#i want the gray and black patchwork one SO BAD

[five-of-cr]

i don't know which is cuter, jack or his sweater collection

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 7

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Sort of suggestive at the end

Now Boarding

It took you no time at all to make it back to the treehouse. Recently, you had pictured yourself jumping for joy when you were finally going to leave this island, but now, you were just really ticked off. Whatever the lady equivalent of blue balls was, you had it. Guess I didn't realize how pent up I am. "Your fucking crew is already pissing me off, Blondie." You poked him in the center of his chest to punctuate every word. "By the way, you're getting off this shithole. Be grateful you were only here a few days instead of years." Laying the back of your hand against his neck and forehead, you thought maybe his fever had gone down. He at least wasn't sweating like he was before. 

You grabbed the stuff you wanted to bring with you, wishing you had some kind of bottoms among your things to wear. All it would take is a curious hand reaching for your shirt or a strong breeze and your business would be on full display. You strongly doubted Kid pirates were the type to keep their hands to themselves. You also strongly doubted their captain would appreciate you breaking the crews' fingers in return. Or maybe he would. After all, he seemed to enjoy your bad attitude. 

A discordant collection of voices and loud laughter signaled the return of a group of Kid pirates. Before they came to fetch their vice-captain, you made the hasty decision to pull your gun out of its parcel, along with the leather holster you custom made to fit its strange shape. You started to put it around your waist over your shirt and thought better of it, instead putting it in the same place but underneath. That way it couldn't be seen and you could get to it if you needed to. It would mean giving someone a full moon but you didn't think you would mind if the occasion called for it. 

A pirate with blue-gray dreadlocks and patchwork skin called up to you, "Captain told me to come get Killer. Can I come up?" 

A pirate who asks permission? Interesting. Poking your head out of the hatch so that your voice could be heard, "Knock yourself out." You thought about how difficult it was for Kid to get Killer up here in the first place and wondered how hard it would be to get him out. Could always break the floor to make a wider opening. Since no one is coming back. The thought made you a little sad and a touch anxious. You were stepping out of your territory and into Kid's. You made a mental note to try to behave. The less attention drawn to yourself the better. 

A soft knock against wood announced the arrival of the blue-haired pirate. He cleared his throat. "I'm Heat." He pushed himself through the hatch. 

"Okay." You gestured to where Killer was leaning against the wall. 

The pirate called Heat threw Killer over his shoulder, pausing at first when he saw Killer's face without his mask. His long blond hair obscured his face like this anyway, and it was pitch black outside with the exception of the torches the group held. He started to descend then cleared his throat again, "Captain told me to get you, too."

"Should I get on your other shoulder?" Heat offered a laugh through his nose. You continued, "I'll come down but... just don't look up." You looked away before your cheeks could get hot. Again it was dark, still you didn't need to reveal yourself...or that you were armed...to anyone right now. 

Heat nodded and slipped out of view with Killer. You took one last look around, grabbed your pack, and followed. The conversation and laughter ceased when you walked over to the group with Heat. "Let's go," he commanded. It was awkwardly quiet and you felt very out of place being at least several inches shorter with a much smaller frame than the surrounding party. You kept your eyes forward as you felt several stares here and there. 

You watched as one of the men grabbed an oddly-shaped, enticing, yellow fruit from on overhanging branch. "I would leave that," you helpfully offered. The man snorted at you and rolled his eyes before shoving the entire thing in his mouth. That was my shot at being nice. He would regret it, that you were certain of. You estimated in around three to five hours he would be experiencing some of the worst cramps of his life. Stoplight fruit was so called because if it was red, you should stop eating it and if it was green, it was safe to eat. Therefore, yellow was in-between, not deadly but not benign either. You knew of that one before ending up here. It was common on islands in the area. You swear you saw Heat stifle a laugh. He must know, too. 

The Victoria Punk was beautiful. Both because you hadn't seen a ship in years and because it simply was a beautiful ship. You didn't get a good look the first time you had encountered it. The skull figurehead was incredibly impressive in person, and huge. Illuminated by torchlight, the teeth glowed orange like molten iron. It was probably the last thing some sailors saw before getting sunk. The nostalgia of being on a ship and feeling the wind in your face pulled a smile out of your sour features. Your admiration was cut short.

"Havin second thoughts, girlie?" The voice startled you a little, not having noticed Kid get off the ship. 

"Not at all, Captain." 

"Then get yer ass on board. Heat will show ya where ya can stay."

"Not without Mini. Remember the deal?" 

Kid rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Hurry up." He wondered how long you would wait for an imaginary friend to materialize. 

You put your hands around your mouth and yelled towards the trees. "MINERVA, LET'S FUCKIN GO. LAST TIME I'M ASKIN." You would be lying to yourself if you thought you wouldn't be sad leaving her behind. She was wild, like yourself, though, and you couldn't force her to do anything she didn't want to do. Nothing happened for a minute and Kid tugged the collar of your shirt like he was a millisecond away from dragging your ass. Suddenly, the sound of snapping branches accompanied by a soft rumble quickly approached, saplings being toppled closer and closer to the beach. A wall of sand and dust flew up as the beast skidded to a stop a few feet away from you. A huge, wet nose with sharp tusks poked out of the dust and snorted into your face. "I said I was sorry. What more do you want from me?" As the sand settled, a massive shape with reddish-brown fur and a black stripe down the back was revealed.

Apparently, Kid was now the second largest red-head on the beach. "YER OUTTA YER FUCKIN MIND IF YA THINK THAT FOUL THING IS GETTIN ON MY SHIP." A fucking boar. A huge fucking boar. This bitch is something else. Mini turned her attention to Kid and lowered her head, giving Kid a better look at how big and how sharp the tusks growing from her snout were. 

"Package deal." You crossed your arms over your chest, staring at Kid. "And she smells better than most of your crew." Your hand rustled around in your bag before pulling out the tincture for Killer, tutting as you did so. 

Kid growled, hating that he would have to relent. He grabbed your chin and made you look up at him. In the background, Mini tensed. "One chance. Do ya hear me? One. Or we will have the finest fuckin pig roast on the entire sea." He pulled you close enough that his breath was hot on your ear, at the same time you felt cold metal tracing up the back of your thigh. "Did ya think I wouldn't notice?" He laughed and sent a shiver up your spine, maybe for the wrong reasons. The cold metal reached up the back of your shirt despite your protests and tugged your weapon from its holster. "Yer absolutely rotten." Kid stood back up to his full height and turned it over in his hand. "Cute." He added it to his bandolier. He grinned and gestured towards the ship as you stared daggers at him. 

"Fuck you," you spat in his direction as you walked past him. That was fine. You were pretty good with your own two hands when it came to defending yourself. I don't think he recognized my gun. But Killer might.

Kid gave your ass a slap as you walked by, much to the delight of his crew, who laughed and taunted from the deck of the ship. "Yer gonna," Kid promised. He decided that he would show you around instead of Heat, starting with his cabin. 

Next

[crusty-chronicles]

Moon and Sun 🎃Halloween Special🎃

Synopsis: Halloween Hijinx with the boys. Ft: Alluka. ✨With special guest appearances✨

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

You glanced over at the clock on the wall. You had some time to spare before the kids got here. Might as well put out one of those small bowls that says 'take one.' It didn't hurt to leave some candy out. You knew how children were when it came to sweets.

The little monsters.

Still, it was better safe than sorry. You'd heard rumors about kids egging or throwing toilet paper at people's houses because they didn't have candy. And even though Kite assured you multiple times it wouldn't happen, you still worried.

Why exactly?

For starters, this was not your house. You and Kite were currently bunking with Colt and Reina. Having stopped by in York New for a few days, just so you two could spend the holiday with the boys and Alluka. In other words, you didn't want little brats to vandalize their house.

This was also the first Halloween you ever got to celebrate. You wanted to do it right. For the kids of course. And maybe for your love of candy. But definitely for the kids!

"Hey, hun! Come here for a sec!" The sound of Kite's voice snapped you from your thoughts.

You quickly made your way over to him. Watching just in time as he put the final touch to his costume. He eyed your reflection in the mirror with a flustered expression before turning around.

"Does it look bad?"

Kite had chosen to go as a witch. A black pointy hat sat crooked on his head with a patchwork cape around his shoulders. His shirt a smokey gray, sleeves and collar puffed out. He wore pinstripe pants to complete the look. 

Bad was the furthest thing he looked. Then again, to you he was always beautiful.

"No, it suits you." You responded. Your expression soft as you fixed his hat.

"My handsome witch. Guess I can't call you princess anymore." 

His face went a light shade of red at your teasing. Yet there was a small smile that let you know he didn't mind it.

"Where's your costume?" He asked.

You tensed up.

"About that…"

"You didn't get one, did you?" 

He already knew the answer from your guilty expression and nervous smile. He should've figured something was off when you didn't buy your costume with his.

"Did you forget, or were you being lazy?" The question came out more accusatory this time. 

You looked away before mumbling something out. And when he asked you to repeat it, you puffed out your cheeks in a pout.

"Didn't really wanna."

"You didn't really wanna?" Kite repeated slowly.

Time was still for a second. Then all of a sudden, Kite tackled you to the bed. Tickling your sides until you were gasping for air.

"The kids have been scheming with you for months to celebrate, months, and you don't wanna? We all agreed to wear costumes so you're going to need a better excuse than that!" 

You feebly kicked your legs from underneath him, giggling uncontrollably while you tried to answer.

"I didn't wanna-hahaha wear something and it looks rea-hehe-ly bad! Get embarrassed easily hehehe!"

His eyes softened for a brief second before continuing his onslaught.

"You could've told me and we could've matched, but no. You wanted to nap and hope I didn't notice when we went out. Didn't you?" Because even though Kite did know you felt uneasy in public situations, he also knew you had the tendency to use it as an excuse when you wanted to be lazy. 

And you were doing it for the kids. It wouldn't be the same for them if you didn't participate.

"Hehehe, matched as what, hah! A familiar??? Go as, hehehe, a cat? You know, hahaha! That I can never look at those things the same way again!"

He gave a few more tickles before pulling away completely. Looking you straight in the eye.

"The truth."

"...I slept in the first few days, and when I went to get one the shelves were empty." Were you proud of that, no. But to be fair traveling made you tired. Your dark circles still not completely gone.

"I'm glad you're able to admit the truth. Now wait there." Kite instructed.

Your face scrunched in confusion, yet you stayed put. Wondering just what exactly he had in store for you. Kite came in a few minutes later with a white blanket that had eye holes.

"*Gasp* The Klu Klux Klan!" 

His eyes narrowed, a little annoyed by your antics.

"Shut up. You're the one who didn't pick out a Halloween costume. Either you whip something up or you go as a sheet ghost."

"I don't wanna!" 

"You'll make Killua mad, Gon disappointed, and Alluka cry. If I have to dress up, so do you." 

It was at that moment, the doorbell rang. Giving you an out of the conversation. 

You immediately sprang up and made a beeline towards the front door.

"MY BABIES!" 

Kite let out a tired sigh before following after you.

You wasted no time opening the door. An excited smile on your face as you saw the boys and Alluka. It'd been months since you saw them last. With Gon deciding to follow Ging around and Killua deciding to travel with Alluka/Nanika. To be able to spend a little bit of time with them after everything that's happened felt like a blessing.

Being able to relax and have fun with your little makeshift family.

"Happy Halloween!" They shouted together.

You just about melted at the sight. The silver haired hunter next to you equally as content. Even though they weren't yours, the both of you truly loved them like they were your own.

Killua was a vampire, wearing dark purple overalls and a cape to match. Fake fangs poking out from the top of his mouth. Gon had been a ram. Curved horns on the top of his head with a brown jacket and moss green slacks. His shoes furry little boots. Alluka had also chosen to go as a witch. Her hat a bright pink along with her dress and gloves. She carried around a broom to complete the look.

You stepped aside and ushered them in.

"You all got here okay? Anybody wanna eat or drink before we leave?" You asked.

Truthfully, you knew you'd been acting more like a parent than an older sibling. You just couldn't help but worry over them. Especially now that Killua's psycho family were resorting to force to get him and his sister back. Aware that Gon was his best friend and were willing to use any means necessary. 

You just hoped you didn't come off as overbearing.

"We're okay. Just saving room for all the candy." Gon answered.

"Uh huh. You know I'm gonna make all of you eat dinner before you have even one piece. I don't want you waking me up in the middle of the night because your stomach hurts." 

You were still haunted by the mess of vomit on your floor. Carpeted floor, if you may add.

"It was one time!" Gon defended while Killua snickered from besides him.

"Sure, and why's the other one laughing? You're in the exact same boat. Don't think I forgot about you putting a potted plant over the mess you made." You addressed the small assassin, who gave you a small glare in return.

"Hey! You said you wouldn't tell anyone it was me! You know what, I didn't take one. I took three!" He lifted up three jumbo chocolate bars from his Halloween pail. You gave a horrified gasp at the sight.

"Demon! That's it, I'm putting you on a leash!"

But before you could chase him down, the sound of Alluka's excited squeal filled the air. You looked over to see her tugging enthusiastically on Kite's sleeve.

"Look! I'm matching Daddy!" She pointed to herself then at the taller male.

You let out a laugh at Kite's flustered expression. The boys cackling along with you as his face went redder. That was another reason you sorta fell into a parental role.

Alluka and Nanika had never really been looked after properly. Never really had a proper family besides Killua. So they sorta clung to you and Kite for normalcy. And it's not like either of you minded. You both adored the girls. You especially had a soft spot for them.

It just caught you off guard sometimes when she would address either of you as her parents.

"You are, aren't you? But I personally love your costume better. Did you and Nanika pick it together?" You cooed. 

Alluka beamed up at you. Always happy that you never forgot to include her sister. Going as far as to tell them to switch every house so they both got to trick or treat tonight.

"Nanika wanted to go as a reaper, but I told her it would be too scary. I wanted to go as a princess, but she said it was too cutesy. Big brother was the one that picked our costume. It's just right." She looked over at Killua, who had turned around in embarrassment.

"Mama/Papa where's your costume?"

You froze at her question. Eyes pleading with Kite who gave you an 'I told you so' look. Yeah, maybe you deserved that. 

"I'm sorry, sweety. I didn't have time to get one."

All of their faces fell at the news. Kite was right, as always. You really should have went with him to get a costume. Damnit, looks like you were gonna have to go as a sheet ghost. Just to make the little goblins happy.

"What do you mean you didn't have time? We were planning for three months!" Killua grumbled. 

You cringed at his angry tone.

"In my defense, we got here a week ago." And you may or may not have spent that time sleeping. Old habits die hard. 

"You were sleeping, weren't you?" Gon hit the nail right on the head. 

"I'm sorry. If I'd known how much it meant, I would have gotten one sooner. If it makes you feel any better, I've got a backup. But you have to promise you won't make fun of me." You compromised. 

But before the boys could consider it, Alluka spoke up.

"Nanika wants to come out!"

Great. All four kids were mad at you. You supposed that was what you got for being lazy. Hopefully, there was still a way for you to salvage the night.

With Killua's encouragement, the two girls traded places. Nanika's empty eyes staring into yours.

"I can gib Mama/Papa a costume." She offered.

You already knew your answer when you looked over to Kite. He gave a small shake of the head. The both of you in silent agreement about what you should do.

"No. I don't wanna take advantage of you." 

Because from what Killua told you, her entire purpose up until now, was to grant wishes for the Zoldyck family. A usually bloody price the more selfish the requests. You never wanted to abuse that power. Never wanted her to have to do that again. 

You wanted her and the boys to have a normal childhood. Well, as normal as it could get. 

"You don't want to go trick or treating?" But kids will be kids. Nanika looking up at you with crocodile tears.

You knew what she was doing, and you'd fall for it anyway. 

"Nonono, Of course I do! I just won't be able to dress up." You tried explaining.

"You don't love us?" This time it was a sob.

You couldn't help but panic, not exactly used to dealing with this. Of course the boys had their share of arguments and disagreements with you. But you don't think they've ever guilt tripped you before. And it didn't help you had such a soft spot for the two girls. Folding almost immediately and preparing to elbow the nearest stranger to take their costume.

"I love you very much! Okay, okay. If you want to. Only if you want to, give me a costume." You begrudgingly gave in. 

"Kay!" Nanika beamed up at you. All traces of crying gone. You cursed yourself for not having a stronger will.

A spark of light. Then a pair of devil horns, a pitchfork, and a black cape fell into your hands.

"The devil?" You mumbled. 

"Now that's a perfect costume for you!" Killua teased.

You stuck your tongue out at him before addressing the small girl.

"Thank you sweetie." 

You wasted no time putting on your horns and tying your cape. To your surprise, the pitchfork was real. You'd have to have a talk with her about not giving out real weapons. 

"Y/n, I hope you don't mind. I invited some more people over to go with us." Gon informed as you finished getting dressed.

"Who did you invite?" 

The doorbell dinged suspiciously after you asked the question. Gon opening the door before you had time to process who could be on the other side.

You couldn't help but grin when you saw who it was.

"Leorio! Long time no see!" You greeted.

He was dressed as a werewolf. A pair of wolf ears on his head. His sideburns a little more grown out than usual. He wore a pair of fluffy wolf gloves and an actual collar around his neck.

You hadn't really seen him since the Chairman Election. Was he a little pervy? Yes. But he was also the guy who punched Ging for not seeing his son in the hospital. How could you not get along well with him? 

He was a dope with a big heart. Now while you were happy to have him come along, it was who he was with you almost closed the door on.

"Kurapika." You hissed out at the mummy dressed blonde.

"Y/n." His tone equally as venomous.

You had your reason for disliking him, and it had to do with the fact he didn't bother seeing Gon when he was literally dying. His phone on mute the entire time. Hell, even Melody, who was an acquaintance more than anything, stopped by. 

It left a bitter taste in your mouth. You would have given anything to see Gon at that moment. 

But Kurapika also had his reason for disliking you, too. He just couldn't understand why you wanted nothing to do with your clan. Everything he was doing was for his. So to see somebody dislike their kin with a passion when he would have given anything to have his back, it infuriated him.

The both of you were pulled away by your respective partners.

"Be nice. We're doing this for the kids, remember? Don't ruin their fun just because you don't like their friend. Got it?" Kite lectured. You let out a huff before answering.

"I'd hardly call him a friend."

"Y/n."

"Fine. But if he gets on my nerves, I'm gonna hurt him."

Meanwhile~

"I get you two don't like each other, but at least pretend to. The kids are really excited we all get a chance to hang out. Please don't let a petty argument spoil their night." Leorio pleaded.

"They started it." Kurapika protested.

"Because you didn't bother to see Gon at the hospital. I'd say a little anger is warranted. And you aren't exactly one to talk. They have their reasons for doing what they did like you have yours. I'm not asking you to be best friends, just make an effort. For tonight."

Kurapika mulled over his words. Letting out a frustrated sigh before nodding.

"Fine. I'll try my best."

The both of you turned around to face each other, extending a hand.

"Truce?" You asked.

"Truce." He confirmed.

The next ten minutes was spent taking pictures. Making sure to get some of the kids as well as several group photos before taking off. You couldn't resist sending one of Gon to Ging. Just to get on his nerves for not being here.

Y/n: Your son loves me more than you 🤭

Musk Master:🖕

You smirked at the message before something caught your eye from the corner. You looked up to see Colt inching his way down the stairs. 

"You sure you and Reina don't wanna come with us?" You asked, catching the attention of the others.

He shook his head.

"I think it's better if we stay in this year. Maybe next time, but thank you for offering. Besides, this human holiday feels a little overwhelming."

"I understand. Take care." You offered a friendly smile. Quickly turning around to herd the kids out of the door.

"Let's go before it gets too late."

—-----------------

You weren't expecting the streets to be this crowded. You should've known better given how big York New was. Nevertheless, you kinda enjoyed it.

Seeing everyone with a unique costume and all the houses decorated. You watched as the kids approached their first house of the night, adamant about walking up to it alone to prove they weren't scared.

The three of them holding out their Halloween pails after shouting 'Trick or Treat!" The person distributing candy dressed as skeleton. Their house covered in cobwebs with giant skeletons in their yard.

"When we get a house, are we gonna decorate like that?" You leaned on Kite. 

"Do you want to? You don't exactly strike me as the decorating type. Especially when it comes to taking them down." He rested his head on top of yours.

"You've gotta point. We'll just stick to carving pumpkins. But I kinda want the Lewis robot. He's got good vibes, ya know?"

Kite gave an amused huff, the both of you watching as the kids returned with bright smiles.

"WE GOT THE RICH NEIGHBORHOOD! LOOK AT HOW BIG THESE BARS ARE!" Killua proudly announced holding up a king-sized candy bar.

"THEY EVEN HANDED OUT BAGS OF GUMMIES!" Gon cheered, proudly presenting them.

"You got jumbo bars?!?! We were lucky if we got a mini bar back then." Leorio said exasperated. 

"I don't think I've ever celebrated Halloween before. It wasn't exactly apart of my clan's customs," Kurapika explained. Smiling softly at the way the trio started trading around their candy.

"You and Y/n, both." Kite informed. And before Kurapika could question what he meant, Alluka and the boys were running over to the next house.

"Hey! At least wait for one adult! We don't want to lose track of you!" You scolded, rushing after them.

The night continued on like that. With you eventually threatening to go home if the kids didn't wait. Resulting in them grabbing the first person they saw and tugging them towards a house. Which more often than not, was unfortunately you.

The last house on the block would become a story to remember. A mannequin with a mask was sitting outside. A bowl of candy on its lap. The trio looked to you for confirmation before rushing forward.

"You should go with them," Leorio encouraged. 

You agreed, unawares of what he was planning. Kite, who could see it coming from a mile away, tried to stop you.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

But you were already gone.

"C'mon, it's their first Halloween. Damnit! I should've sent Kurapika up there with them." Leorio said, disappointed he missed a chance to prank his boyfriend.

"What do mean? What's gonna happen?" Kurapika questioned. His brow raised with suspicion.

"Just watch."

Like clockwork, the 'mannequin' jumped up with a scream. The kids ducking behind you. What was not expected, however, was you punching the poor guy out of reflex. His body immediately going unconscious.

"Told you." Kite pointed out.

But Leorio didn't hear, doubled over in silent laughter. Unbelieving you'd just knocked that poor guy out. 

Kurapika struggling to stifle his laughter from next to him as you encouraged the kids to take everything from the bowl before making a run for it. Their pails now filled to the brim.

"Run run run!" You urged when you reached them. You sent a pointed look at the doctor in training as you fled.

"You set me up!"

"In my defense, I didn't know you'd react like that!" He responded.

"You're my doctor! How many times have I kicked you during the reflexes test?"

"Okay, but it was really funny!"

When you felt you were far enough from the 'incident', you opted for walking to the next neighborhood. 

By then, Alluka was tired out. Asking Kite to give her a piggyback ride until you all got home. He complied, letting the boys know this would be the last neighborhood for tonight.

You were walking in a comfortable silence until you heard it.

Something that shouldn't be playing. A song that had no business being played this early.

"I don't want a lot for Christmas. There's just one thing I need~"

"OH NO SHE'S DEFROSTED!" Gon screamed. 

"IT'S TOO EARLY!!! PUT HER BACK IN THE GLACIER!" Killua shrieked with him.

And then you saw it.

A house decorated in Christmas lights. Little plastic snowmen and Santas placed throughout the yard. You gave a horrified gasp, quickly covering Alluka's tired eyes.

"You have my full permission to egg their house. I mean honestly, Halloween hasn't even ended yet. It's distasteful." 

"No, we are not encouraging the kids to act out." Kurapika argued. 

"Shut up. You probably wash the chocolate off of KitKats." You retorted before Gon pulled you to another house. Killua grabbing Leorio with a laugh.

"How do you put up with that? Your partner's a menace." The blonde complained to the taller male next to him. 

"It's more of a way to test you than anything. Y/n can only hold a grudge for so long, and saying sorry goes a long way for them. Just be patient. You'll win them over eventually." Kite explained, hoping to ease a little of the tension between the two of you.

And for whatever reason, it felt like a weight was lifted off of Kurapika's shoulders. Seems the both of you were stubborn.

"For a second I thought they would be like Leorio. Not only can he hold a grudge, but he doesn't really forgive. Not unless he knows he's in the wrong. But I guess we're alike in that regard." His expression softening.

"Their both hotheads with big hearts." Kite noted.

"And we're the ones that put up with them." Kurapika added.

—--------------------

The seven of you made one more pitstop on your way home. A small Halloween display left out on a yard for pictures. A great way to finish the night up before the inevitable sugar rush tomorrow.

"Alright final picture for the night! Everyone get in!" You ordered.

You all squeezed together as best you could, with Kite taking the photo. Him being the tallest out of all of you. Drained and happy smiles on all your faces as the shutter clicked.

"Mmmm. All of my ripening fruits out together without me~"

"AHHHHHHHH!" One ear shattering scream from all of you as you fled away from Hisoka.

Truly the scariest of creatures you encountered.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

MASTERLIST

Tags: @fandomhoe101 @justxiao @bekataylorgriggs

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

An: Leopika is cannon in the Moon and Sun verse. Sue me 😤 Also HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!! Y'ALL STAY SAFE TONIGHT IF YOU'RE GOING OUT!!!

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

One bad apple…. - Chapter 1 - Agentsquirrel - Transformers: Rescue Bots [Archive of Our Own]

When you find an old work of yours while trawling a favorite tag...

Tw abuse, suicide, Boulder/Heatwave

Someone surrenders a sparkling to Boulder, and Heatwave ain't happy about it.

Boulder should have blocked the unknown comm link number.

But he didn't, and when he received a call from it by a panicked sounding bot that begged him not to bring Heatwave or Chase with him, he should have brought them anyway.

But the kind of panic in that bot's voice reminded him too much of the emergency calls that he had listened to during his time at the academy. The ones he shows to his own students as a marker of priority cases. It is medically impossible to rig a voice box to glitch like that without inflicting incredible stress and pain onto a bot.

The bot gave Boulder a location of an alley in town, and he drove over there as quickly as he could. It was the middle of the night, around two or three am. Boulder had packed some energon and some basic medical supplies, fully committing himself to convince whoever this was to come back with him to the firehouse.

He transformed and drove out to his location, sneaking past a passed out Heatwave. He had scored two nights and one day off back to back, so of course he got drunk and sappy and then passed out. It would be silly of him to hope that he and Boulder, who also had tonight off, would actually hang out.

But no, Heatwave had to still pretend like he was the fourth wheel, even though he regularly rejected all invites to hang out and have fun.

Boulder turned down the street and past the flower shop. He stopped when he saw a pair of eyes peer out of a dark alley.

A bot with sickly green eyes leaned against the wall of the alley, holding something gently against his chest.

Boulder noticed that he had gray paint over the place where his badge should be, along with it being smeared over his plating, too. Between the paint and the darkness, it took Boulder a while to understand what the bot was holding. A fabric wrapped bundle stitched together lovingly from dozens of stolen bedsheets. The bot moved a corner of the patchwork blanket, revealing two bright blue eyes, glowing and healthy.

The bot had obviously put every scrap of energon he could find into keeping the sparklet fed, and when the energon had run out, he had no choice but to give the little one up to someone who could guarantee energon and a good life for it. Boulder sent a silent prayer to any Prime who could hear him for both their protection. He offered the energon and medical kit to the bot, but he backed away with the child.

<p>"I'm not selling him." They murmured, most likely for his own benefit.

"No, no, you are not. I am here to help. You can just take the medicine and energon if you want. The ferry runs all night, and if you tell the toll booth that Boulder sent you, they will charge the fee on my account. But please, feed yourself too. If you would like, you can come with me, and I will give you both energon and we can sort this out in the morning"

"No, no, no, I can't go with you." The bot said. He rubbed the sparklet's face and seemed to make up their mind. "Take him, I named him Wheeler."

They handed the bundle over to Boulder, who rocked the little one slowly while schooling his face into a worried look. Boulder looked up again, resisting the urge to press Wheeler's head against his chest. He could see little wheels forming on Wheeler's feet, and hid a tiny face that was surrounded by a thick head bordered with a few antennae sticking out.

The bot nervously shifted from foot to foot. "Take him." He said. "I can't keep him, and you can obviously afford to give out energon like it's dust and violence and pain." He transformed into a sports car, scraping the brick wall with his doors. The scraped off gray paint revealed dark purple and black paint underneath.

Boulder thought that color scheme looked familiar, but still stepped aside to let the bot pass him and leave. Surprisingly, he didn't take the most direct route to the ferry, looping around a few blocks.

He returned to the firehouse, careful to make sure Wheeler wasn't jostled during the long drive.

"Guys? Boulder said, flipping the light switch. "I took a walk around the island, and I found someone important."

Boulder took Wheeler out of his cab, and Blades was immediately hovering over the little one, playing with his feet.

"Where did you find him? What's his name?" Blades said, looking up.

"I saw two new energon signals pop up on my radar. The bot waited till I was in sight of him before leaving him in an alley outside of the flower shop near the department store. I was too worried about making sure Wheeler was safe to get a good look at who left him."

In the commotion, the Burns woke up too.

"Hey team, what's going-" Cody said

"Boulder, what are you holding?" Chief said, noticing that the bundle was squirming.

Boulder sat down and unwrapped Wheeler from his blanket, folding it in half and putting Wheeler down on his belly. He played with him, wiggling his fingers a little bit away from his head and encouraging Wheeler to grab them.

"An abandoned baby. His name is Wheeler."

"How did this happen?" Kade said, watching Wheeler reach for Boulder's fingers.

"A desperate parent, a basic energon scanner and a touch of insomnia." Boulder said. "His father's signal popped up on my radar while I was getting some paperwork done in hopes of it helping me to get some sleep. I tried to get him to come to the firehouse after he gave Wheeler up, but he left of his own volition instead. I just count myself lucky that he didn't choose to leave him in a box somewhere. I didn't manage to get his face, he was strategic about making sure the streetcars both ruin any camera footage and the alley is too dark for my own eyes. He put Wheeler in my arms and I had to make sure he was OK."

"Where are we putting Wheeler? Are you bots going to take shifts?" Graham asked. "It's what we did with Cody after mom died."

"No, we will just put him in our cabs like we are supposed to."

"Wait, that's the original purpose for the cabs? To protect your babies and keep your hands free?"

"That's what they were there for, Kade. It holds our young children and any cargo that we have." Heatwave said. "Boulder, you get to hold him first since he is probably already imprinted on you."

Boulder nodded and reorganized his seats to make a safe, flat cradle. He transformed, Wheeler being carefully placed into the cradle.

Everyone went back to bed, the bots shifting around their parking arrangements, so Boulder was surrounded by all sides by the other bots.

Boulder woke up to Wheeler screaming, his voice box glitching with stress. He scooped him out of his cab and sang a bit in Kaonite, tucking his head under his chin. Wheeler screamed louder and coughed in pain when his voice box shorted out. Wheeler shook in pain, shrinking away at every touch.

Heatwave woke up too, insisting that Boulder sleep for the rest of the night. He tucked Wheeler into his own cab before transforming back into a truck and falling back to sleep.

That morning, Doc Greene called the firehouse, a grim tone in his voice.

"Heatwave, you and the others should get up here. I found a dead bot in the woods. They haven't been there for long."

"Doc, keep everyone inside and stay away from the outside walls. Energon fumes are toxic to humans, and it's corrosive and will destroy your skin." Heatwave said.

They drove up to the lab, Boulder staying behind with the baby. He had a sinking suspicion on who would be found.

Heatwave towed a trailer that he had borrowed from Salvage and had never given back. He promised himself he would wash it after removing the body. He pulled into the driveway and saw a gray painted smeared purple vehicon laying in a ditch, its blaster hand out, and a hole in his spark chamber. His mask was crushed behind him. Heatwave took a few photos of the scene before loading the body into the trailer and calling Optimus.

Optimus and Ratchet were on the next ferry to Griffin Rock. They went to the firehouse first, not shocked to see Boulder leaning against the couch, watching TV with the sparklet while waiting for the bots to return.

"Can I see the sparklet Boulder? Optimus called me down here to take a look."

"Of course." Boulder handed Ratchet the sparklet, fussing with his blanket.

Ratchet listened to Wheeler's spark, his frown growing deeper. "He's had a bond severance at least twice. I assumed he was one of yours?"

"No, he was abandoned down by the flower shop by the town hall last night. He's lucky that I was testing the energon scanners last night."

"I'm going to take some energon and DNA samples, take him so he can quiet back down when I am done."

Boulder looked away as Ratchet took quite a few vials of energon from a needle stuck in a big vein in Wheeler's head. Ratchet rolled his eyes at Boulder's squeamishness and finished up as fast as possible. Wheeler was wailing, only Boulder's desire for Ratchet to be finished as fast as possible, letting him resist the urge to rock him.

"Did you know that a body was found this morning?" Ratchet said, as Optimus left to meet with Heatwave.

"Yes. The crying fit last night must have been from Wheeler's family bond breaking so dramatically." Boulder said, playing with Wheeler's feet as he slowly stopped crying.

"Other than that, he is a perfectly healthy, if a little underdeveloped and malnourished, sparklet. Keep feeding him whenever he's hungry, and he should catch up in a few weeks. I need to go fill out a death certificate at the Greenes."

He left the firehouse, and Boulder put Wheeler back down on his blanket in hopes of him figuring out crawling a bit faster. Wheeler was not impressed with life or crawling at the moment, so he just laid there with a grumpy expression on his face.

Eventually, he did attempt to crawl once Boulder dangled a toy just out of reach.

He was able to push himself up but hadn't quite figured out his knees yet. He tried one more time before hitting his chin off the concrete floor and screaming for Boulder.

Boulder picked him up without missing a beat. There's no such thing as "spoiling" a baby as young as Wheeler.

Boulder held Wheeler and watched a sitcom while playing with Wheeler's hands and antennae, waiting for Heatwave to return.

Meanwhile, Optimus was looking over the body with Ratchet. Ratchet, of course, filled out the necessary paperwork without saying the obvious. "So, a dead vehicon on Griffin Rock. What's the odds he would share CNA with Squeaky?"

Ratchet's wrist screen beeped, and he looked at the lab results. "About 98.5%."

Heatwave was pissed. Filthy Decepticons. In his house, in his academy. He couldn't let that stand.

Wedge didn't count. His parents were ex Decepticons, but they had betrayed the Decepticons long before the war ended.

Besides, both he and the exchange student coming in a few weeks were going to get a visit from special ops anyway. No need to put the fear of Primus into their systems the old-fashioned way if Jazz and Medix were going to do it in a way that can't be rebroken.

They returned to the firehouse, Optimus promising to bring supplies for Wheeler within the next two weeks.

As soon as Optimus left, Heatwave lost it. "DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU BROUGHT A FRAGGING DECEPTICON INTO MY HOUSE!" He yelled, slamming Boulder into the wall of the bunker.

Blades scrambled to get off the couch and slipped into his room, locking the door behind him. Faint crying could be heard through the door.

Chase grabbed a crying Wheeler and ducked into the back storeroom, murmuring something about private matters for couples.

Boulder managed to get out of Heatwave's grip long enough to jiggle the lock of the room Blades was so determined to hide in.

"Blades? Blades please, let me in, let me in!" Boulder sobbed, pounding on the door.

Heatwave was about to grab Boulder again when they heard a banging on the door.

"Boulder, go to bed in the ship. Chase, Blades, get out to the garage in twenty minutes. We will tell Chief that Boulder wants to sleep alone in the same room as Wheeler." Heatwave said. Chase shoved Wheeler into Boulder's arms while Blades came out of his room and sat with him on the couch.

Chief knocks yet again as he hears the bots finally stop yelling. They woke up Cody, who had school the next day with their yelling. Heatwave opened the door. Chief looked past him to see Boulder and Blades curled up on the couch with Wheeler.

The air felt heavy with released tension, the feeling of a bad fight resolving as everyone retreated into themselves to sulk and rage and feel just as broken as they were before anger boiled over.

Chief watched as the rest of the bots tried to hide their dysfunction in the mundane.

Heatwave took him aside later, making up some excuse about nesting fever or something. About how it can make bots act 'catty' towards each other, and they were all feeling it. Chief smelled bullshit, but it was far too late at night to be holding them accountable.

He went back to bed, unable to have collected any kind of evidence of their dysfunction as everyone except Boulder filed into the garage for the night.

Even later that night, Boulder snuck out of the firehouse and called Bulkhead in a panic. He had to get Wheeler out of this hell as fast as possible.

[aquillis-main]

Misery Tastes Chapter 12

Finally, after a long while of not bothering to work on Chapter 13, it is done.

As such, I can release Chapter 12 to you guys since I'm no longer holding it hostage.

Hopefully, you'll like what I did with Metal Sonic here, and what I did to make it formidable while still acknowledging its limitations.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13(1/2) | 14

The warehouses, as Harold remembered it, were a dilapidated mess of concrete and patchwork of possible demolition. With all the cracked walls and lack of proper access to the main road, it was desperate for a reworking, one Harold was hoping to make. But ever since Harold had found Ovi, the warehouse demolition plans had to be put on hold.

Now, it took no small part of his will power not to slap himself for not going ahead anyways. 

The group managed to get to the right warehouse after a series of misadventures.  Nebula being the prime suspect for getting Sonic and Harold lost within Obsidianna. The two got lost in the oddest of places - ending up a few times in the Chun-nanTown District at least twice, near the Obsidianna Convention Centre three times, and North Obsidianna five times. Amy and Hope, fortunately, had Tails scout out and search for Nebula to keep them on track.

Sonic and Harold were the last to arrive at the warehouse that Eggman was possibly hiding. The warehouse Eggman was hiding looked similar to all the other warehouses - dilapidated, rusted doors, multiple eviction notices letting people know it was slated for deconstruction, etc. - save for the suspicious, hastily made Eggman Enterprises logo spray painted onto the doors.

Harold wondered if Eggman was even trying to hide, at this point.

“Friend Sonic, Harold, are you two okay?” Nebula asked, looking guilty at having abandoned the two in the dust. Sonic couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing the underside of his nose with a finger.

“The entirety of Obsidianna isn’t as bad as the time I got lost in Empire City.” Sonic stated, shrugging a bit. Tails’ eyebrows raised upward, turning to Sonic in confusion.

“Wait, you got lost?” Tails asked, Sonic suddenly backing up at that moment. If it could be possible, Tails’ eyes widened more. “So that’s why you were late coming back when the world was in pieces!”

“Sonic~! You could have told me!” Amy came up to Sonic at that moment, face in Sonic’s as she huffed and puffed. “Then we could have gone shopping -”

“Wait, what’s that?” Hope started, causing everyone to pause. A soft whirr of mechanics filled the air, causing everyone to turn toward the doors of the warehouse.

The others watched, carefully, as the doors to the warehouse they tailed Ovi to open.

Sonic glared at the fake - the very thing that was wearing his friend’s face - walking out of the warehouse that they had tailed the scent of the canister to. The ‘Ovi’ that they saw was smiling, gentle…

Yet had more gray sclera instead of the black.

“Heya, Sonic, how’s -”

“Cut the crap, Metal Sonic.” Sonic growled out, his ears flattening. “You are not Ovi!”

“What… What do you mean, Sonic?” ‘Ovi’ stated, looking hurt at Sonic’s accusation. “I’m still me -”

“Please. I can smell the servos on you.” Nebula stated, her growl just as harsh as Sonic’s.

“And you’re being -” ‘Ovi’ couldn’t get to finish, as Amy threw her Piko-Piko Hammer at it, wanting to start the fight.

“That’s it! I’m done with your stupid trick!” She yelled as she violently swung her hammer, ‘Ovi’ barely dodging each swing.

“Stop! Pretending! To! Be! Our! FRIEND!” Amy yelled with each hammer swing, getting quicker and quicker until -

THWACK

The hammer managed to hit ‘Ovi’s’ head, causing it to explode into a silvery, jelly-like substance. The jelly-like substance froze in mid-air, like it was made to be like that, before returning back into the shape of Ovi’s head. Once it was done, the ‘Ovi’ glared at the group.

“Well, then.” The impostor growled out, transforming back into Metal Sonic. “I guess this means that I will destroy all of you.” As soon as it finished, Metal Sonic finished morphing from its Ovi disguise, getting ready to strike once again. Sonic laughed at the posturing, smirking as Metal Sonic got ready.

“It’s not like I’ve beaten your many shells once before, Metal!” Sonic snarked, getting ready for the fastball. “Oh wait. I did.”

Before Metal can process what’s going on, Sonic immediately throws the first punch, punching and kicking Metal repeatedly. 

As Sonic was doing so, he was knocking the robot back into the swing of Amy’s Piko-Piko Hammer, the hedgehog girl reading her own swing as everyone kept to the sidelines. 

Before either hedgehog could land another hit, Metal immediately melted, causing Sonic to crash into Amy, with the two falling into the ground.

“ARGH!” The hedgehogs yelled as they tumbled, Sonic’s speed causing them to crash a bit of a distance away from Metal Sonic reforming. 

The concrete had cracked from their initial fall, but Sonic took the brunt of the fall - having shielded Amy when he realized what had happened. 

He ended up under Amy for that, leaving Amy to have to get up first.

“Sonic! Amy!” The others - save for Harold, who was trying to see where Ovi was - yelled out, worried for their fallen friends. The only one that responded to their cries was Metal Sonic, who seemed to glare at the group as it processed their demise. 

“Augh, that was a headache! What hit me?” Sonic growled, clutching his head as Amy scrambled off of the blue hedgehog.

“Apparently, yourself.” Amy said in jest, pulling Sonic to his feet before hearing the whirring of an engine. Immediately turning, she saw Metal Sonic blasting closer to her and Sonic, taking advantage of their sudden weakness. 

But before it could, a tornado of yellow knocked Metal Sonic off course, causing it to careen into one of the warehouses. 

Half splooshed and half crushed by the rubble, Metal glared at the fox that dared to interrupt its mission, before dashing toward Tails and choking the poor fox.

“SONIC!” Tails tried to choke out, but it came across as gasps and heaves as he struggled in the tight grip.

But Metal’s grip was impossible to get out of, and it was getting tighter, constricting more of Tails’ air flow, leaving him gagging -

Suddenly, the pressure ceased, dropping Tails to the ground before the spots danced in his vision. 

Hacking and wheezing on the ground, the fox was immediately lifted into an arm, being carried around like a sack of potatoes.

A glimpse of blue overalls and a purple shirt gave credence to it being Hope.

As Hope carried him off, Metal recalled its arm, the goopy substance jumping back into the broken socket before dashing off after the two.

With a more frantic pace than Tails had become acculmed to seeing, Hope unsheathed her sword, trying to violently swipe Metal’s arm.

 Instead, the robot hedgehog caught the sword, its grip straining the flimsy material and bending it. 

Thinking quickly, Tails squirmed out of Hope’s hold, before grabbing a small rod from his tails and pressing a button in the middle of it. 

As soon as he did, his hand was encased in a red and yellow coloured long cylinder, ending with a rather large nozzle.

Metal let go of the sword - just in time for an electrical blast to burst from the nozzle.

Metal Sonic sailed off back towards the warehouse it crashed into,  sliding to a stop just short of it. The concrete broke apart from the tension of the impact as Metal Sonic slammed into it, creating a spider web of damage along the wall and ground of the warehouse.

Hope shielded her eyes from seeing the electrical blast, not prepared for the sudden brightness in her face.

Metal Sonic shook off (for as much as a robot could shake off) the electric blast, dashing toward the fox again when Hope sliced the robot’s arm off, the appendage turning into goop as the momentum from the cut sent it flying away from it.

Staring longingly at the arm as it turned into goop, the robot was free to be struck again.

Hope attempted to slice another bit of Metal off as it was distracted, which the robot attempted to stop with its still functioning hand. 

Instead of it catching the sword, like it expected, a too familiar shlurp of the hand disconnecting from its arm caught its attention, forcing it to look at the stump that was its arm. 

The goop that comprised its body followed the path that the sword sliced through, before returning back into the familiar sharp edges of Metal Sonic’s hand.

Hope couldn’t help but smirk at her success, before having to immediately duck when Metal Sonic tried to swipe at her with a buzzsaw that came out of its hand. 

Before it could get another swing, however, a shield came in to smack Metal Sonic away from the children, throwing it away from them. 

The shield lowered, revealing its wielder to be Harold Kintobor.

“Father…” Hope’s smirk dropped, awe and a hint of something. Tails wasn’t sure if it was fear of her father, or confusion that painted her face.

Before Harold could speak, Metal Sonic slammed into the elder human - who, on reflex, brought up the shield he used on the robot earlier - throwing Harold away from the kids as Harold skidded across the pavement from the force.

Harold manages to push Metal sonic back enough to give a bit of wiggle room, but Metal’s main thrusters only roared harder, throwing Harold off-balance and plowing through Harold’s defense.

Nebula immediately caught Harold in the air, gripping the older man as she softly descended to the ground.

Harold nodded at Nebula, gently releasing her grip off of his shoulders.

Harold stepped away from her, looking at the robot - who was now fighting against Sonic, Amy, Tails, and his young daughter, all at once - and growled angrily at it.

“Where is Ovi?” Harold growled out, stomping toward the fight as Metal dodged a punch from Sonic. 

The robot glared at Harold, turning its arm into a taser to try and shock Tails, only to then get it knocked away by Amy’s hammer.

“Harold, I don’t think Metal Sonic’s gonna answer!” Nebula called out, before joining in on the fight as well.

Sonic and Hope sliced through Metal Sonic’s taser arm, forcing it to become goop as it flew in the air.

Tails’ tails swiped into the other arm, Hope’s own sword slicing all the electronics out along with him.

Metal tried to kick the kids --

THWACK

Only for Amy to underhandedly knock it into the air with her hammer.

Nebula, who had flown into the air for this, immediately got into position until -

KAPOW

Metal Sonic was immediately knocked back into the battle, the force of her spiking the robot almost causing Sonic to miss his cue.

Almost.

Just before Metal ended up eating concrete, Sonic had soared toward the falling mass, eventually knocking it towards the ground with his legs.

The launch of Metal Sonic into the ground tore up the concrete, leaving a trail of rough, indented slabs of rock and concrete behind it.

Hoping to crowd around it and finish it off, the gang - minus Harold - had gathered around the downed robot, hoping that was the end of it.

Tails got closer to the robot, carefully edging toward the robot, making sure it was finally down --

THUNK

Tails flew from the kick that Metal Sonic gave, before being caught by Sonic from the hit.

The fox groaned as he dizzily spun his head, the kick being more than expected. Tails instantly fainted in Sonic’s arms right then and there.

Growling, Sonic carefully sat Tails down.

Sonic attempted to jump onto Metal Sonic -- 

KATHUNK

… Only to then get thrown into Nebula from Metal Sonic’s own spin kick.

Both Sonic and Nebula, irate beyond compare, dashed to punch Metal in the face.

KATHUNK

Metal Sonic kicked the two away, having wound up its attack before the two got close.

Before it could go after them again, a thunk came from its side, sending the robot Sonic flying into another warehouse.

If it were flesh and blood, Metal Sonic would have groaned out in agony.

As it was, it was currently half-embedded into the wall, contemplating its next move.

Finally, it turned into the goop it was unleashing, as if it wanted to stop fighting.

Tension rose in the air as Metal Sonic melted into the silver sludge, unsure what the robot’s next move was. 

They relaxed, but only just.

“Is that it?” Amy asked carefully, looking over the goop as it separated itself into smaller piles. Amy looked over to Nebula, biting her lip as she did so.

Nebula came closer to the largest puddle, not noticing one of the smaller ones forming a new, sinister shape. In fact, everyone was too focused on the main goop the Metal Sonic had turned into to pay attention to the other puddles.

“That’s surprisingly easy -” Nebula got knocked over by a silver object before she could finish that sentence, being thrown away from Amy and the rest of the group as she stepped on some of the goop.

The object grabbed Nebula, a childish giggle coming out of it as it swung Nebula around with long, claw protrusions coming out of its arms.

The newcomer then slammed her into the concrete a few times on her back, snapping the group out of their daze. 

“Nebula!” Everyone but Harold yelled out, jumping in as soon as they could.

Unfortunately, more of the little objects came into view revealing themselves to be tiny, silver Sonics with grapples for arms and a sinister smile.

Sonic growled at the little robots, glaring as he kicked one away. 

“Silver Sonics…” He muttered, looking to where Amy had ended up beside him - finding her already gone to Nebula’s location.

Sonic grumbled, holding onto the bridge of his snoot before being painfully kicked by five Silver Sonics flying at him.

“Hold on, Nebbie, I’m - HEY!” Before Amy could help out Nebula, two Silver Sonics grabbed hold of her hammer before she could swing it, trying to pull it out of her grip.

“Let go!” Amy yelled out, pulling her hammer away from the Silver Sonics, but the little robots were too strong - the Piko-Piko Hammer was slipping out of her grip, the Silver Sonics weren’t relenting, and she could see that more were coming in her peripheral… 

Amy closed her eyes, trying to pull harder as the robots pulled, but even she had limits.

THWACK

As swift as the wind, the tugging sensation was gone, and Amy - in a fit of familiarity and nostalgia - opened her eyelids to find someone she didn’t expect.

Harold, Ovi’s father, had thwacked the robots away from the Piko-Piko Hammer, using the circumference of the shield to prevent the robots from trying to grab onto it again.

Amy blinked a few times, seeing Harold had left the hammer right beside him. She immediately picked it up, and looked at the man in confusion.

“Th-thanks…?” Amy stuttered, not sure if what she saw was actually happening.

Harold simply nods, pulling his shield when the Silver Sonic attacking Amy tries to rip his shield out of his hands.

He grunted as they managed to get a grip on his shield, pulling it away from him as they ganged up on the human.

THWACK

A few of the Silver Sonics flew away from the swing of Amy’s hammer, releasing Harold’s shield.

Harold, eyes wide in bemusement, nodded toward Amy as they both went back to the fight - Harold, rushing for the youngest, and Amy for Nebula.

Tails, fully recovered from his fainting spell, blasted most of the Silver Sonics away from him and Hope.

Hope herself was cleaving through the Silver Sonics with her short blade, trying to keep them from grabbing her weapon.

The Silver Sonics snickered as they dodged each of the swipes and slices from Hope’s sword, only to get blasted by the Energy Ball Tails unleashed.

And the Silver Sonics fell similarly when Tails couldn’t attack them with his tails nor the Energy Ball attack - they were immediately sliced by Hope’s own sword.

As the two were doing that, Nebula came back into the fray, punching and kicking every Silver Sonic she could get across.

In fact, Nebula held a few Silver Sonic’s arms in hand - slamming them around and twirling them like they did with her.

“Muahahaha! How’d you like that, Sonics of Metal?” Nebula crowed out, her maniacal grin contorting her features, which affected Amy as they bashed and smashed the Silver Sonics together.

“It’s time for ‘Whack-a-Hedgehog’!” Amy yelled out, thwacking and bonking all the Silver Sonics that tried to get closer to her.

Sonic couldn’t help but wince at the violence the two had, but he smirked at their antics.

“Least they’re enjoying themselves…” Sonic muttered, smacking a Silver Sonic away with his own Homing Attack.

Eventually, it came to the point where everyone was getting exhausted from the fight, while the Silver Sonics seemed capable of increasing their numbers. 

Every slice, every punch, even every bash caused the Silver Sonics to split apart further.

The group eventually ended up surrounded by the Silver Sonics, their staticky snickering discerning in the moment. 

The Silver Sonics moved closer to the group, keeping them trapped from escape.

Tails looked to Hope, a dawning realization coming onto his features.

“Hope, you noticed how the Silver Sonics stopped splitting after they got to a specific size?” He whispered as the human and fox were pushed into the circle with the rest of the group.

Hope nodded, not even mentioning the usage of the name. 

They had more important things to worry about (even if she found that it didn’t sound so… off, anymore.)

“They have to have a limit to how much they split off…” Hope smiled, eager to test things out. 

“Tell Sonic and the others, quickly!” She yelled out, slicing a few Silver Sonics around Tails to give him clearance.

Tails used the opening to do exactly that - take to the skies and locate Sonic quickly.

FWOOSH-THIP-THIP-THIP!

BURRRRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZ!

The Silver Sonics tried to grab Tails in the sky, only to have their arms chopped in half with Sonic’s quills.

“Sonic! They’re only able to multiply so much! If we’re able to get them smaller - ”

“ - They won’t be able to form properly! Nice eye, Tails!” Sonic called out, having noticed it as well.

He leapt up into the air, catching Tails’ hands before he descended.

Then, Tails kicked Sonic, shooting him into the group of Silver Sonic’s like a soccer ball. 

KER-THUNK!

The Silver Sonics, unable to defend themselves, ended up being bowled over.

One could almost hear the sound of bowling pins being knocked down.

“He-he!” Sonic laughed out loud as he destroyed a few in front of Amy and Nebula, smirking all the while. 

“So, Tails figured out something about the Silver Sonics,” Sonic started, before letting the two know about what was going on. “The Silver Sonic’s are shrinking down to a smaller size, but they have a set size to shrink to.”

“So, you’re saying that if we get them down to that size…”

“We can easily eliminate them!” Nebula finished for Amy, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Sonic could almost smirk along with Nebula’s excitement, but frowned a bit before saying, “Nebula, you need to wait until we get them down to size. Don’t want you to ruin your throat to have to do this all over again.”

“Of course, Friend Sonic.” Nebula stated, her eyes fierce with determination. “I know my limits now.”

“And besides, I’ll be sticking by her side to help her, just in case!” Amy cheered, winking at Nebula as the latter cooed at Amy’s antics.

“Good. We got to finish them off. Are you two ready?”

Amy and Nebula looked at each other, then turned back to Sonic, nodding.

“Yeah! Let’s stamp them out!” Sonic cheered them on, watching as Amy and Nebula bashed and golfed the Silver Sonics with almost a speed that would have made him jealous - if he wasn’t so confident in himself.

Tails tossed dummy rings in the air, thinning out the straggling remains of the Silver Sonics from high up in the air.

Hope and Harold Kintobor were combining their strengths - Harold with his shield, and Hope with her sword.

Bashing and cleaving through the army, the two made sure they didn’t hurt Hope while she cleaved through the swarm. 

Nebula’s mouth started to smoke, bright light illuminating from her mouth. 

Feeling the intense pressure from her friend behind her, Amy turned, then gasped out loud.

“Guys! Nebbie’s charging!” Amy yelled, getting the attention of the others. 

SCREEEEEEE-

A whirring noise reverberated through the area, all originating from Nebula’s mouth.

“Everyone, get down!” Sonic yelled, immediately grabbing Tails and pulling the fox down to the ground.

The others followed suit - Harold pulling down Hope, Amy holding her head - as Nebula unleashed a full beam of almost sun-like energy from her mouth.

SCREEEEEEAAAAAAHHH!!!

Said beam started to turn as Nebula had, cutting through the army of Silver Sonics as it sliced through. 

Not much was left untouched by the Star Beam - even the harbour they were on was struggling to bear the might of the Star Beam as Nebula cut through the crowd.

Eventually, once the last Silver Sonics turned into goop, Nebula shut her mouth. 

Immediately she collapsed, clutching her throat as she went down hacking and coughing.

Amy was the first to get up from the disaster zone, rushing towards Nebula. Sonic and Harold got up first, carefully looking over the area as Hope and Tails got up next.

“Ugh… my mouth…” Nebula coughed, her throat raspy from the blast.

“Nebula! Are you alright?” Amy said, carefully patting her friend’s back. Nebula turned to the pink hedgehog, eyes half-closed from the exhaustive process.

“Ye-yeah… I’m fine, Friend Amy.” Nebula reassured, looking at Amy with a pitiful expression.

A faint rumbling started up as Nebula said that, causing the rest of the group to turn toward the source. It was the doors to the warehouse, slowly opening up, but the rumbling increased as whatever came out of the area. 

Tails and Hope fell onto their butts, unable to keep themselves steady as the ground rocked about them. Sonic and Harold immediately grabbed Tails and Hope respectfully, keeping them upright as the ground shook.

None of them noticed the goop of the Silver Sonics rushing back into the open doors - or at least, until Sonic noticed it.

“Wait, the goop -!”

Sonic’s cry nearly got drowned out as a giant, robotic mole crashed through the warehouse walls, finishing off the tension fully. However, unlike the original version of the Egg Mole - which had caused Ovi to break his leg in the first place - this one had been redesigned from the ground up. 

“Do you like my upgrades, Sonic?” Eggman announced, his gleeful smile radiating a sickly madness. 

“It's able to turn its top half now, thanks to the new joints and servos keeping both halves together.” Eggman stroked his mustache, grinning from ear to ear. “The missing arm I had to replace with a rather large drill - similar to the Egg Dragoon’s sword. The paint was done up, unfortunately, your rather large friend had ruined my handiwork…”  

Sonic couldn’t help but grin at Ovi's machinations.

Though that grin slid off his face immediately, when he saw where Ovi was placed.

There, in the center of the upper half of the Egg Mole, Ovi was precariously hanging. The changeling himself struggled to get out of the hard chains and dented Egg Pawn arms, keeping his limbs in place.

“OVI!” Hope and Harold yelled, the former getting up quickly and about to swing her sword for an attack. Harold held his daughter back, pulling her away as the robot slapped its other arm down.

“Ovi!” Tails yelled, as he, Amy and Nebula jumped away from the attack - as it tried to sweep them and Sonic away.

Amy gritted her teeth, tightening her hold on her Piko-Piko Hammer. Nebula looked on weakly at the cockpit of Eggman’s mech, but even her eyes held hatred at the man that took her friend.

“Ovi - hold on!” Sonic yelled, looking up at the robot’s chest. His hands were gripped and ready to fight back, ready to save Ovi right there and then.

“I literally am not able to do anything else at the moment!” Ovi snarked out, yet a gleeful look spread across his face manically. “Finally,” he thought, “an end to my humiliation.”

“Enough! It’s about time I get rid of some pests!” Eggman’s confidence radiated from his announcement, eager to crush all that opposed him and his work.

[valkirsif]

Mad Hatter

Another gif for mine little smutty lady @learisa sorry for wait but finally finish <3

Jefferson (Sebastian Stan Mad Hatter) x Reader

Word 4300.. yea yea another long shot :)

Warning SMUT!! New kink calling Shibari, hold japanese art! 

Y/N opened her eyes looking around confused, she remembered the day just passed, went to work and to the gym and spent the evening at dinner with her friends then went home and, after giving the cat food, was went to bed and now woke up in a colorful forest surrounded by giant flowers and butterflies, she got up thinking it was a dream like those she had as a child but felt lucid, the air brushed her face bringing with it the scent of raspberries, why did that place seem so familiar to her?

She followed the path of white stones and came to a crystalline lake and looked in the mirror, she no longer had pajamas in place, was wearing a colorful silk dress and a patchwork corset, she smiled more and more sure was dreaming, a group of goldfish climbed in surface and splashed it with cold water, she shivered and realized was awake .. she started to get really scared, where was it .. turned around and retraced her steps and once back saw her cat waiting next to her to the flower where she had woken up, came up calling him,

" Mefi cone did you get here?" she said stroking it, the cat's purr calmed her, "Do you know where we are?", the cat moved walking towards a rose garden, it seemed different from usual, she decided to follow him,

" Mefi .. Mephisto wait for me" said reaching him, behind the rose garden she saw a village, took the cat in her arms and walked away.

A woman went to meet her smiling,

"You're back!!" she said hugging her, "Come on I just took your favorite cake out of the oven",

Y/N thanked her by following her around the house trying to figure out who she was and how she got to know her,

"And you were good at watching over her," said to the cat pouring him some milk,

"In a couple of days you will return to normal quiet",

"I, I'm sorry but I have no idea who you are there that this place is" Y/N was confused,

"Oh dear you will think quietly" answered the woman pouring her the tea, "You have been beyond the borders for years it's normal" she smiled,

"Now rest, your room is ready",

Y/N looked out, it was already night and yet it seemed to her that she had just woken up, she went up to the room followed by the cat and collapsed in bed exhausted.

As it happened to her as a child she dreamed of what was her best friend .. the Hatter, the other children laughed at her because only she saw him but she didn't care, it was as she remembered him tall with dark hair always unkempt and bright blue eyes, ran to meet laughing with him top hat too big to be true and his colored clothes, she had ribbons and bows sticking out of his pockets, took her in his arms and spun her around .. she woke up cheerful, when she sat up saw a boy sitting at the foot of the bed staring at her and got scared even though his eyes were familiar,

"Good morning Y/N" he said jumping on her lap, "You finally woke up", the girl was stunned that strange boy acted like a cat,

"Mephisto ??" she asked, bowing her head to the side to get a better look at him, yellow eyes and black hair, “Heaven is that you really? That woman said you'd be back to normal .. is this your usual shape?" she was full of questions and curious,

"Who did you think I was sorry?" he asked seriously, "I've lived with you for years and you don't recognize me?", Y/N shook her head pretending that it was all normal, they went down following the scent of cookies,

"Hello dear, I see that you have regained your shape" she said greeting them, "Sit down, the chocolate will arrive immediately",

"Thanks Marta" said Y/N by moving the chair, paused a moment remembering everything, Marta laughed putting them in front of a steaming cup,

"I have been here now I remember," she said in amazement, "As a child I was always from you .. I I hid in the attic when I was afraid .. ",

"You see you just had to rest to find your way home" smiled the woman giving her a pat on the head, "Do you remember anything else?",

"Only the Hatter" she answered smiling, " Where is he? I remember we were inseparable" she looked at Marta who had become serious, "Has something happened to him?",

"Child you have been missing for many years .. " she replied, ".. he is no longer the cheerful young man he used to be, when you disappeared something in him is broken, the cheerful Hatter no longer exists" she said sadly .. and scared,

"I can't believe it, please tell me everything .. " Y/N said desperately, Marta told her how he had changed little by little losing his colors and holing up in his shop,

".. he lives in solitude in the woods .. " she concluded, Y/N looked at her sad, the Hatter .. her Hatter, it was her fault even if she didn't know how it happened, it was her fault and she had to fix it, she got up putting on a cloak on the shoulders,

"Where do you think you're going miss?" Marta asked, stopping her, “You won't think about going to him .. ",

"Of course I'm going to him, it's my fault and I have to help him .. it's me he would never hurt me" Y/N replied coming out in a fury determined to save his friend, she asked for directions to the house and everyone tried to dissuade her, many had tried to talk to him without success, she reached the edge of the woods and took the road they told her.

She walked for hours little by little the wood was getting colder and bleaker, the only sound she heard was her footsteps on the dry leaves, reached the top of the hill and shivered for what she saw, under her there is were the house and the shop of the Hatter where once there was a green lawn full of daisies and tulips now desolation reigned, only barren earth and dead plants, even the house was different although it was the same as he remembered it had lost its colors, everything was black and gray, she felt like crying, noticed a light on in the shop while she was drying her eyes, took courage and walked to the house in less than 1 hour, walked around the house looking inside the windows to understand where he was, heard footsteps behind her and whirled around, she didn't have time to say anything .. someone put a hand on her mouth laughing, Y/N tried to wriggle away but the stranger held them tight and kept laughing dragging her into the store, he said something as soon as he took his hand from her mouth but could not, the hand was replaced by a bandage, the girl found herself bound and gagged sitting on an armchair without being able to do anything.

"Well well what do we have here?" said the familiar voice of the Hatter, "Someone new who sticks his nose where he should n't .. " he was walking around her touching her hair, lifting her face, ".. who are you?" he asked, stopping in front of her,

Y/N looked at him was what she remembered, tall, black hair disheveled, but the eyes did not ... those did not recognize them, the color of the sky in the morning had given way to the deep blue of the night, even the clothes were different the cylinder he was worn out and full of dust, he was wearing a waistcoat and black leather pants and a worn velvet jacket, shook her head trying to drop the bandage over his mouth to answer but couldn't move it was too tight,

"Who is this beautiful little girl?" he asked again taking her face in his hands, "So don't you want to tell me who you are?" he laughed maliciously, "Oh what a careless .. now you can answer" he said unfastening the gag,

"Hatter it's me" the girl answered anxiously, "I'm Y/N don't you remember me?" she asked, the man stepped back looking at her better, shaking his head,

" Mmm there is no Hatter here .. I'm Jefferson" he said taking a tape measure and measuring it, " Mmm no, you see, you're not Y/N .. she comes here .. did they stretch you maybe?" he asked showing her the sign of her height as a child,

"It's me I swear to you" she said desperately,

"I was lost but I came back for you" she said with shining eyes, "And you are my friend .." she couldn't finish the sentence, the man gagged her again and dragged into another room, Y/N immediately recognized her as a child playing among the fabrics in that room, the tables and sofas were gone, the woven fabrics hanging on the hooks on the wall and in the center of the room a kind of dark wooden X, the girl shivered when Jefferson took her by her wrists and tied her tight, the delicate silk had been thickly woven into a rope, she tried to rebel but it was useless he was stronger and more furious than her,

"Let's say I believe you" he laughed turning around her,

"And who are you who you say you are .. there is an easy way to find out .. " he said, taking a lock of hair in her hand, ".. but first the tea!!" he said disappearing into the house returning after a few minutes bringing with him a table set with tea, biscuits and sweets and he sat down pouring himself a steaming cup, sipping while continuing to look at her as if trying to figure out who it was, got up and took off the gag,

"So we can talk" he smiled, "I haven't talked to anyone for years .. no wait six months ago someone had the impudence to knock .. "

"And what happened to him?" Y/N asked scared,

" Nothing .. I sent him home" he said, shrugging,

"But let's come to us .. " he stood up and approached her, ".. let's see if you are who you say you are", he took a pair of big scissors from his pockets and started to cut the jacket starting from the wrists, slowly unstitched the sleeves .. one point at a time,

"Uh uh you are all wrapped up how nice !!" he laughed maniacally passing the booties that he blew one at a time, the jacket fell leaving her in a corset,

"How cute you are," he took her face in his hands and kissed her, Y/N tried to react by tightening the strings more,

"Too bad about the hair .. " he pulled back her head ferociously, unfastened her corset with a single theatrical gesture, took the ribbon and put her hair in a tight braid, "... so I like it more", he said two step back admiring her, Y/N was blushing violently, she was half naked and hung up and Jefferson was looking at her like a new toy,

"Really beautiful, pale and .." he complimented touching her breasts, ".. soft .. like a pastry" he laughed, letting the scissors down to her pants, quickly cut the fabric and the girl was naked and vulnerable in front of him,

"Let's see, let's see .. it should be here .. " he began to touch her, sliding his nimble fingers on her skin looking for something, ".. for all the cookies you are really her" he said amazed finding what he was looking for.. a small birthmark in the shape daisy on the thigh,

"I like what I see, you have grown well Y/N" he laughed going up bringing his hand between his legs, instinctively tried to close them,

"You said you came back for him .. " he whispered, "..you don't want him to touch you?" laughed kissing her, Y/N returned the kiss hoping to awaken the Hatter,

"Oh oh are you trying to get to him?" he asked tilting his head, "Quiet is safe .. in my head" he confided moving, he saw him moving happily around the room taking other colored ropes,

"Well and now let's play !!" he said removing her from the X and turning it, he brought her arms behind her back holding tightly, the girl wriggled, she began to pass the ribbons on the wrists intertwining them up on the arms creating a design,

"So it's cute .. " he laughed passing the ribbons on the breast, crossing them on the shoulders going down between the breasts with a braid, he continued on the hips embracing her ass with the design closing with a bow, walked away to see the result, "Beautiful beautiful beautiful "he hopped happily clapping his hands,

"You like?" he asked as continued to weave and tighten the ribbons on her back, "Hey I tell you .. I understand you don't like it" he said sadly,

"No no I like it" she said uncomfortably, " It's very tight though" she tried to move but the tapes tightened her,

".. mmm and how do they make you feel?" he asked mischievously pulling one of the ribbons that passed between her legs making her moan,

"Tell Jefferson .. I won't tell anyone" he whispered in her ear before biting her earlobe, Y/N threw her head back .. she wanted to be kissed,

".. it makes me feel good .." she moaned ".. Jefferson can I have a kiss?" she asked, ashamed of what she felt, the man went around her pulling her head back, putting his tongue in her mouth, pulling the ribbons on her breast, the knots tightened her nipples making her tremble,

"Let me finish sewing now" he said, leaving her hair and moving to take an armchair, "Here let's get comfortable" he invited her to sit down pushing her on the seat, made put her back straight and weaved new ribbons at the knots on the breast, fixing everything at the back supports, every time she breathed the ribbons tortured her breasts making her arch,

"Ah ah you have to stay still I'm not finished" he laughed bringing Y/N's legs up to the seat, there began again to weave ribbons on her skin blocking it, made two turns tying the calves to the thighs fixing everything to the armrest leaving her completely exposed and immobilized,

"Now you are perfect, a raspberry pastry" said approaching touching his work, every time she pulled a ribbon Y/N moaned, they were all connected in order to please her with every breath, he took two steps back and undressed, the girl couldn't take her eyes off his naked body, smooth muscular chest, strong arms and abdominals that looked like they were forged in granite, she blushed when saw his arousal, the man laughed as he touched his eyes fixed on hers,

"We haven't played in a long time .. " he laughed as approached, "..you want to play with me right? Like when you were little .. " he bit her lip making her scream, Y/N tasted her own blood, moved and a shock ran through her .. she had made the knots tighten all together and the pleasure invaded her, the man s 'he knelt in front of her, continuing to touch himself,

"Of course you want to play .. look at you, you're all wet" he laughed maliciously starting to touch her pussy, his nimble fingers slid over her, brushing her labia well away from her clit , went down to her ass and started to stimulate, pressing on her entered making her moan and pant, inserted a finger moving slowly to make her relax, entered and left her calmly laughing at her reactions,

"You would like to close these beautiful legs but you can't" he laughed, stopping touching and bringing the second hand on her pussy, spreading her labia and inserting two fingers into her pussy, stimulating both holes at the same time, Y/N snapped screaming with pleasure,

"Jefferson enough please .. " she cried panting, rivulets of salvation running down the sides of her lips, ".. it's too much .. I do n't want to .. ", the man raised his head and looked at her laughing,

"What don't you want pastry?" he asked pressing his palm on her clit , all the ribbons tightened in the girl's impetus,

"I do n't understand .. why are you stammering like crazy?" he asked inserting another finger into her pussy, felt her body try to contort to follow the rhythm dictated by her fingers and laughed maliciously,

"But if that's what you want .. " he said shrugging his shoulders removing his fingers from inside her, Y/N moaned in frustration, took the chair by the legs, lifted it and placed it on the ground making the girl almost upside down,

".. since you babbling at random let's make me fuck those beautiful pink lips" he suggested kneeling in front of her face, grabbed her by the hair smiling, "Come on like a good girl, open your mouth .. I want to see if it is true that you have lips soft as the Hatter says .." he held her nose,

Y/N had bright eyes she tried to resist but lacked air and opened her mouth, Jefferson put his cock in her delicate mouth enjoying the warm and moist sensation of her lips, he started to move holding her face so that she would not rebel,

".. oh yeah they are really soft .. " he moaned as picked up the pace, thrusting his cock into her throat, ".. soft and wet .. it's a really good feeling" he laughed stopping, moving her head as he wanted, every movement it made her shiver taking her breath away as Jefferson's cock gagged her more and more moving quickly in her mouth, he squeezed her hair enjoying it emptying inside her, Y/N tried to react but closed her nose,

"Come on up like a good girl .. drink it all .. " he growled panting, ".. here you clean it all up .. " he stared at her as she licked his cock with tears in her eyes, played with her nipples before getting back on her feet the armchair,

“It would take some music” he said to himself as opened a cabinet, “Oh there they are” he said victoriously, shaking some bells back towards her, “How do we fix them? Do you have any idea?" I watch her,

" I .. I don't know .. " she replied fearfully that he would hurt her,

" Mmm here .. " he said, passing a thread through the buttonholes, ".. stop .. I don't hurt you .. " he took her nipple and squeezed it to harden it to the maximum, the girl moaned when he tied one end of the thread to the nipple, passed to the second and went down by tying the thread of bells between the knots on the belly,

"Let's hear how it sounds .. " he said using two fingers to stimulate her clit with small circles, pressing to make her arch, the bells began to ring, ".. what heavenly music .." he laughed as happy as a child before raging on her lower abdomen, exposed her clit to be able to suck it by inserting fingers back into her pussy moving them like scissors inside her,

"JEFFERSON" she shouted fidgeting, ringing the bells and pulling the knots, her whole body trembled with excitement, "PLEASE", the man picked up the pace by inserting another finger into her pussy licking her clit fervently,

"Come on baby girl" he growled between her legs, "I want to drink your honey"

Y/N came panting, drowning in pleasure she didn't care where her Hatter was she just wanted Jefferson not to stop pleasing her, he continued to rage on her body ignoring her prayers,

" Enough .. ENOUGH .. " she shouted out of himself from the force of the orgasm that he kept giving her, Jefferson detached himself from her wiping his mouth, stood up and kissed her before getting comfortable pouring himself a cup of tea,

"I have to decide what to get first" he said to himself as he sipped, "You have a really nice ass, it looks so cozy .. " he smiled at her, ".. but your pussy is so soft it would be a shame not to fuck her right away .." he relaxed a few minutes starting to touch his cock again,

"Can I have some tea?" asked Y/N, the man looked at her as if it was strange that a toy asked for a drink,

" Oops sorry for the rudeness .. how many lumps?" he asked pouring her a cup and bringing it to her, helped her drink while holding the cup, "Better?", Y/N nodded thanking,

"Now that we have refreshed ourselves, let's play some more, do you like the idea?" he asked moving her ass to the edge of the chair, rubbed his cock on her still wet pussy while playing with her ass,

"I did the count," he laughed by stuffing a finger in the ass moving slowly because it relaxed, "Guess won the ass" off his finger and began to push the cocks coming little by little in her, Y/N stiffened by tightening your butt more for the knots than for the pain,

"You have to be relaxed little girl I'll go in anyway" he grunted pushing, entering her completely, squeezed her breast kissing her, licking her tears smiling,

"There was little sugar in the tea .. you are salty" he said amazed, "I felt like I had enough sugar in it .. your pussy was very sweet .. listen ?!" he explained putting two fingers in her pussy before putting them in her mouth, "Feel how sweet you are?" he asked bending her head, Y/N licked and sucked his fingers lost in pleasure, Jeffersono began to move inside her increasing the thrusts, making the strings tighten creating a concert of bells and moans, she was his musical instrument and he was playing tapping all her keys, planted his nails on her breasts making her scream,

"Oh stars .. " she cried drooling with pleasure, ".. Jefferson .. he's so beautiful .. " she wanted to cling to him, get bitten and scratched again, she planted nails in the armrest, the man laughed, pulling himself up,

"There you are here .. " he said, looking as if seeing her for the first time, "..look look at last my little girl has grown .." he laughed touching the hair that were changing color, slowed turning to the table and took what seemed a telescope,

"Now that you have arrived we can really play!" he said happily, “You want it right? Come on, tell me you want it!!" he laughed putting the strange object in front of her face,

"I want everything you give me .. " she gasped realizing that the telescope was actually a colored crystal dildo , ".. I want to learn new games Jefferson" she smiled excitedly, the man kissed her and Y/N bit him as did he first, parted from her laughing,

"You're learning .. the Hatter always said that you are brilliant" he smiled licking the blood, dipped the dildo in honey and started rubbing it on her pussy, pushing on her clit , Y/N moaned like an animal in heat stimulated by what it was happening, she felt the knots pulling and the ropes scratching her skin, Jefferson's nails on her breasts, his body pressed to hers as he fucked her, the dildo pressing on her pussy,

"Here it is slowly." laughed the man pushing the dildo into her pussy little by little, "Look, look how beautiful it all goes in!!" he said happy that the pieces fit together, Y/N rolled her eyes curling her toes as Jefferson moved quickly in her ass playing with the dildo inside her,

"You are everywhere .. " she grunted excitedly drooling, ".. I want EVERYTHING" she prayed drowning in his eyes, getting lost in pleasure, Jefferson laughed taking all his holes faster and faster, excited by the yells of  Y/N who came screaming, the last thing she saw before she fainted were the blue eyes of the Hatter, she woke up in her bed sweaty and breathless looking around, Mephisto was sleeping peacefully at the foot of the bed, she began to laugh .. had the most absurd and exciting dream of her life, she thought heard a laugh and saw the walls of the room as if they were out of focus .. from the outside Jefferson was looking at his new toy in the colored box he had put it in now it would never go away.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Desiderium

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter One

A JSE Fanfic

Hey! Hey! New AU! :D I’m really excited for it! As you can probably tell from the title, this is a fantasy-themed one. Taking place in the kingdom known as Glasúil, where magic and strange creatures are common, a man called Chase lives a simple life in a mountain village with his family. But of course, something just has to happen, and, well...you’ll see next chapter ;) Feel free to ask me anything about this AU, even though it’s still in its early stages I have a lot of ideas that I’m eager to share!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The forest floor was blanketed in a layer of fallen leaves, red and orange and yellow matching the colors of those still on the tree branches. Bushes and shrubs made the terrain difficult for most people. But a single rabbit hopped across the ground, unhindered by the underbrush and making no sound on the crunchy fallen leaves. It stopped by a small bush, sniffed its leaves, and started to nibble on them.

Thwip! An arrow suddenly appeared next to the rabbit. It had barely landed when the rabbit was already running, darting off quickly. “Wait, no! No!” Someone shouted. A man appeared, shooting to his feet from where he’d been hiding behind a nearby bush. He nocked another arrow and let it loose, but it missed by a mile, landing in the trunk of a nearby tree. The rabbit was already gone.

“Damn it,” Chase cursed, looking down at his arm. That last shot had been sloppy; if he wasn’t wearing his arm guard, the bow string could’ve really hurt him. He tightened the guard straps and went to collect the arrows from where they’d landed. The one that hit the tree had its point chipped a bit. “Damn it,” he said again, whispering this time. If he kept chipping arrows, he’d have to buy more, and they couldn’t afford that right now.

Maybe he’d missed because it was starting to get dark. Chase looked through the branches of the trees towards the sky. He could see the rosy hint of a sunset in the distance. Well, if that wasn’t a sign that it was time to head back, he didn’t know what was. He’d already checked the snares he’d set up yesterday and set up new ones; there was nothing more to do. Disappointed, he turned back and headed east, towards town. Hopefully tomorrow he’d find more in the forest than three squirrels and a rabbit that he failed to shoot.

The trees soon thinned. Chase walked down a familiar slope of land and quickly saw the familiar buildings at the edge of town. Well, it wasn’t really a town. It was too small for that. It was actually a village, but people called it Hilltown, and so naturally it was shortened to just town. People said things like “Hey I’m heading back to town,” or “The millers live on the edge of town.” That might be confusing in a more urban setting, where there were more cities and towns close together, but they lived in the mountains. The village was the only “town” for miles.

Chase slipped in between two buildings and officially entered the village. These buildings were made of wood, and a bit rickety due to being built on sloping ground. When the village was founded, it was first built on a relatively flat area. But as it slowly grew, it had to creep upwards onto the incline that led up to the forest. The way the buildings continued onto the slope was the reason people started calling it Hilltown, though Chase had never been fond of the name.

“Hey! Is that you, Chase?”

“Huh?” Chase stopped, and looked around. He quickly spotted the source of the call: an older man, with a black beard streaked with gray, standing in the doorway of a house. “Hi, Kieran. How’re you doing?”

“Doing fine, boy,” Kieran said good-naturedly. “Come back from hunting so soon?”

“Well it is sunset. Do you expect me to shoot in the dark?” Chase commented, raising an eyebrow.

Kieran chuckled. “So...did you shoot any beaver today?”

“No, Kieran, there are no beavers in the mountains,” Chase sighed. The older man had been living here for three years, and he couldn’t seem to grasp that.

“Ah, if you say so,” Kieran waved away. “If you ever do catch one—”

“—I can bring the pelt to you, I know,” Chase finished. And again, he’d been offering that same proposal for three years.

“That’s the spirit! I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Be seeing you.”

Chase headed onward. As the ground started to level out, the buildings became sturdier, with more made of stone bricks, and grew closer together. The streets weren’t paved, but they were cleared, dusty paths well-trod. A few people were out, though not as many as there would have been earlier in the day. Mostly small kids running around and a few people taking turns getting water at the well in the center of the town. Chase waved at them, and they nodded back. One of them, Terrance the tailor, called out “How’re you doing?” and Chase answered, “Doing fine!”

Shortly after passing by the well, he came across the tallest building in town, and was once again stopped by someone calling his name. “Mister Chase!”

He stopped and turned to face the building: the temple. The couple that ran it were standing outside the doorway. One of them, Mother Aoife, was waving at him. “Hello, Mother. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, well, can I ask you a question?” Mother Aoife said. She gestured at the entrance. “Do you think we’d have room for another holy symbol up there?”

“Uh...” Chase took a step back. The doorway to the temple had two symbols on either side of it, showing that members of either faith could practice inside. To the left was a blue candle, almost as long as a person’s arm, burning and dripping wax. To the right were two interlocking circles the size of someone’s head: one gold-ish with small triangles around the edge, one silver-ish with a line down the center. “I mean...I guess you could put one above the door.”

“No, we can’t do that!” Mother Aoife said. “That would imply that one faith is higher than the others.”

“Right. Then, I’m guessing it would be the same if you put a symbol in the space beneath one of the other two?”

“Exactly.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work.” Pastor Cait frowned. She was the other leader at the temple, and was Mother Aoife’s wife. They’d actually held two ceremonies, one for each of their respective faiths. That day had been one of the most active days Hilltown had seen in the past ten years. “Besides, nobody in town follows the Forger.”

“But it is becoming popular with those down in the flatlands of Glasúil,” Mother Aoife insisted. “What if someone comes to visit and spread the faith?”

“Well, neither of us even know anything about the Forge, anyway,” Pastor Cait pointed out.

“We could always find someone.”

“That runs into the problem of nobody in town following the Forger.”

“Um...is that all you wanted me for?” Chase asked awkwardly.

“Oh no, I just thought I’d ask you first,” Mother Aoife said. “Stacia stopped by. She said to tell you that she was leaving early and would be home when you were done hunting.”

“Really? That’s strange.” Stacia usually worked all day, and with the fall harvest coming up, she’d probably be out on the farms from sunrise to sunset. “Why?”

“She said something about Quentin,” Mother Aoife said, frowning as she tried to remember. “I think he might’ve been getting sick? There was something wrong.”

Chase felt his heart drop, leaving his chest cold. “Why didn’t you start with that?!”

“Well, I—” Mother Aoife’s explanation was wasted. Chase was already running.

It wasn’t too far from here. He sprinted down the street, not bothering to look at any of the people he passed by, heading for the other edge of town. The buildings started to spread out again, small patches of vegetable gardens dotting the rows of low stone houses. He kept running until he reached his own, recognizing the garden of radishes outside and the rough chalk drawings on the stones outside, drawn by children. Without waiting, he threw open the wooden door and rushed inside.

“Dad?” Amabel, his daughter, was sitting on the edge of the rough wooden table, carefully trying to  tie the end of a string into a loop.

“Hi, Amy. Where’s your mother and brother?” Chase asked.

“Bedroom,” Amabel said, pointing at the doorway, blocked off by a hanging length of cloth.

“Thanks.” Chase ruffled her red hair as he walked past, not wasting any time and ducking underneath the cloth. “What happened? Is it bad?!”

Stacia looked up, clearly surprised. “Chase? What do you mean what happened?”

“Mother Aoife, down at the temple, she said that you said something happened with Quentin a-and that you were leaving early because of it,” Chase hurried through the explanation. “Is everything okay?!”

“Did she...well I guess it would sound bad if that’s all she said,” Stacia muttered. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

“Hi Dad!” Quentin was lying in the big double-bed that Chase and Stacia usually shared, propped up against the wooden frame. Their thick winter quilt was wrapped around him, his little face and dark curls being the only thing to poke out of the patchwork cloth.

“He fell in the water trough for Rainer’s sheep when I looked away,” Stacia explained, sighing. “Got pretty wet.”

“There was a goat staring at me!” Quentin said. He didn’t seem any worse for wear.

“It’ll probably be fine, but considering his...constitution, I-I thought it’d be best if I took the rest of the day off to keep an eye on him.” Stacia pulled the blanket up over Quentin’s head, much to his delight.

All the tension immediately drained from Chase’s body. He stumbled against the wall, losing his balance in the flood of relief. “Oh thank the elders,” he breathed.

Stacia stood up. She walked over to the bedroom window—the only one in their cottage to have glass—and made sure it was firmly closed. Then she turned to face Chase. “Did you...did you get back to town early and decide to check on us?”

“No, I just got back, I ran all the way here,” Chase said, catching his breath for the first time.

“Oh.” Stacia glanced at the arrows in his quiver, then at the three squirrels he had slung over his back. “Sorry, I guess I just thought, since you didn’t seem to find that much—”

“It’s fall, Stacy, animals are starting to hibernate,” Chase said, rubbing his eyes.

“Right. I always forget that.” Stacia nodded.

“How are things going at the farm?”

“Alright. Busy. You know, Jane told me that down in the flatlands, where it’s warmer, they grow potatoes through the winter. Which makes sense, but it’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Yea, pretty strange.” Chase stood up straight. “Well, I’m going to go take care of these squirrels.”

“Oh!” Stacia’s eyes widened. “Wait, before you do, do you remember that you’re going to start teaching Amabel shooting on Hunt’s Day?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” Chase assured her. “I already have a great spot marked out.”

Stacia let out a breath. “Good. With everything today, I almost forgot until now.”

“Well, clearly Amabel didn’t forget. I saw her trying to make a bow string in the main room.” Chase smiled. “It looked pretty good, for her first time doing it on her own.”

“Wonderful.” Stacia turned back to Quentin, who was picking at the seams of the quilt. “Now go take care of those squirrels. Are you going to make dinner or should I?”

“Uh. You seem busy, I’ll do it,” Chase offered. “Right after the squirrels.”

It was well into the night by the time everyone was settled down. Quentin was fine, he hadn’t caught a cold, which was a huge relief. He’d been born a bit weaker than other children, and didn’t have as much energy as them. He often fell ill, and it was always a worry to Chase and Stacia. Amabel was heartier, but she was a quiet child. She often wandered about on her own, and was very familiar with the layout of Hilltown and the potato farms on the edge of the village, where many people worked, including Stacia. At ten years old, it was about time for her to start taking up more serious chores, and she’d asked Chase to take her hunting more than once. Of course, she had to learn to shoot first, and luckily for her, he was ready to teach her soon.

They had mutton for dinner, which they’d traded for with Rainer. Chase had managed to shoot down a bird last week, and the farmer had gladly traded a sheep for that. Now they were all sitting, taking the time to rest. Stacia was sitting in the rocking chair, patching up a hole in one of her tunics, while Amabel and Quentin were sitting by the stone fireplace, both of them now under the winter quilt.

“Don’t get too close, kids,” Chase called from his position near the window, where he was drawing their curtains closed. “A spark could fly and catch that fabric on fire.”

“It’s fine,” Amabel said, pulling the blanket closer and wrapping it around her and Quentin’s legs. “Dad, we need new curtains, those are old.”

“I know, Amy,” Chase muttered, glancing at the threadbare fabric. “But we can’t get any right now, so we’re keeping these until they fall apart.”

“Hmm.” Amabel hummed. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Can we have a story?”

At that suggestion, Quentin perked up. “A story! Yes!”

Chase’s eyes lit up. “Oh, well, I guess we could have one.”

Stacia looked up. “It’s late. And you need your sleep, Quentin, just in case.”

“It’ll be a short one, then,” Chase said. He walked over and sat down in one of the three rickety wooden chairs by the table. The kids spun around so their backs were to the fireplace and scooted a bit closer, though not out of range for the heat of the fire. “Where do you want your story to be from tonight? Down in the flatlands? Maybe along the coast or in the ocean? Or even in Suilthair, where the king lives?”

“What about...here?” Amabel suggested. “In the mountains?”

“Hmm...” Chase stroked his chin, fingers running along his beard hair. “You know what? I think I could work with that.”

Quentin cheered. Amabel stayed quiet, but she leaned forward, ready to hear. Stacia sighed quietly, continuing to patch, but occasionally glanced upwards, showing she was listening as well.

“Do you know what our mountain range is called in the flatlands? It’s just home to us, but to them, we live in the Dragon’s Teeth.” Chase paused for Quentin to gasp. “It’s called that for two reasons. One, because of how high and pointy they are, looking a bit like teeth. Two, because years and years ago, before people moved up into the mountains, dragons lived here.”

“What?!” Quentin whispered. “Big dragons?! Like in the warrior story?”

“Even bigger! Because up in the mountains they had a ton of space to grow into. They lived in caves, and each dragon had its own mountain.” Chase smiled. “Of course, there aren’t any dragons anymore. At least, not in our kingdom. Who knows? Maybe there are more across the seas. But dragons were very magical, and a whole bunch of other magical creatures gathered around the spaces where they used to live, sucking up all the leftover magic.”

“Do wizards get their magic from dragons?” Amabel asked.

Chase shrugged. “I don’t know. Our family’s not that magical, so I never learned that. Maybe you could find that out one day.”

Amabel nodded, her little eyes determined to answer this question someday.

“But even though there aren’t any dragons anymore, there are a lot of other creatures. You know what I always say to do if something bad happens in town?”

“Run to the forest,” the kids said in unison.

“Exactly.” Chase nodded. “Mom and I will come find you. And if nothing’s happened by the next sunset,  you come back to town on your own.” That last part was added at Stacia’s request, since she was concerned about food and woodland animals. “You know all the rules about avoiding wolves and bears, but...there are magical things in the forest. So I have three more rules for you: if a deer has golden antlers, don’t bother it. If you see a horse out on its own, don’t touch it. And if you hear a woman crying, don’t go after it.”

Quentin nodded, but Amabel tilted her head to the side. “Why? And that last one, what if it’s Mom?”

“Well, you could recognize Mom’s voice,” Chase said. “I mean if it sounds like a strange woman. Because that might not be a woman at all. That could be a banshee. They won’t mean you any harm on their own, but if they see you, they’ll try to tell you about coming tragedies. Sounds like a good warning, right? Except that hearing this warning makes the tragedy more likely to happen. So you should stay away. One time, while I was out hunting about, um...ten years ago, before you were born. I was out with Micheal down the bend, we heard someone crying. I decided to walk away, but Micheal chased after it, and when he came back he said he found a banshee. And the next morning, very suddenly, his mother died.”

“Oh no,” Quentin breathed. “What about the other two?”

“A deer with golden antlers probably isn’t a deer at all. It could be the Elder Horned One in disguise. If you disturb him, you could find yourself whisked away to join his hunters. And a horse out on its own definitely isn’t a horse at all. It’s actually a kelpie. And if you touch a kelpie, you’ll get stuck to it. It’ll run into the nearest water and drag you under, and you won’t be able to let go.”

“Alright, I think that’s enough for the night,” Stacia said, standing up. “Amabel, Quentin, you’re all washed up?”

“Yes, Mom,” they said in unison. 

“Good. Off to bed with you.” Stacia hurried the kids over to the corner, where the small bed the two of them shared was tucked against the wall. “We’ll be seeing you in the morning,” she said, pulling back the blankets and tucking them in once the kids were under.

Chase wandered over. “Good night, Quen. Good night, Amy.” He gave them each a kiss on the forehead.

“Good night Dad,” Amabel said. Quentin was already yawning, face buried in the pillow. “Good night Mom.”

“Good night,” Stacia said, giving her and Quentin a kiss as well.

With that, the two adults retreated to the separate bedroom, quickly getting ready for bed. “You ended that story abruptly,” Chase commented.

“Well you did say they were going to get drowned by a kelpie,” Stacia pointed out.

“No, I said that they wouldn’t be if they didn’t touch it. It was a cautionary tale.”

“Still, not the best to hear at night.” Stacia ran a comb through her hair. “And also, I don’t think we should tell them to go into the forest anymore. Not without an adult there.”

“Really?” Chase frowned. “Why?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, come on, Stacy. I know it is, but you can’t tell me you didn’t run around the forest when you were their age. I know I did, and I walked out. Michael did. Terrance did. Wendy and Emilia did.”

“Things are different now,” Stacia said slowly. She shifted uneasily on her feet, then glanced out the window, as if making sure nobody was outside. “Look, you know Rose, Aodhan’s wife?”

“No, but I definitely know Aodhan, he runs the potato farms.”

“Well, Rose is married to him. The past week, she’s been working with us for the harvest, and...she says there are...new things in the forest.”

Chase paused. He’d been about to blow out the candle in the sconce by the door, but something about the way Stacia said that made him pause. “Like...what?”

“Townsfolk have been seeing the figures of...people,” Stacia whispered. “But not your regular, everyday people. These ones carry weapons, a-and they wear...masks. Masks shaped like animal faces. They move quickly and silently, and some think that they’re spirits of some kind.”

“I’ve...never heard of spirits wearing animal masks,” Chase said in a low voice.

“Neither have I. But here’s the thing: Rose doesn’t believe those rumors.” Stacia paused. “Did you know there’s trouble down in the flatlands? People are...unhappy. With how the king is running things.”

“What? That’s strange,” Chase muttered. “I remember hearing that he’s the best king Glasúil ever had.” Though now that he was thinking about it, it had been a while since he’d heard something like that.

“Well, it’s trouble either way to have people thinking that about a king,” Stacia said firmly. “And Rose thinks that these spirits in masks are just people running around the forest, hiding out, being rebels. And that’s dangerous, Chase. Animals and magic behave by certain rules you can expect, but people...you just don’t know with them.”

“I guess you’re right,” Chase muttered. He paused, then blew out the candle and headed back towards bed. “Well, I haven’t seen any of these masked spirits. And I’m in the forest every day. So it’s probably nothing to worry about yet.”

“That forest is big, Chase,” Stacia said, clearly worried despite his reassurance. “You’ve probably only explored a tiny part of it, and the same goes for anyone else in town.”

That was true. Even in his farthest hunting trips, he’d only gone far enough to find his way back to Hilltown relatively quickly. “I still say it’ll be fine,” he reiterated. “I don’t see why any rebels would bother us, even if they were out there.” He climbed into bed. “If I see something weird when I’m out tomorrow, I’ll reconsider it. Besides, it’s not good to think about things like this before bed, as you pointed out to the kids.”

Stacia sighed, and got into bed as well, pulling the blankets up. “I just...don’t want anything to happen to them.”

Chase nodded. “I don’t either,” he agreed softly. Then he took a deep breath. “Good night, Stacy.”

“Good night, Chase.” Stacia leaned over and blew out the candle on the bedside table, leaving the room dark except for the moonlight coming through the window. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning went the same as every other morning. The family had breakfast, either Stacia or Chase went out to manage the garden while the other took care of the kids—today it was Chase for the former and Stacia for the latter, though they switched every other day—then Stacia got ready to go to the farms and Chase got ready to go hunting. As always, the kids went with Stacia, wandering around within eyesight and earshot of her while she worked. Though Chase could tell Amabel was eager to start going into the more dangerous forest with her dad, judging by the way she kept looking at her miniature bow, still unstrung. He ruffled her hair and reminded her that Hunt’s Day was just two days away, then headed off, waving goodbye to Stacia and the kids.

Passing through town was the same as ever as well. Some people were lined up at the well, as they always seemed to be. It looked as though the temple was unchanged, so clearly Mother Aoife and Pastor Cait had resolved their issue. Kieran waved goodbye as Chase walked past, and reminded him to look for beavers to shoot. 

And from there...the day was largely uneventful. Which was not good. Hunting was always a lot of waiting and wandering and being quiet, occasionally interrupted by action as you aimed and shot at an animal. But in the fall like this, that last bit of action was becoming rarer. And it didn’t help that it was really starting to get cold. Chase could see his breath in the air in front of him, and he kept pulling his felt hat down over his head. It was old, and almost nobody else in town had one like it, but he kept it because it had a handy brim for blocking the sun. It was also good for cold days like these, when he hadn’t grabbed his jacket because he mistakenly believed it would be as warm today as it was yesterday.

The sun passed overhead. Chase stopped around midday to have a lunch of bread and jerky, then moved on. He stopped by his usual snares, but found that nothing had stumbled into them. Not even a few squirrels like the day before. Growing frustrated, and more than a little desperate, he wandered farther into the forest, but still found nothing. This was bad. Sure, they had a stockpile of preserved meat and jerky from his hunts during the summer, but that would run out eventually. And what if Quentin got sick, and needed something more hearty than dried, stringy meat? What would they do then?

It was starting to get late when he saw it. Just a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Chase stiffened, and slowly turned. There, right in between two trees, fully in view of him...was a deer. Its coat was dark brown, almost black, and it was grazing peacefully, not paying him the least bit of attention. It had been a few weeks since he’d seen a deer. That was a bit unusual, really. But it didn’t matter anymore. There was one here now. Slowly, he drew his bow.

The deer raised its head and started to walk away. Carefully, Chase followed it. He stepped carefully, making sure there were no twigs or crunchy fallen leaves before putting his foot down. After a while, the deer stopped again, grazing for a bit. Chase made sure he was in a good position, then raised his bow and reached towards the quiver on his hip. Then the deer started walking away again.

Chase followed it, for longer than he probably should have. The shadows grew more slanted, then started to take over, but he kept following the deer. Every time he got into a good position to shoot and started to grab an arrow, it moved on. After a while, it felt like a game. A game of...chase. He almost laughed when the thought occurred to him, but stopped just in time to catch the sound.

It was well into dusk when the deer wandered into a small circular clearing. Chase stopped, still hidden by the trees, and gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. Once the sun went behind the mountains in autumn, the temperature dropped rapidly. But it wouldn’t be long now. He had to get this deer. They needed it. And now it was just standing there, ears twitching. Chase raised the bow again, and this time when he reached for an arrow, he pulled it out and slowly nocked it, steadying his stance to take aim.

But then...no, something was different. The deer’s antlers...had they gotten bigger? More...curvy? Chase paused, puzzled. Then he took a closer look.

The antlers were...glinting. He was sure they were ordinary bone before, but now they looked almost...golden.

Gasping, Chase instantly let go of his bow and arrow. They landed in the undergrowth with soft thumps.

The deer’s ears stopped twitching. But instead of running away, it turned around. And it looked at him. And there was something different about its dark, dark eyes. Different from other deer eyes, from other animal eyes, that Chase had seen before.

He slowly raised his hands. “I—I didn’t kn—”

The deer looked away from him, turnin to the side, staring off into the distance. Then it broke into a run in the opposite direction, hooves making no sound on the forest floor.

For a long, long while, Chase just stood there, shivering, breath pluming in the air. Had that...really happened? Or had he just imagined it because he’d been out in the cold for so long? After some time, he bent over and picked up his bow and the arrow he’d dropped, putting them away. Well, it was also dark. He could’ve been just...seeing things in the moonlight. And speaking of moonlight, he should really be heading home by now. He was late. Now...which way was it?

He’d wandered a long way following that deer. It was dark and he wasn’t as familiar with this part of the forest as he was with areas closer to home. So by the time he found his way back, it was definitely night, no longer twilight. Stacia and the kids must be so worried. Chase picked up the pace.

Wait...if it was night, then why was there an orange glow in the distance? It was well past sunset. Chase squinted, and in a split second, he realized a few things: First, the glow was coming from the direction of Hilltown. Second, even if it was sunset, the forest was west of town, and therefore the town wouldn’t be between him and the sunset. Third, he was getting closer to the glow. Closer in a way that just didn’t happen with a setting sun. His heart froze. And he burst into a flat run, easily clearing the edge of the forest.

The village was on fire.

Chase just stood and gaped for a moment, feeling the heat from here. The wooden buildings that ran up the sloping ground were all ablaze. He could see dark shapes in the streets, and the figures of people running around, with—horses? A lot of horses. There were only about four in the whole town, and this was definitely more than that.

Snapping out of the daze, he ran, but in his haste, lost footing on the uneven ground and fell, tumbling head over heels for a bit before he managed to stop himself. “Ow...” he groaned, lifting himself up and coming face to face with the flames. Quickly, he threw himself backwards, scrambling to a safe distance.

Now that he was closer, he could definitely make out what was happening. The dark shapes on the ground between the burning buildings...were bodies. He couldn’t recognize anyone, but then again, he couldn’t bring himself to look for any longer than necessary. And there were strangers wandering around. Some on foot, some on horses, but all wearing chain mail armor underneath dark tunics. Chase stared at them, wide-eyed. The strangers were shouting. To each other? To their horses? To anyone left? It was hard to tell.

But they hadn’t noticed Chase. Quickly getting to his feet, he started running around the edge of town. He had to get home! At this time of night, Stacia would be there, Quentin and Amabel would be there—were they okay?! They had to be okay! He didn’t know what he would do if—He wouldn’t forgive himself if he was away and missed being able to help them.

Going around town was a lot slower than going through it, but everything—everything—was on fire. Even the stone buildings! How was that possible?! If the stone buildings were on fire, their cottage could—he pushed himself to run faster.

He couldn’t avoid it anymore. He had to run into the town to get home. But the smoke—even from here, his eyes were watering. So he took his hat off and pressed it to his face, filtering it before he could breathe it in. And he plunged into the raging flames. Even staying in the center of the path, the heat was almost unbearable. But Stacia—Quentin, Amabel—

The cottage. Their home. It was also on fire. The old curtains were ash, the vegetable garden was a raging inferno. “Stacia!” Chase shouted. “Stacy! Quentin! Amabel! Stacy! Quen! Amy! Where are you?!”

Voices. Chase turned and saw some of those strangers nearby, one on a horse. And...he hadn’t noticed this before, but there was a symbol on the back of their dark tunics. A shield, black and blue striped, with a green circle in the center, a black dot in the center of that. The symbol was—it was—the symbol for their kingdom, the kingdom of Glasúil. Chase had never seen it in person, but everyone grew up learning of that insignia. And they also learned that, while local militia may wear a simplified green ring on their clothes, only soldiers working directly for the royal family were allowed to wear the full crest.

Chase recalled this fact dimly, but it didn’t really register. One of the strangers—the soldiers—started to turn around. And gasping, coughing a bit, Chase turned and ran right back out of town, never stopping until he was well clear of the last few houses, out onto the potato fields. In the distance, he saw the house of Aodhan and Rose, the farm owners. It was also on fire.

What was he supposed to do now?! Stacia, and the kids...were they...? No, no they couldn’t be.

The forest.

He’d told the kids to run into the forest if there was ever any danger in town. And sure, Stacia was concerned about rebels in the woods and those strange masked figures, but in the face of this? Maybe she would do the same. Well...it was all he could think of. The only straw he could grasp. Stumbling, Chase turned around and ran back the way he came.

The trees enveloped him in a strange sense of calm, a world removed from the blazing horrors of the burning town. He stumbled for a moment, tripping over some brush, then ran faster. “Stacia! Quentin! Amabel!” he yelled. Even with the distant light from the flaming ruins of the village, the trees above blocked out most of the light, leaving him in shadows. His eyes darted about for any movement. “Where are you?! Can you hear me?”

Abandoning all his hunter’s instincts telling him to stay quiet, he ran through the woods, staggering over brush and rocks that he couldn’t see in the darkness. “Can you hear me?! Answer me! Stacy! Quen! Amy!” Chase’s cries pierced through the silence. There was no sign of them. Maybe they’d gone farther. Thinking that, he plunged deeper into the trees.

Things quickly became unfamiliar. Whether it was because of the distance or because of the darkness, he couldn’t say. But the strangeness only spurred him on. What if his family was lost out here? Alone in the woods? He’d taught the kids something about foraging for food, but not enough, not in this situation. And Stacia was a farmer, not a hunter or a forester. He had to find them. He had to—

Chase noticed the lack of ground beneath his foot a split second after stepping forward. Then he fell. Luckily, it wasn’t off a cliff, but he did land with a loud splash! as he fell into some shallow water. Pebbles and rocks bit into this arms as he extended them out to brace for impact. He sat up, spluttering, now completely soaked. What was this, a stream? A pond? He couldn’t quite see in the dark, but he did know one thing: there were no streams or ponds near the town, and certainly not in the parts of the forest he knew.

Securing his hat, he stood up. His bow and quiver knocked against his side, and he then realized that the fall had caused most of his arrows to fall out. Well...that wouldn’t be good in the future. But he couldn’t see where they’d fallen into the water, and there was no time. He pressed onward.

The trees were close together, heavy branches blocking out the sun. Chase kept his arms out in front of him, to make sure he didn’t run into a trunk. If he couldn’t even see the trees, he definitely wouldn’t be able to see a person. And they wouldn’t be able to see him. “Stacia! Kids! A-are you out h-here?” He gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. It was cold before, and now it was later, and he was wet, making it positively freezing. “Stacy! K-kids! Are you here?!” But he kept going.

The rush of emotion was starting to fade. He was getting tired. Maybe if he took a rest...no! No, what could be happening to them while he rested?! And besides, he’d be easy prey for any predators out here if he slept. He staggered forward. The forest was practically pitch black, but he kept shouting, his voice growing hoarse, and hoping to hear a reply. 

The underbrush must be thicker here, because he kept tripping up. He fell down twice, but pulled himself to his feet and went onward. His hands were shaking...shivering. “S...Sta-asha. Quen...Quentnn…Ammbel,” he mumbled. It was hard to keep his eyes open. Where was he? Shouldn’t he...shouldn’t he have found some town by now? No, the forest went on for...for acres. He knew this. How could he forget...“Plea...pl’se...say y’r here...I...wher...?”

He couldn’t...couldn’t stop now. He needed to find them. Couldn’t...leave them. On their own. He kept pressing onward. It was getting so hard...he had to use the trees for support sometimes. Stop to take a break. But not to give up. “Can’...give up...St-stace...Quen...Am...ple-please...”

And once again, he stepped somewhere without support. But now he couldn’t even register it. He just knew he was falling, rolling down, down a hill. Coming to a stop when he hit...something. A tree? Those felt like...roots, beneath him. His arm moved a bit, trying to grab something to pull himself up. Fingers drifted across a bark-covered surface, but couldn’t...couldn’t grab. So his arm fell back down. Maybe...he should rest for just a few minutes.

But after just a few seconds of staying still, he heard a strange rustling sound. Raising his head weakly, he saw...a strange sight indeed. People. No, not quite people. Human bodies, dressed in dark clothes...but with white-feathered bird faces where heads should be. Four or five of them...Wait. No, not bird heads. Bird masks. Masks made out of some sort of white material. Hadn’t...hadn’t he heard something about masks recently?

The masked figures drew closer. Chase stared up at them. He was so...so tired. He wouldn’t be able to run even if the thought had managed to...to get through. 

One of them knelt down next to him, pulling off a glove. They pressed a pair of fingers to his neck, and he shivered. He wasn’t cold anymore. Or he was, but this bird person’s hands were colder.

They stood up again, and turned to the others. He heard the sound of voices, but his head couldn’t process the words. What were they...were they hear to...help? Or...?

He was too tired to think about it. He let his head fall back to the forest floor.

The last thing Chase felt before losing consciousness was the sudden lift of someone picking him up.

[forestwater87]

Chapter 14: Coming Clean

Summary: Finally.

Summer 2017

Oh my god.

It’s okay, a gentle voice in the back of Gwen’s head murmured, the one that was supposed to be all the best things she was capable of. This is good; you wanted him to move on.

Oh my god

It’s a little sooner than you expected, but rebounds aren’t inherently a bad idea.

Oh MY GOD

Even if it is, it’s none of your business anymore.

She was still clinging to the front of David’s shirt. Her brain tried to send out orders to her fingers, tried to relax the stranglehold she had on the fabric but her hands were claws, inflexible and unyielding as talons and she couldn’t do it, couldn’t —

No no no no no nononononononono NO

Let him go, Gwen.

The silence spiraled out; she didn’t know how long, lost in the cacophony of her own head. She was faintly aware of a woman’s voice, soft and honey-smooth and warm with concern: “Davey . . . should I head on out?”

“Um.” David shifted away, stepping back into the doorframe just enough to cover her hands with his. “Just — uh, just a second, Clem. Could you . . .”

“Sure! I wanted to take a gander at the lake anyway. Been so long since I’ve been down this way. Just give me a holler when — well, whenever?”

No. God, no.

She was not going to stand in the way of his happiness again — she couldn’t.

David stumbled back as Gwen shoved him away, swiping the tears and snot from her face with the back of her hand. “Don’t —” she began, but her throat closed up almost immediately, a sob she just barely kept inside shuddering through her. “I didn’t . . . I’m sorry, I’ll just — it’s fine — goodnight —”

Her shoulder knocked into the woman (the intruder, a nasty, wounded part of her whined) as she hurried into the hallway. She gasped, the sound delicate and lightweight like cotton candy, and Gwen’s attention landed on her for a split second.

She . . . knew her. Somehow. There weren’t that many people in the area, and even fewer with big turquoise eyes and bubblegum hair.

A waitress, right? At the pizza place — no, the bar.

Gwen remembered teasing David about her, on one of their rare nights out a few summers and an entire lifetime ago:

“Come on, ask her out!”

“Gwen, please!” He’d ducked his head with a helpless giggle, his face almost as pink as the waitress’s hair; she remembered thinking he was adorable — what a shame it was that no one had snapped him up yet.

“You liiiike her.” She didn’t know that, not for certain, but who wouldn’t? She was perfect.

“I- no I don’t!”

“Liar.”

The cute waitress’s mouth opened, her brow crinkling like she had something to say, and Gwen couldn’t stand to hear it. Stumbling back, she felt blindly for her bedroom door before realizing it was behind them, behind the pretty pink pixie and the most important person in Gwen’s life.

His eyes met hers, big and confused and green in the yellowish lamplight. His mouth, a streak of pink lip gloss smearing across his bottom lip and fading toward his jaw.

Liar.

(That wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t.

But her heart didn’t give much of a damn about fair right then.)

She retreated back toward the common room, tripping over something — a book, a shoe, the random detritus of two people’s lives tangled together — and barely catching herself on the table. The back door wouldn’t be locked, because that was one of David’s jobs

(and he was busy, distracted)

and she didn’t have a flashlight but that was okay, the darkness would be a relief she just needed to get out out out out —

“Gwen!” David’s fingers closed around her upper arm, tugging her to a stop. She could break his grip — her fingers twitched with the desire to grab something and beat him over the head with it until he let her go — but in her moment of hesitation he took her other arm, swung her around gently so they were facing each other. “Gwen, sit down, okay? Just take a seat.”

“It’s fine —” She shrugged free, backing up against the door, but it opened inward and David was in her way so she couldn’t shove it open. Her legs gave out and she slumped to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and trying to remember how breathing worked. “Don’t — just . . . check your messages, okay? Later, when you’re not . . . just — there was something I needed to tell you, that’s all. That’s why I was there.”

He glanced back toward the front of the cabin, then sighed and knelt down in front of her. They were alone in a pocket of gloom, the only light coming from the hallway glowing like a beacon, a hallway where his

(friend? girlfriend? booty call?)

was waiting for him to wrap things up with his crazy ex-girlfriend so they could enjoy their evening.

A few summers and a lifetime ago she would’ve been delighted if David brought someone home for the night. Delighted, and endlessly amused; she would’ve never let him live it down.

A few summers and a lifetime ago she was a better person. “You’ve got something on your face.”

He rubbed at his mouth with the heel of one hand, grimacing, and wiped the gloss off on his leg without looking away from her. “Gwen.” He kept saying her name, like he thought it would ground her — like the sound of it didn’t tear through her chest like a shotgun blast every time. “What were you doing in my room?”

She took a deep breath. “I needed to tell you . . .” This was okay. She could say what he needed to know: that he was a good person, that he’d done nothing wrong. That he could move on without carrying ‘might almost be a rapist’ around his neck like an albatross. “Last night.”

He flinched. It broke her heart all over again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, David.” The words tripped over themselves in a hurry to get out as fast as possible, like they were as desperate to reach for him as she was. “I wanted you to kiss me. You — didn’t hurt me. At all.” She tightened her hold on her knees, lowering her cheek to rest on them. “Okay?”

“What? I . . . no, it’s not okay.” He frowned and sat back. The gulf between them widened a few inches, a few miles. “I don’t . . . are you saying — but you told me to stop.”

She shook her head, wishing she could change everything about herself. “I told you not to stop.” When the furrow between his eyebrows deepened, she shrugged helplessly, fighting the absurd urge to giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation. “I just — it was poor breath control. Made a pause where there shouldn’t’ve been one.” Proof that her two years studying vocal performance in college were a waste of time and money; the stupid hilarity in her chest tightened, and she pushed down a laugh with effort. “I would’ve explained sooner, but I didn’t know . . . that.” She paused and licked her lips, took another shaky breath — because she still didn’t have good breath control, clearly. “Was what you were freaked out about. So I’m sorry.”

And she was.

For that, and for everything else.

David didn’t reply for a few seconds, and with every breath the darkness of the room seemed to settle in deeper, grow thick and heavy. “You . . . wanted me to kiss you,” he repeated, doubt etched into every word like claw marks in stone. She longed desperately to smooth them away and didn’t know how. “But you — why would you ever want that?”

Gwen let out a huff, something between a groan and a laugh. “Who cares why? I just — it doesn’t matter, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong, you don’t have to feel guilty about anything, so just . . . go and — have a good time.” She pushed herself to her feet, suddenly exhausted.

She didn’t want to have this conversation. It could wait until tomorrow, or never.

She just needed to get out of here.

“Wait, Gwen —” He reached for her, his fingers brushing against her wrist, and she yanked her arm to her chest.

“Listen, she’s gonna leave soon if she hasn’t already. No one wants to wait around while their . . . whatever talks to his . . .” She couldn’t finish that sentence. Couldn’t say out loud what they weren’t anymore. “Go. I’ll be okay,” she added, softening her voice so it sounded less harsh, less raw.

If he needed to believe she was fine with him moving on, she’d figure out how to pretend to be fine.

David sighed, swiping his hand down his face before nodding and glancing back toward the hallway. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something else — like there was anything they had left to say to each other — but shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re not done,” he finally said, stepping away from her.

Her heart leapt even as her brain knew what those words meant — and didn’t mean. “Of course not,” she replied, trying as hard as possible to keep her voice steady. “Counselor Buddies For Life, right?”

He paused for another moment. The light fell across half of his face, throwing harsh black shadows that sliced the other half into a patchwork of dark grays and glowing, luminescent almost-white. There was no reason the sight should make her tenuous grasp of self-control slip away, except that he was beautiful and he was perfect and he wasn’t hers.

“Go,” she snapped, too loud — if that waitress was still out there she probably jumped. Tears crowded hot and aching in her throat, and she couldn’t wait for him to do what she said so she shoved past him for the second time that night, staggered into the hallway where the woman was still waiting, patiently and politely playing on her phone like she hadn’t been listening. Gwen bumped into her for the second time that night, not bothering to return her startled and unnecessary apology, and slammed her door shut. She moved a chair under the door handle, something that made little logical sense but gave her a tiny sliver of security, and made it all the way to her bed before the first sob tore out of her chest.

She put in earphones, pulled a pillow over her head for good measure, and cried until exhaustion finally, finally pulled her under.

---

It wasn’t morning when she woke up. The room was still dark — even when she pulled the pillow off her face and sat up, the weak moonlight was gone, the night still and empty and buried in deep shadows. She grabbed her phone to check the time, bracing herself in preparation of the screen’s blinding glare.

scraaape

Thunk.

rattlerattlerattle

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk

“Gwen? Are you there?”

She sat up, her phone forgotten. After a moment of silence the sounds continued, and she silently hopped out of bed, padding over to the window. She pulled open the curtain, squinting to see into the darkness. “David?”

He scrambled backward with a shriek, tripping over his feet and tumbling to the ground; the crowbar he’d jammed under Gwen’s window frame stayed in place, quivering like a plucked string.

“Oh!” He climbed to his feet, catching the crowbar as she opened the window. “Good mor — I mean.” Coughing awkwardly, he looked down at his feet, tapping the crowbar against the toe of one boot.

Her brain still foggy with sleep, she tried shaking her head to clear it. “Did you lock yourself out?” It’d happened before, but usually he just called . . .

She suddenly remembered the phone in her hand. It didn’t respond to her touch, the screen black and dead, and she vaguely remembered turning it off when it wouldn’t stop buzzing at her.

Right. Oops.

“Not exactly.” It was weird, having a civil conversation with her co-counselor through the window of her cabin, but it was an almost-nice kind of weird. A normal kind of weird. “You weren’t answering your phone or the door, and I couldn’t get it open so I —” His voice dropped to a murmur, and his shape in the darkness shuffled its feet like he was embarrassed. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Okay.

Yeah, she was okay all right. That was Gwen: an endless font of okay. “I locked the door because I wanted to keep you out,” she snapped, which wasn’t quite the truth; what she wanted to keep out wasn’t David but his questions, his worry, his lovely face and the warm buzz of afterglow from someone who wasn’t her. “I put a chair under the handle, David. Take the hint.”

He paused for a second, and she was relieved there wasn’t any moonlight to illuminate the hurt on his face. “I — I know,” he mumbled, sounding sheepish. “When I picked the lock I could tell. That’s why I —”

“You picked the lock?” Gwen wanted her response to that to be horror, fury — but the closest she could muster was a faint simmering blend of disbelief and amusement. “They teach that in Boy Scouts now?”

“It’s a valuable skill! And when I was a junior counselor there was a camper who liked spy novels . . .” He trailed off, and as the heat of his embarrassment cooled what was left behind was a sickening sense of corrupted normalcy; the ashes of a genuine conversation, one they would’ve had if everything hadn’t fallen apart, congealed into awkward silence. “Can I come in?”

“It’s the middle of the night, David.”

His outline lifted its chin, the same hard stubborn set she associated with terrible camp ideas, and her heart twisted horribly. “I — not to be unkind, Gwen, but you owe me this conversation. And we can’t . . . I can’t keep going on like this. So . . . please.”

This conversation was what she wanted, what she’d sprinted into his bedroom to have because she couldn’t stand putting it off another second. Now that it stood directly in front of her, she wanted nothing more than to delay again.

But he deserved better.

She sighed, stepping back from the window and moving toward the light switch. “Fine.”

When she turned back around, flinching at the sudden invasion of fluorescent light, David had one leg over her windowsill, ducking through the small opening and wriggling his way into the room. “What?” he asked, face reddening as she stared at him. “It . . . it was faster than going around the cabin.”

Gwen wanted to laugh. She wanted to pull him against her and kiss his forehead and fix his hair where the window frame had messed it up and she couldn’t do any of those things so she turned her phone on, watching the logo glow to slow and bleary life. It was barely 1:30; she hadn’t been asleep for more than an hour. “Where’s . . .” She gestured at her hair without looking up, realizing too late that she shouldn’t draw attention to the tangled mop on top of her head (and how little it looked like a diaphanous cloud of pink silk). “What’sername?”

He cleared his throat. “She, um — she went home.”

“That was fast.” The words left her mouth before her brain had fully processed them — stupid words, awful words, words she could’ve said to tease her best friend back when they still were best friends but that weren’t okay to say now , not after everything. She’d been lulled by the uncomfortable domesticity, the weird holding pattern they were trapped in now that some of the truth had slipped free and she didn’t have to be quite so careful. She felt more than saw him recoil, a little flash of movement in the corner of her eye that could’ve been nothing but was almost certainly a wince, and she dropped her phone onto her desk a little too roughly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Sorry, I —”

“We didn’t.” He looked as horrified to blurt the words out as Gwen had been just a second ago, and he broke their gaze first, scuffing his boot along the carpet. The pretty flush darkening his cheeks was spreading down his neck and up to his ears, slow and sweet like a honey spill, and the urge to chase it with her tongue made her knees wobble. He swallowed and added, “do, y’know — gosh, I just couldn’t. A-anyway, she wanted to see the camp before leaving, so that took . . . a little while, I don’t remember.” He laughed, awkward and higher-pitched than usual, and scratched the back of his neck. “She was really nice about it. Wouldn’t even let me pay for the cab back into town.”

Shame coiled heavily in her stomach, a thick and glossy snake. “I’m sorry I ruined your night,” she said honestly.

He shrugged, still not making eye contact. “I mean, jeez, it probably wasn’t the best idea anyway.” Gwen realized he’d been drinking. Not much, and he had to be sobering up fast, but his “aw shucks”isms multiplied exponentially when he was tipsy. It was one of the most cruelly adorable things about him, and she hated herself for knowing that, for recognizing it and loving him even more. “I just needed . . .” He groaned and shook his head, tugging his fringe upright. “You said you wanted me to kiss you. H- how come?”

The sudden change of topic gave her whiplash until her brain put together the missing pieces. Tonight hadn’t just been a rebound: he’d needed to go home with someone he actually knew wanted him. It wasn’t just for an ego boost or out of touch starvation, but to prove to himself that he could tell the difference between a yes and a no.

And she felt it again — love and compassion and pity and self-loathing and despair — a quagmire of feelings so powerful they made her sick to her stomach, and because she was herself, a hateful monster shaped by heartbreak, instead of softening her voice to match the way she felt about him she hardened it, snapped, “Because I did,” like she was frustrated with his stupidity when what she was actually frustrated with, what she really despised and wanted to tear apart with her fingernails, was her own unloveable, broken self. “I made the first move — because I wanted to. No other fucking reason.”

“Why?”

It was just like when she’d told him she’d almost cheated on him, the day their relationship fell apart — except instead of betrayal quavering in his voice, there was something dangerously close to hope. It scared her. Pissed her off. “Feelings aren’t like a light switch, David! Getting over you is —” Impossible. “— taking more time than I thought.”

“But why?” And this time he didn’t sound small or hopeful; there was a dark, furious bite to his voice that rivaled her own. “The feelings should — they’re already gone, aren’t they? Wasn’t that the entire point?”

“No!” she cried, digging her fingernails into her palms to keep from raking them down her own face. This was what she’d dreaded: the agonizing task of trying to make him understand. “They weren’t gone when we broke up, and they aren’t fucking gone now!” This wasn’t right; she’d wanted to keep things simple and to the point: she wanted him, he shouldn’t ever want her, so logic dictated they couldn’t be together. What was all so simple and clean in her head kept coming out ragged and snarled like fraying yarn. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut against tears.

God, she couldn’t even walk away from him properly.

“What was supposed to happen?”

This would be infinitely more bearable if he wasn’t so fucking nice. “We were supposed to survive the summer,” she said, unable to hold back a harsh noise that was supposed to be a laugh but felt like a sob, “and then you’d go back home and move on. Maybe hire a new cocounselor and fall in love with them. I don’t know!” Her voice rose, both in pitch and volume, and she had to force herself back to something that sounded even remotely normal. “You were supposed to get away from me.”

Like he almost had tonight.

Before she’d ruined it.

Again.

Misery tightened around her throat, a choker made of bloody thorns.

His voice was soft, barely a fraction of his normal speaking tone, but it made her jump nonetheless: “And what about you?”

She shrugged listlessly. “I don’t know,” she replied, her lips strangely numb and tingling, like she’d smeared her gums with Novocain. He was trying to get her to share something real, was using open-ended questions and everything; she’d taught him that trick, a leftover from one of her many useless degrees, but she was too tired to fight the urge to finally be honest. “Go back home and meet someone broken and fucked-up enough to deserve me. Just . . . go back to normal, I guess.”

“Oh, Gwen.” She felt David step closer, the wood floor creaking and shifting under his weight, the sunlit warmth of his body creeping into her orbit, and he sounded the way he did when talking to their more difficult campers; it was his “we can work out a solution together” voice, and panic constricted her chest because it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. His fingers brushed against her cheek, gently wiping away tears she hadn’t even noticed. “Why don’t you think you deserve to be happy?”

“You know why!” Gwen jerked back, because the touch of his skin against hers sparked her nerve endings and she had to either move towards him or away, and only one of those options was acceptable right then. She took a shaky breath, swiping at her face to try and stop the hot flow of tears down her cheeks. “You saw what I’m like outside of here. Maybe I’m important at some shitty backwater camp, but in the real world? I can’t even m-make my family —” She pressed her lips together, breathing in heavily through her nose. She was going to get through this. She owed it to him to get through this. “Ever since you visited I’ve been . . . waiting, I guess? For the other shoe to drop, for you to put it together that I’m not — and I tried to be good enough, I really fucking did, but it took a lot out of me. Too much. Waiting for you to come to your senses, trying and failing to be someone who could actually make you happy — trying to be happy, oh my god, do you have any idea how impossible that is for me?”

She was babbling. She could tell by the look on David’s face, by the slight furrow between his brows that he was trying to follow what she was saying but couldn’t, because she wasn’t making any goddamn sense.

Another deep breath. Time to try again.

“Earlier, like a week ago, before we — yeah. Whatever — I couldn’t get out of bed. Not like I was tired, or like I was sad or freaked out because I didn’t feel anything. I just couldn’t move. And I’ve done that before for days, David! I got fired once because I missed a week of shifts and couldn’t even call in sick. And that just happens sometimes, and for a while being with you was enough to get me out of bed but then it wasn’t and I don’t know how to pretend to be okay, okay?! I want to be — I wanna be normal and happy and anyone else but I can’t, and you don’t seem to get that yet but you will and I couldn’t stand waiting so I . . . ended it. Because somebody fucking has to.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach, shivering in the cool night air.

His hand brushed against her elbow, and she allowed herself to be ushered over to her bed, sat down and wrapped in blankets until she was warm again. And he was looking at her with the softest, warmest eyes, like he hadn’t heard a word she said properly because if he had he wouldn’t be staring at her like that, like she was some sort of beautiful broken doll he wanted to fix up and make pretty again.

But she couldn’t be made better. This was all there was.

And she didn’t know how to make him understand that she was a lost cause.

Gwen wasn’t sure how long she sat in her little blanket cocoon, staring at the floor and trying to find the words to explain how she was wrong for him — just wrong, period — but after a moment or an hour fingers brushed through her hair, suddenly appearing in her peripheral vision and making her jolt away.

“Sorry,” David murmured, drawing back for a second before returning his hand to her temple, gingerly unsticking her hair from the dried salt on her face and tucking it behind her ear. He didn’t meet her eyes, his expression stern and solemn and fully dedicated to this task, and when it was done he looked down at her hands and took one of them, sandwiching it between his own. “I wish you’d told me you felt like that.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” she said, managing a sad little huff of air that could almost be called a laugh. “I wanted you to think I was perfect.”

His answering smile was wan and sad, but heartrendingly genuine. “I do.”

The words jolted her into action, so discordant and wrong that she couldn’t sit still no matter how tired she was. She pulled out of his reach and climbed to her feet, letting the blankets fall away as she paced across the room. “How?!” she demanded, whirling on him and nearly tripping over the fabric strewn across the floor. “Were you even listening?”

“Of course I was!” he replied, indignant and hurt. “You have . . . struggles, but so does everybody —”

She rolled her eyes, kicking the blankets to the wall so she had more pacing room. “Yeah, struggles,” she repeated, bile coating her tongue. “Like this camp has struggles, right?” She ran her hands through her hair, forcing out a heavy breath to try and tame her anger — again. “You see everything in the best possible light, David. I love that about you —” Her voice caught; it was the first time the words “I” and “love” and “you” had been in the same sentence since she’d realized how she felt, and the force of it nearly knocked her breathless. “— but you can’t just pretend problems don’t exist because you don’t wanna see them! I tried that already, and guess what? It fucking makes things worse!”

“I’m not pretending! But there are ways to deal with — it’s not the end of the world. And you’re — you’re catastrophizing, Gwen. That’s not helpful, either!”

“‘Ways to deal with’ it? Like there are ‘ways to deal with’ Mr. Campbell being a fraud? Like your ‘ways to deal with’ Max?” He didn’t answer and she turned from him, stalking toward the other side of the room. It felt like she couldn’t get enough air, like the walls were closing in on her. “I know you like projects. People you can fix. But I can’t be fixed, okay? I’m just like this!”

“I don’t want to fix you,” he said. A frown line appeared between his eyebrows, and she wanted to kiss it smooth. “I don’t think you need to be fixed, Gwen.”

She groaned, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to squeeze away a headache or tears; it felt like she was on the verge of both. “Whatever you think you’re seeing in me just isn’t there. There isn’t anything worth seeing in me, and no amount of positive thinking is going to change that!”

“Gwen, stop!”

The suddenness of his shout made her freeze. He cleared his throat, his face flaming pink with embarrassment, but he met her gaze steadily.

“I’m not delusional,” he said, softer. “I know — I wish Mr. Campbell cared more about this camp. I wish this camp was everything it could be. I wish Max would give things here a chance, even just once. I know nothing’s perfect — I know that. But I also know you’re wrong about yourself, and you need to stop assuming you know what I think because you don’t!”

David took a step closer, holding out his hand uncertainly, like she was a deer he was afraid would bolt. She felt like a deer, frozen in the headlights of his warm, bright eyes.

“I don’t want to fix you,” he repeated. He moved close enough to stroke her cheek, cup the side of her face in his hand. “Or change you. All I want is to be with you — exactly like this. The way you are, right now.”

Tears stung her eyes, made him dissolve into a soft blur of her favorite colors. She looked away and took a deep, shaky breath. “Why?” she whispered, leaning into his palm. She knew she had to shove him away, tear the two of them apart with daggers until he learned to stop believing in her, but she was tired.

Tired, and so relieved to feel his touch it hurt.

He sighed but didn’t say anything until she turned back to him, the tears clinging to her lashes giving way and spilling down her cheeks. One of them skated into the divot his thumb made against her skin and he brushed it away gently, automatically. The look on his face was somewhere between awe and resignation, the bitter twist of his mouth so harsh against his soft, wide eyes. “Because I’m in love with you.”

Her breath caught.

Oh.

Her heart leapt into her throat, a dense lump of clay that ached just above the dip of her collarbone. She opened her mouth to reply but the lump swelled, choking, strangling any words that tried to surface.

He loves you! He loves you!

God, this was so much worse than she’d feared.

David stumbled back as she collided with his chest, twining her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his shoulder, gasping for breath as the lump in her throat gave way into water. After a moment’s hesitation he embraced her, one arm across her shoulder blades and one around the small of her back, and his warmth and smell and the gentle thrumming of his heart were like fresh air after months spent underground, beautiful and precious and necessary .

“I love — you too,” she sobbed into his shirt, barely able to form the words. “I — love you too, I’m — sorry, I’m so — sorry — I love you . . .”

“Gwen, it’s okay,” he murmured, smoothing his palm in wide circles over her back, “it’s fine, shh, don’t cry . . .” When her breathing returned to something resembling normal he pulled back, holding her by the shoulders like he was worried she’d bolt. Or like he couldn’t bear to break contact any more than she could. “Do you mean it? Do you really love me?”

The hope on his face — naked, tender, a little flame of joy so eager to leap into a blaze with the right stoking — lanced through her heart, because he still didn’t get it. A confession of love from her wasn’t something good , her love was poison —

But he was waiting for an answer and she couldn’t lie anymore. “Yeah,” she replied, swallowing hard to push back another wave of tears and then hiccupping when they came anyway. “I’m sorry.”

“Jeez, Gwen, why would you ever be sorry?”

She swiped at her face with her palms, smearing the tears around more than actually wiping them off. “That I — didn’t let you go . . . you deserve so much — better . . .”

He didn’t say anything, silence filling the air between each of her damp, pathetic sniffles, and finally she looked up to meet him. His expression was so full that it was hard to read, emotions jostling for room on his lovely, expressive face: confusion, concern for her, for her well-being (for her sanity, maybe). A tattered shred of his normal smile, like he was waiting for the punchline of a joke he didn’t understand yet. And there was joy flitting underneath it all, relief and love and more gentleness than she’d ever had pointed in her direction, more love than anyone had ever had in their eyes when they looked at her.

Then a shadow crossed his face, his eyes darkening like the surface of Lake Lilac during a storm, and the faint ghost of a smile disappeared.

“Why don’t I get to make that decision?” he asked. And there was a bite in his tone, a frisson of anger that cut through everything else and made her shiver. “How come you’re the only one who gets a say?”

Gwen fumbled for words like landmarks in a pitch-black room. “David, you’ve never — this was your first — you’re so . . .”

“‘Come to my senses,’” he repeated, his frown deepening as he looked away, at the wall, at nothing. “That’s what you said earlier, right? That I’d — that the only smart decision is to leave you, because nobody with a brain could . . . could know you and still want to be with you.”

She flinched, the flat, emotionless statement like needles against her skin because it was true and it was the realization she’d been dragging him toward and she still wasn’t prepared to hear it from him.

His hands fell from her shoulders, and the air cooled even further as he took a step back. She looked up and he crossed his arms over his chest, squaring his jaw.

“I still want to be here,” he said. His voice wobbled and he cleared his throat, so hard she felt it tearing her own, and the statement floated fat and pregnant in the air. So full of good possibilities but said with so much cold fury that it could only be a bomb waiting to go off. “So which is it, Gwen: is it that I don’t know you or that I don’t have a brain?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she managed, panic closing in and constricting around her ribcage.

“How did you mean it, then?” he snapped. His arms untangled and fell to his sides, hands curling into fists tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “Because it sounds to me like you think you’re the only one who’s allowed to make decisions about our relationship. You could’ve talked to me — I wanted you to talk to me! But you didn’t think I was . . . I don’t know, smart enough to see the real you? Able to do what’s best for me? Like I can’t know what I want?”

“You’ve never —”

He sliced one arm through the air, cutting her off instantly. “I know this is my first relationship, Gwen! I know that better than you do! Did you think this was — an, an accident? That I just stumbled into falling in love with you, like I didn’t know what I was doing? But I still can’t be trusted with what you’re really thinking and feeling — because I just won’t get it! Because I don’t know what it’s like to be sad.”

David laughed, hollow and humorless.

“What else do you think I can’t do? Should I not be allowed to light the campfire either? Or maybe I’m not smart enough to drive into town anymore — huh, Gwen?” His second laugh was sharper, damp with unshed tears. They made his eyes glisten as he looked back up at her, his face hard as stone. “Do you actually respect me at all? Or am I just a dumb kid to you?”

She felt sick. “Yes, I . . .” she began, then paused, tripping up over which part of the question she was supposed to be answering. “Of course I respect you!”

“Then tell me the truth!” He stalked closer, his breathing harsh and rapid. “If I asked you to be my girlfriend again, tell me you’d say yes. Tell me it’s because you trust me.”

Her mouth fell open, but the muscles in her throat wouldn’t move — just sat lifeless and paralyzed.

He was right.

She loved him so much, thought he was kind and wonderful and all the good things that she could never be . . . but she hadn’t been thinking of him as a partner. Never someone who could know better than her. He was sweet, innocent, naïve David. She was jaded and jagged, but above all she was right. She knew things he never could, learned from painful experience, and she had to protect him from herself and from the rest of the world.

It hadn’t even occurred to her to question it.

He must’ve read her thoughts on her face. Hurt flashed across his expression — a slight widening of his eyes, a tremor of his mouth — and then he looked away, wrapping his arms around himself. “Gwen, I love you. But I don’t think you see me as an equal.”

“It’s not that . . .” she began, but his face had shut off, the light behind it gone like a heavy steel shutter had closed behind his eyes.

“I . . .” He shook his head, scrubbed a hand across his face. “I need to go. I need . . . to think. To figure out . . .” He gestured between the two of them, still not meeting her eyes. “I want to say we can make this work. But I can’t be treated like this. I — I do deserve better than that.”

She nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “I know,” she croaked, more tears swelling her throat and making her voice crack.

“Yeah. You need to think, too.” He stepped past her, crossing the room and opening the door. He paused in the frame for a moment, not turning back to look at her. “I’m going out. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She didn’t move until the sound of the campmobile had faded into silence.

---

“Jesus, Davey.”

“I know.” He chuckled through his tears, leaning back against the windshield and looking up at the sky. His sleeping bag (the one he kept in the trunk for camping emergencies) was rolled out on the ground under the shelter of a tree, but the lookout’s reception was better by the car, and the cool metal was a relief from the hot, still air. “But she said she loves me.”

“Yeah? She has a real shitty way of showing it.” There was a moment of silence, and David closed his eyes, letting his breathing steady to match the night songs of the crickets. “I hate to say it . . . but I kinda think she’s right.”

He frowned, opening his eyes and sitting up. “What?” he asked, his heart shrinking in on itself with her words. How many more people in his life thought he wasn’t smart enough to make his own decisions?

“You deserve better.”

“Oh.” He sighed, settling back with relief.

He knew that, too.

“Julia . . .” He sniffed, wiped his nose on the hem of his shirt (it was laundry day tomorrow anyway). “Is it bad if I still want to be with her?”

“Of course not.” There’d been only a few times David could remember where his best friend’s voice had been so soft, so kind. And it was always when he was at his absolute lowest point. “You love her. That’s never a bad thing, even if she doesn’t deserve it.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking: he couldn’t shake the feeling, despite everything, that maybe she did . “W-what should I do?” he asked, knowing Julia wouldn’t have an answer but desperately hoping she might.

“I dunno, Red.” Julia sighed, just as a breeze ruffled David’s hair. For a second it felt like they were kids again, sitting on the dock of Lake Lilac and talking about Jasper. “I’m on your team whatever you decide.”

“Thanks, Jules.” He finished the call and stood, walking over to the drop that looked out over the entire lake. His gaze was drawn toward the small black speck that he knew was Camp Campbell, dark and quiet from so high above the world.

Whatever you decide.

He just had to figure out what that could possibly be.

---

David was right: she had to think.

And because he deserved it, she was trying very hard not to be apocalyptic or self-pitying, even though he now knew how terrible she was not only in the ways she’d already been aware of, but fun new ones she hadn’t even noticed.

She wasn’t very good at not being apocalyptic or self-pitying. But she was trying.

Gwen wandered into the cabin’s main area, the little not-quite-a-living room they’d filled with the camp’s one crappy TV and some leftover furniture that couldn’t fit in the Mess Hall. Next to the back door was a bulletin board covered in photos — David as a camper, the hated group photo taken at the beginning of every summer. Dozens of little snapshots, things that made David happy and that he thought were worth remembering.

She caught sight of a photo near the back, half-buried under the others, and smiled despite herself. It was from the year she’d started at Camp Campbell, making that stupid salute in front of her bedroom door. David had insisted on a photo of her in her new uniform, and the smile on her face was already strained, like she’d had an inkling of how insane the next half a decade was going to be.

Another photo snagged her attention, one from last summer: her and David’s faces smushed together, his arm stretching out to try and capture both of them in their ridiculous Order of the Sparrow outfits. They had red lipstick smeared across their cheeks and feathers in their hair, and she hadn’t even bothered trying to smile — though Gwen noticed, leaning in and wincing, that even through the terrible “war paint” on her face it was obvious she was blushing.

Less than twelve hours after that picture was taken, David would get injured and give her the worst scare of her life.

Less than a day later, the people in that picture would be dating.

And just about a year later — almost to the day — the annoyed-looking woman in the photograph would be alone in the counselors’ cabin, while the pale, scrawny not-Native-American would be . . . somewhere. Away from camp. Away from her.

Because of her.

David had been right. She loved him so much — more than she’d ever loved anyone else, which scared her to the point where she kinda wanted to throw up — but she’d been treating him the way she always had: as her goofy, lovable coworker. Not dumb, most of the time anyway, but naïve and sweet and vulnerable, who needed to be steered away from bad ideas like Sword Juggling Camp and officiating a green-card wedding for Mr. Campbell and falling in love with her.

Because she was his best friend, and that was what she was supposed to do, right?

She flopped onto the couch with a groan, flinging an arm over her eyes to block out the unforgiving fluorescent light.

“I don’t think you see me as an equal at all.”

The problem was she didn’t; she saw him as better than her, kinder and more patient — but putting him on a pedestal wasn’t any more respectful, not really. It wasn’t any truer, and it sure as hell wasn’t any more flattering, didn’t hurt him any less. She couldn’t tell him how she felt for so long, because she didn’t think he’d be able to understand. Or if he did, it’d change how he felt about her, like he hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t noticed the basic primary colors of her personality in the years they’d known each other. Somehow she’d been thinking of him as both too good and not good enough for an honest conversation, and hadn’t even noticed the contradiction.

But she thought he was the one who hadn’t been paying attention? God, she’d been so self-absorbed, so myopic —

(something pinged in the back of her head)

(just enough to cut off the churning stream of her thoughts)

Myopic. David had taught her that word. He’d heard it on some podcast his friend was obsessed with, and was so excited to know something Gwen didn’t that he was practically glowing. She’d called him a smug bastard and slapped the back of his head, just hard enough to make him laugh, but the truth was she liked hearing him explain things; when he was teaching the campers, she always stopped to watch (and not just to get a break from doing her job), because he was so patient and enthusiastic it was like the air around him was suffused with a soft, warm light.

He was a good teacher. She’d learned a lot from him.

(another ping)

(louder, more like a tuning fork smacked against the inside of her skull)

Gwen sat up, nearly falling off the sagging couch as she scrambled to her feet. There was an idea — small, fluttering, and she was afraid to approach it head-on because it might dissolve like a barely-remembered dream, but it all came back to myopic , to forest survival, to every time he’d taught her something she hadn’t known before. And there was so much. She’d been the most hopeless city girl when she started at Camp Campbell; she’d barely known how to tie a decent knot, let alone lead the dozens of bizarre and complicated camps David juggled like it was nothing.

Gwen remembered the strings of origami animals that she’d made back in New York. How she hadn’t turned to her phone for a YouTube tutorial, but painstakingly tried to remember David’s instructions step-by-step.

A quick glance at the clock told her it was just past 2 a.m. She had a little more than four hours before he’d be back, probably. It didn’t feel like nearly enough time, but she’d do what she could.

David was so much more than she’d ever given him credit for.

And she thought she knew how she could show it to him.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85

~^~

Thursday, 18:02

Song: Daði Freyr - Think About Things

Lucas finds himself pleased at how easy it is to pick Sander out from a crowd. If the white hair doesn’t give it away, the jacket does; if the jacket isn’t enough, the laughter is; and if that fails, the boyfriend is always a good confirmation.

Robbe is the one who spots Lucas first, wrapped up in his usual brown coat and then Sander, who whispers something in Robbe’s ear that makes him roll his eyes. Lucas’s heart clenches. Fondness and jealousy war inside him and tangle into a tight knot. A thin thread of fear completes it. He always marvels at them, at the openness of their affection, and yet he still finds himself casting his gaze around for the onlookers who don’t hold the same respect. Seeing them so free of any guards only makes Lucas’s heighten.

Especially when Sander turns to look at him, smile wide and eyes bright, but with faint shadows lingering underneath. He holds his hand out when Lucas is a few feet away and Lucas clasps it in greeting, allowing Sander to tug him forward into a half hug. “Hey.”

His tone is cheerful, light, and still Lucas does a discreet examination, noticing the tousled hair and drooped shoulders and worrying, until he catches sight of the faint bruise not quite tucked away under his collar. He moves his gaze to Robbe, who hasn’t unwound his arm from the other’s waist and holds a blush high in his cheeks, but seems pleased and unbothered, and he understands. He extends the same greeting to Robbe as he internally berates himself, remembering how his mother would react under the same scrutiny. Sander is the only one capable of knowing what he feels and what he’s up for, and it isn’t Lucas’s place to play doctor. Clearly, even the blonde’s boyfriend has learned that.

“So, why exactly have I been invited to third wheel for the day?” Lucas asks.

Robbe huffs a laugh. “I think that’ll actually be me today. I’m not exactly part of this plan.”

“You’re always part of my plan,” Sander dismisses easily, ignorant to the blush he earns in response as he grins excitedly at Lucas. “How do you feel about an actual lesson in art, protégé?”

“Wait, seriously?” Lucas raises a brow. He’d assumed, when Sander had reached out to him, that it was art-themed. But even now, he isn’t sure what exactly to expect.

“That is assuming you don’t already know what you’re doing,” Robbe amends. “How much practice have you had with graffiti?”

Lucas’s eyes almost bulge out of his head. “Really?”

Sander purses his lips, amused, as Robbe raises his brows. “Is that a lot, or…?”

“None. I haven’t done any. Yet.”

“Ahh,” Sander rubs his hands together, beaming. “Then today’s your lucky day. Come.”

Lucas doesn’t need to be told twice. He follows them closely down the sidewalk, the two in constant contact but never excluding, always trying to invite Lucas in. Lucas laughs at their teasing and nods at their explanations and listens raptly to their tales and only feels his excitement grow. Art is something he’s been neglecting, recently, aside from a few flurries of rushed sketches, but the passion has seemed to revive full force by just being in Sander’s presence. His love for the subject is obvious in every exaggerated word and extravagant gesture of hands, and Lucas is effectively entranced. Graffiti was never a medium he’d considered seriously, but he’s always admired. He’s more than aware of Sander’s talent for it, and admits that a lesson from such a person is not a bad way to start off.

It also makes him feel that bit more insufficient. He can’t possibly match up to either of these boys, be it in bravery or talent or both. It dims his excitement, just slightly.

But his spirits are quickly revived as they finally make it to their destination. Sander hands him a mask made from black cloth from his pocket and waits as he and Robbe tuck them over their ears. Only then does he don his own with a wink before rapping his knuckles rhythmically on the garage door.

The inside space is much bigger than Lucas expects, opening up to reveal rows of large containers, all decorated with at least one piece of art. Sander guides Lucas and Robbe through them, indicating artists he ‘knows’, complete pieces he’s captured while they were still in progress, and a few small things of his own tucked away behind new layers.

“Take a good look around,” Sander says, turning to wink at Robbe. Lucas only has a few seconds to be confused before he adds, “You might find the love of your life here.”

Lucas raises his brows. “This is where the two of you met?”

“Met is a strong word,” Robbe says, rolling his eyes at Sander. “I didn’t even see him.”

“No, he was too focused on his girlfriend at the time,” Sander agrees lightly.

“But he claims he saw me and it was love at first sight.” Robbe reaches up to pinch his boyfriend’s cheek, and Lucas allows a small laugh. “Even though he could barely see my face.”

“Didn’t need to,” Sander shrugs. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

Robbe comes to a halt and tugs at Sander’s hand, drawing him around to face him. He pulls down Sander’s mask after tugging away his own, leaning in for a short kiss. It takes Lucas longer than it should to avert his gaze. He just doesn’t think he can ever get used to it.

While actually watching them, he doesn’t think he could ever do that. He doesn’t think he could ever be that.

But he wants to.

When he looks away, his gaze catches on a bright patch hidden amongst a cloud of grayscale. His feet carry him towards it on their own accord, and it takes a few moments for him to realise what it is. It’s a patchwork rainbow of colours, blended together but with dark, specific lines cutting through and outlining it to form a heart, in its scientific detail. Lucas would scoff, if there wasn’t something about it that had ridden him speechless in awe, hand reaching out to brush over the dried paint.

He doesn’t notice Sander until he’s right at his shoulder, then he jumps when he speaks.

“Huh?” Lucas twists to look at him.

“Nice piece,” Sander repeats. “I don’t actually remember seeing it before.”

“You don’t know who did it, then?”

“No. Even the style isn’t familiar.”

Lucas nods and lets his hand fall away, following when Sander sets off in a new direction. He’s led to a blank spot on one of the containers, with a crate of spray paint already waiting at the top of the short steps. Excitement bubbles back up in him as he jogs up after Sander, only to turn back in confusion when he realises Robbe hasn’t followed. He catches sight of him fist-bumping another guy in greeting, over a head taller than him and built like a wall. Sander follows his gaze and snorts at the picture, giving a little wave when Robbe turns his gaze on him suspiciously.

Then Sander turns back to the space and rubs his hands together. “Okay. Have you ever done any spray-painting before?”

“I haven’t even held a can.”

Sander immediately picks a can out and smacks it into his hand. “Then today is really your lucky day. We’re gonna start with a neutral layer then, just to get you used to how it feels. You can try with some vague shapes just to practice lines?”

Lucas nods, trying not to appear too lost already. Sander smiles slightly, anyway, and picks up a can of his own, giving it a vigorous shake as he finally tugs his mask back up over his face. Lucas copies him, getting used to the hold of it, adjusting his grip a few times until he feels more comfortable. When Sander uncaps his Lucas does the same. Then he watches as Sander sprays a quick, messy wave downwards in example.

When Lucas moves to copy him, Sander quickly catches his hand. “Woah, woah. First lesson—always make sure the nozzle is pointing the right way, yeah? We don’t want you losing an eye. Jens will never like me.”

Lucas flushes, turns the can around the right way, and hesitantly presses down when Sander nods. White covers gray in a sudden, heavy stream, and he carefully moves his hand in a small circle. He’s shading this in under Sander’s mildly impressed—but still watchful—gaze before the end of his words sink in.

“What has Jens got to do with spray-painting?”

Sander glances at him, then shrugs, raising his own can again and looping a circle through Lucas’s. “Not the painting, just you. You’re his new favourite, aren’t you? And he already didn’t seem impressed that we knew each other. Last thing I ever want to do is prove Jens right.”

“You don’t get along?” Lucas asks carefully.

“Oh no, we do. We just also like the healthy sort of competition we have going on. He acts like he’s annoyed and I annoy him a little more. It’s nice. Works well.”

Lucas smiles in mild confusion. “Why, though? You’re both really cool, you probably have a few obscure things in common. Wouldn’t you rather be closer?”

Another shrug. “It’s not completely up to me. I don’t know that Jens is acting, all the time.”

“What, you think you annoy him?”

Sander examines the little symbol they’ve created as he searches for a response. “I think I’m always worthy of concern, in his eyes. He’s very protective of Robbe, and I respect that,” he settles on.

It doesn’t entirely satisfy Lucas. “He doesn’t need to protect Robbe from you.”

Sander turns towards him and offers, from the new curve of his cheeks, what Lucas assumes is a smile. “No?”

Lucas shakes his head. “No one loves Robbe more than you. It’s not possible.”

That seems to brighten the other boy, slightly, and Lucas wonders if Jens is even aware of this doubt in their relationship. It seems unlikely. If he knew the way it weighed on the blonde, Lucas is sure he’d quickly set him right. It saddens Lucas, to see the tightly-drawn curl of Sander’s shoulders as he ducks down to collect a new can and doesn’t quite meet his eye as he rises again. He’s sure Jens wouldn’t like it, either.

“Robbe told you, right? About my…”

The reason for the tension suddenly becomes more clear. Lucas hates that the other boy can’t even say it. “Yeah. I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to know, I wasn’t meaning to pry—“

“No,” Sander cuts him off, raising his free hand and giving a small shake of his head. “I told Robbe it was okay. I’m sorry that I couldn’t explain it myself. It’s usually...not an issue so quickly after I meet someone.”

“It isn’t an issue,” Lucas says softly, simply.

Sander shakes the new can and watches his own movements closely. “I would have just liked you to get to know me first. I understand if you—if it changes how you see me.”

Lucas tilts his head and sets a gentle hand on Sander’s arm, waiting until the other boy looks at him. There is, Lucas realises, a vulnerability in him that he hadn’t noticed in any of their previous meetings. A dull, contained sadness behind the eccentric persona. It strikes a chord more familiar in Lucas’s chest than the initial one, the one that had seen an outsider and an extravagant and an artist. Now he sees more clearly—a struggler and a fighter and a savior.

The only thing that has changed, in Lucas’s opinion of Sander, is that he’s ten times more interesting than he’d originally thought. Lucas views him as more of a kindred spirit now than before.

“How I see you,” Lucas muses. “You mean as the scarily talented, intimidatingly cool, older guy who is literally teaching me one of the most awesome art-forms ever right now? Yeah, Sander, it’s real disappointing.”

He shakes his head, disbelieving, and is gratified at the small laugh Sander lets out in response.

“Wait,” Sander teases, “do I have my first fanboy?”

Lucas scoffs, then nods his head behind them. “I doubt I’m the first.”

The mask works at hiding his cheeks, but Lucas still sees his neck reddening as he looks over his shoulder at Robbe. His eyes seem to brighten and soften at once when he finally catches sight of him. Lucas realises then how deep their affection actually goes. It throws him, how clear it is suddenly, how little Sander does to hide it, how easily Robbe feels his eyes and turns to reciprocate even though there shouldn’t be any way for him to know. They are that in tune, that in sync, that it baffles Lucas to watch them. He can’t imagine anyone ever looking at him like that.

Aren’t you lonely?

Lucas shakes the memory way and finds himself admitting, “My mom is bipolar, too.”

Sander looks back at him instantly.

“No one else here knows that, so. You’re the first,” he continues, awkwardly, pointlessly, stupidly. Where is he going with this?

It doesn’t matter. He just needed to say it.

“Oh,” Sander says. Then his tone softens. “Is that why you moved here?”

Lucas averts his gaze and gives a small, jerky nod. “My dad...he made us. He couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t stay. I miss her. Everyday. It doesn’t make me love her any less. I just miss my mother.”

Sander’s shoulders slump, but before he can say anything else Robbe is climbing the steps and joining them. “How’s it going?”

Sander shifts his gaze to his boyfriend and Lucas feels the tension holding his spine seep away. Robbe and Sander pull their masks down again in tandem, sharing nothing more than a quick peck. It’s just enough of a distraction for Lucas to make himself look busy, as he sprays the hasty shape of a designer-heart on the container, next to their circles. Then he does a careful ‘R + S’ inside.

Robbe makes a small noise that may be a cheer as Sander snorts. “We have a natural here. I think he might even have something to teach me.”

Lucas turns to him with a retort ready on his tongue and stops when he sees Sander’s serious, but warm gaze. He realises that it isn’t about the painting.

He reaches out and knocks Sander’s shoulder fondly, smiling to himself when Sander squeezes his in response.

[foxy-exy]

23 + andriel 👀

Bloom (forget me not)

Prompt 23 from here: “No, we’re going to talk about this now.” (and tattoo artist/piercer Andrew AU also came from Syd!!) TW: lots of talk about scars i’ve been mia working on my very-close-to-my-heart and very-long-compared-to-what-i’ve-been-writing-lately aftg big bang fic (WATCH OUT FOR THAT PLZ) but syd hit me w/ tattoo artist/piercer andrew right when my need for just one (1) tattoo and many (MANY) more piercings was highest so here we are (also my aftg server was talking about flower tattoos on jean and i was like oh worm flower tattoos on aftg characters you say??? so they are also partially responsible) also i may have never actually gotten a tattoo before but this is definitely Not How It Works, unrealistic, unprofessional, and general bad clienting but shhh you can also find this fic on my ao3 here!

Andrew’s pencil scratching is the only sound in the parlor — he thinks maybe his phone died an hour ago and with it, his music playlist. He should probably get up and plug it back in.

The cat eyes glare at him from his sketchpad page, though, and he can’t leave the face half finished now. He swings his chair back around to look at the picture on the shop’s computer screen that he’s sketching. God, this cat is ugly. He wouldn’t want this cat as a sleeve, but what the paying client wants, the paying client gets.

He blocks out the nose and jaw, shakes out his aching hand, and glares back at the drawing as he leans back in the chair and shoves the pencil eraser into his mouth to chew on.

“Hey.”

Andrew sends his sketchpad flying and nearly tips his chair over to turn back around. Nobody ever shows up for random walk-ins this early, it’s why he’s usually the only one on the schedule. (They retain more clients when Andrew is not the one who talks to them. Because Andrew is, as Nicky puts it, an asshole.)

Neil Josten stands before him, dressed as plainly as ever in his standard gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans, looking bemused and out of place in the strange context of Andrew’s workplace. He is not a piercings-and-tattoos kind of person. He is a somewhat-friends-with-Kevin-purely-because-they-like-to-yell-about-sports-together-on-Andrew’s-couch kind of person.

“Thanks for not even setting off the door bells,” Andrew says coolly, around a mouthful of pencil eraser, and takes it from his mouth immediately after, because Neil is smiling a little, eyes on it.

“Sorry, I’m pretty quiet.”

“No, you aren’t,” Andrew says, and Neil’s lips twitch again.

He and Neil are distant acquaintances at best. Kevin shares Andrew and Nicky’s apartment for rent purposes as Aaron moved out months ago to live with his girlfriend, but Kevin and Andrew don’t share friend groups. Even so, it is impossible to ignore Neil Josten when he’s worked up and shouting about Kevin’s favorite teams being terrible.

“What are you here for?” Andrew clicks off the cat photo and pulls up their schedule — empty for several hours, until Kevin comes in for an appointment with somebody who wants some script work. He doesn’t know why Neil is here when Kevin isn’t working, they’re the ones who know each other.

“How much for a…a medusa?”

“Fifty.” Andrew eyes him. The uncertainty in his voice is clear, which is…interesting. “I didn’t think you were into piercings, or Kevin would have bullied you into at least three by now.”

Neil doesn’t answer, because his gaze is glued to Andrew’s arms — his shirt sleeves have ridden up to show the patchwork pieces winding their way up his wrists and forearms.

“And…” This comes out more rushed now, clearly the actual reason for the visit, “What about tattoos?”

Andrew pulls back down his sleeves. “Are you asking for pricing? I can’t give you an estimate without any kind of idea of what you’re looking for. Do you even know the style you want? Where you want it?”

Neil drags his eyes back up to meet Andrew’s. “You covered up Kevin’s old tattoos, didn’t you?”

Andrew folds his arms. Enunciates clearly because he’s never been one to beat around the bush. “Are you looking for a tattoo consultation or not?”

“Yes,” says Neil, and his mouth flattens, brows pinching.

“Glad to see you’re so very excited about it,” Andrew deadpans, opens up an appointment entry on the schedule and types in Neil Josten, tattoo consultation: Andrew Minyard. He snatches up his sketchpad and pencil from the ground and curls a finger at Neil to follow.

***

“You don’t have tattoos to cover up,” Andrew says, when Neil tentatively perches on the edge of the lounge seat in the private office. “What do you want?”

Neil tugs at the fraying cuff of his shirt and looks pained. “I just…I don’t know.”

“That really sucks, because you’re paying me to help you figure out specifics on what you want right now.”

“Can you cover up scars,” Neil mumbles, and Andrew freezes. And Neil must pick up on this, because immediately he says, “Never mind. This was a bad idea.”

Andrew catches Neil’s shirt hem before he can completely turn towards the door. “No, we’re going to talk about this now.”

“I changed my mind, it’s okay, don’t tell Kevin, I just thought maybe —”

“I won’t tell Kevin,” Andrew says.

Neil tugs at his hair.

“I can cover up scars,” Andrew says.

Neil looks back at him, and he is very pale.

And then, because Andrew is stupid, “I’ve covered up my own scars.”

Neil’s face does something very complicated, his hands shake a little, and slowly, carefully, Neil sits back down.

***

Neil doesn’t know what he wants, exactly, he says. He says he likes what he’s seen of Andrew’s work, which isn’t all that helpful.

“Abstract,” Andrew says, and Neil shrugs.

“Animals.” Shrug.

“Skulls,” Andrew says, with a hint of impatience.

“Anything,” Neil says.

“You’re my least favorite client.”

“Even that one with the lion back tattoo?” Neil asks, and he is smiling again. Teasing. Andrew knows that Neil was in the house when he was telling Kevin about that client and his ridiculous whining, but he hadn’t realized Neil had been listening.

“Yes, maybe you’ll overtake even him,” Andrew retorts, reaches for the binder sitting in the corner marked Andrew Minyard — full of his past work — and tosses it at Neil. “I can’t work with ‘anything.’ That’s how people get tattoos they regret.”

“I liked Kevin’s black rose,” Neil says, and flips through the book, lingering on a page with more floral designs. “But you do color, too?”

“That is a style I do, yes.” Andrew watches Neil’s fingers trace delicate petals and fights back a curious rush. “Scar tissue can be unpredictable when it comes to holding ink, and it can hurt. But I’ve had experience with it. Do you want something like that?”

“I like these,” Neil says quietly, and Andrew shoves his pencil eraser back into his mouth and turns resolutely back to his sketchpad so he doesn’t have to look at Neil looking at his work.

“Colored flowers,” he says, drumming fingernails against his paper. “Fine. What flowers do you like? Where would this be?”

“Forget-me-not? On my arm?” Again, Neil sounds uncertain, and Andrew turns a glare on him.

“If you want this, you want this. If you’re not sure, I’m not inking an inch of you.”

He decides he hates looking at Neil’s soft smile when he is on its receiving end. This is the first time it’s happened, and he thinks if it happens again, he should check into a hospital for heart palpitations.

“I want it. Here.” Neil rolls up a sleeve, and Andrew clamps his jaw shut as Neil taps a finger to his forearm, covered in circular red puckers of skin and the occasional, familiar raised line of white. Andrew forces himself to lean closer to examine the canvas with clinical detachment, and press his fingers to the skin, measuring.

“This big?”

“Yeah,” Neil says, and that’s that.

***

“Why the hell was Neil on your schedule?” Kevin asks very loudly from the front desk as Andrew lounges across the waiting room couch and doodles blue petals.

“Huh, Kevin, I don’t see how that’s really any of your business,” Andrew says, and scribbles out another draft.

“No, seriously. He’s never wanted anything before. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Contrary to what your ego says, not everything is about you,” Andrew drawls.

“Neil,” Kevin barks, and Andrew looks up to find Kevin with his phone to his ear. “Why did you come to see Andrew?”

Neil must apparently say something similar to Andrew’s sentiments because Kevin rolls his eyes. “You should have told me that you wanted something. No, I — he didn’t say anything to me. Neil —!” The last part is said to an apparently dead line, because Kevin pulls the phone away with a huff. “I don’t understand why he came to you without saying anything, I’m his tattoo artist friend.”

“Too bad,” Andrew says, and pulls out his own phone when it buzzes.

Thanks, is the simple text from Neil Josten. For not telling him.

Andrew doesn’t reply, but he tucks his phone between his elbows and pretends to ignore the warmth blooming in his chest as he flips the page and starts to shade another forget-me-not.

***

Do you like this? Andrew asks, and attaches a picture of his latest draft.

Almost immediately, the text is marked as Seen, but Neil doesn’t respond for a solid few minutes.

Finally, Andrew locks his phone again, irritated, and shoves away his sketchpad, feeling too jittery to sleep like he should be doing at — he checks the clock — 2 AM.

His phone chimes, and Andrew looks down at It’s perfect and thinks that having such a giant crush on his apartment mate’s probably uninterested friend is maybe really, really bad.

***

“Hey, Andrew.”

Andrew looks up from the fridge. He has been studiously ignoring Neil’s presence on the couch while Kevin chatters to him about the latest hockey wins. But Kevin has disappeared, and Neil remains, and Neil is…looking at him.

“I like it a lot. Like, fuck, really a lot.”

Andrew glares and slams the fridge closed. Neil’s smile only grows wider as Andrew stalks over to the table to deposit whatever leftovers he grabbed (that he most definitely did not look at) onto it.

“So, when are you free to ink me?”

Andrew’s going to die, and Neil Josten saying when are you free to ink me is going to be the cause of death.

“Tomorrow. 10 AM,” he grits out.

“Okay,” Neil says.

***

“Andrew.”

“Shut up.”

“Andrew,” Neil says again, shakily.

“Don’t.”

“Thank you.” Neil stares at the forget-me-not cluster blooming across pinkened skin underneath the plastic wrap, lips parted. Andrew wants to kiss them.

“Oh,” says Neil when he looks up, and Andrew is still too close, and Andrew would usually probably pull back but instead, he dips closer. And Neil would usually probably avoid physical contact like he does with everyone but instead, Neil kisses him back.

“Oh,” Andrew agrees, and starts to turn away, but Neil shifts with him, eyes too intense, and a finger hovers at Andrew’s collar to tug very lightly.

“When would be too soon to ask when you’re free again?”

“Has the tattoo bug bitten you already?” Andrew scoffs, and Neil looks down at his forget-me-not and nods. “You’ll have to schedule an appointment like everybody else. You’re lucky my schedule hasn’t been as booked lately.”

“Okay,” says Neil, and then, “and what about asking when you’re free outside of work?”

Andrew stares at him. “For?”

“What about a repeat of this kind of thing?” Neil gestures between them. “Or…lunch, on me?”

“Lunch, on me,” says Andrew automatically. “You just gave me a lot of money.”

“Okay,” says Neil again, and laughs. “Kevin’s going to be so pissed that he missed all this happening.”

“I don’t see why I have to tell him who I’m kissing,” Andrew says.

“You’ve only done it once.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow and fixes that grievous mistake.

Neil’s answering grin is not soft, just impish, but it does things to Andrew’s heart all the same.

[d-a-anderson]

The Deer Church

This short is based on a dream I had last night. It disturbed me enough that I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I wrote it down. I may expand it to flesh out the themes and context.

H. P. Lovecraft is known for “cosmic horror”—that is, his assumption that we live in an uncaring universe that feels nothing for us, so that its true nature is so alien that it is existentially dreadful.

My subconscious seems to be working with a kind of “ecological horror”—that is, that nature is uncaring, and if it ever felt something for us, it has now turned against us. And that an uncaring Nature can be as alien and dreadful as a cosmos that is wholly and perniciously “Other”.

Image: "Cernunnos", or the “horned god” of Celtic polytheism, on the Gundestrup Cauldron, c. 150 BC

The forest beyond the town broke into a clearing. I could see the ravine that had once been a river, now dammed up to make way for work on the mines.

Old, metal-wire fences teetered on the edge, and dead trees that had long since fallen hung down the other side. The air smelled musty, and the mud stuck to the side of my galoshes.

I noticed where the fences curved away, hugging the only path out of the forest. There was a landbridge leading to the other side of the ravine. It seemed impossibly thin for its height against the river basin, like a sidewalk’s width, and moss-covered signs hanging on the fence were too dirty to be readable. I noticed a set of tracks leading across the landbridge—what looked like deer tracks, caked in the mud, still wet.

“Hello there?”

A voice echoed from across the river basin. At the other side of the landbridge, I saw an elderly woman who seemed to be dressed in black, with fine gray hair pulled in a bun. Her dress seemed to me vaguely reminiscent of a nun’s.

“Hello,” I said, projecting my voice. A faint echo came back.

“We have a church here,” said the lady. “Would you like to see it?”

“Across this path?” I asked. “Are you sure it’s safe to cross?”

“Of course it is—here, let me show you.”

The lady crossed part way across the dirt path, and I could see the grandmotherly wrinkles on her face. She seemed to traverse it easily, without even minding the closeness of the fences to the steep drops on either side.

“See? Come on over now. Lots of people come this way. We have a beautiful church just up the side of this hill.”

I had a soft spot for churches. Ever since growing up in New England and attending Sunday school as a child, I loved old Protestant churches—their pews, their well-worn hymnals, and the musty homeliness that came with them.

“Oh,” the lady said. “You’ll just love our church then. It’s by far the finest here in the west. What brings you out this far?”

“I’m surveying for the developers.”

“Mhm,” mumbled the lady, seeming unconcerned with my answer.

I minded my footing as we passed along the path. The wire fences seemed to hold the ground together, even as the path got muddy. The lady seemed unfazed, but I stuck my hand out to grasp the chainlinks as we stepped. The wire jingled in that dull, steely way, and I could see the waves travel through it as I clutched it with my unsteady hand.

“See? It’s not so bad.” The lady muttered again. And as I watched my feet, I saw in the ground again: deer tracks. Or, at least, deer footprints. Were deer this big? I didn’t know; I’d never been a boyscout.

“There we go. Up this way now. I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

I followed the lady up the hill where a loose footpath was made. The dirt, moss, and mud were held in place by wood planks that looked like they must’ve been placed there long ago. The lady held up her skirt against the mud, and I could see the hose beneath her dress.

“Here we are—the old, dear church,” she said.

I looked up, slightly winded. A few paces from us was an old, decrepit church. Vines covered the side of its walls and dark mold crawled up the sides of its brick foundations. The wood-step path led up to its threshhold. There were no broken windows and they weren’t boarded up—but they were too dark to see inside.

“It’s small,” I mentioned.

“Oh, but that gives it some charm,” she said. “We don’t need those big churches like some people do. You should see the inside—it’s quite special.”

Still entertained by the idea of nostalgia, I walked up the path, following the lady. A sign read “Dear Church” in metal lettering, nailed over the double doors—but the “a” in “Dear” was missing, and instead had been scrawled into the wood.

“Come in, dear,” said the lady. I entertained her as she opened the door for me, and I neglected to ask her name. I suppose I didn’t want to offend her.

I stepped inside, and the mustiness of the air outside was exponentially thicker beyond the doors. When my eyes adjusted, I could see the lobby of a normal, small-town church—much like ones I grew up going to Sundays in.

Except there was a pervasive mold. Not just the kind of mold you’d see in a condemned house—at least, I’ve never been in a condemned house before, or one like this before. It wasn’t the kind of mold you’d expect in a house—it was white, furry, with splotches of green in some places. It wasn’t quite the kind you’d see on a piece of cheese in the fridge before throwing it out, but something close to it.

And it was everywhere. On the seats’ cushions on either side of the doors as you walked in. On the tablecloth where greeters must’ve delivered their programs to visitors. On the carpets of the floor, trailing up the staircases, leading up on either side, onto the doors leading to the main room. On an old coffee dispenser that must’ve been there for decades.

“It has its own special charm,” said the lady. “Quite humble compared to other churches, don’t you think?”

I managed to hide a frown of disgust, careful not to touch anything, and instead nodded at the lady—still, wishing not to offend. She seemed unperturbed by the extreme state of growth, and, still daintily clutching the sides of her dress, stepped up the stairs, which split to either side of the greeting station.

“The architecture is… interesting,” I managed to comment without stammering too much. She nodded without looking at me, but still visibly smiling.

“Sister Mary? We have a visitor who wishes to see the church.” The lady announced as she reached the top of the stairs. A door creaked open, which I assumed must’ve led to a balcony in the main room.

Another elderly woman, not too different in complexion, but now in a gray dress rather than black, entered the lobby.

“Ah, how nice. Glad to see we can have another visitor.”

I proceeded up the opposite stairs, doing my best to play it nice and congenial. Surely this wasn’t a functioning church? Either that, or I’d landed myself into some kind of cult. Still, some impulse in me wanted to see beyond the layers of ruined upholstery and drywall, all caked in this thick, soft, white layer of fungi. Or, maybe, I wanted to entertain what the rest of it looked like as it was out of gross curiosity.

Until I noticed, on the upholstered benches leading up to the main double doors, where the main room would be, what looked like a mannequin’s head sitting on the cushions. It was completely covered in the white, moldy moss, so that its features were indistinguishable. The layer of organic gunk was so thick that it seemed to have solidified in place, like the fungi had hardened so that it had the visible texture of plaster. Next to it was an arm. I didn’t dare touch it.

“Ah, don’t worry about those,” the lady called Sister Mary said. “We like to leave things as they are here. Come on in—you have to at least see the auditorium.”

Sister Mary walked to the double doors and opened them, gesturing for me to enter.

I looked inside. It looked like a church’s auditorium all right, if a bit modern in style. A small flight of stairs, split on either side of an exit below, led down to pews in angled rows facing a central pulpit. The ceiling sloped downward, and the whole room had a pentagonal shape, roughly big enough for two hundred people.

It was a mess. The wood of the pews was so water damaged that it was discolored from brown to black. Scrap pieces of wood laid about, I took note, as I descended the staircase, feigning curiosity and amazement. After all—only two elderly women, right? And, of course, mold was everywhere.

I was taken to a figure to my left. Another mannequin—this time, seated, like where a deacon would be. Totally covered in white and splotchy green fungus, like someone had plastered it with the stuff. The features were totally indistinguishable, and even the hands were so coated that it had no fingers; they just looked like mittens. The stuff was covered on the seat too, like the head and arm was in the lobby. I had the visceral sense, whether incorrect or not, that the figure was part of the seat now.

And as I stepped downward and the floor creaked, I could see the pews from an angle; I could see more heads on the seats, as if they were fungi themselves, either placed there or growing out of the upholstery, but now indistinguishable either way. They all faced the pulpit, as if to receive a sermon.

Daring to look at the pulpit, I couldn’t make out the figure behind it. The felt-covered stage, the wood of the pulpit, was all completely covered in fungus. Instead of standing like a pastor would be, the figure was seated behind the pulpit on the floor, and I couldn’t see its face. All I could see was what must’ve been a pair of antlers protruding from its head.

“What do you think?” Said one of the sisters. “Please meet our brother, Hern.”

Out stepped from the balcony a large man in a patchwork sweater. He wore a mask that seemed to be caked, solid mold, carved in the shape of a rudimentary face.

My eyes darted to the exit, just below the balcony, as I watched this hulking man descend the staircase, coming to flank me.

“Hern is the custodian here,” a sister said. “He can take care of you.”

I stepped toward the exit, still feigning interest in my surroundings. Some scrap wood, fallen on a table at the back of the auditorium, was within my reach. I picked it up, flipping it in my hand like it was a toy, smiling innocuously. Hern slowly walked up toward my rear, and I could feel the floorboards give under his footsteps. I looked up at the balcony and noticed, behind the sisters, what seemed like child’s drawings of a series of faces. One had two sets of eyes beneath a mask.

“What’s with the drawing with the two sets of eyes?” I asked.

At that moment, Hern grabbed me in a headlock with one arm from behind. I felt a strong pressure at the left side of my neck. Was it a needle? Was I about to pass out? No. Was it a gun? No—it felt like just two massive fingertips, dirty, with rough nails, digging into my skin. He must’ve been feigning a gun. I gave a shove against the headlock, still gripping the wood scrap in my hand.

“Let me go!” I yelled. Hern was a head taller than me and the headlock held fast. So I reflexively did the one thing I could: I took the wood and slammed the sharp end above my head in an attempt to stab his face through its mask.

“Let—me—go!”

On the third try the headlock loosened, and I darted for the exit ahead of me, intent with all my might to make it to that thin little landbridge, the one with the oversized deertracks, and to get to the other side of the ravine.

[thecorteztwins]

🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊!!!!! Scream about them!!

WOW THAT’S A LOT I’ll talk about two, Ashti and AverySo I have a ton of old OCs but I’d rather talk about the new ones I started making this year after like 4-5 years of not making them anymore.

ASHTI YILMAZHer family are Yazidi Kurds living in Germany, grandparents originally are from TurkeyTender, wistful, melancholy, manipulative, explosive. Far more emotional than logical, and quick to let her bleeding heart and overpowering passion take her reins, whether in sympathy or anger. Easy to hurt, tease, and rile. Prone to sulking, pouting, and brooding, but can shout too when pushed far enough. Has strong feelings, but these make it hard for her to take a strong stance on complicated matters, since her emotions get pulled both ways. Always feels a little out of place. Beats herself up over little things. Fancies herself the mom friend but actually needs a mom friend. Moody, immature, unconditionally supportive. Will say awful things she doesn’t mean in anger and prone to emotional blackmail when upset. Fatalistic, often just accepts that powers that be must have a plan, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. Warm but wary; always friendly to new people externally, but inside she's on the lookout for any sign they dislike her or are making fun of her, which sometimes leads her to read too much into innocent remarks or innocuous expressions. Feels more experienced than people from more privileged lives and groups, but also like they’re smarter and more accomplished. Ashti definitely has very normative ideas about gender. Nothing exceptional, just common generalizations like women are more emotional, little boys like the physical play, men can be total brutes whereas women attack with cattiness, etc. She’s also prone to romantization of bad relationships, like that jealousy means passion, control means protection, and sticking together through all your fights proves how strong your love is instead of calling it quits. This not only means she is likely to get into and stay in toxic relationships herself, but give her friends dangerous advice to do the same when they come to her with romantic troubles Unsurprisingly, she has a tendency toward tortured bad boys and getting her heart trod on. She has a complicated relationship with her culture. On the one hand, she's proud of it and defiant against any forces that try to take away or erase it. She wants to learn more about it. On the other hand, she hates that feels she HAS to learn about it, that as a tiny minority it's on her shoulders to keep carrying this legacy or risk letting it die. And she hates that all she seems to learn is about how much other people hate her, about massacres and genocides and camps and gas, no about joy and triumphs and great works of art like everyone else seems to get to have in their background. That stuff is there too, but sometimes it seems like it's just entirely overshadowed by the ongoing history of persecution, and she doesn't WANT that, she doesn't want to be defined by the SUFFERING of her people rather than their accomplishments. And she wonders, if she has to learn so much of her own culture from books, since so much of it was torn from her family long before her parents were even born and thus they couldn't teach it to her, is it really even hers? Like, really? If she has to learn it in the same way that a non-Kurd would, is she really culturally Kurdish, or just genetically? Where's the line? And can she really count HERSELF as persecuted? Her PEOPLE have suffered terribly, but if she's never been the victim of anything truly bad or overt, does she have the right to speak on that suffering and claim it by extension? One of her biggest flaws is she doesn't know her flaws. She thinks her flaws are being insecure, emotional, and loving too much. And these aren't untrue. But she's missing a whole lot of the less flattering, less endearing aspects of her personality.Dislikes when people think they (or someone else) is a good person just because they are loyal and kind to their friends, family, teammates, etc. Even genocidal dictators usually treat their own well; what really shows who you are is how you treat those who are different from you, those who disagree with you, those that you don’t know, those that you will lose nothing by mistreating?Also dislikes: Shitty apologies, they send her into an instant screaming rage * Line cutters * When people look down at fast food workers, custodians, etc., and clearly have no courtesy or respect for them (ex: carelessly leaving huge messes) * Beautiful sand sculptures because they get destroyed so fast, it actually upsets her that something that took so much talent and care is going to be so transient * Gorillas, they're scary and she's no Fay Wray * Big trucks, they make her nervousLikes: wild honeysuckle, strong tea, sweet coffee, sleepy gray cats, old patchwork quilts with a story, dark storms at sea, bright sunshine after heavy rain, rose and lavender flavored things, mountains (but not climbing them), he sight of old abandoned cottage houses overgrown with grass and vines. She’s always on the side of the common masses against those in power, but it’d be a lie to say she didn’t watch Sofia Coppola’s “Marie Antoinette “ on wistful repeat or secretly fantasize about somehow being the lost Princess Anastasia Romanov. She also loves "Beauty & the Beast" stories like "Labyrinth" and "Phantom of the Opera" about powerful and kinda evil men obsessed with beautiful naive young ingenues. Loves photos of skeletons that are embracing in their final moments, not as in props but real remains of people were found holding each other as they died, such as The Lovers of Valdaro Would love to be a model or a beauty blogger, glamorous jobs with no imagined effort where people would love her and see her as pretty. As it is she has a job as a receptionist at a ritzy spa called Tranquility.She can pop her wrists out of place, and paints/dyes silk scarves as a hobby.There’s a history of mental illness in her mother’s family, it’s never been officially diagnosed, they just say they’re “emotional” and “passionate” but actually it’s probably something more along the lines of bipolar or borderline, and Ashti isn’t affected but her mother was to a degree and her sister to an even greater one and it caused a huge rift in the family that the dynamic has never really recovered from. AVERY RUE UNDERWOODWhite American trans girl, goth/grunge, pretty much constantly dresses in the same uniform of a black slip dress with a black hoodie or flannel, or some variation on this. She has tattoos of the alchemical symbols for sulfur, salt, arsenic, and mercury, chosen for their metaphorical meanings rather than scientific. Salt, mercury, and sulfur are in her back, down the length of her spine. Arsenic is above her groin. Neutral and detached, but not disinterested or apathetic, Avery approaches most everything from a position of laidback philosophical ease. When things are too tough that it gets through even her robotic shell, she disengages externally and seems ever more the automaton, while actually dwelling on the matter for days or more internally. She can recite "Cassilda's Song" by heart, and talk for hours about the racism and insanity of Lovecraft, and how both these things are misunderstood and misconstrued equally by his devotees and detractors alike. Her icon is Mommy Fortuna from The Last Unicorn, who chose her death and kept it close to her, caged and hers til the end when it tore her to pieces--welcomed by her with open arms, still hers, hers forever.Collects antique silver plated hair brushes. She thinks a lot about how everyone has a life and internal thoughts and we just don’t know we can never really know another person. She likes to go to lonely personal blogs and Twitter accounts and the like and just follow. She rarely “likes” and even more rarely comments, she just wants to watch this little window into a random life that doesn’t have an audience to be performing for like the big accounts. Maybe it’s creepy and voyeuristic but she feels such a strange tenderness for these screen names that she never speaks too. They’re human souls, every one of them. And maybe there’s no God to hear them, but she does. Studies existentialist, nihilist, and absurdist philosophy. She learns less towards the middle, more towards the other two. Morbid and macabre she might be, but she's an idealist at her core. Some of her other interests include obscure mental disorders (Cotatd’s delusion, Capgras syndrome) , photos of the decomposition process, and the historical use of plants as both cures and poisons. She feels kinship with carrion-eaters like buzzards and hyenas, society sees them as disgusting and evil but they play an integral part in the ecosystem She believes that existence precedes essence. So she doesn't believe she was born with a female soul or anything like that. She just doesn't believe she was born with a male one either. She ended up with a female one, and she's going to facilitate that further, is what she believes. But she also doesn't think of her transition as becoming her real self, so much as taking away everything that wasn’t “her” so that only her real self is there. Like how Michaelangelo said he didn’t make David from the marble, David was already there, he just took away everything that wasn’t David. These two views contradict each other, but she works with it. She's got room for contradictions.She’s bisexual, but when she’s with women, she feels like a pervert or predator next to a “real” girl. When she’s with men, she feels like they’re the perverts, and she prefers that. She prefers feeling degraded to feeling predatory. Basically sex is going to suck for her one way or another due to her dysphoria and she’d rather it suck in the way that doesn’t make her feel like the bad guy.Her family is best described as "neutral" in terms of acceptance. They're not at all hateful, and barely questioned her decision, but they're not involved closely enough with her to be really called "supportive" at all. Everyone in her clan, including herself, are too wrapped up in their own lives to really care one way or the other about each other's, and she's good with that. She prefers it. She'd rather not be interviewed, even from people trying to be helpful; this is deeply personal to her and she finds it invasive. She is pretty good at “being the bigger person “ and not escalating things in a conflict, if only because she just doesn’t give enough of a shit to. She tolerates getting yelled at, even undeservedly, really well. She’d be brilliant in retail, she can cope with Karens all day long and not snap or get worn down. Apathy is a hell of a shield.She doesn’t hold on to people, this is good and bad. On the one hand, it means she escapes jealousy and co-dependency and needing anybody. On the other hand, some people feel it makes her disloyal or uncaring. But she's an island, and she accepts the transience of life.She doesn’t seek outside validation or feel the need to be seen as right even when she knows she is. This has allowed her to avoid a lot of arguments and stress.She might not fear violence from a philosophical viewpoint, but she sure does in her natural animal instincts. This makes her edgy around certain demographics. Straight men, religious people, right-wingers, those sorts of groups. You could argue that she's unfairly stereotyping them, much as others have unfairly stereotyped her and people like her. Sure, fair enough, but she'd still rather avoid getting her head bashed in as much as she can. It's not that everyone in these groups is a violent bigot, it's just if there's going to be a violent bigot, they're statistically more likely to be in these groups. Like when was the last time you heard of a transgender woman being murdered by a liberal lesbian atheist, right? So yeah, she's stereotyping. But she'd rather be alive and a "reverse bigot" than fair-minded and dead. She's not THAT much of nihilist.Avery’s self esteem is best defined as contrarian, taking pride in herself more based on what she’s not rather than what she is, and playing Devil’s Advocate to her own ego. She’s the first to admit that not being something bad is not the same as being something good, and in fact tends to disdain those who do the same as she does and praise themselves simply for not being fascists or bigots or abusers, but it seems like the best she can successfully argue to herself.She's completely non-judgemental of things a lot of people would find weird or creepy. Like, you write human/dinosaur a/b/o erotica? Cool, she'll edit it if you want. As long as you aren't hurting anyone, go for it LIKES:* Urban legends, occultism, cryptids, preserved oddities, the unknown* Deep seas, the night sky, vast storms, huge caves, eternal forests* The crowded isolation of the city at night* Abandoned buildings* The sigh and feel of old velvet and raw silk* Deep sea creatures and weird starfish and giant squids * Hozier, The Sisters of Mercy, Cocteau Twins, Black Tape For A Blue Girl, lo-fi, dreampop, shoegaze, every Lumineers song that has a girl's name as the title, and obscure local alternative bands that the art college radio stations only play late at night* Djarum Black clove cigarettes* Symbolist paintings (especially "Salome" and "Sisyphus" and "The Sin" by Franz Stuck)* Angela Carter, Caitlin R. Kiernan, T.K. Kingfisher, and Nabokov's lesser-known novels like Pnin and Pale FireDISLIKES* Pettiness* The smell of smoking meat, it makes her nauseous, and she's never been able to stomach a steak* Trimmed lawns and pruned gardens* The hypocritical pretentiousness so commonly found in any “alternative “ scene* So-called "horror movies" that are really just gross-out torture porn* Creepypastas that over-explain or don't know when to end* People who pride themselves on "sticking to their guns no matter what" as that seems to her to just be another way of saying they never listen to other opinions or new information because they're so sure in their own rightness* People who forget that everyone else has as much depth and life as themselves, you’re not the protagonist and these aren’t NPCs in a game* Avery is an Aquarius and even though she doesn’t believe in astrology, she still likes reading about it, and it bugs her that her sign is classed as “positive “ and “masculine"* Misuse of the term "social construct"WEAKNESSES* Gives up easily; her transition is really the only difficult thing she's ever stuck with* Navel gazing, over-thinking, gets lost in her own head* Can't make a hard decision quickly* Insomniac* Loses track of time easily* Messy slob, her apartment is DISGUSTING, don't ever be roomies with this girl* She doesn't own a car, but she can drive. She just can't park. She's terrible at parking. She goes in crooked, she goes over the line, she has to pull out and go in again a million times to get it right. STRENGTHS* Comfort with solitude, doesn't get lonely* Equally at ease with both existentialism and nihilism* A veritable whiz with subway routes and schedules* Doesn't sweat the small stuff* Hopeful at her core

[lyonrhodes]

One Bad Day #12: Haunted

Red Hood x OC, Batman/DC Fan Fic

Summary: Dora has lived in Gotham her whole life and is accustomed to the rampant crime and corruption. Her life gets worse when Black Mask takes over the city. She thinks all hope is lost but a new vigilante appears, calling himself the Red Hood. However, he’s not your typical knight in shining armor. Dora must decide: does she dare fall in love with a revenge-driven killer? (Romance, Crime, Action)

Chapter 12: Haunted

Dora stood in the Alibi—the old Alibi; the way her father had left it. The Alibi she grew up in, with the cracked floors, the splintered tabletops, mismatched chairs, and patchwork upholstery. The way it looked before the massacre.

The lights flickered and dimmed.

She was not alone.

Wisps of black smoke emerged from the shadows, crawled across the floor, and swirled around her ankles. In a sudden gust, all the smoke swept into the center of the room and coalesced into him. The man in the red mask.

As if to prove he was solid, he held out his gloved hand. She hesitated, looking into the glowing white eyes of his mask. He removed his gloves and beckoned again. This time she took it.

In a rush of wind, he swept her to the pool table.

He had her pinned. His body pressed hers into the table so she could not get away.

But she didn’t want to escape. Before she knew it, she had taken off his mask and her lips were all over his, as eager and hungry as he was.

He lifted her onto the pool table so he wouldn’t have to bend down to kiss her. He took off her glasses and ran his hands through her hair, down her arms, until he reached her hips. He slid his hand under her waistband, eager to continue.

But she pushed him away. He got the message. He stepped back, removing his boots, armor, and fatigues. Watching him, she slid off her top to catch up, but before she had tossed it away, he was back, removing her jeans, sneakers, and underwear, caressing and kissing her body as he discarded each piece of her clothing.

Fully naked, she crawled back on the table and he followed. In seconds they were entwined and lost in each other. Her hands roamed all over the scarred skin of his hard arms and back, while his hands kneaded the smooth skin on her soft chest and thighs. It was the best she had ever felt. She wanted it to last forever, but they were going too fast. If they kept on like this, the passion would engulf them in flames and burn out too quickly. But it had been so long since she had been this close to another person. She needed this. The hunger in the way he moved told her that he needed it too.

She pushed him away to allow them both to breathe, to pace themselves, to feel each other. She cupped his face and directed his gaze at her. He was fully unmasked for the first time, but his features felt familiar, as if he had never worn that mask in the first place. His eyes were pale blue, almost gray.

His movements finally slowed and she slowed down with him. They savored the moment, and each other. She was losing herself in his eyes.

Then without warning, he flipped her over and pinned her to the table, massaging her neck and shoulders with his mouth. She felt his hot breath on her back. He was rough. The table beneath her was as hard and unyielding as he was. But she didn’t mind. She loved it. The pressure was building and release was so close.

Something moved in the corner. He didn’t notice, but she did.

A heavy-set man lurked by the bar. There was nothing above his shoulders. He was holding his own severed head in his hands. It was glaring at her.

With empty eye sockets. Oozing blood.

Dora shrieked and tumbled off the pool table. Her lover dissipated into a cloud of black smoke. The cloud roiled and swirled, growing into a turbulent haze that engulfed the whole barroom, casting everything in shadows.

Seven more men materialized around her to join the first, their loud breathing raspy and wet. They were ghouls, misshapen and broken, riddled with bullet wounds, and covered in blood. She recognized them all. Their faces have been haunting her for weeks.

“Go away!” Dora screamed. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do anything!”

A broken man shambled forward from the crowd, holding out a gun by the barrel, urging her to take it. He grunted something apelike she could not understand.

“No, I don’t want to...” she pleaded.

He limped closer, his voice hacking. He thrust the gun at her. Her father’s Colt.

She looked at his face. She knew this one especially well. The bloody hole in his cheek where she had shot him.

It was him. Her first kill.

He smiled at her recognition, blood dripping from his shattered grin. Glassy white eyes leered at her exposed body.

“No, don’t...” She crawled away, trying to cover herself, but she bumped into another body. She looked up.

It was Leslie, clad in a bloodstained labcoat, glaring at her with a face full of contempt and loathing. She shouted, her voice thunderous and deafening. “Whore!”

Dora jolted awake.

Her heart pumped so hard she thought her chest would burst. Her ears rang and she was covered in sweat.

She threw off the covers, and put her feet on the ground. The cold concrete on her bare soles refreshed her a little, and she remembered where she was. The cellar underneath the bar, sleeping on the cot. Her father’s hideout.

It all came back in a rush. Putting the finishing touches on the bar. Unpacking the liquor, printing the menus, setting up the cash register. Begging promoters on social media for a mention. The bar would re-open later this week, but there was still so much to do. She had been too tired to walk back home, even though Rochelle tried to insist on getting an Uber. Dora argued that every penny counted, so she decided to crash in the cellar. It happened often these days.

Peeling off her sweaty tank top and tossing it away, she stood. At the sink, she splashed cold water on her face and chest to dispel the turbid thoughts and feelings twisting inside her. Sheer guilt and utter shame... and unrelenting arousal. Altogether she felt... dirty. The ghost of Leslie’s voice echoed in her head. “Whore!”

So many people killed in such little time, while she watched—and what had she done to save them? Nothing. In some cases, she had almost prayed for their deaths. Yet, here she was, yearning, longing for the man that had killed most of them, and helped cover up the one she killed herself.

Despite her hopes that the nightmares would fade away with time, they persisted instead. It was always the same cast of ghouls, but the person berating her rotated. Leslie, Carla, her mother, Rochelle, Holly... her father. They were getting worse, and more frequent, all while the sex with Red Hood was getting more passionate, more rough, and her climax was getting closer.

The bottle of whiskey they had shared was still on the coffee table. The expensive as fuck Lagavulin that was older than either of them. She hadn’t touched it since that night, but now she took it and gulped down a long swig.

It burned in her throat the whole way down, but she didn’t mind. It hurt in the best way. It tasted like him. Its scent was on his breath the last time they kissed.

Dora washed it down with several handfuls of water from the sink. There was lots to do tomorrow and she couldn’t afford to be hungover.

As she laid back down on the cot, drowsiness was already enveloping her, and Red Hood edged his way into her mind again. Shirtless, unmasked. In her dream, she had seen his face and recognized it. It was the first time ever. He had beautiful blue eyes that felt comforting and familiar to her. However, his features were already fading away. She pinched her eyes shut, trying to recall his face, but she couldn’t picture him, as typical of dreams. What did it matter? She didn’t really know what he looked like, it was just her horny imagination running wild, desperate for intimacy.

She didn’t let it frustrate her, because still seared and permanent in her mind was the feel of his body, the smell of his hair, and the sound of his voice. She let those memories play as she slid her hand down her stomach... to the place he didn’t have the chance to touch the last time they were together.

[v0.3.15.1]

[unicronian]

The Man With Many Sides

Thomas Sanders and SCP crossover, Thomas is an SCP.

Length: 2628 words - AO3

Item #: SCP-024

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-024 should be kept in a standard humanoid containment chamber that can comfortably fit six (6) standing humanoids and must be monitored via security cameras at all times. SCP-024 should be provided with any amenities requested to abate the symptoms of SCP-024-4, unless said amenities may result in a security breach.

Any time SCP-024 is permitted to leave its cell it must be accompanied by at least one (1) security guard wearing protective headgear that allows them visual and auditory contact with SCP-024-1, SCP-024-2, SCP-024-3, SCP-024-4, and SCP-024-5. Additionally, SCP-024 should never be allowed anywhere where it cannot be seen by a security camera. All interactions SCP-024 has with SCP-024-1, SCP-024-2, SCP-024-3, SCP-024-4, and SCP-024-5 must be noted but not logged unless specified by a level 3 personnel or above, or the conversation is insightful on the nature of SCP-024 or otherwise useful to the Foundation.

Description: SCP-024 is a caucasian male, approximately 28 years old and standing at 5’10”.  SCP-024 contains at least five (5) beings designated SCP-024-1 through SCP-024-5, which can all be wilfully summoned by SCP-024 or appear on their own accord, and all share the visual characteristics of SCP-024. SCP-024-1 through SCP-024-5 can only be perceived by humans through photography and videography with the exception of SCP-024, which can see them whenever they are summoned.

SCP-024 was discovered when SCP-024-2 was seen walking through a human being in the background of a photo.

SCP-024-1 is SCP-024’s logical “side”. It wears glasses and a black polo shirt with a tie and khaki pants. SCP-024-1 always stands close to SCP-024 and to its right when summoned.

SCP-024-2 is SCP-024’s creative “side”. It wears white dress pants and a white medieval-styled with gold ornaments and a red sash. SCP-024-2 stands away from SCP-024 and on its left. SCP-024-2 is the only “side” that has the ability to summon objects not related to its characteristic and severely change the room it is in.

SCP-024-3 is SCP-024’s emotional “side” along with its sense of morality. It wears glasses, a light blue polo shirt, khaki pants and has a gray cat hoodie tied loosely around its neck. SCP-024-3 stands close to SCP-024 and on its left.

SCP-024-4 is SCP-024’s anxiety. It wears a patchwork black and purple hoodie and has dark eyeshadow beneath its eyes. SCP-024-4 stands away from SCP-024 and on its right. SCP-024-4 was first observed on 12/19/2016, two months after SCP-024 was brought to the Foundation.

SCP-024-5 is SCP-024’s treacherous “side”. It wears a black bowler hat, a short black 18th century cloak, and a button down medieval tunic. The left side of its face shares characteristics with an unidentifiable species of snake; its left iris is yellow and the pupil is shaped similar to that of a snake’s and it has scales from the center of its head to its left ear. SCP-024-5 is a compulsive liar. It was first observed on 02/03/2018.

Addendum 024-A: Despite claiming them to be imaginary SCP-024 has been able to interact with objects summoned by SCP-024-1, SCP-024-2, and objects in SCP-024-3’s “room”.

Incident 024-A Date: 12/19/2016 Foreword: For several days before Incident 024-A SCP-024’s anxiety levels grew rapidly.

<Begin Log> SCP-024: So, how are we doing today, guys? SCP-024-3: Not good, to be honest. SCP-024: Oh no, Patton, what’s wrong? SCP-024-3: The people here aren’t… nice. They’re not mean either, though! SCP-024-2: They’re boring. This place is boring. They have boring books, too. SCP-024: Okay, I don’t think we can do anything about them not being nice, but we can get more books! SCP-024: Patton, is that going to help! [SCP-024-3 pauses] SCP-024-3: No. SCP-024: Oh. SCP-024-1: I don’t think it will help us to ‘beat around the bush’ so I’ll just outright say it. Patton misses your home, your friends, you life. He isn’t content being trapped in this… cell. [SCP-024-4 suddenly appears] SCP-024-4: And there’s nothing you can do about that. We’ll be here forever. [SCP-024 screams] SCP-024-2: Oh good, now you’re here. Dr. Picani: Who are you? SCP-024: That’s a good question, because I also, do not know. SCP-024-4: I’m Thomas’ anxiety, but you’ll probably just call me SCP-024-4, right? Dr. Picani: That is… company policy. SCP-024-4: Because they don’t want you to consider Thomas human. He’s just an object to you and your company. We’re never getting out because you consider him not human. Dr. Picani: I think that this is enough for today. <End Log>

Closing statement: SCP-024’s anxiety levels stayed high after the appearance of SCP-024-4 and would stay consistently high until Incident 024-C.

Incident 024-B Date: 02/28/2017 Foreword: SCP-024 was having a one-on-one conversation with SCP-024-2, with supervision from Dr. Picani.

<Begin Log> SCP-024: Thanks, Roman, I- [A ringtone plays from an unknown source] SCP-024-2: Oh, that was me. [SCP-024-2 summons a cell phone] SCP-024-2: Wow, my Twitter notifications are going wild. SCP-024: You have a phone! SCP-024-2: Oh yeah, but it’s not- [A security guard bursts into the cell and attempts to take the incorporeal phone from SCP-024-2] SCP-024-2: In retrospect this does look really bad. Worry not, the phone isn’t real! And neither is the Twitter account! [Dr. Picani takes out his own cell phone and searches SCP-024-2’s Twitter] Dr. Picani: He’s not lying, that Twitter account doesn’t exist. SCP-024-2: I’m imaginary, remember? Dr. Picani: I think that that concludes our conversation today. SCP-024: Yeah, I think so too. SCP-024-2: Well, that was pleasant, Thomas, talking to you, I mean. Getting walked through by a sweaty security guard was not as pleasant. <End Log>

Incident 024-C Date: 08/10/2017 Foreword: From the beginning of the day SCP-024 acted unlike itself. Notably it seemed careless and unconcerned about situations it usually concerned itself with. Dr. Picani was called in to discuss the change with SCP-024.

<Begin Log> SCP-024-1: Oh good, Dr. Picani, I’m glad you're here. Dr. Picani: Hello, Logic. SCP-024: Hey! What’s up, dude? SCP-024-1: As you can see, there’s something wrong with Thomas. SCP-024-2: Whatever, he seems fine to me! SCP-024-3: Yeah, he’s happy! Dr. Picani: Where’s Anxiety? SCP-024-1: Good question, but I don’t think he’s relevant to this conversation. SCP-024-2: Who needs him anwyays, he’ll just drag us down. [SCP-024-3 gasps] SCP-024-3: Roman! Anxiety can be a gloomy goober sometimes, but he’s still one of us! SCP-024-2: Is he, though? Check it, Logic, Creativity, Morality, we three are the most important facets of Thomas’ personality, plus we contribute a bit of extra stuff too. We got along just fine before he showed up. SCP-024-1: He may not have had a physical presence but he was always there within Thomas to some extent. And he contributes more than what you credit him. He too may represent more than just Anxiety, even if that is a significant part of who he is. SCP-024-2: Okay! Whatever! Just summon him! [SCP-024-1 attempts to summon SCP-024-4] SCP-024-2: Here, let me try. Anxiety! [SCP-024-2 attempts to summon SCP-024-4] SCP-024-2: How dare he? [SCP-024-2 attempts to summon SCP-024-4 twice more] SCP-024-3: Now come on Roman, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. [SCP-024-3 attempts to summon SCP-024-4 using kind words] SCP-024-3: Well, love has failed me. SCP-024: Wow, that can apply to many instances in my life, the first being- SCP-024-2: Steady now Thomas, are we really going down that road? Usually you don’t like talking about that stuff. SCP-024-1: You’ve got no shame. SCP-024-3: Definitely not much of a filter. SCP-024-2: Yes, and you have no fear. SCP-024-1, SCP-024-2 and SCP-024-3 in unison: You have no- SCP-024: I have no anxiety, is that what you’re trying to say? SCP-024-1: This is very disconcerting. Dr. Picani: What does this mean, if Thomas has no anxiety? SCP-024-1: Well, it means something’s happened with Anxiety, obviously. SCP-024-2: He’s probably holed himself up in his room. Dr. Picani: His room? SCP-024: His room? SCP-024-1: Technically it’s the part of Thomas’s mind where Anxiety resides. SCP-024-2: Where else do you think we come from? Where do we go? SCP-024-3: Where do we come from, cotton eyed joe? SCP-024: So you all have one? Oh! I’d like to go to Patton’s! SCP-024-1: Nope! We need to go to Anxiety’s room, to check on Anxiety! That was the priority, remember? SCP-024-2: So we’re all going to Anxiety’s room? Who knows what that tragic kingdom looks like. SCP-024-3: Are you good to join us Thomas? Because we need you to get us there. SCP-024: Yeah, sounds fun or whatever. Dr. Picani: What does going to Anxiety’s ‘room' entail? SCP-024-2: Well, we’ll just… go. SCP-024-2: Just focus on the things that will normally make you anxious, that is the corner of your mind where we need to go! It may be difficult to go down that road- SCP-024: Got it. SCP-024-2: Well- okay. [SCP-024-1, SCP-024-2 and SCP-024-3 begin to sink out] SCP-024-1: Into the unknown. Here we go. SCP-024: Oh, I’m doing this now, too. [SCP-024 sinks out] Dr. Picani: Thomas! [SCP-024’s cell changes dramatically and SCP-024, SCP-024-1, SCP-024-2, and SCP-024-3 rise up into the positions they were in previously] SCP-024: Wow… so this is Anxiety’s room. His room looks a lot like my… room. Like, what is this, the upside down world or something? SCP-024-1: No, the room just varies based on your present location is. SCP-024: One of the darker corners of my mind, the source of all my worries and fears and- Dr. Picani: Is it safe, that Thomas is here? SCP-024-3: Spiders! SCP-024-1: No need to worry, Patton, that is just the pattern on the curtains. [EXTRANEOUS LOGS REDACTED] SCP-024: Uh, what’s going on? [SCP-024-4’s voice becomes distorted] SCP-024-4: These guys have all been in this corner of your mind for too long. It’s corrupting them. All their main functions are working to push you over to the other end of that curve. SCP-024: What? SCP-024-4: Don’t worry, we’re getting them all out of here. Thomas, remember what you’ve learned…. Breath in for four seconds. [SCP-024 breathes in and SCP-024-1 sinks out] SCP-024-4: Hold your breath for seven seconds. [SCP-024 holds its breath and SCP-024-3 sinks out] SCP-024-4: Now breathe out for eight seconds. [SCP-024 breathes out and SCP-024-2 sinks out] SCP-024-4: That’s good, Thomas. That’s good, keep going. [SCP-024 and SCP-024-4 sink out] [EXTRANEOUS LOGS REDACTED] SCP-024-2: Yeah, and you’re nothing compared to the others. SCP-024: Others? What do you mean others? Dr. Picani: Others, like Anxiety? [Silence] SCP-024: Well, this is foreboding. SCP-024-2: Ah, it’s nothing, so long! [SCP-024-2 sinks out] SCP-024-1: Farewell. [SCP-024-1 sinks out] SCP-024-3: Auf Wiedersehen, good night. [SCP-024-3 sinks out] SCP-024: What was that all about? SCP-024-4: Look, I know I’m the one that’s causing you to be suspicious, but honestly, table that question for another day. <End Log>

Closing Statement: The longer SCP-024-1, SCP-024-2 and SCP-024-3 spent in SCP-024-4’s “room” the more anxious they got, signified by eyeshadow growing beneath their eyes. SCP-024 and Dr. Picani remained largely unaffected by SCP-024-4’s room. SCP-024-2 mentioned “others”; SCP-024 should be monitored closely for mentions of other “sides”.

Incident 024-D Date: 02/03/2018 Foreword: SCP-024 had been discussing with his “sides” about the ethicality of lying in a certain situation involving two junior researchers at length and reached its conclusion when SCP-024-3 began acting unlike itself.

<Begin Log> SCP-024: … I need to tell the truth here. SCP-024-3: Wow I’m so proud of you, Thomas, you’re so mature. SCP-024: Thank... you? SCP-024-4: I knew I smelled something fishy. SCP-024-1: I don’t smell anything. SCP-024-4: No- it’s fine, but I was talking about Patton. SCP-024-1: Oh, oh, oh, you mean how he’s clearly- [SCP-024-3 makes a movement with its hand and SCP-024-1 clamps its hand over its mouth, muffling its speech] SCP-024-2: Oh, I get it now. SCP-024: I don’t- what is happening? Dr. Picani: What happened to Morality? SCP-024-2: You have to give us permission first… SCP-024-4: There are sides to everyone that they’d prefer not to know about, but you’re the boss, Thomas. Any information you want to know, you can know. You just… have to be open to hearing it. SCP-024-2: In other words, would you like to learn something new about yourself, Thomas? SCP-024: I don’t know. SCP-024-3: I don’t know either Thomas, you might not like what you find. SCP-024: Fine! Tell me! SCP-024-1: DECEIT! [SCP-024-5 appears in the place of SCP-024-3] SCP-024: What? [SCP-024 visibly recoils from the sight of SCP-024-5] SCP-024: Deceit? SCP-024-5: Who’s she? Never heard of her. SCP-024-2: Oh, I hate this guy, and his creepy snake face! However, he is very kind. SCP-024-5: Love the new outfit, Roman. SCP-024-2: Thank you! SCP-024-1: N- SCP-024-5: And Virgil. I adore the more intense eyeshadow, it totally doesn’t make you look like a racoon. SCP-024-4: Nice gloves, did you just finish washing some dishes? SCP-024-5: … Yes. SCP-024: Why didn’t I know about him until now? SCP-024-4: He had you convinced that you were an honest person. SCP-024: But I am an honest person… SCP-024-5: You are, Thomas, you are a good person. Everyone says so. SCP-024-1: Nobody’s a completely honest person. SCP-024: I try to be. SCP-024-1: Now that’s a more honest statement. You play distance between who you are, and the lies that you tell. He is the reason for you doing so. SCP-024: Why didn’t you guys tell me? SCP-024-2: If you really don’t want to know something, he can keep our mouths shut. SCP-024: I can’t believe that I fooled myself like that. SCP-024-1: You don’t want to believe it, that’s where his power comes from. Things that you want to believe, things that you wish were true, and things that you wish weren’t. SCP-024-5: What you don’t know can’t hurt you. SCP-024-1: Falsehood. Knowledge is an incomparably valuable multi-purpose tool that is instrumental in identifying and problem solving any problem. If you’re worried about getting hurt then seek knowledge, it is our greatest weapon and our greatest defence. SCP-024: Wow, Logan, that’s… that was really lovely. And speaking of seeking knowledge…. Where is Patton! SCP-024-2: How dare you stand where he stood! SCP-024-5: You foolish dummy- I am and always have been Patton! SCP-024: WHAT? SCP-024-2: No… SCP-024-5: You have no morality. [SCP-024 starts panicking] SCP-024-1: He- he’s lying. SCP-024-5: Sorry to break it to you, but- [SCP-024-3 attempts to rise up and is blocked by SCP-024-5, both make noises of pain] SCP-024-5: Ow, that hurt- I mean, that didn’t hurt me. At all. Ow! [SCP-024-3 rises up when SCP-025-5 steps to the side] SCP-024-3: Hey! Um… you’re in my spot. SCP-024-5: Well this all went according to plan. SCP-024-1: Surely, it didn’t. SCP-024-2: Get out of here, Jack the Fibber! SCP-024-5: Alright, but you’ve seen the last of me! [SCP-024-5 sinks out] [EXTRANEOUS LOGS REDACTED] SCP-024: One more question: Are there any other sides that Deceit has hidden away from me? SCP-024-3: … Yes. SCP-024-2: The dark sides. SCP-024: Well, that’s, not the answer I wanted, in full honesty. SCP-024-2: I made that name up, it’s pretty cool, right? SCP-024: Nice and foreboding, thank you. Dr. Picani: Are they all… dark? SCP-024-4: Yes. The darker parts of yourself are the sides you’re going to want to lock away the most. SCP-024: Oh. SCP-024-1: Well, best of luck with Joan. Or, as they say in the theatre, fracture a femur. SCP-024-4: What? SCP-024-1: The actual saying is break a leg, but I improved it. SCP-024-4: I hate both of this equally. SCP-024-1: Well. [SCP-024-1 and SCP-024-4 sink out] [EXTRANEOUS LOGS REDACTED] <End Log>

Closing Statement: SCP-024-2 and SCP-024-3 have both confirmed that SCP-024 has more “sides” that are all negative characteristics of SCP-024’s personality. SCP-024 must be watched closely for more information on SCP-024’s additional “sides”.

[bastionkeeper]

@mykindofcontent and I have a habit of swapping headcanons and expanding on them and that turning into dialogue and descriptions and finally I took one of these sessions and cleaned it up, added some stuff in the middle to connect it all and so I present to you a jupeter fic born of Sierra’s genius and my wit. Enjoy!

 Maybe Juno should have been a little more believing when Nadir Archer came to his office, trembling and informing him in panicked tones that his property had been stolen by the most ruthless group of black market traders this side of Mars. To be fair, it seemed everything made Nadir nervous, including when Rita opened a soda that had gotten shaken up in her purse on the way to work. Juno had thought that he’d find the valuables with some two-bit burglar and call it a day by lunch. What he did not expect to find was a warehouse full of corpses.

“Damn…” Juno stood up from the third pulse he’d bothered to check thinking that maybe he didn’t have to try for a fourth. “Well this complicates things.”

What complicated them more was the body he noticed as he went to leave. He wouldn’t have paid them any mind at all if it weren’t for the fact that they took a desperate spluttering breath very suddenly as Juno walked by.

“Shit!” Juno got control of his heart attack just in time to recognized the face that was coughing up blood. It was like his heart went from pounding to standing still in seconds as he saw Peter Nureyev looking up at him with glassy eyes.  

"Hey, hey, Nureyev, Peter look at me. Come on, breathe for me." He fell to his knees, drawing Peter up into his arms, speaking with his voice shaking. Juno had thought he’d never see Peter Nureyev again, and here he was. Juno had left him close to a year ago, but it felt like minutes looking at him. Juno dialed Rita on the comms, and of course she didn’t pick up. He tried again.

"Come on, you've gotta live so you can tell me off and be mad at me for being such an asshole."

Peter was silent at first, and Juno was dismayed to see a small smile spread across his face as he reached up with a blood-stained hand to stroke Juno’s cheek. He must have been delirious judging by the calm, slurred tones of his voice.

"You're so beautiful, Juno. I'm glad I, I got to see you again."

It was like a punch to the gut.

"No, stop that." Juno chokes. "Rita where the fuck are you?" He hissed into the comms, getting a dial tone in reply.  "Stop sounding like you're saying goodbye Nureyev I won't have it."

"I'd rather say goodbye then just leave." Peter smiles weakly.

"Okay I deserved that but that's not the point."

Despite the joke Juno was starting to panic. There’s a feeling a body gets when the life starts to drain out of it. Juno Steel had the extreme displeasure of being quite familiar with that feeling. The way the person begins to go limp and almost seems lighter in your arms as if shedding off the soul made a person lighter.

He could feel Peter growing lighter.

He didn’t realize he was crying until Peter’s rose from his cheek and went to wipe tears from his eyes, but the thief’s vision was going dark so he missed, and his hand slowly fell. Juno’s comms got Rita’s voicemail again, and Peter was unconscious.

Juno Steel was a lot of things. He was a drunk, occasional pawn in political games, a lady that left without saying goodbye but what he wasn’t was a quitter.

Which is why he lifted Nureyev into his arms, best he could with the man being a good foot or so taller than him, and started running as fast as he could.

By some miracle he made it to the hospital, lungs on fire and arms giving out. Normally, it would take several missing limbs to get the attention of any Hyperion doctor, but Juno had made quite the entrance running in with a pale half-corpse in his arms, covered in blood and trying with empty lungs to scream for help.

“Sir, you can’t come into the operating room,” the nurse tells him as they pull Nureyev onto a gurney and Juno struggles to keep pace with them down the long hallway.

Juno realizes he’s arguing but the nurse argues better, and before he knows it he’s sitting in a waiting room with a dozen crying kids with broken arms and runny noses, filling out paperwork that he can’t be bothered to pay attention to.

A nurse came to ask him his relation to the patient, and Juno thought for half a second before answering.

“He’s my husband, Duke. Duke Rose.”

The doctors keep him updated as the hours pass. They try to ask what happened and Juno tells the truth, he doesn't know. He just found his husband bleeding out and is so goddamn worried. It occurs to Juno that maybe he should be thinking about what happened. After all, he got hired to find stolen goods and who should he find at the end of the trail but notorious thief Peter Nureyev.

“What have you gotten yourself into this time, Nureyev?” Juno sighed under his breath. And then: “What did you get yourself into, Steel?”

He was grateful he told them Peter was his husband, because when he finally gets out of surgery Juno gets lead right to his room. It’s not a pretty sight with the tubes and beeping machines that make every hospital unsettling but Peter…

He was so pale, almost gray, dark circles under his eyes mirroring dark bruises on his skin. Bound up under a hospital gown, and surely stitched together like a patchwork quilt under that.

“You can press that button if you need a nurse.”

Juno nodded to the attendant, mouth dry. He found a chair by the wall and sat there for a while before dragging it up to the bed and sitting there.

He felt antsy. Faced with a problem he couldn’t solve, a mystery he couldn’t solve either, and a man he’d left in the night… it was a lot to take in all at once. He wanted to hold Peter’s hand, hell he wanted to hold all of Peter but he didn’t think he had the right. What would Nureyev think waking up to Juno clutching his hand like he had any right to?

No, he just sat by the bed until the clock went from ten p.m. to two a.m. and Juno’s head slowly lowered onto the bed where he fell asleep. In the twilight between waking and sleep, his hand reached out and took Peter’s.

Juno was still asleep when Peter woke up, wincing in pain and blinking in the harsh hospital light. Last thing he remembered was pain, and now here was more pain so that tracked at least. The hospital, however, was unexpected and so was the lady sleeping hunched over with his head on the bed and his hand wrapped around one of Peter’s.

Peter went to sit up, and immediately Juno stirred. His eyelids fluttered and he cleared his throat as he sat up. He looked bewildered and grateful, and that was reflected in what he said next: "thank fuck you're awake."

“Thank… fuck indeed,” Nureyev chuckled. “Juno Steel… I thought I dreamt you.”

"More like a nightmare if it was me..." He sighed, and realized he was holding Peter's hand. He went to pull away but Peter held it tighter. "I uh... I told them we were Duke and Dahlia." He says quietly.

"Rule one, Juno, never reuse a name," Peter said softly, but he looked pleased. Juno had no way of knowing, but the reference to their past personas had sparked butterflies in Nureyev’s stomach. He started running his thumb over Juno's fingers. "Thank you"

"You’re welcome I guess...?" He wanted to say more, but what? All he could do was stare at their entwined fingers. "What happened to you, Nureyev?"

"A deal gone wrong. My employer's rival showed up at the drop site and decided he rather kill me too than pay me what my late employer had promised," Peter said. “Honestly, it was embarrassing I even let myself get caught.”

"You need a new job," Juno said, earning himself a look from Peter. "Yeah okay, we both need new jobs"

"What about you, hm?" Peter asked curiously. "Seems peculiar you happened to find me."

Juno shrugged. “Luck. I heard a rather shady deal was going down for some things stolen from my client."

“Ah.” Peter nodded. "Must we always meet like this? On opposite sides of the law?" Peter chuckled and then winced from the movement. Juno watched the pain flash across Peter’s face and clenched his teeth.

It hit him all at once that he’d almost lost Peter before he’d had a chance to beg his forgiveness.

"Look, Nureyev I.." He started to apologize, to address the elephant in the room, but a doctor walked in cutting him off.

And what the doctor has to say makes Juno's blood run cold. Peter wasn't minutes from death he was seconds. The doctor praised Juno for his timely action but Juno wasn’t really in the mood for compliments. The doctor goes on to talk about Peter’s condition, saying medical terms Juno probably wouldn’t understand even if it weren’t for the blood rushing in his ears.

He has a long painful recovery ahead of him and the doctor makes a comment about how Dahlia will have to watch his husband very carefully

"Tha-That shouldn't be an issue." Juno said, keeping Peter's hand in a white knuckled grip. Peter seemed to be taking the news a lot better than Juno was. He just smiled calmly, nodding along to the doctor and letting Juno crush the bones in his hands with his anxious grip.

Once the doctor left, Peter smiled sadly at Juno. “It won’t be necessary of course, I can take care of myself.”

"Oh like hell you can. I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone." Juno said without hesitation.

"You already did, Juno. I'll be fine." Peter replied softly.

With that painful bit of guilt stabbing him through the chest Juno decided to fall back on an old coping mechanism: sarcasm.

"Well you've been away awhile so maybe you haven't heard about my stunning character development. I’m a new lady.”

Peter laughed, and laughing turned to daggers in his lungs and wheezing coughs. Juno leaned forward and rubbed Peter’s back, his brow furrowing with concern. "Hey, take it easy, I'll try to stop being so hilarious."

When Peter recovered he smiled at Juno. “So, tell me about the new and improved Juno Steel then.”

“Well you know…” Juno stammered. “Well uh, he eats breakfast now. And he’s still bad at sleeping enough, but he’s trying. And he talks more about how he feels but he’s still mean about it...”

Juno watched Peter’s smile widen with each little joke and admittance of self-care.  "He's.. He's more prepared to face the man he's desperately in love with too. He’s… he wants to apologize." He said without looking at Peter, his voice shaking.

"Mm.. Whoever this man is, he's very lucky." Peter watched Juno with eyes so full of… something Juno couldn’t identify.

Juno looked back at Peter. "I'd say I'm the lucky one here... I thought you were going to die"

"It takes more than that to kill me," Peter teased.

"I..." Juno dropped his head to the bed. "I can't lose you."

Peter stroked his hair. "You never did."

[deepintoforestwego]

Oblivion at bay

The Prince has worse day.

To explain, to those unaware- Lost Prince can only have worse days, because every day is bad day for him. Never does smile cross his features, never does laugh find it’s way from his throat, never does ache leave his bones, never does he find motivation to do anything but languish. Sometimes he spends centuries sitting in one spot, frozen silent, frown marring his face, and not a sound comes from him, not a twitch of muscle. Nothing can move him- world could burn, planes could break, and Prince would sit there, apathetic and uncaring.

So he can only get worse. There are days, ages he spends cupping his face and sobbing (none know for what, and perhaps neither does he), curling in ball and screaming, fainting from exhaustion and tearing his immortal flesh in panic (there is no blood, just darkness and dust beneath ever healing skin). His followers know this quickly- when pale, faded world around them goes gray, when kingdom that is always faraway no matter where you are going from becomes utterly hidden, when sky rains leaden tears, when broken tower starts falling apart even more, when abandoned corpse of city around it rots into dust, when shadows wail, and each inhabitant feels a gap inside themselves, something no food or treasure or person can feel, when ravens mourn and black earth bleeds.

(A note, to remember about lands of Faerie, which you may call First World, Feywild, Elphame or however you prefer- you can judge mood and fate of ldest lords by their domains. Some will tell you that power of archfey is so great that it forces capricious realms to bend to them and their feelings and wishes, others will claim that minds and lives of shapers are intervened with their kingdoms. Third will yet say that Lords and Ladies are but avatars through which land speaks, while fourth yet claim that holdings of Feywild’s almost-but-not-quite gods are just pieces of them thrown up outside. Perhaps none are right, or maybe they all are at same time, or it depends on Lord in question. It doesn’t  explain quite bit about mercurial and whimsical nature of their servants-it isn’t easy being dryad in world where sunlight and seasons depend on your ruler’s relationship stability, which is also why all of them meddle in their monarch’s personal lives far too much to be safe or sane).

As first strangled whine left his mouth, so did each thing, a fey and mortal and demigod and beast (no plants, not anymore, not safe enough) cry out in horror and warning, and rush towards throne room- which is never in same place, and in these situations tends to hide away, to shield away Melancholy Lord from prying of others, and from it’s deep seated fear of him maybe ever getting better- after all, it is house built on mourning, and abandonment, and fact there is only one being that sees value in it’s shattered walls and broken roofs. Recovery would take it away.

Still, those fresh and mortal to this land of loss and pity still hope and pray to deities so far away, that they will soon fully leave, that land is not part of Prince, and that it can be convinced to reveal him, for neither does it want him to suffer and harm himself, or if tower is a part of him that there is piece of Prince that wants to be helped, so they run and hope.

Girl who arrives, without realizing at first, is mostly human, with bit of touch of Outsiders- grandmother of her grandparent’s grandfather was a banshee, who grew too close to her clan ( it could make him some sort of divine Father, she thinks, for they say banshees were screamed in existence when Lost Prince realized his mortal followers died, bound to watch and mourn their descendants).  Her head is bald, her eyes gold and silver, her clothes wildly colourful, as if she was wearing carnival tent, and there are vials of poison around her belt, and deaths on her blade, innocent and guilty both.

,, My Lord. How can I help?’’ She asks, kneeling low before man who would look almost pretty and wholly  gaunt and mostly human if not for red markings ghastly burning on his skin, like coal slowly dying (they like to believe those are symbols, that there is meager joy left in him that they can light up again) and empty eyes, holes filled with void that predated cosmos.

‘‘Get lost!’‘ He snips at her, words as bitter and painful as taste of nightshade, a barbed wire, or thorns sinking in veins.  there is force in them, though they are quiet and cold, that makes skin ripple and wind whip at her face. She doesn’t care- Lost Prince never has kind word for anybody, but what it matters when he feeds you, helps you bury your sisters, finds you home, saves you from prison, all in different unremarkable guises until you put together pieces and find way into Feywild and beg yourself in his service.

‘‘ My Lord, what do you need?’‘ She asks again, watching man in front of her, whose age she can’t really guess, somewhere between sixteen and fifty ( in appearance at least), who is breathing harshly,  muddy tears running down his cheeks and burning and melting stone below, barely hanging on his throne, hair messy and hands around knees. It is worthless question, but still she asks- they tried everything, brought therapists from every plane and time, but nothing could help this sorrow that existed for itself, that had no name and no history. Still, they have to hope.

‘‘To leave me.’‘ He almost spits, after what might have been minutes or hours.He doesn’t know he doesn’t see, he cries and is lost in fading memories, but he can’t remember name, anything before this tiredness and pain, nothing else.

‘‘‘...I see. If you need us...’‘ he is rude, and cold Lord, but each member of his court has been saved in secrecy, and never has he tried to claim credit for that. Who knows how more he has actually saved, who never realized that. There is no creature here that wouldn’t die for him, whether in battle or by hanging themselves after his despair seeps in them too.

‘‘I won’t. Now please leave me alone.’‘ He begged them, commanded them, go, leave, leave me and this awful cursed place alone, but they wouldn’t, they insist on thanking him, on serving him, as if he wanted that, as if he would have hid his identity if he wanted to call in life debt (how many has he amassed, and let slip through his fingers as ones he saved lived good and happy lives, unlike his peers, who would have bound them unto eternal service).

,,And...sorry.’’ he whispers as doors close, and word spreads through his domain, and girl gets idea.

‘‘You are not one of mine. Not yet. Why are you here?’‘ The Green Mother asks, her bark skin perfectly chiseled, her dress of thorny vines creeping and moving, flowers growing and withering on it. She is beautiful, in way old tree near her former home was, in way flowers bursting through pavement are. Not a grandiose, elevated beauty that is glorious and frightening and overloads senses, but patchwork of ordinary and pretty thing cobbled together in something alluring and subtle. But she is a wooden statue, green thorns growing from her, with hands strong enough to crush skulls, and magic even greater.

‘‘Your Majesty, I am here to bring you information.’‘ The Feasting Flower is one of queens of Faerie. Not like Tiandra, painted by greatest artists with summer’s sun in her palm and costly spear tinged with blood of thousands, or Queen of Air and Darkness, whispered about by frightened mothers and weary travelers, winds searing through night at her command, thousands murdered by winter’s bite at her glance. She is thing of fields and deep woods, sang in ballads of peasants and bored, thief of babies and owner of hundred mortal lovers, not goddess bestowing favor upon virtuous knights and forcing Feywild to bend beneath her scorching fist, not plotter of frozen heart that topples empires, unleashing armies of dark upon world.  And not any lesser and safer for that. Just smaller and more common interest. Which may in fact be more awful.

‘‘Are you? Then go on. I hope it is worth my time-you may be rewarded for that.’‘ Or punished otherwise. They call her in mortal world many things, sometimes slut and succubus’s sister and temptress. But carnal acts of lust and seduction are just an aspect of hers. She is intrigues woven in caves beneath earth, growth and decay of plantlife, the charming appeal of evil. Even her seduction is more of that of venus flytrap. She is hungry for secrets as she is for flesh and hearts, in literal and metaphorical meaning equally. Her tight smile is that of mafia boss, of information broker, and she is covered in green and red, like emeralds and blood.

‘‘My Lord-The Lost Prince- is feeling worse then usual. Me and several others have thought that maybe..’‘‘ The thorns writhe and dance, and trees burst in fruits and sap flows freely as girl suffocates from pollen, and Green Mother smiles wide and bloody. The Eldest of fey have lived for long time, and been many things to each other.  The Green Mother has bedded each of them, and found sour and sorrowful Lost Prince worst and hardest-for hardly it could be called sex, as she laid over  his bare and unmoving body, and he stared in emptiness. Seductress she is, and creature of pride, and she vowed she will show him pleasure that will snap him out of his melancholy. A obsession and hunger that slowly twisted in need to have him adore her, to possess him by whatever means possible.

‘‘Oh? Really? Lovely, perfect in fact. Well then, that is useful information. I would be glad to help- as for you, no poison of your planet’s herb will work on you, nor shall thorns cut your skin, and neither will treants or similar raise a branch against you, and dryads will know you as friend.’‘ The girl’s eyes are wide, but she nods and quickly mutters something in gratitude (not thank you, never that, she isn’t stupid) before running away, moving through still trees, which aren’t taller then mountains or full of diamond flowers and impossible fruits, but are still thick and would tear her apart in heartbeat if their capricious mistress demanded so.

It is truth of life that it always adapts. Lost Prince’s sorrow wrecks the tower, and they learn to live around it. Some leave, some die, some remain, more come, for still Prince helps as he cries. It is one day that they feel arrival, something old and powerful and wild tearing through magics hiding their joyless kingdom from all others, forcing Feywild to reveal demiplane of Crumbling Tower to it.

The doors of tower-one of them- are old wood, rotten and broken, and realm they were grown at is not there anymore. Parts of it turn to dust, others to black mush, held together by rusting metal, but they burst open, wood stretching and shifting, growing younger and greater, rejecting it’s chains, warping until it is young and healthy and alive, with heavy crowns and roots tearing apart stone.

‘‘AND MAMA HAS ARRIVED!’‘ Voice shouts so strong every creature, from giants to microbes knows it. Green Mother stands at entrance, waving, fueled with strength of joy that still can’t make her smile seem warm or her eyes soft, each movement obvious and overly dramatic. She struts along, roots and thorns growing in her steps, cloud of pollen spreading and making everybody cry and choke and flail until they are red in face, and withering once she passes away, not decaying as plants do, turning orange and brown then drying out, but crumbling in dust in seconds, for Green Mother is creature of desire and energy, sensuality and growth, and neither can be found here.

‘‘Hello. What do you need?’‘ Lost Prince asks once it becomes clear she won’t leave, when flowers bloom from his throne. He doesn’t call her by her name, or title, but in language of archfey elder then sylvan, a set of images and impressions describing her.

A dank cave, filled with dirt and clay and dust, stench of decay of decomposing plants, ready to give birth to new life, spiders crawling across walls.

A flower rises from earth. Brilliant and soft red-green, petals wide and spotted, full of pollen. Bees and butterflies come to it, and when they fly down they can’t leave, and it swallows them whole, as it does same to humans and fiends and fey.

There is man, and he is beautiful and wealthy and liar and has voice like honey, and he plans and plots and weaves his webs, and baits unhappy wives and daughters and sisters to his bed, because he has wild urges he will never let go unsatisfied, and he makes them pawns, and he becomes king and there is sea of blood and tears and so many lost, so many unmarked graves, oh the orphans...

‘‘Me? Whatever is needed at the moment. Now, only your smile and affection, my dear.’‘ She moves slowly, but swags and shakes her body (and who knows how it may seem to him, and he to her- for archfey know the truth of each other’s forms, even as they shift themselves in strangest ways. He thinks it reasonable to her to model herself after elves and dryads, for she is closest to them and has had hand in their history many times, and she finds it quaint and sweet how he makes himself in human, for they live so short and but a few will be known and remembered). And him too she calls by his nature.

A historian, old and grey, stands alone in library combs their way through artifacts found beneath ruins of civilization whose name nobody knows, and they takes books of their predecessors and colleagues and pick information from them, and travel through past, recalling what they know and have learnt about symbols found inscribed at walls.

They called children insane, called them abnormal and weird and unnatural, because their brain was missing few steps and didn’t work the same and it was easier to scream then to figure out way to accommodate, and so they made them mad, screaming and broken and crying and never speaking, when all they needed was rest, to calm down and clear mind and filter out so many emotions.

There is a queen, and she keeps her tears inside even as her grief crushes her, for she thought her  beautiful husband loved her, but he is cruel king and liar, but she must make her  family, her line, all who came before her proud, so she swallows down her pain and lets herself become symbol of loss and pain and strength, lets people put her on pedestal as he screams and hits and cuts her, only as long as she can keep pieces of his rage away from people...

‘‘You won’t find it then. You have wasted your time.’‘ He still breathes unevenly, and cries, and his episode weight heavily on all, even on her, who would have almost shuddered from pain and loss and something like shadow of regret if her power wasn’t as great, if her hunger wasn’t as deep, and if she didn’t remember  time before this, when he could be happy. It is thankful that archfey can speak to each other by mind and meaning, for he wouldn’t be able to get a word out as much as he cries.

‘‘Are you sure? I’m good at digging out things people don’t even know they had.’‘ She shakes her body and puts her hands around his neck. Subtlety is lost on one such as him, and if she had human ideals she would have been ashamed of acting like some unskilled, fresh strumpet, but she is hungry thing and means never matter. She looks at him, and wonders whether he has sexual or romantic desires at all, which would mean she would have to make herself his best friend or surrogate sister or something. It is hard to figure him out, when he has desire for nothing, only some strange duty to help the helpless and remember forgotten. It is awful and makes her leaves turn brown at thought of help without debt, without betrayal and regret, but that is why it is so alluring-perhaps he could teach her something too.

‘‘Like this! A great kingdom, known all over it’s realm-now nothing but dust, because it’s emperor became lich, called upon Old Ones and tried to ascend to godhood. You know, classic. But I preserved it’s capitol. Only for you.’‘ She hands him a glass globe, and inside is truly beautiful capitol, and he holds it and watches ruined buildings, watches bodies covering them, hands of dead clutching each other.

‘‘ I see... I think I heard of this. Some centuries ago-yet already ti is gone from memory. had some very unusual trees.’‘ She smiles wider, grasping for compliment, feeling proud of herself, as he stares on thorns and brilliant red flowers covering city, as he stares on all dead families and destroyed buildings.

‘‘I will gift you for this. Now leave my domain.’‘ he stops crying, and she counts it as win, as he stares at globe, hands shaking. With a mimicked kiss she leaves, planning how to continue this ‘‘romance.’‘

‘‘My Lord?’‘ An old woman comes, dressed in colourful clothes, eyes silver and gold. Prince says nothing, just goes over and hugs her, tight and strong, face frowning and eyes narrowed, hands cold, but he isn’t crying as he puts his head over hers, as he gives her globe and says look.

She doesn’t regret it.