#please take my silly as he is <- wet; cold; vomiting continuously

[chiropteracupola]

have we considered this

[pepperoniandmeatballs]

☆Bathtub Breakdowns☆

An angsty fic about our favorite skeleton Killer! Basically a debrief on what goes on in his head when he's not feeling his 100% silliness!! He's just a girl.

But I wanna mention a big WARNING for SHELF HATEFUL THOUGHTS, VOMIT, GAGGING, SUICIDAL IDOLATION, VERY BAD COPPING SKILLS, REFERENCES TO HYPER SEXUAL TENDENCIES, DRUGS AND ROMANTICIZING NOT SO GREAT STUFF. Please please stay safe guys and if you prone to like idk manifest these kinds of things don't read. Like seriously.

But anyway, In my opinion it's not that bad but it does have some triggering topics soooo ya... be careful?

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Trembling fingers frantically scatter agaisnt cool metal as he heaves. Mouth full with black tar, he gags and wretches all over himself. Spilling his insides down the drain like black goopy rain. White hot pain travels through magical veins like fire as he messily carves more diagonal lines up fractured wrists. The cuts are so deep HP dwindles like falling snow, however he's not cutting to kill. He's cutting to feel.

Killer can't even see how crooked and messy they are as they overlap each other creating a thick pool of blood that fully covers the whites of his marrow. It gives him a little rush of power that fuels his left hand into continuing. Because this is him. He's the one breaking himself beyond repair not others. He's the reason he's bleeding, shaking and draining himself empty. Its all his fault. And that very thought makes him laugh in a manic display. It's a weak attempt of control but it works. It works so good he loses himself in the movement.

Hours before his recent endeavor, he sits in the infirmary shrouded in guilt beyond himself. Horrors by his side, with bandages in one hand and a deep frown in his features. On his left Dust sits by idly, he's red scarf had been pulled down to reveal his mouth, exposing he's scuffed up face as he breathes heavily.

He was the one who had to carry Killer through the woods, up two flights of stairs, past a heavily concerned cross and into the infirmary. So it makes sense why he's panting like a dog.

They're mission was a success but at the cost of Killer's soul being damanged in the process. It hadn't been anyone's fault but his own. He hadn't been paying all that much attention as they entered the A.U. Lost in space, thinking about nothing in particular, which should've been his first red flag. He's always thinking. Something wasn't right and he ignored it like an idiot.

Perhaps he was manic. He never knows it till after, when he has to face the detrimental consequences of his previous actions.

Everything after that was as fuzzy as Cross's cotton gloves as he lurches forward. Thick blotchy black hate paints his lap. He gurgles and gags as he rasps a breath. He feels like he's drowning.

"Gross.."

Dust from all the way across the room grumbles. Horror lays him back down with unsteady hands. Face making a sour expression as he does so. Killer probably looks a wreck as he drowns. Soon a veiw of midnight tentacles fills his blurry vision until he drifts off into a dreamless slumber.

Now, the waters' hot against his bones as blood flows steadily down the drain. It's almost comforting. The way the water trickles down the back of his head, taking blood and vomit with it. They swirl together in a murky pond of crimson. He's wet and cold but he feels. He feels. It makes him crack a little smile as he's arms sting like killer bees because he feels and last night he didn't but now he does. The pain guides and grounds him to a softer place as he leans against the cold, cool surface of the tub.

He'll stay like this, even just for a little while. Atleast till he's back to whoever that person he is with the others. He assumes that is normal killer. Not cutting in the shower to feel an ounce of emotional coexistence killer. As normal as Killer can get, that is. He's erratically unpredictable at best and recklessly bipolar at worse. Even for this castle, that's not normal.

His white shorts are stained red now, he'll just have to throw those away. There's no salvaging the stained. He thinks bitterly as he curls into himself. The water's cold now. He feels numb and tingly. He needs to get up; do something, but at the same time he just doesn't want to. He's body craves it but he'd rather drown in his own filth than twitch he's fingers.

He just doesn't care anymore to pretend, to put on a show, not right now, not here. Here he's alone and painfully sober. Would weed even fix how broken he is right now? A souless addict who's not even real. How pitiful. He's nothing but a bad joke someone found on the bottom of their shoe. A burden for anyone who's had the misfortune of even looking his way. He's a parasite who feeds off others and he's never ever satisfied.

He fills himself with sex and drugs and sweet adrenaline. He burns with a hunger so violent its practically animalistic, the way he's constantly wanting more. Its never ever enough.

He doesn't have a real self anymore, no real personality. The real him died the moment he made that deal. Causing him to became this. This walking, talking, tool for anyone to pick up and use. That's what he wants. To be used, to be manipulated, handled, bended this way and that way till he snaps like elastic. That's why he taunts and taunts. That's why he acts the way he does, to get that delicious response to his fabricated facade.

That's why he clings to the boss so closely. That's why he tests his patience to the absolute thinness. He's an addict to the power play, to the pain, to be played with in such a horrific way it makes his psychotic little mind do flips. He wants to be destroyed by Nightmare's hands and then molded back together just to be broken again. It's sick and twisted but he doesn't care because he's nothing but that. Rottoned and diseased.

Color tries to fix him and he doesn't understand why he still sees a skeleton who onced lived in the same bones he does. And like the miserable leech he is, he uses Color's kindness and feeds off of it. Colors so different from Nightmare and yet it still gives him that same blissful high that leaves him patheticly obsessed.

Without them he wouldn't be here. He's so whole heartily dependent on others that when he's alone he doesn't know what to do with himself. It's sad honestly. How pitiable he is. It should disgust him if he wasn't so disconnected with himself.

"Who's the real killer?"

They mock and laugh at him. All of them secretly hate him. Everyone. They just keep him around to tormet him. Or maybe there just raging masochists like him. How hyperitcal then.

As someone who stands on the edge and let's the wind sway them every which way he understands what it's like to want to die but not commit. Disheartening isn't it? That he rather hide in the bathroom and waste water than step outside and put on another show.

He rather bleed himself out then get up and start the day. He's such a disgrace. Even Dust atleast rolls outta bed and sulks in the living than in his room. Don't get him wrong though, Dust is no better than killer when it comes to this stuff but atleast he has the ounce of decency to not parade himself around and be a nuisance to all.

He wants a cig, anything at all to smother the agonizing emptiness but deep down he knows he doesn't deserve it. Not right now. The water's still running and he's barely bleeding now. He won't die, not like this but he'll be hella sore tomorrow. Lucky for him there's no errands that need to be done so he'll get to cause as much caos as usual.

"This is what you deserve."

While he self-loaths he decides to occupy himself by looking around his restroom. It's simple for Nightmare's gloomy castle. The walls are a deep purple with gold accents here and there with black trimmings. His bulb went out a while back so the room is filled with red candles. Crimson wax drips from them and its funny how much he finds himself relating to those candles. Its not like he needs them, he just likes them and they're dirt cheap. It never gets fully dark anyway, not with killer soul always glowing. It's annoying to say the least but you get used to it over the years.

His bedroom is much smaller than the others and Is the closet to Nightmares study. Sometimes if he's really quiet he can hear him writing. He lets out a breath as he stares at himself through his crooked reflection.

The mirrors glass is cracked due to a violent episode he had months ago. Tore up his knuckles and fractured all his fingers. But it was worth the pain since he got cross to sit down and pick all the individual glass shards out of his hand. Killer can still remember the touch of fingers. How he made him feel delicate and fragile.

Normally he likes things to be intense and rough but on the occasion does he crave passion and vanilla. Something raw that beats lust. Something that leaves him breathless and feeling vulnerable.

He snorts and leans his head back against the tub to stare at the ceiling instead of his mangled display. Stars he's a mess. Wanting love and affection like he deserves that. What a cruel joke.

"So stupid."

He mumbles quietly, it sounds weak even to his own ears. (Ears?) He wonders loosly just how much HP he lost today. Probably quite a bit to feel this shitty. A shitty feeling for a shitty monster. Sounds about right.

He's a murderer, a manipulater, a manic monstrosity. A sadistic freak who puts his life and other endanger just for the thrill. How is he even still alive at this point, because if we're up to him- well you know what he would do. He wouldn't be in the shower sulking around like some kicked mutt.

"Killer?"

He doesn't realize how quiet it got when he heard it. At first he assumed it was just another episode until he heard the timid nock. Cross.

"Hey man, um, you missed breakfast so I brought you some coffee.."

His voice is muffled through the thick door and the sound of the shower but he can still hear that awkwardness in his voice. He's probably picking at fingers too, just like he always does when he's nervous.

"I can leave it by the door but.. Boss says he wants to see you- not now but like, in awile, ok?"

Killer litsens silently. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't trust his vocal chords to not sound like a little bitch.

"Ok... I'll be in the training room, if ya need anything. See ya around Kils.."

He feels bad. Cross in all his degree and cleverness deep down is still a sympathetic solder who tries to do his absolute best. Helping him comrades must be an old habit becuase here that doesn't happen often. When one of are going through it Nightmare's the one who fixes it or distinguish it. The other just try to mind their business and leave the other alone.

But Cross on the occasion will do something small. Like a worried look, or hand in patrol or a damn coffee that killer can smell all the way from the bathroom and fuck does it smell heavenly. Cross is just good like that and it baffles killer how he can find it in himself to care that much. Even if it's a small gesture it still counts and damn does it help.

So now he moves because he doesn't want to not drink something that might help his neverending numbness. He still doesn't deserve it but who gives a fuck. Later he'll steal a Xanax from Dust and see Nightmare with as much normalcy he can pull out of his ass.

With blood soaked fingers he reaches up and turns the sower off. He falls into routine perfectly. Slowly get up, make your way out off the tub without passing out, crawl towards the cabinet, try not make a mess as you fumble with the bandages and wash your hands. All of it, he's done a million times before.

After shucking off his bloodied shorts and damp clothes he heads to his messy closet and grabs a pair shorts, stolen from Cross, and a long sleeve black turtle neck, thanks to Dusts laundry always finding perchase in his room. Normally his long ass gloves are enough to cover everything but his wounds are fresh and he half assed the bandages so.. long sleeves it is. His soul still looks wrecked from last night as it shakes and fizzes around the edges.

He's a mess as he fumbles toward his door. Slowly does he turn the nomb, expecting cross to be hidding out behind a corner or something. When he peeks out he finds the hallway empty. Good. Looking down he finds the mug full of dark brown goodness. Losing his balance he sits down with a thump and snatches the cup with the gracefulness of a drunk.

The door closes with a click and he's left to wallow in this dimly lit room. With a groan he pushes himself against the wall and pulls his knees to his chest. He looks down and stares at the mug.

A mocha Frappuccino, that's what it is. It's obvious Cross made it. It's in his favorite mug, Dusts' mug, nice and cool with messily drizzled chocolate syrup and almond milk. Killer takes a sip and the tight coil in his gut loosens slightly because of hazelnut. Killer loves hazelnut.

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I love putting all my favorite characters through it lol.

Any request for a future fic with Kils? I'm desperate. XP

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[junkercrush]

Could we possibly get a Jester!Junkrat x Fem!Maid!Reader story where its been a long day of hard work in the castle for reader and junkrat comes to put a spring back in her step with some funny routines

Thanks for the request, Anon! 

Finally, I put something together (it’s been so long >.<).

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Your Lovely Smile by junkercrush

Pairing: Fool Rat x Maid Reader

Rating: SFW 

Words: 1,693

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You had mixed feelings about the King’s jubilee: the glorious times and the disastrous aftermath you and the other servants had to clean up.

“Get up, wenches!” Your overseer Gabrielle yelled as you rolled over on your bed. The other maids in the crowded maids’ sleeping quarters groaned. A cock crowed right outside your window.

Gabrielle muttered something about the Devil under her breath. She abruptly smacked the cold stone wall with her rolling pin. You jolted out of bed in an instance.

“GET UP!” Gabrielle roared. She stomped over to a sleeping girl’s bed and pulled the poor girl out of the bed by her hair. The girl yelped as her body hit the floor.

“We have a long day ahead of us!” Gabrielle announced. “I want you all to start cleaning the entire castle.”

You cleared your throat, catching Gabrielle’s attention. She grabbed an empty mop bucket from the corner of the room and shoved it into your hands.

“You, Y/N, I want you to start scrubbing the floors at the grand dining hall!”

Perfect, that was the worst place to start. You’d rather shovel horse manure all day at the royal stables. You remembered how much of a mess it was last night. The knights and nobles were spilling wine and food on the floor. With anybody not realizing it, some guests were making love under the tables. Those damn nobles with their purchased whores. How did the King allow it? Oh yes, he was too drunk on spiced wine to even care.

You cringed at the thought of the mess you had to clean up from the lovers. Hopefully, they had the decency to take their used lambskin condoms with them.

“What about our breakfast?” An older woman asked in the far back of the quarters. She stood on top of her bed with her arms on her hips. Her grey hair was covering her face.

Gabrielle’s face softened. She sighs and tucked some of her curly honey blonde hair behind her ear.

“Steal some food from the kitchen.” She suggested with a wink. “Hurry before the kitchen staff stirs.”

All the maids in the room, including you, hurried to fix their beds and get dressed. You were the first to escape the bed chambers with your bucket. A random servant was sleeping shirtless on the floor. You leaped over him, noticing a sleeping hen on top of his bed. He must’ve had a wild night.

You remembered the honey-glazed bread and large pieces of ham from last night. Pray be there were still some leftovers. You snuck into the kitchen and found a serving platter of your favorite food on a wooden table. A half-naked chef slept underneath.

Quietly, you dumped the food into your bucket and hurried out of the kitchen before the other maids had a chance to steal a meal. You giggled as you heard a man yelling and females screaming. Looks like one of the chefs has caught your maid companions.

*~*~*~*

The floors were much more terrible than you imagined. There was splattered food, spilled wine, mud, and…bloodstains? You don’t remember any battles occurring in the dining hall. No matter, you had to clean it all up. Good thing you had a belly full of food to keep you energized.

You kneeled to the stone floor and started scrubbing. Your nose flared as the foul stench of vomit hit your senses. Immediately, you shot up from the floor, covering your nose.

“By the heavens!” You gasped. You had to take a moment before resuming cleanup.

Why were you the only one assigned to the grand dining hall? Did Gabrielle expect you to split into 10 people and get it all done by sunset? You hoped to God more servants will arrive soon to offer aid.

A pair of marching troops dashed through the dining hall. You glared at them as they made more of a mess of the floor with their muddied boots.

“How did he lose it?” One guard asked the other. “I swear I saw him sleeping with it.”

“No clue.” The other guard replied. “If we don’t find his scepter before the end of the day, he’ll have all of your heads!”

The guards glanced at you before they disappeared from the hall.

The scepter? The King’s scepter? Missing? Who had the courage to steal it?

You scrubbed the floor harder as more guards passed through the dining hall.

“Watch the wet floor!” You warned one of them. They only sneered at you and moved on. You cursed under your breath and soaked your rag in the bucket. You earnestly hoped Gabrielle will send more maids your way soon.

“Need a hand, m’lady?”

You looked up, eyes brightened with hope, only to meet a familiar jester looking down at you with a mischievous grin. The sight of the heavily face-painted man  made you fly backward, knocking over your only bucket of water.

“Jamison!” You yelped.

Jamison, the royal jester, laughed. He performed a little dance around you, sticking out his tongue. The bells attached to his wild blue hair jingled.

“I remember seeing you ‘round these parts last night.” He spoke. “Couldn’t keep me eyes off of you.”

You stood up, blushing, smoothing your soiled dress. You remembered serving the King’s guests while Jamison was busily humoring the King. Every moment the King laughed, Jamison turned to you, making sure you were watching him. You tried hard to stay focused that night.

“What do you want?” You asked. Jamison cackled.

“I got a gift for you.”

Jamison reached into his pants. You gasped and turned around.

“Jamison, this is no time for saucy jokes!”

“My dear, just look at this big beauty.”

You peeked behind your fingers.

“Jamison,” You gulped. The jester had the golden, jewel-encrusted scepter belonging to the King.

“You like?” Jamison wondered, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Take it back!” You ordered.

“Why?”

“The King will execute you if he catches you with it. You know how he is about his royal possessions, whether it be his countless mistresses or the crown!”

“Please,” Jamison scoffed. “The King and I are good friends. He wouldn’t kill me. What do you think he does with this thing? Turn his enemies into frogs? Stick it up his—”

Jamison pretended like he was going to insert the bejeweled end of the scepter into his bottom. You snorted with laughter. Jamison’s face lightened up.

“That’s want I wanted to see.”

You stared at him, puzzled. “What?”

A thunder of footsteps was approaching the dining hall.

“The guards!” You squeaked.

Jamison quickly stuffed the scepter into his pants. You didn’t know how he was doing it without anybody seeing his noticeable bugle.

“Maid,” A guard approached you; two more stood behind him. “The King is missing his royal scepter. Have you seen it?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, m’lord.”

The guard turned to Jamison. “What about you, jester?”

Jamison only grinned. “Not since last night, my friend.”

The guard glanced between the two of you long and hard. You coughed, and the guard stepped closer to you.

“Where were you last night?” He asked.

You swallowed nervously. Beads of sweat began to form on your forehead. In your mind, you only wished the guard would go away so you can resume cleaning and chat with Jamison.

“I was serving guests.” You answered.

“You haven’t seen anything suspicious?”

Jamison stepped behind the guards and pulled out the scepter. He twirled it around their hands like it was nothing. You tried hard not t to let laughter escape from you.

“N-no,” Your voice quaked.

Jamison placed the scepter at his crotch, pretending he was about to impale the guardsmen’s behinds with it. You covered your mouth and disguised your laughs with a horrendous bout of coughs. The guardsmen stepped back.

“Dear Lord, do you have the plague?” One frightened guard asked.

Jamison finally stuffed the scepter back into his pants.

“No, my lord.” You replied with a sweet smile. “All is well.”

A frantic guard rushed into the dining hall, sword out and ready for battle.

“We found the thief!” The prepared guard panted. “He’s trying to escape the premises with one of the king’s stolen horses!”

The other guards pulled out their swords.

“Alert the archers!” The lead guard ordered. “We can’t let him escape!”

You and Jamison waited for the guardsmen to leave before bursting out into fits of giggles. You playfully smacked Jamison’s exposed torso with your cleaning rag.

“How dare you attempt to make me laugh in front of the royal guard?” You spouted. “You and your vulgar phallus tricks!”

Jamison sat on the steps in front of the King’s dining table. He pulled out the scepter again, tossing it between his hands.

“But I did make you smile,” Jamison recalled with a toothy grin. “That’s what I wanted.”

You rolled your eyes and picked up your empty bucket.

“I better fetch more water.” You murmured.

“Hold it!” Jamison stopped you in your tracks. He flipped you around to face him. You forgot how freakishly tall he was up close compared to your small stature.

“Promise me you’ll share your lovely smile with me.” Jamison continued. He pressed the scepter against the side of your face, making circles with the tip caressing your face. “And only for me. Understood?”

Blood rushed to your cheeks again.

“U-understood.” You shivered at the scepter’s cold touch.

“Good!”

Jamison threw the scepter into the air, did a stunning triple backflip, and caught the staff before it hit the ground. You dropped your bucket and applauded him. Jamison bowed.

“Thank you, my sweet.” Jamison placed the scepter back into his pants. “Better return the king’s funny stick before he sets this entire kingdom on fire!”

Jamison blew a kiss at you and skipped out of the dining hall, giggling. You stood in place with a silly smile on your face until you could no longer hear Jamison’s jingling bells. Finally, it was time to get back to work before Gabrielle catches you slacking off.

Thanks to that jester, your entire day was already made.

                                                     THE END

[jae-bummer]

Call It Even

Request: Number three with Mr. Lee Jihoon please my lovely. Hope all continues to be well ❤ 

Prompt:

3) “I get you out of one problem and you go and create another one.” 

Pairing: Seventeen Woozi x Reader

Genre: Fluff/Slight Angst

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**TW: Predatory behavior/Alluding to assault

The snow was wet on your boots as you kicked them along the sidewalk. You were uncertain how exactly you had managed to stay out so late, but looking down to the several paper bags in your hands, you couldn’t help but smile at yourself.

You loved holiday shopping.

Not because you had a copious amount of money, but you adored the look on your friends and family's faces as they opened up whatever package you had chosen for them that year.

So yeah, you guessed that's why you were out so late.

It was easy to get lost in your perusing. Staring through shop windows and running your hands along racks of clothing seemed to be your simple pleasure when you shopped. The only issue was that it seemed to make you lose track of time. Glancing down to your phone, you groaned as you saw the hours were soon reaching double digits.

Popping your headphones into your ear, you made your way toward the intersection that led back to your apartment complex. Humming quietly to yourself, you hardly noticed the tall, burly man heading toward you until he appeared by your side. He murmured something to you, causing you to pull out your headphone with as little noticeable irritation as possible.

"I'm sorry?" you asked, lifting your brows at him as a signal to repeat what he had said.

"Do you have the time?" he asked, his voice creaking in a way that made you unsettled.

"Ah, 9:14," you replied, immediately putting your headphones back in.

You noticed he said something to you again, making you heave a noticeably irritated sigh this time. Pausing your music, you glanced toward him.

"Did you finish your Christmas shopping?" he asked nonchalantly. The crosswalk signaled you to advance forward, but you tried to remain calm as the man stayed in step with you.

"Yup," you said shortly. You didn't want to give him any further conversation ammunition.

"Did you get something for your boyfriend?" he asked.

Trying to hide the shock from the question, you set him with a glare. He was most likely at least 15 years older than you and had no business asking you questions like that.

"I did," you nodded, attempting to remain calm. You swallowed before the next lie slipped from your lips. "He's fresh out of prison, so I wanted to make his first holiday back home special."

"Prison?" the man chuckled, shaking his head as you reached the next sidewalk. "You're funny...

...I like that."

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his words truly struck you. Hurrying your steps along, you realized he had no plans to leave you alone.

"Me too," a new voice said as another man appeared on your opposite side. "Sorry I was late, babe. Do you need me to help with the bags?"

You looked to the new stranger, your eyes wide as you assessed him. He was around your height with lightly colored hair. His eyes were dark and he wore a cold expression. It wasn't directed at you though, solely at the man situated to your right.

"This...is your ex convict?” the man scoffed.

The new stranger lifted his brows at the larger man’s tone. He proceeded in a voice that was threateningly quiet. “Do I need to reenact the events of the night that led to my prison sentence?” 

The larger stared down at your “boyfriend” in mild disbelief. 

“You can’t be serious,“ he coughed, his steps finally faltering.

“Are you really willing to find out?” the newer stranger hissed, his voice thick with satoori.

“Have a merry Christmas,” the man coughed, taking a few steps in the opposite direction in which the two of you had just come.

Letting out a momentary sigh of relief, you closed your eyes before opening them again, and setting your sights on your newest companion.

“A convict? Really?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“How else am I supposed to incite fear into the heart of a strange man?” you groaned. “And speaking of strange men, who are you?”

“My name is Jihoon, but you can call me Woozi,” he sighed before shaking his head. “And you can incite fear by driving your knee straight into his crotch and running like hell.”

“But he didn’t do anything,” you muttered.

“Yet,” Woozi said, his tone sharp. “You have no obligation to be polite to someone you don’t know and has ill intent, remember that.”

“So you just assume everyone you interact with is terrible?” you grumbled. You didn’t even bother to hide your annoyance. Who was this guy to be giving a lecture when he didn’t even know the first thing about you?

“Obviously not,” he hummed. “I stopped and helped you after all.”

“Right because I was a damsel in distress,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“No, because you looked terrified, and I’m too selfish of a person to leave myself wondering if you made it home safe or not,” he hissed.

“Well, job well done,” you said, spinning on your heel and away from him. “Thanks and happy holidays.”

You didn’t bother looking over your shoulder as you left.

.

Pushing your bag higher on your shoulder, you squinted through the heavy snowfall. Just one more turn and you would be home.

Pausing at an alleyway that acted as a direct line to your fire escape, you tilted your head as you stared into the shadows. Considering your luck on this night, did you really want to push it any further?

Heaving a sigh, you shook your head. That stranger, Woozi, had really gotten into your mind. Who really listened to a guy named Woozi anyway?

Taking a few tentative steps forward into the alley, you gripped your shopping bags a little tighter. Nothing had ever happened in this alleyway in the years you had been living at your building and it wasn’t going to magically start today.

But still, you found yourself shuffling forward with a fair amount of haste. Damn, Woozi. He had set you on edge with his warnings.

But you supposed warnings were given for a reason.

“Well, hello,” an all too familiar voice cooed behind you.

You wanted to cry, but you were certain it would make you look even more fragile and weak in the eyes of your predator.

Turning around, you tried to normalize your breathing as you stared down the burly man.

“Don’t want to talk up any strangers, but you sure talked to that pipsqueak earlier,” he hummed, taking painfully small steps toward you. “What is it? Am I not pretty enough for you?”

You thought you would swallow your tongue if you attempted to speak, so you remained silent, taking your own small steps backward into the dead end alley. In your panic, you had already passed the fire escape that led to your apartment (and you didn’t really want him knowing where you lived anyway.) Maybe if you threw a trashcan in his direction and ran. Maybe you could scream loud enough for someone to help. Maybe you could do exactly as Woozi had advised and kick him in the...

“Still not talking to me?” the man laughed, advancing a bit more quickly than before. “I can make you talk. I can make you do a lot of things actually. Make you feel a lot of ways. Don’t you want to see?”

You were going to be sick. Maybe if you vomited on him, he would be the one to run away.

Whatever you decided to do, you had to fight.

The streetlights on the main sidewalk were starting to become eclipsed by the man’s hulking figure. He was getting so much closer. You felt a hot tear slide down your cold cheek. Clutching your bags so hard it hurt, you were ready. You were going to take him down.

Wincing, you strengthened your stance. You were standing your ground.

“I wasn’t aware I needed to walk my partner to the door for them to be able to make it home safely,” Woozi’s voice growled from the end of the alley.

You thought you would openly sob as you heard him. That fool. That rude, pushy, fool.

“Give it up,” the large stranger sighed, not even bothering to look behind him. “Just walk away. This is none of your concern.”

“How do you figure?” Woozi asked, his Busan accent becoming louder.

“You aren’t the boyfriend,” the man grumbled. “I heard what the two of you said. You two met just as we did.”

“Right,” Woozi said. “Silly me. I probably shouldn’t interrupt then.”

Your heart was going to beat out of your chest. He couldn’t leave you. Not now.

“Best thing you’ve said all night,” the man laughed, taking another step in your direction.”

“I said “probably,���“ Woozi hummed. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I actually find an odd joy in interrupting.”

“Look kid,” the man said, finally swinging himself around. “If you don’t back off you’re going to regret it.”

“Oh, just like I regretted calling the police when I saw you turn into this alley?” Woozi asked, lifting his brows. “By my calculations, they should be here in about two minutes? Three if I’m being generous.”

“Shit,” the man hissed, visibly shaken by Woozi’s words. He glanced over his shoulder at you. “You’re lucky.”

“Incredibly,” Woozi chirped. “Now I advise you to...what were your words...back off?”

The tower of a man thundered back down the alley and toward Woozi. You held your breath as he sized up the smaller man before slamming into his shoulder and disappearing around the corner.

Woozi watched the man’s retreating figure until it disappeared into the night. Once he could finally catch his own breath again, he stumbled toward you, taking your elbows into his hands. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, certain you had indeed swallowed your tongue. You were surprised as Woozi pulled you to his chest and hugged you tight before shoving you away again. “I get you out of one problem and you go ahead and create another one?”

“I didn’t create it,” you hiccuped. “He-he-he followed me.”

“He’s a spineless piece of garbage,” Woozi hummed, patting your head. “You did nothing wrong by existing. I just beg that you be more aware of your surroundings next time. Just because you don’t deserve any of this, doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”

“How did you know...how did you know he would follow?” you whimpered.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t going to leave it to chance. Remember? I’m selfish in that way. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep tonight.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, shaking your head. “For saving me.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he sighed, finally letting go of your arms. “But you will let me walk you to your front door.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted anyone to know where you lived ever again.

“We’ll wait for the police,” Woozi nodded. “We can give them the MO of this guy, and then get you warm.”

You glanced toward him with wide eyes.

“Like inside...to the safety of your apartment!” he gasped.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Do you blame me?”

“For what happened or that thought?” he sighed.

“Either.”

“Nope, not in the least,” he said. “Guys are trash.”

“You’re a guy,” you nodded.

“Then I too have to claim the the wrongs of the majority,” he said. “Just because I don’t exhibit the same behavior doesn’t mean I’ll dismiss it either.”

“Thank you again,” you said quietly, looking up at the strong and confident man you were happy to bump into tonight. “I owe you...so much.”

“All you owe me is a cup of coffee,” he nodded with a small smile. “And we’ll call it even.”

[fericita-s]

Lessons

This Agduna story takes place in the All is Found series , a roleswap AU idea that @agdunaavenger​  came up with and that @the-spaztic-fantastic​ and I wrote.  Iduna and Agnarr are enjoying being married and alone in the forest. She tries to teach him how to fight with a wooden staff, and they both win.  You can thank @the-spaztic-fantastic​ for this one; it is purely through her encouragement and beta-ing and influence this became a finished product instead of something we just messaged about forever. Also blaming @thegeekogecko​ because she tagged me on some swordplay stuff that I couldn’t get out of my head, so here is my contribution to some sexy fighting with weapons that could kill you. So tag you’re it for the next sexy fighting story, @thegeekogecko​!

“Are those apples? I didn’t know there were apple trees in this forest!” Agnarr reached to pick one but drew back, looking to Iduna to be certain it was actually an apple and edible, and not one of the many plants that she assured him could kill on contact.

Shortly after their boska harvesting, he had picked some wolfsbane for its bright purple flowers, thinking to decorate their bleak cave with something beautiful.  But she had kicked it from his hands and then made him wash in the river even though it was already frigidly cold, all the while explaining with increasingly frantic speech that it was only to be touched while wearing gloves. Its only purpose was for a coating on arrow tips meant for wolves.  Not animals they could hunt and eat.  The poison would kill anyone who tried to eat game felled by a wolfsbane arrow.  

He then spent the rest of the evening feeling his face for drool and his hands for numbness, imagining it there, and feeling the need to vomit even though it was surely from nerves and not his brief contact with the plant.  

It was not a fond memory.

Iduna nodded to him and he pulled two off of a low-hanging branch.  “Yes, some English monks planted them generations ago.  They told some confusing stories about bearing fruit for a god that no one could make sense of, but we appreciate the fruit all the same.  There are sweet pears somewhere too.”

He tossed an apple to her and they bit into them, Agnarr watching as some of the juice dribbled down her chin and she swiped at it with a finger and brought it to her lips to taste the sweetness.  He loved being able to look at her this way, admiring her openly without worrying she would catch him at it. Since the winter, their closeness was intimate in a way that brought him much satisfaction. 

And just like he had made a study of the forest and the ways to survive in it, he had made a study of his wife and what gave her satisfaction.  The sigh she made when he ran his hands from her ankles to her hips, the way she pushed at her leggings, annoyed, when fabric separated her from him as they pressed against each other at night.  And best of all, how she would move against him and then stop for a moment, her eyes fixed on his and her mouth open with a silent plea that he answered with a caress and a movement of his own that led to his favorite sound yet.

He took another bite of the apple and watched as she continued to eat hers in a perfect line around the middle of the fruit, her even bites marking a white trail. “I’ll make a ladder so we can get the ones high up.”

“No need, I can climb and get those.”  She tilted her head looking up. “Though, I haven’t climbed much without the wind to help.  A ladder might be wise.”

Agnarr smiled, pleased to have a useful idea, pleased that the forest which had been so starkly bare during the winter was now blooming again.  Sometime over the course of the winter, loving his wife had begun to feel like an act of hope instead of an act of desperation.  And now the blooms of spring were proof that hope was justified. 

He took another bite.

***

Iduna watched as Agnarr used the knife to peel a layer of bark off of a tree branch. He had a pile of evenly cut pieces of wood that he promised would soon be a ladder, but this branch was thicker than the others.  He frowned, turning the branch over in his hands.  

She enjoyed watching him work.  He was so serious about it, yet somehow still playful.

Even in their first few weeks, he had worked hard to learn how to hunt and trap and build, yielding to her expertise and offering up silly stories of cotillions and tea parties and festivals that made them both laugh.

She smiled, remembering how awkward he was the first time she showed him how to fly on the wind. Nervous, but willing to follow her lead, trusting her to teach him and keep him from plummeting to the ground.  He’d been scraped and bruised a bit, but exhilarated.  The joy in his face when he first flew above the canopy, the way he reached out his hand to hold hers, it had given her heart a lightness that she carried even now. If he had started like a drunken duck, he had finished their lesson like a reindeer calf.  Perhaps unsteady on his legs but carrying the promise of future usefulness.

There was a litheness to his body and an eagerness to learn that had made their nights a delightful exploration.  And mornings.  And afternoons.  What had begun with awkward and eager fumblings, with whispered questions and breathless assurances, had become practiced and adept. Now when his hands moved to her hips and he pressed against her, it was heat and desire, their laughter for the joy of the act and not to cover embarrassment.

Yes, she was glad to have a husband who learned so well. And though he was more skilled in the pursuit of their shared pleasures than he had become at spear fishing or assembling the wooden slats into their kota, she supposed some endeavours were more rewarding in their accomplishment.

She might have blushed at the thought if anyone had been around to see, but it was just the two of them in this part of the woods. So instead, she walked over to him and took the branch out of his hand and ran her hand up the length of it.

He motioned to it. “This one’s thicker to start with.  Should I peel more layers away or look for a different branch?”

She shook her head. “It’s too thick for your ladder.  But perfect for a staff. For fighting.”  She handed it back and sat next to him.

“You’ll have to show me how.  I only know how to fence and wrestle.  Some of that might be helpful, but what I saw the day of the battle…” He shook his head and covered his hand with hers.  “I don’t know how to do that.  But perhaps I should learn to help keep us safe.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder and he stuck the knife he had been using in the ground. Then he brought that hand up to cradle her cheek, running his thumb up and down her cheekbone as they breathed in and out. “I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know.  We have nothing to fear from my people now, as long as we stay away. But I think it’d be good for you to learn.” She sat up smiling, pushing away the darker thoughts that would take hold if she let herself think for too long about what their banishment was intended to do to them. “It will be fun.  I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. You’ve told me all about fencing.  This isn’t so different.”

***

“This is very different,” Agnarr groaned as Iduna pointed the pointy end of the fishing spear toward his neck, her foot on his bare stomach and his body splayed in the dirt.  “And why do you get the pointy one?”

“Because you didn’t want to make two staffs and I’m improvising.  Which you should do more of, stop thinking about the foot patterns from fencing.  Look at your terrain and your environment.  Use it.”  Iduna removed her foot and offered a hand to Agnarr, who instead of using it to pull himself up, pulled her down so she was lying on top of him, the bare skin of his chest warm and wet with sweat through the borrowed shirt of his she was wearing. She lost her grip on her spear in the sudden movement and sensation and shrieked.

“That’s not fair! I was offering mercy!”

“Well, I am a Southern bastard.”  He laughed as he held her tight against him and winked.  “You should have listened to your brother’s warnings.” His old shirt billowed away from her leggings in the breeze and his hand moved from her hip to her exposed back.  He ran his hand up and down her spine and felt her shiver under his touch before gripping his arm around her waist and flipping them so that she was the one with her back against the earth. He raised himself to his knees and smiled at her triumphantly. “Improvising.  I rather like it.”

Iduna slid her hands from where they were pinned under his legs and moved them slowly up his thighs, smiling at him. “Very good. And what else do you like?” One hand continued its climb towards his hip while she used the other to lightly scrape her fingernails on the underside of his arm.  Her smile grew wider as her hand reached the wooden staff now loosely held in his hand and she pulled it from his grasp, knocking him on the side of the head and scrambling out from under him as he brought both hands to cradle his temple and groaned. 

“Now who’s not playing fair?”

She stood, bending her knees a bit to brace for a new attack as he reached for the fishing spear and twirled it about his head in the way she had demonstrated at the start of their lesson. “I think I like the pointy one better.  It’s quicker.  Deadlier.”

Iduna lifted her staff in swift motion, knocking at the spear and succeeding in making Agnarr fumble it so it landed in the dirt.  She stood her staff in the ground and leaned against it. “I think we’ve learned that I’m the quick and deadly one.  Not the weapon.”

Instead of leaning down for the spear, Agnarr lunged toward her and kicked at the staff. Iduna dodged his foot by rolling into a patch of grass. She tucked herself so her arm didn’t take weight in the fall and jumped back up. As she rose, she saw that Agnarr had the spear in hand again and was holding it in front of himself like a shield.  She advanced on him, knocking at his slender piece of wood with her heavier staff, and they traded blows only twice before his spear snapped in half and he looked at the two pieces splintered in his hands, laughing. He threw them at her one at a time and she knocked them away with the staff. 

“What now?”  She grinned.  “Are you ready to call mercy?”

Agnarr dropped to his knees in front of her. “I’m always at your mercy.  And do not regret it at all.”

Iduna raised the staff above her head. “Victory! Let the spirits witness it!” She lowered it again and then let it fall in the dirt, as Agnarr’s mouth found the skin on her stomach, his bearded face tickling her as he burrowed under the voluminous shirt.  His hands moved to clasp her backside and she lifted the sweaty shirt off of her head, the warm spring sun welcome against her exposed skin. He took the shirt from her and placed it like a pillow on the grass and as Iduna laid against the soft earth, she asked “Best of three?”

He pressed against her and laughed. “Let’s do what we do best instead.”

Iduna pulled him down so he lay on top of her, the heat of their skin so alive against each other she thought it might be their bodies that were calling Spring into life. His face was an inch from hers, his breath was the same as hers, and before he covered her with his lips and tongue and feverish fingers, she nodded.  “Yes, let’s.”

He kissed her neck and traced a line from her collarbone to her neck before his final words for a while. “It’s my turn to make you demand mercy.”

She laughed and then gasped, grateful again that he was so determined to get this right.

[heebiejbies]

Limerence - Chapter XI

Limerence Masterlist

Characters: Sehun and OC (Ursula)

Warnings: This series contains mentions of assault, sexual violence, and stalking.

Word Count: 3.8k

Limerence:  The state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one’s feelings.

Have you ever felt like the world was against you? Do you know what it feels like to have life going so smoothly, and then life just throws something in your face to make life more difficult? As if it just wanted to catch you off guard and trip you up?

It seemed like everything in my life was going great. I was advancing in my job, I was healthy and happy, I had a loving boyfriend, where did it go wrong? Was my life going along too smoothly? I didn’t have the smoothest years behind me, so why can’t I just have a few smooth years to make up for that? Why is it that life seems to want to ruin my happiness with whatever it has up its sleeve?

“They found his body a few miles upstream. The level of decay to his body makes it difficult to pinpoint exactly how long he has been dead, but longer than three weeks I know that much. His face was badly beaten, unrecognizable basically. Thankfully, he still had some of his teeth so we could match dental records to find his identity.”

I stood in front of the mutilated body in complete shock. He had been in the water for days, weeks even, before being found miles up stream. I had never seen such a vile, disgusting, and heinous scene in my life. When the medical examiner removed the sheet from the body completely, I rushed out of the room and to the nearest exit I could find. I thought I would vomit, but I only dry-heaved. I hadn’t had the chance to eat anything earlier in the day, but if I had it would have certainly come back up at the sight of this.

“Urs, are you alright?” Caspian followed me out the same exit, finding me crouching on the ground next to the door. He crouched down as well and rubbed my back, “I’m so sorry you had to see that…”

“Casp, I… I don’t understand,” I took a deep breath in to calm my breathing, “It wasn’t the sight itself, but knowing who he is… I don’t really feel anything towards him, but seeing that… I feel so… Sad.” Logically, as a human, it would be expected that I would feel disgusted and saddened at the sight of such a horrendous act happening to another fellow human being. That much, I knew. However, this felt a lot worse than what I assumed that case would feel like.

“A murder with this amount of rage usually means something personal. We don’t have any leads yet, but I advise that you two not leave town until we get more information on this case.”

Detective Phillips—The same detective who questioned me after Eric’s assault—had asked us to come down. It seemed that he brought bad news with him whenever we met, this makes twice that he has brought bad news to me involving people I’ve known.

Caspian took me back inside while we finished up with the medical examiner. Afterward, he drove me back home—in silence. We had only been in a similar position a few times before, enough to count on one hand for sure. The feeling grew unbearable, but I knew we couldn't do anything to change it. We didn’t speak a word to each other, after all, what was there to say? What could we say to change how we felt at that particular moment? What could be said to take our mind off of the most revolting thing we have ever seen in our lives? Nothing. That’s what. Nothing.

Upon entering my house, I noticed my mom getting ready for work again. She stopped what she was doing to look at me. No witty or sarcastic remark, again just silence. She didn’t know why exactly Caspian and I had been called to come down to the medical examiner’s office, and I honestly didn’t want to tell her why. She had too much to think about already, and letting her know what had just happened would burden her even further. I would tell her soon, just not at that current moment.

For the next few hours, I did nothing but lay in bed. I had one of my playlists on loop, and I just laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Like a movie reel, events from my past seemed to be playing right before my very eyes. I could see things that were not relevant in the least to the situation at hand, and some that were. One day, in particular, stuck in my head.

“Urs, please come out of your room. You can’t stay locked up in there forever.”

“No! I already told you that I don’t want to leave!” Caspian had decided to stay home with my mom and me for a few days. After the incident with my father, I could tell that he felt like he had to be around for me. I shut myself up in my room and only came out to go to school and eat meals. He tried to get me to leave my room, but I just couldn’t find reasons to leave my room. On that day in particular, though, he tried extra hard. He continuously knocked on my door and would yell at me through it. Eventually, I couldn’t handle it anymore and I went and sat on the roof for awhile.

The sun had started to set, leaving the sky brushed with hues of pink, purple, and orange. Being in October, the autumn chill had just started to set in. It wasn’t cold, by no means, however, if you were cold natured you would need a sweater before coming outside. The leaves were almost completely converted over to their autumn colors, but a few sparse green leaves remained.

People around the neighborhood had started setting up for Halloween already. Our neighbor to our right always turned his yard into a graveyard. I looked towards his house to see him bringing out a few tombstones from his garage. His kids came running outside to him, begging for him to let them help set up the yard. Which he, much like any father would, eagerly agreed. He was the neighbor who called Caspian that day. He must have sensed me watching him because he turned in my direction and waved. After returning his gesture, he brought his attention back to his two children that were now chasing one another around the yard with a skeleton hand.

As I turned my head back towards the direction of the sun set, I noticed the woman across the street looking at me. Once she had my attention, she motioned for me to come to her. Reluctantly, I went back inside and out the door to her house. She sat on her porch with her cat, she offered me a seat next to her which I gladly accepted. She looked at the sky, seemingly captivated by whatever she saw there.

“Have you ever thought about how beautiful this world is?” She spoke.

“What do you mean?”

“Look up at the sky, dear,” I looked up, “Look at how it looks like a work of art. The colors blend so well together. It's as if they were watercolors splashed onto a blank canvas. The clouds are positioned so imperfectly that it’s almost perfect,” She pointed to the moon that could barely be seen, “The sun is setting, the moon will soon rise, this is something that happens every day, yes?” What I gathered from the times that I had spoken to her is that she had a very odd way of wording things. Half of the time, what she said made absolutely no sense to everyone except her. What she meant by this, I had no idea, but I simply nodded.

“The sun setting signals the end of the day, the beginning of the night. Then, when the sun rises in the morning, it signals the start of a new day. No matter what happens on Earth, the sun never fails to rise and set each time. It pays no mind to whatever events have happened because what matters is the next day. Think of it like this; The sun will always bring us a new day no matter what happens. Whatever things you have faced today, once the sun sets it will be in the past. Once the sun rises, it will be a new day. This day might have been a struggle, but you always can look forward to the next day. Even when it seems all hope is gone, you will always have the hope that the next day will be better. We do not know what tomorrow will bring, no one does, but all we can do is hope that tomorrow will be better than today and days past.”

It took me a moment to try and process all that she said. The way she said it didn’t completely make it clear as to what she meant, but I understood the overall message she was trying to give me. No matter what happens, tomorrow is a new day and it has potential to be better than today. You can’t lose hope over one or many days of bad luck because once the sun rises the next morning it is a new day—full of new possibilities.

“I… I think I understand what you’re saying.” I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, she still paid full attention to the sky. We sat there in silence watching the sunset, the moon had fully risen by the time I left.

I sat up in my bed and wiped a tear from my cheek. I let out a restless sigh, then scrambled to put on my shoes and make it downstairs. I took a walk to one of the local parks a few blocks away. I walked down one of the many trails they had that lead into the woods, stopping when I found a running stream. I climbed onto a large rock by the edge of the stream and took my shoes off. I sat down on the edge and dipped my feet in the water—finally having a moment of peace.

I laid back, putting my arm behind my head as a makeshift pillow, and looked through the trees at the sunshine. My eyelids grew heavy, slowly but surely closing. I took that time to soak in all of the sounds of nature around me. The wind rustling through the trees, the flowing water of the stream, birds of all kinds chirping and singing, the playful yips of a dog nearby…

Wait.

A dog yipping nearby?

If there were ever to be a perfect time to insert a needle skidding off of a record, it would of been that very moment. I snapped my eyes open with a squint, my brows furrowing. Before I could look to find the dog, I felt a wet tongue licking my cheek. When I saw who it was, I immediately started giggling.

“Vivi! You silly boy! What are you doing here?” I crossed my legs and allowed him to jump in my lap. He put his front paws on my shoulders and continued licking my face, “Okay boy, enough licking please!” I managed to calm him down enough so that he wasn’t trying to lick my face off. I petted his back,then a thought coming to mind. I looked around my surroundings and spotted Sehun leaning against a tree a few feet away.

“I wondered how Vivi got here by himself,” I commented. Sehun smiled, then moved away from the tree and came to sit beside me. Vivi altered between mine and his lap, jumping back and forth while we spoke.

“Urs, what’s bothering you? I can tell something is bothering you.” Either I was very bad at hiding my emotions, or he was very good at reading my emotions. I contemplated if I should really tell him what happened, but by the way he looked he would be able to tell if I lied.

“It’s… My dad,” I sighed. The scene of his body flashed in my mind, making me wince.

“Your dad?” Sehun’s entire demeanor changed, “What did he do? Did he do something to you? Ursula, you have to tell me if he did something to you!”

“Sehun he’s dead!” His face that had been scrunched up in anger dropped abruptly. “They found his body, he was murdered Sehun. Murdered. Caspian and I went to the medical examiner’s office earlier today and that sight,” I shuddered at the thought, “It had to be the most gruesome thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

I explained the events from earlier in the day, making sure to leave out the gory details. He attentively listened, but for some reason, he didn’t seem as if he were surprised by the events I told him. That made me a little questionable.

“Sehun… Why don’t you look shocked or surprised? It’s as if you… Knew of this somehow,” I questioned him. He opened his mouth to speak, but then snapped it back shut.

“Sehun, tell me-”

“It’s just that I kind of expected this.”

Wait. What?

“From all I’ve learned about him, he’s not exactly everyone’s favorite guy. If he did what he did to you and your family, who knows what he would do to other people. I’m not saying it was right, but all I am saying is that I expected this because of his actions.”

I remembered the night I told him about my father, I remember how his face mimicked that of Caspian’s that day many years ago.

“After hearing that, if I ever see that asshole I will kick his ass.”

Sehun is so… Strange. He’s such a sweet, heartfelt guy but then there are times where he looks so bloodthirsty. Maybe he’s just very protective over people he cares for, no need to overthink anything, Urs.

Sehun pulled my body closer to his and guided my face to the crook of his neck. I took a deep breath in through my nose, the scent that I smelled wasn’t his normal one. However, I knew I had smelled it before.

“Hey, you smell different,” I commented. He chuckled, causing a slight rumble in his chest, “I changed the soap that I use. I didn’t think it would be that noticeable.”

We spent the next few hours at that park. We played frisbee with Vivi—or at least tried to. Sehun kept throwing it too hard, Vivi eventually stopped running after it. However, when I threw it, he ran after it without hesitation. Sehun went near one of the trees and plopped down to the ground, sulking. With the way he had his arms crossed over his chest, he looked like a little kid sitting in time out.

When Vivi brought the frisbee back to me, I tossed it over to where Sehun sat. It landed at his feet and Vivi ran after it, but he didn’t go for the frisbee. He jumped on Sehun and started licking his face, much like he had done to me earlier in the day. Sehun’s face brightened up and he started giggling, he laid back on the grass and let Vivi continue showing him love. The two of them looked so adorable, Vivi’s little yips and Sehun’s giggles brought a wide grin to my face. The two of them—no—the three of us together… I couldn’t explain how it made me feel. Being with the two of them made all of the things I had witnessed earlier in the day disappear. When I was with Sehun, my problems weren’t the most important thing on my mind. He was.

Yes, he had weird tendencies, but none of those really mattered. I used to only think of my troubles, they used to weigh heavy on my mind, but then he came into my life. I still thought of my troubles, but they were minuscule in comparison to the pure joy that he made me feel. Just hours ago I thought my life was falling apart, but then being with him made those thoughts seem silly. Those thoughts weren’t true, being with him helped me see that.

Nothing can describe how important he is to me. No combination of every word in the world could explain this, it wouldn’t even come close. He’s my hope. He’s been here for me for everything, even the things that happened before I knew him. If any past events bothered me, I could confide in him and he would be there with me and listen to whatever I had to say. I think that’s one of the things I love about him. Another thing I love about him is, just like today, he doesn’t even have to try and cheer me up. Him being around me and being himself cheers me up, it’s effortless. Something about him just makes me feel… Bliss.

While on our way back home, walking hand in hand, we didn’t share any verbal communication. We communicated in gestures and facial expressions, we didn’t need words. What started out as one of the worst days yet, turned into one of the best. Finding out my father was murdered did drag my mood down, but that now laid in the past. What’s done was done, nothing could happen to change that. The future, that is what I knew I should focus on. The future, my future, our future. The future had such a luminescence to it, I could see beams of golden light and I could feel an ineffable warmth.

Once we reached our driveways, Sehun kissed my cheek and wrapped his arms around my waist. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his body to mine. I had realized something at the park, something I wanted to tell him.

“Sehun?” He hummed in response, “I love you.” He put some distance between us so he could look me in the eyes.

“You love me?” I nodded. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open in wonder. His eyes teared up a bit, “You love me,” He repeated his question again, this time as a statement to himself. I, once again, nodded.

“I love you, Sehun.” His lips were on mine in no time, he didn’t have to say so for me to know that he loved me as well. I could feel his passion and love in his kiss, this one different from our kisses before. Ones before were short and sweet, and sometimes a little shy. This one, neither of us held back. We let all of our emotions pour out into the kiss. It felt as if both of our emotions met on impact and molded together into one entity.

At the end of the day if I have nothing, at least I have you. That’s all I could ever ask for.

Vivi’s barking made us pull apart. He was jumping on our legs, begging for attention. Sehun scooped him up and cradled him to his chest, “Daddy is sorry, I will give you love too.” He kissed the top of his head and snuggled him closer. I didn’t want to leave, but I knew I had to go home. A new day awaited tomorrow, I had to be ready for all that it held.

I kissed him and Vivi goodbye then took my leave. As I stepped foot on the concrete of my driveway, I heard Sehun gushing to Vivi. “Did you hear that? She loves me! She really loves me!”

I walked up the steps and to the front door, I unlocked it and then walked in. I heard my phone ringing from upstairs, so I rushed upstairs to see the name of the caller. I checked the caller ID, it was one I didn’t recognize. I declined it, but then when I could clearly see the number of missed calls I had from this number, I answered it on spot the next call.

“Ursula! It’s Detective Phillips, thank God you answered!” I kicked my shoes off and laid them beside my closet, “Oh detective, hello. I’m sorry I didn’t answer, I just came home from being out for awhile and I saw all of your calls. What is it that is so urgent?”

“We found out something about your father’s case. We found the murder weapon. We searched against the current and found one of his shoes washed ashore, and when we sent divers in to check the water near there we found a tire iron at the bottom of the river. The water washed off most of the evidence, but after further examination of the impact wounds on your father’s head, we found that the way the tire iron had been bent matched the crime. After determining his time of death, and asking the public for any information, we have a lead.”

I passed by my window, stopping to see Sehun rolling around his yard with Vivi. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight, he seemed to be ecstatic after our encounter earlier.

“Someone saw your father get into a car with someone. It was nighttime, but they could give a small description of the car. Four doors, gray or silver in color, and the back right bumper has a dint in it,” My eyes trailed to the driveway across the street and my heart dropped, time stopped altogether.

“Ursula? Are you there?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry!” I turned away from the window, a sick feeling in my stomach started rising, “I don’t think I have seen a car like that before, but I will keep an eye out for it. Thanks for telling me, detective.”

“Are you okay? You sound troubled.”

“Yeah! I’m just a little shaken up still after earlier, you know?”

Please buy it, please please PLEASE buy it.

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry. Call me if anything comes to mind, I will keep you and your brother updated on the case.”

I thanked him and then hung up the phone. My phone fell from my hands onto the carpet. I didn’t want to turn back around and look again, but I knew I had to. I looked back towards the driveway again, confirming that what I saw had not been a lie. I fell to my knees and choked on a whimper.

There’s no way… There is absolutely no way. He could never… He would never… He isn’t capable of doing something like this…

My phone rang again, the peaceful melody filled me with pure terror. I forced myself to crawl across the floor to look. I drug it across the carpet and over to myself. The phone seemed like it weighed a few tons, I found it hard to even pick it up. I peeked at the screen to see the caller ID.

Suho.

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

Riverdale request!!: something with Jughead having a bad Bad cold and sneezes all over betty while she takes care of him and she ends up getting Sick. Thank you!! Idk if you're taking requests so I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you!!

(Yo anon! Since my Jughead is aro/ace, or maybe gray aro, this is platonic Bughead!! :)) Hope that’s cool with you!! Anyway, thanks so much for the prompt, it was fun writing it! I absolutely love Jughead and Betty interactions and I think they work so well together!! Also anon ur not disturbing me, silly! I loved it!! I’m always up for your requests!)

Jughead sneezed harshly into his t-shirt for what was probably the hundredth time that morning. The process of sneezing over and over again was exhausting and he felt so drained from the repeated process.

Archie winced  as he watched the boy weakly muster out his sneezes, despite how weak he clearly was his sneezes still came out with brute force, which clearly didn’t help his weakened state.

Jughead had been sick for about two days at this stage. He had given off the odd extra sneeze and cough here in there to begin with, then his voice became a little stuffy and Jughead initially blamed it on allergies, then went to bed. The next day he had a full blown cold, and had gone to school. Archie found him standing outside his history classroom when he had gone to the bathroom sneezing his lungs out, and then learned that he was kicked out of the test because of how much he was disrupting the class.

“I don’t want to leave him alone like this, dad,” Archie expressed to Fred who was standing a few feet away from him.

“Neither do I, Archie. Maybe we can postpone–”

Jughead shook his head violently, “No! Don’t! I know how much seeing your mom means to you, Arch–trust me, I would know–and it’s honestly just a bad cold. Nothing that can kill me.”

Archie did not look convinced whatsoever, “Still! You look dreadful, Jug.”

Jughead shot him a thumbs up, “Thanks dude.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, “Jughead, you know what he means. But still, it doesn’t feel right to be leaving you here..”

Jughead groaned loudly, “Guys, honestly, I’m fine.”

“What if you died?!”

Jughead grinned, “Then I’d be the first person to die of a cold! Wouldn’t that record look great on the mantle??”

Archie looked genuinely terrified.

Jughead rolled his eyes, “Oh my god, Archie. It’s a joke. I’ll be fine–if anything goes wrong, I’ll call the Coopers who are literally next door.”

Archie nodded, while obviously still anxious, “Okay, fine.”

Fred nodded as well and whipped his car keys out, “Okay, so we’ve left you more than enough money for the weekend, money for food, medicine and some snacks..but there is enough soup and other easy to heat up food, and enough medicine and Archie loaded you up on snacks. And I think you’re okay on refills.  Uh, yeah, ring us if there’s anything wrong.”

Jughead shrugged and smiled, “Honestly, I’ll be fi–” he was cut off by an abrupt, loud sneeze he barely managed to turn to the side, and grinned sheepishly, “fine. I’ll be fine. Have a good weekend, you guys.”

Archie gave him a smile, but the congestion laced in his hoarse, baritone voice as opposed to his usual tenor got him super worried so he ran to him and gave him a huge hug, for good measure.

Jughead pretended to vomit, “Eugh, I’m going to get the Andrews disease.”

“Please don’t die, Jug,” Archie laughed and gave his hair a ruffle and followed his dad to the doorway.

“Yeah kid, look after yourself, okay?” Fred smiled as he left the house and unlocked the car.

Once they took off and were out of his sight, Jughead leaned back and slumped against the cough, pulling the fleece blanket tighter around his shivering frame. As he rummaged around, he accidentally hit the remote and switched the channel to a Transformers film, and instantly, his nose began to twitch and an extremely intense tickle began to brew in his nose.

Now that he was alone, he really didn’t care about how stupid his pre-sneeze expression was, and how ridiculous his twitchy nose looked, and how loud he was hitching. He also didn’t care about how explosive and loud his release was, the fit lasting for about 5 sneezes. He didn’t bother covering either. He made a face at the mist he saw forming before him and shrugged.

He glared at the shitty movie before him, “I’m fucking allergic to your bullshit, Michael Bay.”

Jughead hadn’t even realised he had been dozing off–he didn’t realise he could, the Big Lebowski was on–until the doorbell rung out. He jolted awake and sniffled, wondering who it could have been. He figured it was some advertiser dude or someone trying to get him to convert to some religion, and he really wasn’t up to that. Hopefully he would scare them away with how awful he looked.

Jughead padded over to the front door and opened, only to be surprised to see the bright and bubbly Betty Cooper, holding a pink bag that resembled a Children’s Nursing Kit.

“..Betty?” Jughead stammered, not even sure if what he was seeing was real or if this was some weird fever illusion.

“Jughead! You look worse than I thought,” She frowned as she took in his sickly appearance.

Jughead sniffled, wiping his nose quickly on the back of his hand, “Hm, didn’t think I could possibly downgrade even more, thought I was already at rock bottom in terms of the look department.”

Betty looked shocked, “Juggie! Don’t say that about yourself–”

Jughead laughed at her softly, “Betty–I don’t care about that sorta thing, it’s cool. Just a joke.”

“Anyway, how did you know I was–Archie,” Jughead growled, groaning loudly at the very thought of Ginger Judas himself.

“Well I’m glad he told me, Juggie! I wouldn’t want you all sick by yourself,” Betty exclaimed, taking in his features and pressing the back of her hand against his cheek, frowning.

Jughead rubbed at his nose, his eyes growing hazy as he turned away from Betty and sneezed harshly twice into the crook of his arm and turned back to see her worried eyes. “M'fine,” He said stuffily, not sounding very convincing.

Jughead stepped back to let her in and flopped back at the couch, resting his head on one of the pillows. Betty walked into the house and put her bag down.

“Archie called me like 10 minutes after I saw him and Mr Andrews leave the house panicking because he was so worried about you. He thinks you’re going to drown yourself in your own snot,” Betty explained, taking off her jacket.

Jughead raised his eyebrow at his friend’s antics, “..Well, I’m flattered.”

Betty shrugged as she pulled a container of homemade soup out of her bag, “He’s only worried about you, Jug. So am I, actually. But hey listen, I’m here to make it all better!”

Jughead gave her a small smile, “Your everlasting sunshine and youthful glow is seriously withering my dark and gloomy aesthetic, Betty but I–is that soup?! Did you make me soup?! Jesus, you didn’t have to!”

Betty tutted, “Don’t raise your voice! That’s not good for your throat. But I know you love my soup when you have a cold, with my secret formula and things! That’s why it took me a little bit to get here.”

Jughead chuckled lowly, “What’s the secret ingredient? Mr Krabs’ secret formula?”

Betty simply rolled her eyes as she made her way to the kitchen to retrieve a spoon, “I’ve got to text Archie that I’m here, he’s probably making Mr Andrews’ brain burst at this stage!”

Jughead could picture that perfectly–Archie spluttering and spitting out nonsense and gibberish at his dad, making Fred seriously reconsider his choices. Hopefully Betty would text him soon, for Fred’s own sanity, of course.

Betty came back with a spoon and gave Jughead the bowl with the spoon, throwing another blanket around him as she noticed his shivering, and how the bowl seemed to rattle when she placed them in his shaking hands.

“Are you warm enough?” She asked gently, for Jughead to nod in response.

Jughead dipped the spoon into the soup and placed it into his mouth, despite his congestion and impaired taste sense, he could taste the signature creamy, flavourful goodness of Betty’s soup.

He smiled at her, “Betts, you never cease to amaze me.”

Betty shrugged, opening up a packet of chips she had taken from the kitchen ,“It might just be because all you eat is fast food junk so this is a nice change for you.”

Jughead rolled his eyes and continued to eat his soup, and changed the channel as Ratatouille came on.

Betty raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t know that film noir, art house film loving Jughead Jones would be into Pixar.”

Jughead huffed, “They’re particularly good on sick days! I don’t want to spend my sick day trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind some Nicolas Winding Refn film.”

Jughead’s breath began to hitch and he turned his head to the side, away from Betty and raised an arm to his face. He pitched forward twice and caught two explosive, wet sneezes into his arm.

Betty jumped, “Jesus! That was..quite a sneeze.”

Jughead sniffled and laughed softly, “They’re the absolute worst and I hate them. I can’t for the life of me control them–it’s awful when you’re someone like me who doesn’t want attention. I try to stifle sometimes–but then I just can’t stop!”

Betty smiled fondly at him and reached over to ruffle his hair, only noticing that he was without the signature grey beanie. It was still a little odd to see him without it.

“They’re fine, Jughead. No one really pays attention half the time,” She reassured.

Jughead’s eyes grew distant once again and his breath hitched once again, inhaling sharply, but found that the sneeze just wouldn’t come out and he was left continuously gasping for breath and nose twitching like a rabbits. He let out a tiny groan before looking up at a window, and once the light hit his eyes the next two sneezes came out.

Betty looked oddly impressed, “You’re one of those sun people!”

Jughead laughed a little at her excitement and rolled his eyes, “Yes, I’m an alien from the Sun. I come in peace–I only wish to learn about the human’s odd, odd ways.”

Betty hissed playfully and whacked his arm, “Ugh! You know what I mean!”

Jughead laughed at her, “Yeah yeah, one of those sun people. My body hates me, we’ve all established.”

Betty munched on her chips and watched as Remy the rat began to roam Paris, “Uh, I know this is a little awkward but..are you okay?”

Jughead grinned, “My entire body is consumed by what appears to be a plague but otherwise, yes, I appear to be functioning and not on the brink of death.”

Betty sighed, “No, Jug. You know what I mean.”

Jughead laughed, “Oh, you mean that my best friend has gone off to see his mother who loves him with his father who is stable enough with said mother that they can be in the same room as each other?? And I can’t have that? Y'know because my mom hates me and my dad loves me but is still deadbeat and also in jail?”

Betty bit her lip, knowing that Jughead used humour as a coping mechanism and that it was probably the fever talking. Jughead was also known for his darker humour, but one thing she couldn’t ever know despite knowing him since childhood was wether things were affecting him or not.

“..Jughead, you know that none of these things are your fault?”

“Yeah, I know that. I genuinely do Betty.”

She still looked concerned.

Jughead sighed, “Betty, I’m doing better than I’ve been in a while. Yeah it sucks and sometimes it makes me really anxious and sad but today..everything’s fine. Well, I have an awful fucking cold but aside from that, I’m fine.”

“like meds help–like I was so against it to begin with because Fred is paying for it and I hate the fact he’s spending on me, but it helps, Betts,” Jughead said, a lot more genuine and slow.

Betty smiled at him, relieved and more relaxed, “I’m glad Jug. We’ve all been so worried about you these past few weeks..”

Jughead chuckled, “You and Archie, you mean?”

Betty shook her head, “No! Veronica and Kev too. Honestly Jug, your self esteem is almost as low as..as..Veronica’s height.”

Jughead burst into laughter, “Fuck! I wish I had recorded that! I’d kill to see her face if she knew you called her that.”

Betty flushed red, “You wouldn’t tell her, would you?!”

Jughead raised an eyebrow teasingly, “To blackmail you, maybe.”

Betty groaned loudly and smacked Jughead on the head playfully, ending up grabbing at a curl and twiddling it around her finger. She seemed a little impressed.

“I didn’t expect your hair to be so soft?” Betty commented.

“Makes up for my cold hard, stoic exterior,” Jughead replied.

Betty scoffed and chuckled lightly, “You are a massive softie at heart, Jughead Jones. Who went to Kevin’s little cousin’s birthday party and bought her a present because she had a crush on you?”

Jughead went slightly red, not wanting to admit how soft he genuinely was, “It was just..uh..Kevin pressured me.”

Betty laughed, knowing full well that was not the story. The gang had all gone to Kevin’s house, who was surprised by his little cousin and aunt being at his house. His little cousin clearly took a liking to Jughead and drew him a picture. Jughead’s heart burst but when confronted by his friends, he pretended he didn’t care.

Betty left it for now, and took the bowl from Jughead who had finished his soup and took it to the dishwasher. Once that was done with, they spent the remainder of the movie in a comfortable silence, with a few interruptions from Jughead’s coughing and sneezing, as well as a few funny comments here and there.

As the two moved on to Inside Out, Betty pulled out her bag to retrieve a bag of chamomile tea.

Jughead raised an eyebrow, “Since when have you become Nurse Joy?”

Betty laughed, “I figured we should do the thing when we were kids and we played sick and I always took care of you. In fairness, you were sickly then, so chances were you probably were actually sick.”

She left the room to make the tea in the kitchen and by the time Riley had acquired all of her emotions, she returned with the tea and the medicine Fred had left.

“Don’t dry swallow these, it’s why I made you the tea,” Betty warned, and passed him the two objects. Jughead obliged.

Jughead reached for the toilet roll to blow his nose when Betty slapped his hand.

“No way are you using that! That’s awful for your nose, here, I brought you the nice lotion ones,” Betty explained as she pulled out her pink bag and passed them over to Jughead.

Jughead raised an eyebrow, “Is that Mary Poppins’ bag? What else do you have in there?”

He then proceeded to pluck one out and blow his nose, wincing at the sound and chucked the tissue into the bin. He then took the tea back and continued to sip at it.

“Speaking of bad tissues, look at your nose, Jughead. It’s literally bright red and chapped! Here, I’ve got something that can help..” She pulled out some ointment out of magic bag.

Jughead looked impressed and also shocked, and hadn’t had time to react until Betty was standing before him and applying ointment onto his already tender, sensitive nostrils.

His nose reacted quickly, his nostrils beginning to twitch as a result of the rubbing. His nose tickled so bad but he couldn’t quite cover his nose because he was holding onto the rather large tea mug and couldn’t put it down anywhere without spilling it everywhere.

“B-Betty..please..I’m gonna..hhh..!! I really need to..hehh!!snn..” He hitched breathlessly, trying to scrunch up his nose and withhold his sneeze. His disobedient nostrils kept twitching with desperation, desperate to sneeze.

Betty laughed softly, “Jug! You look like a little bunny..”

“B..be..betty..p..p-please!! hhh..” Jughead pleaded but alas was too late, his body fully committing onto the sneeze, inhaling sharply, eyes shutting as he let out a loud, harsh sneeze that caused the tea to rattle and spill a little bit on his lap. The worst thing is that he knew that that sneeze certainly was not dry in any sense of the word.

“Fuck–Betty im so–” This time Betty did move to the side so he could aim his sneezes elsewhere and sneezed three more times, so harsh and powerful they completely drained him of energy. He was exhausted when he finished.

“Bless you!” Betty exclaimed, competely unfazed by the entire debacle.

“Betty, I’m so so sorry, that was so gross and horrible! I’m so sorry, you’re gonna get sick now, I’m really–”

“Oh my god Jug, stop. It’s fine, honestly. Honestly it was my fault, I didn’t move out of the way, but your pre-sneeze face is just so cute??”

Jughead gagged, “Eugh, how can any aspect of sneezing be cute? But now you’re going to get sick and–”

Betty shrugged, “I was destined to get sick the moment I stepped into this house. It’s fine, Jughead, really. I want to help you.”

Jughead sighed, “I just don’t like it when people are nice to me at their own expense, it makes me feel awful.”

Betty tutted, “Hey, c'mon Jug. You’d do this for me. You’re always such a giver, sometimes you have to be a taker! And stop with this I don’t deserve kindness bullshit, you deserve it just as much as any of us. Now shut your emo ass and let’s watch Inside Out, okay?”

Needless to say, Jughead was right. Betty had done Jughead a good at her own expense, and about three days later Betty had come down with what he had. Granted, her better immune system made the illness not quite as bad as he had it, but the illness was dreadful, so of course it was still miserable.

Jughead made his way up the stairs, still at complete disbelief on how he was even allowed onto the Cooper household. As a child he had never been able to step in, on very few occasions he was, but rarely. Alice didn’t want FP Jones’ son in her house. However, Hal was the only one home, so perhaps that would explain it.

He knocked gently before walking in to see Betty curled up in bed, blankets strewn about as she watched a rom com on her laptop. The room smelled of tea. She was pale and sick looking, but Jughead didn’t really care. He really wasn’t one for appearances anyway.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about this, this cold sucked,” Jughead expressed guiltily.

Betty looked up and when she saw it was him she smiled, “Really, Jughead. It’s not a problem. Actually..as awful and dreadful as this is..My Mom wanted to bring me to some lecture about Good Behaviour and Respect today, and I would actually die if I had to go. Now I have an excuse.”

Jughead scrunched up his nose, “..Yeah..I’m sure this cold isn’t as miserable as that.”

Betty laughed hoarsely and gestured towards her bed, “Here, sit over here. We can continue our Pixar Marathon. You were right, Pixar is great for sick days.”

Jughead grinned, “What are we watching?”

“All the Toy Story’s. Wait, what’s that,” She asked, pointing at Jughead’s hands.

Jughead turned a little red, “..Uh..it’s soup. I figured that it was only right since you got me soup. Um, it’s not that special or as nice as your soup. I-it’s Campbell’s, actually, but uh..”

“Its soup,” Betty chuckled and took the bowl from him and dug in. She coughed softly, and moved over a little to give Jughead some space.

��It’s not bad,” Betty commented.

Jughead shrugged, “You’re just saying that so I don’t tell Veronica you said she was short.”

Betty laughed, “But she is. She’s like a little cupcake, adorable, but tiny! She can try all she wants to be tall with killer heels, but there’s no escaping the fact she’s a tiny little fairy!”

As she finished her sentence, Jughead pressed ‘stop recording’ on his phone.

“Jug..oh my god, Jug! Delete that!” She squealed.

“No way, Josè!” Jughead laughed, as the two began to play fight and ended up a giggling pile of mess.

[anxious-gnome-cryptid]

Forest of Spiders

Summary: He is lost. He is lost and alone in the forest.  Written for my Creative Writing class, but using characters from one of the novels I’m working on. 

Warning for blood, gore, cursing, almost death

The branches crunch under his feet as he walks through the dark forest, phone battery almost dead as the flashlight flickers, causing shadows to twist and curl and become distorted around him. Anxiety spikes in his chest and his blue eyes begin to flicker around, searching desperately for an opening in the wall of looming trees. No such opening exists, from what he can tell, yet he refuses to cry, continuing to try and search for a hiding place at the very least. The wind whispers secrets, dangers, and legends to him, telling of what happens to all lost boys who travel these woods alone at night without proper protection, such as he. More branches crackle and he shrieks, swinging his phone around to catch a glimpse of his pursuer, but spying nothing except complete inky blackness as his phone finally dies, leaving just him and the wind and the hungry forest alone.

Something slips through the undergrowth and he slips the useless technological brick into his pocket before retreating into his hoodie, awaiting his end at the hands of some horrifying monster that he was sure lurked out here but had never seen or heard of thanks to Leslie. “Oh, Niels, don’t be silly, there’s nothing out here that will eat your soul or drain your blood or rip your limbs apart. You’re perfectly safe in the woods,” Leslie always tells him in that infuriatingly calm, sweet, genuine voice he has. He starts to think that either Leslie was lying to him, which makes a hot bubble of something expand in his stomach at the mere thought, or even Leslie, the de facto guardian of this forest, did not know what horrors lay within, and this thought causes the constant ball of ice to shrink, chilling him to the bone as he pants for breath. He takes another shaking step forward before being swept off his feet amidst a whirl of shrieks and laughter and inhuman whispers that ooze inside his skull and taunt him with his own mortality and uselessness. He curls into a ball, covering his ears with his arms, and waits to die, waits for the voices to grow tired of their new play-thing and do whatever despicable thing they do to others to him.

“Hello, little one. You are safe now,” a new voice whispers in his ear, soft and soothing and maternal. He thinks of his mother back in California, in the old days when she still loved him, and he thinks that maybe it would not be so bad if he listens to this new presence. He is gone, claimed by the trees already; it would be a pleasant end if he allowed the warmth of his youth to overtake him again. A soft chuckle, a sharp pain, and then numbness began to spread, starting from his neck and coiling down his veins, through his torso into his limbs, draining the fight from him. He slumps down towards the ground, eyes fluttering, as the warm numbness spread, filling him to the brim with peace. He could just let go now, live forever in the days when he was loved and cared for, the days when he knew he was someone’s son. His younger self crouches in front of him, blue eyes wide with naivete and brown hair floppy in the way only young children can manage.

“It’s okay, Niels. Mom loves us here. Don’t you want Mom to love you?” He nods, exhausted, desperate, tired, warm, cold, lonely, about to surrender the will to live and fight. The soothing voice joins the words of his childhood self, lulling him to the edge of the dark chasm in the centre of his mind. He smiles softly, inching his foot towards the edge, prepared to take that final step and stay in a place where he is loved.

“No, Niels, you can’t do that. You can’t live a life of lies. You hate lies, remember?” The soft voice of Leslie cuts through his thoughts. He blinks, confused. What lies? This was a lie? Yes, it is a lie, he realizes: his mother does not love him at all. She never had, and she never will. He cannot listen to the voice.

Said voice hisses, clearly miffed at having lost her prey, and he scrambles upright, swaying from… what? He brings a hand to his neck to find the source of pulsating pain and brings it away, coated in a thich, warm red fluid. Blood. He is bleeding. He is bleeding from his neck. The voice hisses and he stumbles backwards, screeching at it to leave him the fuck alone. He needs to get away, he needs to get back to town and get help. Another branch crunches behind him and he whips around. Unfortunately, the sudden change is too much on his body and he collapses, the last thing he sees being long blue hair and wide, familiar green eyes. He reaches out, desperate for help, as the blackness overtakes his vision. He whimpers, needing help, needing to survive, and he pushes, where-

He shoots awake, laying atop a fluffy white cloud of a bed, panting, stomach rolling. Turning onto his side, he grabs the bucket that has been placed in front of him and vomits, the contents of his stomach vacating as fast as possible. He heaves until nothing is left, until it feels as if every drop of HCl with traces of KCl and NaCl has left his system. Someone’s hand runs through his hair, and he sobs softly. It can’t be his father, who is out of town on a business trip. It cannot be his mother, as she hates him and never wants to see him again, the imperfect son that he is.

“Hey, Niels. I’m here. You’re okay,” Leslie’s calm voice soothes. He startles, surprised and pleased that Leslie is here. Leslie won’t abandon him, he knows, not after everything they have been through together.

“What… what happened? I was in the forest…?” he asks, finally sitting up and grabbing water. Leslie’s sharp green eyes stare into his, taking in every exhaustion line and sweat drop on his face.

“You were attacked by a snake. Luckily, we had the antivenom on hand, but your neck will be sore for a few days.” He nods, draining the water, before smiling softly at the love of his life. Silly him, of course he would get bitten by a snake. He should never be trusted in the forest alone.

“Thanks for getting me,” he murmurs. Leslie snorts and rolls his eyes, smiling at him.

“Well, of course. You missed movie night. Zina’s going to kill you, and I think Fen is planning to tie you to a chair to make sure this doesn’t happen again,” Leslie explains. He nods and settles back down, sleep already tugging at the edges of his vision. Leslie chuckles and runs a hand through his dark brown hair. “Sleep well, Niels. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He nods off to sleep, dreaming of rolling fields of golden grass and picnics shared with a boy claimed by the forest.

Leslie walked into the forest, head held high and shoulders fixed. The creatures of the forest seemed to know, instinctively, that the Caretaker was not in a good mood today, and scattered to avoid his wrath. Leslie would feel bad about that later, of course— he always did— but all that he cared for now was the promise of making that Arachne pay for laying a hand on his boyfriend. He paused in the clearing where he found Niels, adjusted his poncho, and cupped his hands to call for his adversary.  

“Gertrude, I believe? We need to have a word,” he calls, voice calm, pleasant, conversational. There was no reason to give up his motives this early. A large Arachne skittered out, eyes blinking in shock as she registered who stood in front of her.

“What word, Caretaker?” she asked, confusion bubbling in her voice.

“Last night, you attempted to eat my boyfriend. I don’t take kindly to that, you know,” Leslie simpered, rocking back and forth on his heels, smile showing far too many teeth for his tone. Gertrude the Arachne blinked again, startled, before comprehension dawned. She began to plead, whimpering and crying, trying desperately to justify her actions, but Leslie had already made up his mind. He flicked his wrist, calling upon his Trees, and smirked at the pathetic creature in front of him. With a single thought, the Trees plunged into her body, winding and twisting around her organs and connective tissue. Blood spattered the ground, and, ignoring her screams, Leslie snapped his fingers to complete the task. The Trees ripped apart, taking her body with them. Leslie simply flipped up the hood of his poncho and allowed the guts and blood coat him. Eight spider legs fell to the forest floor with a sickening thud, followed by two human arms. The torso, ripped in half and cleaned of organs, fell a few meters away. The organs lay scattered about the clearing, and a layer of spider blood coated every available surface. Gertrude’s head rolled to a stop at Leslie’s feet, and, without a second of hesitation, he stomped it to mush. He stepped back and slowly tilted his head back, staring at the young Arachne’s peering out at him.

“Your mother did not listen to the rules, so she was punished. I hope you don’t follow her example,” Leslie intoned, wiping his hands off with a set of wet wipes. The young spiders all chittered, terrified, but none made a hostile move, which Leslie took as a sign of submission. He nodded, slipped out of the poncho, and left it on the forest floor, sashaying away from the scene. He had a boyfriend to get back to, after all. He’d spent too much time on the vermin already.

[mistressofgitterandbones-blog]

Bottle of Fairy Dust and Tears

The sound of nickel chinking against the apartment door must have jolted my 5 inch fairy from his stupor. Wings snapped in the air sent a flurry of dust most and light particles into the room. Tat alighted on my shoulder. “Ugh.. I can still see you. No obscene amount of wine can eject me off this tinkerbell asylum” My hand swatted Tat like an annoying fly. I tottered to a mass heap of sundry articles that faintly resembled a bed, floundering in a supine state . I sputtered incoherent fragments of words that were frayed on my tongue. Unintelligible mutterings were a slight improvement from the whimpers that escaped from my mouth yesterday, and the day before that. Whimpers, as pathetic as they sound, were really just quiet admissions, finally buckling into the pain. An admission of reality you’ve continually shunted from. Still, traces of a hope can still be found in the silent spaces in between, despite the stacking odds. It can still shoot through the barren cracks. For most people, this is a visceral sensation calling you to attention. My hope was more, shall we say, corporeal. Irksome. My hope came in the form of a fairy. His presence was, understandably, difficult to ignore than a mere feeling. Fairies like Tat appear only in the most dire cases. He was now an obligated promise I had to make to myself to hold on a little bit longer. Sort of like being responsible for a stray mutt. I couldn’t exactly kick him out . Or maybe my already defunct sanity has exhausted its resources and left me high and dry. All in all, my hands were clinging onto a salvaged swath of worth to steady faltering legs. Legs that showcased days old patterns, stark on wan skin. Legs that lay bare under too many waning moons and not enough sunrises. “Are you okay? Um..Do you need anything?” Tat began to swarm around, checking vitals signs were adequate, or acceptable under the circumstances. This was the second night swaddled in alcohol. An ill-chosen defense from hands too brutish for a faltering frame and mind. This puny creature seemed inadequate for such fractured and ill-fated matters. One has to wonder how could a creature of paltry size to the scale of the human eye be of any consequential guidance or support? But I’m still surviving so evidence stood contrary to my uncertainty. I’d come to realise the essential quality within hope is its quiet stature, its soft catalyst. There lies its strength. It can seem so inadequately small to aid in traction, to move against the grain of our circumstances, but is an ever-present vigil in our darkest hour. This embodiment of hope, this fairy, knows the softest voice in the room has the space in which to listen, gather, compare, construct accordingly. It resides in the overlooked spaces between the noise. A space where knowledge is stored and generated. A space of beginnings. Tat was my beginning, and my end. And an incessant ear ringing in between. A dogged attempt of pressing my eyelids together was foiled by nimble fingers plying them apart with an unnerving ease. An undeniable strength concentrated in a minute form. I shut my eyes again only to be jolted by a sharp sludge of liquid hurled at my face. Its coldness felt like a glacial slap against my clammy skin. “Are you kidding me?!” I rubbed my eyes incredulously, mouth agape. “What in the actual winged nut-house is wrong with you?” I motioned upwards to wrangle the impudent toad but stopped myself as my stomach accelerated in an uncomfortable direction. “Maybe you should have some coffee. Better to sober up a little. Yes, yes.. I know I had some milk thistle somewhere.” His lilt voice and swift movement jolted my queasy, fragile constitution. “Oh no.” I willed with all my might to settle the tsunami that was inevitably hurling towards my mouth. Tat held my tangled, feral hair back as my eyes blurred against a grimy cascade of rejects and regret. In the midst of upchucking my dignity I heard that lilt. A soft voice brushing against my ears, reminding me of my soft parts. I wasn’t broken completely. Tat was still here. I was still here.

I found myself in a fetal position cradling against a clean coverlet, no vomit in sight, and hands stroking my hair. Hands that were neither small nor particularly gentle lately. Hands I shamelessly needed on my skin. “My silly cub.” He held a cup of coffee under my nose, letting the steam and glorious scent waft through my senses. If I could just capture this moment, place it in a frame of simplicity. A fleeting thought that is fractured and malleable component to our ever constructing lie we tell ourselves. It enables us to step further in our idealized story. I have a piece contained. The piece of this person kept safe before the darkness overlapped again. It shows the hands that held me as I cried my ugliness, carefully cutting out the piece where those same hands used my skin as a canvas of bruises. We always cut, cut, cut. So what are we left with? An incomplete person that matches our fabrication. So I lay still wrapped in the scent of coffee mingled with cigarettes and heady wood. Encased in my engorged fairytale. Lips parted, I arched my back, leaning into him willing these scents as a vector to guide him towards a warmth building up. He emits a growl but places the cup in my hands, kissing me on my forehead. “Coffee first.. And maybe have a shower? The scent of vomit was never really a turn-on” I faltered, admonishing myself in silence as shame wafted over me. I took a sip only to utilize my hands away from the awkwardness seeping through the room “Why did you leave anyways? I thought we talked about what happened. I thought. I thought we were okay. But you just left and got yourself into this state.” Tension and hurt contorted his face into new angles. Angles promising a burgeoning frustration if I didn’t act quickly. “It wasn’t a reaction from last night. I promise. Everything is fine. I love you.” I brushed against his arm, testing. “I just lost track of time.” “Lost track of the glasses of wine you drank more like.””He sat back, arms folded, eyes creating a vortex in my line of vision leaving nowhere to evade or look besides his questioning and stiff countenance. I felt my skin flush; a warmth that resembled a fever. There was a coldness to it, a raw wind coursing through my blood giving that edge that made me want to grab that scissors from the coffee table and begin cutting out my deficiencies I clearly couldn’t compensate for. I instinctively recoiled and deflected. My body tensed as I folded inward. “I didn’t know I needed your permission to have a few drinks with my friends. Friends. I suppose that concept is rather alien to you, since you seem to have so many in your life.” Words spilled from my mouth before I could catch them. These inexorable moments always seem to have a slower, disoriented pace than usual. “How would I have time to have friends?” The word friends hung sharp and penetrating in the air. “When I have a girlfriend to watch over and care for like an inept, self-destructive child. Is it any wonder I reacted the way I did yesterday when I have this mess to cater for day in and day out.” I winced. My mind was plucking out fragments of yesterday. There was no delicate arrangement in how I grafted the fragments together. They lay stark in my head. They were banded together by a bellowing voice and trembling body who wouldn’t be held as I cried those ugly tears. Only a cold, barren bathroom floor. “I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean..” “Yes you did. Excuse me, I have to go pick up my actual child. The maturity level will be to a higher standard than here with you.” He stood up abruptly. “Do this relationship a favor and take a look in the mirror today. Seriously look deeper, find a semblance of that girl I met when we were younger. I fucking miss her and I’m sure you miss her too.” He sauntered to the door and paused, lingering to match the slow trickle of the dripping tap. He glanced behind his shoulder, furrowed eyes dropping, along with his frown lines and anger. “I hate what you do to me. I hate who I turn into. I’m. I’m not that guy. Please, don’t make me that guy.” The door slammed behind him, hooking me in the scent of cold, pungent coffee punctuating the air. I heard flickers of a soft, light wings flap so gingerly the air seemed too heavy breathe through. He carried a wad of tissue, waiting expectantly for tears for flood my face but none came. Emotions wrung dry today leaving a face dry and hard. My body felt hollow. I guess it had been for a long time. “Why are you still here? Do you like cleaning my apartment? Do you enjoy  watching my pathetic life slowly disintegrate into nothing? You say you’re the emblem of hope but you’ve done absolutely nothing of value since you’ve arrived.” “I’m here by the very fact of hope. It is not up to me whether I stay or go. You hold that choice.” I sighed. A flicker of annoyance appeared on his face only to be replaced by a gentle expression I came to know and was currently taking advantage of. I was a selfish asshole. He alighted on my hand, placing his on my cup to warm up my coffee. “Drink up. Then go have a shower. All is not broken but you got to do some heavy lifting yourself. I am only a 5 inch fairy after all.” With submission, I gulped the rest of my coffee and staggered meekly to the bathroom ready to wash away the dirt that had been accumulated in my life for too long.

The humming of the shower was lulling me asleep until an insistent and reverberating rapping stirred me. I looked up to two wet and ragged fairies slapping repeatedly against the window pane. An annoyance quickly dissipated giving way to a satisfied grin creeping on my face. I hesitated. The Fairy council has strict rules about meetings or social calls with other fairies and their respective humans that is not mandated or approved. Proper protocols must be adhered. Meetings must also be recorded for regulatory and archiving purposes. Tedious but necessary nonetheless. Although that was not my immediate reasoning for hesitating. One specific reason was an insufferable excuse for a fairy. More like a fluttering troll. I’m surprised she could tend to her own wings never mind guide her charge with all her caterwauling that spews from her mouth. Basking in my delight in such visual delights of her discomfort I quickly admonished myself for indulging in such weaknesses, human weakness. A fairy must be diligent and abstemious in such matters. Our calming and stoic nature maintains a homeostasis around humans. It helps to ease their suffering. We are but mere receptacles for their pain. A monument of hope, solidified and sedentary in the throes of life mangling our person. Remembering there was another fairy accompanying her I quickly flew over the window to let them in. “It’s about time. I was beginning to think Molly’s alcoholic breadth had finally killed enough brain cells to render you witless – which wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to achieve considering there is not too activity going on in the first place” Mina tapped my forehead pointedly before violently shaking herself dry. She raised a hand covered in a ragtag piece of cloth level to my nose. I raised my eyebrow. “What do you expect me to do with this grimy dishcloth exactly?” “I expect you to practice your hostly duties and hang up my shawl” “I am not your host. I didn’t even invite you. You’re not even permitted to be here.” I swatted her hand away, casting her rag to the floor. “Unbelievable. It seems you’ve adopted more of Molly’s fine qualities I see. I’m not the only one breaching the rules. So much for maintaining an objective role in your person’s life. I think someone is drinking from the human fountain too much.”Affronted, she gingerly picked up the dishcloth and placed it on the bed, ironing it out with her fingers. “Oh Mina, it is not made of woven silk. You constructed it from materials you found in dumpsters and streets.”The fairy I kept forgetting was here chimed in. “Apologies Tat, she is just a bit frazzled. We all are. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. This is a delicate matter we have to broach. Mina is not the most tactful as you know. I..” “I’m not the most tactful? Tat doesn’t even have the basics of manners down. No. He’s too busy drowning in Molly’s personality to notice what is happening to us.” Her wings flurried in a haze as she pushed a finger into my chest. “So don’t apologize to him. He should be grateful we’re even here in this molded apartment. The only charm this place has is when Molly isn’t in the room.” She spat out Molly’s name as if spewing the distaste from her mouth. Feeling a peculiar sting from her comments, I stilled myself from acting upon an urge to grab her wings and twist them into a tightly bound knot emblematic to her personality. I sighed. But she was right on one account. I willingly let Molly’s thoughts and actions intersperse with my own. When we are assigned,we are bound to our humans base personality so they can acclimatize but we should not indulge in their impulses. We could easily forget our purpose while being swept up in the human conditions and all of the glorious connections and emotions that spark an existence, like a match running along a striker. Humans forget they can see and feel life with such penetration and intensity. Every experience is a validation of existence. I was drunk on it. I was drunk on her. A selfish thought traveled through me. Did I even want Molly to find peace. If she fought her way out. I would need to move on. I wouldn’t be able to see  her anymore. Tamping down my unsavoury thoughts as quickly as I could I turned to Mina. “Since you haven’t had the prudence to follow protocol, please keep this meeting brief so I may write to the council in case you failed to clean up your trail coming here.” “Ever the professional. You act like the professor to us mere pupils but who has been corralling wayward fairies off the street, marshaling them back to their purpose, making sure their humans are taken care of. I have been picking up everyone’s slack while you have locked yourself away leading an impeccable example of hope.” Mina rolled her eyes and fronted up to be me. “So you can step off that professional high ground because you have been everything but professional.” She stood solid in front of me as I suddenly felt small and permeable, as if the emotions swarming around this room were wringing my body till there was nothing inside left. I rubbed my temples hard willing her voice to disperse into the air. “Really Molly, If there was a significant issue here don’t you think the council would have notified me. I’ve had my hands tied here. Molly is passing a fragile threshold. It’s make or break but I think I’m finally reaching her. I think I can help her. I might have lapsed regarding my mentoring but I would have noticed the severity of the problems” I placed my hands on her arms and smiled. “It is commendable and prudent of you to convey your worries. It is duly noted. I appreciate the time you gave to inform me. It won’t be forgotten.” Mina shrugged my hands away and directed a firm gaze towards me. “Don’t patronize me. I’m not doing this for you. There mere fact that everything goes unnoticed by you does not mean it isn’t occurring. A good chunk of fairies around the world are wayward. They are rapacious for emotions and their chargers have suffered. Incentives to adhere to the rules and to remain austere in their practices are minimal if at all present. And I have to say I question your commitment. I question your adherence to our codes. And I am not the only one. Your feelings for this girl has left you distracted. You are unfocused. Obsessed even.”She held her head high, hands on hips. “It is after much deliberation that we arrived with the only course of action available for us. For the betterment and progression of our fairies and humans I request your denouncement so I can be chosen as the official field commander.” A heavy sigh rolled from my mouth. This was absurd. The room weighed down on me. Throat restricted and wings overheated and heavy I flew to the window to let some air in. A new wave of annoyance passed over me. It derived not from this conversation but from the time imposed upon me. I wanted to clear them away before Molly walked through the door. Sighing once more, resignation felt in every part of my winged form. “You need to write up a petition and collect more than 50 signatures for that to be even considered.” Mina clapped her hands. A swell of smoke appeared, dancing between her hands, malleable like clay forming a tabular outline which solidified. She popped the lid open and handed my a roll of tattered parchment. It unfurled to the floor. I quickly skimmed through the innumerable list of names collected. My eyes changed depth of perception so that the names blurred into smudges of nonsensical ink. I had never questioned my capability as a leader and thrived on guiding fairies in fulfilling their duties that encapsulated their entire being in one purpose – to serve their person, personify hope. As I gathered memories of the last few months they are alarmingly devoid of wings or guidance of those wings. I had lost touch of my cadre. I felt a ping of unease as I looked at the desperate and sodden fairies stood before me. With a prick, my ego was broached and deflated. The clarion of their pain and worry was written across their faces. I knew my responsibilities. The burden it carried. I could already see the weight slipping off me as I loosened the shackles and status. It was okay. I was in this room room.I was with Molly. I was taken care of my the mere act of caring for her. I didn’t need my wings anymore. Even if I only had a short time left with her. “As you wish.” I conjured a pen from a dust and smoke residue Mina built up. Signing it I felt a bitter freedom that felt terrifying and truthful. I knew what I was really giving up. “I was expecting more of an opposition than this. But I’m not surprised. I’m afraid you’ll be a cautionary tale.” Said Mina. She placed a hand on my cheek, contorting her features to a sadness I never seen on her before. “May the last thing you remember is her love for you.” With that sentiment they flew away into the night.

My back pocket vibrated as I contemplated if I should just pack up and leave. Tat would follow me to the ends of humanity. I wouldn’t be alone. I bitched and moaned about freaking fairy dust falling all over my furniture and his incessant hovering and mollycoddling but it was actually nice having someone caring about me. He could see pass the squalidness of my life. For the first time in my life I felt comfortable and validated with someone. Even if he was just a fairy. Or a figment of my imagination. Laughing at my craziness I extracted my phone to check an incoming message knowing too well who it was from. “Can we please meet up? Today unsettled me. I don’t want to leave things the way they are. I know we can work through your issues. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I love you.” What was wrong with me. I shouldn’t even contemplate answering him never mind agreeing to meet. Flashes of bruised cheeks and tears came like an onslaught. Fear mingled with my desire to see him. Bereft, I tumbled into my desire, hung my fear on my neglected rack too cloistered with misjudgment already. Fuck. I loved him. More than myself apparently. Maybe I was to blame, accountable to the standards we set in place. If I respected myself more. Set a tone maybe he wouldn’t.. I stuffed my phone in my back pocket berating myself. I would analyze myself to the grave if I didn’t stop. I grabbed a pen and paper, scribbling feverishly, sticking it to the fridge. I couldn’t just give up hard won years of work and commitment over a few lapses. Lapses, the word lingered precariously in my mind. Donning my coat I slipped out of the apartment leaving a snoring fairy to fill warmth in my otherwise lonely and uncherished home.

I sat by the threshold, noticing a layer of dust caked in the corner. I wondered how long I’d been sitting here, waiting for Molly. She had left a note which caused my stomach to coil up. It was uncharacteristic of her to leave notes. There was comfort in her habitual inconsiderations. An eventuality I could trust. So the note marked an odd finality to it despite the words promising her return. How long have I been sitting her? I guess there is not much more to do but let the dust mark time and read the note in rhythmic repetition. I gulped down stale air. How many days has it been? I should open a window. But I wanted to preserve every last drip of her in this room. The world would refuse to enshrine her so I must. She said she would return. The words seemed hollow on the page. I could barely look at it anymore. Crumbling it up I sunk into another waning evening as the darkness encroached into the apartment. I’ll just sit here a little while longer. I realized I was swallowing tears while I waited, wingless in the dark.