#says i--surrounded by red yarn

[yolophobic]

Crane would win this, Aiden is faster that, all of u are dumb as shit bcus the one truth is that Crane would begrudgingly adopt Aiden in a heartbeat and they would be an unstoppable power duo. 

[yaksha-lover]

As Lovers Go

Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: It may not be as grand as royalty is used to, but you do your best to plan a special night for Malleus on his birthday.

something short i scrambled together for my best boy, happy birthday malleus 🫶🫶

“Admittedly, it took some help from Trey to convince Riddle, but I like to think I did most of the work,” you say, leading Malleus by hand into the garden. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

He blinks a couple times, but adjusts quickly to the nighttime lighting, surveying the scene. You’re in the Heartslabyul gardens, surrounded by red rose bushes on all sides. You’ve stopped in a small, clear area of grass where you’ve prepared for the night, a checkered blue picnic blanket laid out.

“Surprise! I know it’s not exactly a party, but hopefully my company will be enough to satisfy you…”

“When you’ve had over a hundred birthdays, parties begin to become monotonous. I much prefer your quiet company, tonight.”

You smile at Malleus. Even when the night’s about him, he always finds a way to make you feel special. “I hope you like the spot I chose. I know it must be hard being away from Briar Valley and your grandmother during the school year, so I thought I’d try to bring a little bit of home to you with the roses.”

“Thank you, truly.” Malleus turns to gaze around the garden, suddenly catching your hand in his own, running his thumb over your knuckles. “I do hope I’ll have a chance to show you my garden at home. I promise, nothing compares to the sight. Except for you, perhaps.”

“You’re too much, sometimes,” you giggle.

“If I am, do you not believe it is you who inspires such feelings in me?” Malleus teases.

The two of you take a seat on the blanket, talking and staring up at the stars as the night continues. The moonlight shines down on Malleus, making his dark hair shimmer and his skin glow. He’s never looked so beautiful.

“So, are you ready to open your gift now?”

He gives you a look. “I believe I mentioned no present was necessary. I only wanted your company.”

“I know, I know, but I wanted to do something.”

“You’re far too gentle with me. I suppose I’ll have to indulge you then.”

You grin and pull a gift bag out of your tote, handing it over to him. He settles it in front of him, pulling purple tissue paper out of the bag until his gift is revealed.

Malleus pulls out a white knit hat. He shifts to turn it around in his hands, smoothing over the fabric until his fingers run into a hole, popping out the other side.

“Oh yeah, it has holes. Y’know, for your horns.”

He stares at you in wide-eyed silence for a few moments. You break eye contact when it finally begins to feel a bit awkward.

“I know it’s not much, sorry.” You look down at your feet. “It’s just, Crowley only gives Grim and I enough for groceries and essentials. And Lilia only told me your birthday was coming up a couple weeks ago, so I begged Azul to let me pick up some shifts at the lounge, and long story short, I really only earned enough to buy some yarn. It’s super nice though, I promise! I made sure to pick yarn that-”

You’re cut off when you’re suddenly pulled firmly into a strong chest, arms squeezing you tightly.

“I will treasure it as I have treasured nothing else. Thank you.”

You smile, despite the fact that you can’t breathe well in his intense grip. You pat on his arms gently so Malleus will loosen up a bit.

“I’m glad you like it.” When he pulls away, you turn toward the cooler you’d set out with all the treats you’d prepared for him. “Now, what would you like to try first? I got Trey’s help with preparing the frozen desserts, since I thought you might like to have a variety. Oh, maybe cake first? You haven’t made a wish yet and the clock is ticking!”

“If it pleases you, then I will try the cake.”

“Great, it’s ice cream cake.”

You take it out of the box, laying it in front of Malleus and removing the container’s lid.

“May I inquire as to why a piece is missing?”

“Well…you said you hate entire cakes, so I took out a piece. Now it’s not an entire cake. Hopefully you’re in the mood to share a bit more with me tonight? I find even the sweetest things are best enjoyed with company,” you wink at him.

“Are you sure you won’t become too spoiled with all these indulgences I allow you?” He picks up a fork and takes a bit of cake, but he doesn’t taste it as you expect.

“No, but feel free to keep trying,” you mumble through the mouthful of cake Malleus feeds you. “Wait, I have candles. You have to make your birthday wish before we have anymore.”

You set three candles in the centre of the cake. It would be ridiculous to have a hundred, as much as you wish to be accurate to his age. You light them with a lighter, insisting on singing ‘happy birthday’ to Malleus before finally allowing him to make his wish.

“Blowing out fire with my breath instead of creating it with my breath. How amusing, you’ll have to teach me even more of these human customs.”

“What did you wish for?”

He tilts his head. “Am I mistaken in believing humans have customs that suggest it’s bad luck to ask?”

“No, but I’m nosy, so tell me anyway.” You tug gently on his sleeve.

“I only wished for things to continue as they are.”

“That’s all? You don’t want anything new?”

“What do I have to wish for? Everything I’ve always wanted, the thing I used to wish for each year - is already in front of me.”

The two of you talk until the sun comes up, upon which Malleus carries your snoring form home to Ramshackle, a smile lingering on his face from the previous night.

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | ii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You do your best to avoid him for as long as you can. 

You show up at the factory each day, diligent and focused on your work. You thread, dye and sew miles upon miles of fabric. It’s exhausting and repetitive but assists you well in burying the peculiar encounter. And if sometimes a particular shade of blue fabric stir memories of eyes you’d rather forget…you ignore that as well. It’s better that way. You narrowly escaped imprisonment, perhaps even death. No need to tempt fate once again. 

But it’s no matter. 

Because fate finds you anyway. 

It happens as the end of your shift at the factory comes near. Your cold-bitten digits are interweaving two different colors of thread on a gigantic wooden loom. Same as the girls and boys surrounding you. They’re all quick and efficient, threading and weaving with the ease of practice. A lifetime of it. Some of them are as young as five years old. There’s a saying floating around the districts.

If one can walk, they can work. 

You often wondered if that same logic applies to the Capitol’s children. Are they too expected to work until their fingers are numb with pain and their eyes red-rimmed with fatigue?

You somehow doubt it. 

Once again, the weight of someone’s attention blankets your shoulders. You tense, the needle nicking your fingertip when your attention falters. 

You curse and swipe away the blood beading on your finger.

Your head rises. 

Anger simmers inside you at the sight of the smug face smirking at you from across the room. 

Coriolanus. 

He showed up one hour ago, switching places with another guard, and proceeded to stare at you since.

Dread pools in your gut. His gaze hasn’t strayed from you once.

What could the peacekeeper possibly want from you?

You have nothing, and it’s obvious he’s some rich kid from the Capitol who somehow found his way here.

“Your yarn is coming loose.” 

Yara’s frenzied tone wrenches you away from your thoughts. 

You look down, your forehead scrunching as you do. She’s right. The threads have broken out of their pattern, forming disgraceful zigzags over the loom.

Besides, there’s a minuscule crimson stain on the fabric. The pristine beige cloth is now ruined. This will come out of your pay.

Your ire grows. Your gaze narrows as it finds Coriolanus’.  This is all his fault. He distracted you. Annoyance at the strange peacekeeper gleams inside you.

You bolt up from your stool.

“I have to go,” you announce, already gathering your satchel from the floor.

Yara’s eyes round.  “Our shift’s not over yet,” she whispers below her breath, tossing wary glances at the guards. Your frown deepens. Any slight sign of disobedience could be seen as a hint of rebellion these days. It’s how much the Capitol wants to avoid a return to the Dark Days.

You smile at her in reassurance.

Yara was kind enough to show you the ropes when you started working at the textile factory. She even stayed late at night with you to teach you the most complex needlepoints.

Fidgeting, you apologize, “I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency. I’ve ruined it anyway.”

You don’t stick around for her response, rushing towards the nearest corridor to slip away.

A deep, teasing lilt echoes behind you in the hallway.

“Still trying to fly away from me, huh?”

Your heart leaps. Not again. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you chide as you keep hastening across the hallway. It doesn’t matter though. A stolen glimpse at your back reveals to you that Coriolanus’ long legs easily maintain pace with your frantic strides.

You unleash a weary sigh. 

“I shouldn’t but I am, pretty bird.”

You can hear the smile in his voice and it infuriates you more.

“Leave me alone, Coriolanus-”

A sharp breath ripples through your throat as warm fingers suddenly clasp around your arm.

“What are you…”

The large hand that drapes over your mouth quiets your budding protest.

Ignoring your muffled shouts, he pulls you flush against his frame and drags you into a dark room inside another hallway.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you grab at anything you can. He’s undeterred by your feistiness, only unhanding you once he’s slammed the door shut.

A chill dances on your spine  as every deadbolt is meticulously slid into place by him.

Leaning back against the locked door, Coriolanus’s eyes drag over you. He drinks you in for a while as you retreat, as far away from him as the small room allows.

Uncrossing his arms, the blonde starts inching towards you.

Your nerves flare up at his impending proximity. A heavy sigh drops from his chest.

“Why do you make that face when I’m only trying to help you?”

“I don’t want any help from you. I want nothing from you,” you shout. 

He tilts his head, closing the distance. He shoves his hand in his pocket, seeming to search for something. You freeze. 

Shock rocks through you when he conjures a familiar vial, shaking it in front of your face. 

“Hm, Are you sure?” he taunts. 

The urge to steal it from him has your fingertips tingling. But you tried that before, and it didn’t work in your favor. So you snuff out the impulse.

“How did you find out?”

“I have my ways.”

You search his stark cobalt orbs. They give nothing away.

“I just want to take care of you,” he adds.

“Why?”

You startle as his long fingers creep under your chin. You didn’t realize how close he’d gotten, now bending over you so you’re at eye-level.

“Because I can. I could make your life easier.”

His tender inflection, oddly intimate, makes discomfort pool in your stomach.

“I don’t need…”

“Take it.”

As you do nothing to take the bottle he holds up in his fist, Coriolanus exhales wearily.

You gasp when he shoves the vial between your trembling palms.

“Don’t be stupid,” he admonishes. “That cousin of yours won’t make it through winter without these. They’re antibiotics.”

You stare down at the amber bottle. Your shoulders slump. You hate to admit it but he’s probably right. Tilly’s coughing fits are progressively getting worse. She can hardly breathe properly most days. It hurts to see and you’ve been praying for a way to help her. 

And now you have that way. Is it even fair to Tilly to turn his help down because of your own personal hang ups with the peacekeeper? 

His motives elude you but you’re not sure it matters at that moment. 

Tilly’s life is on the line. 

Your fingers squeeze around the vial.

“I know what they are. It’s written on the bottle.”

Interest springs in his cobalt gaze.

“You can read? Interesting,” he hums. “Most people can’t in the districts.”

Your cheeks heat at his assumption. A respectable amount of people in the districts can in fact read. Not the majority, but a few at least. The knowledge just isn’t widespread enough and schools are a luxury most districts cannot afford.

“My grandmother taught me when I was young,” you defend.

He pauses, studying your defiant features. 

His hand wraps around your hand holding the bottle. You try not to shrink, afraid he’ll take it back.

His thumb sweeps over your knuckles.

“These are very rare and hard to get. Don’t let your pride get in the way, pretty bird.”

“I won’t,” you mumble. 

Another bag materializes before you. Coriolanus nudges it in your arms before you can think to protest. “Take that too.”

You glare at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Food, water, supplies.”

Grounded in disbelief, you peer inside the bag. Your jaw hangs slack. He wasn’t lying. The bag is brimming with rations. There’s even a few slices of bread and cheese on top. This has to be worth at least a hundred coins.

You purse your lips. “I can’t accept…I have nothing to repay you.”

Corolianus sighs, keeping the bag in your hands with his steely grip as you attempt to return it.

“Then just remember you live because of me,” he says. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips. “That’s the only payment I require.”

You snort. It can’t possibly be that simple, can it?

But Coriolanus’ features harbor no mirth. Skepticism heightens your pitch.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

You nod. “Okay, I will.”

Displeasure flickers in his gaze. His fingers sneak below your chin to angle it upward, forcing you to drown in his cobalt stare.

“No, I want to hear you say it, sweet bird.” His tone is laced with a solemnity that wasn’t there before. Your stomach knots. “That you live by the will of Coriolanus Snow.”

A shaky breath flows out of you. You’re suddenly reluctant under his keen scrutiny.

Still, your voice comes out a tremulous croak.

“I live because of you, Coriolanus Snow.”

His entire face lights up with your words, a strange glow appearing in his orbs.

For some reason, you feel as if you just tied a noose around your own neck.

You take a sip of your beer, basking in the bitter, heady aftertaste. Usually, you’re not much of a drinker, but it’s the first true respite you’ve gotten from the blue-eyed peacekeeper in many weeks and you plan on enjoying it. 

A tavern wouldn’t be your first choice but Yara invited you and it occurred to you this isn’t the kind of place a boy smelling like old money and roses would visit. 

It’s rare for you to be anywhere these days without his disarming presence hovering in a corner of the room. 

You’ve even considered abandoning your job at the factory altogether. But it’s not like a girl like you can change careers on a whim. You have no connections, no skill, no talent whatsoever. Nothing but your hard-earned ability to weave threads of fabrics together. 

Maybe the mines at the northern end of the district. 

It’s far from a tempting prospect. The work is downright dangerous. But at least it would shield you from the peacekeeper’s relentless scrutiny. 

“Your shadow isn’t here today," Yara notes.

You drag your eyes away from the band playing on stage. 

“My shadow?”

“That pretty boy peacekeeper who follows you around," she elaborates, her lips curved in amusement. You grimace. If only she knew. There isn’t a shred of mirth in your current predicament. 

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t follow me around.”

You refrain from saying he does a plethora of other things that puzzle you and stir your discomfort. 

You refuse to trust him, but thanks to him your cousin has been getting noticeably better, even able to walk on her own again now. It’s a relief. Tonight she’s at friend’s and gets to laugh, play and be a regular kid again. 

Besides, though it pains you to recognize it, your belly’s fuller than it’s been in a long time. 

It shames you to admit it, but it took you no time to cave in and gobble down the food he offered. Hunger does strange things to people. 

You loathe yourself for yielding but the feeling of an empty stomach is infinitely worse than that of your wounded pride. 

"He is pretty though," your friend says, glancing away dreamily. 

Your face warms.  "I really don’t care how he looks. I just wish he’d go pester someone else."

"Hm, fair." She drinks from her jug and shrugs. "He could just be bored. I’m sure he’ll stop at some point."

The conversation reaches a halt when a brown-haired guy around your age with a scar across his face stops at your table. 

“Can I ask you to dance?” he asks. His cheeks redden as he awaits your response. A quiet glance passes between you and Yara. You kick her under the table when she nearly lets out a chuckle.

Endeared by the boy’s bashful manner, you answer with a smile, “Sure, why not.”

You let the stranger drag you into a dance, your worries fading into the buoyant, lively  notes played by the band and the boy’s nonchalant grin.

It’s the kind of normalcy you’ve been longing for.

Engrossed in the moment, as the boy slips a hand around your waist, an audible gasp spills out of you when he pulls away from you out of the blue. 

Or rather is wrenched away from you. 

Your brows rise to your hairline.

You gape in horror, the sight of Coriolanus hauling the boy up by his lapels striking you mute. His features are taut with anger as the boy’s hands rise defensively. A mix of befuddlement and fear decorates his features.

Guilt needles your chest. You never expected the blond to show up here of all places. Paranoia seizes the chaotic train of your thoughts. Was he here all along, watching you like a hawk the entire time? Is he always here, never wandering too far from wherever you are?

Fear coils your insides.

"Hey," you call out, relief trickling inside you when your legs move again. You make a beeline to Coriolanus. 

“What is wrong with you?” you shout, trying to pry him off the poor boy. 

It’s not the useless hand scratching his bicep but rather your tone that appears to jerk him out of his trance. 

His grip on the boy loosens as he whirls to you. The stranger wastes no time in running away. You can’t even blame him. You can’t imagine there’d be many repercussions if the blond harmed him, but the opposite can’t be said. 

Coriolanus’ hands slowly lower before balling into fists. 

Irate blue eyes flare as they fall on you. 

You recoil.

“With me?” he growls, crowding your space. "His grubby paws were all over you."

You blink in disbelief, shocked by his accusing tone. You did nothing wrong. It’s not like he can tell you who to dance and not dance with. "G-Grubby…what? I’m not some damsel in need of rescuing, Coriolanus."

He squints at you, displeasure evident on his angular features. 

His hand latches onto your arm, yanking you towards the exit. You can barely keep up with his furious stomps.

“I think it’s time we had a talk. Come with me.”

“I’d rather stay here."

He ignores you, his grip on you turning deathly. Tears burn the back of your eyes. 

“No…”

You toss a desperate look above your shoulder to find your friend just as shocked as you are. She won’t help you. No one will. 

Your stomach sinks. 

The tears break past the confine of your lashes. 

He takes you outside. The chilly air skates across your skin, spreading gooseflesh over it. The silver glow of the moon lights the tortuous path he takes through dim, narrow alleyways. This is nowhere near your cabin and your panic swells. 

You dig your heels into the ground, resisting. 

Coriolanus heaves out a weary exhale. He hunkers down to pick you up. You squeal, flabbergasted by his nerve. He hoists you on his shoulders as if you were a sack of grain, taking firm, irate steps into the night. 

"You can’t do this," you weep, slamming as hard as you can into his back. 

Hardly flinching, he scoffs before stating, “I don’t remember asking for your permission, birdie."

[hmslusitania]

15 for timkon if you'd like! (“This is a lot, even for you.”)

“Oh boy,” Kon says, hesitating in the entryway to the microcave Tim’s claimed. When Steph and Cass had called him about it, he’d thought they were exaggerating. In Kon’s defence, Tim’s been on more than a few somewhat unhinged murderboard investigations in his life, and the girls’ claim that this is actually, truly, the most unsettling one he’s done, that he’s locked himself in a microcave and they’re not sure he’s been eating — and are absolutely sure he hasn’t been sleeping — had felt melodramatic in the way only Gothamites can get.

In reality, he thinks they might’ve undersold it.

“Uh, hey, buddy, whatcha doin’?” Kon asks, hovering over the piles of office document boxes that — jesus fuck, is that a LexCorp logo?

He finds Tim in the centre of the microcave next to the aforementioned murderboard, and then he kinda wishes he hadn’t. The focal image in the centre of Tim’s web of red yarn and blue yarn and green yarn and something that looks like yellow caution tape that’s been twisted into thread is… Kon.

Tim is hunched in gargoyle posture next to the murderboard, chewing on the wrong end of a pen while he stares at the board with eyes so far past unfocused and surrounded by such dark bags that Kon’s kinda a little surprised Tim hasn’t like… toppled over and passed out.

At the sound of Kon’s voice, Tim spins on the balls of his feet and hurls the pen from between his teeth at him. Kon rebuffs it with his TTK and when the pen clatters to some scattered manila folders on the cave floor, Tim frowns.

“You’re… real?” Tim asks, lifting an eyebrow to inspect him. When he talks, Kon can see the dark spot of ink on his tongue that really can’t be pleasant to taste.

“Please tell me you haven’t been hallucinating,” Kon requests, and immediately regrets it because he’s really not sure he wants the answer to that.

“Um, n—just like the squiggles in the corners of your eyes when you’re sleep dep—why are you here?” Tim asks.

“Well, this is, uh, kind of a lot, even for you?” Kon replies, and hovers closer to the one working electronic in the microcave besides the flickering overhead light: the coffee pot. There’s nothing but tarry sludge at the bottom of the pot which is definitely contributing to the acrid scent of the cave, alongside Tim’s general state of being.

“Oh,” Tim says, looking back at the murderboard and then to Kon again. He seems to finally register that the subject of his investigation is now in his personal space, because his eyes go wide in addition to glassy. “Oh.”

“Any chance you’ll tell me why I’m the subject of this, uh…” Kon trails off, gesturing at the murderboard. Tim doesn’t write his tacked-on notes in any sort of way Kon can read. It’s not actually shorthand, not the official version of it, but probably some hybrid system Tim’s developed on his own. Whether or not it’s legible to other Bats is anyone’s guess.

“Um,” Tim says, and falls off the balls of his feet to land hard on his ass on the desk where he’s been perched. Based on the way he rubs absently at his knees and rolls his ankles around, Kon gets the impression he’d been crouched like that for way too long. “You’ve been, uh, exhibiting some… uncharacteristic behaviours? For about ten months now, give or take.”

Kon blinks. “I have?”

“Yeah, your sense of humour’s shifted, because you keep finding me funnier than other people in our group,” Tim says. He reaches for the pen he’d had in his mouth, like he means to use it as a pointer stick, and remembers at the last second that he’d thrown it at Kon to test his realness. Kon picks it up and offers it to him. Tim thanks him with a distracted, dazed expression, and then points it at the red lines. “And, um, you’ve been agreeing with me more? So, like, I know you haven’t been replaced by Match this time, because that was all about him trying to argue with me and divide our team. Also, you keep looking at me more when you think I’m not looking, I had to run through so many hours of security tapes.”

Tim points to some pretty damning screen grabs of security footage from the Young Justice HQ that kind of make Kon want to die of embarrassment.

It kind of sucks that Tim is so smart that he’s noticed all of this, but has also completely failed to put it together.

“So, what’s your conclusion, detective?” Kon asks.

“I don’t… know,” Tim huffs, and rubs the heel of his hand into one of his eyes like it’s about to give up on him and he needs to fight it into submission. “And I can’t think of what happened ten months ago that would’ve started a change in behaviour or—”

“Can I give you a hint?” Kon asks, swallowing down the nerves it immediately gives him, just to offer.

Tim blinks. “Wait, you’re aware of the change in behaviour?”

“Yeah, Tim,” Kon says, only keeping himself from laughing at the consternation on Tim’s face by the skin of his teeth.

Tim looks between him and the murderboard, a deep frown on his face. “So what happened ten months ago?”

“Well, eleven months ago, you told us you’re bi,” Kon says. He folds his arms across his chest and tucks his hands under his biceps to keep Tim from noticing them shake with nerves. Not that Tim’s really in a state to notice anything at this point. “And it took me about a month to do some soul searching and figure out that I am, too?”

The furrow between Tim’s eyes gets just a little deeper, like he can’t make the math problem add up. “But… if that’s it, then why are you looking at me like…”

He trails off, staring at the board for an excruciating enough length of time that Kon seriously considers just flying away and hoping Tim’s so out of it that he won’t actually remember this conversation.

“Wait, you like me?” Tim asks, face fever-bright when he looks away from the board to stare at Kon instead.

“Only kind of, like, a lot?” Kon replies, balling his hands into fists under his arms.

“Oh,” Tim says, and finally, to Kon’s relief, his face smooths out into a smile. “Cool.”

And, mystery solved, he immediately loses power to all systems, and slumps into a deep sleep. When he starts to topple forward off the desk like a marionette with the strings cut, Kon swoops forward to catch him. There’s probably a bed somewhere in this microcave, but if there is, it’s completely buried by Tim’s boxes of files, and Kon doesn’t want to dig. He cradles Tim in his arms and carries him out of the cave into the uncharacteristically pleasant Gotham evening, and when Tim burrows closer into his chest and murmurs, “like you too,” Kon can only smile.

[gravitycavity]

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 7 - Only Human

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

A thin ribbon of carpet, stretching just as far into infinity as the narrow corridor itself, explored distant depths soaked in darkness. A never-ending chain of chandeliers spanned the ceiling, cracked bulbs flickering in and out as they pleased. The experience was disorienting, to say the least — cruel and unusual torture, to say a little bit more. 

There was but a single source of reliable light in the entire hallway: the unassuming windows staged on the eastern wall in neat little quintets. Each glass-paned portal hosted a pair of tattered curtains that fluttered carelessly with the rhythm of the wind. 

Assorted furniture was scattered along the periphery, breaking up the tiring monotony of it all. An odd, uncanny energy surrounded their existence. Nothing besides the occasional lamp was mounted upon the dust-caked tables, and only a handful of random knick-knacks found home on the bookshelves. Nothing seemed to be placed with any thought or purpose in mind, as if something non-human were desperately attempting to construct a convincing facsimile of a sprawling Edwardian mansion, but couldn’t quite get it right. It understood what to place, and where — but the why it couldn’t fully grasp. 

The subtle horror made Ragatha’s insides quiver — but, all told, it could have been worse. At the very least, she was here in Pomni’s arms, where the chilling bite of the unknown was soothed by the warm glow of her touch, where the steady rhythm of Pomni’s footfalls wrapped her up in a blanket of sameness and security. 

Step, step, step. 

Ragatha snuggled Pomni’s chest, her head positioned perfectly to hear the rhythm of the young woman’s heartbeat. It was racing. Pomni must have been so tired, so exhausted, so ready to collapse in a heap and call it quits. But instead, she persisted, pushing her body and mind to the absolute limit. All for Ragatha’s sake. 

The plain little ragdoll closed her eyes. She pulled deep, contented breaths from her core, pressing her forehead firmly against the jester’s chest. If only this adventure could go on forever. If only she and Pomni could remain just like this — a helpless princess and her dashing savior — until the day they finally escaped into the outside world, hand-in-hand.

Step, step, step.

Pomni passed by another quintet of windows. Ragatha shivered as a chilly draft snuck through a crack in the glass pane. Its whistling entrance, performing in duet with the tittering of bats, chipped the unbroken facade of silence. 

“Hey. Pomni…?” 

The jester kept on moving, but her stride was a touch closer to walking than it had been before. Her gaze flicked towards her chest — or rather, the big bundle of red yarn resting snugly against it. “Yeah? What’s up?” 

“I’ve just been thinking,” Ragatha’s finger teased little circles around Pomni’s back, “what are we going to get up to when this is all over?”

Pomni hesitated. “When we escape the Circus?”

“When this adventure is over.”

“Oh. W-Well, uh…” Pomni cleared her throat, “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, I happen to have a few ideas up my sleeve…” Ragatha smirked. It was difficult not to swoon, or snicker, or let out one of those satisfied sighs that relieved the pressure built up by a love-swollen heart. “Since we’re so…close now, why don’t I show you around my bedroom? We could have a sleepover, just you and me. Does that sound fun?”

“Um…!” Pomni’s whole body turned five degrees warmer. “S-Sure! Uh. Yeah! Okay! That could be, uh, f-f-fun…”

“You have those big letter blocks in your room, don’t you?”

“Uh. Yes…?”

“Do you use them for anything?”

“Huh? Well, no. Not really.” 

“Are they heavy?”

“Pretty heavy,” Pomni replied, squinting. She glanced down, meeting Ragatha’s flirtatious gaze, “Why are you asking me this?”

“Well, I was just thinking. Maybe you could lend me some?”

“For what?”

“Well, we’re going to need something to block the door, won’t we?”

Pomni squeaked, pale face flushing red. “Huh!? U-Um…!”

“In fact…” Ragatha grabbed Pomni’s tunic and leaned in closer. A distinct hunger roared within her, begging to be sated. “I never got to finish my lesson, did I? What if you got in a little more practice before that?”

“More…practice?”

“Mhm…”

“A-Are you serious…?”

Ragatha practically purred. “Deadly.” 

“Well, uh…” Pomni subtly leaned away, “...now doesn’t really seem like a good time, does it? We’re going to fail the mission if we don’t keep moving — and besides, we’ve got to keep our guard up for whatever it is that’s hiding in this hallway. Remember what that weird ghost lady told us?

“Hmm?” Ragatha pouted. “Oh, come on. Just one quick kiss?”

Pomni sighed. “No, Ragatha.”

Ragatha’s steady breathing lagged; the unflinching seriousness of Pomni’s tone slammed into her like a runaway train. Her plush heart shriveled, and her stitched-on eyebrows crinkled in confusion. Uh-oh. Oh, god. She didn’t mean to…!

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart,” Ragatha cocked her head, “I thought we were just playing around — I didn’t mean to pressure you. We’re not moving too fast, are we?”  

Pomni’s steady stride slowed to a halt. Her eyes brooded pensively at the floor, watching the hard sole of her boot rap softly against the carpet below. 

“No. It’s…fine,” Pomni eventually replied, “We can kiss if you want.”

“If I want to!? Do you want to?”

“I…” Pomni swallowed. “...Well, duh! You’re literally the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. What kind of idiot wouldn’t want to kiss you?”

“Pomni.” Ragatha deadpanned. The flattery tactic wasn’t going to work. “Be honest.”

“I am being honest!”

“Please. I can tell something’s bothering you—”

Out of nowhere, Pomni shoved her lips against Ragatha’s, decisively shutting the dolly up. She tore away the very next moment.

“There’s your kiss. Happy?” Pomni grit her teeth, glaring down the hallway. She sulked into the dark depths with aplomb.

“Pomni! What’s gotten into you?!”

“What’s gotten into me? We have less than an hour before this whole adventure falls apart with us stuck inside it! That’s what’s gotten into me!”  

Ragatha narrowed her eyes. She was the farthest thing from naive — not when it came to matters of the heart. Pomni had started acting noticeably off ever since they’d shared their first kiss, and Ragatha wasn’t going to just stand by without at least trying to get to the bottom of it, time limits be damned. 

“Pomni,” said Ragatha, “put me down.”

“What? You’re not serious, are you?!”

“We’re not in high school, Pomni — something’s going on, and we’re going to talk about it. Like adults.”

Pomni grumbled under her breath. Rolling her eyes, she started toward one of the many overzealous couches placed periodically along the walls — the tacky type with legs carved into the shape of animal paws. 

Gently, Pomni did as Ragatha asked, setting the ragdoll down on the silky cushions. Despite her less-than-peachy mood, she still took extra care to make sure Ragatha’s weight was well-centered, and that her shoulders were propped up nicely against the backrest — lest Ragatha end up sliding off and flopping helplessly to the ground. 

“That’s perfect, Sweetheart. Thank you.” Ragatha shifted around, settling into her seat. She looked Pomni in the eyes and patted the empty spot beside her. 

Pomni plopped down with a huff. Like a troublemaking kid stuck in the principal’s office, she crossed her arms tightly, flashing her boots a dirty look. 

“Now, if it’s alright with you…” Ragatha exhaled, hands politely nestled in the lap of her royal dress, “Tell me what’s bothering you. I’m here to listen.”

Pomni’s tightly-wound posture compressed even further. “I just…” she squirmed, making an indecisive sound that drifted back and forth between a guttural groan and a high-pitched whine. “You and me…!”

She shook her head. She flexed her soles against the carpet. She squeezed the century-old, crumbling stuffing out of the century-old, crumbling couch cushions, until…

“I just don’t get it!” Pomni snapped, “Why would someone like you want anything to do with someone like me?”

Ragatha sat up. “H-Huh!?” 

Pomni’s wilting eyes wandered about Ragatha’s body, settling on the freshest injury slashed across the ragdoll’s torso. “You’ve shown me so much kindness. You’ve protected me, you’ve made me smile, you’ve been a friend when I needed one,” Pomni sighed. Her glowering gaze retreated to the floor.  “Meanwhile, I can’t even keep a simple promise to keep you safe.”

“Keep me safe? What—” Ragatha swatted her hand over the winding tear, “—you’re talking about this? Oh, Pomni! So I tore myself up a little! It isn’t—”

“Isn’t my fault? Give me a break — I’m not stupid!” Pomni fanned her fingers across her chest, “You hurting yourself would never have happened if I hadn’t flipped my lid earlier! I don’t get it, Ragatha — why are you so afraid to stand up for yourself?”

“Pomni!” 

“Why would you forgive me after everything I’ve put you through? Why would you kiss me?” Pomni bared her teeth, eyes jumping from bad, to worse, to awful as she regarded the clumps of cotton bulging out of the broken ragdoll. “How do you not despise me?”

Stunned into silence, Ragatha placed her hand over her throat. She could feel it tightening, strangling her from the inside. 

All was quiet. 

For the longest time, Pomni just sat there, rocking back and forth, stewing in the dreadful silence. And when she finally did open her mouth to reply, she flinched as if the reedy sound of her own voice had caught her off-guard:

“Ragatha…?” she croaked, “Do you remember yesterday? When we stopped in that clearing, and that horrible tree monster attacked us?”

Ragatha’s face hardened. She nodded.

“When that…thing had me in its clutches, you didn’t run away. You fought for me. And you saved me.”

Ragatha stared at the shivering woman seated beside her. Now, it was her turn to bask in uncomfortable silence, racking her brain to think of something, anything she could possibly say. The uncertain silence stretched father, farther, farther, until she just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because. All this time,” Pomni wilted. “I’ve been wondering. Wondering why.”

“...Why I saved you?”

Pomni just barely eked out a nod. 

“I mean…do I really need a reason?” Ragatha couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “You didn’t expect me to just leave you behind, did you?”

White-hot shame simmered behind Pomni’s eyes. Head in her hands, she slumped closer to the floor, trembling voice peaking just above a whisper: “Did you expect me to…?” 

Ragatha snapped to attention, hand flattened against her chest. Pins and needles numbed the tips of her fingers.

So. This was it. 

Finally, they were talking about it.

Ragatha bastioned herself. She took a deep breath, and—

“You don’t have to make excuses for me,” Pomni croaked. She held her musketeer cap over her face, crumpling the wide brim beneath her fingers. “What I did to you…” her pupils retreated, “...it was awful. Just awful.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Ragatha shook her head. “For all of that crazy stuff to happen on your first day? Before you’d even had time to adjust? You were in shock. You were terrified.  It wouldn’t be fair to judge your actions based on—”

“How did you convince yourself that your feelings don’t matter?”

Ragatha’s face fell flat. “...Pardon?”

“I know you’re just trying to be kind. Because that’s the type of person you are,” Pomni said. “But…you need to stop.”

“St-Stop?”

“I hurt you. How do you expect to heal if all we do is dance around it?”

“I…” Ragatha’s mouth slowly shut. She felt utterly transparent — and in the span of a single second, the mental house of cards that she had so carefully constructed for years came crashing down in a big, fluttering heap. 

‘How did you convince yourself that your feelings don’t matter?’ Pomni’s blunt words ricocheted off the walls of her mind. ‘How do you expect to heal if all we do is dance around it?‘

Ragatha wilted. She didn’t know the answer.

She was so accustomed to being the first one to offer a supportive ear, the first one to provide a firm shoulder to cry on, that her own feelings had long ago been exiled to a dusty, long-forgotten corner of her mind. 

Like everyone else, she wanted nothing more than to escape the digital insanity ward she found herself trapped in — but she wasn’t naive enough to believe that desire was anything more than a pipe dream. For now, and maybe forever, her weird little found family of co-prisoners was all she had. And she knew it.

So she had to keep the peace. She had to be the neutral voice of reason, the rock solid foundation that kept everyone bound together — and that balancing act alone was taxing enough. Why in the world would she want to foil that precarious peace with her own petty problems?

But it was…fine. It was. Ragatha had always been good at regulating her own emotions. All she had to do was bury any bothersome thoughts beneath a heap of questionable excuses, paper-thin rationales, and half-baked half-truths until the pesky voices didn’t pester her so much anymore. And just look at her! She was fine. 

Totally fine. No problems here. Nope. 

Shakily, Ragatha swallowed. Her head slumped. Who was she kidding, lying to herself like this…? Why was it so difficult to just be honest about the burden she carried — the pain, the loneliness, the emotional isolation that weighed her down further each day? And why, after all these years, was she just now questioning all of this?

Her heart beat just a little bit faster. Her breathing picked up to match. Her eyes brimmed with tears as, out of nowhere, the obvious answer whisked through her mind:

No one had ever cared to ask. No one besides Pomni.

A cozy sense of safety embraced Ragatha’s heart. She didn’t care to turn away, or hide her face beneath her hands, or wipe away her rolling tears. It was okay to cry here. 

Her wandering, watery eyes heeded the disheveled nest of hat hair that adorned Pomni’s head. They admired the unrelenting dorkiness of the jester’s forced-on musketeer costume. They beheld, as if in a trance, a lovely pair of pinwheels bursting with one-thousand-and-one emotions at once. 

She smiled, warmly and earnestly. So this was what it felt like. To be cared for. 

“Okay then,” Ragatha spoke softly, forcing her mouth to take the shape of the words. She couldn’t help but squirm, tearing open the door on feelings that she’d already worked so hard to lock away. “I’m going to be very frank with you — because I trust you. And I know you trust me.”

Pomni cowered behind her crinkled cap, fingers carving crude lines across the rawhide brim. Her pupils retreated meekly toward the floor. 

Ragatha bit her lip. “Back on your first day, when you left me alone with Kaufmo? Yeah. That hurt. I was confused, and scared, and angry, and…” Ragatha swallowed, “...a-and…”

“And what…?

“And I came closer to losing myself than I ever had before.”

Pomni’s cap wrinkled beneath the jester’s tightened grip. “Wh-what!? You mean…?”

Every jumbled line of code that comprised Ragatha’s digital body shrieked at her to stop, to be a good girl, to shut her big mouth and stop causing drama. Nevertheless, she made her story heard. “I’m not that strong, Pomni,” she said, “I’m just good at hiding my weakness. Probably too good, to be honest…”

“But…but that doesn’t make sense! When I came back to you, your body was all glitchy and flickery — but you weren’t abstracting!”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it. All of us have vastly different digital forms, — so, naturally, they abstract in vastly different ways, too. Whenever I feel myself slipping…” Another tear raced down Ragatha’s face at the thought. She crossed her bulky, dollish hands over her chest, “...it starts on the inside.”

Pomni lowered her cap to her chin, exposing her drooping face. “In your heart?”

Glancing away, Ragatha nodded. She stroked the back of her hand in a self-soothing gesture. “I could feel the threads fraying as soon as we opened Kaufmo’s door. The seams of my heart began to tear open, and this awful coldness spread throughout my body.”

“And…” Pomni hesitated, “...then I left you. All alone. And y-you almost…”

“Yeah. But, you know…” Ragatha met Pomni’s crinkled, shame-stricken gaze, and a smile — a real, genuine smile — put an end to her tears. “...I’m still here. Do you know why?”

“Well, I…” Pomni glanced here and there. Her hat sank further down to cover her chest. “Um…”

“You said it yourself, Sunshine,” Ragatha’s smile made itself comfortable, stretching wider and shining brighter. “You came back.”

 Pomni’s eyes were wide, “I...what?”

“You came back for me, Pomni.” Ragatha pressed her hands against her mouth; her grin grew and grew until it almost looked like she was laughing. “When I heard you plodding down the hall, worried sick, calling after me with that nasally little voice of yours—

“Nasally!?”

“Gosh, you sounded worried sick…” Ragatha giggled, taking Pomni’s hands into hers. “Pomni, just in the handful of days I’ve known you, you’ve proven yourself to be one of the most caring, most courageous, most selfless people I’ve ever met,” Ragatha said. Her thumb glided lovingly against the back of Pomni’s hand, “One mistake doesn’t change that.”

Pomni wasn’t looking back. Her chin quivered slightly, and her hands wriggled stubbornly in Ragatha’s grip.

“Didn’t anybody tell you what happened after that? After I went to find Caine?” Pomni sniffed. “I found a door. I tried to leave. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else except myself, and—” 

“And I forgive you.” Ragatha said. She felt the jester’s shuddering grip tighten around her hands. 

“I’m trying to forgive myself, too.” Pomni glowered at the winding constellations of slices, holes, and cuts wrapped all around Ragatha’s body. She studied their shape closely, her face warping further with every newly-discovered fray. “I’m trying as hard as I can to make up for the way I treated you, but no matter how hard I try, you keep getting hurt. And I just…” she sighed. “...I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could have saved you.”

Ragatha sighed, looking over Pomni’s hands. The poor girl was being so hard on herself — it hurt just to listen to.

Letting go, Ragatha reached into her pocket and produced a round, palm sized box. The transparent lid revealed its contents: A needle, several spools of thread, and a worn-out, heart-shaped pincushion. 

“I…what…?” Pomni blanched. She fastened her cap back on her head. “What is this…?”

Ragatha pressed the container into Pomni’s hands. “You tell me,” she said.

“A…sewing kit?” Pomni held the box up to her ear and gave it a light shake. The contents rattled around inside. “Wait a minute — you just had this on you the whole time?!”

“Uh, well…” Ragatha forced out an awkward laugh, “...kind of?”

“So I did all that work for nothing?!”

“Trust me. It wasn’t for nothing.” Ragatha winked. It was cruel — all she wanted to do was reach over and smother Pomni in a great big hug, but she knew that doing so would only strain her stitches. Confined to her half of the couch, Ragatha gazed pleadingly into Pomni’s eyes, tugging the woman’s arms toward herself with a look that said ‘please, come closer.’

In no time at all, Pomni acquiesced, letting herself be swept into Ragatha’s embrace. Ragatha draped her arms over Pomni’s rigid backside, and rested her forehead against hers. 

“Pomni,” she said, “if you really want to give this a shot, you have to know that one of us is going to screw something up sooner or later. We’re only human, after all, and if there’s one thing every human is good at, it’s #%@$ing up.”

Pomni flinched at the rare curse word out of Ragatha’s mouth — and, for the slightest moment, she even cracked a wary smile. “Yeah,” she snickered, rolling her forehead against the dolly’s. “that’s true…”

Ragatha smiled brighter. “But I know we’ll be okay. We’ll learn from our mistakes, and come out stronger on the other side. Because I love you, and if there’s one thing adventuring with you has taught me…” Ragatha closed Pomni’s fingers around the sewing kit, “...it’s that no matter what happens, we’ll always be there to put each other back together again.”

The kit’s plastic casing whined in Pomni’s ever-tightening grip. Pomni sat in stunned silence — but her tepid breath pounded against Ragatha’s neck just as before. Butterflies swooped and swirled in Ragatha’s stomach as Pomni’s hand combed through the dolly’s cherry-red curls — pinching, petting, rolling frayed twists between her fingers. 

“Ragatha…?”

“Hm?”

Pomni swallowed. “D-Did you just say…” Pomni’s fingers traced a jagged line across the stitched surface of Ragatha's cheek, “...you love me…?”

Ragatha shrugged, casual as could be, “I did, didn’t I?”

A big, stupid smile brightened Pomni’s face. “I—” she stammered, resting her weary head upon the ragdoll’s soft shoulder. “I—” she stuttered still, her weak, wavering voice crumbling to pieces. “I love you, too...”

Ragatha’s heart sang with pure joy. 

She let out a mirthful laugh, squeezing her darling as hard as she could. Pomni squeezed back, and all at once, a wonderful feeling of belonging — of finally returning home after having been away for so long — warmed the ragdoll from her very core.  

“My beautiful little ray of sunshine…” Ragatha spoke through a shuddering smile, running her hands through Pomni’s chestnut hair, breathing in her breathtaking essence. “...I love you with all of my—”

Regrettably — or perhaps not, depending on who you asked — there wasn’t much room for that kind of sentiment between the lines of the Circus’s cold, uncompromising code. Whether or not its players were soulmates, shared the same star sign, or called each other cute little pet names hardly mattered. This heart-pounding adventure was falling apart, and fast. 

Another savage quake shook the mansion’s decrepit foundation. Bricks, metal fittings, and chunks of rotten wood fell like rain. Noxious plumes of who-knows-what poured down from the ceiling. 

Ragatha and Pomni yelped in tandem. And it only got worse from there. 

Instinctively, Ragatha pointed her triangular nose toward the rumbling ceiling — but she did so just in time for a sizeable chunk of falling drywall to clonk her directly on the snout. She cried out, suddenly and sharply, from the dizzying pain. 

The abrupt noise caused Pomni, who still clung to Ragatha, to flinch and lose her balance. She tumbled off the sofa and onto the dirty floor, dragging a wincing Ragatha down with her. They landed in a heap — Ragatha on top, and Pomni squished below. 

All around, rattling chandeliers swung to and fro like crystal pendulums. Antique bookshelves teetered and tottered, vomiting their dusty contents onto the floor. A cavernous fissure split the ceiling with a bloodcurdling crack, spraying forth needles of splintered wood like lethal confetti. 

“R-R-Ragatha!” Pomni ground her teeth, hugging her girlfriend tightly. The back of her head paddled violently against the vibrating floor. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” she cringed in pain…

…but then, just as suddenly as it had started, the rumbling ceased. 

Pomni groaned, opening her eyes again. She blinked in the newfound peace, gawking at the woman laying precariously on top of her. Assorted debris coated the floor around the pair like a blanket of dirtied snow. 

“Oh my gosh! A-Are you—” Pomni hacked up a cloud of grimy dust, “— are you okay?”

“Aww. Look at you, all concerned for little old me,” Ragatha pecked Pomni’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I’m made of cotton. I’ve walked away from way nastier falls than that.” 

“Oh! Yeah. Right,” Pomni blushed. “I keep forgetting we aren’t exactly human anymore...”

“You’re cute.” Ragatha said with a freehearted giggle. She admired her partner’s dorky little hat, the brim of which was entirely covered in grimy mansion-dust. To be fair, though, her own hair likely didn’t fare any better — a fact which Pomni would confirm a moment later:

“Uh…by the way,” Pomni pointed to the left side of her head. “You’ve got a little something here.” 

“Oh, really? A little something?”

“Yeah. And also…” Pomni’s finger jumped around her head, “...here. And here, and here…”

 “Gosh, that’s an awful lot of ‘little somethings’...” Ragatha giggled. “To tell you the truth, you’ve also got something here,” she pointed to one side of her head, “and here. And…”

Ragatha’s voice trailed off. Deliberately, she lowered her head, eyes narrowing. 

The bank of dust atop Pomni’s musketeer cap was…moving. Spinning. All on its own.  Around and around, the miniscule particles ran an endless circuit around the cured leather brim, slowly drifting upward with each completed lap. Before long, the spinning particles had formed an upside-down cone shape — a tiny tornado of dust. Atop Pomni’s head. 

What in the world…? 

Ragatha could only stare, her mouth ajar. She watched through squinting eyes as the vortex grew tighter and taller, bending with purpose the way a blooming flower reached for the sun. She knew she ought to be used to this sort of nonsense by now, but miraculously, the deranged parade of oddities she encountered every day still managed to confound her, even after all these years. At least Jax wasn’t around to chide her for the stupid look on her face. 

“Uh, hellooo? Are you even listening!?” Pomni waved her hand in front of Ragatha’s face, derailing the redhead’s racing train of thought. “What are you staring at?”

Snapped back into the real world — or, at least, a convincing facsimile thereof — Ragatha’s gaze settled on Pomni. Words failed her, and so, she simply pointed.  

With a bewildered blink, Pomni’s eyes followed the slight downward curve of Ragatha’s finger. The jester’s shuddering gaze inched down the corridor, following the length of the swirling vortex until, at last, the anomaly disappeared into the distant darkness. 

Pomni balked, rubbing her eyes. “The #@$% is that…?”

And it only got weirder from there. 

A second whirlwind — sourced from a pile of debris on a nearby bookshelf — formed in the same way. It stretched down the corridor, fading into the pitch black just like its predecessor. A third, made from the dust coating a palisade of pulverized paintings, came next. A fourth followed suit, then a fifth, a seventh, a tenth, a twentieth — until the vast network of swirling arteries was far too numerous to count. 

Though difficult to make out in the dark, the endpoint of each vortex intersected at a single, unified point. There, an amorphous, filthy cloud began to form. It swelled larger — and larger, and larger — inhaling each and every speck of filth that had accumulated in the hallway. Then, like a mound of clay molded by supernatural hands, the cloud’s shapeless form gradually began to define itself:

A snaking, trunk-like body, made up of dozens of interlocking segments. A pair of gaunt, twitching appendages flanked each of these sections, sprouting one after the next like an infestation of wriggling weeds. A final segment, sporting two nasty spikes, capped off the end. A set of peering eyes, gnashing pincers, and twitching antennae distinguished the head. 

Ragatha whimpered, shrinking away from her worst nightmares made manifest.

It was a centipede. Filth and disease incarnate. A grotesque, fetid creature from hell, standing one foot taller than her and extending longer than her eyes could even perceive. 

The dolly’s patchwork heart seized within her chest. Jittering, black spots infested her blurring vision, dancing without a care as the narrow walls of the haunted corridor closed in. 

The hall was spotless now; every last speck of dust and debris had been funneled into the beast’s frightening form. And so, with its formation complete, the creature came to life.

“P-Pomni…!” Ragatha gasped, roughly clutching her chest. Something had snapped. Something inside of her. No. No, no, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. 

The centipede turned. Snap. 

The centipede cocked its head. Snap. 

The centipede creeped closer, and closer, and closer still, its long, slender legs chattering loudly against the floor. Snap. Snap. Snap.

“Pomni! P-Please…!”

The fragile seams of Ragatha’s heart popped one-by one, stretched out to their absolute limit. A cold, barren sensation slithered out of the organ with every stuttering pump, numbing all that dared to touch its toxic essence.

///

My Ko-fi - Tips are very much appreciated! :)

[First Chapter] [Next Chapter - Coming soon!]

*dies of exhaustion on top of keyboard*

[s7toru]

“so, you’re going then?”

gojo looks back at you, throwing the other end of his scarf around his neck. you’d told him christmas eve would be cold and though something like the weather would never be enough to kill him, you fear touching his body and finding it icy. 

his smile is bright, all teeth. “of course! i have to.”

you curl your fingers into the bedsheets where they still radiate his warmth and it's almost enough to convince you this was any other morning, simply watching your lover leave for work. but if this was truly any other day, you would be sure of his return. 

“you look like you have something to say.” he notices. “say it.”

“i don’t want you to go.”

your confession doesn’t shock him. “personal feelings?”

though it had taken you courage to speak your selfish request, gojo dismisses it with humour immediately. worry spins the frustration in your stomach into red hot anger, and then cools into realisation. 

he’s just deflecting. 

you push yourself up off the mattress and walk over, reaching out to fix the scarf loosely hung around his neck. this wasn't a bad omen, everything will be ok. 

“you look silly.” you tell him instead. 

“you’re the one that insisted i wear this. it’s bright red, sukuna’s gonna see me from a mile away.”

“it only looks silly because you didn’t tuck it in right.” 

you make slow work of the scarf, intentionally playing with the loose yarn on both ends between your fingers, feeling the memories woven into the material. 

when gojo was sealed, your days bled grey. there was very little you remember of that time, those droning nineteen days, barely living and barely awake. the school couldn’t contact you, the ringer on your phone not any louder than the rushing thoughts in your head. moving through each waking hour with insincere actions, dreading the return to your static apartment though it was no better than surrounding yourself with friends. how come they were here, but he wasn’t?

and when fate graced you with sleep, you could almost imagine the smell of him, the feeling of his hair between your fingertips, the soft kisses he’d leave about your sleeping face, his annoying giggle as you aroused slowly from your slumber. your eyes would open yet when you wiped the sleep from your eyes, there would be no one there.

“do you think you could tie my scarf any slower?” gojo remarks, eying your masterpiece. “i wonder if it’s possible.”

“babe.” you sigh, sliding your fingers down to the hem of his shirt, fiddling with the fabric. “please, can we be serious for a second?”

his hand comes up and pauses over yours, scratching you with his calluses. “i don’t think i have time to undress right now, i’ve got to save the world and everything.” 

you pause, leveling him with a stare. “hey.”

“okay, sorry.” he gives you a lop-sided grin, observing the sight of you looking so small and unsure. you hesitate your gaze around his eyes, fearful in finding what’s there. “are you worried about me? you know you don’t have to be.”

“i wish i wasn’t, it’s clearly wasted on you.”

“don’t say that like it’s a bad thing, you can use that time to feel something else. like immense gratitude that i’m your boyfriend.” 

“i just know your arrogance will be your downfall.”

“since when were you a fortune teller?” he reaches for your hand and traces the lines on your palm.

“gojo.”

dropping it immediately, he places his hands in the air. “ok! i’m serious now, i swear. god forbid i make a joke.” 

your eyes crease as you frown. 

gathering the strength to confront him, you pull your eyes to meet his, intending to scold him for being so relaxed when your pulse was pounding in your head, but his gaze was as empty as the abyss. the corners of his mouth trembles slightly, hand seeking comfort by wrapping around your waist and the cold of his skin shocks you. before you say anything, his smile lowers into something sadder. 

the sight pushes you over the edge and whatever mental fortitude you built against the fierce currents of reality comes bursting apart, tumbling just to wash away and he catches you in his arms, holding you in an embrace that’s far too fragile to belong to the stronger sorcerer. 

gojo breathes in the scent of you cradled in his arms, eyes squeezed tight to forever engrave this very moment in his memory. if he was to die, he’d like his last thought to be you. 

your breath shakes against hurried gasps. “this isn’t fair, i can’t lose you again, you just came back to me.”

his arms hold you tighter, pressing you into his chest. “you’re not losing me again, i promise.”

“liar.” you whisper. sorrow molds into hatred, not at gojo, but at the cruelty of fate to mismatch your timelines such that they never meet for long. “liar! you’re walking to your death and you know it! you think i wasn’t there when you came back practically a walking zombie? you had half your face blown of, and to a non-sorcerer at that! this is the king of curses we’re talking about, you’re, i’m—!”

it might have been better if he argued, if he told you that you’re wrong, but his silence stops you. 

“i can’t lose you too.” you finally admit. when you close your eyes, the scene where all four of you still remain mocks you from afar. one by one, you feel their red strings cut away from your own, forever out of reach. and though you stayed working in the shell of where those memories once took place, the eerie feeling that things will never be the same again clung like a persistent ache. 

“you won’t.”

“liar.”

gojo’s breath tickles your skin as he exhales. “i’m sorry.” 

“tell me i’m wrong.”

“you won’t believe me.”

your fingers dig into his clothes, enough to leave a mark. “tell me anyway.” 

he kisses you on the top of your head. “i’ll be back.”

your reply comes through gritted teeth. “you promise?”

you feel him hum rather than hear it, ear pressed against his chest to listen to the erratic thumping of his heart. 

“i have to go.” he kisses you again as if to lessen the punch to your stomach.

slowly, surely, you loosen your hold on him and pull away. the sudden lack of warmth is your first taste of his absence, and the smile he gives you is just as bittersweet. your hands find the ends of the scarf once more, looping it once and then once again around his neck, letting it hang loosely down the sides. 

when gojo returns, his skin is just as cold, clammy even. you feel the slick of sweat as you wrap your arms around him, screaming your sorrows into the cavity in his chest. he’s still wearing that irritating smile on his face, the one you’ve woken up to so many times before, but the sound of his laughter is a memory you won’t relive again. his palms still spell out his love life, of a short passionate affection that forks suddenly, one line longer than the other and your fingers can still trace the calluses lining his hand. he’s as you remember, exactly as he was the morning he left you. 

when gojo comes back to you, he’s still wearing red around his neck. 

[notoriousbeb]

Lighthouse Keeper Tweets

Part Three: February 2024 - July 2, 2024

Back to Part One Back to Part Two

Feb. 5, 2024 (barely) 12 a.m.

"'I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love.'"

Now THIS is interesting. First, this is a Jane Austen quote (from Mr. Darcy of Pride and Prejudice [see 11/28 tweet, as well]). In the book, Darcy goes on to say, "Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away." What Darcy is saying here is that he formerly thought pretty words and declarations were enough to sustain a relationship, but he now knows that's not enough. The underlying bond has to be strong first, or it's all for naught. Interesting. Because, my second point about this post is: this is the date of the Grammy's, and the date Taylor announced The Tortured Poets Department.

Feb. 16, 2024 1:30 a.m. BST

"You don't mess with love, you mess with the truth."

These are lyrics from Ellie Goulding's "On My Mind." Someone can't stop thinking about someone!

Feb. 18, 2024 10:45 p.m. BST

"The dirt on my jeans from the mud on the Heath feels like karma to me"

Perhaps someone is starting to realize he fucked up.

Feb. 23, 2024 4:50 p.m. BST "A tangle on the television and the magazine."

These are lyrics from The Arctic Monkey's Teddy Picker. Perhaps, and this is just a guess by me, obviously, but maybe a shot at TK, who was riding around in a rented sportscar, speeding and blowing red lights in Australia while following Taylor on tour?

Feb. 26, 2024 12 a.m. BST

"I've let love be free, and I've let it go. I've let it fade and I've watched it blow."

Sad.

March 20, 2024 5:35 p.m.

"You go back, Jack, do it again, wheel turnin' ' round and 'round"

These are lyrics from Steely Dan's "Do It Again."

March 22, 2024 1:41 a.m.

"One to remember A spill to reflect on High in your bedroom Will you still remember?"

He mentions in his replies that he's "feeling creatively inspired by the people [he's] surrounded with." Perhaps in the studio? A little poem for someone. Reminds me of the "you smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate," line from TTPD song. So, maybe, yeah, she did remember. Gah, these two exhaust me.

March 28, 2024 1:10 a.m. "If you're gonna try and walk on water make sure you wear you comfortable shoes."

These are lyrics from The Arctic Monkey's " Piledriver Waltz. Could be nothing, but it could also be a few things.... Anxiety about the impending TTPD release (thinking about the line "you're gonna shoot me out of a cannon" here). Pics of TK and TS at Nobu that had just popped up where TS looked annoyed as hell. Also there were all those pics of them from their beach vacation. Also, a few minutes before, he'd posted something about the stars, and then deleted it and proceeded to gaslight everyone on his timeline who asked about it. smh.

April 5, 2024 12 a.m. BST

"Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight? Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars? List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me?"

This is a bit of the Walt Whitman poem "Song of Myself." Has the tell-tale moon and stars, of course. What is he fighting for, I wonder. And who will win?

April 8, 2024 10:35 p.m. BST

"I looked around then for a reason When there wasn't something more to blame it on But, if time makes a difference while we're gone Tell me now, and I won't be hanging on"

These are lyrics from The Eagles' "Train Leaves Here This Morning." Maybe feeling defeated? He's about to leave to go to Japan with TR. When someone mentions in replies that this isn't a happy song (it's not. it's about one of the band members going through a divorce), LK replies: "Or, you could see it as a gateway to happiness. Sometimes the path to joy needs some pruning, and leaving things behind." Then someone else replies, "This is how it has to be though, right?" And LK responds, "I mean... no? Nothing really has to be anything; new things wash up on the shore, seasons pass, gardens flourish and die. Life is ever fluctuating. But also, it's just a great Eagles song." That's some true blue Aquarius shit right there. LOL. Another tidbit from the replies, he likes "Idaho" and "Words" by Gregory Alan Isakov.

April 12, 2024 8:30 p.m. BST / 4:30 a.m. JST

"Take a second, take a minute, take a mile Run the routes, light it up, enjoy the highs"

Probably in Japan?

April 19, 2024 12:31 p.m. BST

"Certified member of The Tortured Poets Department now."

And so it begins, again. Comments in the replies that he's feeling "tortured and poetic." Says he can't pick a favorite track yet.

April 25, 2024 7 p.m. BST

"I won't sit here and wax poetic to try and untangle the way we've crossed each other's firing range"

Sure, Jan. In his replies, he says he's currently inspired by "my life, my fears, my loves, my losses, in no particular order." Also says his current favorite TTPD track, "Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus" "has [his] heart."

April 26, 2024 12:35 a.m. BST

"Love is no more Than the wide blossom which the wind assails, Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore, strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales"

Already wrote about this here. My dude here is IN IT. He sarcastically says he's feeling "dazzling," and when asked who he's dancing with he replies, "Myself, my closet skeletons, and my wandering mind!" Cool night, LK. Sounds like a blast!

April 29, 2024 10:55 p.m. BST

"I used your old toothbrush to clean out my keep cup I suppose that's the way things are right now"

A keep up. So, who's toothbrush we talking about here?

April 30, 2024 1:01 a.m. "What are our vices for today?"

I've already posted about how very, very well he's doing.

May 3, 2024 12:30 a.m. "When the garden leaves blow and you jump out your skin once the shock starts to go that's when solitude sets in"

Already posted about this one, too. Tayrry no more?

May 9, 2024 10:40 p.m. BST

"I should think most of my problems are solvable by feeling the sun's warmth and the sparkle of the stars."

He did pop up in a couple spots in London (a cab, dinner and the ballet) the next day with a nice tan! I'd hoped he'd been to Paris, but it was overcast and not very warm there. Maybe he was just laying out in the Heath taking it easy (and maybe texting someone??). In his replies, he seems in quite a good mood and talks about getting high to write. He also replies to a commenter who asked, "Are you watching TTPD livestream from Paris?" LK said, "I had hoped she would come to Eroda. Granted, it would be a lot more intimate than she's used to..." Cheeky, bugger.

May 17, 2024 3:25 p.m. BST

"Would you be angry? At the cruelty of history Fading away the stories we penned For slamming the dot at the end.

Here's how I interpret this: LK is asking the muse, would you be angry at history if it decided this was it for us? If this was where it decided our story ended? In his replies, LK also mentions he’s been doing some “embroidery.” This reminds me of the line in “loml,” “we embroidered the time of when I was away, stitching ‘we were just kids, babe.’” Perhaps LK is musing about memories today. He also says in response to the question “May I ask you what you would change about your past, what do you like about your present and what would you like get in your future?” “I guess there's not much point in thinking about changing the past, and I love the love I have right now, and in the future l'd like to keep that love.” In Haylor news, rumors are that Tayrry has split. Taylor is about to play night one in Stockholm after spending time with TK in Italy and Harry is unseen (rumor is he's out of London doing a photoshoot--perhaps for HS4, I hope!).

May 19, 2024

May 23, 2024

June 5, 2024

June 8, 2024

June 15, 2024

June 16, 2024

June 16, 2024 (2)

June 20, 2024

June 25, 2024

July 2, 2024

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Promptober: Day Twenty Eight

Eddie Munson x fem!reader 1079 words.

Eddie was a little surprised when you and Robin decided to take up Nancy’s offer of learning how to knit. He was less surprised when Robin gave up after two days, but shocked nonetheless that his friend had attempted such a time consuming thing in the first place.

But we watched you learn slowly, spending Sundays with Nancy at her house, both of you surrounded by colourful yarn, coming back to Eddie with a satisfied grin on your face and pieces of fluff stuck to your clothes - and on the bad days, a few scratches and bloodied marks from misdirected needles. 

He watched in amusement as some of your creations made their way into your friends wardrobes. The colder October weather called for layers and warmth, and so Dustin and Mike really could say no to the too long scarves you draped round their shoulders. They were mostly navy blue, a little too skinny and the end piece of one side was a forest green, evidence of how you’d run out of wool. 

“It’s avant-garde,” you’d insisted. 

Lucas and Max had matching socks, both a bright mustard yellow with a a tiny sheep stitched onto the ankle. When asked ‘why a sheep?’ by the boy, you’d shrugged and told him it was easier to sew than a demogorgon. Lucas agreed, wore his to his basketball games with pride and even though Max had cringed, she liked to wear them under her boots, the ones she loved to stomp around in. 

Will, El and Steve all got mittens, some missing a finger, some with an extra one or two, but all warm and soft, they each insisted, always trying their best to spare your feelings. So they were happy when you grinned and Eddie was even happier when he spotted Will wearing them to a hellfire meeting one day, the same fondness he felt as Dustin hung up his scarf. 

Eddie felt a little left out, yet to receive one of your handmade concoctions. But then you appeared one night, knocking softly on the trailer door, despite how Eddie and even Wayne had told you that you had a spare key for a reason.  

But the boy found you on the step, face nipped by the chill and you beamed at him, hair wild from the wind. He ushered you inside, took you by the hand back to the warmth of his bed and he wasn’t at all surprised when you toppled down with him, legs braced on either side of his hips. 

Eddie loved you like this, happy in the softest way, smile shy, eager to touch and be touched. So he smoothed his hands over the denim covering your thighs, squeezing at your affectionately. You had orange fluff in your hair and he refrained from commenting on it, ‘cause you were too busy delving into your handbag that you’d laid on his stomach. 

The leather of it was chilly on his bare skin and he flinched. 

“S’cold, babe,” he murmured, lifting it slightly, but you were too busy searching to offer more than a distracted mumble back. 

“I know,” you told him offhandedly, “s’why I’ve got something for you.”

Eddie raised his brows, lips twisted into an amused smile. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you agreed, pulling out some books and pens, scattering them across his bed. “It’s in here somewhere.”

“I thought you’d finished this last week?” Eddie commented, lifting the book by its front cover. The pages flapped and notes fell out, written in ink of every colour. 

“I did, but I forgot what parts were my favourite,” you answered, muffled now, as a knitting needle was held between your teeth.

“Christ, sweetheart,” Eddie muttered, taking the offending object out of your mouth and away from the bare skin of his torso. “You’re gonna do us some damage. What are you even lookin’ fo—”

“Here!” You gasped excitedly, eyes bright as you shoved something colourful at him. “Here. I made this for you. Sorry it took so long.”

The present was a hat, Eddie noted, a knitted thing that actually seemed to be in perfect proportion. It was stripy, each line a different colour, deep reds, forest greens and navy’s, mustard yellow and a dark violet. A pom-pom sat on top, black to match the thicker band that was folded around the stripes and you’d even found a pin to attach to it, a tiny Dio logo that made Eddie grin wide. 

“Baby,” Eddie mumbled, voice soft and sticky with fondness. “Baby.”

You preened, watching his brown eyes turn wide with affection and you clasped your hands to your chest, resting them under your chin as you waited for his verdict. You’d tried really hard to make it perfect. 

“D’you like it?” You asked quietly. 

“You made this? For me?” Eddie asked, voice a little awed. He didn’t get presents all that often, especially one that had that much thought behind it. 

You nodded. 

“I love it,” Eddie declared and you squeaked as he sat up suddenly, your bag falling from between you both as you clung to his shoulders. 

He jammed the hat onto his head with a flourish, curls a little wild and messy as they stuck out from underneath it. He grinned and the bobble wiggled. 

“It fits,” you noted with relief, hands petting at the boy’s hair, trying to tame it a little. 

“It’s perfect,” Eddie told you, hands circling your waist to pull you into his lap more. You were chest to chest, nose to nose and he kissed at your cheek, your jaw. “You’re perfect.”

You thought you were far from it, the bandaids on several of your fingers suggesting otherwise but you forgot about them as Eddie took your face in one big hand, your still cold cheeks squished gently between fingers and thumb. 

He kissed you sweet, warm and tasting like brown sugar and something spiced, all cinnamon and smoke. 

“Gonna wear it all the time,” he told you proudly, beaming, dimples on show. Smiley Eddie was your favourite. “Tell everyone my girl made it for me.”

You ducked your head, shy, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt, flushed from the praise the boy loved to shower on you. “Yeah?” You asked to his chest, fingers playing with the chain at his neck. 

“Oh yeah,” he agreed, dotting more kisses to the parts of your face he could reach. “You’re gonna have to hide it from me when summer comes ‘round.”

[famousmortimer]

“So, this one time I was sent before the judge for a … let’s call it a minor traffic infraction. This was a judge who already didn’t have too favorable an opinion of me, so I was ordered to go to a driving safety class. It was at a uh … one of those community centers, ya know. 

I get in the classroom and I don’t pay much attention. I’m just preppin’ to not be obvious when I inevitably fall asleep, hopefully before the Red Asphalt style videos start.

The lady next to me, she says somethin’ like, ‘What are you doing here?’

I say, ‘The fuck you mean, what am I doin’ here?’

She thought I might be in the wrong room because I didn’t have any yarn. I look around, and sure enough, I’m surrounded by yentas elbow deep in yarn-based projects. It was at that moment I decided that I probably needed to invest in some reading glasses. 

I don’t know what came over me, but instead of simply getting up and going to the traffic class, I say, ‘I came here for somethin’ else, but when I was looking at that little sign out front, I thought “huh, knitting.” Obviously, I’m not prepared, so I thought I’d just watch.’

The old dear, she hands me her needles and yarn, and for the next two hours or so somebody’s grandma’s showin’ me how to knit.

Needless to say, I was called back before the judge to explain why I hadn’t shown up for the safety class.

‘Well, judge, I showed up but I went into the wrong classroom. So, instead of a participation certificate for listenin’ to some jagoff read out of a DMV manual, I made a tissue box cozy instead.’

At this point, I pulled the cozy out of my briefcase.

‘To be fair, I had to finish it at home. But, when I started, I was adjacent to the safety class. That should count for somethin’.’

The judge glared at me; but the bailiff, he laughed. I was given another chance to make up the class, and let me tell you, the knittin’ group was much more entertaining.”

[mere-mortifer-writing]

Imagine Being Loved By Me ♡ Sanji x Nami ♡ Explicit

♡ Read on Ao3 ♡ Rating: Explicit Minor/mentioned ships: Sanji/Conis; Sanji/Robin; Sanji/Vivi Wordcount: +15k; 4 chapters total Summary: A version of events where Sanji has enough game to pull a woman on every island they visit, and Nami watches from the sidelines as it becomes increasingly difficult to say no to a man everyone is else yes to—a man who would prefer her above anyone else. Main Tags: experienced!Sanji/virgin!Nami; jealous!Nami; pwp; porn with feelings; 5+1 structure

♡♡ Chapter One ♡♡ | Click to read more

I. The strangers

It comes to Nami as a surprise that Sanji’s love for women is not, in fact, a purely theoretical delusion.

She’s sure—she’s willing to bet her hard-stolen money—that back at the Baratie he was not getting laid. From what Nami observed back on the fateful day when they met, and the stories she then heard from Sanji’s own mouth, something was crystal clear: the clientele of the restaurant that Sanji called home was either too high-brow or too brazen to go for a gangly eighteen year old who was quite bad at being a waiter. Between his desperate flirting and the little baby fat left to round out his face, he might as well have had a stamp on his forehead spelling Virgin.

Then Luffy turned her existence into a whirlpool of danger and hope and fighting and success, and Nami got a little too busy rebuilding a life she was proud to call her own to worry about Sanji’s sex life, or inexistence thereof.  

It’s in Whisky Peaks that the issue is brought once again to her attention. 

Before everything goes to shit, between one beer and the next, she notices first that their group has drifted apart for the night. When living in close quarters as they all do on the Merry, spending some time away from one another is a matter of sanity, and whether or not they lose it—Nami in particular is feeling the fatigue of being the only woman in the crew, despite the luxuries that this fact provides: a private room, the assurance that no-one will barge in the bathroom when she’s showering, and Sanji’s unwavering belief that a lady should only eat her favourite food, handmade for her every day. 

It’s not a bad life. Sanji’s cooking veers on the side of excellence even on a bad day, and his advances—she would not admit to this if her own life were on the line—are a good counterpart to all the rough-housing the boys get into on a daily basis. All the flowery compliments to her “otherworldly beauty” aren’t that annoying if the other option is listening to the other three men workshop names for their attacks and fall into screeching laughter at the stupidest options they come up with.

So now, finally on dry land, they’ve all taken the opportunity to ignore their crewmates’ existence for a couple of hours. Zoro had stuck with Nami for a while, but now he’s strayed gods-know where—probably working in private on creating his next hangover. With little effort Nami also spots Luffy, somewhere to her right, eating double his body-weight in meat under the terrified stares of the pub’s owner. A glance behind her, and there’s Usopp, who has gathered a crowd that hangs from his lips as he spins whatever yarn he came up with on the spot.

And then there’s Sanji, who’s got two girls hanging off his arms and many more surrounding him. He’s got his usual lovesick expression, cheeks bright red from his flustered pleasure at the women paying him attention. One of the two plays for a moment with the lock of blond hair that falls over his eyes; Nami catches the exact second that Sanji falls in love, his lips stretching into a goofy smile. 

He’s gotten quite handsome. The group of women at his table seem to share the sentiment, since they are all acting as willing victims of his awful pick-up lines, touching his arms or giggling when he makes a joke.

Nami spends the rest of the night drinking all the locals under the table. 

II. Vivi

Vivi is beautiful beyond words. 

As soon as she reveals her true identity, her status as a princess becomes all of a sudden obvious in every detail of her persona: of course, of course she is, with her silky hair in such a rare colour, falling in gentle waves around her perfect figure—you can just picture her posing for a royal portrait. She’s got a soft voice drenched in love for her country, she’s got a radiant smile, and most of all she has an ever-present sadness in the sweet, cool grey of her eyes. It’s like she was genetically engineered to inspire both admiration and a deadly wish to protect her at all costs.

So the laws of nature command that Sanji falls in love with her at first sight. It’s such an obvious fact of life that no one thinks of warning Vivi herself that he’s going to act like a fucking idiot around her (always and forever), and that she no reason to worry because he is, at least in this context, quite harmless. 

It’s only after Nami catches the tail-end of an interaction between the two that she thinks of having a chat with her. This is the first time since she joined Luffy’s crew that she gets to spend an extended period of time with another woman, and since they both have similarly impressive body measurements, they even get to share clothes. Nami has decided days ago that they’re the bestest of friends, and best friends should talk about boys and giggle about how foolish they behave around pretty girls like them, and then cuddle and fall asleep in the same bed. The last point will not be further analysed. 

The pathetic scene Nami bears witness to is Sanji down on both knees, his shirt unbuttoned so low he’d be better off using it as a cape, kissing Vivi’s hand, possibly as a thank you for accepting the snack he prepared for her. Vivi says something with a smile, to which Sanji responds by falling back until he’s sprawled on the floor. 

Someone exits from the kitchen door behind her. “He’s so hopeless,” she hears Usopp comment, and then the loud slurp of him drinking something through a straw.

Nami turns to him with one raised brow. “I’ve seen how you blush when she so much as glances at you.”

“And I’m being so cool about it,” Usopp responds, slinking away with his long nose turned up.

Nami snorts, and when Sanji ends the theatrics by sprinting back to his feet and leaving Vivi to enjoy her food in peace, she makes her way to her.

“Hi, Nami,” Vivi greets her, leaning back on the lounge chair as Nami settles down next to her. “Want a taste?”

“No, no.” Nami waves off the offer of the dainty arrangement of melon and cured ham Sanji prepared. “I’m sure Sanji’s making something for me as well.”

“You know, I think I made one off-hand comment about loving sweet and savoury tastes together,” the princess comments. “And he remembered! Isn’t that incredible?”

Perfect, she doesn’t even need to introduce the subject. 

“Aren’t you used to this sort of treatment?” Nami asks, genuinely curious. It’s difficult to imagine Vivi having to scrap for affection in whatever beautiful castle she lives in. 

Vivi sighs, and sticks another piece of melon in her mouth, chewing slowly and with a pleased moan, going as far as sucking the juice from her fingers right after. Nami thanks every single deity that might or might not exist that Sanji is not there to witness the scene, or he might have become the first documented case of spontaneous death from nosebleed. 

“I guess,” Vivi says, like she just didn’t do something Earth-shattering or anything. “I’ve been away from Alabasta for a while, you know? Being pampered like this reminds me of home, it’s nice. Although…” Nami watches in horror as Vivi diverts her eyes and bites her bottom lip for one terrible moment. “Everyone back there still treats me like a child. To have a man treat me as a woman, instead—i-it’s different, you know?”

“I can’t believe it,” Nami whispers, her eyes sliding away from the sight of Vivi shy and flustered over a serving of cut fruit and ham to stare into the nothingness on the horizon. This doesn’t even approach the worst Sanji can do. Nami has been personally offered by him anything that goes from a full-body massage to his literal life in service of protecting her—if melon got Vivi in this state, she’s doomed. Completely past saving.

“What? Nami, what is it?” Vivi flicks her ponytail over her shoulder and leans down closer to Nami, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “Is Sanji, uh…off-limits?”  

Nami makes a noise akin to a mortally wounded tea kettle. 

Vivi blinks. “I don’t know how to interpret that.”

“Okay, you know what—this is a good opportunity to solve this mystery,” Nami exclaims, steam-rolling over the last five seconds of the conversation. “You’re a girl.”

“Correct.”

“A beautiful girl, a girl who could have anyone she wanted.”

“Aww!” Clapping her hands once before pressing them on her heart, Vivi blushes in delight. “Thank you, Nami! You’re also very beautiful!”

From not too far to their left, under the mainmast, Zoro interrupts his own nap to open one single eye, and sets it first on Vivi's back before sliding his gaze to Nami, eyebrows raised. There’s no judgement nor outward signs of interest, but Nami, terrified of finding out that Zoro is also a pig and a pervert, kills the homoerotic undertone before it can fully bloom. Tragically. 

“Yep, thank you. My point was, you’re all three of those things and yet Sanji’s bullshit is having an effect on you? I need to know the how and why.”

Zoro catches Sanji’s name and goes back to sleep with a slightly disgusted grimace on his face. 

“Well…” Vivi hums, lost in thought for a moment, and starts playing with the ends of her hair. She twirls the soft locks around her fingers, and Nami sees it happen live in front of her eyes: first, a shy smile tugs at her lips; then whatever gentle blush was brought around by Nami’s compliments becomes a furious redness that spreads even down the princess’ neck. “I don’t know why you react so negatively to him, if I’m being honest,” Vivi confesses, still not looking at Nami but imagining instead something Sanji-related that is possibly turning her on. While the man isn’t even in their vicinity. “He’s very sweet and sincere, I really like that in a guy. And also—”

Nami’s eyes go wide of their own accord. Here it possibly comes, the answer to all her doubts. “And also?”

Vivi shrugs, and stuffs another piece of melon and ham in her mouth. “There aren’t many blond men in Alabasta. I find him quite exotic.”

“Oh, that’s a relief!” Nami says, collapsing onto her back on the floor, pleasantly warm from the sun beating on the wood all day. “You just have shit taste, got it.”

It’s not the universal answer she was looking for, but at least now Vivi’s weakness for Sanji in particular can be explained away with her crush on him would die if I pranked him with hair dye in his shampoo.

She has to concede—silently, in the depths of her heart, undisclosed to non-authorized personnel—that Sanji’s bright, pure blonde is, indeed, a rare and pretty sight. 

III. Conis

Conis is extremely pretty, and the first human female Sanji lays his eyes on when they arrive on Skypiea, and if that wasn’t enough, she then completes the trifecta by being so obviously, so awkwardly into him that even Nami is rooting for her.

Not that that’s strange, or worthy of note. Why shouldn’t she root for her? Nami doesn’t care. She hopes she has a grand all time with Sanji! It’s not even a shock anymore—Nami has since long understood that it doesn’t take much for random girls to take a liking to tall men who cook very well. Since Vivi shared her fundamental expertise on the matter, Nami has to also add “fair hair” to the list of positive adjectives.

If cute sweet angel Conis wants to encourage Sanji’s sluttiness, Nami is happy for them both. 

Before the Strawhats’ stay on the sky island kickstarts the end of a civil war between the inhabitants, Nami is sure that Sanji works his magic on Conis when she isn’t  looking. He has ample opportunities even during that first lunch, the one Nami doesn’t stick around for because she’s very busy discovering how phenomenal of a waver rider she is. It’s only after days of pure terror, during which the entire crew takes turns almost dying a bunch of times, that Nami sees the two interact again—and this time, not in the presence of Conis’ sweet father in front of a cup of tea. 

Interact is way too gentle of a word for what she actually stumbles on. 

It happens during the huge, days-long party that everyone still alive takes part in to celebrate that very fact. The happiness about the end of war times overrides menial factors like “decency” or “sobriety” or “not having semi-public sex”.

Nami is focusing on winning the battle against sobriety in particular, always ready to beat her own record of how many grown men she can humiliate in a drinking challenge. At one point Chopper shoots her a lethal dose of sad puppy dog eyes, which she interprets as please don’t completely destroy your liver.

“Alright, alright,” Nami acquiesces. “I’m taking a break, doctor’s orders!” 

The three Skypeians she was drinking with boo her and then break into laughter when Nami stumbles straight into one the guy’s wings, getting a mouthful of feathers—in her defence the only light comes from the huge bonfire, which surely is aesthetically pleasing, but the dancing flames make it difficult to see where you’re putting your feet. Also, she’s shitfaced drunk because she didn’t take into consideration how the altitude would fuck with her alcohol tollerance. 

“Send the other sea-dweller to replace you, the scary dude with the swords!” one of the men calls behind her. 

“Why, you want to ask him where he puts the third one?” Nami jokes. Satisfied with the wild laughter she gets, she leaves the group with Chopper in tow, holding his tiny hoof to make him feel useful. They stop where there’s more fresh hair, and less screaming people. To him, she says, “You know, if Zoro does join those guys you should keep an eye on him. He never knows when to stop.”

Chopper nods sagely, and smiles up at her. “That’s called alcoholism.”

Nami blinks a few times before she finds how to reply. That’s a dark thing to hear from someone who looks like the most popular design in a line of cute animal plushies. “Yep,” she settles on, “Good luck fixing that. I’m taking a walk to clear my head, alright?”

“And drink some water! See you later, Nami!”

As Chopper sprints away, Nami stretches her arms and gives in to a loud yawn. Four days of non-stop festivities and she’s about to hit her limit.

She walks aimlessly, with her mind mostly empty apart from the intent of keeping away from the crowd, and the fresh night air quickly helps her sober up a little. While it’s a shame that so much of the ancient city crumbled during the fight with Enel, Nami does find the ruins quite comforting and peaceful, and as she passes by them she touches the moss that has grown on the older ones, wet from the night’s humidity. The party becomes a pleasant background noise, joyful but muted by the distance, and it’s the animals’ furtive movements in the nearby trees, or the more clear bird calls that ring from high above, that fill the air.

Nami smiles, closes her eyes, and sends a message of thankfulness to whoever’s listening that all her friends are okay, in the end.

“Mmh, Sanji, aah—”

The peace is shattered. It dies painfully at her feet when Nami’s eyelids spring back open, and a truly terrified shiver runs down her spine. 

Behind what’s left of a stone column, which looked so pleasant and harmonious and lovely five fucking seconds ago, some girl just moaned Sanji’s name. In the best case scenario, Sanji is also present on the scene. 

The theory is confirmed when a low murmur, unmistakably a male voice, follows, and then both the girl and Sanji giggle and moan some more, because Nami knows what both a giggle and a moan in Sanji’s voice sound like. They come out of his mouth whenever Nami praises his food or generously accepts his jacket if it’s too cold out. 

She should walk away. Her legs don’t listen. Alright, then if not away, just not in the direction of the moaning and shuffling of clothes and whispered sweet nothings. 

Nami’s walking straight to it, because she’s still drunk and there’s no fucking way someone else is making him sound like that—wait, what? 

Before she can makes sense of her train of thought, and the mild anger simmering at a low boil in her stomach (could be the sky beer or whatever the fuck she’s been drinking all night), she’s already both approached and rounded the Godforsaken Column of Public Indecency, and she’s presented with the nightmarish vision of Sanji, his hair so wild that for once both his eyes are visible, leaning back against the rock, with fucking Conis, duh!, sitting on his legs. 

The couple hasn’t spotted her yet. Nami exists for a few seconds in a fugue state where she doesn’t move a muscle to leave, and stares instead at Sanji’s hands wrapped around Conis’ waist over the fabric of her usual white dress, spanning the circumference of it so easily his fingers meet again on either side. He has the most lovestruck look Nami’s ever seen on him—and she would know, she’s been the cause of many—while he bounces her on his lap and ohmygods they’re not making out they are having sex!

“Fuck! Shit! Sorry!” Nami practically yells, breaking out of her stupor with sudden violence. As the two lovebirds startle in unison, she slaps both hands over her eyes while trying to retreat, which is not a good strategy because not two steps later she falls back on her ass. “I didn’t know—” Liar! “—sorry, sorry, you guys keep going!” What?!   

She knows in that moment that no god is real, just like Enel wasn’t, because not one of them strikes her dead and ends her misery. She has to regain her vision if she intends on running the fuck away without cracking her skull open, although such a possibility now sounds like the optimal course of action. 

“Nami-san,” she hears Sanji say, with the tone of a man facing the choice between the death row and a terminal illness. The way it mixes with the obvious arousal due to having his cock inside another person, right now in front of her, makes for a weird combo.

“I heard—nevermind what I heard, I didn’t want to interrupt but also like maybe get an actual room,” Nami babbles, trying to stand up and turn around at the same time so she can avoid another eyeful of Sanji’s fucked-out face and pretty, tiny Conis sat on his lap. 

“There are no more rooms on the island,” Conis mumbles. Right, because everyone’s home was destroyed. Nami has the decency to feel bad for reminding Conis that her life as she knew it is over forever. She’s very clearly trying to distract herself from the fact. Sanji, meanwhile, must have fallen in a meditative silence at being caught literally with his pants down. 

Nami sprints away from the scene, possibly breaking the speed of sound. 

Chopper will have to forgive her if she’ll be aiming for an alcohol-induced coma for the rest of the night.

[17-noodlebird]

*breathes in*

So I had a weird dream last night....

I had a dream I was working at a night shift at a 24/7 sushi bar, with all my coworkers. It was like 3 in the morning. We were making sushi, and a bunch of rice balls/onigiri (the rice balls were the customers' to-go snack for a road trip.

Said customers were none other than The Amazing Digital Circus themselves.

Me and my coworkers were gossiping and commenting what was going on in the tiny dining area, though we could hear what they were saying.

Zooble and Gangle were having a mini-date for themselves (obviously surrounded by the company of their companions), hence why they ordered the sushi.

Pomni was just kinda out of it, being sleepy and all (do keep in mind, it was like in the middle of the night)

Jax was snuggling up with Ragatha, because she was feeling very drowsy, having been the designated driver to this sushi bar.

Caine was completely drunk (hence why Ragatha was the designated driver that night) and threw up in a potted plant that happened to be here in the dining area. Kinger was the one to help the wasted ringleader (back rubs and all), and we kinda just watched the whole thing happened. I don't remember if I was the one to ask one of my coworkers to check in on Caine, or if it was another coworker, but one of my coworkers ended up checking up on the two (we didn't want to take any chances, stomach bugs and food poisoning cases are potential health violations in this facility, don't ask how I came to that conclusion). Kinger confirmed what we had suspected — the teeth man was drunk out of his mind (another coworker pointed out he walked a bit funny and needed assistance).

We had nicknames for the characters cuz we didn't know their names and plus, they were definitely out of the ordinary:

Zooble was referred to as "Zolo" (I was told by a third coworker of mine that they remember having Zolo toys as a kid, before their mom forced them to get rid of them in a yard sale), Gangle was referred to as "Ribbons", cuz what else was she supposed to be anyway? Ragatha was called "Redhead" cuz of her red hair made of yarn, Jax was referred as "The Rabbit" or "Mr. Rabbit", I can't exactly remember. Pomni was "Jester Girl", take a wild freaking guess as to why lmao. I remember a fourth coworker blurting out "Is that a walking chess piece!?" so naturally, Kinger was called "Walking Chess Piece" by the staff. Caine was referred to as "Teeth Man".

A fifth coworker, who did all of the cooking, and I mean ALL OF IT, was taking his sweet old time with the rice balls. And I quote from Toy Story 2: "You can't rush art!"

So anyway, as Zooble and Gangle ate their sushi, and the others waited for the rice balls to be finished, we were kinda just... Talking amongst ourselves watching everything happen from afar, and checking up on the customers every once in a while.... The chef coworker finished the last of the rice balls, much to the relief of our customers, who were beyond drowsy. I could hear what Jax and Ragatha said, but based on what happened next, it looked like Jax was going to be the one driving because of how sleepy Ragatha was. That was kinda what happened lol.

✨ Now Part 2 Of My Dream Was Zooble x Gangle smut— ✨

I dunno man

[lowglowinq]

My observations from the Welcome Home secret Episodes and Other Important Items. (Some details will be reblogged on this post.)

Hidden Video Link Summaries

These are summaries I created of each secret of @partycoffin's Welcome Home episodes and the few things I've notices in them. I have yet to review the audio linked from the pictures drawn by Wally, but I am curious if they are the "Answers" to each question that cuts off the video.

These episodes can be accessed by finding all the bugs on the pages of the Welcome home website. I will late post all their locations, but the links will be pictured below.

In all the episodes, there is a loud dial sound or a noise cutting to the video at the beginning. The video ends when another character mentions Wally, causing the video and audio to glitch. We seem to be viewing Wally’s point of view in these episodes.

“Answer"

Howdy delivers yarn to Poppy and procures a ���yarn spinner” which is most likely a handheld whisk. Poppy is appreciative but skeptical about this device, as she already has help from Wally.

POV- We are sitting on a quilt with yarn in our hands looking at the ground. He remains rather stationary the entire time.

2. “Answer”

Sally is asking Poppy to make her a cake for an upcoming show or play. She wants a huge three tier cake that’s vibrant and showstopping. Poppy inquires about the flavor or the cake, but Sally hadn’t thought that far ahead since the audience wouldn’t be able to taste it from their seats. Then Poppy asks Wally what he thinks and that’s when the video ends.

POV- We are sitting on a quilt with plates of tea, an apple, pancakes, and a duck plate of a single piece of broccoli. Compared to last time, we see Wally move his hand back and forth from the teacup in front of him.

3. "Answer"

Sally has come in to Howdy’s grocery store to buy either chips or potatoes. She wants something light, something not as heavy as chips so Howdy suggests mashed potatoes. She ends up getting those and a bunch of other food that seem inedible. Then Howdy asks if Wally wants anything.

POV- We are facing two cereal boxes. The cereal box on the right is moved forward slightly during the video.

4. “Answer”

Frank tends to his flowers while Barnaby makes insufferable jokes. He insists that Barnaby leave since his jokes are poisoning his flowers. Frank then asks Wally how he deals with Barnaby, ending the video.

POV- We are sitting in the tomato garden surrounded by clothespins of red, blue, yellow, orange. To his front right, there is either a pulverized or half eaten tomato and to his left is a blue clothespin facing upside down in the dirt. These clothespins oddly look like people.

5. “Answer”

Eddie is delivering mail when he trips and falls over. He gets back up and mentions that he ran into a few buildings today and played hopscotch that Julie drew earlier. He delivers the mail he has for Wally, and Barnaby begins to chase Eddie who is supposed to deliver his Kazoo collection today. Eddie runs away as Barnaby makes it to the front to Wally.

POV- We look to be staring at the ground with leaves on the left side and an odd-looking teethed stick in front of him. The ground seems to be covered in letters.

6. “Answer”

Frank is talking with Julie about how there are beetles eating up the tomatoes he’s grown. He wishes they would leave the tomatoes alone so Julie suggests that they put up a sign to tell them that they can look but not touch. But Frank insists the beetles can’t read. Julie believes that they can because they have big eyes, but Frank says that comment was rude, and they poke fun at each other with rude jokes. Then Frank suggests coming up with a joke to save his Tomatoes, saying that with the three of them, they could figure something out.

POV- We are pointed down in at the ground, similar to the position in video 4, where we are in the tomato patch. This time the clothespins are rearranged and where the blue clothespin was, are a few yellow tomatoes that have been half eaten and lightly covered in dirt. The red tomato on the right is covered in dirt too.

7. “Answer”

Julie is instructing Eddie on how to be a good associate of the “Breen Berry” company, with her as President Joyful. She is demanding that Eddie follow along at her pace, as it is difficult to run a business. Julie gets a phone call from someone and finds out that the company has gone broke, and she goes on a rampage. Eddie gets a call from Barnaby who’s looking for Wally and Eddie hands Wally the phone.

POV- We are looking at a piece of paper with a drawing of a pie and a drawing of Wally with the word “Breen” written at the bottom. There are crayons and some colored paper next to him.  

8. “Answer”

A bell rings and Frank enters the post office where Eddie is freaking out about a beetle in the office. Apparently, it has been rummaging around, making a mess of things, so Eddie called Frank to catch it. Frank teases him and catches the beetle, taking it away.

POV- We are next to a pile of paper chains and paper, looking down at them.

9. “Answer”

Poppy is trying a new recipe out, one that involves fruit and seeds, with no gelatin. Frank comforts her as they talk about the food. Frank references that if the muffins were shaped into butterflies and had the seeds in them, that could’ve saved his garden from the previous episodes. Poppy is so worried she will burn or hurt herself in some way as she takes out the muffins and Frank reassures her, asking Wally to assure that everyone is safe and sound.

POV- We are looking down at a plate and an apple shaped game of tic-tac-toe. A tray of fruit and seed muffins slide onto the table, and later a handkerchief or towel is put down beside it.

10. “Answer”

Sally is rehearsing a play where Julie is princess turned queen and house is her knight in shining armor. Julie is supposed to be reading from the script but she keeps adding wacky lines declared as law, which in turn frustrates Sally. Sally lets it go and then emphasizes how difficult directing is to Wally.

POV- We are looking at a script procured by Sally, showing the lines that Julie is supposed to be reading.

11. “Answer”

Julie is making jokes to Barnaby and says that they are absolutely terrible. Julie continues to try and prove that they’re good, exclaiming that Frank thinks she is funny too. Barnaby continues to tease her, and Julie tries to get Wally to agree that she’s funny.

POV- We are looking at the leaves as the sun peers through them. It looks as if it were sunset.

12. “Answer”

Howdy is telling a story about his very extensive family members and Barnaby acts to be interested, trying to follow along in Howdy’s tale. Barnaby makes some jokes about the play-on-words and they both laugh. Then Howdy asks Wally how his drink is.

POV- We look down at a table with a sundae to our right and a spoon and a blue swirly straw to our left. The tablecloth is striped red and white.

13. “Answer”

Eddie delivers a bunch of packages to Howdy and finds he needs to deliver a bunch of bowling balls to Julie.

POV- We are looking at a bunch of multicolored apples.

14. "Answer"

Barnaby is making jokes to House who replies with squeaks and creeks. Barnaby then makes a joke that House doesn’t like and Barnaby tries to prove that he is funny. Then Barnaby notices that Wally has stopped painting and is acting weird.

POV- We are starring at a blob of white paint and a blob or red paint.

[thelastdiamondpiratealchemist]

The Digital Virus

A strange digital virus has been spreading around the Amazing Digital Circus like wildfire; Pomni, the newest cast member, is unfortunate to catch it.

(This was my first TADC fanfiction.)

A strange digital virus has been spreading around the Amazing Digital Circus like wildfire; Pomni, the newest cast member, is unfortunate to catch it.

Pomni walks by herself down the red carpet hallway; she soon grunts to herself, her head feeling suddenly fuzzy, and well… It’s a little glitchy, too.

As Pomni continues down the hallway, her glitching intensifies. Her footsteps become unpredictable, causing her to stumble and trip over her feet. She tries to regain control, but her limbs move uncontrollably as if puppeteered by an invisible force.

Her voice, now distorted beyond recognition, emits incomprehensible sounds. It fluctuates between high-pitched squeals and deep, guttural tones. The once melodic and enchanting voice that captivated audiences now fills the air with an eerie cacophony.

She squeaks as she covers her mouth with her hands, her eyes turning into dark squiggles. Was she finally Abstracting?!

Did she finally lose her mind enough to turn into that monster that Kofmo turned into?

“Pomni?” a familiar voice, Ragatha, called out to the Jester girl. Pomni clears her throat and slaps herself across the face, halting her glitching.

“Heeey, Ragatha…Good morning?” Pomni lop smiled as she let out a nervous laugh.

“Pomni… what’s happening to you? Are you alright?” Ragatha gives Pomni a concerned look, her eyes scanning the glitching jester.

Pomni tries to sound cheerful despite her distress, but her voice still wavers in pitch.

“Oh, you know how it is, Ragatha. Just a little digital hiccup, nothing to worry about!” She quickly stifles another glitch as her arm twitches involuntarily.

“Are you okay? You seem a little nervous?” Ragatha arches her eyebrow, and Pomni throws up her hands in response.

“I’m fine!” Pommi laughed awkwardly. She looks over her shoulder while she tries to think of a lie or something, “I think I can hear Caine calling me, so uh…See you later!”

Pomni ran off before Ragatha could say another word; the red yarn-haired doll curled her lips into a frown as she placed her hands on her hips.

“She’s being more paranoid than usual,” she shakes her head.

Ragatha decides to follow Pomni at a distance, concern filling her heart. As she trails behind, Ragatha notices Pomni’s glitches becoming even more pronounced. Pomni’s step creates a wave-like distortion in the air around her, causing flowers to bloom and wither in rapid succession.

Ragatha quickens her pace, determined to catch up and offer her help. But as she reaches a corner, Pomni disappears. Confused, Ragatha looks around, only to find an empty hallway. Panic starts to creep into her thoughts, and she wonders where Pomni could have gone so suddenly.

“Pomni, wait!” She called out, and she looked around at her surroundings.

Just as Ragatha is about to call out for Pomni again, she hears a faint giggle from a nearby door labeled “Janitor’s Closet.” Curiosity getting the better of her, Ragatha approaches the door and slowly pushes it open, revealing a sight beyond her wildest imagination.

Inside the closet, she finds Pomni surrounded by a swirling vortex of glitched code. Her limbs move in an erratic dance, pixelating and reshaping with each movement. Pomni’s once vibrant color scheme flickers, shifting between saturated hues and monochrome tones.

“You’re not ‘Okay’…” Ragatha pointed out, making Pomni flush pink slightly.

She was never a good liar.

“I…I don’t know what’s happening…” Pomni admitted, looking at her glitching hands.

“I…Sorta do, we get ‘sick’ sometimes around here,” Ragatha admitted.

“How? We don’t have to sleep, eat, or anything else!”

“Well, it’s more like a ‘virus’ corrupting your code… That’s what Caine said anyway,” Ragatha further explained.

“But why me? Why now?” Pomni asked, her voice trembling with fear.

“I don’t know, Pomni. Viruses can be unpredictable. Maybe it’s just bad luck.” Agatha sighed, a solemn expression on her face.

“I don’t want to be like Kofmo,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t want to turn into a monster.” Pomni’s glitching intensified, the vortex growing more prominent and more chaotic. She felt like she was losing control over her own body.

“We won’t let that happen. We’ll find a way to fix this, Pomni. We’ll find a cure.” Ragatha placed a comforting hand on Pomni’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Agatha.” Pomni looked into Ragatha’s eyes, finding solace in her friend’s determination.

After a half hour searching, Caine and his assistant, Bubble, came to visit his Cast; he was taken by surprise seeing Pomni’s body glitching.

“Huh…I wasn’t expecting to see this!” He exclaimed. Pomni winced at how loud the “chattering teeth man’s” voice could be, “My dear Pomni…You have quite the virus!”

“Can you help me?” Pomni asks, her eyes turning into squiggles again.

“….”

“I don’t like that silence,” poor Pomni shuttered.

Caine scratches his chin, deep in thought. Bubble, his assistant, stands by his side, analyzing the glitched code swirling around Pomni.

“I’m afraid this virus is unlike anything I’ve seen before,” Caine finally responds, his voice sad. “But fear not, Pomni. We will find a way to fix this! You need a little TLC!”

“TLC?” Pomni and Ragatha exchanged glances.

“Tender, love, and care!” Caine points out three fingers from his hand, his right hand briefly detaching from his wrist. Caine continues, “You see, viruses in the digital world can be quite tricky to combat, but with the right approach and care, we can help you recover.”

“But we should confine you to your living quarters so this virus won’t spread!” Caine added, “We don’t want a pandemic to break loose!”

“N-No…I guess not,” Pomni nodded, feeling relief and sadness at being isolated, but she understood the importance of containing the virus.

Ragatha, seeing the conflict in Pomni’s eyes, placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “We’ll be here for you, Pomni. We’ll visit you daily and ensure you’re not alone.”

Pomni’s glitching intensified momentarily but gradually calmed down as a small smile formed on her pixelated face.

After Pomni returned to her room, she lay quietly on her bed, her body and voice still glitching wildly; she decided to close her eyes as she tried to get some “sleep.”

Eventually, she found herself walking up, Caine’s face only inches apart from her face; Pomni yelps as she falls out from her bed and lands flat on her back as she grunts.

“Oof!” She grunts, rubbing her backside before sitting on her knees. She then realized the Ring Leader was dressed in a nurse’s outfit.

Pomni felt even more of the color draining down her face once she noticed two balls shoved down the nurse’s dress resembling a woman’s breasts, mainly because of how large they were.

“Why are you dressed like that…?” Pomni asked, hesitating, wishing what she saw was a “Digital Hallucination.”

Caine chuckles softly, adjusting the nurse’s hat on his head.

“Oh, this old thing? I thought I’d cheer you up in your recovery process, my dear Pomni! Laughter is the best medicine!” He reaches out a hand to help her up from the floor. Pomni takes his hand, still feeling uneasy about the situation.

“I suppose so, but isn’t a nurse’s outfit a little… unconventional?” Pomni blushes and looks away, flustered by the Ring Leader’s peculiar outfit choice.

Caine shrugs and adjusts the nurse’s cap on his head.

“Well, sometimes unconventional methods are necessary when it comes to viruses. Plus, it will make you feel better, my dear.” He said.

“Alright, if you say so, Caine. Just promise me one thing – no more surprises like this, okay?” Pomni couldn’t help but smile nervously despite her embarrassment.

“No promises there!” Caine laughs as he adjusts his red ball “boobs,” Pomni clears her throat again, wondering why Caine placed them there in the first place.

Caine had also placed a pillow onto his backside, making his glutes look bigger than it was.

Pomni’s body glitches out before she can speak again, her voice changing to a higher pitch.

Caine’s eyes widen with amusement as Pomni’s glitching continues.

“Oh, my dear Pomni, you’re quite the entertainer even in your glitched state! Maybe we should incorporate this into your act at the circus!” He chuckles, twirling his nurse’s hat on his finger.

“I…uh… I’m not sure about that, Caine. It’s a little embarrassing, you know?” Pomni blushes, unsure how to feel about being a spectacle even when she’s glitching, “Can you help me feel better? Is there a pill, vaccine maybe…?”

“I don’t know what those are,” Caine admitted, Pomni groaned inertly, “Bubble?”

“Yeah, Boss?” Bubble appears, wearing a stethoscope around its neck.

“Let me barrow you ‘Heart Hearing Device.’” Caine added that placing the stethoscope’s earpieces into his nonexistent ears, he took the cold metallic diagram and placed it against Pomni’s heart, but it was facing backward; the “bell” was pressed against Pomni’s chest.

“Pomni, I can’t hear your heartbeat!” Caine exclaimed, Pomni winches, “There must be something w-.”

“It’s backward, Caine,” Pomni quickly interrupted, pointing her red gloved hand at the stethoscope, her anxiety almost bubbling.

Caine blinks, realizing his mistake. Caine blushes deeply, realizing his mistake; he quickly adjusts the stethoscope, placing the smooth part of the diagram against Pomni’s chest. He closes his eyes and listens intently, trying to hear any irregularities in her heartbeat.

This time, he hears the faint but steady sound of her heartbeat.

“Ah, there we go!” Caine exclaims, his face brightening; he places the stethoscope onto different parts of Pomni’s chest.

“Caine…H-“ Pomni was cut off by Caine’s hand covering her mouth; she let out a small squeak,

“My dear Pomni, you just need to relax and let me do my job,” Caine says with a mischievous smile. Pomni’s glitching intensifies as she tries to speak but is unable to. Caine removes his hand and looks at her with an eyebrow raised.

“What were you going to say, Pomni?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Pomni blushes and looks away, not sure if she should continue. But with a deep breath, she gathers her courage and speaks up.

“I…I think it would be best if you took your hand off my mouth, Caine,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Caine’s eyes widen in realization, and he quickly removes his hand, a sheepish expression on his face.

Meanwhile:

“So, Newbie has a virus? I knew it.” Jax rolled his eyes as Ragatha explained the situation.

“Yeah, people get sick, Jax!” Ragatha pouted, “And we need to be careful; there is a chance of this virus spreading to all of us!”

“Please don’t say that!” Kinger coward, clutching his hands together, visibly shaken by the thought, Kinger looked around anxiously as if expecting the virus to manifest in front of him suddenly.

“Don’t worry, Kinger. We’re all in this together. We’ll find a way to stop the virus from spreading and ensure everyone stays safe.” Ragatha placed a reassuring hand on Kinger’s shoulder.

“And how do you propose we do that? We’re just circus performers, not scientists.” Jax crossed his arms and looked skeptical.

“How do we know you don’t have it?” Gangle asks Ragatha nervously.

“I don’t, only time will tell…” Ragatha admitted, watching Kinger and Gangle panic as Jax remained calm and Zooble, well, remained like…Zooble… “This is gonna be a long day…”

Back with Caine and Pomni:

Caine tried everything he could to cure Pomni’s virus, watching as her body glitched again.

“Agh…!” Pomni felt pain briefly shooting across her small frame; Caine thought for a moment.

“Since laughter is sometimes the best medicine, maybe….” Caine began to suggest.

“N-No tickling, Caine.” Pomni shakes her head. Caine secretly places a feather back into his back pocket, smirking mischievously.

“Who said anything about tickling?” Caine replied innocently, his eyes gleaming with amusement, knowing his secret attack failed as Pomni arched her eyebrow.

“So…The virus started this morning, correct?” Caine asks.

“Yeah…”

“I think I figured it out!” Caine snaps his fingers.

“You do?! What is it?!” Pomni asked, her voice breaking. She covers her mouth with her hands, her lower half glitching and sparking.

“You’re new here.” Caine said, “So… You’re not as immune like the others.”

“But why would being new make me more susceptible to the virus?” she asks, her voice filled with confusion and concern. Pomni nods, her glitching intensifying as she tries to control her body.

“Well, you see, Pomni, the longer you’ve been in the digital circus, the more you become acclimatized to the viruses that float around here. It’s sort of like building up an immunity.” Caine sighs and rubs his chin, deep in thought.

“So, because I’m still new and my code is not quite adapted, the virus was able to affect me more severely?” Pomni’s eyes widen, a glimmer of understanding in her glitching gaze.

“Exactly. Your code hasn’t fully integrated with the circus yet, so it’s more vulnerable to outside influences like this virus. But I’ll figure out a way to help you, Pomni. I won’t let this keep you down.” Caine nods.

“Thank you, Caine. I appreciate your help and support.” Pomni smiles gratefully, the glitching in her voice momentarily subsiding.

“Of course, my dear Pomni. We’re a family at the Amazing Digital Circus and stick together through thick and thin!” Caine returns her smile, his eyes filled with determination.

Before Pomni could speak again, her body glitched and shook violently, causing her to stumble and fall to the ground. Caine quickly rushes to her side, his nurse’s outfit slightly disheveled.

“Pomni! Are you alright?” Caine asks with worry, helping her back up.

“I… I don’t know,” Pomni stutters, her glitching worsening by the second. “It’s getting harder to control.”

Caine furrows his brows, pondering possible solutions. Suddenly, an idea sparks in his mind.

“Bubble! Bring me the Debugging Tool!” Caine calls out to his assistant, who quickly scurries off to retrieve the requested object.

“T-■e w◇h♤?” Pomni couldn’t even speak anymore; her eyes widened with fear.

Caine rushes to Pomni’s side, a determined look in his eyes. He gently takes her hand in his and tries to calm her down.

“Don’t worry, Pomni. We’ll figure this out,” he reassures her. “The Debugging Tool is a special device that can scan and analyze your code. It might be able to pinpoint the source of the virus and help us find a way to stop it.”

As Bubble returns with the Debugging Tool, Caine takes it from him and examines Pomni’s glitched code. He connects the device to her digital interface and begins the scanning process.

Pomni watches with anxiety and hope as Caine works diligently to analyze her code. The glitching starts to subside slightly, giving her a small glimmer of relief.

After what feels like an eternity, Caine finally finishes the scanning process. He disconnects the Debugging Tool and looks at the results, his expression turning serious.

“Pomni, it seems this virus is deeply embedded in your code,” he explains. “It will take some time and effort to delete it.”

Pomni’s heart sinks at the news, but she remains determined. She nods and takes a deep breath.

"I u♡ders♧and, Ca€ne. Wha《eve● it ta×es, I w*n| to get r^d of this virus,” she says.

Caine smiles a mix of pride and compassion in his eyes. He pats Pomni’s hand gently, offering her reassurance.

“That’s the spirit, Pomni. We’ll work together to find a way to eliminate this virus and restore you to your full potential.” Caine’s voice is calm and comforting, instilling a sense of hope in Pomni’s glitching heart.

“I hope this virus doesn’t spread to the others,” Pomni thinks.

“Caine, don’t you dare tickle me!” She snapped, feeling something tease under her left arm.

“Alright, no tickling, I promise. We’ll focus on finding a solution instead.” Caine chuckles mischievously but holds up his hands in mock surrender.

Thank you, Caine. I trust you’ll do whatever it takes to help me.” Pomni lets out a sigh of relief, her glitching calming down slightly. “Can we do it now…?”

Caine nods and starts planning out a treatment plan for Pomni. With Bubble’s assistance, they gather various tools and programs that might help resolve the virus. Caine explains his approach to Pomni, ensuring her trust in him.

They begin by executing a diagnostic program on Pomni’s code, scanning for anomalies or corrupted segments. The program reveals several areas of her code infected by the virus, causing glitches and instability.

Caine and Bubble work to isolate the infected code and develop a specialized antivirus program. They carefully inject the program into Pomni’s code, targeting and neutralizing the virus.

As the antivirus program runs, Pomni’s glitches diminish, and her movements become more controlled. Her voice returns to its normal melodic tone, and her color rapidly returns.

“How do you feel?” Caine asks,

His eyes filled with anticipation.

Pomni takes a moment to assess herself, a glimmer of hope in her glitching gaze.

“I… I feel better,” she says, a genuine smile forming. “The glitches are subsiding, and I feel more stable. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Pomni. I’m glad we were able to make progress. But it’s not over yet. We must continue monitoring your code and ensuring the virus doesn’t resurface.” Caine smiles warmly at Pomni’s response, relieved to see her improving.

Pomni touches the sides of her face, pushing her fingers into her cheeks, feeling the familiar smooth texture. She takes a deep breath, savoring the relief of being free from the virus’s grip.

“Now that we have eliminated the virus, it’s time to strengthen your defenses,” Caine says, his tone determined. “We’ll update your security protocols and install firewalls to prevent future attacks.”

“How do you expect to do that?” Pomni asks, curiosity evident in her glitch-free voice.

Caine leans back in his chair, taking a moment to think before responding.

“We’ll start by analyzing the virus itself,” he says. “We’ll dissect its code and understand how it was able to infiltrate your system. From there, we can create stronger defenses and fortify your digital walls.”

Pomni nods, understanding the seriousness of the situation. She knows that she could be vulnerable to future attacks without proper defenses.

Caine continues, “We’ll also implement regular security updates and conduct periodic scans to ensure your system remains clean and protected. Additionally, I’ll educate you on potential warning signs and safe coding practices to minimize the risk of future infections.”

“Will I have more virus in the future?” Pomni asks worriedly.

“Yes, it happens to even the best of us!” Caine crossed his arms onto his chest, his false ball breasts bursting at the pressure.

Caine quickly puts his arms back down, realizing his mistake. He clears his throat and continues, trying to ignore the awkward moment.

“Well, there’s always a possibility of encountering viruses in the digital circus, Pomni,” he explains. “But with the strengthened defenses and your increased understanding of safe coding practices, we can minimize the risk. And if any viruses sneak in, we’ll be prepared to identify and eliminate them quickly.”

“I understand,” Pomni nodded, trying to focus on the situation, ignoring Caine’s false chest bursting.

“Anyway…I will let you rest now. When you feel 100 percent, join the others on your next Adventure.” Caine spoke, quickly teleporting from Pomni’s room.

Pomni watches as Caine disappears, feeling a mix of gratitude and anticipation. She knows that she still has a long way to go before fully recovering, but with Caine’s help, she feels hopeful. She takes a moment to relax and let her glitching subside, feeling the relief of being virus-free.

As she lies in her digital bed, Pomni thinks about the future. She knows that she needs to strengthen her defenses and be more vigilant in protecting herself from viruses.

She’s determined to learn more about safe coding practices and stay updated on the latest security protocols. She doesn’t want to let another virus bring her down again.

With renewed determination, Pomni closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep, knowing she’s in good hands with Caine and the Amazing Digital Circus. She looks forward to the day when she can join the others on their adventures with a more vital, virus-free code and a brighter, glitching less future ahead.

[megthemewlingquim]

wasteland, baby! | three: concerning the dreaming and your new companions (the coming of storms)

Summary: You spend a few weeks in the Dreaming and get to know your new friends. But something is wrong. Storms are coming.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: I will reitorate that there are MAJOR SPOILERS for The Sandman graphic novel series here. If you have not read “Fables and Reflections”, “Brief Lives”, “The Kindly Ones”, and “The Wake”, I would recommend you wait to read this until you have done so. This chapter contains dialogue from Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman" issue 57.

Read the previous chapter: two | concerning your time spent away from the dreaming

wasteland, baby! masterlist

“Is it ready yet? Are you done?”

“Nearly. There we go. There we are. All ready for you to make into something wonderful.”

“That’s me darling girl…”

“What are you making him, then?”

“I can’t say that I’m entirely certain, my popsy. But it’s a fine yarn and I don’t doubt that it’ll suit.”

The next few weeks in the Dreaming are lovely.

When you started to get yourself used to The Dreaming, you toured with Lucienne, who accompanied you through the vast landscapes and sights that surrounded you. 

You saw Fiddler’s Green again. He was happy to see you, and just as lovely as you remember. The bright green fields and streaming waterfalls and beautiful flowers were a sight for sore eyes: you grew to realize why travelers dream of that place.

You saw the Lake of Dawn, which was on one side of the Dreaming. A beautiful countryside lake, it was decorated with the morning sunrise and shades of pink, orange, yellow, baby blue, and gold. It looked like a painting, the colors of the sky all fading into one another.

The Mandrake Wood was a small forest of little plants. You were instructed to keep your hands off of them, or else they would either scream or give off a very weird smell that would’ve made you see things.

The Via Lacrimae was not a Road of Tears, contrary to what your studies had made you believe. It was a limitless sky filled with thousands of stars. Though it was beautiful, it gave you a terrible sense of loneliness and isolation. This, Lucienne told you, was a place where depression took hold of your dreams. You knew, without her saying, that somehow your cell, the place that you first saw Morpheus in years past, resided here.

The Archipelago, a series of small tropical islands, was so far away that you and Lucienne had to take a boat to cross the oceans to get to it. To you, the boat was much more modern and futuristic than you were used to, and it was very disorienting to look at. But Lucienne was patient, and described it as “a boat that humans use nowadays, in the current year.” The Archipelago itself was small and lonely, but still beautiful and almost neutral in atmosphere. It was a resting place.

The Love Fields were overwhelming. A frantic, shifting, loud, and passionate place like this would only exist in dreams. The sky and ground were the deepest red color, not dangerously so but the color of blush, the blush that spreads across the face and shoulders and chest when infatuated lovers are at their most vulnerable and intimate. The ‘fields’, as they were described, were not fields at all. They were bodies, naked bodies of all shapes and colors and sizes. Everywhere you looked, there were people fornicating, desperately and passionately. The sounds of moans and sighs and ecstatic cries were constant. You did not spend a long time there; the second-hand embarrassment was too strong.

Nightmare Country was on the other end of the Dreaming: a dark, desolate place with gray skies and stormy weather and barren, fruitless, dry ground. You saw many creatures there, the grotesque and the uncanny, the typical horrors of children such as clowns and spiders. You met Cain and Abel, the first murderer and the first victim, respectively. Cain was a snappy, sarcastic man with eyes like daggers, and Abel was a bulkier, gentler man with a severe stammer and watery blue eyes. You also met Goldie, the baby gargoyle who was equal parts ugly and adorable, and Gregory, the older gargoyle who resembled a very large puppy. You liked Abel immensely, but felt very wary and cautious around Cain, despite his reassurance that he would not hurt you.

The borders of the shifting zones were the last stop on your tour for the week. You saw the borders of Fiddler’s Green, a couple of schools and gas stations in the middle of nowhere, lonely houses that did not have any doors or windows, some mountains, and the desert sands. The liminal spaces, the uncanny valleys, these were the shifting zones. You did not get too close to any of them, lest they would suck you up and ensnare you.

A week later, you met Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Matthew, and Nuala. What Morpheus said was true: Mervyn Pumpkinhead is, in fact, a sentient scarecrow with a pumpkin for a head. Matthew is a raven, dark and smooth. Nuala is a small fairy, not beautiful but sweet, with pointed ears and wide brown eyes and tousled brown hair.

“So, uh, you one of Boss's new broads?” Mervyn had asked, a cigar smoking in his gloved hand. He inhaled from it, and exhaled the smoke from his nose… and his eyes, and his mouth.

“Mervyn,” Lucienne scolded.

“What?” Mervyn raised his hands in self defense. “It seems like yesterday that the Boss was getting over… uh, what was her name… I forget. Name of a region — Aeolia or something. I dunno. It's been a while since we've mentioned her though… or maybe it hasn't been. Time is so screwy here.”

“Lord Morpheus… had a lover?” you asked softly.

“A lover?” Mervyn laughed once, almost in a scoff. “Kid, he's had a few lovers. There was that princess from Africa, ten thousand years ago. There was… Killala, the cosmic being. There was that one woman who was made for him, literally. Don't ask, it didn't go well.” Mervyn paused. “None of 'em go well.”

“Maybe this one will,” Matthew chimed in.

“Guys,” you said bashfully, “I'm — I'm not one of Morpheus's new lovers. I'm just a visitor.”

“For a hundred years?” Matthew cawed. “I doubt he’s given that amount of time to any dreamer.”

“He just… felt bad that I was stuck for that long. I’m sure you would do the same if you were him.”

Nuala, the fairy, looked up at you with a kind smile, but there was something in her face that didn’t sit right. You couldn’t tell if she was scared or sad, or something else. “I’m sure he missed you terribly.” She looked down at her feet. “He must’ve been really sad when you were gone.”

You couldn’t deny what Nuala had said; you’d heard it yourself, from Morpheus. He did miss you terribly. But it wasn’t just you: there were others that went missing. You were sure he missed them just as much, if not more.

“It was awfully nice of him to bring you back though,” said Matthew, thankfully before you could figure out how to respond to Nuala. “Back when I first met him, he wouldn’t have done that. He would’ve left you there, I think. Something changed in between then and now. I don’t know what it is.”

Lucienne blinked.

“He doesn’t tell us much,” Matthew continued gravely. “We’re kinda… left in the dark a lot of the time. And y’know, I’ve been thinking, too… about certain things.”

“What are ya thinking?” asked Mervyn.

Matthew opened his beak to say something, but then he shut it. “It’s nothing… It's fine.”

He opened his wings and flew off, out of the library. 

“Is he alright?” Nuala asked. “I’ve never seen him so… distraught.”

“I’m sure he’ll be alright,” Lucienne sighed. “This happens with Lord Morpheus’s ravens sometimes. They get worried when they haven’t seen him for a while. They get restless and can’t stay in one place for long.”

“When do you think we’ll see Morpheus again?” you asked.

“I’ve not the slightest clue. He’s on the shore, but he wouldn’t want to be disturbed while he’s working. He'll come back to us eventually. He always does.”

There is a river that runs through the Dreaming. It fluctuates between deep and shallow, choppy and still, depending on Morpheus’s mood. Today, you are sitting at the edge of the land there, your feet hanging over the site and lightly touching the water, which mostly still: a wave rises here and there, sometimes small, other times quite large. But they do not hurt you; they rise, and then they fall as quickly as they come. 

He is uneasy, you think. But… about what?

Looking up at the castle in front of you, you shudder. The skies are becoming gray and storm clouds are rolling in, shrouding the Dreaming in a murky, dark blanket that does not seem secure at all . Something is happening.

A miniscule black dot swoops down from the air, and lands in front of the castle entrance. The castle itself is on top of a very high mountain. You are able to recognize the black dot as Matthew: he is talking to the Gatekeepers.

The Gatekeepers are the Griffin (a lion with an eagle’s head), the Wyvern (a dragon) and the Hippogriff (a winged horse). They are gigantic creatures mounted on marble platforms, towering over the equally gigantic entrance to the castle. They gaze at Matthew with the utmost neutrality, but they speak to him nonetheless. You cannot hear what is being said.

Morpheus is uneasy. Something’s wrong.

Standing up, you gaze at the storm clouds and look to your left. A long ways away, you can see a beach, a shoreline, and a lake that stretches on forever. The waters there are getting choppier.

Stupidly, perhaps, you begin to walk forward, towards the shore. Toward Morpheus.

It takes a while for you to get to the shore — it’s on the very edge of the Dreaming. A wind has risen and it seems to draw you backwards, as if keeping you from moving forward. Sand starts to get in your eyes. It reminds you of the shifting zones, and you fight the urge to sink to your knees and let yourself be buried.

“That’s not very nice of you,” you mutter into the air. “I know you may not want visitors right now but… I would like to see you.”

Two seconds pass, and the wind dies down. You are now able to see something far away on the shore, on an open plot of sand and surrounded by rocky cliff sides. A tall man with pale skin, covered in a dark cloak. He is surrounded by other humanoid figures.

Slowly, you begin to see him more clearly as you join him on the shore. He is… making… these figures around him: they are half-finished, some lacking faces or mouths or limbs. Some are disgusting and monstrous, almost like the nightmares of children… and others are normal looking, like the nightmares of adults. Some of the humanoid people are so normal looking that you would think they’re fellow dreamers, but something about them is off just enough that you are stricken with a sense of unease when you look at them.

There is one that stands out more than the others. A tall, young, naked man with white hair. His eyes are closed. He looks more finished than any of the other nightmares around you. Something about him looks waxy and dead, as if you were looking at a corpse, or even a mannequin. You recognize him, somehow… You don’t remember ever meeting him, but he looks like someone you may have passed on the street without ever paying him any mind — well, maybe you would have begun to date him, if he had asked. He is certainly handsome. But your attention lingers less on this man and more on Morpheus.

The Dream Lord is concentrating hard on his work. He is gazing with narrowed eyes at the man he is creating, and he shapes the man with his hands, altering the nose or the chin or the arms like clay.

Without turning away from his work, Morpheus addresses you. I apologize for that. Truly, I appreciate your presence. But why did you come here?

“Storm clouds are coming in. Merv and Matthew and Nuala are worried about you… I’m worried about you. Are you alright?”

Morpheus says nothing for a little bit. Then, he looks back at you. His eyes, usually starry and bright, are dim and tired. He looks shrunken, exhausted. I am… perfectly content. Thank you for asking.

“You’re… pardon me for saying, but you’re an awful liar. What’s wrong?”

Despite the comment, Morpheus offers you a tiny smile. You’ve found me out. Ah, I am just… thinking… about things. Or… trying not to. That is why I am so focused on my work. Do not trouble yourself with worry, dear one. I will be fine.

“What are you working on?” you ask.

A nightmare. I am… recreating him.

“Recreating? What happened to the old one?”

I uncreated him. He was… petty, and foolish. It was my error. I made him, unintentionally, to be too ambitious and too cold. Nightmares should be frightening, yes, but not malicious. They exist only to reveal a dreamer’s fears so that they may face them, not to cause fear and unrest for the pleasure of it. He will be a protector now.

“Nightmares reveal a dreamer’s fears. Can I ask you what my nightmares mean?"

Morpheus stops what he’s doing and puts his hands in his jean pockets. Thunder rumbles in the clouds. 

Some time ago, I was asked to interpret someone’s dreams. He asked me, “I was floating on the sea, calling my wife’s name. What does it mean?” This was when I was cold and ruthless and distant, and I told him, “Am I a hedge wizard, that I should interpret your dreams for you? Dreams are composed of many things… images and hopes, fears and memories. Memories of the past and memories of the future.” I did not tell him what his dreams meant, and this inaction caused him to be unprepared for what awaited him in the near future. He was… distraught… by my unwillingness to let him know. But I did not indulge him.

I shall, contrarily, indulge you. First, what do you think your nightmares meant?

“The fear of solitude.”

You would be correct, but that is not all. You are afraid of cruelty and neglect, and you are afraid of those you love rejecting you. Your cell was a manifestation of that fear.

“Why did you save me?”

From your nightmares? I am not cruel. This nightmare was overperforming, much like the nightmare you see standing before us. He had done his duty, but… he had done it for the pleasure of it. The Corinthian, before I uncreated him, had swayed more than just mortals in his ideology of fear. He had persuaded other nightmares, too. That will not happen again.

“Do you do that often? Save people from their nightmares?”

Often? Define ‘often’. There are trillions upon trillions of beings in the universe. Morpheus grins. They all dream. I would not want you to trouble yourself with the amount of times I have… interfered… in the nightmares that overstep their bounds. It happens more times and more frequently than the human mind can comprehend.

“Oh.”

It seems like the thunder has quieted down, and the gray skies have become just a bit lighter. You feel content there, with Morpheus, on the sands of the Dreaming.

Morpheus turns and looks across the sands. Someone is coming, he says suddenly. I did not send for anybody. His voice is tight. I shall send you to the castle. I will rejoin you shortly.

“What?”

A raven caws.

Once more, in the way of dreams, you are instantly in what seems to be a broom closet of a kind. It is a small, cluttered room with various kinds of brushes and construction equipment. The room does not smell very nice, either. Delicately, you step over the equipment and make your way to the doorway. Turning the knob, you exit the janitor’s closet and find yourself in the castle, in the North wing. The door has a sign on it that reads: JANITOR’S CLOSET. A piece of paper below the sign contains the words ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH. MERV PUMPKINHEAD. in crudely scrawled capital letters.

You are not alone at the moment. You are surrounded by different creatures; servants of Dream’s, perhaps, or citizens of the Dreaming with free roam.

Nuala the fairy runs past you, the soles of her bare feet slapping the cold floor. It almost looks like she’s not quite touching the ground, but it could just be your mind playing tricks. She looks scared.

“Nuala?” you ask. “What is it?”

She does not answer you. She disappears around a corner.

You look around. None of the other creatures appear to be under the same stress. They walk leisurely in the castle halls, without a care in the world.

You don’t know where to go. You could go… pretty much anywhere. You pick a direction — to your left — and follow the hall. Down steps and through the labyrinth of the castle, you slowly arrive at a part of the castle that you have not seen before.

It is a long, wide, dark room with nothing in it except seven wall decorations: they look like mirrors, or maybe picture frames. Elaborate gold borders surround circular spaces, and almost all of these spaces each hold an item: in the first, you see a large, worn, dusty book. In the second, a small silver ankh. In the third, a mirror. In the fourth, nothing. In the fifth, a red jewel that almost looks like a heart. In the sixth, a tiny ring with a sharp fish-hook on it. In the seventh, a misty and unstable swirl of floating color.

Something about both the heart and the ring intrigues you. You step forward silently, making your way to them. Your feet make no sound on the floor below you.

Your fingers brush the smooth surface of the heart.

You are standing in a wide, smooth corridor colored the deepest red. The surface of the corridor — the floor and walls and ceiling — is the same the whole way through. It looks like a cave of sorts, but you have no trouble seeing.

It looks like the room you were just in, with its own wall frames and items. But there is a person laying on what looks like a couch in front of you. They face away from you, but they speak to you:

“My, my, this is a lovely surprise, don’t you think? I haven’t had visitors since… well, since my sister gave me this.”

The person holds up a tiny red flower in a beautifully manicured hand. He, or she, or… whoever… does not turn to look at you.

The voice is sultry and seductive, buttery and dangerous. You cannot place if it is a male or female voice. Sometimes, it is deep and sensual, like a man’s, and other times it is lighter and more mischievous, like a young woman’s. You do know that it holds power, and the power that it holds is dangerous and sharp, like a knife’s edge.

“You’ve wandered here on your own accord. You wanted to come here.”

You feel compelled to step closer, and you do. It’s almost involuntary.

Did I want to come here? you think. I don’t…

“You did. I should know. I am wanting. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe not. Maybe you had a feeling, deep down, in your heart, exactly what that glass heart meant. What it means for you.”

Your mouth has gone dry and you cannot muster up any words to speak. As you hear this person talk, you realize that everything they are saying is true, even if you have no idea what any of it means. This person is like Morpheus. This person knows you, knows you more intimately than you'd ever know. But there is a danger here, that knife-like sense, that keeps you from being comfortable with it.

“What does it mean?” you manage.

The person chuckles, and it's a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Wouldn't you like to know? I can't tell you that, sweet thing. That would ruin the fun of it. You'll know soon enough.”

The person turns around and looks you in the eyes.

You are looking at the most beautiful person you have ever seen. Whether they are a man or a woman… you cannot tell, and you don't care. Beautiful tawny eyes the color of yellow wine. Deep maroon lipstick and dark eyeliner. Their skin is pale like smoke. You suddenly smell summer peaches, and your mouth waters. Somehow, though you cannot tell why, you know that to see this person is to love them. 

But… you don't.

You see them, right in front of you. You know that to look in these yellow eyes is to forsake anything else, leading to your ruin or your triumph. But you are doing just that — looking into the yellow eyes — and you hold your composure. You do not fall in love.

And that's when it hits you.

You know. You know who this person is.

Desire.

Dream has family, you think, swallowing thickly.

“My big brother has quite a large family, actually,” Desire says nonchalantly. “You've already met his son. Pity how he turned out.” Desire's face scrunches up in confusion. “It seems to me… that my brother's influence has gotten to you. Normally, any mortal would be begging on their knees for me to even glance at them.” They scoff, an amused smile on their face. “He must be really wrecked for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Desire shrugs, their smile fading into an expression of disinterest. “It wouldn't matter even if I told you. It won't last.”

“This is about — Dream?” you ask, trying to make sense of what Desire is saying.

“Things are always about Dream,” they mutter. “Even me. I don't like it.”

“I don't understand.”

“Mortals rarely understand anything. But, if anyone asks… if Dream asks… I don't have anything to do with anything that's going on right now. But deep down, he knows that. And you'll know that soon enough, too.” Desire smiles. It is, like everything else about Desire, knife-like and sharp.

But their eyes…

Their beautiful yellow eyes are screaming. 

Desire's eyes twitch, and they spill over with tears. The smile, all happy and mischievous, stays the same. “You poor thing. I'm starting to like where things are going. It's a pity it's going to end.”

They wave a hand and you feel a lurch as you are yanked backward by a very strong, invisible force.

You're back in the long room of Dream's castle. You are holding the glass heart with both hands, and immediately upon recognizing it, you frantically put it back on the wall. Biting your lip, you slowly back away from the heart, keeping your eyes locked on it.

Your back meets a body and you whip around with a frightened yelp.

It is Dream. His eyes are soft and concerned. What did you see?

You're panicking. “I'm sorry — I didn't mean to go anywhere, I was just —”

Dream shushes you, and the sound is soothing and quieting. It sounds like an invitation to sleep, a soft lull that slowly brings you down into the bliss of unconsciousness. He takes a hand in yours and swipes his thumb over your skin. His voice is so, so soft. I am not asking for an apology. What did you see?

“I saw Desire,” you whisper.

Dream instantly tenses up. His eyes are wide and pained, and he glances over at the glass heart on the wall.

But then his eyes go to yours again. It is no matter. Please, dear, do not trouble yourself with this. I shall deal with my sibling in my own time. Desire should know by now not to meddle in my affairs.

“Your — your affairs?”

You are a guest in the Dreaming. My guest. You are under my protection for as long as you live. This is an affair of mine.

Morpheus's hand moves up to stroke your cheek, as if you were a little child. Desire will not harm you again. This I swear.

“Desire didn't — didn't hurt me.”

Dream's eyes are piercing then, but his harsh gaze is, once again, not directed towards you. 

Yes, they did.

[thesmallmeggles]

WIP Wednesday

I'm still working on the Macaron & Zanzo "Burnout" fic. ✍️ Though this time around, I wanted to share a different WIP: "Zanzo's Revenge" (Aka "what if Zanzo had more presence in the DLC?")

Contains Spoilers for Arcade Mode! Update!

👇Is under the read more👇

"Mister Chai!" an all too familiar voice crows from somewhere out of Chai's sight line. "Destiny aligns our paths once more." Zanzo emerges from behind a server tower with a Cheshire cat grin.

Chai cocks his head to the side. "Shouldn't you be in prison or something?"

"I'm under more of a probation right now. But on to business!" Zanzo points upward. "I've arranged a special challenge for you."

....

Chai brings out his trash grabber with a flick of his wrist. "I beat you once. I can do it again."

Zanzo clicks his tongue. "Let's even the playing field."

An electric bolt jolts Chai where he standa, not unlike what occurred in the testing chambers. He feels drained. "Ugh, what happened now?"

"You've been downgraded!" Zanzo says with a little too much enthusiasm. "If you want your abilities back, you have to earn them."

*****

Chai finds himself inside a messy computer desk filled room. (Stagnant air, deactivated PGR-0101 units slumped over at their desks. An odd drone punctuated by beeps from a mini blimp encircling the space. Reading notes, some of them funny. Chai shudders at the contained DM-ET1L. A bearded robot wearing thick framed glasses had been pierced with multiple arrows, including one in the knee joint.)

On top of a desk at the furthest wall lays the gift basket in its red, gold, and Zanzo merch filled glory. Chai taps on one of its sides with his knuckles, relieved it is solid. Given the basket's pristine state compared to everything else in the room, Chai figures it must have been moved here recently. But who-?

"I forgot how creepy this room is." Zanzo mills mere feet behind Chai, scrutinizing his surroundings with a curled lip.

"Let me guess, this studio was one of your 'pet projects'," Chai says.

"While Vandelay Gameworks existed within the Research & Development Department, I wasn't responsible for its daily operations. Shocking as that may sound." Zanzo strides up to Chai's right. "For your exemplary performance - a long overdue reward." He bows at the waist, gesturing to the basket.

"Oh, sweet," Chai says. "I'll make sure to put it somewhere special."

Peppermint speaks up through 808. "All the junk in there will be great as target practice."

A half hearted laugh escapes Zanzo, and he rubs the back of his neck. "As long as it's useful to you, that's all that matters." A pause. "Now that everything's settled, farewell. I need to catch up on some episodes." He salutes Chai before turning around and appearing to blink out of existence. Right, the temporal displacement thingy, Chai reminded himself.

808's lights shift from blue to yellow as CNMN takes control of her. "This may be my observation alone, but didn't Zanzo seem uncharacteristically low energy during this interaction?"

"Was he? I didn't notice." Chai attempts to lift the gift box. It's not heavy, but its size makes it awkward to handle. "Let's get this up to the hideout. I'm dying to know what other goodies are inside."

"Wait for me, Chai!" Macaron calls out. He appears at Chai's side, scooping up the box one handed with ease.

****

Zanzo unplugs from the ceiling mounted terminal with a sigh. Handing over the gift basket to Chai went about as well as he expected. It'll take some time to decipher this jumbled yarn of inner feelings, but for now he needs to fly. With haste, Zanzo clears out the program tabs and shuts down the computer, plunging the office in darkness. He zips toward the door, stumbling over some object and catching himself in the same moment. The hallway is empty when he peered out. Good.

Apart from a few close calls, no one halts Zanzo in his retreat from Research and Development. Back when he was department head, he could readily excuse his after hours presence. He's unsure what he could say now. Intense LED streetlight almost drives Zanzo back into the building. (Imagine that being bothersome after being surrounded by lava!) Thank goodness his apartment is within walking distance so he won't need to suffer long.

Airi should be in charge mode, which means Zanzo can continue his stealth streak. Once inside his bedroom, he can remove his prosthetic legs and maybe one arm unassisted, but he would need help for the remaining limb. Crap. Although! Zanzo could press the release button against a wall and shimmy out of that second arm prosthetic. If Airi happened to roll in to check on him, he could say he passed out with it attached. Wouldn't be the first time.

Zanzo leans too far into the window, tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud. He hisses as pain wracked his body. Hopefully he didn't break any bones. That would be an awkward conversation for the doctor. Yes, I busted my rib cage climbing through a window.

Airi rushes through the door. "Zanzo! What are you doing?"

"I rolled out of bed?" Zanzo offers with a faint smile. He sits up, stiff but thankfully with minimal pain.

"I would believe that if you were anywhere near your bed," Airi says with their arms crossed. "And if you were not wearing your neural wires."

The wires twitch as Zanzo's smile becomes a grimace. "I had business to address, alright? A loose end in need of tying."

"You went to the AI Labs." Airi slams their grippers to their head, as anxiety rises in their voice. "The one place you are not permitted to be."

"This is a one time violation. It won't happen again. I promise."

"How could I have overlooked such an egregious security gap? There are going to be repercussions for sure."

"Airi." Zanzo places a hand on one of Airi's arms. They cease their anguished pacing, blinking at Zanzo with their huge yellow tinted eyes. "Take it easy, alright? You're going to burn out your battery."

"Will you tell me what you were doing in the AI Labs while I get you ready for bed?" Airi asks. "Seeing as it is currently twenty nine minutes past eleven o'clock pm?"

Zanzo glances at an alarm clock on a shelf with furrowed brows. "Curfew only applies to travel."

"A regular sleep schedule is integral to continued good health." Airi pauses, then adds with extra emphasis: "Including those with day jobs."

[blessyourhondahurley]

No Harm, No Fowl (Yet)

Dean comes to Cas's garden with a surprise.

Suptober prompt: Red Flufftober prompt: "I hate you" – "I love you too" Fictober prompt: "You’re looking, but you don’t see." Inktober prompt: Fowl

(Read on AO3)

This fic is a continuation of Keep Me Fed All Year although it also makes sense as a standalone...

Dean finds him in the garden. Of course he does. Why did I bother looking anywhere else? he wonders. He's keyed up, jittery with excitement over what he's about to do, but he stops anyway, stands outside the low fence that surrounds Cas's flowerbeds, and looks.

He surveys the flowers, hundred and hundreds of assorted blooms that crowd every inch of the available space with a riotous splash of colors. He checks over the little fence that he and Cas built together, noting its continued sturdiness with approval. But most of all he watches his husband, follows his movements as he tends to his plants, ogles the way his biceps bulge his sleeves when he carries a tray of seedlings.

He only intends to pause for a moment, to enjoy the view and collect his thoughts, but he loses track of time. He might have stood there all day, except that eventually Cas looks up and sees him. The smile that splits his angel's handsome face in that moment washes out the floral rainbow in Dean's sight. Flaming red dulls to maroon. Sunny yellow fades to beige. Natural splendor whomst? Dean thinks besottedly. Don't know her. Only one beauty worth admiring around these parts...

“Dean!” Cas calls, standing up off his kneeler. “I didn't hear you get back. How were your errands?”

“Good, good,” Dean replies. The jittering anticipation is back, and he struggles to keep his tone light. “Dropped off the books at the library, picked up your order at the yarn store, checked the PO box...”

“Anything good in the box?” Cas asks, because he knows that Dean uses that box to order all sorts of useful and unusual things off the internet. His weekly trip to the post office has become something of a mini holiday between the two of them. Some weeks he comes back from town with a new bronze knife or an obscure book of lore, some weeks it's a box of fancy liquor-filled chocolates or a bottle of high-grade lube. This week there was only one package to pick up – deceptively small, metaphorically huge. Dean keeps his mouth shut, though, just smiles and nods.

Cas cocks his head and furrows his brow at Dean's unexpected silence. “Are you going to tell me what you got?” he prompts.

“Try and figure it out,” is Dean's reply. He assumes parade rest position and smiles serenely.

“Figure it...?” Cas repeats, squinting. Dean hums and waits.

“Did... Is it something I already knew you'd ordered?”

Dean shakes his head no.

“Is it for us to use together?”

An emphatic yes.

“Intimately?”

Tough call, Dean thinks, answering with a waggling, equivocal yes but not like that kind of head movement.

Cas stops asking questions and stares hard at him for a full minute. If Dean wasn't absolutely sure that Cas's remaining “10% angel” doesn't allow for direct mind reading any more, he'd throw a flag for cheating. Still, it's uncanny how focused and direct and on target the next question is.

“Is that a new t-shirt?”

“Brand new,” Dean purrs.

“Come closer, I can't read it.”

Dean files this piece of information away for later discussion. He's suspected for a while now that Cas needs glasses. He allows himself one fleeting fantasy  –  a vigorous round of “stern librarian and naughty patron” with his newly bespectacled hubby. Then he mentally tables the issue and steps forward.

Cas reads his shirt and gives him a nonplussed look. “I don't get it,” he states, voice flat.

“You're looking, but you don't see,” Dean says, throwing a little sass into his tone.

His husband gives a huff, already exasperated with this game. “It says 'FOWL PLAY' in big fancy letters. So it's both cryptic and badly spelled.”

“Nope, the spelling is correct.” Dean can see the burgeoning annoyance in his husband's features. It's time to make the big reveal before the fun turns into frustration. “Do you give up?” he asks with a soft smile.

“Ugh, you know I hate to give up, but yes. What's the deal with 'Fowl Play'?”

“It's the name of our farm.”

“Our...?”

“Farm, Cas. The farm we're buying, where you're gonna be able to raise chickens and keep bees and grow flowers. You can even plant a vegetable garden and I promise I'll eat what you grow.”

“Dean, what?”

“It's about seven miles from here. Good land. A little over five acres. There's a farmhouse, three bed  two bath, and a barn, and there's already a nice big chicken coop with a covered yard. I put the word out in town a while back that I was looking, and the owners of this place got in touch with me a couple weeks ago. They're good people. They're heading down to Florida to retire, and they want their place to pass to someone who will love it like they have. They're ready to sell, and if you like it, we're ready to buy.”

Cas is speechless, one hand against his mouth in shock.

“We've both been wanting to get out of the Bunker and into a place that's a little more... Us. This place is perfect, baby. Think of it as an early anniversary present.”

His still-bemused husband laughs at that. “I hate you. An entire farm as an anniversary present? I'll never be able to top that.”

“I love you too, sunshine,” Dean replies fondly. “But technically, really, it's only a farmette. And besides, this gift is for both of us. So do you like the name? I figure, we need a catchy name if you're gonna sell your honey and eggs and stuff at the farmer's market like you always talk about. And Fowl Play's pretty cute, right, cuz of the chickens? I had a shirt made for you, too. I even thought of a motto!" He turns around to show Cas the back of the shirt. "'They lay, we play'. Huh?”

“We can workshop it,” Cas replies tartly, but Dean knows it'll stick.

Hot damn, he thinks. We're gonna buy ourselves a farm.

Concludes Continued here...