#sulat ni kad

[thekadster]

such a pretty house (a silent hill 2 oneshot)

Fandom: Silent Hill 2

Word Count: 1,304

Content Warnings: Grief, mourning

Summary:

James didn’t really know what he wanted anymore. He wanted her—he always would. But he had been given a second chance. (Or: James' inner thoughts about grief and parenting after he adopts Laura)

also read it on ao3!

Of course he’d have nights like these again.

Black and white static flickered on the TV, gentle shapes dancing across James’ face. The channel had gone dead while he was asleep. Now, he was sitting on the couch, hunched over, propped up by his elbows on his thighs. He stared at some distant point on the carpet. The house stood as silent as the grave, save for the falling and rising of his chest.

The noise in his ears brought a certain solace; it seeped into his mind, filling in tiny networks of cracks and fissures. It reminded him of the sea. It had been ages since he went to the beach. The last time he’d gone was with…

Ah, there it is.

A familiar ache bloomed in his chest. He used to wince at the sensation, but these past few weeks might as well have been years. Guilt and shame had become two of his best friends and worst enemies. Ever faithful like the stars, they never failed to remind him that they were always there, looking out for him. That he could turn to them—whether he wanted to or not.

James didn’t really know what he wanted anymore. He wanted her—he always would. Gods, how he wished she were here. He could almost imagine the weight of the couch shift beside him. Maybe, if he stayed still like this for long enough, he could feel her hand on his shoulder, hear her whisper to him.

But heaven knows he lost his chance. They lost their chance.

No matter what they did, perhaps it was always going to end this way.

“James?”

He nearly jumped at the sound. Looking up, he saw Laura standing in the doorway. His gaze softened. “Laura, what are you doing up so late?”

“I just wanted a glass of water,” she answered, holding the half-empty glass in question. “What are you doing up so late?”

James paused, glancing away for a moment. “I fell asleep.” He switched off the TV. “I was just watching something.”

Even in the dim light, he could tell Laura wasn’t entirely buying it. A pit settled in his stomach; this kid had been able to see right through him since the day they first met.

“I bet you haven’t brushed your teeth yet.” She took a few steps towards him. “I bet your breath smells gross.”

The beginnings of a smile appeared on his face. “Lucky guess.”

“Ew!” she laughed, the sound bubbling through the room. Even with her mockery, it helped lift James’ spirits slightly.

He shook his head. “I’ll be up soon, you go on back to bed.”

But she remained there, taking a few more moments to look at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. “Are you okay?”

His heart skipped a beat. Such an innocent question froze his world in its tracks. “Yeah, just… tired.”

Laura may have been young, but both of them knew she wasn’t stupid. The lines on his face, the grain in his voice, the burden in his eyes—they told enough. It didn’t take an eight-year-old to figure it out.

“Okay,” she mumbled. She stepped back and gave him a little wave. “Well… goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, returning the gesture.

Once the pitter patter of her feet faded away, his eyes scanned the room. His mind lingered on the girl’s gaze. He hadn’t expected nor wanted her to see him like that, especially not after the hotel. He couldn’t help but wonder how he looked through her eyes back then—what monster did she see?

Did she see it again tonight?

James heaved a sigh as he leaned back in his seat. His eyes landed on a framed photo on top of the television. He swallowed a lump in his throat. The picture was of him and Mary, posing together next to some railing overlooking a river. He remembered that day—the sun in their eyes, the ice cream, the big blue sky. They got lost on the way there; in classic husband fashion, he’d insisted he didn’t need the map. After they spent ten minutes in the winding forest and missed the turn two towns over, she eventually convinced him to follow it. Frustration and reprimand were evident in her voice, but neither of them stayed mad about it. It was their day, after all. Mistakes happen, and they’d only lost so much time. As the sun went down, they laughed about it on the way home.

Now, he didn’t even have a map. He’d never felt so out of place in his—their house before. They had long dreamed of having a child, and in some twisted way, James had gotten his wish. He wondered what she’d say now, what she’d tell him to do. She knew Laura better than he did, anyway. All while he stewed in his own impatience and hate, the two forged a connection greater than anything he could ever hope to see. In what little time Mary had left, she made a family of a stranger. And he never bothered to notice.

But that didn’t matter now. He’d been given a second chance, thrust back into a world now both familiar and foreign. While Silent Hill still sometimes haunted him in the unholy hours of the night—visions of the park, the nurses, that damned pyramid-headed freak—it couldn’t hurt him anymore (physically, at least). He had stepped into that town and walked away alive—and with company, too.

For himself and Laura, all they had now was each other. After the nightmare was over, she had nowhere to go, no one waiting for her, and he couldn’t bear to leave her alone. It took a while to organize the adoption papers, but she was now a Sunderland. Still, he knew well that she had her own reservations about him. He didn’t expect her to totally forgive him for what he did to Mary. Truth be told, neither did he.

Her letter sat safely in his bedside drawer. He hadn’t reread it since he got home; he felt he would crumple instantly. All the same, whenever James needed her the most, it always rang out to him. It wrapped its arms around him, laid its head on his shoulder, traced the bags under his eyes with gentle thumbs. Every line, every letter reached out to hold his hand, to remind him that their marriage, while doomed, remained a wonderful thing. That he had her blessing to go on.

And so, with trembling limbs and gritted teeth, he would. Come hell or high water, he was determined to fulfill her final wish. Though he was still reeling from the fact that he was now technically a father, he resolved in his heart of hearts that he was going to give Laura the best damn childhood he could. He’d take her to school, help her with homework even when he may not understand it. He wanted to eat ice cream with her on a sunny day, to walk with her in the rain, to hold her when times got harder. He would make sure her glass would always run over.

The future was wide open, almost swallowing him whole. His sins had shattered all he knew into angry, dreadful shards. But he continued onward, stepping over jagged fragments. Day by day, he would pick up the pieces, even as they cut his fingers, and reassemble what he could. His chest stung at the very thought, but at least he knew that grief wore the same face as love. Part of him was glad it smiled at him at all.

James was going to live for himself, and for others. James was going to live.

But first, he needed to sleep.

[thekadster]

love never takes, but i've seen it take everything (a silent hill 2 oneshot)

Fandom: Silent Hill 2

Word Count: 382

Content Warnings: None

Summary:

Silent Hill recently gained another legend tied to Toluca Lake. (Or: an article from the Silent Hill Gazette about James and Mary after the In Water ending)

also read it on ao3!

THE SILENT HILL GAZETTE

September 6, 19██

---

Silent Hill recently gained another legend tied to Toluca Lake.

Since one month ago, a few witnesses have claimed that they saw two figures on the lake’s surface. One of them is a man who looked to be in his late twenties. Some reported seeing him slowly walk along the water, his head turning here and there, his gaze wandering. The other is a woman of the same age with the same sort of mannerisms. Splotches and scars were scattered across her skin.

Accounts of them only occurred on foggy days, sunsets, or pitch-black nights. Every single part of them was drenched in water, from their hair to their clothes. Moss clung to the pair’s tattered clothing—the man’s green coat and the woman’s faded brown jumper—as if they had crawled out of the lake itself. Others even said that their eyes were milky white, akin to the haze that would overrun the town in the fall. 

Their faces held unease and dread, no sound coming from their mouths as they’d call out into the air. At the sight of them, one could sometimes hear distant disjointed echoes just over the waves, something caught between a wail and a whisper. But just like their figures, they would fade away before long.

Most notably, no one has ever seen the two together. Their apparitions tread in such random patterns that one would expect them to eventually meet, but they never do. Some residents surmise that they’re searching for each other. Perhaps they had loved each other in a past life, but by some cruel fate, had been cursed to never cross paths in the next. Perhaps that was the reason for their drowning, for their confusion and sorrow.

To this day, no one knows who these two souls were, nor if they’ll ever find each other. It’s still debated whether seeing them brings luck or misfortune. Some consider the two as a bad omen, the sign of a breakup or the end of a relationship. Others, however, believe the opposite, regarding them as a symbol of hope undying. A sign that a partner’s devotion is strong enough to persist even after death.

Whatever the case, Toluca Lake has always been a special place for lovers.

[thekadster]

puppet boy (a natewantstobattle drabble)

Fandom: NateWantsToBattle

Word Count: 757

Content Warnings: None!

Author's Notes: My first time posting in over a year!! Forgive me if I'm rusty, I'm still trying to slowly get back into the swing of things, but I'm glad I'm making progress anyhow KJHKDJFG

Possible origin story for Natemare!! I wrote this based on some art I did in 2021 for Goretober (no blood involved in the actual picture, though there are a lot of sewing pins). The prompt was "Pins" so I drew Natemare as a puppet on strings, very Coraline/Identity V esque artstyle, a bit FNAF inspired too.

Summary:

"He didn’t scream. He didn’t even know if he could.

His mind raced with countless possibilities and questions. Who had turned him into this? Why was he now a doll? Why were there indigo tear streaks painted from his eyes? Could he ever turn back? Someone knew how to do that… right?

Right?"

also read it on ao3!

Consciousness came slowly.

Even under the thick fog of sleep, the first thing apparent to Nate was the hard surface under his back. Had he fallen out of bed? Rare, but not unheard of. Perhaps he’d been fighting some over-worthy adversaries in his dream.

His brows furrowed. He arched his back to stretch his bones with a groan. His hands reached up to rub his eyes, but immediately stopped.

All at once, the world screeched to a halt.

Nate stared down at his hands. The smooth, soft, overfamiliar, and under-remarkable texture of his skin had been replaced by sewn-together bits and pieces of cloth. Hurried hands searched his face, but only found the same. His blood ran cold, though he was beginning to doubt if he still even had that, too.

As he scrambled to stand, he was thankful his joints still functioned like how they should. However, who—or what—he found in the mirror quickly quelled his spirits.

Literal brown button eyes stared back at him in the dim dusty light. His once silky black hair was replaced with threads of yarn of the same color. The patchwork of his hands extended all the way up until his chin, where two neat and clean halves of beige cloth had been stitched together down the middle of his face. His mouth had been fixed into a wide white grin, rendering his lips frozen.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t even know if he could.

His mind raced with countless possibilities and questions. Who had turned him into this? Why was he now a doll? Why were there indigo tear streaks painted from his eyes? Could he ever turn back? Someone knew how to do that… right?

Right?

Nate subconsciously lifted his hands to his face once more, the slightly rough make of the fabric under his fingers. All the while, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his new form, its wide unblinking eyes and permanent smile nailing him to the floor. He sighed; at least his eyebrows were expressive.

Trembling slightly, he rose to his feet. He spotted a door on the far side of the room but was suddenly yanked back when he went to make a break for it. At first, he didn’t know what had pulled him, but then saw a wooden cross caught between some crates. The cross pushed against the crates with his every tug.

Fingertips met delicate fiber. His heart stopped.

The cross pulling him back was around half his size. Dust flew into the air every time he tried to yank himself free. Whoever had rigged him up to this thing probably hadn’t been back here in a long time. He didn’t know whether that was good or bad.

Plush limbs strained against invisible strings. The wooden crates screeched against the old floor, screaming at him to stop. It pierced his ears terribly, but he trudged forward, even as the knots around his wrists and ankles dug into his flesh. Whether or not that distinction was correct didn’t matter to him right now.

The threads snapped all at once, sending him falling with a grunt. It was only then he realized he could still speak.

From where he lay on the ground, his eyes caught golden daylight filtering through the narrow murky window. The sweet embrace of sleep sang to him from behind his eyelids. Maybe he could close his eyes, drift off into oblivion, and wake up to soft sheets and the four walls of his bedroom. He didn’t protest the thought of simply staying there for a while, if only for a moment, he could detach himself from reality. If he could turn off his brain and allow the world to spin on without him.

But whoever had turned him into this probably wanted exactly that.

He began by stretching his legs; he was thankful it was a somewhat familiar experience. His back and his arms followed. A small flame swelled inside of him—something akin to taking a deep breath—as he propped his palms on the floor. With a push, he was off the ground, albeit swaying slightly at first.

With one last glance around the old storage room, that flame only flickered brighter. One thing was for certain: he had to return to the man he was before. And if that meant hunting down whoever (or whatever) had cursed him so, no matter how deranged or sadistic their desires, he would face any and all odds.

Nate was going to get his life back.

[thekadster]

They returned to the living room, sitting around the hearth. The last tangerine beams of sun filtered through the curtains, the sky now the shade of blueberries. Outside, the rest of the world bustled on, but in their own corner of the world, in their own velvet box of chocolates, life was serendipitously saccharine. Work and other such inconveniences had no use other than conversation starters. As they should be.

[thekadster]

"baso ko yan"

- translates to "that's my glass" in English

[thekadster]

cliquetober day 11: antlers (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 315

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Something a bit more lighthearted for today KJDHSFG

❝ After the events of The Outside MV, Tyler finds out he has antlers on his head.

“They’re going to notice, aren’t they?” ❞

also read it on ao3!

Josh froze, his eyes widening. “Uh…Tyler?”

The other man turned to look at him as he waited on the beach. “Yeah?”

Josh didn’t know what to say. He glanced at the top of Tyler’s head, then back to his face. “You kind of…uh…”

“Kind of what?” he asked.

Josh motioned to where his beanie sat. Tyler mimicked his action, but immediately paused. Something was growing from the top of his head.

He felt around more and found a wood-like texture. His fingers met pointed ends, branching out from a single stem.

His eyes widened. They were antlers.

He looked at Josh. “Dude, what the– How did–”

“I don’t know!”

At that moment, Tyler remembered the ritual. If there was one thing he knew about the Neds, it was that he didn’t know much at all. He never knew they could grow horns, let alone be used to intercept the Bishops.

“Where’s Ned?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Josh. “He’s not in the cave.”

Tyler’s brow furrowed as he sighed. The two of them had only heard rumors of the ritual, with the Glorious Gones and their glowing eyes. “Do you think this ever happens to the Bishops?”

“They don’t have antlers, as far as I’m aware,” Josh said.

“They could always cut them off. Seems in character for them to have horns.”

Josh laughed. They kept their torches raised, mirrored by distant lights from the opposite shore. The other Banditos would be here in a few minutes to bring them back to the main continent.

Tyler felt the antlers on his head again. He paused for a moment. “They’re going to notice, aren’t they?”

The other man tilted his head. “...Yeah, they probably will,” he replied. He tugged his friend’s beanie to somewhat cover the pointed tips. “That might work. They won’t see a thing.”

Josh couldn’t help but smile. Tyler sighed.

[thekadster]

cliquetober day 8: piano (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 426

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Tried giving a crack at Cliquetober and writing something, I'll probably write more for the succeeding days :0

❝ Tyler didn't know when he'd last seen his piano. It had no place in DEMA.

Part of him didn't want to make music for the Bishops, but who was he to disobey?  ❞

also read it on ao3!

Tyler didn’t know when he’d last seen his piano.

Still, from memory, it was clear. He could still feel the ivories under his fingertips, still hear different melodies from over the years woven together into wonderful tapestries of sound. It was an old friend, familiar and faithful. Even when no inspiration came, it was there for him, waiting patiently. It had practically become a part of him. It was his keeper of secrets that could only be expressed in song.

His piano had no place in DEMA. He thought it would never fit in with the city’s dull grey walls. It was the antithesis to everything the organization stood for; the instrument gave him a freedom that the Bishops could never provide. At least with its music, he would have a way to fight against their shifty plans and agenda of vialism.

That’s why he was so surprised when the Bishops tasked him to make music, but for their own purposes.

He thought it was a trick at first, a diversion, a test of his loyalty. But when he realized they were serious, he didn’t really know what to think. Music and the Bishops, he didn’t think they could ever mix. One was a free-flowing river, the other a stiff, stern pillar. An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

Part of him didn’t want to comply. He felt sick at the thought of music – his weapon – being used as propaganda. He took it as a betrayal of everything the medium stood for, and all that it had done for him. How could he follow through? What would the Banditos think?

But who was he to disobey?

He made the album, did as he was told. He soaked every line in saturation until it made his eyes bleed. He met the Bishops’ specifications, lying through his teeth with a dash of sugarcoating. Everything was packaged neatly with a little bow on top, until it would be shipped off to the citizens of DEMA.

Nevertheless, he remained patient. Apart from the Bishops, he was the only one who knew the album’s true meaning. So, everyday, he held out hope. Quietly, relentlessly, he hoped that someone somewhere would hear each track for what it is. That they would see past the sickening sweetness, and wake up to the broken whispers of truth from the city’s underbelly.

He knew, one day, he would leave the city. But for now, he’d settle with staying alive, and hoping that his piano would be the weapon that it was always destined to be.

[thekadster]

we will not give up on love now (a jackcrutchie songfic)

Fandom: Newsies (All Media Types)

Word Count: 2,279  

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Inspired by Orpheus - Sara Bareilles. My first time writing Jackcrutchie, it was pretty fun :D

❝ Of course, Jack was happy that he finally got his dream, even more so that he got to share it with his best friend. A chance at a better life was something that kept a lot of newsies going, and for him, it was Santa Fe.

Even so, they couldn't help but reminisce. ❞

(@himbos-hotline i did the thing :0)

also read it on ao3!

After a long day, Jack and Crutchie were glad to be sitting by the fireplace. They had just finished dinner several minutes ago and were now unwinding over warm tea.

It had been two months since they’d moved to Santa Fe, and they’d been adjusting quite nicely. The two of them had new jobs and worked at a pace that was more to their liking. As such, they had more time to explore the town for leisure, rather than for selling papes.

“Say, Jack– you ever heard of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

He tilted his head at the unusual names and shrugged. “No, why?”

“They’s part of a Greek myth,” replied Crutchie, shifting on his end of the couch. “Davey told me a long time ago, and I read about it again in the library today.”

“What’d they do?” asked Jack. “They heroes or somethin’?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Maybe Orpheus, the guy was a poet. He was real good at music, too; the best anyone ‘ad ever heard,” he explained. “Eurydice was the girl – a nymph – and they fell in love. They got married an’ such, but it wasn’t long ‘til she died from a snakebite.”

Jack frowned. “Jeez.”

“That ain’t where it ends.”

“Oh, my bad. Go on.”

Crutchie smiled. “Orpheus travelled to the underworld to bring back his wife. Of course, it was dangerous, bein’ where souls go after people die an’ whatnot. But his music was so good that it made everythin’ stand still, and he gots through without a scratch.”

Jack’s eyes widened. He nodded for him to continue.

“Yeah! And it even made the king of the underworld cry; name’s Hades, if I’m rememberin’ right,” he spoke. “He and his wife Persephone agreed to let the two of ‘em get back to the normal world. But there was a catch: Orpheus couldn’t look behind to see if she was followin’ behind.”

“Hold on, but don’t that mean Hades could’ve just tricked ‘im?” asked Jack.

“And that’s exactly what he thought!” He watched the way Crutchie’s eyes lit up from both the excitement and the flicker of the fireplace. “As they was makin’ their way back, he couldn’t help but doubt if she was really there or not. Even if they’d left together, he couldn’t even feel her followin’.

“And so, just before they was about to step out, he caved and did what he knew he shouldn’t. He turned around, and Eurydice fell all the way back down to the start.”

They were silent for a while. Jack’s eyes drifted to the dancing reds and oranges of the fireplace. “Well, that sucks.”

Crutchie frowned and shrugged. “Yeah…It’s a sad story.”

“‘S that it?” He looked at the boy beside him. “Did he try goin’ back again?”

“They wouldn’t let him back in no more,” he answered.

“Damn. Poor guy,” mumbled Jack. “Why couldn’t he just hold her hand?”

“I…ain’t really sure about that one,” chuckled Crutchie. “Probably ‘cause she was a ghost?”

“But how about callin’ out Marco Polo? Or lettin’ her walk in front of him? Literally any other way could’ve saved their asses!”

“I don’t know!”

The painter sighed and leaned back in his seat. “Case in point: Orpheus is an idiot.”

“Hey–”

Crutchie lightly nudged him and the two laughed. Jack was always one to make people laugh, especially if it was his best friend. Even if they were a bit older and living in a new city, he found that some things never change.

The blonde leaned forward and raised his cup of tea to his lips. “Would you ‘ave turned around?”

Jack paused and tilted his head. “I guess not, no. If Hades was a man of his word – and he was – then I’d just ‘ave to trust him. And ‘course– I mean, it’s my wife; I gotta be strong for her. I gotta find some way to get through it.”

“You’d play Marco Polo on the way up?” he joked.

“Exactly. Or y’know, just run straight out of the underworld.”

Crutchie chuckled.

“How ‘bout you?” asked Jack, pouring his own tea. “You think you’d do it?”

The boy bit his lip and hummed. “Eh…I dunno,” he replied. “I’d like to think not, but I can only imagine what it felt like. I dunno why he doubted if she was really there or not, but I’d probably think of somethin’.”

Jack nodded. “Eh, fair. Must’ve been hard for the guy.”

The two grew quiet, taking in the subtle sounds of the evening. Even two months after moving, they weren’t used to nights this…calm. The world seemed to go by more slowly after the sun went down. They didn’t have to be anywhere else after dinner, which allowed them to kick back and enjoy a warm drink after a long day. And with a place to call their own, no one could tell them otherwise.

Of course, Jack was happy that he finally got his dream, even more so that he got to share it with his best friend. A chance at a better life was something that kept a lot of newsies going, and for him, it was Santa Fe. He first heard about it as a child from his father. His old man described it as a dusty desert town with kind folks and a wide-open sea of stars. It was a childhood fairytale that he stubbornly held on to; a promise he swore to keep to both his family and friends that he’d get out of New York and start anew. That he and Crutchie would be more than just newsboys.

Even so, he couldn’t help but reminisce.

“Say – and sorry if this is a bit weird – but you ever think of turnin’ around?” 

Crutchie looked at him. “Well, not really; I feel like if I was Orpheus, I’d be pretty–”

“No, no, I ain’t talkin’ bout him.” Jack waved his hand. “I mean like turnin’ around. Like goin’-back-to-New-York kinda turnin’ around.”

He paused and his mouth gaped. “Oh…”

He thought about it for a moment. Their old life in the city certainly wasn’t perfect, let alone envied, but it wasn’t all bad. A part of him missed the tall buildings, the streets, the Lodging House, the fire escape. He missed the selling spots, Jacobi’s Deli, Medda’s theater. And more than anything, he missed the people who made New York so special.

He missed the newsies – both of them did. They were their siblings who somehow, someway found a family. The kids who braved through every day with a smile, or at least a little bit of hope. He also missed people like Miss Medda, who he saw a little bit of in the kind folks of Santa Fe.

The world had often been cold and cruel to kids like them. New York was no exception, but he and Jack felt like they’d found a soft place to land within its gritty, grimy walls.

Crutchie swallowed a lump in his throat. “Well…not really, I guess,” he replied, finding his voice. “I’ve thought about what’d happen if we didn’t move at all, and life would just go on like it used to. We’d still be newsies and we’s workin’ on the streets until we’re too old to. I don’t think I wanna do that forever.”

He chuckled to himself. He turned to Jack, his eyes distant as he held his warm mug of tea.

Crutchie studied his expression. “Do you…ever think of turnin’ around?”

The other boy blinked. “What– no, ‘course not!” he replied. He smiled and gestured to the house, their house. “I mean, we been dreamin’ of this for so long, and we finally got it. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but…”

Jack grew silent, his smile faltering. He stared off as his mind searched for the right words, grasping for something that was only almost there.

Crutchie raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. He followed his lover’s gaze and found that he wasn’t staring at the fireplace, but at the framed pictures sitting on the mantle. Pictures of their friends, of their family.

His expression softened. “Jack…”

The painter was quiet.

“You miss them, too, don’tcha?” asked Crutchie.

It took a moment for him to respond. “Just ain’t used to not seein’ em everyday,” he sighed. “Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout them sometimes.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” He shifted a bit in his seat. “I mean, we’s been together for pretty much our whole lives; it’s pretty hard not to.”

“Yeah, but–” The brunet sighed and gestured to the photos. “You’d think after two months I would’ve started thinkin’ of ‘em less. It’s like I’m always wondering what the fellas are up to, whether they’re okay or not.

“I miss bein’ with ‘em. Sometimes, I catch myself wantin’ to be a newsie again, like the old days. Like I wanna be there where they are, but I also don’t wanna go back, but I wanna see them again?”

He groaned and leaned back into the couch. He couldn’t pinpoint what he was feeling, for the life of him.

He wasn’t one to dwell on the past, but for the past few days, he was plagued with how things once were. Just before daybreak, he swore he almost heard the chime of the morning bell. In the bright afternoon sun, he remembered walking with his friends down familiar city streets. Memories flew back to him in warm meals and baked bread and newspapers and postcards. They lived in laughter and lampposts and paintbrushes, and the ghost of his newsies’ footsteps followed him like a shadow. It was almost as if he could turn around, and they would be right there.

Crutchie’s mouth stretched into a thin line, his finger drumming on the mug in thought. Before he could respond, Jack interrupted him.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled.

“No, it ain’t,” insisted the other boy. “Maybe…Maybe it ain’t such a bad thing.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Whaddaya mean?”

“Missin’ the newsies,” he answered. “It’s normal you’d miss ‘em after all this time; you was their leader, for Pete’s sake!”

“But I kinda feel like I’m supposed to just…move on. I finally got what I wanted, movin’ here. Shouldn’t I be happier? I’m sure Manhattan’s doin’ fine, what with Race takin’ over.”

“But they miss you.” Crutchie put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “They miss us, I bet just as much as we miss them. We’s been a family for this long; I’m sure it’s takin’ em some time to get used to us not bein’ there, too. It’s…hard sayin’ goodbye like that.”

Jack's eyes didn’t meet his, still deep in thought.

“But we’re here now.”

The blonde softly held his hand and laced their fingers together. Jack looked over at him. Crutchie’s eyes were soft and warm, like the glow the fire cast on the room, tracing their features. They were familiar, like the city lights he’d always see from the fire escape.

“It’s hard goin’ back now,” he added. “But we’s here, you and me. We wanted to be here, and we made that choice. It ain’t wrong that you’re missin’ New York, and it ain’t wrong that we moved away. It’s just what we ‘ad to do.

“And maybe, right now, that’s all that matters.”

Jack’s mind lingered on those words for a while. The noise in his mind seemed to die down a little. At that moment, the world felt more quiet. He finally paid enough attention to notice the crackle of the fireplace and the subtle song of the crickets outside. Something of a warm feeling began to stir in his chest as his eyes traced the little details and dents in the walls. He looked down at his hand – his hand intertwined with Crutchie’s – and the beginnings of a smile formed on his face.

He ran a thumb over the back of the other boy’s palm. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Wonder if they’re thinkin’ ‘bout us right now.”

“They probably are,” replied Crutchie. “You sent ‘em a postcard this week, right?”

“Yeah. They haven’t written back, though.”

He shrugged. “Maybe they’re just busy.”

“Probably. Just hope they’s doin’ okay.”

“They’ll be fine.” Crutchie gently squeezed his hand and smiled. “We’ll be fine, Jack.”

The brunet sighed to himself and smiled back. “Yeah…I think we will.” He leaned down and kissed the back of his boy’s hand. “And, for the record, I’m glad you came with me.”

Crutchie giggled. “Just glad to be here.”

This new chapter in their life felt strange but pleasant. It was like a weight, familiar like a friend, finally lifted off of their shoulders. It wasn’t gone entirely; they still had to work, after all. Much of it was carried away by the old western breeze, but more importantly, they were there to carry it together.

Nothing was ever the same ever since they got on that train out of New York. Hell, nothing had ever really been the same ever since they both agreed to move to Santa Fe. But as they sat in silence with their heads leaned on one another, they thought that maybe it was for the best. As much as they were once newsies – and always would be, at heart – they both knew that old city couldn’t box them in for too long.

Maybe the myth would turn out different this time. They wouldn’t turn around, and instead bring along their memories like old songs. They would go into the underworld singing, and return just the same.

Maybe the present – maybe love was worth holding onto.

[thekadster]

cliquetober day 20: graffiti (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 451

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Basically the story of how Clancy meets Trash, set in a modern-day version of DEMA (a sort of New York type city)

❝ There had been rumors of a monster lurking in the abandoned train tunnels.

Clancy's train wouldn't arrive in another twenty minutes. Exploring didn't seem like a bad idea.❞

also read it on ao3!

Clancy knew life in DEMA was dangerous.

Threats came from all directions. From above were the Bishops, the mysterious guiding forces that controlled everything. Vialism itself was poisonous enough, but when you were a Bandito like him, it was as if the whole world was out to get you. He knew what happens to those who get caught. More often than not, they’re never seen again.

And from below, there was the thing in the subway.

There had been rumors of a monster lurking in the abandoned train tunnels. Some said that, whenever the city would have earthquakes, it would be the creature scurrying around. No one knew what it looked like, other than its glowing eyes and rows of sharp teeth. Others even claimed that it ate a Bandito who lost their way.  

He brushed it off as nothing more than hearsay. Many of DEMA’s stories were simply that: a reiteration of children’s nightmares to scare the citizens. This concrete coffin of a city didn’t allow for much creativity, so people had to express it somehow.

As much as he’d rather not think about the creature, he always remembered it at the subway while going to work. Plus, it was always a pretty cool “what if”.

Today, his train wouldn’t arrive in another twenty minutes. The abandoned platforms seemed pretty inviting.

He snuck through the crowd until he got to Platform 21. It was closed-off, wrapped in red tape and warning signs. The walls and old trains were grimy and overgrown with vines, and the smell of mold hung heavy in the air.

Most noticeably, however, was the graffiti. Yellow spray-painted messages and symbols covered nearly every surface; from the trains to the pillars to the benches. It was beautifully strange; it was the only form of art he’d ever seen in this city. It was a freedom wall of sorts, something the Bishops hadn’t been able to censor yet.

As he glanced around, he froze after something caught his eye: arrows pointing in the direction of the dark tunnel.

He cautiously stepped forward. Turning back was the smart thing to do, but at this point, fear was losing a war with curiosity. The thrill of finding what’s next mixed with the wonder from his surroundings. Were the arrows how the other Banditos escaped?

As he reached the edge of the platform, the whole room shook.

Clancy lost his balance and fell to the tracks below, nearly hitting his head. The lights flickered for a moment as cracks spread on the walls.

A low growl began to fill the air, and that’s when he finally looked up.

Glowing eyes stared down at him, the dragon carefully watching from the dark.

[thekadster]

cliquetober day 13 & 14: water & moon (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 412

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Based on the livestream version of Heathens/Trees and the whole idea that the livestream happened in Tyler's head.

❝ Tyler took a breath of the cool evening breeze.

He would stay here forever if he could, but reality was different.❞

also read it on ao3!

All the while, the world stood still.

Tyler took a breath of the cool evening breeze. He took in the sounds of the crickets and evening creatures, distant as he floated in his little boat on the lake.

His fingers plucked the strings of his ukulele, its soft melodies carried on the wind. He sang a familiar song, telling the night sky about friends, about life. His lantern cast gentle shadows, almost talking to him as it flickered.

In that moment, he felt small. The world around him was immense. The water gently rocked his boat back and forth, reflecting the light from his lamp and the countless lights up above. He couldn't even see the bottom of the lake.

But at the same time, he felt safe. The silence was vast, but it was a comforting kind of quiet. He didn't feel alone among the stars and the trees, who listened to his stories. He thought it was strange; he was often afraid of the night. But now, it was like home, like people he'd known all his life. The crickets, the moon, the lake, the lantern – they knew what he meant.

He would stay here forever if he could, but reality was different.

He would stay here forever, but he sat in between two talk show hosts berating him with questions. They mocked his band, his music, his best friend. There were cameras on him, eyes watching from all across the city. The lights were too bright, the air was too hot. The set of Good Day DEMA was everything the forest wasn’t. Despite all its bright colors, it was just as lifeless and cold as the streets outside.

He silently sat, eyes distant even as he tried to fake a smile. The voices of the hosts were almost muffled as his mind floated in between daydreaming and the existing nightmare. The audience’s laughter ripped him from his fantasy, cutting like a floodlight in the dark.

He knew where he wanted to be, but he also knew where he was. For now, he would have to deal with the present. But somewhere in his mind, he knew the lake and the woods would always be there. The moon would still be in the sky, and his boat would still be waiting for him when he’d come back.

Maybe then, he could step into that place for real. And, maybe then, the universe would be kind enough to let him stay.

[thekadster]

manhattan (a newsies songfic)

Fandom: Newsies (All Media Types)

Word Count: 3,017

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Inspired by Manhattan - Sara Bareilles. Also, my longest work yet! Wowee, does it feel good to be posting fanfiction again.

❝ It's been two weeks after the Newsies Strike of 1899 was settled.

After a long day of work, Jack Kelly invites Race to dinner at Jacobi's. Jack seems a bit on-edge before he finally breaks the news to his friend.

"I wantcha to have Manhattan."  ❞

also read it on ao3!

Racetrack knew that something was off.

You wouldn’t notice it at first; it was business as usual at Jacobi’s. The air was filled with the chatter and laughter of customers, as well as the uplifting smell of freshly-cooked food. It was a regular crowd at this time of day. The street lamps were just starting to come to life as strangers passed under a painted sky.

Race leaned back in his seat. He had finished his meal several minutes ago; a half-empty glass of water sat next to his plate. His mind wandered as he took in his surroundings, but the person in front of him was the most interesting.

“Jack.”

The boy snapped out of his trance. His gaze turned from the window to Race. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” asked Race. “Ain’t you gonna eat?”

Jack shrugged. “I ain’t hungry.”

“Sure you ain’t.” The other boy tilted his head. “You been workin’ all day and you ain’t even gonna have dinner?”

“I don’t feel like eating,” replied Jack. “Honest.”

Race raised an eyebrow; that feeling in the pit of his stomach only grew. This was one of the rare times he’d seen Jack lose his appetite. When you’ve grown up a newsboy, you’re usually starving by the end of the day.

He tried not to think about it, but some other things came into place - Jack’s silence, the subtle shadow of gloom on his face.

“And there it is again,” said Race.

He looked up. “What?”

“The thing with your fingers!” he replied. “You’s actin’ all weird and fidgety today, Jack. If somethin’s wrong, just say somethin’.”

Jack shook his head. “Nothin’s wrong, I’m just twiddlin’ my thumbs.”

“Even Albert said you didn’t wanna talk to anyone today,” Race sighed. “I get wantin’ to be alone every now and then, but this ain’t like you.”

The boy didn’t respond, trying to fight the urge to fidget with his fingers again. His eyes drifted back to the window, the world outside a painting of dark blues and oranges. He could get lost in the warm glow of the city lights, somewhere away from this conversation. Maybe he could forget what he was talking about.

Racetrack crossed his arms and frowned. “You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t wanna, but I at least wanna know why you invited me out to dinner if you weren’t even gonna eat.”

Silence stretched between them for a while. Race’s mind was building with questions and Jack’s was trying to put together the right words in his head.

“Alright,” he sighed. Jack swallowed a lump in his throat. “I wanted to tell you that me an’ Crutchie, we’re leavin’ Manhattan.”

Race’s eyes widened as he leaned forward. “You’re leavin’? Like, leavin’ leavin’?”

The brunette gave a small awkward smile and shrugged.

“Oh…” Race blinked. “Oh! Well, that’s great!”

He felt a smile creep onto his face, but inside, he wasn’t sure how to feel. He always knew that this day would come, ever since Jack fell in love with Santa Fe. The dream of moving there practically became a part of him, and he’d even promised to bring his best friend Crutchie.

He talked about it like it was some far-off paradise, and Race started to believe that it was. It was nothing like the gritty, grimy streets of New York City, with its fast-paced living and streets that would swallow you whole. It was clean and green and pretty, with a great big sky and folks that would smile and welcome you, no matter where you came from.

But with him finally having his dream in the palm of his hands, that meant he’d have to leave behind his life here. That included Race, and all the other members of their patchwork family.

Jack laughed. “Yeah, yeah, it is.”

“Looks like you finally lived up to your name, eh, Cowboy?”

He gently punched Race in the arm. “Suppose so.”

The blonde chuckled as he leaned back into his seat. “So, when are ya goin’?”

Jack’s smile faltered ever-so-slightly. “That’s, uh, that’s the thing,” he replied. “We’re leavin’ tomorrow.”

Race’s mouth gaped. “Oh.”

“Yeah…” The other boy internally cringed. “I- I know it’s sudden, but it’s better than not tellin’ you nothin’.”

“I get that,” he answered. “Just- I’m happy for you an’ all but damn, I didn’t expect it to be so soon.”

Jack sighed. “Yeah…yeah, I know.”

They were quiet for a moment, the world around them continuing with its noise. Jack awkwardly and absentmindedly played with his fingers. A part of him couldn’t help but wonder if Race really was as happy as he looked.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Race interrupted him. “I’m guessin’ you haven’t told the fellas yet?”

“No, just you an’ Davey so far.”

Race nodded. “He’s gonna be runnin’ the union? Don’t he got school?”

“Yeah, but he’s figurin’ something out. He’s gonna be your new president.”

“And you ain’t takin’ the job Pulitzer gave ya,” he added.

“Nope, can’t be drawin’ for a pape in New York while I’m in a whole ‘nother state.”

Race heard him muster up a chuckle - short-lived attempt to lighten the mood. As Jack’s smile faded away, the two could only sit in silence. The facts were present in front of them - undeniable, unwavering, and unforgiving. And yet, they could bring no words to their minds, nor to their mouths.

“Well, guess that’s that,” Race said, breaking the pause. He still didn’t look satisfied with the news. He didn’t even dare ask if Katherine was coming with, fearing it might make things worse.

Truth be told, Jack wasn’t satisfied either. “That’s not all.”

The other boy looked at him as he raised his glass to his lips. Jack took a breath and leaned forward on his elbows.

“I wantcha to have Manhattan.”

Race spit out his water.

Jack flinched and shrank into his seat as the other boy dried the table with tissues. Race cursed and apologized before drying his mouth.

He looked at his friend with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You what?!”

“If I’m goin’, I need someone to replace me!” responded Jack. “Youse my right hand man, Racer.”

“I know that, but I ain’t ready! You could’ve at least told me sooner!”

“I hear you, okay? I’m sorry.” Jack felt his chest sting a little. “I just- I didn’t know how I’d break it to ya.”

Well, you could’ve done it better than this, Race thought.

Race’s brow furrowed and he looked towards the window. He understood the want to leave this city; he would’ve found a way to up and go if he knew where to. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. After they won the strike, after he got with Katherine, after he seemed so happy, he thought that Jack would stay for good, or at least for a little while longer.

Many people would kill to be in Jack’s shoes. After growing up hard, he finally had a chance to stay and climb the social ladder. In fact, he had more than enough reasons to: his family, Katherine, the Newsboys Union, a chance at a stable job.

But Jack Kelly wasn’t like most people. He was a dreamer; his head was always up in some distant cloud, no matter the weather. He’d probably already traveled the world in his own head. Race should have guessed that the busy old streets of New York couldn't box him in for too long.

Jack couldn’t bring himself to meet his brother’s disappointed eyes. He cursed himself for never really being good with words. He nervously looked around, hoping that no newsies overheard their exchange.

“Look,” he softly began. “I know this is a lot. Bein’ the leader of a buncha kids ain’t easy, and I should’ve letcha know sooner so you’d have more time. That’s on me. But there’s a reason youse my right hand, Race.”

Race still didn’t look at him.

“I wanted to talk to you personally ‘cause I knew you’d be the right guy for the job. You’re gonna be the guy that kids look up to, and a lot of ‘em already do.”

Race sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just thinkin’ bout how I’m gonna live up to all a’ this,” he mumbled. “How I’m gonna live up to you. Youse leavin’ some big shoes to fill, Kelly.”

“That’s what I’m sayin!” answered Jack. “You think I’d talk to just about anyone for this? I’m handin’ over Manhattan to you ‘cause I know you can do it. The newsies trust you as much as they trust me. You help a lotta people get through their day, includin’ me. You do more than you know, Racer.”

Race was silent, taking in Jack’s words that echoed in his head. He doubted his claims at first, but knew that they weren’t lies. Helping other people was the least he could do when you’re someone like them. When you’re breaking your back for just enough to eat, when you’re pushing through the scorching sun and the biting cold. It’s what you have to do to survive, and no one can go through life alone forever. It’s the way things are, no matter who you are. “I’m just doin’ what I gotta.”

“And you’re doin’ it good,” added Jack.

Race finally met his eyes. “But what if I don’t know what to do? What if I let everyone down?”

“Then you’ll have the fellas to help ya.” The boy smiled as he glanced at the other newsies - his siblings - minding their own business in the restaurant. “You ain’t gonna have all the answers as a leader. All you gotta do is have the brains to listen to the right ones.

“No one ever goes at it alone, not even me. And we all let everyone down sometimes. Look at the Strike; there were plenty of times I messed up, even if I wanted to do the right thing.”

Race slowly nodded.

Jack allowed his jaw to relax as he shifted in his seat. “What I’m tryin’ to say is that I know you’ll be alright here. It ain’t gonna be easy, but with everyone havin’ your back, things are gonna be fine.”

The blonde raised an eyebrow. “You mean it?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, I do. Take it from someone who’s been carryin’ you guys around for years. It’s time I retire.”

“You’re makin’ it sound like we’s a buncha babies,” Race joked.

“You might as well be,” mumbled Jack.

“Hey-!”

Race softly hit the other boy in the shoulder and the two of them laughed. The air between them better fitted in with the world around them. The tension seemed to have lifted, but Jack noticed that his brother still looked a bit discontent.

He tilted his head. “There anythin’ else you wanna ask me?”

Race was quiet for a moment. “Not really, just-” He shook his head and shrugged- “I’m… I’m gonna miss you. ‘M not used to you not bein’ around.”

Jack softly smiled to himself and felt his heart melt. “Aw, Racer…”

“I know it’s probably weird, but-”

“No, no, it’s not.” He waved his hand. “Honestly, I’m gonna miss youse, too. I grew up here my whole life and now that I’m leavin’... I don’t really know what to say. I’m sure Crutchie feels the same.”

Race nodded. “Yeah…” he murmured. “Man, Crutch as well. Gonna miss him, too; kid’s a ray of sunshine.”

Jack chuckled fondly. “Yeah, yeah he is.”

The other boy blinked. “Oh, by the way, you want me to tell the fellas to meetcha at the station tomorrow?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary; you got work in the mornin’, we’ll be goin’ by then.”

“It ain’t gonna be for long, ‘s just so we can say goodbye.”

Jack’s gaze grew distant for a moment. He wasn’t so sure if he could take seeing the faces of his family as the train would pull further and further away. Hell, he might even cry regardless if they do or don’t.

But in the end, there’s no one he’d rather have send him and Crutchie off than the kids who’ve had their backs for all this time.

He warmly smiled at his brother. “Sure thing.”

-

Not long after, they stepped out of Jacobi’s and into the evening city. As they started on their way back home, New York still buzzed with life. Many strangers were on their way home from work, others heading to dinners or parties. Some were on foot, others on carriages. They passed stores with fancy clothes and toys, and restaurants still full with customers and tasty-smelling  food. They even heard a jazz band playing a cheerful tune further down the block.

Jack slowed down and looked up at one of the buildings on their route: Medda Larkin’s Theater. The doors were closed, but he could tell there was a show going on inside.

His heart couldn’t help but sink a little. He had just said goodbye to Miss Medda that afternoon. She was the mother he never had. Whenever he needed it, her arms and the theater doors were always open to him. She gave him the opportunity to better practice his art, providing a sanctuary, an escape from the noisy world. She paid him fairly for it, too.

Race looked over and noticed him silently staring. “Youse gonna miss her, too, huh?”

Jack softly hummed in agreement. “She’s a gem,” he mumbled, finding his voice.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Race chuckled. “The last paintin’ you did for her’s still there?”

He nodded. “Yeah, probably bein’ used in the show right now.”

The blonde patted his back. “Well, at least she got somethin’ to remember you by. Ain’t nobody as good as you.”

Jack smiled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t really say that.”

“Really? ‘Cause Medda really seemed to like your stuff; I know the newsies do, too.”

“She’ll find someone else after me, it ain’t hard to do.”

“But she ain’t gonna find you,” remarked Race. “She’ll miss your pictures, but she’s also gonna miss you, Jack. That’s also part of it.”

His eyes lingered at the doors for a bit longer, trying to peer past the glass and into the inside. Sure, he was just there earlier that day, but he wished he could talk to Miss Medda one last time. But he knows she’s probably busy.

“Guess you’re right,” mumbled Jack before they continued their walk.

Ever since the day began, Jack Kelly looked at New York City with new eyes. Life was different when you knew that a certain chapter of it was going to end. During this time, even the most mundane of things seemed nostalgic and important, and he drank in every second. It was his last day selling papers with his friends, his last day at the Lodging House, his last day at Medda’s Theater. He was wide awake with the realization that this was going to be the last time in a long time - maybe even forever - that he was going to see the streets like this. The last time he was gonna walk home with Race after dinner at Jacobi’s. And eventually, his last night at the fire escape.

There was no doubt that he was excited for the future, but he couldn’t help but already miss the life he and Crutchie were going to leave behind. The fact that he would no longer be a newsie felt foreign on his tongue. Even if it was a reality that they all had to face someday, it was still strange and a bit mind-boggling. Like a fancy suit that didn’t quite fight right.

The time had come when they’d made it to the Lodge just a few minutes later. The two boys stood at the steps, taking in the cool evening breeze.

“So,” began Race. “‘S this goodbye?”

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets. “Tomorrow.”

“Part of me still can’t believe youse really goin’,” he replied.

Jack sighed. “I… I know. Me neither.”

“This mean you ain’t gonna be a newsie anymore?”

There was a beat of silence between them. “Well, yeah,” Jack responded. “But I’m always gonna be one of youse. We’s a family; ain’t nothin’ gettin’ in the way of that.”

Race smiled. “Glad that hasn’t changed.”

Jack put a hand on his shoulder and smiled back. “Never will.”

He pulled him in for a hug, and for a while, the two stood there in each other’s embrace. The future was wide open for the both of them, each of their lives going in their own separate ways. Jack’s and Crutchie’s were headed west, while Race’s was staying put to be the new leader of the newsies of Manhattan. Like things have always been, it was going to be undeniably challenging. But through all the highs and lows, they knew they were going to make it. Somehow, someway, they always do.

They pulled away, Jack ruffling Race’s hair. The brothers parted ways at the door; Race headed inside the Lodging House while Jack climbed up the fire escape. They agreed that Race would let the others know about Jack leaving before the lights went out for the night. In the morning, the rest of them would head out to the train station to see their two friends out.

When Jack got to his “penthouse”, Crutchie was already there. Their belongings were already packed in bags that sat in one corner, while the other boy gazed into the distance.

Jack joined him, and his eyes sparkled. The city skyline was a sea full of stars, enough to rival the one above them. He’d practically memorized this view - it was one he saw everyday - but this time, it felt different. Like he was seeing it for the very first time.

“How’d it go?” asked Crutchie, looking over at him.

“Went fine,” answered Jack, leaning forward on the rails. “Race is gonna be okay. Manhattan’s in good hands.”

The boy smiled. “That’s good.”

[thekadster]

cliquetober day 27: gravestone (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 531

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: hOOOO BOY have I been excited for this one

More spooky writing for the spooky season >:D

(a.k.a. Josh experiences the paranormal part 2)

❝ Josh got lost in DEMA, but fortunately, he had a map.

Unfortunately, he had to pass by the necropolis. ❞

also read it on ao3!

It was hard to lose your way in DEMA.

A lot of buildings had similar materials and designs, but only the newer citizens ever got lost. It was confusing at first, but it wouldn’t take long until they would familiarize themselves with the city. Each district was more or less a carbon copy of the next. The only exception was the underground tunnel system, but since it was restricted, the public never had to worry about it.

Josh would’ve rather had the tunnels.

It wasn’t the first time he snuck through the streets of DEMA, but it had been ages since he last did it alone. Regret followed him like a shadow; one wrong turn and he got separated from the group of Banditos. So much for an easy in-and-out rescue operation.

The city was even more silent than it was during the day, the slightest sounds seeming to echo off the walls. Josh kept to the shadows and tried to blend in as best he could. There weren’t many guards keeping watch at this hour, but he still felt like the windows themselves were staring at him. He was certain there would be talk of a man dressed in yellow the following morning.

Fortunately, he always had a map just in case things went awry. It was marked with the nearest entrances to the tunnels, and from there, he would be able to safely slip past the city walls.

Unfortunately, he had to pass by the necropolis.

It was his least favorite part of the city. The name could be used to describe the entirety of DEMA itself. Deafening silence hung heavier in the air here than anywhere else. Every citizen, if they didn’t make it out, would eventually be reduced to a box in the ground and a neon light. The lights were cold, uninspired, blinding but devoid of life. They were the cruelest parody of any commemoration for the deceased he’d ever seen – if “commemoration” was even the right word.

No guards patrolled this area, so he could easily walk past and go underground.

But as soon as he approached the entrance, he stopped.

His eyes caught two silhouettes standing among the graves. He squinted; no one was allowed here except if someone were to be buried.

One of the figures turned around, and Josh froze.

Even from a distance, its yellow eyes pierced through him and nailed his feet to the ground. He’d only ever heard of what the Bishops did to the Glorious Gones, but he thought they were nothing more than myth. He remembered it from his childhood nightmares, stories about bloody rituals and antlers.

But stranger yet were the figures’ features. They were gently traced by the neon; the one staring him down had Sunday clothes stained by the dirt and dust, and the other one wore a deep red robe. The glow of the gravestones cast shadows on their faces, indifferent as the concrete walls.

Josh thought the city was driving him crazy, but he swore he knew who was standing with the Bishop. Though it had been ages since he last saw him, he would recognize their leader anywhere.

It was Clancy.

[thekadster]

cliquetober day 12: highway (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 461

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Wrote something spooky for the spooky season :0 

❝ It had been a year since Tyler disappeared.

However, people had begun seeing a strange figure in the woods just outside of town. 

Josh thinks it’s a stupid idea, but he goes to investigate. ❞

also read it on ao3!

As Josh pulled over on the highway, he thought it was a stupid idea.

It had been a year since Tyler disappeared. He didn’t call Josh for weeks, let alone leave him on read. He wasn’t active on any social media. Hell, even Jenna didn’t know where he went. She went to bed one night, and when morning came, he was gone. All he left behind were bits of soot smeared on the blanket.

Even after a missing persons report and police investigations, no one ever saw him again. However, people had begun seeing a strange figure in the woods just outside of town.

Everyone had their own different accounts. Some said it had red eyes, others said it had dark skin. Some even said that its head glowed like a spotlight in the dark. The only thing people seemed to agree on was that it was tall, but even then, no one could decide on how much.

Josh thought it didn’t make sense, that this cryptid would be connected to his best friend’s disappearance. But still, he couldn’t stop thinking about the soot Jenna had mentioned. Did Tyler burn himself?

So, it brought him here, standing at the entrance of the woods near Columbus. He thought it was a stupid idea, but he thought no harm in trying anyway.

He watched from the edge of the forest, not daring to step inside. It had recently suffered a wildfire, leaving the trees bare. The smell of smoke still hung in the air, slightly stinging his nostrils. His eyes strained for any movement in the dark, even with his flashlight on.

He remembered the thing in the woods. So many people described it in so many ways, he wasn’t even sure what to look for. Part of him didn’t even believe it existed, probably a product of mass hysteria.

Just then, one of the branches creaked. He didn’t pay much mind, thinking it was just the wind. But soon after, others began to follow, snapping and shifting. A low hum of noise slowly filled his ears, something of a mix between static and radio distortion. As it gradually grew louder and the forest grew brighter, Josh finally looked up.

He froze.

Several meters above him were nine red and white circles, peering down at him like spotlights. The creature moved its skeletal legs disguised among the trees, creaking with the sound of grinding bones. The static continued, like it was thinking to itself.

Josh couldn’t look away. His vision began to swim and distort, like he was floating and drowning at the same time. It was as if the noise itself was swallowing him whole.

The nine-eyed beast had no mouth. But from somewhere in his mind, he heard a voice.

“Josh?”

[thekadster]

cliquetober day 10: decay (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 488

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Wrote something from Jenna’s POV :0

❝ Jenna always thought of the red carnation in Tyler's pocket.

She knew there was something about DEMA that he couldn’t let go of.❞

also read it on ao3!

Jenna always thought of the red carnation in Tyler's pocket.

She didn’t know why he always carried it around. She thought he didn’t like the color anymore, all too reminiscent of the Bishops’ robes. He brought it from DEMA when he was last rescued, finding it in the dead grass. She didn’t think flowers could even grow in the city.

Whenever people would ask, he’d always say it was something he “picked up along the way”, that he found it “somewhere”. He kept it around because it looked pretty – and to be fair, it did – but that’s all he’d say. She always wondered why he didn't talk about it much.

What he lacked in conversation, he made up for in attention. He’d sometimes sit and stare at it, admiring its hue and the folds in its petals. There was a certain look in his eyes, wonder mixed with something deeper and distant. She lost track of the times he’d done it, whether by the campfire or standing alone on a cliff.

Today was one such time. It had now been over a year since Tyler found the carnation. The petals were dried and torn, some having even fallen off. The stem had grown decayed and crooked from all the times he'd shoved it into his coat.

But still, he twirled it around in his fingers and traced its darkened reds. It was like time had never passed.

Jenna sat down beside him over the cliff. “Are you ever going to get tired of it?”

Tyler paused. The flower looked like it would fall apart at any moment. “I don’t know.”

“It’s been a year, Tyler,” she said. She tilted her head. “I never thought you liked red so much.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why keep it around?”

He stared at the flower, his mind searching for something that was almost there. He tried finding reason in missing the life in a city he hated. “...I don’t know.”

She frowned, noticing his distant eyes. She knew there was something about DEMA he couldn’t let go of. It happened to many Banditos like them. They hated the city and wouldn’t ever go back, but for a long time, it was all they knew. It was hard letting go of that kind of familiarity, even for her.

Jenna put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, we’re almost at Slowtown. There are lots of flowers there, you can pick new ones.”

Tyler looked at her. “You’ve been to Slowtown?”

“No.” She shook her head. “But I’ve heard.”

They sat in silence for a while. Tyler thought about the flowers. It had been years since he’d been to Slowtown, and he wondered if she was right. Their journey had become so long at times that he doubted if the town was even real.

But if it was anything unlike DEMA, maybe he’d see more than carnations. Maybe he’d learn to let this one go.

[thekadster]

cliquetober day 31: double-sided (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 505

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: My final writing for Cliquetober! This was the one I spent the most time editing so far, I couldn't get the pacing/order of paragraphs right KJDFSGHFG

Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy :D

❝ It was another night at the Bandito camps.

Tyler simply wanted to go home, but he was never really sure where it was, what it was.❞

also read it on ao3!

The moon shone down on it all.

It was another night at the Bandito camps. People were still chatting amongst themselves, though most had already gone to bed. A cool breeze carried the chirping of crickets, gently swaying the trees and grass in its wake.

Tyler couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t unusual; nighttime meant silence, and silence meant space for all sorts of thoughts to creep in. He would normally distract himself however he could, and if that wasn’t possible, simply wait it out until morning. It happened in Dema more than anywhere else, its cold concrete walls and neon lights suffocating him.

But he wasn’t there tonight. Right now, he was in Trench, lying by the fire with Josh, Jason, and Ned. The four of them leaned on Trash, who was fast asleep. 

They were far from the city, but a sinking feeling always lingered. The torches and campfires burned bright, but they could never exist without the shadows that shifted just outside of reach. Part of him feared that, if he stared into the darkness for long enough, he would see a robed figure watching in the distance. He dreaded the thought that, no matter how far they’d travel, the Bishops would always catch up to them. That they would never truly be free from this cruel game of dog and rabbit.

Tyler simply wanted to go home, but he was never really sure where it was, what it was.

Maybe it was Slowtown, though he sometimes doubted if they’d ever make it there. The Banditos had long hoped for a soft place to land on the other side of the mountains, but their journey was far from easy. They’d already lost many of their own to the wild terrain and fickle weather, among the other threats that came their way.

But deep down, somehow someway, he knew it wouldn’t be like this forever. Until their journey would come to an end, they wouldn’t have to be afraid. The night and its shadows would always be there, but the sun would rise every morning, and they would be free to try again. It was a strange but necessary duality that made the world go round, that made life go on.

And, even now, he realized he’d already seen semblances of the home they’d been searching for. It was shared meals and conversations and coat-pocket carnations. It was gerbera daisies, poetry, and laughter. It was braving through the blistering heat and the freezing cold. It was the songs they sang, and most importantly, the people they sang them with. It was in the warmth of his friends’ eyes, and the yellow tape that held everyone together.

Slowtown was something they all looked forward to, but for now, Trench would have to suffice. And, as Tyler softly plucked the strings of his ukulele and lied on his back under the stars, it did. He wasn’t where he wanted to be, but he was where he needed to be.

He was already home, and that was enough.

[thekadster]

cliquetober day 29 & 30: jump & stage

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 605

Trigger Warnings: Implied death, mention of human decomposition

Author’s Notes: Wrote something about Dan and Sally! This was inspired by the part of the livestream where their eyes turned yellow and they started decaying, so I wanted to expound on that and humanize them a little.

I swear tomorrow's writing is going to be a happy one this is the last angst I promise KJDFGHDF

❝ Dan and Sally were two of many who pledged their faith to what was real, as cold and harsh as it may be. They were willing to fight for a life outside of Dema.

But their leap of faith would cost them.❞

also read it on ao3!

Every Bandito has a choice to make.

In the world of Trench, there are always two options: faith and sleep. One must pick between the world inside Dema’s walls and the world outside it; allegiance to one means animosity to another. Faith to the Bishops, or faith to freedom? Remaining asleep to the truth, or remaining asleep to what vialism dictates?

Dan and Sally were two of many who pledged their faith to what was real, as cold and harsh as it may be. After finally seeing Dema for the deathtrap that it was, sleep felt more like a betrayal than anything. So, they promised each other that somehow, someway, they would find a way out.

Working with the Banditos in any form was strictly prohibited, so they had to keep their plans under wraps. But when the two of them heard about Clancy, they only grew more intrigued.

Rumor had it that their friend was able to escape through the underground tunnels and breach the city walls. They wanted to ask him so many questions about the outside; how it looked like, how it felt like, whether it was anything like what the Bishops had told them. They’d only heard of it in stories, the mountains and rivers and forests left entirely to their imagination.

The thought of following after him was daunting, but they were willing to take that leap of faith. If he did it, they figured they could, too.

But life turns plans upon their head, as they say.

Their spirit and drive were undeniable, but they got caught. One unlucky turn, one guard that just so happened to be there, and their whole mission fell apart. The act of defying the Bishops in such a way was unforgivable. Their life would become nothing more than three letters and the four walls of a cell, isolated from each other and the rest of the world.

And so, until the very end, that’s how it would be.

But their story wasn’t over yet.

The Bishops had an idea for a talk show. It was one of many ways of showing their followers that the city was worth staying for. This new wave of television and music appeared almost innocent, the saturation trying to match the picture-perfect idea of “home”. They would prove to the citizens that life in Dema wasn’t as bad as one might think, that the rebels were liars all along.

And what better way to do that than with two of their own?

Dan and Sally, even after their passing, still had a use to the Bishops. They were the hosts of this new show, the poster children for this new era. Dressed up in their Sunday best and bright smiles, they became nothing more than puppets on a stage. Every action of theirs was controlled by the invisible strings of the supernatural, and yet it appeared so uncannily human. Like their eyes were never empty, like their hearts were still beating.

And they wouldn’t be the last, either. The Bishops’ power could only maintain them for so long before their bodies would begin to decay at an alarming rate. The human body cannot sustain so much physical activity after rigor mortis, no matter how artificial; and it would eventually give in to natural rot. Besides, Good Day Dema always needed new faces for their episodes.

The only ones who knew the truth were their family and friends, those who knew them personally. But they could only watch as the two smiled and laughed for the whole city to see, advertising the very thing they always swore to hate.