#ts despair

[anesharem]

THESE R SO OLD😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭... I feel like roasted potatoes r better than fried

[kingofattolia]

"Do you miss it? The Order?" "I miss... the idea of it. But not the truth, the weakness. There was no future there." OKAY, THIS MAN MISSES THE ORDER SOOOOOOOOOOO BAD IT MAKES HIM LOOK STUPID

I'm serious. He's carrying the husk of his long-ossified grief so obviously. It is evident in everything he does and says that he was a young knight absolutely ripped to shreds by Order 66 and its lonely, dark aftermath. He allowed despair to be his comfort, convincing himself there's nothing to mourn because it's easier than dealing with the loss.

[stydinskl]

stydia x colors x taylor swift

— this love is good, this love is bad, this love is alive back from the dead, these hands had to let it go free and this love came back to me

— i once believed love would be black & white, but it's golden, like daylight

— you drew stars, around my scars, but now i'm bleeding

— and isn't it just so pretty to think, all along there was some, invisible string, tying you to me

— i would always be yours, if we survived the great war

[grayewalss]

Sorry, but

"quick quick, tell me something awful

like you are a poet trapped inside the body

of a finance guy"

is very much Castiel and Dean coded imo

[sekai-kritical]

gghhhh… hghhhhh sorry for being dead *digs myself out a grave* who wants to see a paragraph of the prologue?

Thinking about it more, though, there are probably some other familiar faces here. Such as Aoyagi Touya, the “Ultimate Pianist”, Akiyama Mizuki, the “Ultimate Video Maker”, Shinonome Akito, the “Ultimate Beatboxer”, and even some that don’t ring a bell, such as the “Ultimate Artist” and the “Ultimate Motivator”. …The ultimate motivator? And I couldn’t even be the ultimate inventor? This school must be picky. I expected way more people to be here, seeing as this prestigious school was extremely popular. But I guess it really does accept the best of the best. Does that mean my inventions are—

[pixies-and-poets]

Music of the Night - Chapter Seven (Final Chapter!)

Wow! I made it to the end!

WARNING!!!! All the body horror I've been hinting at this whole time REALLY CULMINATES HERE! This is NOT a pleasant ending, physically or emotionally! I know I normally write cute fluffy things but I am not kidding about this one! It's intense!!

There will be some thanks for certain inspiration/ideas at the end of the chapter, but I won't put them here at the beginning so as not to spoil things.

Chapter One - In Sleep He Sang to Me

Chapter Two - Do I Dream Again?

Chapter Three - Our Strange Duet

Chapter Four - To Glance Behind

Chapter Five - Those Who Have Seen Your Face

Chapter Six - Where Night is Blind

Close your eyes, For your eyes will only tell the truth And the truth isn't what you want to see. In the dark it is easy to pretend That the truth is what it ought to be. Softly, deftly, music shall caress you Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you Open up your mind, Let your fantasies unwind In this darkness which you know you cannot fight, The darkness of the music of the night.

Chapter Seven - Angel of Music

The Beast lumbered forward, huffing out great snorts of air, until his hairy face was only a few feet from Woodrow’s.

“TRESPASSER,” came a deep and distorted growl, through which was only slightly recognizable the old familiar voice of the woodsman. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT MY HOUSE.”

“Well,” said the poet, with the type of unflappable bravery only brought on by complete exhaustion of both body and soul, “You weren’t using it. In fact, I don’t believe you can even fit in the door anymore. Besides, you always let me stay over, in bygone days.”

“I WAS A FOOL THEN,” came the snarling voice. “A PUSHOVER. YOU… YOU ALWAYS THINK YOU GET WHAT YOU WANT… EVER SINCE YOU BECAME WARDEN.”

“Now, that’s not true at all-” protested Woodrow, but the Beast continued.

“PATHETIC… POET… YOU DON’T EVEN WORK WITH ANYTHING REAL. JUST YOUR FANCY LITTLE WORDS… I SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN CHARGE…”

Woodrow swallowed, trying not to take it personally. He didn’t really think this, he told himself. Sweetlopek always respected you… he never WANTED to be warden… it’s the darkmess talking, it’s Cursa, it’s not HIM. Still, with those words, it was as though the creature had shoved a claw deep into the poet’s chest.

“YOU THINK YOU RULE THIS PLANET… YOU AND THAT BRATTY LITTLE FAIRY…”

“Sweets!” cried the warden in dismay. “Come now- speak of me how you like, but don’t talk of Dryad that way. You- she loves you. And you love her. Don’t… don’t you remember?”

“I CHOOSE NOT TO,” the lumberjack said. “AN EMBARRASSING TIME. I FELL UNDER HER SPELL. I SERVE A BETTER MASTER NOW. I’VE BEEN HUNTING THAT LOATHSOME…LITTLE…PIXIE… AND WHEN I CATCH HER… I’LL RIP HER APART.” 

Now the warden’s expression changed into one that was rare for him- one of deep fury. “Don’t you DARE say that,” he hissed, pushing himself away from the door and stepping forward. “You fool, Sweetlopek! Keep Dryad’s name out of your mouth until you come to your senses.”

“I’LL HAVE MORE THAN HER NAME IN MY MOUTH, WHEN I GNAW ON HER BONES-”

“MONSTER!!” cried the warden, losing control of himself. He lunged forward, grabbing the Beast with both paws by the beard, and glared into his yellow eyes. “You snap out of it right this instant, you-”

And then the giant woodsman wrapped a paw around the entirety of Woodrow’s slender body, picked him up, and flung him across the glade.

The warden skidded along the ground until he slammed into a tree. Dizzy, he staggered to his feet just in time to see the Beast thumping towards him on all fours.

“Sweet- my friend-” he wheezed, “Stop-”

But the woodsman picked up the warden and threw him again, this time directly into another tree. He slammed into the trunk with his back, and then slid down onto the leaves below, bark flaking off and splinters becoming embedded in his coat. During all this, Jinx rushed in a panic to keep up with him.

The monster galloped over to him again, seeming to make a game out of this and to be greatly enjoying it, like a dog playing fetch with himself. Woodrow, somehow both defiant and resigned, stared at the grinning, fanged face that was approaching.

“Kill me then!” he shouted. “O, kill me then! Let me die at the hands of my dearest friend!”

But just before the Beast could reach Woodrow to menace him anew, a black-and-white blur, almost as big as the creature itself, shot out of the woods and tackled the threat to the ground.

After losing speed, the blur resolved itself in Woodrow’s vision, and he gasped. It was… Phantom. He looked much the same as Woodrow had left him - pale and dripping with darkmess - only now he seemed to be filled with a wild energy, his hair flowing in a supernatural wind. The biggest change, however, were the two magnificent, globby wings of darkmess that shot out of his back. They raised up behind him majestically as he pinned the struggling Sweetlopek to the ground, like a painting in some grand chapel of an angel fighting a demon.

“T…Tom-” stammered the poet.

The ghost looked over at Woodrow. “Stay there,” he commanded- his voice was not only back, but clear and resonant. Woodrow nodded, and in fact crawled around the side of the tree, where he was partially hidden, but could peer out at the scene. His entire body ached, but - resilient creature that he was - he seemed to be intact, with no broken bones.

Despite his ferocity, the Beast was being held down by Phantom’s rotund body, weighty with darkmess. “WHO…ARE…YOU?!” snarled the woodsman as he glowered up at his aggressor.

Phantom gave a manic smile. “What, don’t you know? I’m a damned galactic treasure, and I’m here to save the man who saved me.”

With no patience for Phantom’s grandeur, the Beast snarled and made an effort to throw him off, tumbling over so that he was now on top and pinning Phantom to the bed of leaves and dirt below. But just as quickly, the ghost extended a wing, and used it to gain leverage and push himself back over, so that he was on top once more. “Ha!” he exclaimed.

Then suddenly, the Beast froze. He raised his head up as much as he could, staring, and sniffing at the newcomer.

“IS THAT… MY… SHIRT…”

Phantom’s unmasked eye widened in confusion. “Er-”

And in that moment, Sweetlopek roared, freed one of his arms, and slashed his claws across Phantom’s chest.

Leaves fell from nearby trees as the singer gave a scream of pain, three jagged claw marks having rent the shirt and the ectoplasm underneath, with streams of darkmess slowly leaking out from each gash, down the singer’s chest and torso and belly. The Beast lashed out with his other arm, and ripped the shirt clean off of him, tossing it to the side in his rage.

Phantom looked down at himself only briefly before staring back at Sweetlopek in white-hot fury; then he opened his mouth once more, and blasted out a note that to Woodrow seemed to contain the entire universe: deep and full, divine and demonic, echoing with beautiful terror.

The fragment of breath and song hit the accursed lumberjack, who flew backwards, crashing into one of the woodcarvings that decorated the glade and knocking it over.

Phantom fluttered over to the dazed creature and pinned him down yet again, his eyes ablaze, his hair flowing, and put his hands at the woodcutter's throat under his beard-

“Tom, NO!” shrieked Woodrow. “Stop- he’s my friend-”

Phantom looked back towards Woodrow, who was still hiding behind the tree. “But Tristan- he-”

Taking advantage of the distraction, the Beast rose again, knocked Phantom over, and towered above him. He drew his axe from the strap of darkmess on his back and raised it high in his clawed hands, his mouth full of hungry fangs, the beaver on his head squealing in terror, and-

Yet another giant blur shout out from the nearby woods, this one much more colorful. It jumped straight for the axe, grabbing it in its massive jaws, landed with a thud, and spat out the weapon several feet away. Then quick as a flash it leapt back again, knocked the Beast over, and they both rolled around on the ground for a moment, like fighting wolves.

Phantom looked on in confusion, while Woodrow quickly understood- the new beast was Dryad, in the form she sometimes took to protect the forest, a giant quadruped with a fierce maw and a fiery mane of foliage.

“YOU!!!” cried Sweetlopek, and it was impossible to tell if anger or delight dominated his distorted voice. “FINALLY…”

“I knew it would come to this, Sweetie,” said the other, and there was no mistake that her own voice, while strong and firm, was as sorrowful as dead brown leaves.

During this exchange, Woodrow had crawled from behind the tree, and reached Phantom, who was sitting there gasping and clutching at his chest.

As Dryad kept down the man she loved, so warped in both spirit and form, she turned her fierce head to the others. “Phantom!” she yelled. “Get Woody away from here. Far away.”

The ghost nodded. “But Dryad! Sweetlopek!” cried out the warden in dismay. “What will happen to-”

Just then, the Beast freed himself from the forest guardian’s grasp, and lunged again at the poet- who, for all his abnormal size, was so small and fragile compared to everyone else here; by far the easiest target. Before he could be harmed, however, Phantom quickly snatched him to his leaking chest, and flew upwards, out of the glade, and high over the forest.

As he flew, Woodrow looked back down as the two lovers recommenced their fighting, until the trees hid them from view. And he burst into agonized sobs, burying his face into Phantom’s neck. No matter who won, there was nothing but sorrow and pain and agony in whatever future he, and this planet, had left.

“...He was your friend, my dear?” said Phantom, as he kept flying at top speed, clutching Woodrow to his chest.

The warden did not answer, so powerful was his grief. Phantom did not press further, and after a few minutes, he found a small clearing. He gently drifted down to it, and set himself upon the grass. He opened his arms, and Woodrow attempted to peel himself off - only to find that his coat had become hopelessly stuck to the darkmess that leaked from his beloved’s wound. Without words, and with sobs that were gradually subsiding, he took off his coat, and then wrapped and stretched and tied the long sleeves around Phantom’s naked chest and back - it served as a bandage to stop the gushing.

Now Woodrow nestled back into Phantom’s arms, as the two of them sat there holding each other in silence, recovering from their mutual shock.

After a moment, Woodrow spoke up. “Thank you, Tom. Thank you for saving me. You look beautiful, now. But… what did you mean, I had saved you? Clearly, I haven’t. You are still afflicted, you still bear the poison of Cursa…”

The ghost smiled down at him, and raised the poet's chin so that they met each other’s eyes. “Tristan Woodrow,” he said, “When you found me, days ago, in this forest… I was soon to die. I know I would have, perhaps that very day. I am still dying, but now my last thoughts shall be happiness and peace, not confusion and regret and sorrow. My love, I have lived a new lifetime with you in these past few days.”

“But Tom,” said the other, gripping a handful of his darling’s hair in anguish, “You can’t die!! We didn’t- we didn’t ACTUALLY live a lifetime together- there’s so much we have to do- the walks alongside the river, in the cool breeze of our long autumn… our visit to the moon… your singing competitions with the birds… you promised…”

Phantom smiled, and a single line of darkmess began to emerge from behind his mask, like a tear. “You are a poet, mon cheri, as am I. Ask yourself: are not words real? We spoke it, and we imagined it, and so it happened, in every way that matters. When we talked about such things, I felt as if I was there. That is the best that either of us could hope for, in these days. On a stage, the play is reality. And that cabin was our stage.”

Woodrow had no tears left, but instead gazed up at the other defiantly. “But what about me?!” he demanded. “You can’t leave me. You may die in peace and contentment, but you leave me here- with what?”

Phantom stroked his companion’s cheek. “Lo siento, my love. What am I to do? I can’t help it. I shall leave you with everything you had before, and then some-”

“I have nothing!” cried the warden, his voice cracking. He stood up and spread his naked arms to the forest. “Look around us. My planet is dying too, and I cannot stop it. The creature you fought - he was a man once, a rabbid, my best friend, and Dryad’s beloved. I could not save him, nor could she. Now who knows what will happen between them - if Dryad dies, the forest will be without hope, and if Sweetlopek dies- why, both me and Dryad will be without hope and the forest will be devastated regardless. I could not save him, I could not save you, I could not save Palette Prime, so tell me, WHAT DO I HAVE?!”

Phantom’s blue eye was wide and sorrowful with empathy, as he rose himself up to hold his beloved, who was shaking with anger and grief.

“Tristan,” he said, “I am sure you have done your best. Nothing but your best. There are some battles that cannot be won, but… we must keep fighting.”

“Then YOU keep fighting!” choked the other. “Don’t you give up, don’t die, don’t- don’t leave me, Tom, please, I- I love you, I need you, my soulmate… I will be nothing without you, nothing… just dirt and mud and crumbled leaves-”

Phantom picked up the poet’s whole body into a bridal carry, and sat back down with the trembling bundle of emotion. “Dear Tristan, portafortuna,” he said in a singsong. “How lucky we are! How kind of the universe, to show me my soulmate before I died, even if so briefly…”

“It isn’t lucky at all!!” cried the other, grasping madly at the ghost’s arm. “It’s-it’s perfectly unlucky, as befits my destiny! My whole life! Don’t you see?! To come to know you, the person whose soul fits with mine like a lock and key, only to have him ripped away so cruelly, so quickly- it’s the worst thing the Fates have ever done to me.”

“Sweet poet, my darling,” sang the other. “Perhaps in another world we are together, in brighter days, without Cursa...”

“But I don’t live in that world, Tom… and neither do you…”

“For a moment, we can,” said Phantom.

And he began to sing, softly. A lullaby in some language Woodrow did not know. The poet let himself be held and sang to- finally, the voice he had yearned so desperately to hear was his to enjoy, all his, accompanied by the crickets and the rustle of leaves in the gathering night. How could he do anything but remain silent, and try to enjoy every note to the fullest? His ears perked up and tilted towards his darling’s face, and he nestled into his chest, kissing him tenderly on the neck and down his chest above his wound. Between verses, Phantom too bent over to plant a kiss on his beloved’s cheek or forehead.

And so it lasted, through several verses, until Phantom gradually seemed to struggle with keeping himself upward- suddenly his entire body jolted, as if trying to keep himself awake from a doze.

“Tom- Tom, are you-”

Phantom said nothing, and trickles of darkmess began to run from his mouth- then he suddenly collapsed backwards, with Woodrow on top of him.

“TOM!!”

The singer blinked, and shook his head, and looked up at Woodrow.

“Tristan-” he said quietly, “It’s time. Now’s the time. You must take my mask off.”

“But, but why- that may kill you, indeed- I cannot hurt you like that, not again…”

“I am dying regardless. Please, Tristan. You must take it off… I do not wish to die with her mark upon me. I wish to die with my own face.”

The poet swallowed back his tears. “Tom, my... my dearest, my darling love… I… there is no face back there. I’m so sorry. Your face, it’s been eaten away behind that mask… I should have told you, but-”

“I know,” said the other, with a weak wave of his paw. “I… guessed as much. But I do not care. Half of a face is still better than a mask. Just, please, take it off of me…”

Woodrow nodded, and positioned himself on top of Phantom as before. Digging his paws under the edge of the mask again, the warden pulled. He pulled, and pulled, giving no heed to the screams that resounded throughout the woods, for he knew what must be done- he tried to ignore all his senses, and his own pain and sorrow, and then before he knew it, the last strands of darkmess had snapped, and the mask was severed. He tossed it away towards the trees.

As before, the thick and oily sludge bubbled up out of the hole in Phantom’s head, with nothing to stop it.

“Thank you, my love-” murmured Phantom, looking up at the face above him, as the substance began to spread over his own face like lava from an erupting volcano. “I will die free. You have-”

Then Woodrow pressed his lips down onto Phantom’s.

“Mm-Trstn-” moaned the ghost in protest from behind their locked mouths, and with all his strength, forced the poet up. “You can’t- you must leave me now- this will kill you, you’ll-”

“I am already dead,” said the poet, and met his lips again. This time the ghost relented, and they kissed each other hungrily, passionately, like starving men who were eating for the first time in ages. Their hands were on each other’s faces, bodies, and hair, until they were both quite covered in darkmess, and Woodrow felt a tingling and burning on his flesh, and a rancid nauseating taste as plenty got into his mouth, but none of this mattered, none of it stopped him-

Then suddenly Phantom gave a sharp cry of pain, and his passion stopped short. Woodrow stopped as well. “Tom, what’s-”

The ghost cried out again, his half-face distorted in agony, and he pointed down towards his belly. Woodrow looked backwards, and then slid off of his lover to the side. Phantom’s body, with the loss of so much of its fluids, had become somewhat deflated - and now, for the very first time since their meeting, Woodrow could see that within Phantom’s stomach were two masses, two clumps of darkmess that stood out solidly amongst the remaining liquid. One was smaller, and had the distinctive shape of the gramophone - which indeed seemed likely to have been the source of the trouble this whole time, as even now, a small river of fresh sludge was pouring from its horn. And the other was some kind of rounder mass, indistinguishable, and very large…

Phantom continued to moan, and Woodrow lifted his head onto his own lap, in helpless fear, not knowing how to ease his pain. “Tom, how can I-”

And then, with a quiet pop, Phantom’s belly burst, like a water balloon, spilling its contents out over the forest floor. Out poured the darkmess, and the gramophone, which began to shed its coating of goop, and the other lump, which - as excess darkmess dripped from it, began to seem… almost… fuzzy…

Woodrow gasped in horror, feeling far more nauseous at this sight than at the darkmess he had swallowed. His mind was still reeling from Phantom bursting, when, from the rounded clump of darkmess, sprang up two tiny insectoid wings. They were bent and corroded, but still recognizable… just as the whole form itself, despite being largely stained black, and eaten away, was becoming more recognizable… ears, paws, a face...

“Holy stars. Mother of Rosalina,” swore Woodrow in terror. “Oh stars. Oh stars-”

Phantom groaned, and looked down weakly at the mess before him. “Oh, Tristan…” he moaned. “I… I remember now, I-”

The poet’s hands were over his mouth, trying not to throw up, and the last of his tears were streaming from his eyes. He could not look Phantom in the face.

“I could not remember until this moment," Phantom began, fighting hard for each word, "but… before I came here… I went. To Terra Flora. Looking for a cure… when I first became able to fight Cursa off, it’s... the first place I tried, because… I thought… Bea, I thought she-” he coughed up a burst of darkmess - “I thought she could help. And- and she did. She tried, despite everything I had done to her. She took pity on me- but… but Cursa overpowered me again, and- and we overpowered her… and I, we… we absorbed her…”

Woodrow looked down at Phantom again, his eyes wild and red with tears, then glanced up at the ruined and darkmess-riddled body that had once been Bea, then back down at Phantom. “She- she’s been here the whole time- she’s been INSIDE YOU-”

“I did not know,” said Phantom, and every broken word was agony. “And yet, somehow- I could still sense, I- I knew that I was a danger to you- I suppose I remembered, vaguely… that something had happened…”

“And then you came here next, to get me?!” said Woodrow, his voice thin and jumpy with horror and revulsion. “Working your way down the warden line? Well, you succeeded!”

“Perhaps Cursa brought me here for that reason, I do not know. I have… no memory… of how I came here. Even still. But it was I who fell in love, Tristan. It’s only ever been me. Since the moment I awoke… in that cabin… with you by my side. Since the moment… I heard you humming in my dreams. It’s only ever…been me… it’s only ever been… you…”

He reached up to touch Woodrow’s face, and the warden let himself be caressed; then he kissed Tom’s paw. “I believe you, Tom,” he said, crying softly. “I’m sorry, it’s just- it’s all so horrible-”

“I know,” said Phantom. “And that is why I have to die. There is no happy ending for me.”

“Take me with you,” said Woodrow softly. He took off his glasses, and smiled down at Phantom with his gentle green eyes, red around their rims from crying, his thundering raincloud forming a halo. “Let us go together into the night. There is nothing left for me in this world.”

“No, Tristan, mon cœur, ma vie… You deserve far better. I cannot rest in peace, knowing I had killed two people, two that I had loved… leave me, and run far away…”

“You didn’t kill me,” said the warden. “Let’s say my own poems did.”

He caressed the cheek of his lover, who now only had half a face, and half a body, and had already spilled out darkmess all over the ground and onto Woodrow, and said,

“I’ve been working on something for you. It’s deeply ironic now, but… listen.

You came to me a stranger In a time much stranger yet, And you carried me from danger, Aye, the danger of regret.

Your soul was made of fire, Kept me warm throughout the night, Lit my path throughout the mire, Taught me how to seek the light.

You were made so wondrous, That you sing without a word, Your voice is loud and thund’rous Even when you are not heard.

Your presence is itself a song And tho' your mouth be sealed, Your melody has greeted me And left me whole and healed.

Indeed one day you shall break free, The darkness cannot claim you, And your defiant melody Shall break the bonds that tame you.

Oh, my darling! What a joy it's been To know you as I do, The darkness shan't destroy, my friend, The light that lives in you.”

As Woodrow spoke, caressing Phantom’s hair, Jinx had started to rain upon them both. It washed away the darkmess from their faces for a time, and delayed the inevitable. But ultimately it was no use, this time. The darkmess was too strong, and too thick, and too plentiful. As the poem went on, they grew ever more covered in it. It dripped out of Phantom’s face, and by the final verse, his visage was completely hidden- save for his eye that peered out, and the vague form of a smile that could be seen as Woodrow recited his work. And so too were the warden’s paws, and his lap and his knees and legs, overtaken by the ever-growing puddle.

There wasn’t much left in Phantom’s deflated body, but from a few feet away, the gramophone had continued to spill out a new surge as well. It poured like a sluggish waterfall, forming a puddle that connected the lifeless body of Bea to the two lovers nearby, all united by the same ominous pool.

Woodrow looked down at his beloved and finished his poem, heedless of the darkmess that had begun to encase his legs from above and below.

“It was beautiful, my dear,” Phantom said, his voice barely audible and distorted as the darkmess ate away at what was left of his face. “I’m glad I got to hear it.”

“And I’m glad I got to say it,” said the poet. With something of a struggle, he pulled himself free of the puddle amassing around him- just enough to lay his body down next to Phantom, on the ground, intimately connected in that moment to both the planet and the person he loved above all things. He pulled what remained of Phantom towards him, and fought through the sludge to kiss his lips. The darkmess surged into his mouth, down his throat, and he felt searing pain from within and without.

But the pain, to him, was a divine blessing. He was dissolving, he knew, into the same undistinguished mass that Phantom and Bea would become. A venn diagram of poetry and song with Phantom at its center. It’s better like this.

Phantom’s wings, which had laid still and become part of the puddle, fluttered again, just enough to wrap around Woodrow and pull him ever closer into the dark embrace.

The last words uttered in the glade that night, softly under the bubbling and roiling sound of the terrible sludge at work, were "I love you," and "I love you too. Forever."

And so it was that the poetry went silent, and Woodrow’s last work was never heard by another soul - no one, except a certain cloud which, having rained itself out in one last act of grief, allowed itself- for the first time in decades- to fully dissipate, back into the air of the planet from which it had been formed.

THE END

[So! Here are my thanks-

Dryad's beast form comes from @minnesotamedic186 !

The general direction of the ending, and Bea being involved, comes from @hostess-of-horror's distressing concept for Phantom in Sparks of Despair. I've been working towards a conclusion that honors her vision this whole time, so here we are!

Thanks to YOU for reading this, even though it might have broken your heart as it did mine. The terror of this story, the monster at the end of this book, lived in the back of my mind for over a year, and as hard as it was to finally write down, now I can finally put it to rest.]

[naminethewriter]

What did you think this trip was for?

It's already the last day of Loceit Week! So sad for it to be over already, but I had lots of fun and I hope you did, too! @loceitweek

Masterpost | Loceit Week 2024 Masterpost | Ao3

Prompt: It was probably what everyone should have expected to happen, but they all still acted surprised.

Summary: Janus and Logan invited all their friends out on a trip with them. There must be an ulterior motive, right?

Content Warnings: None

~~*~~

“Alright everybody, shut up and listen!” Remus called as he burst into the room. Gathered there were Roman, Patton, Virgil, Remy and Emile who looked at him with varying degrees of worry.

“What did you do now?” Virgil groaned, leaning back into the cushions of the couch. “We’re on vacation, can’t you just chill for a day?”

“Nope, not possible. And it’s your hosts who are requesting your presence in the garden.”

“Oh, do we finally figure out why the hell they paid for all of us to accompany them out to the middle of nowhere?” Remy quipped but got to his feet, as did everybody else.

“Maybe, maybe not~!” Remus singsonged before leaving the way he came.

“Alright, any last-minute bets?” Roman asked around, pulling out a small notebook. “Patton?”

“I’m sticking with it, kiddo!”

“Sure. Emile?”

“Same!”

“We’d have said something if we changed our minds, princey. Get moving,” Virgil complained, shoving him forward.

“Alright then we have Remy and Virgil on them moving away and Patton, Emile and me on wedding announcement.”

“Yeah, and the suspension is killing me babes, so let’s go out,” Remy called, already halfway through the door.

Out in the garden they found enough chairs for each of them in a half circle and in the middle stood Remus, grinning at them.

“There you are! Took your sweet time too! Sit down before the grooms manage to arrive before you.”

“Wait, grooms?!” Patton squealed. “They’re getting married right now?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t be serious,” Remy balked.

“What did you think this trip was for, boo?” Remus laughed. It was probably what everyone should have expected to happen, in his opinion, but they all still acted surprised. They were all staring at him with wide eyes.

Wait.

“Did you really not think this might happen?”

“No!” Roman shouted. “Why would we? Logan and Janus aren’t really the type to—” He cut himself off, thinking for a moment. “Well, Janus would but I didn’t think Logan would go along with it! I thought this is like a bachelor party or something and they were going to tell us when the wedding is going to be, not that this is the wedding! I’m not dressed for this!”

“Oh, Logie was quite happy doing it like this, you know how he is about big parties. This intimate thing with just his closest friends is his Crofters jam.” Despite his shock, Patton couldn’t help but laugh at the horrible pun. “And Jay was so hoping you’d freak out over the lack of proper wardrobe, so mission accomplished! Now sit down!”

“I demand you let me change!” Roman cried but Virgil just grabbed his arm and dragged him to the chairs.

“Let it go, Ro. If this is what the grooms want, then just go along with it.”

Roman grumbled but let himself be seated, Virgil plopping into the seat next to him. On his other side Remy took his place, then Patton and lastly Emile was about to sit down but he stopped in the last moment, blinking confused.

“What about you, Remus?”

“What about me, Cartoon Crazy?”

“Where are you going to sit? There are no more chairs?”

“I don’t need to sit! I’m officiating!”

“Oh heaven, this is a disaster,” Roman groaned.

“Those aren’t nice things to say at someone’s wedding, Roman,” a voice said behind them, and they all turned around to see Logan and Janus had arrived. Both were wearing neatly pressed suits, Janus’ black and gold and Logan’s dark blue and silver.

“Damn!” Remy whistled. “You both are looking fine!”

“Thank you, Remy,” Logan smiled.

“See, one person knows how to behave,” Janus smirked at Roman who pouted.

“You don’t even tell us we’re going to be attending your wedding and you made Remus your officiant? How can you expect me not to comment?”

“By expecting that you can control your tongue for once, Roman. But it seems that was too much to ask.”

“Dear, can you please wait to further antagonize our guest until after the ceremony?” Logan asked, squeezing Janus’ arm that was interlocked with his. “I would like to marry you in the next few minutes.”

“I would complain if that wasn’t so romantic,” Roman huffed and his brother cackled.

“Come up here then, love birds! The sooner we’re done, the sooner you can get to smooching.” Remus wiggled his eyebrows at them and Janus sighed.

“I really shouldn’t have given into his demands.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, love. At least he will be quick about it,” Logan reassured him as they moved around the chairs to join Remus in the middle of their little ceremony.

“True. And I can’t wait to be able to say yes.”

“Me neither.”

[extasiswings]

Got a Sunday “are you going to turn around a new draft of this” email for something that a) is not urgent, and b) came in late Friday afternoon (with no mention of a return deadline), and I did in fact turn around a new draft this morning on a holiday because I had time but it took a lot of effort not to snap. Because “responsiveness” was given as one of the reasons I’m apparently not fit for my current job, but we’ve had multiple office-wide meetings since I started about work-life balance and the importance of setting boundaries and sticking to them to prevent burnout (including things like “you don’t have to answer emails or do work at all hours of the night or on weekends unless you’re actively working on something really urgent/to meet a deadline”), and my “responsiveness” is no different than anyone else’s except for the fact that I tend to actually stick to my work-life balance boundaries (which again they TOLD us to set). There was no reason to send me an email on a holiday weekend asking for status as if I’ve done something wrong by not working on non-urgent matters (that don’t have deadlines) outside of the work week, and if that’s part of the reason I’m being asked to leave, well frankly, fuck off

[grassbreads]

Everyone needs to read Hiraeth -The End of the Journey- right fucking now

[bloodmoonlich]

.

[aschenbroedel]

Not quite idyllic but not hopeless. Sharing a dirty apartment. Wrought iron balcony. Helping each other put on and take off makeup. Wearing each other’s clothes without asking. Empty gossip. Never talking about anything important or substantial. Seldom being asleep at the same time. Falling asleep in each other’s beds. Loving each other but not realising it, not even knowing that the love exists in oneself. Melting patchy snow. Muddy springtime. Broken household appliances. Meaningless sticky lip gloss kisses. Being able to rely unequivocally on each other. Writing messages on the fogged-up bathroom mirror. Leaving notes on the fridge. Hopping on one foot while getting out of heels. Slumber parties. Tinny classical music coming from the kitchen radio. Automatic actions and reactions. Friendship as sacrosanct. Telling each other everything except that which would change anything.

[kirythestitchwitch]

Klaroline WIP Wed - 1423 AU - 2.2 - There Was Only One Horse

all the walls of dreaming (they were torn wide open) (ch 1) Part 2.1 here (does not directly follow this)

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

They only had one horse, and Caroline did not know how to ride on her own. She was sure she could learn—given a proper saddle—but they didn’t have the time for instructions or to check every well-off stable they came across for a side-saddle. Which meant that for the past three days, Caroline had been subjected to a daily torture she hadn’t expected when she set out to fetch a living spell ingredient.

There were some personal accounts of encounters with the Originals to be found in the esoteric libraries her kind kept secret and hidden in the Mother of Cities. Caroline had always found these tales fascinating for their depth of horror, and the few good things recorded were often tempered by a devil’s bargain.

Nothing could have prepared her for sharing a horse. A horse that Klaus very obligingly saddled and packed each morning, a private, taunting smile tucked away in the corners of his mouth.

A mouth that lingered in her field of view every time he lifted her onto the saddle, that small glimmer of a knowing that stiffened her spine, even as she noticed every other detail about him in a sort of hyper focus that did not bode well for her sanity: the feeling of his hands tight on her waist, his shoulders under the wool of his tunic firm against her palms as she steadied herself on her precarious perch. And then, horribly, that lurching moment in her stomach when she couldn’t help herself and looked into his blue eyes that were, without fail, looking up into hers.

Wringing her hair out took a moment, and then she scooped a couple fingers full of soap out of the little jar. Tilting her head to the side over the basin, she began to lather her hair, working the soap through the strands. If only she could scrub her ever circling mind clean the same way.

Why had he gone and kissed her like that, like it had been the whole point of getting out of that box, like it had been more necessary than air? She kept on thinking about it, the kiss a fuzzy haze in her memories, mouth soft, tongue a barely there tease. Wait, was there tongue? Just what she didn’t need, her mind inventing a new madness for her to cling to. She was expecting to be fretting with worry over Enzo, not obsessing over some vampire with boundary issues.

Everything was a constant tug of war with Klaus. She always tried sitting stiffly originally, leaning away from his body, but that did her little good. The motion of the horse brought her back to him time and time again.

“It really is more comfortable if you move with the horse,” Klaus had said, voice a murmur in her ear that stirred the hair on the back of her neck. She tried not to shiver, focused on the fact that he sounded piqued.

She had gritted her teeth against the soreness in her spine. “I’m fine,” she had said, making an effort not to squirm. His thighs held her hips in place; she didn’t need to make this situation worse.

“Caroline, do try to relax. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” Somehow, this low pronouncement was not reassuring, its tone a temptation of the unknown. 

They had ridden for what felt like hours. When she had finally allowed her spine to curve into the front of his chest, Klaus had made a pleased little noise, his nose brushing the curve of her ear and breath warm on her neck.

“Should I add ‘obstinate’ to the list of things I know about you, sweetheart?” This close, the timbre of his voice had hummed through her bones.

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

So I made a

Nagito Andy

Byakuya Remy

What if I make a jataro Virgil

Very cursed. D O I T /very positive

[phobicrow]

ok,,,, so,.,,,,,, im remaking my intro because I dont like it abymoe and I wanna liek,.,,,,, fuck idk Hi Im Max but I also go by kin names (Ill post my strawpage in my bio soon guys I prommise) I'm a 16yo artist who at the time of writing this (5/2/2024) rlly RLLY likes toontown corporate clashh,,,, Im looking for friends/moots who like it too because I RLLY wanna make a silly friend group with it and idk if any of my other friends rlly care enough ab it to want to play or engage in it as much as mne ,,,,

I RLLYYYYYY like the duck shuffler he is so silly and cutie patootie him and his piano husband both <3 they are the sweeties ever methinks and I loobv them I also engage in and draw OC x Canon and also liek,,,,m,,,, idk im tired while typing this I think that im burnt out. but like, yeah !!!!!! my asks are always open btw tell me to draw anything aslong as its not proship or nsfw or anything ,,, so like. even if it's an OC or a canon character from some anime or something idgaf also also I rlly like danganronpa ans undertale/ts!underswap/Undertale Yellow so if you guys like that too then follow :3333333 I dont have a strict schedule for posting ans also I literally draw whatever I want so like,. yah :3

[cosmo-production]

(this was made for joke, im not really gonna start a fight over the safety of cartoon bunnies)

HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO MY BOY!

just let cursa win, a world without rabbid Mario isn't one worth saving!

atleast we still have bea....

(warning spooky stuff ahead)

(art by hostess-of-horror)

AW, COME ON

[pixies-and-poets]

OH NOOOOO, THIS IS DESTROYING ME /pos

Amazing work!! Perfect depiction!! Their expressions, aaaagh!!! Looking at this really does remind me why this scene took me half a year to get from my head into text, because... the pain... 🥲

But I'm glad people are enjoying it, and worry not! Things will get even worse!

Thank you so much!!!!

scene from @bramble-scramble's new chapter of her fic. smiles and a single tear rolls down my cheek. this was so hard to draw I actually almost started crying in call