could at least go back to friends instead of whatever strained mockery this was, he’d welcome another hellspawn child to the Underground and follow it to the end of infinity. “i wanna expl-”

“How many have you had?”

Sans blinked and tensed. His spine was so straight it was almost painful and he exhaled shortly, confused. “huh?”

“How many have you had tonight?”  Grillby’s tone was curt, but at least he’d stopped pushing the door against Sans’ toes. The skeleton sighed softly and wriggled them.

“none.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“prob’ly `cause i’m a habitual liar,” Sans shrugged noncommittally, “but in this case, yeah, i haven’t had anything since last night.”

There was only the crisp crackle of fire as a response, but no words. Sans wondered if maybe he lost his chance for good this time and slumped his shoulders, then removed his slipper from the door. It closed with a clack and Sans pressed his brow against the doorframe, feeling the coil of guilt and misery saturate his soul at what he felt was the last chance for redemption fleeting away.

He’d messed up far too much to make it right this time, he realised. And the kid was late, too, whichever version of themself it would be.

He pushed away from the building as the pain in his heart spread. It made his bones rattle through the cold and clouded his vision before he realised they were tears.

God damn it,  he thought bitterly, sliding down beside the barrel next to the door and drawing his legs up close. He didn’t dare move if he was to point of crying like a desperate fool. At least if he sat outside Grillby’s, he hoped people would only think he was drunk again.

The skeleton’s body jolted with the sound of the door reopening. He whirled around with the accompanying light, a sob caught in his nonexistent throat. Quickly, Sans shakily got up to his feet when he saw the other’s flames hike up higher. He’d seen it enough to know a fire monster’s anger when he saw it.

“s-sorry, i’m goin’-” Sans’ strained voice betrayed the pain he felt and he hated the sound immediately. He gathered his magic in an erratic mess, sloppy and uncontrolled with blighted emotion - his warp just didn’t work in the end. He instinctively pulled his arm away before he realised Grillby had stepped out into the street and had his hand on his shoulder.

“Sans.”

It hurt. It hurt a lot.  Why the hell did he remember all those times? - Good or bad, it didn’t matter, it happened  but at the same time, Grillby and no one else who knew before remembered. What’s worse was that he felt disoriented and weak as a result. Like it was a cheap trick and whatever anomaly responsible liked to smack him around with his own feelings.

The other pulled at his shoulder and Sans exhaled against his opposite sleeve, the noise shuddering and pathetic with the additional tug to his heartstrings. He wiped over his face, drawing up strength from the nonexistent pool at the centre of his being.

“…y-yeah.” It was more of an acknowledgement than anything else, he realised morosely. He had to get it together.

Grillby seemed hesitant, but at least his voice was calmer when he next spoke; “Come inside… You talk. I’ll listen.”

Sans immediately felt like he was unsure about the invitation, now given the chance. Maybe the universe was up to another one of its pranks and he’d have the last laugh? Regardless, the skeleton drew in another calming breath before turning back to face the bartender, unable to meet his eyes.

“thanks.”

Even after what amounted to several years for the restarts, it was always strange to be at Grillby’s after hours. Sans stood in one place awkwardly while Grillby locked the door and drew the shutters, allowing them privacy in the nosy small town. Then the fire monster simply gestured towards one of the tables closer to the back.

Sans sank down in the familiar seat, sockets blanked as he kept unusually quiet when the fire monster seated himself across from him. He was going over it in his mind, not entirely sure where to start, now that the bartender was finally willing to listen.

“…Could have left you out there. You understand this, don’t you?”  the other spoke plainly, his tone still having a light edge to it.

“i know,” Sans replied quietly, resigned. He inhaled sharply and exhaled, the action meaningless but at the same time oddly soothing. Then again. He sunk his skull against his hands, still unable to meet the other’s gaze. “heh. every time i still dunno how to start.”

“Every time.”  There was a challenging bite to it. Grillby was not receptive and Sans knew he had to at least try.

“how `bout i start off by sayin’ m’sorry what happened with your daughter,” Sans drummed his fingertips as he spoke quickly, drawing upon his knowledge of past events that took place in the past week. Grillby hadn’t told him about it this  time, which was likely why his flames stuttered in response, then flared up in agitation. “she’ll make it through this phase. she’s just got explosive personality. takes after her mum, right?”

“You’re mocking me,”  the fire monster seethed. His hands raked against the tabletop, scoring dark burns into its polished surface. “Spying on me-”

“nah. y’told me this last week, just after it happened,” the skeleton drummed again, then chanced a look at Grillby. Shit, he looked mad. “relative to you, i mean.”

Grillby shook his head. “Reset nonsense.”

“it really is, isn’t it?” Sans sighed and leaned back in the chair, giving it a little tilt, “for a long time i thought something was wrong with me. but then i just thought i was goin’ nuts. until i could line up little pieces, here an’ there. people get a feeling if i say just the right thing to jog their memory - but then they kind of… stop remembering.” He shrugged at the thought, knowing he was rambling.

“Which is why you know of Fuku, even when I haven’t told you.”

“i know you’re just humourin’ me, but hearin’ ya say that actually makes me feel a bit better,” the skeleton sighed, tilting his chair a little more. “how many times has it been..? eighteen or eighty?”

“Likely eighteen arguments,”  the fire monster breathed dejectedly, leaning against his hand on the table and regarding Sans. He was still wary.

The skeleton laughed shortly with a shrug. “wasn’t the answer i was lookin’ for, but uh… why don’t ya try askin’ things you know  you’ve never told me?” He paused in thought. “that you know you’ve never told anyone, maybe..?”

The silence between them was long enough for Sans to wonder if he was about to be kicked out again. His soul was doing that particular little stammer behind his ribs and he idly rubbed at the spot, attempting to look anywhere but at Grillby.

“or ya could just… humour me a bit more,” the skeleton continued, unsure yet boldly pressing on, “like… when you’re mad, ya go out into the forest and burn bushes down to the stump and y’know no one else sees. sometimes ya bring home pinecones to roast when you’re agitated. for how clean the restaurant is, your apartment is actually kinda a hot mess. and when ya gotta go to hotland, you prefer to take the ferry, even if you almost fell in the river a time or two, `cause waterfall makes ya edgy an’ ya can’t mentally handle the walk alone.”

The fire monster remained quiet, his blaze effectively hiding his expression. Sans had been with him long enough to decipher the arrangement of flames over time, however.

“that expression you’re wearing…” the skeleton leaned forward, unable to push away the vague smugness he felt with the other’s bemused look, “…well, they’re not exactly things an acquaintance  would know, right?”

Grillby stayed silent a little longer before admitting softly, “Don’t know how you’d learn of such things.”

Sans shrugged. “you told me, most times. other stuff, well…” he shrugged again, a hint of cyan flush suffusing his bones, “y’get chatty after a good fuck.”

It might have been the wrong thing to say, if the sudden flare-up was anything to go by. The skeleton grimaced, huching into his hood and closing one socket to the brightness.

Grillby’s flames were kindling brightly in different shades of yellow and orange and the scorch marks on the table were more apparent now. Then he seemed to settle down, embers flying around as he cooled off.

“You’re trying to get a rise out of me,”  he accused.

“maybe. always liked the lightshow.”

Grillby’s next sigh was tinged with irritation and he passed a hand through the flames on his head, then got up to move towards the bar. “You’re always like this!”

Sans opened his other socket to watch the bartender reach for a dark green bottle off one of the shelves, then stop abruptly as though he realised something was out of place. Of course it was, the skeleton thought smugly. He watched as the fire scurried around the other’s body. Sans waited patiently, but his soul was thrumming harshly with anticipation as the fire monster seemed to be stuck in his own thoughts.

“You… you’re always like this.”  He seemed confused, turning to regard the skeleton with the bottle of liquor in hand. “Hell, am I going crazy too?”

“work it out, g, c’mon.”

He returned to the table with two tumblers, slowly sinking back into the chair. Grillby still looked puzzled.

“This is a prank.”

“i mean, it’s kinda a mean one if so. y’know i don’t do those.”

“A jape, then.”

“more papyrus’ deal, not mine.” Sans returned his chair back to all four legs and leaned forward with a frown tugging at his permanent grin. “what’s with the hooch.”

The bartender was already pouring out half a glass of the liquor, then promptly slammed it back with a plume of ignited flames bursting white. Then he poured some into both glasses and slid one across the table to Sans. He looked spooked.

“……Too sober for this,”  was all the fire monster said, his voice harsh before coughing up a wisp of smoke as the strong alcohol burned away inside.

Hesitantly, Sans took the offered drink and watched the other down another glass as though it were nothing but a shot. He whistled lowly, wondering if this was some kind of test. He knew it took a lot more than that to get Grillby even the least bit buzzed. He made a point of saying his thoughts out loud and the other merely laughed, the sound strained.

“I must be losing my damn mind. Not only do I feel like we’ve had this conversation before, but now it feels like it’s going.. completely wrong.”  Grillby took another drink, this time it was smaller.

Sans exhaled softly then nodded, still unsure if he should indulge. It was  going differently. Idly, he swirled the contents of the glass, leaning forward a little as Grillby tugged at one side of his bowtie. The movement was nervous, Sans could tell.

“Can you believe… yesterday, after I gave you the boot, I felt as though I was in the wrong?”  Grillby rubbed over his flames again, an agitated laugh sending dark smoke around him with his next drink. “…Felt terrible, even though I was in the right? Or felt I could kiss you, if only to make you shut up-”  His flames peaked higher with that thought, looking surprised, then angry at himself with the words. “Why would I…”

Sans felt his heart sink with that and he slid the glass across the table, not wanting it anymore. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, forming tight and trembling fists. “y-yeah. funny `bout that, eh? maybe you just need to get it outta your system.”

“….Seems all very elaborate for a proposition,”  the other remarked, his voice then sounding challenging. Sans looked up from the table and saw a brief smirk pass over the flames of Grillby’s visage before he stood up, rounding to the side, and bent over him. “If that’s all you want..?”

Oh. It was.. going to be one of those. Sans drew in a shuddered breath with the fire monster’s heat, literally starved for affection the past few runs. He leaned into the touch when Grillby settled his hand against his shoulder, flames licking up his neck the closer he moved it.

He nodded. “sure.” Fuck it,  more like.

It was a terrible idea beyond all measure of a doubt. He masked the ache behind his ribs with the upcoming excitement when Grillby bent further down to press their mouths together. He was so starved for affection, he knew it would just be another tick mark in the long list of bad choices lately. Maybe it would be a better way to jog Grillby’s memory, he thought through a haze of increasingly passionate and desperate kisses.

[qqueenofhades]

Prompt: The Many Trials and Tribulations of one Sam Jones as he attempts to lose his virginity

Right, I have several prompts/requests for more in the Swan and Crossbones universe, so I am going to get started on some of them, surprising nobody. They will be done chronologically, starting soon after chapter 32 of The Rose and Thorn and looking at bits of the pirate family’s life through the years. This one comes before flesh and bone and is the first in the one-shot series.

Philadelphia

June 1741

Having assured himself one last time that there were nostray socks or underthings or other odds and ends hiding under the bed ordraped on the sideboard or otherwise on the verge of escape, Sam Jones shut thetrunk, sat on it, and flipped the tongues down, locking them with a satisfyingthunk. He hated packing, as it always transpired that you owned far more thanyou thought you did when you were trying to force it into one small space foran extended period of time, and given as said time was six weeks aboard the Dora Mae, a two-masted brigantine ownedby a local Scottish tobacco merchant, he had to be strategic about it. Theywere sailing to Newport, in Glasgow, then taking a coach to Edinburgh, thenstaying in a guest house for probably at least a fortnight while in search ofpermanent accommodation, and whatever else. The clothing and personal belongingsthat Sam was placing into this trunk now needed to be arranged under thepossibility that he might not be able to properly unpack until Michaelmas.Practical bits on top, things he could live without below, fragile or importantbits well cushioned between. Bloody nightmare, really.

Straightening up, he regarded his efforts with somesatisfaction. He had been vacillating between excitement and apprehension asthe date for their departure grew ever closer, a scared but eager knowledgethat he – that they – were actuallydoing this. Jack had decided to take Uncle Thomas’ advice, wanted to trybecoming a doctor, and he had to be in Edinburgh to take the universityentrance exam in September. If he passed that, he would be formally extended anoffer of matriculation at the medical school. If he didn’t… well. It waspossible that they would be back here next year with nothing but an extendedvacation to Scotland for their trouble, and Jack was entirely aware of theessential insanity of what he was attempting. He had to cram years of missededucation into six months of intensive study, and had shaken off suggestionsthat he take his time about it and prepare at a normal pace. He wanted to go, he wanted to start something new,after spending the rest of his life as he had, and Sam had to admit, if anyonecould pull this off, it was him. That was why it was helpful to be inPhiladelphia. There were plenty of books and scholarly tracts that Henry and Mr.Franklin had scouted up for them, and Sam assisted as much as he could.

Sam took a deep breath, once more reconciling himself to thereality that this was actually happening. It wasn’t as if he was a novice toadventures – last year had, if nothing else, showed that – but this wasdifferent. He was growing up, leaving home, going across the bloody AtlanticOcean to bloody Scotland, and with JackBellamy, of all people. Going as a unit, a pair. Together. They’d beenliving at Jack and Charlotte’s house in Philadelphia, with Alix and Cecilia,and Henry and his family just down the lane, and while this had certainly been useful,it did make it slightly crowded. Geneva had sailed them here on the Rose along with Uncle Liam and AuntRegina, who had left last week to return to Paris and begin the process ofselling their house and packing their things to move back here permanently.What with one thing and another, Sam and Jack had not really been alone (or atleast not without considerable risk of interruption) since they left Nassau,and that was starting to become annoying.

Nor could Sam see much hope for a reprieve in the future.They were sharing a cabin on the DoraMae, but because the captain was Scottish and thus saw no reason notto pinch pennies to their utmost, they would have a third companion: ayoung barrister-in-training, Edward Crouch, hoping to be admitted to the Innsof Court in London after a visit to a wealthy old uncle in Glasgow. Sam hadonly met their unwanted roommate once, and was not enthused for a repeat engagement.Crouch looked like a weasel, twitched like a rabbit, and sneezed constantly, as well as having a habit of peering judgmentally at the world frombehind fingerprinted spectacles and clicking his tongue with a sound like smallordnance exploding. A person less conducive to an atmosphere of luxuriousseclusion and romance (relatively speaking, this was still a cramped cabin on atobacco merchanter on a long ocean crossing) could hardly be imagined.

Sam grimaced. He supposed it was unchristian to hopethat Crouch caught an ague and died mid-voyage, but how in damnation he wasgoing to manage sharing six weeks with Jack in small spaces, and not being ableto touch him at all, he had no idea. He had offered to compensate the captain withthe extra money he might lose by canceling Crouch’s passage, since he did haveplenty of that now, but it was probably a bad idea to make an enemy of abarrister who might proceed directly to lawsuits upon being thwarted. Thecaptain had refused, anyway. Sam, Jack, and Crouch it was going to be. Bloody wonderful.

Perhaps, Sam rationalized, it was for the best. He and Jackwere cautiously venturing to be more physical with each other, but they stillhadn’t gotten much past the enjoyable fumbling stage of things. Sam had alsodecided that he wasn’t going to say a word about it, as he was still mortifiedover his too-forward behavior during his convalescence on Nassau. In hisdefense, he had been a total mess, he hadn’t known, and it was a good thingGeneva had stepped in to take that nonsensein hand, but still. The last thing Sam wanted was for Jack to think that he wasonly in it for the carnal side of things (not that he had any idea what thosecarnal things were, aside from briefand lurid fantasies) or that he was unsympathetic to the terrible things he hadbeen through and simply who he was, and he didn’t want to distract Jack fromhis studies. Thus, even though it made him feel like a pot constantly about toboil over, he had kept his hands, thoughts, and general mood of frustrated lustto himself.

Sam took one more look around, then threw a few more thingsinto his rucksack and set it on top of the trunk. They would be taking it alldown to the docks to load aboard later this afternoon, and the room lookedoddly bare, not that it had been extensively furnished before. He was the onewith the most luggage, anyway. Jack’s clothes and possessions barely filled abattered carpet bag, and Sam felt almost guilty that he had so much to bringalong, and Jack so little. The money frommy share of the Skeleton Island treasure is as much his as mine, I’ll tell himhe can buy whatever he wants. How he would convince Jack to accept it, hedidn’t know, but still. Even if Jack didn’t want things, he should at least know that he had the option. With UncleThomas’ help, Sam had converted some to cash, some to stocks, and the rest tothe care of the Bank of England, who were supposed to handle stashing it safelyfor future use. Barring a really major disaster, they should never be pooragain.

After a final pause, Sam took a deep breath and wentdownstairs, where Charlotte, Alix, and Cecilia were eating lunch in thekitchen. At the sight of him, Charlotte looked up and smiled. “Packing allfinished, then?”

“I think so,” Sam said, sitting down and helping himself toa generous spoonful of cold shepherd’s pie. “It strikes me that we’re… thatwe’re actually going. It’s weird.”

“Aye,” Charlotte said. “And strange for Jack, I’m sure, tobe going back to Britain. Take care of him, all right? Please?”

“I will,” Sam promised her solemnly. He could not possiblybe unaware that Jack had to overcome a great deal of instinctive and ingrainedrevulsion to even set foot on a ship bound back for the soggy little island hehad spent so long trying to escape. Edinburgh wasn’t London, but still. “Isthere anything else I really should know? I mean, I’ll stick out like a sorethumb anyway, but…” He shrugged self-effacingly. “Just in case.”

“You’ll be fine,” Charlotte said. “Though it rains probablyrather more than you’re accustomed to, and is that bit colder, as well. Nobodymoves to Britain for the weather.”

“I might not mind getting out of Philadelphia,” Sam admitted.The place tended to stink like an open sewer in high summer, not that Edinburghwas going to be any more savory, and he had passed the time by helping hisbrother Henry in Mr. Franklin’s print shop. This was well enough, but the printshop was hot, close, noisy, and sweaty, with a lot of inking rolls and settingtype and hauling heavy things and invariably ending up with black stains allover his hands and sleeves. It also made him miss Nathaniel, Franklin’s latenephew, who had been his best friend for his entire life and who Sam had gottenkilled (he had never managed to absolve himself of the blame) at Robert Gold’sestate in Barbados last year. He tried to tell himself that it was done, itcould not be changed, and then he felt even guiltier at the idea that he couldmove on from it, start this exciting new chapter in his life, while Nathanielwas still dead, and nothing could ever fix that or take it away. Sam’s head hada tendency to go in spirals on these things, and a change of scenery might nothurt.

“Will you miss your family at all?” Charlotte asked. “It’sthe first time you’ve left the Americas, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Sam said. “And I will, a bit.” His parents andgrandparents had seen them off when they left Savannah, and he had foundhimself momentarily clinging, even though he was normally an independent-mindedlad. “But it’s not forever. At least I hope not.”

“I’m sure,” Charlotte said. “And I’m bloody proud of him. Iknow you are as well.”

“I am.” Sam met her gaze, and they experienced a brief,wordless moment of understanding in their shared love for Jack, different as itmight be. Sam had come to quite like her, and it was also why, even though Jackand Charlotte had had their marriage annulled, he did not feel entirely correctabout pursuing intrigues with Charlotte’s former husband before her face andunder the same roof. Not that there was any jealousy. Charlotte and Alix werehappily together, Charlotte and Jack had never consummated their marriage, andwhile their bond was deep and real, it was not of a sexual nature. Sam knewthat Charlotte would not have cared whatsoever if he wanted to roger Jack everyday and twice on Sundays (which he did, but never mind) and that this wasreflective of his own hang-ups, but still.

They finished lunch, and Sam went out to find a hirecarriage, loaded the trunk and bags in with the driver’s help, and rode down tothe wharves and the Dora Mae. Astheir things were carried on board, Sam looked hopefully at the cabin for anyevidence that Edward Crouch might be detained on an urgent engagement and thusmiss the sailing, but his stern black valise was already set on one of thebunks, and the place whiffed faintly of weasel. Damn it.

With a reminder from the captain that they were departing onthe early morning tide tomorrow, and hence might wish to take up their berthtonight, Sam went ashore and took the carriage to the house, where he paid thedriver, told him to return in a few hours, and went back in. Now thateverything was over except for the waiting, he felt jittery, restless, not surehow to occupy this last bit of time on American soil. Jack should be home soon,they were having a farewell supper at Henry’s place, and after that, would headdown to the ship. This is it. That’severything. It seemed rather impossible to have actually accomplished.

Sam paced, then went out to the back porch and sat for abit, then paced some more, until he heard the front door bang and Jack’s voicegreeting Cecilia, who had run to meet him. It was clear that she was strugglingwith the idea of their upcoming parting, and Jack had tried to pay specialattention to her, promising to write and to send little things from time totime. As Sam emerged into the hall, he saw Jack balancing Cecilia on his hip,and grinned to himself; the sight would never fail to be adorable. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jack put Cecilia down, though she still kept her armsaround his waist, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “All done, then?”

“Aye, I took the luggage to the ship earlier. Crouch madeit, unfortunately.”

Jack raised the other eyebrow. “He’s not the worst berth mate to be stuck with.”

“No, I suppose if he was actively dying of consumption, orsmelled strongly of boiled cabbage, we could do worse. Wait. He does smell of boiled cabbage. And hesneezes, so frankly, he might be dying. I’m not sure I would mind.”

Jack looked as if he was trying to hide a grin. “Why do youhate him so much, exactly?”

“He’s – ” Sam attempted to think of a way to phrase this indeference to the child listening in. “He’s a bit of an… obstacle, don’t youthink?”

“Obstacle?” Jack looked genuinely confused. “To what?”

“Never mind,” Sam said, fighting his usual stab of insecurity.If Jack was peachy keen at the prospect of a six-week voyage with no physicalcontact at all, he had no right to say anything different. “Who knows, maybewe’ll end up best mates.” He doubted it in the extreme, but trying to keep acheerful outlook was always the first step.

Jack looked at him as if sensing that something had remainedunspoken, but consented to let the subject drop for the time. He went upstairs,freshened up, and then returned for them to head over to Henry’s. They spentsome time chatting with Violet and playing with Richard and Lucy until Henrygot home from work, with a few special treats. “Ready to go, Sam?”

“I think so,” Sam said, half-wishing that everyone wouldstop asking him this question, as his answer could not have changedoutstandingly in the few hours since they’d last enquired. Besides, the morethey asked, the more he’d start worrying if he was or not. Still, he managed asmile. “Going to miss having me to boss around at the print shop?”

“It’s good for you,” Henry said, with an older brother’sprerogative to lord it over a younger one at every opportunity. “But I’mexcited for both of you. Oh, Jack, I have this for you. It’s a portfolio thatthe Edinburgh medical school published just last year, it should have somethingto say about the most recent version of the exam. Here.”

“Thanks.” Jack looked surprised, as he was still not in thehabit of having a family who casually picked up things they thought he mightlike and that would be helpful for him. Then Charlotte, Alix, and Ceciliaarrived soon after, and they all went to have dinner together. Henry offered atoast to new opportunities and new adventures, and they drank to it, even asSam’s chest had contracted into a knot of anxiety and he couldn’t quite get outan answer. Theoretically, he supposed, he could still change his mind and staybehind. Not that he was going to do that, not that he even wanted to. But atleast it was there.

Once it started to get somewhat late, everyone began toglance at the clock and clear their throats self-consciously. Jack and Sam pushedtheir chairs back and stood up, and Henry did as well. “Send a letter when youget to Scotland, all right? I’ll make sure Killian, Mum, Granny, Grandpa, andUncle Thomas get it. They’ll want to know.”

“Aye, of course.” Sam’s throat felt dry. He held out hishand. “I’ll – well, I’ll see you sometime, then?”

Henry took it, shook it, then pulled him into a brief,brotherly hug, clapping him firmly on the back. “I hope you have a wonderfuladventure.”

“Better than the last one, at least,” Sam cracked weakly. Hehugged Violet as well, then his niece and nephew, then glanced over at Jack,who was hugging Charlotte and Cecilia ferociously, one with each arm. Ceciliawas trying, with no success, not to cry, and Jack and Charlotte looked ratherbright-eyed themselves. Finally, they stepped apart, and Charlotte took Jack’sface in her hands and kissed his forehead. They clutched each other’s hands forone more long moment, then let go.

Charlotte turned to Sam, and they hugged quickly as well.Sam thought he felt her trembling slightly, but she was customarily brisk whenshe pulled back. “Well, then. Off with you, both of you. Go on.”

Jack hugged Cecilia one more time, kissed the top of herhead, then put her down. “Indeed, we should be on our way. We’ll write fromGlasgow. Come on, Sam.”

Sam trotted up next to him,pulled on his shoes, gathered his things and took one last look at theirfamily, gathered on the doorstep and waving them off. The summer sky was adeep, streaky red and rose and purple, hints of sunset still lingering in thewest and the air thick and hot, as they started down the muddy road, in theflickering shadows of street lamps. Sam glanced back once, but by then, theyhad turned the corner, and the past was out of sight.

To his credit (or so Sam strongly felt) he managed a wholeweek out to sea before the Crouch situation started to get really intolerable.The weather was good, which was nice; Sam was not fond of sailing to startwith, and a bumpy ride would not have done anything to improve this opinion.They were paying passengers and thus not expected to assist with the vessel’soperation, and Jack spent most of his time studying anyway, crammed at the tinydesk with his various books and squinting in the light through the smallporthole. The only problem was, there was only one desk, and Crouch felt that he was entitled to use it at leasthalf the time as well, since it was uncomfortable to work when stooped over ina small bunk. This had been cause for a low-level feud brewing between him andJack, as they tried to elbow the other out of it or stealthily get to it firstin the morning, before the other woke up. The cabin was small enough that Samwent stir-crazy after a few hours stuffed in there with both of them, so hespent most of his time above. Perforce, without Jack.

Not to mention, Crouch apparently had the hearing of abloody bat. Not that it was really needed: Jack and Sam had one berth, Crouchthe other, which meant there was perhaps six feet of space between them at anygiven time, and if they turned over or otherwise made the berth creak too muchwith totally innocent rearrangements, Crouch would glare at them from under hisstriped nightcap and hiss if they really had to make so much noise. It was asif he had never considered the possibility that a long voyage in close quarterswith strangers might just beinconvenient, or he had the nervous disposition of a baby dormouse, or he hadbeen sent expressly to ensure that no heathenish behavior would take placeaboard this ship, no sirree, not on his watch. There was clearly no way totry anything without it instantly coming to his wretched attention, and that,well, that would definitely be a disaster.

Thus, Sam was obliged to sleep close alongside Jack, pressedup against him in body and limb, breathing his scent and able to touch him, butonly in passing and unsuspicious brushes, and not do a damn thing else aboutit. He was fairly sure that some of his blood might never return to his headafter how long it had spent hopefully and painfully elsewhere, as if imploringhim to put it to use one of these days before it went blue and fell off. Samwould have liked nothing better than to do this, but, well, Crouch. There wasthe possibility that he and Jack could sneak off to the hold, but that was, tosay the least, risky and uncomfortable, not to mention unsanitary. Sam didn’twant their first time to be against some moldy damp beams in the pitch black,listening every second for one of the sailors coming down. Besides, Jack didnot appear to be suffering in the same way, so maybe it was just Sam consignedto purgatory on this whole thing. He still wanted to be with Jack even if allthey ever ended up doing was sleeping together like this, with nothing extra,but… he wanted the extra too.

It was thus coming up on a fortnight out of Philadelphiawhen matters really came to a head. The last few days had been rather rough, ofcourse Crouch was prone to seasickness, and rather than spend anothergodforsaken instant in the faintly vomit-smelling cabin, Sam had escaped to thequarterdeck. To his surprise, Jack joined him in a few more minutes, hairblowing out of its ribbon as they looked out to the misty horizon together.“Bloody hell, I’m sick of skeletal diagrams. And if Crouch farts one more time,I’m wringing his neck.”

Sam looked at his beloved with a rather triumphantexpression, as if to say that his hatred of their third wheel had thus beenvindicated all along. “Not to mention the puking.”

“That too.” Jack leaned on the railing. “Besides, we haven’treally had a chance to, well.” He waved a hand awkwardly, as this was still notsomething he was good at doing. “Talk.”

In Sam’s opinion, talking was the least of what they had notbeen able to do, but he forbore from offering this up. Trying to change thesubject, he said, “How’s the studying going?”

“I should pass the damn thing. Maybe. Hopefully. They couldstill decide not to offer me a place, if I barely make the cut.” Jack’s handstwisted on the rail. “It might have been wiser if I went out first, alone, andthen sent for you if I got in, rather than dragging you along and uprootingyour life when there’s still a chance I won’t. If you – ”

“I’d… honestly rather be here.” Sam tried to keep his voiceoffhand. “With you. And I don’t think you wanted to sail back to Britain byyourself, did you?”

“Not really, no.” Jack’s lips were grim. “I just keepforgetting there’s the both of us now.”

“Aye.” Sam decided to refrain from pointing out that strictlyspeaking, it was three, as he didn’t want to keep bellyaching about Crouch andmake Jack think he was hating every minute of this and wished he was at home.“It’ll be… it’ll be all right.”

“We’ll see.” Jack glanced at him again. “What have you beenthinking about? All this time. You keep looking like you’re going to saysomething, and then you don’t.”

“It’s not important,” Sam said quickly. “As long as you’rehappy.”

“Well, happy is astretch, but this is a necessary evil.” Jack caught his hair as it started toblow again and tied it back, a brief, easy gesture which was among the many Samfound inordinately attractive about him. “But I care what you think too, youknow.”

“I just…” Sam hesitated, glancing around to every side forunwanted eavesdroppers. “Three’s a crowd, you know? Especially with our bloodymate Edward goggling at us the whole time. There’s no chance for… anythingelse.”

Jack still looked confused, before understanding belatedlylit on his face. “Ah.”

“Yes.” Sam looked down at the blue-green waves, the curls ofwhite wake, peeling away from the DoraMae’s hull. “Really, though, it’s not important. I know you’re – well, it’snot necessarily something you’ve had a great experience with, and I… I don’thave any experience at all, so…” He stopped. “I’m rabbiting on, sorry.”

“Hey.” Jack made a slight motion as if to turn Sam’s face tohim. “What’s wrong? What’s bothering you? If this is about Nassau, I told youI’m not upset about that, remember?”

“I am,” Sam said, almost inaudibly. “I’m upset about it. Ibehaved like a… like a total boor, and it embarrasses me every time I thinkabout it, and I… I shouldn’t have. I should have just… I don’t know. Done itdifferently.”

Jack blinked. “What? You were a bloody basket case. Besides,you’re beating yourself up over – what, telling me that you wanted me? Jesus,Sam. That’s the sweetest thing that anyone’s ever done in the state that youwere in. It’s not like I did anything to tell you or help you out or… God. Youreally think I’d be upset about that?”

“Like I said, maybe you weren’t, but…” Sam stared intentlyat the worn wood of the railing. “I should have known better.”

“Hey. Hey.” Jackmoved to grab his hand, briefly and fiercely. “Is that really what’s beeneating you up this whole time? Just that?”

“Well, no.” Sam blew out a slow breath. “I just hate thethought that I’ve ever hurt you in any way, and if you – ” He stopped again.“Look, if you really don’t want to, well, go in that direction, I’ll live withit. I swear. If it’s what you want.”

Jack looked as if he’d been hit over the head with a pavingstone. “Wh – you think I don’t want you? Physically?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, in a very small voice. “Maybe youwere just humoring me and I was the one making you uncomfortable again.”

Jack took several moments to collect himself, almost lookingas if he might laugh, but refraining from it in the name of sparing Sam’sfeelings. “Sam,” he said at last, very gently. “Bloody hell, you don’t want to hurt me? You’re the kindest person I’ve evermet. You forgive everybody, all the time, and you worry so much about whetheryou’re doing the right thing, and you never give yourself any credit. I… it’s askill I don’t even understand. I think I’ve hurt you more, eh? I still wonderwhy you’d want to leave home and put up with me.”

“Because I – ” Sam bit his tongue. What he might have beenabout to say was not a conversation for the deck of a ship, out in public, not likethis. “I… want to, all right? So, like I said. I’ll just not bring it up again,and we can – ”

“What?” Jack said again. “You think that’s what we shoulddo? Ignore it?”

“We don’t have much choice, do we?” Sam tried to shrug. “Bemore helpful, yeah?”

“Maybe, but… I don’t want you to take that to mean that Idon’t want you. Because I do. I just…” It was Jack’s turn to look hesitant. “Ireckoned it would be no good since Crouch was there anyway, and I don’t knowhow to show that, and I never have. Besides, a relationship, a realpartnership, isn’t about what one person wants all the time, and the otherperson having to crush their own feelings and thoughts down and never speakingup and never feeling they can have what they want. I don’t know much, but I dobloody know that. That’s not what I want for you. For us. I just wanted it – wheneverit did happen – to be perfect. And since I didn’t know enough to make itperfect, I just… didn’t say anything, and if that’s made you think I don’t wantit… you…. I’m sorry. Because I do.”

Sam looked up at him tentatively. “You – you do?”

“Of course I do,” Jack said, half-exasperatedly,half-tenderly. “I’ve never felt about – well, I’ve never felt this before, andit… it scares me too, eh? I have no bloody idea what I’m doing either. You evenbeing here seems like more than I deserve.”

Sam blinked again, biting a shy smile and thinking thatwhile he had wanted to hear this more than anything, it was really awful to doit in a place where he could not do what he wanted to do next, which was tograb Jack by the collar and kiss him cross-eyed. This new and excitinginformation, however, would also make their unavoidably chaste bunk-sharingeven more excruciating, if Jack might actually try flirting. Sam did not thinkhis heart was capable of withstanding that without giving out. Bloody hell, hejust really liked this boy. Sue him. “No way to get rid of Crouch,” he managed.“So we can’t get too carried away, eh?”

“No.” A faint smile tugged at the edges of Jack’s mouth.“You’re right. He’s obnoxious.”

Seeing some of the sailors giving them curious looks, sincethey’d been standing close together and speaking in such confidential tones,Sam felt rather hot around the ears and stepped quickly back. He did not wantto return to the Puke Palace just yet, and he was not sure he wanted to put hisself-control to such a test as standing there nonchalantly next to Jack withoutbeing able to do bleeding anything. Thisvoyage might actually kill him.

The next several days, therefore, were straight out of theDevil tempting Jesus in the desert. Crouch had gone topside for some fresh air,after which Sam and Jack barred the door and took full advantage of their firstfive minutes of privacy on the damn trip to date. They had just progressed fromkissing on the mouth, to kissing down necks and shoulders and chests, when thepestilential bastard started banging on the door and demanding to be let backin because he had forgotten some essential item of barrister existence,apparently. Jack was shirtless and Sam’s was well unbuttoned, they were bothbreathing as if they’d been chased by a coach-and-six, and Jack stomped acrossthe floor with an extremely aggrieved expression to grab the book from Crouch’sthings, open the door a crack, and shove it through. Crouch began to gripeabout this, whereupon Jack slammed the door again.

They were just trying to pick up where they had left offwhen Crouch was back, this time because he was cold and wanted an extrablanket. Jack was thus obliged to give him that as well, while Sam calculatedthe easiest method of killing him without raising suspicion or making a mess. “Smotherhim in his sleep?”

“Too much work to smother someone in their sleep,” Jacksaid, with the air of someone who had tried to do exactly that at some point.Sam decided he would rather not know. “I’d suggest we’d get back to it, but – ”

“Aye, the mood’s been lost.” Sam blew out a rumpled breathand sat dejectedly on the rickety chair. “I knew there was a reason I hatedsailing.”

Jack grinned. “I don’t think this was it.”

“Hush,” Sam said. “It was so.”

Jack grinned again, turning away to pull his shirt back on,which Sam regarded with a mournful expression. Much as he approved of the factthat they were now actually doing something with all this pent-up interest, itmight be even worse if they were constantly allowed to snatch moments here andthere, but never full satisfaction. Crouch would need his wart plaster orwhat-bloody-ever else, or they might forget to bar the door, or they could becaught, or… paying customers or not, this wasn’t something Sam wanted the crewknowing. Outside his family and home, this was still the sin that politesociety considered too depraved even to be spoken of, and men could be hangedif the Navy caught them doing it. Attitudes at large were not generally moretolerant. For their own safety, they had to be discreet.

They thus struggled through the next few days in thisheightened state of awareness, which obliged Sam to think about the leasttitillating subjects he possibly could in a desperate attempt not to beobvious. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, they were again confined to thecabin, and after endless rounds of Crouch sneezing, clicking, tutting, andotherwise making Sam very seriously consider strangling him, he couldn’t takeit anymore. He jerked his head at Jack, and they slithered out of the cabin,down the gantry, and into the sheltered spot behind a lashed canvas, with someboxes and barrels heaped up behind. There was no privacy from being overheard,if they were indelicate enough to make noise, but at least they could not bespotted. With a brief, daring look at the canvas, Jack sat down on one of theboxes and cocked a wicked eyebrow at Sam, who perched straightaway on his lap.Before he could bother talking himself out of it, Jack was kissing him.

To Sam, who existed in a more or less constant low-levelstate of wanting to kiss Jack, this was utterly delightful and he had noobjection whatsoever. He gripped Jack’s face with both hands as Jack’s armscame around his waist, and they thus managed to get in close to ten wholeminutes of blissful, Crouch-free, amorous solitude. If you could ignore thestrong smell of pickled herring and tobacco drifting up from the casks, it wasalmost perfect.

Unfortunately, they did have to return to their cabin beforeany of the sailors came down to check the cargo, or before things could getmuch more carried away, and that night was particularly agonizing. Crouch hadexcused himself to visit the head (there was a pot in the corner for numberone, but number two required a trip out to the deck) and the instant he wasgone, Jack wrapped his arm around Sam, pulled him close, and kissed the nape ofhis neck, rolling his hips snugly up against Sam’s backside and running a handdown his thigh. “Bets on how long he takes?”

Sam emitted a small squeak.

“Aye, could be a while. Climbing out there when it’s dark,the business, then back…” Jack moved his hand deliberately lower. “Might bejust me and you here, eh?”

“Talking about Edward Crouch’s loo habits is not alluring,”Sam managed. Even that was slightly too horrifying for him to picture in anattempt to restrain the situation, which he was quite sure Jack was well awareof. (And actively encouraging, damn him.) He uttered another strangled noise asJack nipped lightly at the shell of his ear, then mused deliberate kissesacross his neck and onto his shoulder. “You’re – very evil, you know.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jack sounded horribly self-satisfied, but with atimbre of easy amusement in his voice that, despite the fact of this being a lessthan ideal time for it, made Sam turn to warm jelly. He would do just aboutanything to hear that sound again, to know that he had been the cause of it,that Jack was happy and comfortable enough to let his guard down like that. Thenhe nuzzled at Sam again, kissing the underside of his jaw as his hand continuedits explorations, and Sam wriggled in abject fear of actually expiring on thespot. Jack chuckled into his ear. “Christ, you’re such a bloody ball ofnerves.”

“That’s your fault.” Sam made another interesting registerof noise as Jack got really familiar.“Right now at least. Oh God.”

Jack ghosted another laugh against his warm skin, bodiesentwined in the small bunk, sleepy and comfortable and tangled together, a glowthat could not be entirely dispelled even when Crouch made his inevitablereappearance. That, then, was how Sam made it the rest of the crossing. Noteven the stolen moments, but the joy.

They arrived in Glasgow on a cool, drizzly day in the lastweek of August; indeed, if it was supposed to be summer, there was no evidencethat Scotland was aware of it. They berthed at Newport, since the River Clydewas too shallow for large ships to navigate all the way up to the city, andtook the coach in, thus to get their first look at their new homeland. Glasgowwas a jumbled stone maze, its steep, muddy streets crowded with a jostling throng of people, and much as he tried, Sam could not understand a single thinganyone said. Jack, who had more experience with strong regional accents, wasobliged to serve as translator, though even he struggled at points. They werefinally offloaded at a traveler’s inn, shamelessly paid double to get their ownroom, and shut the door at long bloody last. Sam kept waiting for the floor tomove under his feet, as it felt unnaturally still and solid after close to twomonths at sea. “Well, we’re… we’re here,” he said. “Jesus.”

“Aye.” Jack smiled at him. “We made it. Privacy, eh?”

“I’m too tired to do anything more than eat a meal thatisn’t hardtack and sleep on a bed that doesn’t rock and doesn’t have EdwardCrouch six feet away.” Sam was already yawning so hard that his jaw cracked. “Imight even actually just go to sleep if supper isn’t soon.”

He indeed ended up sleeping close to fourteen hours, and wasstill dozing on Jack’s shoulder as they set off the next morning in thestagecoach to Edinburgh, just under fifty miles east. A messenger on a fasthorse could theoretically have made this in one day, but as stagecoaches wereone of the most horrendously inefficient forms of transportation known tomankind, they would be lucky if they got so far as Linlithgow tonight. Therewere a few times, as they bogged along roads only discernible as roads becausethe mud there was flatter than to the surrounding sides, that Sam thought theymight make better time if they got out and walked. Nobody had been lying aboutthe weather, unfortunately. It was piss.

In all, it took them three days to get to Edinburgh, wherethey finally settled into a rented room near the Royal Mile and prepared toofficially go by the university and enroll Jack as a candidate for the exam andother such administration, tomorrow.They were once more too exhausted to do anything then collapse into a vaguelyhorizontal position, totally oblivious to the muffled banging and shouting fromthe inn’s taproom below. Upon their very belated awakening, Sam remembered towrite a letter and put it on the coach headed back to Glasgow and the shipsscheduled for the last crossing of the season. If all went well, his familywould know sometime this year that they had made it safely.

Jack took the entrance exam on a crisp and sunnymid-September day, likely the only one they would get all autumn, while Sam satwith a book in a coffee shop a few streets away and tried not to act as ifthere was a hedgehog in his chair. It was a three-hour exam, and he counted itoff by the bongs of the (numerous) church bells, waiting tensely until a veryhaggard-looking Jack finally came in and bought the largest size cup that theestablishment offered. “Bloody fucking hell,” he said, collapsing into the seatnext to Sam and rubbing both hands over his eyes. “I’m sure I failed every partof that. They’ll probably have to invent the Jack Bellamy as a new mark forcandidate ineptitude.”

“Hush,” Sam said. “I’m sure you were brilliant.”

“Only because you’ve been helping.” Jack gave him a faint,wry smile. “Look, if – well, likely when– I don’t get in, we could… I mean, it’s a bit late to return to theAmericas this year, and I don’t want to spend another six weeks on a ship. Wecould stay here anyway and see what comes up, or…” He paused, shaking his head.“I didn’t even realize how much I wanted this until I’m convinced I can’t… thiswas stupid. This was stupid.”

“Hush,” Sam said again, more ferociously. Doubting himselfwas all well and good, but he would not permit Jack to do it. “You’ve workedyour arse off for this. You were competing against boys who had private tutorsand expensive school places all their lives. And you learned enough to be areputable candidate in what, not quite a year? Whatever ultimately happens,that’s amazing, all right? It’s bloody amazing.”

Jack gave him another smile, this one softer and moretender, and they finished their coffee and headed back to their room. Theresults would be posted at the end of the week, and while Sam might haveoffered to distract Jack, there was no distracting him. He sat all hours at thedesk and obsessively reviewed practice questions and scribbled-on tracts andall the books he had brought over from Philadelphia, muttering about variousmedical miscellany that Sam only rarely understood. It was clear that therewould be no reasoning with him or reaching him until the verdict was passed,and Sam felt a sort of anxiety by association, trying to calculate the oddsthat a distinguished establishment such as this would ever accept someone likeJack into their ranks. He can do it. Iknow he can do it. Just give him a chance.

On Saturday morning, there was a knock on the door from theinn’s manservant with a letter for Mr. Bellamy, and since Jack had gone green,Sam was obliged to take it and hand over a halfpenny. His hands shook as heregarded the handsome wax seal of the university, incised with sigil and motto.“Do you want me to open it?”

Jack shook his head, looking as if he might be sick if heopened his mouth. Then he got up, practically snatched it out of Sam’s hands,and tore it open, as if determined to rip off the scab and get it over with.His eyes remained fixed on the paper, unblinking, face dead white. Finally, hemade a sound like a small animal being stepped on.

“What?” Sam was about to have kittens. “Jesus, what? Didthey – Jack, you did your best, maybe they can let you sit the exam again inspring, we can stay and try some more – ”

Jack uttered the same sound again and shoved the letter atSam, who took it tentatively. He looked down at it, and his eyes went verywide. “O… oh. Oh.”

“You think…” Jack managed, speaking in a hoarse croak. “Youthink they mixed me up with someone else?”

“Unless there just happened to be another Jack Bellamystaying here, I…” The paper rattled in Sam’s hands. “They want to know ifyou’ll accept your place by the end of the week following. Tuition fee threeguineas, payable upon registration. Oh my god.”

“Three guineas?” Jack looked wild. “I – I don’t – Christ, Iforgot, I – ”

“Hush,” Sam said, for the several-odd time recently. “Jack,you got in. You got in. I have money,remember? We have money. That’s not a problem. You got in, I’m so proud of you.I am so proud of you.” His throat felt thick, eyes bright and stinging, hismouth unable to stop stretching itself in an absolutely lunatic grin. “You got in!”

Jack tried to say something, utterly failed, reached out,and crushed Sam in his arms, the two of them clinging together so ferociouslythat Sam thought they might mold into one, They spun across the floor, stopped,and kissed harder than they ever had, still giggling with breathless disbelief,elated and giddy and gulping for air and not wanting to pinch themselves, notwanting to wake up. Toppled onto the bed together, and moved thoroughly andtenderly and carefully to the road they had always gotten a few steps down, butnever any further. This time, though, knowing that they were staying, that thiswas real, they’d done it, that they were beginning something strange and solidand true, there was no reason to stop the journey, only to go forward, and toexplore everything that awaited. So Sam Jones (finally, bloody finally) losthis virginity to the man he loved, and discovered that he was right. His heartcould not possibly bear it.

After, as they were lying entangled and naked and vaguelyaware that it was quite a heathen hour to still be in bed, and even more soconsidering their recent activities, they could not bring themselves to care.Sam wriggled up next to Jack, put his head on his chest, and before he couldstop himself, he whispered, “I love you.”

Jack went completely frozen, so quickly that Sam wanted tobite back the words while they had barely left his tongue. He cringed, alreadycastigating himself for ruining the mood so thoroughly, and apologies cametumbling after. “Jack? Jack. I’m – I’m sorry, I – just please ignore that ifyou – I didn’t mean to insult you, I just… Jack, I didn’t…”

“Jesus,” Jack said, even more hoarsely than before, when Sam’sbabbling had finally trailed off into mortified silence. “You know, I don’t…how could you ever think that it would insult… you… you beautiful, generous,sweet, bright, brave soul, I just… I don’t… I don’t.” He shook his head, unableto finish his thought. Finally he managed, “Don’t understand how this could bereal. All of this. It. This world. With you.”

Sam blinked. “You’re not… angry?”

“Why on earth,” Jack said, reaching up to tangle his handthrough Sam’s loosened hair, “would I be angry with you? Bloody hell, Jones.Bloody hell. You’re going to kill meone of these days, I swear.”

“Aye, well.” Sam looked down. One more time, a small smilebegan to break free. “I think you’re going to return the favor.”

(They were horribly late to breakfast.)

[nighttimelights-prompted]

Oh jeez, I didn't actually think I'd win. Okay, uh, if it would be okay, the big four skelebros finding out that their s/o (humanoid) actually had like, huge feathery wings, +they wore a big cloak to hide them? They can fly w/ them, and all that jazz

(i do love that about raffles - chance is a fickle thing, but wonderful at the same time! this is an interesting prompt - i haven’t spent too much time considering the implications of such a person in the undertale/au worlds, so i’ll interpret it as best i can as my mind tends to very naturally consider the implications thereof.)

(in any case, congrats on winning the raffle - i hope you like it!

UT Sans:

You shouldn’t underestimate someone like the classic Sans.

Truth be told, your wings were aching for how long you had been hiding them - nearly two days straight now, without a moment of being able to shake them out of your cloak. Thankfully it had it’s own magical properties that completely sealed in your wings, even for a passing gust of wind that may lift it - but the sensation was pins and needles as time dragged on, and if you could feel every feather in them every one of them would all be aching. But at last, Sans had fallen asleep in the field near on the blanket laid out for you and your friends’ picnic, and the others had disappeared in the forest, looking to play a game or gather wood - or both.

Your shoulders were on fire, your wings just longing to catch an updraft and stretch out, just for a minute, then you would be good to tuck them away again.

… Sans has been a light sleeper for a long time yet, though.

So when he felt the strange hitch in magic near him, even something so low and nearly unnoticeable, it woke him up. He would’ve ignored it… if not for the sudden soft fwump of your unfurled wings catching that first beat of free air.

His eyelights disappeared as he watched you spiral into the sky, effortless and joyfully light in your movements.

Granted, you nearly fell out of the sky when you looked back down and caught him staring at you, but still.

He has so many questions, and while he may wait until a more private time to ask them, you won’t get out of them for long. In the end, he’s intrigued, and once he guarantees all is well, he’ll realize his infatuation has grown only stronger. It won’t be long before you’ll find yourself figuring out how to take him out on flights in secret, both of you feeling the most free you’ve ever been while gliding under the clear night sky.

(the rest of the skelebros under the cut...

UT Papyrus:

He was really just trying to be hospitable.

You were always wearing that cloak. He caught you on longer days spent together rubbing at your shoulders, a distant expression of discomfort on your face - and then other times you fiddled absently and insistently with the clasp, as if you wanted nothing more to take it off and relax. He wanted that for you, too! The way your face lit up whenever you were at ease around him, that delightful laugh of yours that had his magic betraying his adoration across his cheekbones, the sharp way your mind worked out puzzles and riddles with him - he loved it most when you felt welcome and at peace, so surely he could relieve you of that cloak, at least in the safety of his home.

Granted, you always refused when he offered… but still.

That’s why he’s the Great Papyrus - he’d find a way to put you at ease, one way or another.

Yes, even if that way happened to be sneaking up on you while you were at the stove, with a grace and stealth completely unbefitting a seven-foot-tall skeleton. Before you could react, his fingers had easily slipped around you to your front, undid the mechanism of your clasp, and he slipped your cloak off with the graceful flair of a matador.

He promptly was sent flying into the living room by the nearly violent explosion of your wings into reality.

You screamed at the sudden sensation and almost sent spaghetti flying right after him - but horrified realization dawned over you just as quickly, and you took several steps forward to check on him - but were stopped by the instincts of countless years of hiding.

Thankfully Sans wasn’t home, because as Papyrus recovered and jumped back to his feet and anxiously hovered without approaching in turn,  it quickly devolved into a shouting match of mutual worry and love and horrified apologies.

Of course, Papyrus is in no way upset at this revelation - he understands your reasoning all too well, and while he desperately wants to shout to the entire Undernet about this wonderful new thing he found out about his s/o, he’ll keep your secret the safest it’s ever been with another soul.

… Also, I hope you like getting your feathers preened, because it won’t be long before Papyrus handily claims the sole right to massage your tense wings and gently check your feathers while you stay at his house.

UF Sans:

To be honest, your secret wasn’t much of one for long with Red. If you’re his s/o, you both lean heavily towards loving physical affection, at least in private - and you quickly figure out that with both of your trust issues, if you want to make this last, you’ll need to come clean about this. Perhaps you were friends for a long time first before caving into your attraction for him (and vice versa), perhaps not - but either way, you armed yourself with your resolve and feelings for him and managed to pull him into seclusion in his room one afternoon.

He started out with his usual dirty flirting, and tempted as you were to put it off just one more day, you were able to step back from him with the reassurance to him that… well, stars above you cared for him, and if he trusted you enough to let you so deeply into his life, then you were damn well going to do the same.

Your fingers flipped undone the mechanism of your clasp, and your cloak fell to the ground. Your eyes closed as relief and tension momentarily bled out of you and your wings unfolded into reality, still bent to avoid knocking anything open, but spread enough to span more than half the room.

When you finally felt brave enough to open your eyes, you caught Red staring at you, hands hovering half-outstretched, his eyelights burning a bright crimson that matched the softer glow of his cheekbones.

… A full, painfully silent minute later, you had to be the one to speak up first.

It all ended up coming out as if pouring from a spout that you had simply broken off, his ongoing silence and unreadable but not outright discouraging expression making it far easier to simply reveal more about your history and at why you were hiding - and why you were revealing this to him now, accidentally turning into you tripping over yourself as you confessed just how strongly you trusted him-

He finally cut you off, his face blazing crimson in a way that didn’t at all match his serious and conflicted and adoring expression. He’d simply pull you into a hug, his hands skating over your wings for a moment and drawing a shiver down your spine.

… After a bit of time that simply devolved into exploration, he’d ask a few simple questions about it, but just to round out his knowledge and satiate (for the moment) his building curiosity. He knows too well the need to hide everything that could mark you as vulnerably different, though, so he’s got your back in ways you’d never even dare to consider asking.

If anyone tries to blackmail you… well.

They’d turn up missing soon enough.

UF Papyrus:

He’d held a respect for your mysterious refusal to remove your cloak the entire time he’d known you. Even at your first meeting and his brash attitude, a part of him begrudgingly felt admirably towards your standards on your appearance in that facet.

Once you’re his s/o, however, he finds the curiosity simply eating him alive. He has standards, though - and damn, you respect his penchant for the black and red and spiky, so he can’t quite put himself up to demanding you take it off to satiate his curiosity - really, he’s never seen you without it, and even he has removed his signature red scarf around you on the heated occasion…

… Well. That doesn’t mean he won’t tail you once he figures out your scattered weekly sessions to disappear into the woods. You never go at the same time, and never by the exact same route, but always for hours on end, and always with a notable relief in the buildup of tension in your shoulders and back upon your next time seeing Edge.

He is nothing if not sharply observant - even as loud and harsh as he is, there aren’t many details that escape him. So even if this doesn’t have to do with your strange cloak and a few other odd pieces of behavior, he’ll at least figure out what you’re doing out there in the forest, for better or worse.

It actually takes him several weeks’ worth of attempts to track you the full way - you nearly caught him the first two times, and a few more following that you simply somehow managed to lose even him.

It was nighttime, the week he finally followed you for the full hour and a half you trekked into the woods, the week he finally caught you step into a clearing halfway around the mountain, far from any other sentient soul -

It was nighttime when he saw your cloak slip to the ground, when he saw your wings unfurl under the washed-out light of the moon and stars, when he saw you crouch down for just a moment as your wings shook out, fanned - and when he saw you take to the skies.

For nearly an hour he watched you, disappearing on occasion in low banks around the safe side of the mountain, only to return and circle high, high above, free and unrestrained in these moments you stole for yourself.

You nearly decked him in the ribs when he cleared his throat behind you after you landed.

The following moment, as you caught your fist before it made contact, as you watched his brow ridge draw upwards, as your wings fluffed up in horror and instinct, you thought you could truly feel your soul drop out of your own chest.

… He didn’t mince words, in the end, asking you several questions, which you found yourself nearly shell-shocked answering as plainly as he asked them. Your mind caught up quickly enough, and you knew that it was make or break either way - he’d either accept all this, or you’d be on the run… again.

After just ten more minutes, you found yourself once more silently staring at Edge. You had crossed your arms, and were holding your ground, despite your racing heart - you knew him well at this point, knew how many decisions and options and outcomes he was thinking through at breakneck pace as he returned your hard gaze.

When he reached out and took your hand, you forgot how to breathe.

When he slowly, so very slowly, lifted your hand to press your fingers to his mouth in a semblance of a kiss, you felt your chest constrict with the sudden flood of far too many feelings.

He smirked then, a devilish look to his flashing gaze, and said that he always knew you were more than most fools bargained for.

US Sans:

It might’ve been a bad idea to pass out on the couch with him after a long, late night of watching a certain old sci-fi series that he had been unable to come across Underground.

You were both the cuddly sort when it got down to it, and ever the gentleman as he was he had provided you with blankets and pillows and the most absurdly wonderful and gentle scalp massages you had ever experienced - so it was only natural that you’d end up so comfortable as to fall asleep, your head tucked just perfectly near his collarbone, his arms wrapped around you as you both nestled closer in your dream-ridden states.

You were both rudely awoken when your wings flared outwards - promptly shoving you both off the couch with the force of their reappearance.

As it turned out, Blue was apparently inclined to fiddle with whatever kaid within hands reach when he slept… including your specially-made clasp.

So there you were, straddling Blue with your hands planted on either side of his head, your wings flared in instinctual search for better balance. His eyesockets were wide, his bright blue starry eyelights trained on you with a bewildered fierceness you were certain neither of you were expecting at this hour, or this situation -

He blushed slowly cyan as you blushed a deep red of your own.

So very, very slowly, he lifted his hands. You had plenty of time to move out of the way, and you knew he intended it as such - but you remained willingly frozen as he relaxed just a tad more and his arms shifted just that little bit more…

You shuddered as his fingers slid down your feathers. You bit your lip and colored a little more at the look on his face as his eyelights searched your expression for any pain, any sign of discomfort - but he found none, and with a small, encouraging forward shift from you, he gently continued his exploration.

The words of adoration and praise, so soft, gentle, and private, had you burying your face into his shoulder as his deep chuckle ran further thrills through you.

At his almost surprisingly gentle questioning, you began to explain your background, and how you had to hide them, and the nature of your cloak - his attention never wavered from you, and as you talked he continued exploring your wings. You paused on occasion, redirecting or instructing him, and by the end of your explanation he felt like an expert with his soothing touches to your ever-tense wings.

He swore he would keep your secret - and with the twinkle in his eye, you had a definite feeling that you were facing a future where an incredibly cunning skeleton was going to find increasingly clever ways to help you spread your wings in private, with his careful eye and hand to provide every kind of support you could dare hope for.

US Papyrus:

He’s anything but inclined to push you on revealing whatever it is you're hiding, honestly. He has his own secrets, far too many to be healthy, but as you respect his he respects yours - it’s clear you have no ill intention through the bright way your soul shines, so he trusts you well enough.

… You realize, though, that even as his s/o… things won’t develop further unless you both place further trust in one another. And while you desperately want to know what it is that haunts his nightmares and hides behind the darker shadows of his gaze when something threatens the few things he cares about… well, you won’t push him without showing him that you are as open with him. But you also aren’t entirely willing to bare yourself without reciprocated trust.

So one day you offer him a deal as you’re about to head home.

You want to be closer - yet you know you’ve both got your reasons for what you hide. So… if he’s willing to share some of his past and what affects him so strongly, you’re willing to do the same.

His eyesockets go wide, and you give him a tired grin, expecting that bit of mild disbelief. Still, you give him a peck on the cheek, and tell him that you’ll see him tomorrow either way - no hard feelings.

He texts you a little after midnight, asking if you’re free to talk.

He appears at your door and knocks the moment you send off your positive response. You go through your traditional knock-knock routine, breaking just a bit of the anxious tension that flared in you all over again - and if you were reading him right, eased him a little too.

You took his hand when he ended up standing in your entryway, vaguely at a loss for how to continue. With ease you led him to your room, and sat yourself cross-legged on the mattress - a quirk of your brow and your lips drew a huff of a laugh out of him. He joined you then, his back meeting the wall as he settled in and tucked his hands back into his hoodie pocket.

You tilted your head slightly as you considered him, curious about what was running through his head…

Your mind made up, you lifted your hand to your cloak’s clasp. You hesitated for just a moment, softly warning him that what you’re about to show him is… unexpected, at best, but to not freak out or anything. He nods, just the once, an uncharacteristically serious set to his tired face.

You undo the clasp, and unfold your wings.

Well, truthfully, you only partially unfold them - while your room was tactically set up to allow you to walk around like this, the sheer span of your wings was certainly enough to be intimidating, and that was the last thing you wanted.

You waited, expecting an ongoing silence for at least a little bit as he reeled, or prepared to drill you for hiding something like this-

What you didn’t expect was his near-immediate “holy shit.”

Your own eyes widened nearly as much as his sockets. Within a moment, you were laughing so hard you were bent double.

Of all reactions, this may have been the best you never could have seen coming.

It took you another minute, particularly because Stretch had ended up blushing and laughing on his own at his slip - but you got your laughter under control and were able to give him a short explanation of what… what it was all about.

He listened intently, the faintest trace of a blush still on his face. At last, he asked a few questions - just a few, ones that you felt like he had been weighing the entire time you talked, but there was a promise of deeper exploration to come.

Afterwards, he opened his arms to you - no demand, just an offer, should you choose to accept it - and you do. Grateful and relieved and fighting a slight giddiness from the wave of emotions, you returned his embrace easily, the pair of you ending up mostly laying down as you laid half over him with your wings comfortably folded. Tentatively, one of his hands stroked your wing - eliciting a pleased sound from you, and a relieved one from him.

Another few minutes passed... but slowly, slowly, he began telling you of the source of his nightmares.

SF Sans:

You… weren’t actually officially Spike’s s/o yet when he found out.

You had known him for months by the night he invited you back into the workshop he kept at home. Against so very many odds, you had become incredibly close to one another - the fact that he was at last inviting you back here, somewhere you knew only a few other living souls had ever been allowed, said as much.

He walked you around the room with absolute ease, explaining a few of the different tools, machines, blueprints, even some of the strange books marked with ancient languages and even a few runes you recognized-

When he picked one up and flipped to an open page as he spoke about an ancient language that worked through words of power and intent, and one in particular that acted as a powerful sealing and illusionary spell, you froze. He showed you the page as he stepped to your side, his arm brushing against yours.

The rune on the dark, aged parchment perfectly matched the engraved pattern on your clasp.

He said nothing more, simply meeting your gaze with an unreadable expression as your focus slid to him.

Several moments passed, the eye of the storm meeting the slow balancing of the scales.

Finally, your breath returned to you, and you sighed, a small, rueful smile playing at your lips as you shook your head. Your gaze went to the cracked door, and back to him - with a simple wave of his hand and the spark of purple magic the door shut and locked. You nodded, then turned and faced him fully, taking just a step back.

Your hand hovered at your clasp for a moment as you considered him - he simply stood there observing you, and despite his measured expression, you knew him well enough to be able to catch that eager, curious spark to his eyelights - a puzzle nearly solved, a number of suspicions nearly tied together, and most importantly… a wary but present trust, even as he looked ready to snap a release on his own magic should the need arise.

With practiced ease, you undid your clasp.

You’d be lying if you said the shock that froze his confidently easy posture didn’t provide you some slight pleasure.

In just a few sentences as he stood frozen - this clearly not quite what he had been picturing - you explained your circumstances, your need for secrecy… and you left unsaid, but so very clearly presented, the measure of staggering trust you had just laid in him.

His gaze returned properly to your own at last. He then closed the small distance between you both, the tension only growing more thick -

His arm scooped around your waist and his other hand tipped your head back slightly as he pulled you close and kissed you for the first time.

To say that you responded well would be… an understatement.

Eventually, you ended up spending hours in there, talking more in depth about all manner of details on both your sides - the depths of his research was staggering, providing all new facets of consideration for a background you had never truly been able to explore for your own safety.

All the while, his hand held yours, your fingers intertwined.

SF Papyrus:

He had just taken an actual bullet for you.

Anti-monster resentment and outright violence was on the rise, and one human faction in particular was growing in its boldness as it took to hunting down not only monsters but the humans that associated with them. Russ had tried to push you away for a short while, plainly stating that it was for your own good, but you had validly argued back that you were friends with other monsters anyways, and had no intention on changing your behavior just because of the danger of a particularly violent group of assholes. He had taken to escorting you whenever you wanted to go out, if you were willing to have him - and if not, you had a feeling he was doing so anyways.

Tonight you were returning home from Muffet’s, a little too drunkenly on both your parts to safely teleport, and - well, what mattered is that now you held Russ in your arms, a strange fluid that matched the golden color of his magic oozing through his shirt from his ribs. The humans had been readily chased away by the blinding beam of concentrated magic he had shot from whatever the hell that dragon-like skull had been.

But stars, Russ was looking worse and worse. He told you to go, that the humans would be back soon, and he could hide himself away for now. You swore at him and told him to shut it, frustrated affection marring the effect.

It was only a few more seconds of delay before you made up your mind. You certainly couldn’t haul him anywhere fast enough walking - but…

Your hand grasped the clasp of your cloak. Consequences be damned, you would at least get him somewhere someone could do first aid. You met his gaze then, and told him to trust you - that you’d get him to safety.

With your clasp undone, you unfurled your wings.

Russ swore long and low under his breath, and whispered something about the ‘real angel’. You were blushing a bit, but chalked up his rambling to the effects of pain.

After a bit of struggling and a hushed apology for jostling him, he was on your back, and you were holding him as tightly as you could. With a few beats of your wings you were in the air, shooting high into the sky with a handful of updrafts, banking on safety in the obscurity of distance as you swerved to angle towards your destination.

Despite the circumstances, you couldn’t help but smile and flush a little deeper yet as Russ managed to whisper a few scattered words of adoration while you soared through the night sky.

[cutegirlmayra]

Well, I guess I have to do it then. -shrug-

This is happening! lol

Part 1 (x) In case you missed it ;)

Part 3 (x) Because some people- can’t even. (Pun, entirely, intended)

Prompt:

As they spiraled around and up the lava filled volcano, Classic dodged some on-coming flaming rocks that came out of it’s top, as Modern Sonic circled the stage upward.

Classic took the more direct but dangerous route, it was faster, but it also meant certain doom if he didn’t watch himself and act fast on reflex.

Jumping from rock to rock, he found that some were dummies or, in otherwords, would cause him to slide down and take longer.

At long last, Classic made it up before Modern, and as he looked behind him to double check his surroundings, he looked inside the volcano and gasped.

A metallic dragon was battling Amy, but she looked on her last few breathes, as she wearily swung her hammer before taking courage and jumping on it’s head, only to have it drop into the lava.

She screamed a moment, flailing her arms before something spin dashed into her, knocking her away from a devastating fall.

She hit the back of the volcano and passed out, as he slid down the rocky wall with one hand gripping the sliding rocks around him and the other trying to hold on to her.

Once down, he worried he may have hurt her, seeing scratches and other such injuries before he angrily turned to the dragon, as it sprayed up lava from it’s head coming up, the magma also formed the tight, flying flame rocks that would form due to their mass spiraling into a ball form.

So.. it was the dragon that made him loose so many rings and lives on that climb up here!

He clutched his fists, and began to fight it, kicking and spinning the rocks back at the head, before jumping on a spring conveniently located at the foot of the lava crevice-like dome before homing attacking the robotic eye when a spring would click out like a door, and the head would fall flat down.

After the boss battle, the dragon roared it’s head and slowly departed into the lava, shutting down and blasting an explosion that triggered the full revival of the volcano.

When Modern made it, he was shocked by the explosions, “Woah! Guess I missed all the fun.” he didn’t seem cheery about that, because he frowned with his teeth showing, looking for Amy above.

But it ended up that Amy was on the floor level with him, and he turned to finally see her, still limp on the ground.

He raced to her at once, as Classic Worriedly dodged sparks of fire burst from the mouth of the volcano, before turning around to look at the two.

Sonic, almost as if in disbelief of her condition, lightly rose a hand over to her face, lifting her head to tilt it toward him.

He then let it down gently and shook his fists so mightily, that even his head lowered with the tremor of the earth, but he barely noticed upon his own dread at not being there for her.

“What happened!?” Sonic spun to Classic, “You got here first. Spill!”

His frustrations came off aggressively, and Classic wasn’t gonna take any of that.

Surprised at first, he widened his eyes slightly and stepped back, almost like, ‘dude, chill.’ before his true attitude came through and he folded his arms, turning his head before seeming to explain himself with gestures, but clearly acting like it wasn’t a big deal.

In greater rage, Sonic reached forward and grabbed his younger self, who started kicking back as the two struggled on the ground.

“Don’t act you’re better than me!!! You hurt her!!!!”

Video game noises spat out from Classic, clearly not putting up with his modern’s deal and starting to fight him back, a stupid brotherly wrestle of punches and kicks unfolded, before the volcano really did start spitting up more and more lava, rising from it’s mouth, getting close to overflowing... near Amy!

Modern Sonic shoved his younger self’s head down, “For once, think more than yourself! You knocked her out, do you not get that?!” He lowered his head down to get the point across, but the two were letting off steam from the stress of everything they’ve had to go through so far.

Classic fought back, having his face smushed but cried out a growl of annoyance before arching and leaning his back so far that he tucked his hands over his head and under his shoulders.

He kicked up like a break dance move, and shoved Modern Sonic’s face all the way back down, having him completely unable to guard against that.

Classic, seeing Modern now face down on his back, leaned down with his hands on his hips, before performing his signature ‘win’ animation and then give the camera a wink and a thumbs up.

Sonic groaned, rolling his eyes as most of his anger was gone and lost by now...

Then worry struck.

“AMY!!!”

Shoving Classic off of himself, he rose up and started darting towards her.

Classic fell backwards but sprung up again, looking upset by that treatment as he sat down, before his tail was smeared with lava flow, and he leaped up in a firework of rings.

He rubbed his tail before turning to look at the lava so close to his head a moment ago, and gripped it, gulping.

They were distracted!

“Amy!” Sonic out stretched his hand but the earth beneath him had already melted away from where she lay...

“Darn!” he bite down before looking around, seeing the wall beside him was cleared from some rocks.

“Hmm..” He glared down, getting ready to jump as he seriously began to plan this daring rescue.

Jumping after gaining some speed on the now almost completely gone, rectangular earth piece, he jumped to the wall and scaled it, running along in a parkour style before spinning and flipping around, landing on Amy’s floating island.

The earth rocked and he almost fell in, but jumped forward to grab Amy, looking back to see her drap over his shoulder and the earth still a moment after flipping and rocking back and forth to balance itself.

Sonic looked up, half supporting himself with just one arm and the other up on his shoulder where Amy was.

He got up on his knees, looking back to Classic, who was now on a little island too.

“You got any bright ideas?” He looked calm, but his face showed he was a little worried, holding Amy now with both hands over one shoulder.

Classic looked down, his eyes shifting, before scrolling up to look around, and scanning possibilities.

He suddenly heard a roar beneath his feet, and lifted one comically, before smiling a huge open grin to Sonic.

He jumped up, spreading his legs as he put his fingers to his mouth, whistling.

This triggered the last remaining bits of energy left in the broken Dragon, as it started to roll it’s head up from beneath, it’s long neck pushing the lava up, and with it, the gang as well.

“Whaaaa!!” Modern Sonic cried out as they were lifted in a strange way up and out of the volcano, the Dragon breaking the surface with it’s blinking eye, about to flicker out, and half of itself destoryed in the explosion, causing it to twitch and have half it’s armor off, looking like a robotic skeleton.

Finally, the neck snapped and the flickering light of the dragon finally faded to nothingness as the dragon’s head fell to the depths of the remaining eruption.

Sonic jumped with Amy and then reached for his other, who gripped his hand and hung on from behind.

Modern Sonic got everyone down, but tripped over a sliding rock, something he had forgot was a thing in this stage, and the three tumbled the rest of the way down.

Falling flat on their faces except for Amy, the two shook their heads before looking up, seeing Amy roll off a cliff.

“AHHH!!” the two freaked out and charged, jumping off and racing down the cliff to grab her again.

“Why does this always happen!?” Modern Sonic, with eyes moving small and big in his panic, was referencing the fact that Amy couldn’t be safe for more than 5 minutes.

He grasped her arm and pulled her close before falling through the trees, Classic slicing his way through branches to make the fall not so painful, before letting them get caught by a his own hand.

Before then, Sonic had fully brought Amy over him, pushing her close, gripping her head to himself, and lowering his head. With eyes shut, he almost thought that could be the end, and a thought of prayer that Amy might at least make it skimmed his racing, adrenaline pumped, thoughts.

He reached up, looking for Classic and grabbed the hang, hearing him call out to do so.

The two swung and Sonic lifted a leg to push off a tree and land fairly decently.

He then immediately shot his head up, shaking Amy.

“Come on, come on! If that didn’t wake you up, then what will!?”

She lay motionless, as Classic hopped down, and slowly walked over to her.

“...This... this doesn’t make any sense.” Sonic started to look around on the ground, leaning back as if defeated. “She can’t... she couldn’t be that far out of it. Why is she not... What... mmm.” he swallowed hard, fear crippling his words, as he suddenly felt a deep feeling of loss and anguish wash over him.

So immediate was this tangible emotion that it gripped his chest and made it hard for him to breathe.

“..Amy...” he barely got the words out, it was so faint, as he slowly lowered her to the ground. “What have I done..?” he put his hand over his face, hiding any reading the audience could give as to his emotions.

He lowered his head as he hovered over her, before Classic looked to him, seeing something he never thought he woudl see in himself.

Weakness.

But this was more pure, more holy almost, the way he dealt with deep sorrow and pain.

Classic looked down to Amy then.

A angelic look of non-existence...

He bent down and put his head up to her mouth and nose, closing his eyes to listen.

She was breathing.

He looked back up to himself, as if not understanding.

Why was he so wrought with pain when she was still okay?

Classic pulled her a little from under him, as Modern turned to peek through his fingers, just trying to breathe right.

He lowered his hand when he saw Classic lightly stroking the middle ridge between her eyes.

He waited, not sure what he was thinking...

Classic then lightly stroked her ears, and looked for a response.

“...L...Little me..” Sonic was about to scold a bit, thinking it weird before the gentle touch actually stirred her.

Classic tilted his head, before smiling.

Modern looked amazed.

“Not even... that ruckus... woke her up but... that... that did?” He was still finding it hard to catch his breath, but couldn’t help and chuckle and shake his head down at that truth.

He reached and pushed off his raised knee, getting up as he walked over, getting his communicator, clicking it on.

“Tails, I need readings on Amy’s condition. Think you can get that off her tracker?”

Classic, almost having fun with this game, lightly ‘boop’d her nose.

“Emmm..mmm..” she slowly twitched, gently as if in a deep sleep, but her body was truly sore and her dress tattered.

She really did get a slam force on that spin dash, but in Classic’s defense, he was only trying to save her life.

Classic’s smile turned a smirk, as he raised his eyebrows to look back at Modern, wondering...

If he’d get mad...

“Right. Heart rate? That’s good, I guess.Critical for anything? Wow... she can take a hit. I-I mean I always knew THAT b-b-but still-!...” he was facing his back to the two, but grew nervous for some reason.

“Thanks, Tails. I’ll bring her back as soon as I can for further recovery.” he clicked the communicator off, turning around.

His quills bristled at the sight.

Classic Sonic was laying, completely chillaxed, right beside her; gently he flicked his fingers over her bangs and got her to turn her head more towards him, and opened his arms for the embrace as he held her head, turning his face to the side and closing his eyes, lowering his head before blinking up at Sonic.

Ohh... he was asking for it...

“Ehem.” Modern Sonic folded his arms, and looked ticked. “And what, do you suppose, does that look like?” he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head.

Classic cozied on up more to her, scooting himself, before smirking more mischievously as he flicked his finger under her chin, then gave Modern Sonic a look.

“Quit it!” Modern shot his arms down, and reached to remove him.

Classic dodged the swipe for him and raced off, before turning around mocking him with his hand on his nose like, ��You can’t catch me! Sucka!’. He then reverted to acting like he was holding and loving on Amy, before sticking a finger in his mouth and hacking, showing he hated the idea of it all before fanning his older self as if saying, ‘Nasty, nasty! Gross, gross, gross! I’d never!’. He turned his head and squinted an eye in disgust, accusing his older self of liking her a little too much than just regular old fondness.

Sonic bent down by Amy, before glaring at Classic’s tauntings, lowering his head with a deep, serious look of annoyance.

He then picked Amy up, carefully, and looked her over to make sure she was okay.

He nodded when he figured it could all be something that could heal, given the right amount of time.

“Phew~ No broken bones.”

Classic mimicked a broken heart.

Sonic twitched, before looking away, then down back at her, as if ashamed again.

“...” he moaned a sigh, looking away and walking off before taking off in a sprint.

Classic, confused on him not responded, was baffled a moment before something terrifying skimmed his thoughts.

He gripped his head and started hitting his feet on the ground, making annoyed sounds of disapproval.

What if he was in love!?

The thought made him grip his throat, shaking his head, as if he’d rather be DEAD than love Amy Rose!

-Later in game~-

Sonic returned to the HQ only to hear that Amy had left without anyone knowing, and in great anger he tried to storm off and search for her, thinking her foolish for doing another stupid mission on her own again, but was stopped by the team.

Having a long debate, it was convincing to see that the team were going to hold him home, and wait the night out for her to come back.

Upset, and under the impression she was truly avoiding him, Sonic tossed and turned in his bed, thinking of ways to get passed his ‘guard dogs’ outside, before suddenly becoming very sleepy.

Unknown to Sonic, his drink was given a sleeping remedy, and he flickered his eyes out, his last thoughts on running to find Amy again.

Later that night, as Classic slept on the floor with an arm over his head, he heard Sonic’s Miles-Electric in his room turn on, flickering and making some phone ringing sound.

He yawned, before getting up and wiping his eyes, seeing his other had slept in, but not knowing he wasn’t stirred because of the powerful dosage given him.

He yawned and got up, clicking the answer button he had learned how to do and watched as the screen was black, and looked puzzled at it.

He tilted his head.

“....Hello?”

It was so gentle. So faint.

He recognized it at once, but turned to see she had turned off her video chat, and it was only her voice he could hear.

He looked around, confused as to why, but tapped the screen to try and indicate he was still there.

“...Sonic?”

He raised his hands in frustration, clearly unable to communicate if she couldn’t SEE him.

He looked around the screen, before clicking his video on, and seeing a small square where it showed his face.

He smiled widely, glad he could figure out this strange, futuristic device, and proudly moved his shoulders side to side in a little happy movement.

“..Oh? Classic?” She giggled, “I wasn’t expecting you..”

Her voice was like a sigh, and Classic was surprised it was so soft. Usually, it had quite a force behind it.

He tilted his head, trying to hear what was around her, and hopefully get an idea of where she could be.

Forest? There was a lot of bugs... maybe if an owl hoot’d he’d be more precise on WHERE or WHICH forest...

But nope. There was only a breath released that sounded like weary exhaustion, and he picked the device up to sit down where he was laying, letting her speak, he guessed.

“I... I was kind of hoping to go to voicemail.” she admitted.

What was voicemail?

Classic made a face, turning his mouth to the side.

She giggled, apparently seeing it in the dark lit room, since the light of the screen was bright enough a green to see.

He stared into the darkness, wondering why he couldn’t see her, and looked around to try and indicate he wanted too.

He tapped the screen again.

“Sorry.. I... I’d rather not...” she admitted, but then continued with another soft inhale.

“I need.. some time.”

Well, we all do.

Sonic made another, more insensitive face, not putting up with Amy’s crappy excuses.

He mimed how his older self really didn’t like her avoiding him, and how he really wanted to talk with her about why she was acting this way.

He then mimed Metal Sonic, using his fingers to push his eyes wider and stare into the camera, trying to reflect Metal’s red eyes as a prominent indicator that that’s what he was talking about.

“...So you heard..”

He shook his head, looking back at the screen, a little more innocently.

“Not all of it... but you heard, still. Which means...”

“He heard too.”

Classic Sonic was growing upset and easily frustrated with all these stalling, secretive codes that he couldn’t catch on to.

Spill it, lady!

Classic Sonic tapped the screen harder, pouting to reflect a more physical look of impatience.

She giggled again, “Not now... but soon. I need to... I just need to be alone right now.”

Classic Sonic thought about Modern, and slowly rose his head to the bed, remembering...

He looked tenderly back to the screen, and gathering strength, he closed his eyes and licked his lips.

“...You hate being alone...”

She was surprised, guessing by the mini-gasp he heard from her, that he could talk.

Cool guys only speak when dramatic effect is maximized.

And you have too. He winked to the audience.

“Heh.” she turned on the video.

Looking down, he noticed she was laying down, her face on her side and half hidden, but noticed the tree roots on the ground she was around.

He quickly scanned the area, before looking over her to make sure she was okay.

She seemed fine.

“I don’t know how to say this but...” she smiled lightly, before deep despair showed on her face, and she looked away.

“Just tell Sonic... Tell him... I never meant to... to...” she sighed, “I’m sorry.” she closed down the Miles-Electric as she seemed about to cry.

Classic Sonic freaked, clicking the buttons and trying to turn his ‘show’ back on before looking upset.

Why are girls so fond of leaving everything in a conversation open for interpretation that will never be gotten?

He smashed his head on the device, groaning...

The next morning, he was much more willing to search for Amy then last time, and gestured two thumbs to himself, stating through the gesture to trust him. He knows a good forest where tree roots grow large and above ground...

[retro-gamers-stuff]

House of like 20 corpses

First off let me jut state that the title is a little wrong since we weren't in a house, I just like my rob zombie reference. So since all of our usual characters were in araknor (trust me there is a reason the dm had us do that) we played as other characters so instead of tye winter I was trogreth lonecloud redblood (trollborn but almost fully human) ranger, instead of kylea we had ulfrick the minotaur fighter, instead of hando we had vork the half troll fighter, instead of kol we had I'll call him perryWinkle, cause I can't remember anymore of their names, the honey badger thief, we also had a monk courtesy of sir vac-u-um but he may have left our group now, we also had majora, I'm seriously just giving them random names right now til I can actually remember them cause I thought this was a one off dungeon and we'd be back in araknor, the alvani (think bald elf) mage of some sort, we also had whiskers the necromancer bunny, and John Cena the half orc thief. So our characters were all acquainted with each other and traveling over a mountain pass when suddenly the nastiest ice storm blew in, we saw a large wall that could lead to sanctuary. The iron gate was locked though so ulfrick used his kukri to slice the lock. Once inside we saw we were in the courtyard to a monastary, a very old monastary, there was also a pond with a man shaped figure inside but it was frozen solid. All of us except whiskers went inside and once inside John Cena got attacked by a thing, we didn't see it though because as he was attacked a darkness spell fell over the entire room. All we knew about the room was two doors one ahead and one on the left and a spiral staircase to our right. We tried our best to help him but I dropped my dagger, perrywinkle found and kept it but whiskers gave me his, and the only person who really hit this thing wrapped on John Cena head was John Cena who grabbed it and ripped it in half and then being covered in gore in the cold changed clothes into his silk bodysuit. He also went back outside and had a nice feud with the bunny. We continued on, seeming to split the party every five fucking minutes, discovering a door to the right that led out onto a balcony with monk statues, the door ahead just led to a hallway connecting to the room to the left which was a prayer room of sorts. On the other end was a kitchen with two sets of stairs, one going up and one going down. I went down with ulfrick and perrywinkle, while cena, whiskers, and vork went up (the other two weren't with us that session). Vork group killed a skeleton but found nothing of interest while my group found an armory where I and the honey badger got studded leather armor and some shuriken. We then made our way into a boiler room and lit the boiler waking a zombie which we killed and tossed into the boiler because we thought it was unnatural and wrong, whiskers wasn't happy. So we made camp in a supply room between the two other rooms, with whoever was on watch shoveling coal into the boiler. The zombie came back but from it's first location which was odd but we killed it again and hung it up on meat hooks so the necromancer could disect it. His disection was short lived though because a fiery eyed super saiyan looking guy bashed through the door and almost kicked our asses. He fled though and we tried to follow only he had disappeared. I suggested the spiral staircase, the only unexplored part of what we'd seen and so we went and found a new floor. We tried to get into a room and two statues attacked us, in the ensuing battle I rolled a nat 1 and my bowstring broke and then the fighters broke the statues. We fount a good condition bow and some arrows in the room though so it worked out. That next session I was gone for so I only know they found things that led them to the conclusion that some tragedy happened there 100 years ago almost to the day and once the third night hit midnight we might die, as well as the fact that any undead in this place respawned like a dark souls enemy when we left a room. My next session back after Easter was eventfull. We rigged a harness to hold the coal zombie so we could still camp, after me and vork and someone else fought the zombie with vork forcing its head to its chest and I shot it in the head and heart with an arrow prompting a "nobody will ever believe you" from vork. During ulfrick watch he killed the zombie again by himself. After all of us had rested we set back out with ulfrick, whiskers, and I going up into the kitchen to fight a couple zombies that ulfrick one shotted with a single charge. We explored the rest and found the saiyan monks room. Through our search we found clues that he might be the big boss of this place, and clues that he hated fire. So we enacted a plan where we got ready to cover him in a flammable tarp as soon as we opened the door, but he wasn't there. So we went and collected as much coal as we could in the five hours we had before midnight, we had it all on the floor that held his room, perrywinkle also poured oil from the kitchen on the coal and we waited downstairs while perry stood in wait for the big bad monk. It appeared and almost upon perry when he dropped a torch and ran catching that floor on fire and all of us waited at the bottom of those stairs for any sign of the monk. We found him after two failed perception checks and I got tossed aside like garbage as he snuck up some stairs behind me,picked me up and threw me causing paralysis with his cold touch. I tried to flee but failed a check and fell down stairs bringing me to 1 hp. Had to go to work shortly after but found out later that we killed him. The next session began after that with the place starting to fall apart, I grabbed perrywinkle and ran and the others floolowed and laughed as perrywinkle grabbed my ears for steering and swatted me on the ass with a short sword as though I was a horse. We all made it and the storm had broke. We made camp and were on lookout for primal trolls which could rip us apart. The next morning we set off down the mountain and found a road. We also found a broken wagon train with weapons and armor, none of it useful for me. Our next camp out had me and whiskers in a tree not getting good enough sleep to regain our hp. But the following one did allow us good sleep after we saw so many minotaur war wagons heading toward the closest town...araknor. we almost got to the town when we were attacked by selah. Vork went down but his troll blood is gonna have him up next session, and cena, whiskers, and myself went down with me almost dead and we only have two health potions.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Rapture Rising

[Evil!Joan AU]

Word count: 2650 (no Read More because I’m away from my computer, but it’s only 2000 words so 🤷‍♀️)

Prompt: “Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?”

——————

The theater rises before her, vast and wrong.

If architecture could hate, this theater hates. It is a frozen snarl, stone (at least Jane thinks it’s stone) forced into confinement. It does not stand quite at right angles to the ground. No, those angles are wrong; it belongs to an unholy geometry. It’s hard to imagine this used to be a place of joy and thrill and entertainment. All that remains is a skeleton infested with twisted pillars and rocks and spires. It is waiting for her to get lost in their bodies if she manages to get out.

Above her, pallid, vicious lights flicker and stab across the ceiling from time to time—almost like lightning, if lightning were regular as a heartbeat. A very powerful force field generator perhaps. Or some unfathomable system of intimidation, brooding over all that lies within.

Beyond the stage, there is nothing. Just bleak, desolate, ebony rocks and needle-sharp stones far as she can see in all directions. There are no seats or an audience left, just a battlefield of lurking obsidian. They were waiting for her to make an escape so they could lance her as she raced for the exit.

Except she couldn’t escape. She’s tried. The jagged, pointy black cage she was huddled in wouldn’t break, no matter how hard she pushed or pulled on the bars.

Jane was stuck.

A scraping sound from behind soon alerted her. She spun around, pressing back against the bars on the opposite side, and watched as her captor emerged from the darkness of the wings.

Joan was a mishmash of scales and feathers and fur. The only area of human skin left on her body was her stomach and face, a pale contrast to the ebony pelt that now plated her form. She elegantly walked on her toes on hock-jointed legs. Talons curved out from monstrous feet—the cause of the scraping noise. Her hands bore the same hooked claws, while her shoulders were clustered with quills resembling thinner versions of the folded spikes running down her back. Wicked ram horns curled out from the sides of her head, pointing upwards, with pointed, feathered ears twitching below them. There, the twisted, barbed black Crown of Thorns sat regally, its wicked points somehow not getting caught in her short, messy, tangled blonde-brown-black hair. The Moonstone was on her chest, glowing a soft blue.

It was hard to think that this creature was once the sweet, hardworking, timid music director that used to help run the show.

“What?” Joan tilted her head at her harmlessly as if she weren’t a walking monolith of sharp points and edges and needles. It was practically impossible to know where one spike ended and another began. Henry somehow wasn’t disturbed by the snarled mess, as he rested peacefully, wound around her neck like a venomous necklace. “Don’t look at me like that. I come in peace.”

She raised her quills up in some kind of truce gesture, as her hands were occupied by some books and a brown paper bag. She doesn’t even need to set these things down to alter Jane’s cage, merely bobbing her head and causing the confinement to shift. The tops bloomed open like flower petals, curving downwards around each other so Joan can set the items down. Then, she stepped back and the rock tendrils closed again, giving Jane no time to try and make her escape. She didn’t think she would get that far, anyway.

“Go on,” Joan said, sitting down in front of the queen. “Eat. I don’t want you to starve.”

“There’s a surprise,” Jane muttered, earning a dangerous glare from Henry and a wounded look from Joan. She quickly shut her mouth.

“I’m not a monster, Jane.” Joan said. “Did I capture you and put you in a cage? Yes. But have I hurt you?” She waited, but her answer was just Jane looking away. “No. I haven’t. And I don’t want to.”

Jane says nothing. She keeps scanning Joan up and down, looking for an ulterior motive. Joan twitched her nose and then flicked her tail towards the items now sitting in front of Jane’s legs.

“There’s food in the bag,” She said. “And some books. To read. Thought you might get bored.”

Jane tentatively opened the brown paper bag to find regular food items- a sandwich, two apples, some treats, a bottle of water. She still didn’t trust them, despite their outwardly inner appearance and pushed them to the side for the time being. Joan must have sensed her hesitance, because she tilted her head at her with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” She said. “Oh! I know! This cage is too dreary, huh? Here, let me help!”

She shot to her feet on her weird, hock-jointed legs. Jane swore she heard the reshaped bones creak, but Joan didn’t falter a bit as she stood on her toes- the only way her body could hold itself up with its new physique.

Joan extended her talons and the Moonstone started to glow brighter, light zipping through the spiral pattern on its surface.

The bars of Jane’s cell began to expand outwards across the stage, gliding effortlessly through the flooring without ruining it at all. Several more petrified tendrils extended upwards to fill the new space so Jane couldn’t wiggle her way out. The ground then began to quake, and Jane watched in terrified awe as a pool-like shape opened up in the wooden floors. Glittering black rocks surrounded the edge and a spiraling pillar stuck out from the very center, spilling water into the trench carved away.

“There!” Joan beamed. “A...pool! And more space. But a pool! Really makes the cage more lively, huh?” She blinked at Jane’s horrified expression. “What?”

“I-I didn’t...I didn’t know you could do...that.” Jane whispered.

“You mean alter things?” Joan sat back down. “The Crown lets me control the rocks, but the Moonstone is what gives me the magic. I can do almost anything!”

A shiver ran down Jane’s spine. She backed up further, wanting to get far away from the creature before her.

“Of course, there are parameters.” Joan said after she’s poked in the furry cheek by Henry’s tail. “If you use the magic too much there are...consequences.”

Jane furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“You can turn to stone, for one.” Joan said, supremely bored at having to say it out loud. She was clearly disgruntled by the side effects to her fun powers. “I also heard the Moonstone could destroy the body or something.”

Jane winced, although she didn’t mind the thought of her captor turning into a statute for the rest of time. Perhaps kids would climb on it and mock it if that were to happen, knowing she would never ever get out. Or maybe it would get destroyed into thousands of tiny, harmless shards that she could dance upon in glee.

“I see.” She said after a moment. Henry was staring at her with blood red eyes. Her shoulders hunched around her neck as she struggled not to squirm under his gaze.

“But enough of that!” Joan waved her talons. “Just know that if you ever need anything, I’ll get it for you. With exceptions, of course.”

“So I can’t ask to be set free?” Jane said bitterly, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Joan nodded. “But I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.”

“You’re doing a great job at that,” Jane rolled her eyes. When she centered her gaze back on Joan, she saw that the girl’s hands were clenched and the quills on her shoulders were bristled up like the fur of a threatened feline.

“I could have killed you.” Joan hissed lowly. “I could have done terrible things to you, but I didn’t. And I don’t want to. But don’t forget that I can.”

Jane swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling sick. Oily, sticky dread was spilling through her like a tidal wave. She tilted sideways and dipped a hand into the pool, and the coolness of the water seemed to soothe her slightly.

“Alright,” She whispered.

Joan settled. The quills on her shoulders flatten.

“Good.” She said. “I’m glad.”

An awkward and tense silence fell over the stage like a thick smog. Jane was frozen where she was huddled against the far side of the cage, one hand still submerged in the pool, while Joan sat crisscross in front of her confinement, staring at her lap. Henry was perfectly peaceful, still woven regally around his ally’s neck.

Then, Joan’s head snapped up. Henry is jostled a bit; his tail slithers up and winds halfway around her neck for extra balance.

“I know!” Joan said. A new light was lit in her eyes, but Jane could see that it was slightly forced. She could read the girl before her like a book, as if the Moonstone has granted her mind reading.

Joan held out her talons and crackles of silver burst between her palms before swirling together in a grand show of sterling. They curve and coil around each strand of magic until twin beautiful milky orbs like translucent moons and a circlet made of silver woven wires with three ebony gemstones caught in the middle formed. She took them and then eagerly shoved her hand through the bars of the cage, giving them to Jane.

“There! Something pretty! I’ll have to make you new clothes soon, too. You’ll be here awhile.” She said.

Jane had been pleasantly endeared by the beauty of the jewelry for just a moment, but that was squashed by the last statement Joan made, replaced with fear that made her feel ill all over again.

Would she ever see the queens again?

Would she ever see her precious daughter again?

Oh, poor Kitty... She was probably losing her mind with worry and anxiety. Not being by her side and there to comfort her most be so daunting. She even found herself lost without the young queen there clinging to her hand or grinning up at her adorably.

“Oh my god, will you STOP?” Joan growled. “I KNOW you are thinking about Howard and it’s SO ANNOYING. Won’t you like my gifts for once?”

Jane tentatively plucked up the earrings and circlet. They felt normal in her hands, no throbbing magical pulse in them aside from their creation, but she didn’t know for sure. They still made her very nervous.

“They’re nice,” She said. “But Kitty is my daughter. I’m going to worry about her. She’s probably so scared...”

“NO SHE’S NOT!!” Joan suddenly roared. Every spike on her body was standing on edge and the tip of her tail was flicking back and forth in a very agitated manner. Even Henry seemed to be startled by her outburst, as he slipped slightly from his position and had to frantically wriggle back to avoid falling off. But when he settled, his eyes slanted into a slyly pleased expression. “She’s not your—your daughter! She’s just some kid you thought was interesting enough to take under your wing as if she doesn’t have everyone else’s pity.”

“She is my daughter and you will not speak of her that way.” Jane snarled, using her queen voice. Usually that would frighten Joan into submission, but Joan was no longer susceptible to such a tone.

“I can do whatever I want.” Joan struck back. Her quills rise again, tail lashing. “I could kill her, you know? I could kill her and throw her body into your cage so you can rot with her. Would you like that? Would you enjoy cuddling your precious daughter as maggots infest her and her flesh falls off?”

Jane can’t take it- she vomits into the pool set into the ground.

Horrid images flash in her mind and she screws her eyes shut to try and block them out, but they keep shoving their way in. Kitty headless, Kitty decaying, Kitty as a skeleton, Kitty bleeding from a slit in her throat, Kitty eviscerated and gasping her last breaths, Kitty covered in blood and weakly reaching for her- they all kept piling on top of each other, one after another after another after another.

“Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?” Jane snarled lowly. She didn’t know where to look- at the monster, at the rocks waiting to gore her, at the chunky green-brown billowing through the pool. She didn’t want to see at all.

“What do you think I’m going right now?” Joan smirked wickedly, fangs flashing in the half light.

Jane vomits again. She can hear the faint sound of Henry’s hissing laugh.

“I’m joking.” Joan chortled. “But no. My mother left me and my brother to fend for myself. But, ohhh, if I knew her now...” The form of a faceless woman coiled up from the ground. The rock she was made out of seemed indestructible up under Joan slashed out the throat and spews of red came shooting out. It looked so real, despite quickly dissolving in the air. Joan stuck two claws into the eye sockets. “I’d make her pay for leaving us. For disappearing with that slimy lowlife I have to call a father. They’re both—“ She punctuates her snarl with a swipe to the woman’s belly and magical entrails came spilling out. “—worthless! And horrible! And cruel! And the worst parents ever!!”

The woman is dismembered violently by the monster until she’s nothing but rock shards and fake, but realistic blood strewn across the ground. Joan stomps on what used to be the skull several times until it cuts into the soft padding under her strange feet.

She looked to Jane and froze when she saw that she was shaking with a horrified expression plastered on her face. And, like that, all her anger is blown away, leaving only fear equal to, if not more than, the queen’s.

“I’m...” She looked down and splayed her claws open, staring at them as if they were drenched in blood. She swallowed thickly. “Enjoy your gifts...”

She turned and disappeared.

Jane didn’t move for half an hour, and then, once she knew Joan wasn’t coming back soon, began to cry.

———

Joan curled up into a small ball in the large nest she had built for herself with her magic. It was situated in the corner and was egg shaped, made of woven needles of black rocks with an opening that she could crawl into. There, she lay tangled in the dozens of soft blankets and colorful quilts and fluffy pillows, crying into the fabric.

“I’m a monster, I’m a monster,” She sobbed, pulling on her horns.

“No, my dear,” Henry said languidly from where he sat on a large, pastel yellow pillow. He slithered over its length and gently nudged Joan’s head with his nose until she looked up. His tongue flicked silkily against her cheek, licking away her tears. “You are not a monster. You had every right to react that way. It’s the expense of being a ruler.”

Joan sniffled pitifully. “I-I just want Jane to love me...” She whimpered.

“Then why not make her?” Henry flicked his tail and smiled slyly.

“Wh...what do you mean?”

Henry tilted forward and poked Joan’s nose with his own. “You have magic, darling. Why not use it?”

Joan blinked at him before clambering out of the nest and walking over to the desk in the room she’s claimed as her den. She sifted through the mess on the top before finding a glistening silver and blue necklace. She turned back to Henry, who was grinning at her from the opening. He nodded at her with a flick of his tail.

Joan clenched the necklace tightly in her hands and held it to her chest.

“I enchant this necklace,” She murmured. “To make the wearer love me like a daughter.”

No matter what.