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twstfanblog · 7 months

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*~Period Drama~* Sunday

A/N: SCREAMS. Ok, sorry. It's been a hard time getting this out and for no reason. I literally had it like 80% done this whole time and the last 20% got lost in the damn mail I guess. But now it's done and out for the masses to enjoy! A thank you to @bun-lapin for allowing me to use their lovely OC for this fic! Word Count: 7.5K (God Damn...) Warnings: Period Talk (Like most of this is just various period facts and it lowkey gets pretty horrifying near the end), She/They Pronouns OC Pairings: AzulxOC (Poly), JamilxOC (Poly), Paternal Crewel &OC, Alluded to Riddle/Floyd Now with a tag-list! @twistedcece, @deltrea, @krenenbaker Start, Part 2 (Octavinelle), Part 3 (Here). Part 4 (Savanaclaw), Part 4.5 (Diasomnia pt.1), Part 5 (Diasomnia pt.2)

"Sorry again for bleeding on your pants."

Yuu stood in their dorm’s entrance hallway, Azul at the door with his ruined slacks in hand and wearing a pair of sweats borrowed from Yuu.

Azul had spent the night after Crewel’s brief lecture. The fur-wearing teacher had given Yuu another pain relief potion before leaving, stating he was going to get something longer-lasting for them by tomorrow. Azul had elected to stay, acting as emotional support and bringing Yuu whatever they needed from elsewhere in the house.

"No issue, my pearl. The twins have ruined more than one outfit for me, a little blood isn't the end of the world." He mutters under his breath, looking at the sweatpants with a pinched expression. But he turns to smile at them, “I’m only sorry that I can’t stay with you longer. But, I’ve already missed one productive day at the lounge, and I fear what will happen if I miss another. Let alone leave Jade and Floyd to their own devices any longer…”

"So what do I owe you for the emotional turmoil then?" Yuu smiles lazily, eyes lidded as they watch Azul place a hand over his chest.

"Why I could never ask for anything in return. You're in such a delicate position, it'd be cruel to give you a payment plan now for all the distress you've caused me this past week…"

So, she was going to be ambushed with a 'payment plan' once her period was over.

Smirking, they tilt their head, a finger poking into their cheek, "So, can I start making those payments before the interest gets too high?"

Azul sighs, pouting and shaking his head with his eyes closed, "Honestly. I try to be benevolent and you throw it back in my face. Such cruelty…" he opens an eye, a smile almost leaning into a smirk, "But payment in kisses is always accepted with you."

"Suave" Yuu leans closer, peppering kisses against Azul’s reddening cheeks before going for the kill on his lips. The two sets molded together, Yuu holding him by his jaw as her tongue slid into his mouth, tasting his moans as his hands shakingly reached toward her hips. Pulling away, they giggle at seeing Azul catch his balance on the wall, "Have fun at the lounge. Call me when you can squeeze in a break."

Still dizzy from the kiss, Azul nodded, free hand fumbling for the doorknob behind him, "W-will do. Please don't overdo it when no one is here. Love you." He barely escaped, losing his composer and stumbling away just as he closed the door behind him. Yuu was always physically affectionate, but she was downright merciless if he ever blushed in front of her.

Yuu sighs, deciding to finally check their phone in bed…maybe they’ll just grab more towels from the hallway closet. Laying on the couch closer to the kitchen would be the smarter idea. They huff, pulling out more towels and piling them in their arms. They really needed to find something to act comfortably enough like a pad or tampon, free bleeding was too messy in the long run.

Once the couch was prepped with towels, they laid down to rest under their cozy throw blanket until Crewel appeared to check on them. They clicked their phone on and almost choked at the number of notifications. At least 300 texts, 47 missed calls, and various social media @'s in an effort to reach them. They had to fight back the tears, emotions swelling at the idea of just how cared for they were in this world. Once their nerves were settled, they went to ground zero.

Their group chat with the 'Firstie Squad' was where most of the texts were. Ace first stated that someone had assaulted them. From there chaos descended. Jack demanded to know if Ace was joking, because if so it wasn't funny in the slightest. Epel chimed in that there was no way anyone overpowered them and got away alive. Ace snapped at both of them what he saw, pointing out how odd they'd been behaving the week prior. Sebek finally chimed in, only typing to ask whether Ace was sure.

Once Ace rementioned the bloody vagina mess the whole chat might as well as caught on fire. Jack seemed to disappear, Epel followed quickly after dropping several swears and threats into the chat about the would-be aggressor. Sebek stuck around the longest, talking with Ace to get information and make a game plan. Ortho sent a single link on helping a loved one who had been assaulted. But, knowing the living droid, he had probably combed every camera at his disposal to try and catch whoever did such a crime.

Nearly an hour later Deuce had finally entered the chat, full caps stating that they were okay and then yelling at Ace. He scolded him for blabbing when Crewel just told them to keep quiet. From there new, familiar chaos took over, a normal back and forth whenever Ace and Deuce started fighting over text.

The other stray texts were from the housewardens, mainly asking why their respective firsties were acting so odd. A few more texts asking if they were okay, noting how angry they've been the past few days. Surprisingly, only two texts were from Jamil. One was a photo of a teary-eyed Grim being held like a baby by Kalim in the background, crumbs on his over-stuffed cheeks and Kalim flashing a peace sign. Mildly blurry in the corner of the photo was the side of Jamil’s face, a half-in-frame peace sign hiding his mouth. The simple message attached, ‘Grim is fed and being held. Love you’

Yuu smiles, sending him a quick message before replying to the other texts, making sure to send Ace several middle finger and a single heart emoji. She groans, seeing a few texts from Vil. But looking closer, she sees most of the missed calls were from Vil, maybe she should call him…

Listening through a few of the voicemails, Yuu notes how calm Vil sounded in the first recording. The blonde only asked how their day was and if they were still on for their movie night. The next few voicemails slowly increased in panic, the last one being a chaotic audio of Epel wailing in the background. Rook trying to either comfort or hold the country boy back while Vil yelled into the phone, “You better be dead when I find you, or so help me you’re going to be for making me worry like this!”

Yuu personally made sure to save that voicemail. It was rare to hear such emotion from Vil Shoenheit without having paid him an insane amount of money and hours of makeup and hair styling. Should Crowley try to withhold their allowance, they had a nice little nest egg to sell.

Soon, Yuu heard the front door swing open, the wood slamming against the wall and no doubt deepening the dent that was already there. Crewel really needed to announce himself at all times when he was annoyed. Yuu doesn’t rise from the couch, instead letting out a high-pitched yip to let him know where in the house they were. Hearing the click of the adult's shoes, Yuu waves over the side of the couch, “Sup, papa dog.”

“Hello, puppy.” Crewel leans over the back of the couch, his gloved hand petting her head and pressing a kiss to her hair, “How are you feeling?”

“Like bloody dirt.”

“Hmm.” Crewel drops a bag onto their stomach, the warmth and smell of it giving away that it was a take-out box of food, “Breakfast from your eels. You’ll need to eat it before you take this pain potion.”

Yuu smiles, pulling the food out and digging in. Mid chew, they raise an eyebrow, “Why’s this potion different? I normally take them without food all the time.” They watch Crewel pull out a flask, but instead of the normal green-colored syrup, it was a bright cyan. The bottle itself had a warning tag on the glass, “What the fuck is that?”

“This, puppy, is a medical-grade pain potion. While I am able to brew anything, it’d be illegal for me to brew something of this strength without proper licensing. So, I tasked Ms.Oster with making a few for you.”

The distrust Yuu had instantly faded, reaching out for the flask with a smile, “Oh, I love Ms.Oster.”

Crewel pulls the bottle from their reach, playfully sneering down at them, “Yeah, I know.”

Ingrid Oster was one of the science professors under Crewel’s direction in the school. She mainly taught practical magic and magical first aid. Even though Yuu had no reason to even know the woman as a first year, they had managed to meet and we’re now teacher/student ‘besties’, something that deeply annoyed Crewel. The number of times the bi-colored man had walked into the staff room only to see the two of them having a luncheon and gossiping about other students. Not to mention Ingrid only upped her teasing, telling Crewel that he wears the ‘dad look’ very well.

Crewel demanded they finish their food before letting them even touch the bottle. The teacher explained how a medical-grade pain potion had a much stronger effect than the standard potion. It lasted for nearly a whole day instead of 4-6 hours, not to mention how it worked. Instead of simply numbing the nerves to give pain relief, a medical-grade pain potion targeted the muscle system, physically relieving tension and letting the fibers relax. As such, they were very rarely used outside of hospitals, but Crewel didn’t feel comfortable having Yuu drink possibly more than two potions a day.

Once Yuu was done eating, Crewel held up a finger, making sure he had their attention, “Don’t drink all of this like a normal potion. This is much stronger than that so I want you to sip. Understand? Sip.”

Yuu sighed, making a grabby hand motion until Crewel handed the flask over, noting how it still felt a bit warm through the glass under their fingers. Uncorking the bottle they make sure to sip the liquid as loudly as possible. Pulling it away and smiling at Crewel’s annoyed look, “Sip.”

“Enough of the sass or I won’t be sending you lunch.” Crewel collected the trash, throwing it away for them in the kitchen before walking back into the lounge, “Ortho hasn’t answered me yet about any of his findings. But, then again I think you actually managed to traumatize the poor boy. Until then, you’re sadly on house arrest, puppy. Invite who you wish, but you shouldn't roam campus how you like.”

“Fine…” Yuu slumped back onto the couch, pouting but feeling better as the potion started to take a mild effect. They do send a smile as Crewel ruffles their hair.

Crewel reminds them once more to not drink the whole bottle, Sip, giving their head another kiss before he left. As much as he’d want to stick around to make sure his favorite pup was taken care of, he was a very busy teacher and he had lesson plans to prepare for tomorrow.

The second Crewel had slammed their front door closed, they uncorked the flask again and drank the whole potion. They’d rather just deal with the full effect of the potion in one sitting instead of having to sip for hours on end or wake up from a surprise nap in pain. Crewel would understand if he came back and Yuu was in some type of medically induced coma.

Lunch rolled around, and along with it came three steady, loud knocks on the front door. Yuu blearily blinked their eyes open, yep, they passed out on the couch. Luckily they didn’t roll onto their phone, checking the time and messages before another three knocks rang out. As before, Yuu lets out a loud —bird-adjacent— call, their universal sign of approval. She giggles lightly, hearing Ace and Deuce return the call when they open the door, the sound of Riddle scolding them for making 'nonsense noises' without permission.

The Heartslabyul crew all walked into the lounge, each in casual clothing and a different level of uneasiness but smiling all the same. Cater was in the back, phone held nervously with both hands as he gave a wary eye at their prone form. Trey was calm as normal, holding a picnic basket in hand. Ace and Deuce were already in front of them, leaning down and annoying her mildly. Mainly Ace, the redhead poking at her stomach asking if she was still bleeding. Deuce hissed at him to stop, ‘What if you poke them so hard they bleed more?’

Riddle stood with an extra type of rigidity in his stance, the only give that he was uncomfortable. Even with his medical knowledge, he always found blood to be a deeply uncomfortable topic. But, he was willing to face his apprehension if it was for his younger classmate's benefit. Walking closer, Riddle clears his throat before speaking, “Apologies, Yuu. We’ve visited without a prior invite or call, but due to recent events I believe we can have a pass on that rule for now…”

Cater nods his head, but still refusing to get closer, “We were totes worried about you, sweetie. Plus the ADeuce duo over here wasn’t making things better by vague ranting in the dorm…”

The two freshmen glare over their shoulder’s at Cater. They had returned to the dorm yelling at each other the day prior, a common occurrence. What peaked the upperclassmen’s worry was the dubious context of their argument and their silence when Riddle demanded to know what had happened.

Yuu smiles, blinky slowly, still half asleep from their nap, “Sorry. In fairness I wasn’t expecting it to happen, so I was really unprepared.” Cater actually had a more familiar reaction, something Yuu wasn’t aware that she missed. The mild fear from boys the second periods were mentioned, skirting around but still ready to help out because they knew they were in danger.

Trey chuckles, looking at Cater’s nervous self from the corner of his eye. Holding up the basket he taps it lightly, “We brought you some croissants, freshly baked this morning. I can even make you a sandwich with fixings of your choice.” He wouldn’t mention the hastily compiled ‘survival guide’ Jade had sent him last night. The main point being that favored food seemed to be the only thing to keep Yuu in a relatively calm state.

“I just woke up, don’t give me choices…” Yuu whined lightly, curling into the couch but still muttered out, “You know I like croissants savory or sweet, surprise me. And thanks for bringing me lunch.”

“No problem, Yuu. I heard from Crewel you were on house arrest. So to ease his workload we’ll be watching you for the day.” He starts to walk away, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll get to making you something to eat.”

“And I’ll help him! Bye, sweetie!” Cater hurried after Trey, seeing an opportunity to run and taking it.

Ace sighed, standing up straight, “Jeeze, you’re such trouble…You can’t even be bothered to sit up while you talk to us?”

“Don’t bully them, Ace! They’re in pain!” Deuce sputters, turning to Yuu with a worried, “Wait are you still in pain, should we have brought you a potion?”

Yuu waves him off lightly, slowly patting him on the face until the worried pout loosens, “Don’t worry. Crewel brought me breakfast and a pain potion. I’m as…chill as a…cold thing…Yeah…”

“You’re still half asleep is what you are…” Ace mutters quietly, rubbing the back of his head before he looks up. He looks back down, a smirk on his face, “But, since I’m such a good friend, I’ll help around since you’re too useless to do it right now.” Waving he starts to walk toward the stairs, “I’ll go clean your room.”

Deuce jumps up, growling under his breath before he follows Ace, “You’re not slick! I know you’re just gonna nap up there! Just because Yuu isn’t using their bed, doesn’t mean you get to laze around in it!” He had run out of the room after the fleeing redhead, only to rush back in. Kneeling down he gathers Yuu into his arms in a quick hug, “Glad you’re ok, Yuu.”

“Aw…Thanks, buddy.”

Deuce releases them, running back to the stairs and his yelling fading the farther he gets.

In the silence, Yuu drifted between half asleep and simply staring into the air. They probably shouldn’t have taken the whole potion, but they’d never admit to Crewel being right. Not after they deliberately disobeyed him. While studying their hand in the open air, they notice Riddle had stayed in the room, looking more and more conflicted, “...You ok?”

“...” Riddle shifted nervously, looking to the side before he walked closer. Crouching down, he whispered, almost in fear of anyone else hearing him, “Are you really bleeding from your…vagina?”

“...” She wasn’t going to laugh, she refused to laugh. Not when Riddle was looking at them so concerned. He didn’t deserve that. She didn’t know if her face stayed straight or betrayed just how hard she was trying to not laugh, but she reached out to pat Riddle on the head, “I am…but it’s fine. Other than cramps, this doesn’t actually hurt me. No need to be all worried…”

That seemed to be enough for Riddle, the 2nd year letting out a sigh of relief before he stood back to his full height, “In that case, would you allow me to interview you?”

“Interview?”

With a wave of his pen, a notebook appeared in his hands, “You are a biological alien to us, though we seem to forget that at times… Such functions don’t happen to the people of Twisted Wonderland, it’d be any researcher's dream to study it.” Coughing into his fist he calms himself, “But, I understand if you are uncomfortable with such a thing. I only thought it’d be good to get the facts documented should something similar happen again.”

Yuu chuckles, seeing how eager Riddle was. One thing Yuu knew about Riddle, was that he loved puzzles. Researching a new topic with little information was a blind puzzle to him and he dived into research like it was a water slide. Sure he was trying to curb his enthusiasm since they were affected by an ‘alien illness’, but he just couldn’t stop how excited he was.

“I don’t mind, Riddle.”

Riddle’s nervous energy instantly passes, smiling at them before he flips the notebook open. Sitting in front of their legs on the couch, he clicked his wand to uncap the pen, “Perfect! Now, what is happening in broad terms?”

“Pussy peeling.”

Riddle sighed so hard that Yuu was worried he’d fall over dead from lack of air, “Yuu...You know I dislike that word, I’m begging you.”

Yuu giggles, a leg moving to lightly push against Riddle’s back before calming down, “I’m sorry…My Vagina is peeling, liquifying the scraps and then forcing it out of my body.”

Riddle looked ill, but I kept writing, “That sounds horrific…”

“Oh, it is.”

“What function does this process serve?”

“Baby room reno.”

“...What?”

Yuu groaned, head falling back against the armrest, trying to figure out an easier way to explain. Snapping their fingers, they point toward Riddle, “My pussy is replacing the wallpaper.”

“In no way…does that help me.”

“Aaaaaokay. Imagine your hormones, like, spend the whole month decorating a nursery. But, turns out there’s no baby. So the hormones throw a fit and decided to redo the nursery for next month. Hence…” Yuu smiles, gesturing to their stomach, “Replacing the wallpaper.”

Riddle wrote down the long-winded analogy, making sure to circle ‘Wallpaper replacement’ with a question mark beside it, “And this is normal in your world?”

“Sadly. Girls get their first period sometimes at like… 8 years old or younger.”

“Why!? That just…What is the purpose of it? I assumed this was a feature from birth, not something you just…wake up to.”

“Oh, it’s a sign that your body can make babies. It’s a hormonal change that comes packaged with puberty.”

Riddle stops writing, “You said some girls get this at 8 years old?”

“Yeah…though it’s more common around like 12 or 13. My friend got her’s when she was like 9 and she said she freaked out so hard. Her mom hadn’t had the, like, talk with her yet. So she just bled everywhere and tried to hide it.” Yuu kept rambling, recounting the stories her old friend group had shared about their first period horror stories, missing Riddle’s own dawning horror.

Yuu normally talked fondly of their old world. Funny stories with friends, and pleasant memories with their grandparents (Yuu never claimed to be an orphan. Had stated that both her parents were alive as far as she knew. She never shared a happy memory about them though). But sometimes the things they said worried them. The violence, the discrimination, the constant fear some people had to live in. The fact the people in charge would rather let their workforces starve than simply give them the rightful money earned (That bit of knowledge had even made Azul uncomfortable for a time). And now he hears that girls were ready to carry and birth children biologically? Girls, children. He’s praying that it wasn’t okay for girls so young to be engaging in such…activities, but the fact their bodies went through such a change at that age horrified him.

And a selfish part whispered that he was glad Yuu had managed to escape such a place.

Riddle manages to shake himself free of his spiraling thoughts, catching the end of Yuu's rambles.

"-And then my friend Tracy got her's in the middle of a ballet recital and she, like, bled all over the stage. Apparently, one girl was staring the whole time and tripped because of it." Yuu laughs, the sound coming out mildly choked, “Lisa…Lisa has like 3 older sisters, okay? They all got their period on the same day, so their house was super tense. Then poor lil Lisa comes out of her room crying holding her bloody bedsheet and everyone starts crying.”

Riddle looks at Yuu in worry from the corner of his eye, writing down more questions to review with Jade, “All of them at once? Would that be considered rare?” Was a period something like an overblot? The symptoms seemed to match…

“Naw, it’s common pussy ping, happens to the best of us.”

“One, stop saying that word. Two, a common what?”

Yuu nodded their head in a sage manner, eyes already drifting around the room again, “Yeah, pussy ping. It’s when you, like, sync up with other vaginas.”

“...” Riddle turns to Yuu, eyes wide in horror, “Sync up? As in…if someone’s period has started…”

“Yep.” Yuu smiles, making vague hand gestures, “If you spend enough time with another vagina, they send wifi signals to each other and sync up the calendars so that their hosts start on the same day.”

“I-Their hosts?” So a period was like an overblot. An extremely dangerous one at that if they were able to induce overblots in others simply by being around them long enough. The very thought of his own overblot resulting in the others…

“Oh yeah. The pussy is a dangerous thing. It’s acidic and can influence other vaginas to rebel.” “Wait, it’s acidic!?”

“Oh, yeah.” Yuu stretched, back popping as they sat up to look at Riddle directly, “I guess some stuff doesn’t carry over then. Yeah, my pussy is mildly acidic.”

Riddle looks down to Yuu’s covered lap, eyes panicked, “Is that healthy?” “Yeah. If your pussy juice can bleach your underwear over time, your pussy bacteria is healthy.”

Acidic was healthy. Riddle cared about Yuu, he truly did. She was like a sibling his younger self would have desperately needed to be a reason to think of how his actions affect those around him and to physically slap him for going too far. But every time he spoke to them about their natural state, he just felt intense concern. Things Yuu would joke about only made him realize that depression wore many faces, and that fact only made his worry expand to others in his dorm. Clearing his throat, Riddle edged just slightly away from Yuu’s lower anatomy, “Do you need to clean it out with soap or-”

Yuu was leaned against the back of the couch in a daze, cheek pressed into the fabric before shooting up and cutting Riddle off, “No. Nothing but clean water can go into the pussy. If you put any kinda cleaner up there it will anger the blood goddess and she will curse you and your pussy with dryness and wheat…yeast infections.”

“I- The blood goddess? You said your world didn’t have magic, who is this blood goddess!?”

“The Moon.”

…

“The…The Moon?”

“The moon controls the blood tides and demands her daughters pay for the sins of old…”

Riddle wrote down the new information, eyes wide, “Ok, let’s change the subject.”

Yuu nods, head lulling back to rest against the couch, “Periods are like…insane. Girls only like talking about them because it makes everyone else terrified.”

“I can see why…But with this affecting possibly 50% of the population, you must have had a class about it? Do you remember anything you could tell me?”

“No.”

“...No?”

“I don’t remember.”

Riddle sighs, looking at Yuu with a stern frown, “Yuu this would be much easier if you would cooperate with me-”

“No, really I don’t remember. We had the ‘puberty talk’ when I was, like, in 5th grade. We don’t review that shit until we get to Sex-Ed and I didn’t have that class yet.”

“...That sounds incredibly negligent and poorly thought out.”

“You could also opt your kid out because you don’t want them learning about sex.”

“What-”

“Those were the kids who normally end up pregnant, funny enough.”

“Childhood pregnancy isn’t funny, Yuu.”

Yuu giggled, nudging at Riddle’s back with her knee, only stopping when the 2nd year forcibly shoved her knee away from him, “It’s kinda funny. At least to laugh at the parent's stupidity, you know?”

“You’re laughing at a child getting pregnant…” Please don’t let that be a common occurrence in Yuu's world, “But, You are sexually active, aren’t you? How is that so if you’ve never had Sex-Ed?”

“The fuck kind of question is that? You’re the ghost of a sickly Victorian child who never lived to take The Dangers of Spices 101, how are you fucking Floyd?”

“It’s mandatory of Twisted Wonderland home school curriculum to teach a basic Sex-Ed course at the middle school level and you don’t need to know the details of my personal life.”

“Oh god, you had Sex-Ed with your mom.”

“Yuu-”

She waves his tone off, not at all bothered by his reddening face, “I learned from my friends. Honestly, I didn’t even know how a tampon worked until we had to make a midnight run at a sleepover one night.”

“Tampons…” Riddle writes it down, ensuring the page had plenty of space, “That’s a new term. What is it?” Jade’s notes hadn’t mentioned a ‘tampon’.

“Cotton you shove up your pussy to soak up the blood. Most of my friends used those but me and another gal named Rue liked pads better.”

Riddle nods, writing down the second word. He had heard of pads from Jade’s shared notes, and also from being manhandled by Sam’s shadows in his search for information. “I'm guessing a pad is also like a tampon, but less…invasive?”

“Yeah.” Yuu yawns, seeming to realize just how full of cotton her head was even when awake, “Though that’s mainly because I heard about what the fuck Toxic Shock was and it scared me enough to not want to use them.”

“I’m sorry, Toxic Shock? You couldn’t lead with that!?”

“Oh, right. This is like common knowledge for me so I don’t really care about it. But, Toxic Shock Syndrome is like…something that could happen if you use tampons. But it’s like super rare, to the point if you got it from a tampon? You left that thing in there for days and you deserve it because that’s just gross.”

Ok, that…that was calming at least. He wrote the new information under the Tampon page. As far as he was concerned Yuu had made a good decision, ‘Tampons’ sounded nothing but dangerous. Though Yuu had stated most of their friends preferred to use them. Maybe there was a proper method to using them that Yuu didn’t care to learn (Which honestly fit them). He reviews his notes briefly, frowning at how most of the information was concerning, “Your reproductive health is surprisingly delicate.”

“Oh, you have no idea. I could have cancer honestly.”

“What!?”

“The female anatomy is a hellscape. I could be dying right now but the cramps basically overshadow everything.” Yuu laughs, picking at her nails absent-mindedly, “There’s plenty of people who’ve, like, died from actual internal damage but they just thought it was their periods- W-whoa, Riddle are you crying?”

“No, I’m panicking!” Riddle scrambled off the couch, lifting the blanket to check Yuu directly. Or he would have if the sight of blood smeared across their inner thighs didn’t make his head swirl. The blanket drops from his hands, turning away and managing to catch himself onto his hands and knees as he dry heaved, “By the Seven, is there supposed to be that much blood!?”

“...” Yuu watches him in mild concern. But seeing how the 2nd year didn’t actually start vomiting they answered, “I think so? I might be flowing heavy since I haven’t had one in a while…”

Riddle wiped at his forehead, taking slow breaths as he stood back up, eyes roaming the floor for his dropped pen and notebook, “Heavy flow? As in the flow can change pressure? Consistency?”

“Yeah, those are words to describe it, I guess.” Yuu shrugs, head turning in the direction of the kitchen. Were Trey and Cater making the jam from scratch? What was taking the two of them so long? Looking back at Riddle, Yuu shrugs again, “To be honest I have… no idea what normal is. Honestly, no one in my world really did.” “How?”

“Dude, people were fucking terrified of periods. Before I got here? They were just now actually, like, testing pads and tampons with shit that wasn't water. Aka, not the right cunt-sistency of periods.”

Riddle gripped at his chest. The lack of common sense was baffling. These were the people in charge of that world, half the population was suffering from this illness and they couldn’t even test their sanitation products correctly, “Oh my Seven…”

“Some places were trying to ban talking about them in school, so fuck what shitty health class we had in the first place. Plus, periods can get weird, you know. Sometimes, you can like…bleed from other places.”

“What.”

“Yeah, like, from your butt or your eyes,” Yuu’s head rolls along the back of the couch, laughing as a memory resurfaces, “My friend, Chel, told us her cousin’s all came out in one piece once.”

Riddle dry heaved, stumbling back and coughing as the mental image started to form, “Trey…” He called out weakly. He was going to pass out, or vomit. Either one was wildly unwelcome at that moment.

“Apparently, it was like wet tissue just slid out of her.”

Another gag, Riddle fully turning away. The horror clear on his face unable to stop his mind.

“Yeah, her cousin sent a picture too. It looked like a bloody piece of chewed-up gum-”

“TREY!” Riddle doubled over, just barely getting his yell out, coughing as he fought against his urge to vomit. Hearing the sounds of footsteps thundering down the hall, he felt relief flood him. He couldn’t handle another minute of this, he was never good with blood. Blood was always the sign of something being deeply wrong, blood outside the body besides the need for a transfusion was never healthy. Now one of his friends was basically hemorrhaging and he had to deal with the fact it was “healthy”.

Cater and Trey rush into the room, Trey dressed in Yuu’s black ‘Shut Up and Eat’ apron with a plate of croissants gripped in his hands, “What!? Who’s dying!?”

Phone pointed in front of him, Cater films a video. If Yuu managed to kill all of them, someone would be able to find the video and know what happened to them, “Is Yuu still bleeding?”

At Riddle’s loud retch, Trey handed the plate of food to Cater. The 3rd year quickly walked over to Riddle, rubbing at his back and trying to guide him out of the lounge, “Okay, let’s get you outside. Some fresh air will help. Cater, keep Yuu company.”

Cater watches mildly stunned, Trey walking past him with his hands firmly on Riddle’s shoulders. With a plate of toasted croissant sandwiches in one hand and his still recording phone in the other Cater looked at Yuu on the couch. Their head was leaned back against the armrest, watching him with what he could only describe as a predator’s stare. Putting his phone in his pocket, Cater grabs one of the sandwiches and slowly approaches Yuu, arm outstretched as he wiggled it, “Pspspspspspspssps.”

“I can not begin to tell you what I will do to you if you don’t stop that shit right now.” The threat was empty and they both knew it. Yuu struggled to not laugh as Cater finally walked over to them normally, gently placing the plate in their waiting hands, “How fucking dare you…? I’m laying here in pain and ruining the nice towels Kalim gifted me and you’re treating me like a cat.”

“A feral cat.” Cater had eased, if only a little bit. He still wasn’t standing at an angle to let Yuu get a quick hit in, but his shoulders had finally relaxed. It helped that he knew Yuu had food now, Trey was just as confused as he was when Jade kept sending texts reflecting the importance of giving Yuu food lest they attack them in a mood swing. And now with said feral cat feeding on the still-warm sandwiches, Cater could feel a bit safer, “You’re totes a cute cat, but still feral. #Hot-Mess, #Hit-By-A-Bus, #Don’t-Bite-Me-Pwease.”

Yuu frowned, though a smile was clearly winning the fight over their expression, “Shut up…” Taking a big bite, the buttery sweet sandwich filled them with a sense of comfort. Trey’s cooking always had an odd effect Yuu found. No matter what he made it would make others feel content and full. They and the ADeuce duo would joke that Trey was using his Unique Magic to make his food replace negative emotions somehow.

Trey hadn’t answered their joke, only smiling at them and offering another pie for their hangout.

Now with a plate of warm food, Yuu was more content, almost melting into the couch and snoozing into the armrest as she hummed. In their hazy mind, Yuu could hear Cater’s chuckle. The redhead sat carefully on the armrest above their head.

“Aw, my poor rag-a-muffin froshie is having such a hard time. It really makes me wanna be a good senpai and look after you.” He sighed dramatically, tapping at his cheek as he playfully pouted, “Is this how Trey feels looking at Ace and Deuce?”

“Only if you feel a deep sense of disappointment and contempt for everything I do.”

Ace and Deuce had just entered the room, Both of them with messy hair and disheveled clothing, clearly having gotten into a scuffle before coming back downstairs. The redhead first-year scowls, clicking his tongue, “Shut up. I’ve never done a single thing wrong in my life.”

Cater snorts, trying to hide just how hard he was fighting back his laughter.

Yuu raised an eyebrow, “Did you get fucking concussed up there? You’ve done nothing right since the day you were born, and you know it.”

“Shut up, you’re lucky you’re injured! Plus, where’s Riddle and Trey?”

Deuce looked around, walking closer to Yuu to once again give them a check, “We heard Rosehearts-Senpai yelling upstairs…”

“And you just now decided to show up?” Yuu tries to shove the whole of a croissant into her mouth, seeming to not realize the issue of it not being able to fit.

Ace scoffs from the doorway, “Like we’re coming down here if he was actually mad.” He watches Yuu with a raised brow. She was just…holding the sandwich now, as though she was trying to figure out how to properly eat it.

Deuce watches in silence too, only to gently grab the sandwich from Yuu, tearing it in half before giving it back, “Yuu did you…eat anything else before we got here?”

“Yeah, papa dog brought me food…” Yuu stared at the new, smaller sandwich in hand. Half shoving it into their mouth they continued, their voice muffled, “Why do you ask?”

“...Did you have one of those gummies Sam legally doesn’t sell you?”

“Are you high!?” Cater perked up, leaning over and tilting Yuu’s head back to look into their eyes. He lets out a laugh, noticing how heavily their pupils were dilated. Well, that would also explain why Yuu seemed so calm. Cater did the same when he had lingering body aches from tending the garden. If a pain potion wasn’t available, a nice ‘chill pill’ was plenty to ease the mind and body, “Let me have one.”

Yuu huffs, nearly choking on their massive bite, “I didn’t take a gummy. I took some medicine Crewel gave me.”

Deuce leaned closer, also checking their pupils before muttering under his breath, “Was it a tranquilizer dart?”

“Naw, it was a pain potion…Like a fancy one, with a tag on it.”

…

Ace looked around the floor near the couch, eyes catching the empty bottle half hidden under the skirt of the seating. Pulling it out, he read the tag and shouted in surprise, “Dude, this like a ‘The pain is so bad I’m dying’ pain potion! Is it really that bad!?”

Deuce grabs the bottle from Ace, reading it over before handing it to Cater, “Yuu! Do you want us to take you to the hospital!? Wait, no, you don’t want to-”

“How is this empty already?”

“Huh!?” Yuu clicks back into the conversation, looking up at Cater’s concerned glance, “What do you mean how? I drunk it.”

“Sweetie, these potions are like…You can take them orally, but they’re strong enough they normally are supposed to be given via drip for a safe, lasting effect…So why is it empty already?”

“...” Yuu started to cackle, the plate of sandwiches being saved from the floor as Deuce dived to catch it as they jostled off her lap, “I fucking chugged morphine!”

“You chugged this!?”

Ace slapped his forehead, “By the Seven, you’re fucking hopeless. This period thing makes you bleed out the brain, too? You’re gonna lose what little brain cells you had to begin with.”

Yuu still chuckled, hand reaching back to bat at Cater’s fingers combing through their hair, “Fuck you, Ace. Even if I got a brain bleed, I’d still have more brain cells than you.”

“Doubtful. You’re so useless right now, you couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag.”

Yuu’s laughter instantly stopped, smiling falling into a neutral line as their gaze snapped to Ace. The redhead’s eyes widen, fear suddenly gripping his chest at Yuu’s stare, “...Uh…”

Riddle's breathing had calmed, but now he was sitting on the steps of Ramshackle, head in his hands as he felt a headache crowning. Lifting his head he stared at his palms, as though they held the answers to his questions, “This is bad, Trey. I don’t have any other way to describe it, this is bad.”

“Riddle, calm down. We can trust Yuu to handle themselves-”

“Except, we can’t! Yuu doesn’t even have all the facts and what facts they do have may not even be right since it’s all second-hand knowledge from other uninformed minors! Not to mention they haven’t even had a proper class on the subject…By the Seven, would it even be informative? They would have dealt with this for years at that point, They probably just went on the internet and read some uncertified drivel, lord knows they won’t open a book-”

“Riddle. Breathe.” Trey grasps Riddle by one of his shoulders, shaking him lightly and thumping the 2nd year on the chest with his other hand. Something to make Riddle take more than a shallow breath in his rambles, “Like you said, Yuu’s been dealing with this for years. They know what they need and we can help by giving them access to whatever it may be.”

Now that he was taking deep gulps of air, Riddle’s anxious energy had finally died down, his stomach finally resting. He turned to Trey, worry clear in his expression, “But it’s concerning. It’s so simple, yet the difference is so obviously alien I can’t help but want to…fix it. But it’s not my place to fix it, because there’s nothing to fix and this is completely natural for them…”

“...That’s right…Riddle did something other than…the blood upset you?”

“...” He sighs, “Yuu says they have no idea about their overall reproductive health. Since they refuse to see a real medical professional and Idia isn’t going to give Ortho the permission to do intrusive body scans, we have no way of checking. They could have cancer and we’d have no way of knowing until they got sick or they died! They said this ‘period’ isn’t always a standard thing either! They could bleed out of their eyes one day and we won’t know if they were actually about to expire or if they were simply on their ‘period’!”

“...” Trey sighs, rubbing the back of his neck at the new information, “Ok, yeah, that…that is very worrying…But,” Trey turns to Riddle with a smile, trying to find the bright side, “Yuu knows their body. If something was really wrong, you know they’d at least tell Crewel about it. And…” He trails off, letting Riddle’s mind come to the conclusion itself.

“...” Yuu’s relationship with Crewel was, to most other students, blindingly trusting. The prefect would tell the teacher anything and everything if they truly felt concerned about the information. Yuu continued to trust Crewel so much since he responded to such faith with the same intensity and care. “And Crewel would physically drag them to a hospital if he truly felt their life was in danger…” He took one last deep breath, nodding at the ‘fact’.

Trey watches with a smile as Riddle gathers himself up. What was once a too-small teen curled in on himself in anxiety and physical illness stood his good friend Riddle Rosehearts, a calm and collected figure of authority.

“Ok, I feel much better now, thank you, Trey.” Riddle looks to the door, “I should finish interviewing Yuu. There was so much information Jade wasn’t able to collect regarding the physical aspect of this…”

Trey hums, opening the door for them as they walk back inside, “He did say Yuu was very hormonal during their visit. Eels noses are really sensitive so he might have been distracted in his own interview by that and the smell of blood.”

“Possibly-”

The sound of Ace yelling and a loud crash coming from the lounge sends them both sprinting. Riddle reached the archway first, nearly being rammed into the side by Trey sliding to a stop beside him, “What’s happening?” “Is anyone hurt!?” Cater chuckles from the back of the couch, phone poised in his hands to film the fight between Ace and Yuu on the ground, “Poor Ace is gonna be.”

Ace and Yuu were spread out on the ground, Yuu quickly making progress to reach at Ace’s face to slap and tug on his cheeks, “Say uncle!” He kept pushing at Yuu’s hands, face pulled into a scowl as a stray drop of blood eased down from his nose, “You bitch! You punched me!”

“You’re the one saying I couldn’t fight my way out of a paper bag! Are you weaker than a paper bag, Ace!?”

“Senpais!” Ace flips onto his stomach, reaching out to Riddle while his other arm braced against Yuu’s chest to keep them away from his face, “Help me! Cater and Yuu are bullying me and Deuce isn’t being useful!”

Deuce calls out from the other side of the fight, holding his thumb up, “I’m helping, Yuu! The hair, prefect! Pull him by the hair and slam his face into the carpet!”

“Senpai! Help!”

“...” Riddle turned away, holding his hand over his mouth, “Don’t bleed on Yuu’s rug…”

“ME!?”

Yuu cackles, finally managing to tangle their fingers into Ace’s wild hair, “Yeah, Ace! Don’t bleed on my rug!”

284 notes · View notes

san-marzano · 22 days

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we got a wham bam shang-a-lang and a sha-la-la-la-la-la thing

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst fanart #twst oc #cater diamond #twst x yuu #yuusona #ramshackle prefect #twst cater #fanart #oc art #YOUR HONOR I LOVE THEM

86 notes · View notes

avarie00 · 16 days

Text

Ignoring them prank

(I don't really know their personality well and I'm at book5😭)

2&3 years

Floyd leech 2nd year

run🥰

Ruggie bucchi 2nd year

Ok uhh I forgot to put-san so pretend it have that.

Silver(mybbg)

what do you expect 🤨🧐

Jamil viper 2nd year

uhhh

Cater diamond

He post something on magicam and you did not know that he put it on the picking who can see it

#jamil viper #twsited wonderland #twst #fake chat #floyd leech #ruggie bucchi #x reader #twst x reader #twst jamil #twst floyd #twst ruggie #twst cater #cater diamond #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland imagines #silver #silver twst

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themaladaptivewriter12 · 2 months

Text

Title: Break

Part 6 of my “Cray-Cray for Cater” series! Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5 can be found here!

Parings: Cater Diamond x Twisted Wonderland Male OC (Mirai Yuhara)

Summary:

With fall break finally here, Mirai is once again reminded of his place within this world. But maybe, just maybe, it won't be that bad after all?

cw: Kinda spicy? Nothing explicit but I wanna just throw that out there. Biting, love bites, heavy kissing, literal sleeping together. Let me know if the rating should change.

a/n: I don't hate Cater's family, but I'm going for this medium between them trying to fix their behavior towards each other, but it's like, not enough. They are such a grey area for us, yet so impactful on Cater's character.

Reblogs are appreciated, just use my custom tag, #TheMaladaptiveWriter12, if you do! (─‿‿─)♡

Cross posted from my Ao3: TheMaladaptiveWriter12

It was fall break at Night Raven College and because of that, everyone was going home for a week. Mirai was kinda bummed about that, not that he really missed home that much, but things like that really made him remember how much of an outsider he really was, how much he didn’t belong there at Night Raven College. He didn’t have a place to call his own. No house to go back to, no friends, no family, absolutely nothing. All he had was Ramshackle, but even that was superficial. He could lose it all at the very whim of their oh so “benevolent” Headmage, or when he eventually had to “graduate” from Night Raven College. Then where would he be? He couldn’t stay here forever. He’d be way too old to even live on campus, it would be just plain weird, and worse case scenario, he’d have to stay there forever and become the college campus legend. “Student of Night Raven College that never left” they’d say. He’d eventually grow old and die in the Ramshackle Dorm and become one of the ghosts, haunting the Dorm forevermore. Okay, maybe that was a stretch, but Mirai was too deep in his head to use common sense.

And if he did leave, where would he be able to go? Where would he live? How would he even survive in a world totally different from his own? Just the very thought of that was beginning to stress Mirai out as he wandered the dorm, alone. Even Grim left, not even telling Mirai where he was going, Mirai just hoped that the little monster cat didn’t stay out too late. Grim came in and out as he pleased, getting food, and going to sleep where he saw fit, but then he was out again. And when Mirai asked what he was up to, he wouldn’t say. All he said was that he was on a “mission to greaten his magic prowess,” whatever that meant. Mirai couldn’t phantom what the cat was up to, but he hoped he wasn’t getting into any trouble, that was the last thing Mirai needed.

Mirai sighed to himself as he made his way back to the lounge. He had cleaned thoroughly, washing the bed linen, washing his clothes, dusting, sweeping, mopping, and he even maintained the outside of the dorm for once. He cut the grass, weeded the garden, and watered the plants. He washed the windows, cleaned the rain gutters, swept the stairs, raked the leaves, and even maintained the gargoyles exactly how Malleus taught him to do. Of course all of that took a while to complete, three days to be exact, but he still had about a week of loneliness to go.

If this had been a few months ago, this loneliness wouldn’t have bothered him one bit. He’d be back in America, working from sunup to sundown, eating takeout, catching a late night showing on tv before going to sleep, wherever that was, and then repeating the dull, life draining process in the morning. A few months ago he wouldn’t have missed the hustle and bustle of the college, he wouldn’t had missed Ace and Deuce’s bickering, Riddle’s rule enforcing rampages, Azul’s food at Mostro Lounge, Ruggie’s snickering as he messed with Leona, Kalim’s joyous attitude, Rook’s dramatic way of speaking, Ortho’s childlike wonder, and or Malleus’ random visits. Of course he wouldn’t have missed any of this a few months ago, he wouldn’t have known any better, but now? It was a heavy cloud over his head, and a heavy weight on his shoulders and heart.

And mostly, Mirai missed Cater. He missed Cater’s Magicam photoshoots, Cater’s playful demeanor, and their late night talks. He missed Cater’s hugs, his kisses, the doting nature Cater had when it came to him, he missed everything about Cater. Mirai was berating himself for acting like a lovesick puppy. He could handle not being with his boyfriend for more than two days, but Mirai supposed it was due to the fact he knew that the redhead wouldn’t be back for another seven days.

Mirai grumbled around his leftover spaghetti, sighing as he checked his phone for any messages from his friends, there were none. Cater had promised to call him to check up on him, all of the guys did, knowing his situation, but not one of them did, well, not yet at least. And Mirai really didn’t want to call them, he didn’t want to be a bother while they all were trying to enjoy their break with their families, and especially not just for something trivial as small talk. But Mirai couldn’t help but feel sad and angry. Sad and angry that the guys had forgotten about him, but also sad and angry at himself for even feeling that way. He felt clingy, and he suspected that it was because he knew, in reality, that he truly was alone. Mirai sighed again as he checked Cater’s Magicam page. Cater hadn’t even posted, which surprised Mirai. Cater posted about everything, no matter how small it was. He was hoping to see a little more of his boyfriend’s life, and if not, then just hear his voice through a post or see a more recent picture of his face.

Mirai got up from the kitchen table and put his bowl in the sink, not even bothering to clean it like he usually did, but he did have half the mind to rinse it first. Dragging his feet as he shut off all the lights, Mirai made his way upstairs for the night. A depressing mood hung over him like a fog as he showered, brushed his teeth, and changed into his pajamas, taking off his prosthetic, and by the time Mirai was plugging in his phone and crawling into bed, he was biting his lip, trying to stop the tears that threatened to fall. Mirai threw himself into his pillow, pulling his blanket over himself as sobs escaped his lips, chest heaving. He was lonely and he hated it, hated being so weak and clingy, hated the fact that he felt like this and he couldn’t fix it. He wanted a hug, he wanted someone to talk to, he wanted Cater.

Mirai didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but woke up to his phone blaring on his bedside table. His pillow was wet, a huge dark spot where his head lay, his eyes stung, burning from crying before he fell asleep, and his eyelids lids stuck together from his dried tears. Mirai wiped his eyes, reaching for his phone. The time read three in the morning, it was nowhere near the time for him to get up. So why was his phone going off? Mirai checked his notifications, heart skipping as he read that he had three missed calls from Cater, one not even five minutes ago. Why would Cater be calling him so late? Maybe there was a time difference between the Shaftlands and Night Raven College? But even still, Cater should know that, so why would he call so late into the night? Mirai was debating if he should call back or just wait until the morning when his phone rang again. Mirai quickly swiped right, putting the phone to his ear, answering.

“Hello?” Mirai called, flinching at how raspy his voice sounded from crying and sleep.

“Hey Mi-Mi,” Cater greeted, sounding guilty, “I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay,” Mirai reassured, clearing his throat a little, “I don’t mind.”

He really didn’t. Mirai couldn’t describe the relief he felt just from hearing Cater’s voice. He’d wake up any day at any time to talk to Cater. He was so happy that he almost wanted to cry again, but he refused, his eyes already burning from earlier.

“S-So what’s up?” Cater asked, “How’s your break been?”

Cater was being weird, but Mirai ignored it for now, going along with what Cater was trying to hide. “I did a whole bunch of cleaning,” Mirai sighed into the phone, “My body hurts so bad, I might as well have been taking supplementary lessons from Coach Vargas.”

Cater chuckled, his laugh sound too stressed, too dry to be truly genuine, “You poor thing. You should be relaxing, not working yourself so hard. We’re on break after all.”

“Might as well get it out the way now rather than later. But now I have the whole week to relax.”

“That’s good. Don’t work yourself too hard, ‘kay?”

“Mn,” Mirai hummed.

There was silence, neither of them saying anything for a long while.

“So,” Mirai started, “Is there like a time difference between here and the Shaftlands? ‘Cus it’s three in the morning.”

“O-Oh, yeah. A little,” Cater stuttered, “I must be ruining your sleep. I-I’ll, I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Cater?”

“‘Sup?”

“What’s wrong?” Mirai asked, done pretending that he didn’t notice his boyfriend's mood.

“I-I-I don’t, I’m not, I-”

“Cater? What’s wrong?” Mirai asked firmly.

“I’m, I’m outside,” Cater whispered.

“What?!”

Mirai dropped his phone, rushing out of bed, not caring that he was only in one of Cater’s shirts and a pair of cotton boxers. Mirai twisted the lock and ripped the door open, looking around until his green eyes finally found Cater’s curled form sitting next to the door. Cater looked up from where his phone was on the ground next to him, eyes meeting Mirai’s as he forced a smile.

“Cater,” Marai gasped.

“H-Hey, Babe,” Cater stuttered.

“C’mere,” Mirai breathed, “C’mere.”

Cater staggered as he got up, ending the call and pocketing his phone to grab his luggage. Mirai let Cater in, and just as he shut the door, twisting the lock back in place, Cater was pulling the Ramshackle Prefect into his arms, squeezing him in a desperate embrace.

“Oh Cater, you’re cold,” Mirai sighed softly.

“I-I’m fine,” Cater whispered, shivering, voice sounding broken.

“Come sit, come sit.”

Mirai pulled Cater to the lounge, turning on one of the lamps and he sat Cater down. As Mirai pulled away, Cater grabbed his wrist in a desperate attempt to keep him close.

“Please don’t go,” Cater begged, “Please.”

Mirai got a good look at Cater and his heart shattered. His usual cheerful face was sullen, dark bags under red rimmed eyes that were void of their usual brightness. His smile was replaced with a deep frown, he looked miserable.

“C’mon,” Mirai said, forgoing his thoughts on tea. Clearly it wasn’t what Cater needed at the moment.

Cater grabbed his things, shutting off the lights, following Mirai up to his room.

“Make yourself at home,” Mirai said, turning on the heat.

Cater nodded, grabbing some clothes to change into and entered the bathroom. Mirai waited, nervous energy building up inside him. He had so many questions, but knew he had to take everything slowly, one step at a time, lest he wanted to overwhelm Cater, who already looked to be on the verge of a breakdown. Cater excited the bathroom, clad in his pajamas. He looked nervous like he didn’t know what to do with himself, teetering back and forth on his feet.

“Come sit,” Mirai beckoned.

Cater stuffed his clothes away and sat on the bed. He didn’t say anything, he just stared into the dim corner of the room like it held all the world's answers. Mirai didn’t know what to do, what to say, but he was gonna try.

“Hey,” Mirai said softly, sitting on the bed next to Cater, “We can do whatever you want to do.”

Cater nodded slowly, still not looking Mirai’s way.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, and Mirai grabbed Cater’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He wanted to give Cater a chance to speak, to say anything. Even if it was one of the stupidest things Mirai would ever hear in his life, he would wait. But when their silence dragged on too long, Mirai knew he had to take it step by step.

“Do you wanna talk now, or sleep?” Mirai asked after some time.

“Sleep,” Cater croaked out, “please.”

“Okay, we can do that.”

Mirai crawled up to the top of the bed, flipping his tear stained pillow over, and pulled back the cover to let him in. Cater crawled up next to him and scooted under the covers, pulling them over himself. Mirai scooted closer, slowly wrapping his arm around the older male, giving him a chance to pull back if he wanted to. He didn’t. Cater accepted the cuddle, pulling Mirai closer, pressing his face into Mirai’s chest.

“Sweet dreams, Cater,” Mirai whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Cater’s head.

Cater didn’t respond as he pressed himself further into Mirai’s embrace.

Mirai woke up, the sun blaring through the curtains of his floor to ceiling windows. Mirai groaned, hiding his face into his pillow, but instead, his nose was filled with ticklish strands of orange hair. Mirai reeled back, nose tingling with a sneeze. Once the tingling stopped, Mirai looked down, and giggled. Sometime that night, Mirai and Cater rolled over, and now Cater was hugging a pillow as Mirai held him. Mirai found the sight amusing. But then again, there was something about holding Cater like this that made Mirai’s heart warm. Mirai wanted to be someone Cater could lean on when he needed to, and as sappy as it sounded, he sometimes wanted to protect the older male from the harshness of the world, taking the damage for him like a shield. He knew he really couldn’t do that, since everyone had their own wars to fight, but that also didn’t mean either of them didn’t have to do so alone. So just holding Cater like this was enough.

Mirai reached up and pulled Cater’s hair out of his face and behind his ear, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of his head. Mirai would lie here as long as he had until Cater woke, he didn’t mind one bit. Mirai began carding his fingers through Cater’s hair softly, pulling thick orange strands back against his head, blunt fingernails scratching at his scalp.

“Mn, that feels good,” Cater sighed, voice raspy from sleep.

Mirai chuckled, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No.”

There was silence after that, and both of them didn’t know how to break it. Mirai tried to peer over at Cater’s face, but he couldn’t, not without jostling them from their comfortable position.

“You hungry?” Mirai asked after some time.

“Mn.”

“How about you go shower and I go make breakfast? How do omelets and pancakes sound?” Mirai asked.

Cater just nodded, yawning into his pillow.

“Okay.”

Mirai scooted backwards, releasing Cater from his embrace, and Cater immediately turned around, chasing after the Ramshackle Prefect. Mirai entered the bathroom to brush his teeth, and Cater followed doing the same, the both of them standing shoulder to shoulder. They both looked a mess. Their eyes were tired and puffy, lined with sleep, their faces were red, marked from their pillows, and their hair tangled and all over the place. Mirai laughed, trying not to spit toothpaste on the mirror as they fought for sink space. Cater nudged him with his elbow and Mirai nudged him back. Cater chuckled around his toothbrush, bumping Mirai back with his shoulder. They were being childish, they both knew, but they didn’t care, the mood definitely better than last night.

Mirai washed his face, scrubbing at his skin, ridding himself of the night's filth. Mirai blindly reached for his towel, drying his face, and when he checked his appearance in the mirror, looking for any residue soap, he caught Cater’s reflection. He was standing behind him in nothing but his black cotton boxers as he turned on the shower faucet. Mirai’s green eyes raked over Cater’s lean body, his thin waist, his smooth skin, his soft muscle. Mirai looked up and over his shoulders, to his neck, and face, where he met Cater’s green eyes staring back at him, a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Naughty little Mi-Mi,” Cater teased, walking over to Mirai, “checking me out like that.”

“I mean,” Mirai said with smug thoughtfulness, “the view is nice.”

Cater chuckled, the sound echoing off the tile of the bathroom, “Yeah? And what was Mi-Mi thinking about when he was looking at little ol’ me?”

“Secret.”

“You’re a dirty little thing,” Cater sang, smacking Mirai on the rear.

Mirai gasped, face flushed with a pout. He supposed he deserved it, for he was unabashedly staring at his boyfriends semi naked form.

“Don’t pout, Babe,” Cater cooed, wrapping his arms around Mirai, voice dropping to a sultry octave, “or I may have to bite those pretty little lips of yours.”

Mirai flushed even more, if that was even possible, face hot as he gasped at their close proximity, and Cater’s state of undress.

“Sh-Shower! Shower,” Mirai commanded, shoving Cater towards the tub.

Cater laughed, throwing his head back, “Mi-Mi’s embarrassed! #Cute!”

Mirai pouted, flicking Cater on the shoulder blade.

“Ow,” Cater complained playfully, “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

“You do that, you dummy,” Mirai huffed, marching out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Mirai busied himself with putting on his prosthetic, changing the bed linen, and putting on some pants, as he waited for the flush on his cheeks to die down. After he finished, Mirai made his way to find Grim. He was asleep in the lounge.

“You want food, Grim?” Mirai asked.

Grim instantly woke up, little pink tongue darting out to lick at his lips. “Yeah, what are we having?”

“Pancakes and omelets.”

“Oh, add bacon to mine!”

“Alright,” Mirai chuckled. “Go wash up, yeah?”

“Don’t wanna,” Grim pouted petulantly.

Mirai gave Grim a look, a look that said ‘you get nothing if you don’t wash up,’ and Grim deflated, grumbling as he made his way upstairs.

Mirai was on his fifth omelet when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his waist.

“That looks good,” Cater muttered, kissing the back of Mirai’s head.

“Thanks,” Mirai said, his free hand coming up to hold Cater’s.

They stood in their embrace, Cater humming occasionally as he began to rock back and forth, moving the Prefect with him. Cater was warm from his shower, skin and hair still a little damp.

“Could you set the table? The pancakes and the hashbrowns are already done.”

“Mh hm.”

Cater set the table, placing the decent sized stack of pancakes in the middle of the table along with two cups, a bottle of orange juice and a stack of napkins. By the time Cater was done, placing down the last fork, Mirai was done with the last Omelet, plating it on the empty plate.

“Here,” Mirai said, placing the plate in front of the seat Cater was standing behind.

“TYSM,” Cater smiled, sitting down.

“Grim,” Mirai called, “Breakfast!”

Little thumps were heard, and soon, Grim was scurrying into the kitchen. “Thanks, Hench-human,” Grim said, taking his plate.

And as soon as he was in, he was out again.

“Where’s he going?” Cater chuckled.

“To his room,” Mirai said. “He has been up to something recently, and has holed himself up in his room. I don’t care as long as he cleans up, and doesn’t cause me any trouble.”

“Oh.”

Cater and Mirai served themselves. Mirai took a couple of pancakes, adding a load of butter and syrup. Cater on the other hand opted to just eat his omelet with some bacon and the hashbrowns Mirai had made. As they ate, they chatted about everything, school, tv shows, the weather, anything to fill the silence. But as they did, Mirai knew that they really needed to talk about what had happened last night. Mirai had so many questions, like why and how Cater ended up on his doorstep, how long had he been sitting there, why had he looked like he had been crying? But he wanted to give Cater time and the chance to eat before he brought the topic up again. And Mirai had noticed another thing, Cater hadn’t picked up his phone since they woke up. It wasn’t even on his person, it was upstairs somewhere. Cater never wasn’t without his phone, he was almost always either posting on his Magicam or checking his feed. There was never a moment Cater wasn’t seen without it.

As they finished their food, Cater began to fidget in his seat, a guilty countenance set upon his face. Mirai felt bad, he knew that Cater knew that they were gonna have to have that conversation, and he hated the fact that he was the one that was causing it. Mirai got up, washing his dishes and everything he used to cook with, and Cater joined his side not long after.

“Wanna go back upstairs, or do you wanna stay down here?” Mirai asked, taking off his rubber gloves.

“Upstairs,” Cater answered.

Back in his room, Mirai crawled atop the bed, sitting up against the headboard, reaching a hand out. Cater crawled in after him, situating himself in Mirai’s arms for a cuddle.

“Wanna talk about last night?” Mirai finally asked with a sigh, not wanting to upset Cater anymore than what he was now.

“I really don’t want to, but I know it’s better that I do,” Cater sighed.

“I’m not forcing you,” Mirai soothed, rubbing Cater’s back. “I’m just concerned.”

“I know. That’s why it’s better if I explain.”

“Okay.”

Cater sighed, burying his face into Mirai’s shirt, hands clutching at the fabric on Mirai’s back. “I got in a fight with my mother.”

Mirai didn’t say anything, but he held Cater tighter in reassurance.

“I normally don’t go home for break, making excuses on why I can’t make it, why I can’t spend it with them, and then I go and spend it with Trey. But I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, so I decided to go home, since I haven’t been in a while.”

Mirai hummed to let Cater know he was listening.

“When I got home, my mother wasn’t happy. She started yelling at me about how I was never home, and that I should’ve never left for school like my father had urged me to, if I wasn't gonna come home. I mean, I deserve that one, but I don’t miss home at all. And of course my sisters had all kinds of things they wanted me to wear, and all kinds of sweets they wanted me to try. And I couldn’t say no, I’m not allowed to,” Cater rasped, voice was straining as he spoke, trying not to cry as he retold what had happened. “It all became all too overstimulating too fast. I wanted to tear apart all the frilly and lacy outfits my sisters made me wear for them, because my clothes were “so not cute.” I wanted to shout back at my mother as she picked apart my wardrobe, as she berated me for my grades, for the way I spoke, for the way my hair was styled, for what I was posting on my Magicam.”

“Cater,” Mirai breathed, holding the older male’s shaking form even tighter.

“I wanted to throw up with the amount of cake I was forced to eat, all the cookies I wished I could change the flavor of, and I did, I forced myself to, and I did,” Cater admitted, hiccuping a sob into Mirai’s shirt.

Mirai felt horrible. While he was here, upsetting himself over something small, petty even, for missing his boyfriend, wallowing in self pity, Cater was suffering, fighting his own wars on his own home front. Mirai felt choked up, tears threatening to fall as Cater spoke.

“I miss, I miss my father,” Cater cried, “He, He never made me do anything, b-but he’s never home. I-I mean, it was never a better situation, and I-I know they’re trying, b-but what’s it matter if, if they never truly ask what I want? A-And last night, my sisters found out that you were my boyfriend.”

Cater was now crying, tears soaking Mirai’s shirt, chest heaving from his sobbing, and Mirai was crying tears of his own as he rubbed Cater’s back, trying to sooth his boyfriend.

“We somehow g-got on the topic of partners and marriage. My sisters wanted t-to hook me up with one of their friend’s li-little sisters, when I told them I was seeing someone. They asked why I c-couldn’t be with someone c-cuter, s-someone like Vil Schoenheit, someone w-who wasn’t so ugly, so, so hideous,” Cater stuttered, as he cried, his voice taking an angered tone. “I was so angry with t-them that I screamed at them, I screamed at m-my sisters, at my own mother. They don’t know you! They don’t know you like I do, so how could t-they say such things?! And, and the thing is, they do. They always do and they always did. And, and b-before I knew it, I-I was storming out of the house with my things in hand.”

Cater gasped a breath before continuing, “I didn’t know where to go, I didn’t have anywhere to go. But then I remembered that you were still here, so I came back here. And by the time I got here it was so late, and I really didn’t want to wake you. But I didn’t know what else to do so I called, hoping you’d wake up, and you did, I’m so glad you did.”

Cater sat up, his form looming over Mirai’s as he grabbed the Prefect’s wet and blotchy face between his hands.

“Cater?” Mirai called, voice quivering with tears.

Cater didn’t know what these feelings were, but he wanted to try. Cater Diamond didn’t fall in love, everyone fell in love with him. He was never one for long lasting relationships, never one for sappy words that came from the heart. He just liked to play his cards right with the next pretty face, and when they broke it off, he found someone else. But Mirai was different, so much different, and he didn’t want to miss his chance. Before Cater could stop them, the words he’d been keeping close to his heart came tumbling free.

“I love you,” Cater confessed, voice warbling, “I love you so much.”

Cater’s face was wet, flushed red from his crying, his green eyes were bloodshot, and swollen, his lips red and abused from biting them. Mirai’s whole world seemed to slow at those words, eyes widening as it all sank in. Mirai was stunned silent, voice caught in his throat, a garbled noise emitting from his lips as he tried to say something, anything. After a while Cater’s eyes widened in realization of what he just had confessed, color draining from his face.

“A-Ah,” Cater gasped, shooting up, sheer panic coloring his face, “I, wait, I, no, I didn’t mean, wait, no, I meant it but I didn’t mean to say it-ugh! Way to go, Cay-Cay, talk about #Lame.”

Cater ran his fingers through his bright orange curls, exasperated. His freckled cheeks were beet red, his eyes looking anywhere but Mirai as he sighed. Mirai stared at Cater, mind still reeling. Mirai reached forward and slowly pulled Cater to face him. Cater looked up confused, and before he could ask, Mirai was smashing their lips together. Cater staggered, surprised, but melted quickly after, deepening the kiss with a sigh. It hurt a bit, their lips colliding with a clash of teeth, but neither of them stopped, neither of them cared.

Mirai pulled back, holding Cater’s face in his hands. “I love you too,” Mirai whispered, teary green eyes steely and serious, yet so soft and full of love, “I love you.”

Cater chuckled breathily, and Mirai thumbed away the tears as they started to fall down Cater’s face again.

Mirai and Cater lie together, basking in the afternoon sun beaming through Ramshackle’s floor to ceiling windows. Mirai lay above Cater, his chin resting atop Cater’s head, and as always, Mirai was playing in Cater’s hair, fingers scratching at the base of his neck. Cater lay below him, head lying halfway on Mirai’s chest, their legs tangled together. One of Cater’s feet was rubbing at the back of Mirai’s calf, and sometime during their cuddling, one of Cater’s hands found its way under Mirai’s shirt, his fingers flittering up to his ribcage and back down, his thumb rubbing small mindless patterns into the dip in his hip.

“Why were you crying last night?” Cater asked, pressing his face into Mirai’s neck.

“Crying?” Mirai asked befuddled, “I wasn’t crying.”

“Your face was really puffy, and your eyes were red, so I thought you had been crying.”

“O-Oh.”

Cater sat up, looking his lover in the face, “So you were crying.”

“It, it was nothing important,” Mirai huffed, looking away from Cater.

“It is, if it made you cry.”

“But it’s not important now.”

“How is it not?”

“Be-Because, because you’re here now! So it’s fine,” Mirai flushed, covering his face with his hands.

“Eh?” Cater huffed, reaching down to pull Mirai’s hands from his face. “What do you mean because ‘I’m here now?’ I don’t get it. And stop hiding.”

“Be-Because,” Mirai stuttered, “I-I-I missed you! I missed you and me and my stupid separation anxiety was being a big baby about it because I was lonely!”

Cater’s fight left him at Mirai’s words, a small smile gracing his lips, “You could’ve called me.”

“And be that overbearingly annoying clingy boyfriend? No way! Hard pass! No thanks!”

“You could never be any of those things to me,” Cater cooed, kissing Mirai on the nose.

Mirai grumbled, hiding his face again.

“Don’t pout,” Cater cooed, leaning down to whisper in Mirai’s ear, “You know what happens when you pout.”

“Cat-ah! S-stop!”

Mirai laughed as Cater ran his fingers across a particularly ticklish spot on his stomach. Cater chuckled, pulling the Prefect’s shirt up his chest, and ran his fingers all over Mirai’s stomach. Mirai was cackling, tears in his eyes as he tried to fight off Cater’s attack.

“O-Okay! Okay,” Mirai laughed, “I yield! I g-give! I’m sorry!”

Cater ceased his attack, giggling as Mirai continued to scoot away from him.

Cater stared at Mirai, taking in the sight of his lover in the afternoon light. Mirai’s pale blonde hair was haloed around his head reflecting the sun, his freckles that littered his warm pale skin that was flushed a bit from laughing, the dark eye bags that never seemed to fade, his vivid green eye and the scars that marred his face. Cater felt warmth in the pit of his chest, so much that it almost hurt.

“What?” Mirai asked fondly, “What is it?”

“I really am in love with you,” Cater whispered.

“So I’ve heard,” Mirai chuckled, “But yeah, I’m in love with you too.”

Cater leaned down, holding Mirai’s face in his hands, their noses touching with their closeness. Cater hummed happily as he pressed his lips against Mirai’s in a chaste kiss. Mirai breathed a laugh, leaning up to kiss Cater back. After a while their sweet kisses turned into something more as Cater deepened the kiss, his tongue pushing past the Prefect’s lips. Mirai whined, opening his mouth to let Cater in, his tongue chasing Cater’s. Cater groaned, pressing his body closer, his hands snaking up Mirai’s shirt, feeling their way up his lover’s torso. Mirai was whining loudly as Cater’s hands rubbed, pinched and pulled at the skin on his hips. And when Cater’s tongue ran across the roof of his mouth, Mirai was moaning, back arching. They parted, lips smacking, and Cater continued his assault down Mirai’s neck, kissing, biting and sucking wherever he could.

“Bite me,” Mirai breathed, “Bite me harder.”

Cater groaned, latching on to the skin where Mirai’s shoulder and neck met, biting down hard. Mirai gasped, arching up into Cater, hands scrambling for purchase on the back of Cater’s shirt as he continued to abuse the spot, sucking and licking a big dark mark into his skin. Cater let go, licking the mark one last time before sitting up to look down at Mirai. The Ramshackle Prefect’s face was flushed a lovely red, lips swollen and wet. His hair was disheveled and so was his shirt, all crumpled, riding up his heaving chest, his eyes were clouded with heat, and on his neck was the mark, already starting to bruise, pretty against his pale flushed skin.

“Oh, that’s a good look on you,” Cater practically groaned, breathing haggard, “Wanna take a pic so bad.”

“Only if you let me mark you too,” Mirai smirked.

Cater reached for his phone that was on the bedside table and booted it up. Once it powered on, Cater was immediately spammed with a bunch of messages. Cater’s face fell for a couple of seconds as he fiddled with the device, and if Mirai could guess, he probably was clearing out the messages from his Mother and sisters.

“Come here, Baby,” Cater beckoned with a sly smile.

Mirai crawled up to where Cater was, allowing Cater to move him around for the picture. They ended up lying down, facing each other. Mirai’s face was pressed up into Cater’s neck, face hidden, both of them with their arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled together.

“Bite me,” Cater breathed, holding his phone above the two of them.

“Y-You’re gonna take it with me b-biting you?” Mirai stuttered, face flushing red.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I-I don’t mind.”

“Alright, cool. Whenever you’re ready.”

Mirai moved closer to Cater, trying to find a good spot to bite.

“This good?” Mirai muttered.

“Yeah, that’s good. Perfect.” Cater sighed.

Mirai took a breath before latching his mouth onto Cater’s neck. He took to an experimental bite, trying to feel how Cater would react.

Cater sighed with a gasp, the hand under his shirt gripping his waist a little harder.

“Harder,” Cater begged.

Mirai whined, biting harder, relishing in the way Cater moaned loudly when he bit harder, sucking on his skin. He tasted like soap, his soap, and he smelled like it too, but underneath all of that, he still smelled distinctly like Cater, crisp, clean, and spicy. Cater twitched and shivered in his hold as Mirai continued to suck on his neck. No longer taking pictures, Cater relaxed in Mirai’s hold, gasping and moaning as Mirai continued to suck on his neck.

“M-More,” Cater gasped, “Again. Pl-Please.”

Mirai let go and moved atop Cater, pushing the strawberry blonde onto his back.

“Oh?” Cater teased breathily, “Someone’s feisty.”

Mirai smirked as he got comfortable on Cater’s hips, hands pressing down on Cater’s chest as he leaned down, lips ghosting against Cater’s as he spoke, “You like it though.”

“I do,” Cater whispered back, pecking Mirai on the lips.

Mirai picked a spot on Cater’s collar bone, kissing the spot before latching on and biting down. Cater moaned, the sound rattling in his chest as his back arched, his hands coming up to hold Mirai’s hips, his head thrashing to the right. Mirai whined, sucking harder at his neck.

“K-Keep, keep going,” Cater gasped.

Mirai hummed, pulling down Cater’s shirt collar to suck a new mark high on his chest.

“So good for me, Baby,” Cater cooed breathily.

Mirai continued his loving assault on Cater’s neck, the both of them lost in the feeling of each other. Mirai gave a particularly hard suck on Cater’s jaw right below his ear, and Cater let out a keening whimper high in his throat, back arching, his hips grinding up into Mirai’s, and Mirai unconsciously returned the action, the both of them moaning out at the contact.

They both froze, hearts hammering in their chests. Mirai pulled back, green eyes wide, face crimson as he looked down at Cater below him. Cater’s appearance wasn’t better off at all, he looked utterly debauched. His green eyes were glazed over, lips wet and red, face flushed red down past his shirt collar, and his neck littered with love bites, red and bruising against his honey skin. None of them said a word, staring at each other, not knowing what to say or do.

After a couple of moments of awkward silence, Mirai spoke, stammering, “So, how does, how does Ramen sound for dinner?”

Mirai boiled some ramen noodles as Cater played some pop music on his bluetooth speaker, dancing around the kitchen as he scrolled on his phone. Mirai laughed as Cater inched his way over to Mirai, hips swaying with the beat.

“Can I post this?” Cater asked, turning his phone around.

“You took a video?!” Mirai shouted incredulously.

“Yep. It’s easier to get good pictures that way. I can delete it if you want me to.”

“I don’t mind, but don’t post the video.”

“Ok, how about this one?”

It was a nice picture, Mirai had to admit. It was quite provocative, yes, but it was a really nice picture. You couldn’t see the top halves of their faces, Cater’s being cut off by the frame, all that was visible was from his nose down, his lips that were crooked in a smirk. Mirai’s face was covered by Cater’s and his arm, his head cocked up into Cater’s neck, mouth latched on Cater’s neck, the bruise Cater had given him earlier visible to the camera.

“That one’s nice,” Mirai nodded.

“Yeah, this one’s my favorite, totally Cater approved. #Sexy,” Cater smiled.

Mirai snickered, “You sure you wanna post that? Like doesn’t most of the student body follow you, including Riddle?”

“I won’t post it unless you don’t want me to,” Cater said, pulling Mirai into him, swaying them both with the beat.

“I don’t mind. My issue is that I’m more concerned about you and your reputation.”

“How so?”

“Like, for starters, Riddle. I’m pretty sure you’re probably gonna get an earful if and when he sees that. And second, are you ready to like, make us more than a Heartslabyul secret? What about your followers?”

“Riddle’s totally gonna yell at me, but yeah, I think, I think I’m ready to officially change my Magicam status. My main reason was to keep it from my Mother and sisters, but since the cat’s out of the bag, why not post an actual picture of me and my totally sexy boyfriend, and not pass it off as friends just hanging out? And just to see my comment section blow up, I’m not gonna reveal who you are yet. Wanna make ‘em jealous.”

Mirai scoffed, taking the noodles off the stove, “Who would want me?”

Cater scoffed playfully, “Uh, me?”

“Besides you, you dummy.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Mirai looked surprised, “What do you mean?”

“You have quite the rep around here, and believe it or not, it’s more positive than negative.”

“I can’t see why? Like, who would want an ugly, scarred up, broken-”

“Finish that sentence and I will tell Riddle that it was you and Ace who put that hole in the wall.”

“Cater,” Mirai shouted, a pout on his face. “You promised! And Ace was asking for it!”

“Then don’t finish that sentence and I won’t tell,” Cater laughed.

Mirai pouted, as he dished the ramen into three bowls, setting the table.

“But back to our original conversation, is it alright if I post this?” Cater asked, sitting down.

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” Mirai said, sitting down next to Cater.

“Cool.”

Five minutes later, Cater posted the picture.“#FallBreak, #BestVaycayEver, #Boyfriends,” Cater rambled, other hashtags Mirai couldn't catch with the speed Cater was posting at. “And done.”

“Sap,” Mirai laughed.

“Love you too,” Cater cooed with a wink.

Mirai shook his head.

Grim came down sometime after, taking a seat at the other end of the table.

“So why’s he here?” Grim gruffed around a mouthful of noodles.

“Grim,” Mirai warned.

“What?! Isn’t he supposed to be on vacation? Who’d want to spend their vacation at school?”

Cater smirked, “What can I say, Cay-Cay missed his totally adorable boyfriend and his boyfriend’s totally adorable cat.”

“I am not a cat!”

Cater began poking fun at Grim and Grim retaliated with empty threats and harsh words. Mirai, on the other hand, laughed loudly at their bickering.

Grim left, more annoyed than angry after Mirai gave him a donut for dessert, Mirai and Cater continued to eat their ramen, Cater’s music filling the space. Mirai watched Cater eat, finding it endearing as Cater tied his hair up into a short ponytail to keep it from falling into his food.

“Is it hot enough for you?” Mirai asked, “Because if it’s not, there’s all types of hot sauce in the pantry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m good,” Cater dismissed.

Mirai got up from the table, confusing Cater as he rummaged through the pantry until he found the hot sauce. Mirai brought the small bottle back to the table, setting it in front of Cater.

“You didn’t have to do that. It’s good as is,” Cater reasoned.

“You like it spicy right? So just use it,” Mirai argued.

“But it’s good. I couldn’t mess up your food.”

“The only reason why it’s not spicy is because I can’t handle spicy food.”

“Nope, it’s fine.”

“You really don’t want it to be spicy?” Mirai asked.

“It’s fine, really,” Cater laughed.

The pair finished their food, washing the dishes together, Cater washing and Mirai drying. Mirai put away the last dish, and when he turned around, Cater was dancing again. The song was upbeat, the kind of music you would hear at a party. Cater looked the Magicless Prefect in the eye as he swiveled his hips, a hand running up his torso, pulling his shirt up with it, his smooth stomach revealing itself in its wake.

Mirai put a hand on his hip, raising an eyebrow, and Cater snickered, wiggling his eyebrows. Mirai laughed.

“C’mon, Dollface, dance with me,” Cater laughed.

“Can’t dance,” Mirai smiled, “but the view is nice.”

Cater cackled, throwing his head back.

Cater grabbed both of Mirai’s hands and pulled him close. The pair did nothing special, swaying to the beat of the music, Cater and Mirai spinning each other here and there. The couple had fun dancing around, Cater belting out a couple of lines, his voice playfully and airy, and more than once did they have each other blushing and laughing. Then a slower song played and they slowed their step to a slow dance, their movements unhurried and steady. Cater sang quietly to the song as he held Mirai close, his head resting on top of Mirai’s, his arms wrapped around the younger’s waist and shoulders.

“You smell good,” Mirai mumbled, pressing his face into Cater’s chest, tangling his hands in the back of his shirt.

“You always say that,” Cater chuckled. “What do I smell like?”

“I don’t know how to describe it. Like, I know you wear cologne, but you always smell clean, crisp, and spicy, sometimes even deep and musky, and sometimes light sweet, but it’s you.”

Cater hummed.

Cater buried his face in Mirai’s hair, kissing the top of his head, and Mirai pressed his ear to Cater’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as they danced. Mirai couldn’t explain the giddy warm feeling he felt when he was with Cater. Whether it be talking to Cater, eating with Cater, cuddling with Cater, or simply just sitting next to him, Mirai felt happy, and safe. And he never wanted to let that feeling go.

Mirai turned his head and looked up at Cater, and Cater looked down with a warm smile.

“Yes, Cutie Pie?” Cater cooed.

“I love you,” Mirai whispered, face warming.

Cater flushed as he held Mirai’s face in his hands, his thumbs petting Mirai’s soft cheeks. Mirai reached up to place his hands on top of Cater’s, his hands running up the length of Cater’s arms until they were on his. They stared at each other, lost in each other's eyes, in the sweetness of the moment, and neither of them wanted it to end.

“I love you too,” Cater finally said, leaning down to kiss Mirai softly.

Cater’s phone went off, the ringer a playful little tune as it sounded through the room. The pair broke apart and Cater rushed over to his phone, face lighting up as he answered it.

“‘Sup Trey,” Cater chirped happily.

“Not to dampen your mood, but you good?” Trey asked, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah,” Cater breathed, “I am now.”

“That’s good, I’m glad. Thanks Mirai.”

“It was nothing really,” Mirai spoke up, looking over Cater’s shoulder, “Would’ve done it for any of you, honestly.”

Suddenly Cater’s phone started going off again and after Cater clicked a button, Ace’s face came into view.

“‘Sup Acey,” Cater winked.

“Hi Ace,” Mirai waved.

“So we just not gonna talk about that picture you two posted?” Ace asked, an eyebrow raised. “Riddle’s gonna kill you.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” Cater laughed.

“Oh, but I do know.”

Cater froze as Riddle’s face came up next to Trey’s, face twisted in anger.

“H-Hey Riddle,” Cater said, voice full of fear.

“Oh! Let me get Deuce in on this,” Ace said and not soon after Deuce joined the video call.

“You’re so dead,” Deuce laughed.

“Tell me Cater,” Riddle growled, “What would possess you to post something like that!”

“Mi-Mi gave me the okay to post it,” Cater defended himself.

“Mirai! How could you let him post something so provocative like that?!”

Mirai laughed as he poked his head over Cater’s shoulder, “You have to admit, it was a nice picture.”

“Mirai!”

“It was, though,” Ace agreed.

Deuce and Trey nodded in agreement.

“Don’t agree with them,” Riddle shouted.

“Lighten up Riddle, they’re having fun,” Trey soothed. “We’re letting the little things go, Riddle, remember?”

“This is not a little thing!”

“Totes a little thing,” Cater laughed.

Mirai laughed at Riddle as his face grew red.

Cater turned around, grabbing Mirai so that he was sitting on his lap, as Riddle and Trey continued to argue.

“Look at his neck,” Riddle yelled.

Mirai looked at their necks from the phone camera, and Mirai had to agree, their necks did look pretty bad.

“Cater’s is worse than Mirai’s,” Ace laughed.

“It’s worse than it was in the picture,” Deuce laughed.

“Oh Queen of Hearts, please help me,” Riddle groaned.

“Dang Mirai,” Ace laughed, “You really went to town, didn’t you?”

Mirai cackled, “He asked for it.”

“Mirai,” Riddle scolded.

“Keep telling y’all, wrong impression,” Mirai laughed.

“Looks like it hurts,” Deuce said.

“Oh no, Hon” Cater said, “It feels really good.”

“Cater,” Riddle chided.

Everyone laughed, while Riddle groaned miserably.

“Ugh,” Riddle whined. “Why are we even discussing this?”

“You brought it up, boo,” Cater winked.

“But how are you gonna cover it up?” Deuce asked.

“It’s not like anyone’s gonna see it, I’m not going anywhere,” Cater said nonchalantly.

“You say that like you intend for no one to see that, yet post it on the internet,” Trey deadpanned.

Cater laughed, flashing the camera with his signature three fingered salute.

“So like, you guys aren’t afraid of what people might say?” Deuce asked warily.

Everyone seemed to quiet down at his question.

“If you had asked me that a couple of weeks ago, I’d say yes, but now, I could care less,” Mirai said sincerely. “Anyone who has a problem can kick rocks.”

Cater, Ace, Trey, and Deuce laughed and Riddle sighed.

“I’ll let this one slide,” Riddle huffed, “But I don’t wanna see any more photo’s like that coming from either of you.”

“No promises,” Mirai sang.

Riddle growled.

“Have you seen Savanaclaw's posts?” Cater asked incredulously.

“I have no control over Savanaclaw and what they post.”

“I think it was a nice photo,” An unfamiliar voice commented.

Mirai looked at the screen, and jumped in surprise at the floating head behind Trey and Riddle.

“Get out, Che’nya,” Riddle yelled, swinging his arms.

“Aww but I missed you,” Che’nya whined, body materializing as he held onto Riddle.

“Get off me!”

The two began to argue, their voices loud and echoey through the phone, and it wasn’t until a pillow was thrown, most likely by Riddle, did Trey get up.

“Gotta go,” Trey said, wincing as the yelling continued, a loud bang resonating through the phone, “Talk later, yeah?”

“Bye, Trey,” Ace and Deuce waved.

“Night,” Mirai waved.

“Laters,” Cater waved.

Trey hung up, leaving the chat.

“Ima get off too,” Deuce said, “It is late, and my mom is asleep.”

“That’s fine,” Mirai said, “Let’s all just call it a night. We can chat in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, night guys,” Ace called, “Night mama’s boy.”

“Hey,” Deuce shouted.

Everyone laughed.

“Night,” Cater chirped.

“Night, Deuce,” Mirai laughed.

“Night,” Deuce grumbled.

Cater ended the call, and Mirai stretched his arms over his head, yawning, as he stood up from Cater’s lap. It was late and Mirai thought about settling in for the night.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Cater asked.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Mirai said thoughtfully.

“You can set up my laptop,” Cater said quietly, “but first, I’m gonna call my mother, and apologize.”

Mirai nodded, leaving to give Cater his privacy.

Mirai and Cater watched a movie on Cater’s laptop as they laid in bed together. It was some romcom where the female lead gets accepted for a job as secretary, but what she doesn’t know is that her new boss is the man who she dumped back in high school. Mirai was trying to pay attention, he really was, but with Cater playing with the hair at the base of his neck, his fingers scratching at his scalp, the slow relaxed rise and fall of Cater’s warm chest, and the sound of his beating heart, Mirai was struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Falling asleep, Sweetpea?” Cater muttered, his voice sounding sleepy as well.

“No,” Mirai lied, a yawn escaping his lips.

Cater chuckled softly, “Liar.”

“Am not,” Mirai pouted, eyes closing again.

“Go to sleep, Baby. We can watch this another time.”

“I’m, I’m not tired,” Mirai slurred sleepily.

Not even a minute later, Mirai was snoring softly. Cater chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone to take a quick pic before he carefully shut and moved his laptop.

“Good night, Mi-Mi,” Cater whispered, placing a soft kiss to the crown of Mirai’s head, “Love you.”

Cater smiled to himself, nuzzling his face into Mirai’s hair. For once in his life, Cater could just be. He didn’t need to put on the pretty face created by his sister's perfection for all things cute, he didn’t have to put on the face he reserved for people so that they didn’t get too close, all because he and his family never stayed in one place when he was a child. He didn’t have to keep the fake smiles, no matter how he was feeling, just so that people couldn’t actually see how broken he really was. He didn't have to smile through the pain and lie through his teeth, because Mirai was always a step ahead of him, always so caring and attentive. So he could cry, he could be tired, he could be angry, he could be human again. He could be the man he wanted to be, the man he always wanted to be, not the jumbled up mess he was now. And most importantly, he could be himself.

For once in his life, Cater felt that he belonged somewhere, somewhere he felt safe, somewhere he felt free, somewhere he felt loved, and somewhere he felt truly at home. And that somewhere was in the arms of his lover.

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Thanks for reading, I really appreciate it. If it weren't for the smattering amount of yall who ready every time I post, I would have given up long ago, so thank you so much!

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yuuniee · 2 months

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— 💓 Surprise!!

I feel like writing drabbles for my ships so... Send a voice line from a card of a character I ship with my ocs, and I’ll write a small thing, because until now, I had like one or two fics written for my other ships and I want to expand on them too... :(

Characters I ship with my ocs: Cater, Ruggie, Jack, Floyd, Jamil, Epel, Rook, Idia, Silver, Rollo

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saddixie · 1 month

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Other students with Victoria’s pokemon

Cater - Emolga

“Emolga darling~I have a new photo idea! This is definitely going to blew up on Magicam!”

Cater immediately took notice of Victoria and her pokemon and instantly want clout lmao. He absolutely adores the weird creatures and wanted to take pictures of them and upload them to Magicam, unfortunately, Victoria was wary about exposing her pokemon outside of NRC so she doesn’t allow him to take photos.

But after a while, Victoria relented and Cater immediately snatched the opportunity to take as much photos of her pokemon as possible. He likes a lot of the pokemon as they allow him to take photos of them as long as he’s respectful, but his favorite is Emolga because of how cute it is.

Victoria’s Emolga is quite the attention seeker, so when it saw how interested Cater is in it, it immediately began to do cute little poses for Cater to take pictures of it and Cater adores them. When the third year uploaded these photos, it blew up quickly as everyone was cooing how cute the electric flying squirrel is.

Cater and Emolga absolutely ate the popularity up, and the two began to meet each other more and more frequently for Cater to take pictures of it in different style, the two of them also grown closer by that time.

Cater's favorite photos of Emolga is when Victoria allow him to bring the sky squirrel pokemon to Heartslabyul and Emolga poses with the red roses, they're also the most popular photos on Cater's Magicam account.

Now every time Emolga sees Cater, it flew right at him and nuzzle its cheek against the third year (that may nor may not shock him) but Cater loves it anyway.

Cater also used Emolga's cuteness to get more food from Trey too lol, of course Emolga gets a share.

Floyd - Paldean Wooper and Clodsire

“Ahh! Koebi-chan has a funny looking creature! I wanna squeeze it~”

No/j

Out of everyone in this school, Floyd is the one that she's the most nervous about in terms of meeting her pokemon, she knows how unpredictable the eel is and worry for both his and her pokemon safety. Unfortunately for her, she had made a deal with Azul to have her aquatic pokemon swam in the tanks of Octavinelle and Floyd is close to Azul, so meeting was inevitable.

Floyd couldn't help it even with Victoria's warnings! Every single one of her weird monsters look so squishy in some way! Especially the brown armless axolotl that Victoria specifically told him not to touch it. Wooper likes the attention Floyd gives it too! So one day it ran up to him and Floyd couldn't contain it anymore so he grabs it began to squeeze it, laughing at its goofy smile as he stretches its face.

Unfortunately for the eel, his fun didn't last long because suddenly he got shot by Poison sting that made him drop the Wooper, apparently Clodsire thought he was bullying its baby so it poisoned him.

But Floyd didn't care, he's too infatuated with Clodsire goofy friend-like shape and face and wanted to squeeze it too! Victoria had to stop him from killing himself by his impulsive behavior.

The trainer warned him about how Paldean Wooper and Clodsire are are very poisonous, but did Floyd listen? Nope, he just wanted to squeeze them, and he complained a lot too, so to shut him up, Azul begs Victoria to just let Floyd hang out with Clodsire for once.

Clodsire soon got close to Floyd after seeing how happy the Wooper is when with the eel so it lets him play with its face as well, Floyd is happy for the whole day after that much to the relief of everyone.

He's also very interested in Clodsire's stabby spine, Victoria had to watch him more closely now because she does not know what he wants to do with her pokemon after finding out about that.

Silver - Ceruledge

"W-wait! Don't run away! I just want to train with you..."

Silver does admire Victoria for her ability to control different powerful monsters, but he never got a chance to interact with them because of either his job as Malleus's guard or because he's sleeping somewhere.

But one day, he woke up under a tree upon hearing the swinging sounds of sword, in his half-asleep state, he thought that he saw a person practicing with 2 glowing swords, but then he realize that it's actually just Ceruledge practicing her battling skill alone.

Silver watched in awe as Ceruledge displayed powerful and graceful sword skills, he wonder if he were to battle it, who would won? He wanted to get closer to get a better look, but accidentally stepped on a branch with causes Ceruledge to noticed him and run away.

Silver then approached Victoria after that asking about the pokemon and Victoria reveal that although Ceruledge is a powerful swordsman, it's usually shy and timid and would stay away from strangers, preferring to practice alone, contrary to its intimidating apperance.

The Diasmonia student asked if he could met and spar with it and Victoria agreed, only in the condition that Ceruledge also agree. Ceruledge hides behind Victoria when meeting Silver, still wary of him, so Silver decides to convince it by showing it his own sword skill, and this succeeded as the pokemon was intrigued.

The two had a sparing session and Silver felt like the pokemon did a 180 in personality, it was quick to attack him and is almost merciless in slashing him with its sword. Silver ultimately lost, and Ceruledge did a 180 in personality again when it panics, thinking that it sevearly hurt him.

Silver then began to frequently go to Ramshackle to practice against Ceruledge, and he became one of the few people that the pokemon isn't shy around.

#pokemon oc #pokemon #pokemon x twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst x pokemon #pokemon x twst #twisted wonderland x pokemon #twisted oc #twst oc #floyd leech #twst floyd #cater diamond #twst cater #twst silver #silver twst

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koiifiishy · 3 months

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f2u base doodlings. he/him mc (not yuu) x different twst boys <3

bases used under cut

#twst mc #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland #twister wonderland mc #oc x canon #cater diamond #rook hunt #ruggie bucchi #koy art

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twstinginthewind · 2 months

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Hey am I too late for the meme or

#this is saved in procreate as 'i miss my wife tails'#took all afternoon and I am not sure if I hate digital painting or not #drawn #redraw meme #trey clover #cater diamond #(technically)#he's the band #twisted wonderland oc #joker carder #joker ❤️ trey #twst trey x oc #oc x canon #future au #reblog this and i will give you a virtual hug

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yomogi-mogi-mochi · 4 months

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Honey Lemon Crescendo

Pairings: Trey Clover/Vampire MC

Summary: The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you.

The days you pray for the abolishment of your abhorrent form are rare in the centuries you have lived since your family's death, and your turning. Sharpened claws and teeth, the hellfire of your gaze are concealed for your own convenience, you tell yourself, especially as you enroll into NRC. The tonic of human affairs rarely interested you, yet when you find the truly curious case of Trey Clover, someone who is made only of that plain sort, you cannot help but to promise yourself one conversation, some several hours of the thousand thousand you have lived to taste what it is like to be treated, and be human again. But you're a fool, and a hypocrite‒ you find yourself breaking that promise over, and over, and over. Your fragile resolve frays at every sunbeam smile, every ringing laughter of his.

MC is a vampire, unique magic is telepathy, being able to unconsciously hear everyone's thoughts

Notes: Once again I am alive lol. Barely. Just finished my first semester in my Master’s program so I’ve been experiencing a bit a burn out, so I apologize if this isn’t my best work. Also, every time I'm like "hm is this too much trauma?" But then I remember the child murder, kidnapping, and child endangerment that's canon in twst and I'm like ooh wait right nvm I’m good. Fits within the canon. Anyways, I would have liked to explore the concept of BPD and its allegorical connections to Vampirism more in depth, especially due to the social sigma associated with it‒ but I feel that it would be waaaay too long for a one-shot if I did so.

Also, all stand alone quotes that are in italics represent inner thoughts (with some exceptions depending on your personal interpretations)

TW: References to depression, references to religious trauma, exorcism, and cults; references to child abuse; survivors guilt; referenced to verbal abuse; anxiety; panic attacks; slight mentions of eating disorders/disordered eating (suppressing appetite); BPD

GN Terms for MC

AO3 Link Here

Masterlist

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“There is no sin within this child. Only the devil which lives within them.”

Those were the words that had prevented your burning during the trial, among other things.

Perhaps it was also the way you would keep your claws obscured under thickset leather gloves, conceal your crimson gaze under obsidian shades, or the terror that seized you every night that left you so evidently unraveled in all of your unforgiving guilt and abhorrence for your new form. The pity that could be provoked by the wetness and flush of a child’s face was something many adults in the future instructed was a bias you should have been more grateful for‒ as it triumphed over whatever horrors people held when you spoke a decibel too loudly to show your sharpening fangs, moved too swiftly to confirm the power that swelled within you like simmering, spoiled blood‒ pungent, and nauseating.

It reminds you of the smell at the state of decomposition you found your family in when you returned home from a several day trip with your cello instructor‒ and the smell of its mouth when its sharpened teeth lurched towards your neck, before you felt the metallic taste drip cold into your gasping mouth.

It was first the elongated fangs. Then came the claws, the lack of reflection, the original color of your eyes draining, replaced with a bright vermillion. The enhanced senses and physical power were less noticeable‒ but the subtle power that swelled in your hands when you broke skin and meat with your own grip upon your arm did not go unnoticed by the Supreme Leader who examined your body and soul during your trial.

“This thing should be useful to me, I hope. I was right to send that “Cello Instructor” with them to take care of business here. I’ll continue my divine plan as usual.”

The words themselves terrified you. Should you run? Hide? Die? Where would you go‒ with your small feet and hands? What could you do? The more oppressive horror lay in the confirmation of the whorling suspicion inside of your small, ten-year old mind that your new form allowed for telepathy‒ the exact “usefulness” the Supreme Leader had suspected lapped inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it, days later, when you read the color of the townspeople faces‒ their leering eyes and curled lips, squeezing their children close behind them‒ back towards your home, set ablaze by their torches and oil. The scramble of noise wasn't needed to confirm their disgust of you, but it came anyway.

“Hideous.”

“Demon. Probably killed that poor family.”

“That disguising appearance‒ must be the child of the devil.”

“Murderer. Things like you deserved to be burned. Supreme leader is truly a blessing to take care of such vile things.”

You cowered at their stares‒ but you remember considering it distantly for a moment, even in the midst of your situation. That night you had been found by shaking candlelight, your mouth drenched with blood and fear, palming numbly at your family's cold bodies. You couldn't blame them, you supposed. The townspeople feared you. You feared you. Stay with me . The Supreme Leader told you. And you did.

He defended you during your trial with a kind smile, tying the rope around your wrists loosely with gentle hands, spoke softly of good deeds, good gods, all forgiving and loving. When he convinced the council to graciously join his family , you didn’t run.

“Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You shakily rolled the breath that seized in your lungs, your small hands clutched in a prayer against the heartbeat that thundered against your bones.

“How pitiful child, that you choke on your sorrow. You, abhorrent creature, abomination of god‒ let me love you .”

“Let me be your god.”

He held a copy of Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Vampires of Wonderland in his hands‒ he pressed a finger onto each part of your body, comparing it with his‒ what made him human, and what made you not. He gifted you your own room‒ different from all the other children, deep at the belly of the earth. The cobblestone walls reached high into the heavens where you could not see, even with your enhanced vision‒ the light falling just where your vision could reach. One of his attendants presented him with a pair of cuffs, made specially for your size. The ones they had did not yet fit you. However, he placed them on the ground‒ crescent smile and blackened eyes. You would not escape.

You kept your secrets for a while‒ despite the unquenchable jealousy, festering sin, and violence that sprouted abundantly in the minds of his chosen advisors, who pinched your skin and snaked their cold hands under your shirt. In your ever dwindling, coastal town‒ you'd seen denial was the first reaction to loss. You'd felt a modicum of humanity in your ruthless rejection, letting the inner noise of others curdle in your mind.

Their words on the surface stuck of cheap, saccharine perfume, ones you recognized in the town's alleys and such. Yet you swallowed your nausea down, digesting their words one by one. You still had faith then, capable of religion . So easy to fool back then‒ you think now‒ children rarely doubt the material world. Why would people hurt you on purpose?

You were still a child then‒ an infant in vampiric years.

“ Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

“To be useful to god?”

"Useful to me?"

“They’ve done so much for you.”

“I’ve done so much for you.”

“Don’t you want to repay that?”

You revealed it all, in your childish trust, and his soft hands. You thought perhaps, that adults, despite their true intentions, would help you somehow. Belief in good will. Faith. It grips you with force.

It wasn’t all violence at first. But you began to fear the day where their actions would finally twist into something reflective of their actual intentions. That day came rather quickly, or so you think. Time did not matter in the small confines of your chambers below ground. The bloodletting, lashings, the vivisections were then all to vanquish the spirits that germinated inside your sinking flesh, possessing you to reveal such “impure things” in front of the people. Purification , he called it, no matter how many times you dried your throat from apologies, or promised you would do better next time. Next time I will speak your truth. God’s truth . You say the way their desires for a monster began to shape every laceration, every break of the bone.

Still, you couldn’t be their monster, nor a human. It seemed that the seeds of sacrilege had been sown firmly into you, and flourished each passing decade in its grotesque power.

The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you.

You’d beg through a dried throat and spinning vision for forgiveness and to appeal your usefulness‒ you knew the moment the priest resumed his kind smile, gentle hands, and his flowery voice‒ that he had found a use for you. Work for me , he said‒ and you obliged. He held your hand again, with a firm grip, and brought you to trials, his grand meetings with thousands of his followers‒ and you’d do his bidding, pointing a shaking finger at “non-believers” and spies‒ watching closely, where the supreme leader’s eyes leered and narrowed in order to anticipate your next move of survival . By then, you had learned to tune out a significant portion of the noise of people, to live in ignorant bliss for the few hours he would spend mending your gashing wounds, let you fiddle around with your cello that had survived the angry mob that burned down your family’s bakery, and home. Soft touches, sweet voice, he spoke.

"Good child, one of god, of forgiveness, of love. "

And you could tell he had meant it‒ knowing that when he lied to you‒ he always clasped his hands unconsciously in prayer. If there were opposing intentions twisting below his perfumed words that you had somehow failed to pick up with your trained senses‒ you couldn’t be bothered to unravel them. It was just nice. To be held again‒ forgiven . By someone at least, if not yourself. You were good. You were good again.

Decades pass‒ the people and the landscape move and breathe. It was only a matter of time your hometown would dwindle into a ghost city, being built on scrappy mines and poor fishermen, controlled by a con-man and his desperate believers. Even with nothing to lose, the remaining residents exiled you. Perhaps it was their humanity that they grasped onto with that final action.

You stand against the passing aches after aches‒ drinking it all from your chalice‒ vessels gilded with gold and hammered with human desire, sitting high to the heavens on altars to hold the blood and wine offered to the gods. You’d been hollowed much like that grail, gouged from the sharpened image of your still, immutable face against the shifting harmony of the world you could not enter. You have no reflection, no face, no name people would call out to take shape as your own, no proof of your corporeal form but your own, cold touch. And the hunger. The hunger seized you at every moment‒ aching through the gums of your fangs, and pounding your heart with the lifeblood that chased it. You were at least alive in your

You'd fashion something from the use you'd have to other people. A frankenstein skin stretched over your bones. You still feel the Supreme Leader’s gaze hollowing your senses.

"It's like they're reading my thoughts."

"Those sunglasses and gloves, what are you trying to stand out? So annoying."

"Why don't you read the atmosphere for once?"

"Arrogant asshole."

"What are you, pretending to be all high and mighty."

"Liar."

The noise never stops completely. But you've learned to shut the world out, better now with the advancements on potions and ear plugs‒ courtesy of the Night Raven College’s curriculum‒ hands free to grasp at every opportunity to prove you had existed in some way‒ a being that was real enough to feel the light of gods' love and forgiveness. Useful. Good.

“How did you know I used browned butter?”

Light‒ feather soft, honey sweet music that streams into your mind.

You always sat alone in the end. There was a composition to everything, as you saw it. And you had perfected the score of distance‒ being able to orchestrate a friendly, carefree facade, an absolutely stupid and undoubtedly shallow passion, pruning the space between you and the world. A gothic mirror to parody themselves, so they could not truly look at your monstrous, yet absent form‒ something you were sure would absolutely rupture the thick skin you've fashioned together out of pieces of the real people unlike yourself. You'd break apart into nothing but dust.

It was like the volume, moods, and rhythms created in the scores you played‒ you charged the room with boisterous laughter and directed the eyes at that, instead of your fervent efforts in composing the most fantastic detachment. In the end, you were almost giddy to see that no one saved you a seat, or spared you a glance when you slipped outside for a cigarette wedged hungrily between your fingers. The nicotine was enough to starve off the ache beginning to turn swiftly to nausea between your wobbling footsteps, and you were glad, you think, to have served your use in the social spiral to be afforded a moment of peace.

Or, you thought.

“Huh?”

“You forgot your prize.” The boy in front of you thrusts a frosted cupcake towards you, prompting you to switch the cigarette to your other hand to receive it. In the subtle moonlight, you see the sugar melted into the cream glitter a bit when you inspect the pastry.

He adjusts the hat on top of his green head of hair as he continues. “The competition to see who could guess all the ingredients in the cake correctly‒ you won, it was perfect, actually.”

You stare at him dumbly and you find yourself scooting over to make space for him. His eyebrows are tilted in a way that made his face a little sorry, a little roguish‒ a combination you found curious raised above those soft honey lemon eyes that hung like that summer fruit above the lush curve of his lashes.

“So‒ how did you know? I’m curious.”

You exhale the rest of the smoke resting in your lungs. “I…used to know people who were bakers. Their secret ingredient in their famous brownies was browned butter. I’ve eaten so many trays I’ve come to know the taste. The rest is just luck.”

He laughs. Not like you had seen out of the corner of your eye when he had been talking to all those people, but a loose, genuine chuckle. “I’d hardly call it luck‒ you got the measurements down pretty close. Impressive, if you ask me. May I ask‒ are you a baker?”

“I…” You find yourself smiling through the cigarette pushed to your lips, careful not to show your teeth. “I used to be. I used to spend a lot of time there, they must have rubbed off me.”

How long has it been since you’ve thought about them? You could remember the distinct nutty smell from the pounds of brown butter your sister was in charge of making‒ the click click click of your mother’s footsteps as she worked from the counter to the rack of trays, preparing the bread dough for proofing. Your father in the background, fiddling with the radio, beaming when he heard a recording of your cello performance on the morning radio. Warmth, sunlight. The beat of your heart, and the heat of your blood.

“You’ll have to give me the recipe then. I’ve been looking for a good brownie recipe.”

A moment to contemplate if you should end this conversation here. Something switches inside of you, perhaps a remnant of that warmth you remembered.

“You have something to write with?”

His face flowers gently into a brightened expression before he pulls out a small notebook from his breast pocket.

“...Thank you.”

You hum apathetically to work through the dreadful loom of warmth you feel when you hand the paper back to him with the recipes you’ve committed to memory from your laborious days at your family’s seaside bakery. The smoke still hanging in the air shifts sharply when you stand, and you flick the cindering cigarette to the pavement to stomp it out. You can tell there is more he wants to say that sits bubbly on his tongue, but you turn towards the door leading back to the Heartslabyul dorm before the words can take form through his smile.

There’s a moment that you stand by the door where you reflect on what you saw of him while he was inside, mingling with other humans.

“You should loosen your shoulders more when you smile, like that." Under his hat, you see his eyebrows raise up in slight surprise. Surprise isn't enough, you decide, and add, "If you want to convince people."

You hope those words leave him a bit cold, a bit cruel that he doesn’t come seeking after you anytime soon, feeling the scramble of thoughts threatening to pool into your ears through the plugs. It’s all noise to you. You step inside once more‒ feeling a little less sick, a little less raw to be able to orchestrate again.

Trey finds your handwriting as pretty as you were in the noise of the room, inspecting all the curls and loops of each word. It takes him a moment before he notices what you left behind.

“They forgot their prize…”

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The next time you meet him is during band practice. Or, more precisely, hear him would be a better descriptor.

"Have you seen (Name)?"

The thick walls of the storage room muffles his voice, but you still hear it loud and clear as you lean against the door, cello in hand.

"I just saw them a minute ago. I think they went to run a few errands or something since the school festival is soon." Carter replies.

"Ah it seems like I'm on a wild goose chase. I'm starting to wonder if such a person even exists…"

“They’re everywhere and nowhere all the time.” Carter chuckles. "I didn't even know you two were like that."

"Hm. I guess. We only really talked once." He hums.

"But I'd like to get to know them better ."

The sharp inhale you suck in makes an audible sound when you hear those words brush the back of your neck. You press the palm of your hands flat against your ears in panic to prevent any sound‒ voices, noise, the world‒ all of it, from entering your mind.

Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet‒

You time his steps, the pleasantries he's likely throwing at the rest of the members, the time it takes for him to get far from your radius of power. Slowly, you release your hands from your head, and take a few moments to gather yourself before exiting the room.

Carter is the first to notice you. "Eh? (Name)? Since when were you there?"

"Since 10 minutes ago, dear. I told you we were going to take a break from group practice today and do individual practice today didn't I? We've been rehearsing so much for the festival I figured we could take a break for today."

"Really?? How did I miss this? I totally just sent Trey to the wrong place."

Lilia continues to tune his bass. "You were on your phone when (Name) briefed us on the schedule 3 weeks ago, Carter."

"I wanted to do a group rehearsal today! I feel like I finally got the hang of the last couple measures this time!" Kalim interjects.

"Don't pout, my dear president." The hand you place on his head is as gentle as ever. "You can practice without a vocalist for today, can't you? I have a lot to catch up on the Monstero Lounge gig I have coming up."

You bid your fellow members goodbye, dragging the instrument all the way to one of the empty classrooms.

Finally, a moment of peace.

You shuffle through your folder, fishing out the piece you had picked to play for a talent night that Azul had insisted you come and play at, excitedly chattering about how it was going to be brilliant for business.

Chopin's Cello Sonata in G Minor, Largo .

The cello sonata was one of the composer's last pieces. It was spectacular to you. A final, dazzling eruption before dwindling to the mere echoes of what had once been there‒ a fantastical piece with a pressure combed through every measure that would well an incomprehensible rawness that began at your chest, and would weave through the fibers of your throat that clenched in its emptiness.

But perhaps it was not so incomprehensible‒ humans in your life had been much the same. The ones you held dearly would rupture from this world, leaving you empty, aching with the sharpened, receding fragments.

When you slip off your gloves to press your bare fingers against the strings, you try not to let this thought consume you.

"But I'd like to get to know them better."

Bitterly, it seeps.

You know it's wrong‒ the piece is supposed to be for a simple, ten minute performance‒ a monotonous activity of human affairs that you would be pleased to check hastily off the list with a presentable smile and lightness. However, the decades you have lived until this day weigh upon you at once, spinning your hands in such a way that threads your grief heavily into the mellow air. The murky rust of the setting sun swells with the florid volume of your own misery, and the silence of the world that ripostes it.

The song falls softly, a slow stroke that gradually quiets until there is nothing. A diminuendo‒ to shatter, to finish. There's a small comfort, that unlike living things, the scores that stood on the iron music stand could be revived time after time, on trembling strings and resin scented maple. But, not much.

The flesh at the back of your eyelids are sparked with purple and blue stars as you squeeze your eyes shut, head leaning against the body of the cello to steady your breaths. It may have been the dizziness steadily climbing from the ache of your empty stomach to your head, but you felt like you were swaying in that concoction of color and bursting light.

"Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You're afraid that if you open your eyes, the world may still be there. The noise, it will still exist, and reel you in‒ tangling you among its grotesque allure until the moment you reach towards it. Then, it will furl inwards, somewhere far from where you could detect it. The air feels sharp in your lungs‒ you feel like if you take too much in, you’d burst. The bow splinters in your hand, drawing blood.

"Pretty ."

A voice strikes through your bleakness, a gentle, but clear sound.

Trey stands at the center of your view. His face holds a glossy look for a moment, before he shakes his head and apologizes.

"Sorry‒ I just‒ I just heard you in the hallway, I thought you sounded really…" He laughs, shifting his gaze to the side. " Pretty ."

You look down at your instrument, and notice your bare hands, you remember you don't have your sunglasses on either. The cello echoes when you lean it against the desk, turn away from him to slip on your gloves and glasses.

You clear your throat, feeling each word stumble in staccato breaths. "Ah. Well. Um. Thank you. It's all, rather, very wrong though."

"Wrong? But it was incredible."

"Pretty."

The thoughts that enter his mind that churn into yours are ignored best you can before you swivel, veiling yourself in your disguise once more. "Perhaps wrong is not the best term. It's not tasteful for the audience, I suppose. There was no control."

"Control?" He parrots.

"Yes, you know." You wave your hand in flutter movements. "If someone like me performed like I just did‒ ha! I’d become the laughing stock of the entire school. " You clasp your hands together. "Now, darling. I must get going. Did you want to marvel at my music some more, or is there anything else you needed?"

You work quickly to gather your things, expecting Trey to leave after you've dismissed him. But when you drag your cello case around to leave, you see him still standing in the doorway, leaping towards your hand that rests on the cello case.

"Can I help you? It seems heavy."

"I'm alright. I've dragged this thing around this school, I am perfectly capable‒" When you go to lift the full weight of the instrument however, a dizziness digs into your temples, nausea quickly following suit.

"Oh‒ are you alright? Are you not feeling well? Let me at least help you with your instrument back to your dorm."

You stare at him, feeling your power rise within you, waiting for his thoughts to flood through your system‒ a confirmation to your suspicions you filter every person through, to pick them apart.

“You’re hurt.” He goes to examine your hand, you pull back.

"They don't look so well. Maybe they need something to eat? I should whip them up something after I help them carry this back to their dorm. Hm. Yeah. That sounds good. Something hearty."

Those words are inspected with great skepticism in your mind before the dizziness takes over, muddling your brain to a jumbled mess. Whatever, you think. He seems harmless enough.

“Fine” As soon as that curt response slips from your lips, you cringe internally. You clear your throat, attempting to redeem yourself. “I’ll take up your offer if that's alright with you. Pretty boy .”

He seems to hold the air in his throat when you give him that name, before he releases it in a puff of laughter. "Pft. Alright, yeah. Let's get you back to your room before you spout any more nonsense."

"Me?"

You're a bit taken back from his internal response. But you trail behind him, the weight of the nausea lifting slightly off your steps.

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

"What kind of cocoa powder did you use?"

"I think…just the regular brand stuff."

"Use Dutch processed next time. If you activate it correctly, the alkalizing process gives the batter a richer color and flavor."

He had somehow used his devilish charm to string you into this, you tell yourself, sipping on the tea you brewed for the both of you. But it would be rude to kick him out of your quarters without a proper thanks. You're no longer human, but you'd at least act civilized.

The tea has run a bit cold from the two whole hours he's managed to rope you into a conversation on baking techniques‒ slipping out the same notepad and pen he pulled out that night you met, and a box of various pastries and baked goods that he seemingly prepared out of nowhere. Truthfully, you weren't supposed to eat human food without proper sustenance from blood‒ however the look he gave you had absolutely pleaded that you do. So, how could you refuse?

You clear your throat to break through your endless flood of doubts and excuses. "I heard you were looking for me during band practice. Now that you've wormed your way into my life by bribing me with sweets‒ what did you want from me?"

"Oh!" He pulls another, smaller box from the bag you saw him rummaging through for the sweets laid out before the two of you. "Ah‒ I forgot about this. It might be a bit melted since there's ermine cream on the top."

The simple white box is opened, revealing a similar cupcake that you (purposefully) forgot the night you met him.

"It's not the same thing‒ it might be better actually‒ I used buttercream last time but it's pretty heavy so I substituted with ermine cream this time." He remains composed but you can tell something is bubbling below it. "Tell me what you think."

" I'm so excited to see what they think…I worked hard on this recipe since it seems it wasn't up to their tastes last time."

You make a face when you hear his thoughts, wondering how absolutely normal someone can be. “You mean to say you came all the way here to deliver me…this cup cake?”

"Yes I mean‒ I don't mean to pressure you into eating it, obviously." His eyebrows bunch upwards in his usual sorry expression. "I just. Wanted to hear your thoughts. Since I haven't met someone this knowledgeable on baking techniques at this school."

People usually had ulterior motives when approaching others with gifts, kindness, words slathered in polite niceties and compliments. You eye him suspiciously as he calmly sips his tea, scribbling away in his little notepad.

Drawing a little closer to him, you lean against the table, feeling the heat of your crimson eyes when you concentrate your magic to wade through the noise‒ pulling the thread of his thoughts from it all. It requires a bit of power through your ear plugs and rising nausea, but you manage to unravel it.

" I'd really like to get to know them better. Friends, maybe . Cater says I should get out there more, this is what he meant, right? "

It was impossible to ignore the truth of the matter‒ that the person sitting in front of you is so absolutely unbearably bare, plain. You'd thought you'd seen clarity before, in how salient the cruelty of people was, but you had been wrong. No doubt this was true clarity‒ the candor of normal, mundane life that you normally blocked out with the rest of the noise of the world. The tonic of human lives rarely interested you, but it seemed like all this person was, and it seeped deeply into his treatment of you. Normal, bare, plain.

Human .

It was so baffling you could not suppress the smile that spread on your lips.

Ah, maybe just for today, you think. Just this one conversation. Just one moment, and I'll forget the taste of human life again.

"Hm, alright. Just this once, pretty boy ."

The sugary cream melts instantly in your tongue, and the airy sponge is sweet when you swallow your determination to forget this honey sweetness he brings. A hint of vanilla, cinnamon, sugar, spice, and everything nice. You let it settle deep in the dark of your belly, feeling the warmth still lacing through your blood from the tea you've sipped with him slowly cool under your flesh. You devour it all, with his words and smile, hiding it deep inside so you can’t remember its sweetness.

But the honey you've added at his request still runs golden sweet on your tongue. You roll it through your mouth, trying to extinguish the taste, but it spreads further, coating your throat as you swallow it. Unlike the contents of the cupcake, it runs raw against your flesh, and you must wait until it seeps deeply into the fibers of your throat before it dissolves.

The hours pass as you talk with him, but the sweetness does not fade.

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

"You alright?"

The silvery tone of your voice breaks through Trey's thoughts. He had been lagging behind the Heartstlabyul group to take a break from all of the frenzy of today. The responsibility, the pressure. You'd been with them a moment ago, mingling as you always did, but now you've slowed your footsteps to match the slight drag of his own‒ something he's sure you've noticed. Heat tingles at his cheeks‒ he doesn't know whether it's from the way you've broken his image so swiftly with your keen eyes, or if it's from, simply, your thoughtfulness. For him, of all people. For him.

"Yeah, fine. Just tired. Today has been such a long day with these underclassmen."

His laughter rings clearly, even though the obstruction of your ear. With each note emanated from his lips, you feel it slipping through the cracks of the foundation of your feeble resolve, crumbling so endearingly that you smile sincerely when he speaks. It had been disgust, revolt at first, feeling the distance between your world and his inching closer and closer‒ but before you could notice the absence of nausea stinging through your chest and stomach, you felt the feather-lightness of your own smile chiming with his own, completely eclipsing the discomfort you had felt previously in the proximity to other lives. To him.

"You need to relax more. Stop fussing over these no good children." You massage his shoulders in a playful manner.

He feigns pain then quirks that smile on his face‒ you know the one, the one where he bunches his eyebrows and laughs with the back of his throat. In that moment, you're as confident as ever, charging him with laughter‒ letting your inhibitions lose. Control didn’t matter, for a moment. The world doesn’t seem so sharp at that moment, like you were going to tip over the edge.

When the pads of his fingers brush against your fingers, all that sense you had withers so easily in your chest. Through his shoulders, you can feel the vibration of the hum he emits in agreement, a musical accompaniment to the warmth that radiates from his hands.

"Maybe. They're good kids. You're right‒ maybe I do need to relax." You retract your hands from him, allowing him to toss his head over his shoulder. "Any tips?"

The seconds you weigh out whether to lie or not seem to shorten with every moment you spend with him. "I guess…music. I like to sing some of the warm-up pieces I used to know.”

"Warm up for what?"

"Ah for the…church choir."

Liar .

He makes a face, an airy laugh escapes your nose. "What?" You ask.

"...you just don’t look like a religious person.”

You look down at your feet, a slight smile as a comfort to him. “I haven’t been in a while. I don’t think I’ve had faith in anything in a long time.” A quiet lull in your words.

Your stomach turns. It's always a look of pity, or some casted look that drags you as some pathetic creature, cold and inhuman. The words die in your throat, you quiet your breaths, feeling then stick to the prickly flesh of your lungs and throat.

“I get it.”

But the look Trey gives you as he digests your words is a sadness as sincere and clear as water. It was not such a clawing, dried look that transformed you into something you didn't want to be. Instead, he swallows your words whole, as they were, his gaze reaching far beyond the pain. His sound‒ clear as a summer's day, dotted prettily with the honey lemon droplets of his gaze‒ finds you.

“I got you.”

A tranquil, silvery symphony‒ each sweetened thread weaving itself magnificent, deep within your nerves. It takes everything to pull yourself from it.

"Now, I have the perfect blend of tea for you then, darling. It goes wonderfully with those lemon shortbread cookies you made yesterday‒ absolutely divine."

Quick to shake the feeling off, you mask the dread of warmth with your usual stupid passion and fire that carves an expression of slight surprise into Trey's face, just for a moment. But it surprised you, instead, to see that it dissolved completely, and replaced with an elated burst of laughter. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and many more for you to do the same with the words he says.

"You're actually a really good person, (Name)."

The feeling returns, swiftly.

You don’t want to breach into the borders of his mind, but you found yourself reaching for the silvery thread of his sound from the noise, picking apart the gray mess of things to find that glimmering thing. Your mind had learned the scent, the exact hue and melody of his inner voice to be able to pluck it so naturally from everything else, and you were growing fearful that you had committed yet another thing to memory that would eventually be lost to time. But the words that you hear from him‒ you think it will consume you for the rest of your eternity.

"God. You're wonderful."

It nearly chokes you to hear such clarity in that declaration. Foolish . You think. Only a fool would say such a thing. You fix the shades slipping down your face, turning your energy to block out any sound and voice.

"You flatter me, my dearest."

Lucid, pure. His voice. His laughter. It wasn't just noise to you anymore. You think of what chord his voice would be, how it would sing against your fingers on your cello. Or perhaps a heavenly instrument would be more befitting.

"But you've got me all wrong."

You smile. Perhaps you were the fool.

A few weeks later, he admits: "Truthfully, I tried to avoid you best I could before we officially met. Because of your blase attitude and the rumors about you‒ I thought I wouldn't mesh well with people like you."

"Is that so?" A wolfish smile curves onto your lips, eyes turning crescent. You fiddle with the flier for the monstero lounge show coming up, debating whether or not you should have really accepted Azul’s request. "It seems most people think I'm that way."

"Yeah. But I'd like to think you opened up to me a bit, and I discovered something about you that made me want to talk to you. You're real strange, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm the weirdo? I'm not the one whose hobby is brushing their teeth."

"Dental health is important." He states matter-of-factly, before his hardened look is broken with a breathy laughter. "But really. I would have liked to be friends earlier in my life if I had just known you were the way you actually are."

You remember his words, turning your eyes downwards. "I'd really like to get to know them better."

Hesitation curdles in your mind, but the words come instantaneous, eager to his statement. "Which is?" Perhaps too eager, you shrink.

He hums, thinks for a minute. "Just‒ kind ." He says. "I never noticed before, but you're always making sure people are included, checking on people. It's like a sixth sense‒ you can easily pick up what people are thinking, but also feeling. Like a guardian angel or sorts."

You stare at him with a blank look, a breath in your lungs that doesn't make it past your parted lips. Then, gaze downwards, again.

"I wish more people would know how much good you have."

It takes great effort not letting his words sink deeply into your heart, constricting it. Sometimes, when you replay the scene in your head at night‒ an inevitable occurrence when he's on your mind‒ you try your hardest not to let it well something inside you so floridly that it bleeds heavily in your chest, and sprouts the salt in your eyes. But, it does. Idiot , you think, if only you knew what I really was.

You make a noise, unclear yourself as to your response to his statement, crushing the flier in your hand. Attempting to redeem yourself, you casually begin rolling the balled up paper in your hands, giving Trey an exasperated expression.

“What’s that?” He points to the paper.

“Oh‒ nothing. An Azul thing. Or a Monstero Lounge thing. Whatever, I’m probably going to bail on it anyways.”

“An Azul thing?” The hint of disappointment in his tone confuses you. “Oh! the Monstero Lounge show that’s coming up? I’ve been looking forward to it‒ you’re bailing? Don’t let Carter hear you say that‒ he’s been talking about wanting to be in it for weeks.”

A smile quirks on your face. “Has he now?”

Trey nods. “Why are you bailing? I thought you had a real passion for playing?”

“Performance is another matter. You know, the difference between baking for yourself, and baking for other people.” Trey nods in understanding. “Besides, what makes you say that?” You make a face which fails to fully contain the disgust towards yourself. Passion. It curdles on your tongue.

“How do I put it…You…” He pauses, thinking. In a moment, his words flood forth. “Your expression seems heavier when you’re playing. But, maybe a good kind of heavy. You always seem light and bubbly, but now that I think about it, you never talk about yourself.”

“I don’t.” You confirm, a sweet smile.

“You don’t.” An averted gaze. “I never asked.”

“How unusual of you‒ mother of Heartslabyul.”

“So,” His gaze pulls you in. “What’s your favorite color?”

You take a moment to reply, a bit surprised that he would actually follow through with his words. You’re reminded of the reason why you were so taken with him in the beginning‒ despite his sheepish deflection of compliments, despite the playful smirk that curved on his face‒ his words always matched his actions, his gaze, his expression.

“Yellow. A lemony, summery yellow. Reminds me of the flowers my sister used to grow.”

“You just have one sister?”

“One and only. My older sister.”

“I’m envious. I’ve always wondered what it was like being the younger sibling.”

You chuckle, searching the vast landscape of memories stored inside you. “You know‒ teasing, fighting, hand-me-down clothes, the like. But I love her, especially when she makes her brioche bread.”

“You’re close with her?”

Time, space‒ the difference between you and the world, him. It comes in waves as always, flooding you, and your hands which search for distant memories. You’re not sure if it was his ignorance towards your nature, or plainly his presence that seemed to pull your discorporated humanity closer to you once more.

“Very. She’s my rock. She was the first to encourage me to pursue music.”

“Do you play other instruments?”

“Of course. Cello, piano, guitar, accordion, harp, violin, flute…” You trail on.

The conversation goes on, until the two of you notice you’ve been walking around the campus, completely separated from the others. You laugh about it.

When you separate, you watch him walk across the hills, his form roaring against the sunset. There’s a twinge in your stomach, which you swallow with great effort. The distance between you and him seemed like it didn’t matter for the vivid moments you spent conversing with him‒ but now with his back towards you, as he headed towards the light‒ the feeling wades back. You search through the flood as you always do, but you cloud your own vision when you look back to the things you said, the faces you made, the memories you shared. Blackened, like yourself. The sun hisses against your skin. At times like this, you’re reminded of your stunted development‒ you had forgotten what the sun does to creatures of the night.

It scorches your retinas as you look at the heart of the sun, but you let it‒ reminded of the sweetness of his honey lemon eyes.

Bitterly, it seeps.

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

Every time Trey stands by your door, for some reason, his nerves rise to the surface, tingling at his feet and the hand that raps at wood. He doesn't understand why his body gets this fussy every time‒ he's seen you a dozen times before. That crooked, fanged smile; the delightful way your hands move in conversation, the charming little way you hum when pouring him tea (2 sugars, a touch of cinnamon, just the way he likes it)‒ these are all things he's almost gotten used to that he doesn't feel near faint when you grace him with such pleasures.

" Pretty boy ."

He remembers the nickname you call him, along the standard " darling "s and " my dear "s you seem to call everyone else. Just for him, you've fashioned something that can instantly unravel him, much like now, as he waits in front of your door with fresh pastries. He feels special when you call him that‒ but it feels good, unlike the times he tries to undermine himself under a barrage of flattening statements that stomp out every potential for expectations . Like he could make a difference, a change in anyone or anything. He’s just a normal guy. Nothing more. Riddle was a vivid reminder of that.

Except when he’s with you‒ it feels extraordinary.

The millions of things that seem to arise out of conversation‒ the sheer possibility of what wonderful things he can share with you beats like thunder in his chest, reaching the tips of his ears where they flush. That fullness he felt before returns‒ the only way to alleviate it it seems is to converse and spend time with you. He hopes the redness at least dies down when he's around you, all his senses seem to fly out the window when you're by his side.

We're just studying together. That's all. He tells himself.

He secretly holds his breath when you open the door with the creak‒ but he releases it when his lips part in surprise at your state.

"O-oh. Hello, Trey." Rather than your usual, slurry, elegant demeanor, your voice scrapes against your throat‒ the sound coming small and frail, something Trey had never associated with you before. Elegant, honey-like, and sure of yourself‒ it was never like this. Diminuendo , he remembers from you, and his favorite piece that you play. Like you'd depart from him, where he could not follow.

You fix your glasses, feeling them slipping on your nose, before you run your hand through your knotted hair. The cigarette wedged between your fingers weaves smoke between the two of you, mixing with the smell of alcohol on your breath. "I'm afraid something came up, darling. I have to cancel today, I'm sorry I didn't ring you in advance." You go to close the very small gap you've allowed yourself to open‒ Trey stops you before you can. The bold move surprises even himself.

"...You're sick? In that case I could‒"

" D-don't touch me." A crackle in your voice, fear striking your expression. "A-apologies. No. It's fine. You musnt do anything for me."

"But I want to?"

The prickly air that had been kindling on the inside of your lungs flares all at once at that moment, puncturing something inside.

"You don't know what you want." You spit.

" Oh‒ what?"

"I said you don't know what you want. But allow me to make it easier for you. You don't want this. So go away‒ get out of my sight ."

Hellfire. It stains you.

"I‒" He swallows the lump in his throat. "I-I don't understand?"

"I said . Get away from me, Trey ." His name comes cold on your tongue. He feels it coil around his spine.

What are you saying?

"But‒"

You launch the door open, almost breaking it off the hinges. The crimson of your eyes glow in your power as you bare your fangs, clawing the wood of the door with your sheer grip. A lurching feeling wells inside you, as you grow in size, in power, in sharpness. All the qualities that separate you, from him.

"I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME."

You don't recognize your voice. Trey's feet crumble from underneath him as you tower over his form. With the fear that seeps into his eyes, you decide it's enough, and shut the door with a slam.

You swallow the breaths that come faster than you can handle, looking down at the chips of wood that embed into your nails and fingers, beginning to bleed. You lean on your table, raising one hand to grasp at the root of your hair, catching a glimpse of the crimson glow that emanates off your eyes. The hair that falls in front of your face cages you in that bloody vision‒ red, and violent.

This is what you are, it's what you've always been and always will be. A monster . Fanged, clawed, hideous‒ thick, violent strokes of inky black on one of those books the priest used to carry around with him. Swirling into a void so corroded of color‒ the truest black‒ immortalizing your revolting form, permanently baring your fangs, carrying hellfire in your eyes and throat that you’d swing senseless with an animal violence. Fixed in that abstracted abyss, forever‒ eternal as you are. How pitiful that you choke on your own sorrow.

You fall into a rage, your body dragging itself by the spine‒ swinging your hands and legs throughout the room. A sound tears from your throat, far from a human cry. Music scores from missed practices fly, used plates and cups tumble to the ground, chipping. Your ashtray falls heavy on the grand piano that sits at the center of your room, slamming down the heavy lid, reverberating the strings, hammering into the air a chaotic symphony of ash and disorder.

For a moment you think to pick everything up, tidy yourself up and make amends with Trey‒ but you know the drill by now. In a week, you'd come to terms with yourself again‒ all the things you make and destroy‒ and sever yourself from this place, and its people. In just seven days you'd swallow the bitterness of your own self as you always had, clean your mess, throw the pieces you'd broken away. It ends all the same.

Before you know it, you have a half empty bottle in hand, the days old wine weighing heavily in your palm. You twist your body furiously in attempt to rupture the surfaces of rage you have rising like fire inside of you, to at least reach to the gnawing feeling inside your chest. But it grows even restless, even hungrier‒ eating away at the breath in your lungs and the beat of your heart when you come face to face with your reflection. Nothing.

What sort of monster doesn't have a face?

You couldn't have even be given that, to be remembered and touched‒ even if it was fear and abhorrence‒ to exist as a creature who is seen, and heard on their own. You were merely an image created by others.

Control‒ you never had any of it, ever since your mouth was held open by its hinges and forced to down that creature's blood. It was laughable to even call yourself a musician, a conductor, a person. There was not a moment in your life where you had genuinely orchestrated the fullness of musicality, or anything. When you plucked on the strings of your cello‒ it was always just that. Noise. There was nothing inside of you that could transfigure that dead noise from the strings into something meaningful, something that could exist in the realm of adoration. Loved .

Don't you want to be loved?

How could you be? You're just‒ this .

Crumbling to the ground, you sob, remembering the fear laid plain on Trey's face.

Surely‒ he’s gone. If you had ever held him in that way, at least. Arm’s length, prickled air‒ you had been weaving this inevitable goodbye yourself. Regret curdles heavily in your stomach as you bring your knees to your face on the floor.

I was doing so good. I was good again‒ I am good. You clench your jaw, imagining those portraits of violence from the Supreme Leader’s book. A realization‒ fuck . Nausea rises to your throat.

You want to sleep. Or drink. Or smoke. Something to sedate you out of this emptiness clawing itself all over your insides.

A knock startles you out of your daze. You assume the door is broken by the sound of the rusty hinges creaking open, the light of the hallway pouring behind you. A silhouette‒ but you don’t want to be found, or seen. You stay quiet, hoping he just leaves. Forever, maybe.

“(Name)?”

His footsteps creak against the floorboards, inching closer and closer. You wish you had the energy to tell him to leave again. Instead, you bury your face in your hands.

You hear him shuffle a bit, close to you on the floor.

His breath tickles the hairs on your arm, his voice reaching far into your head, the vibration from his throat rippling to your empty chest. “I’m not leaving.”

With some kind of divine courage, you speak. “Why won’t you?”

He shuffles closer, lacing his fingers through your tangled hair. “Because it seems I like you too much.”

“You’re a fool.”

You were the fool.

“Birds of a feather flock together.” He says, matter of factly. “Because you’re an idiot if you think I’m just going to leave you here. You…”

You feel him swallow, pausing his hands to hold your head at the crook of your neck. “You’re special to me.”

“I’ve got you.”

It feels like you're being enveloped completely by him‒ his smell, his sound. It smells faintly of candied violet, vanilla, and your honey lemon blend of tea. Trey thinks it complements well with your smell. Old books, and well-read letters tucked preciously into cookie tins. Faintly, iron.

In a shaky voice, you apologize. Over and over. "I-im so sorry.There's something wrong with me." He rubs your shoulder, measuring his movements carefully so as not to overwhelm you. "I'm sorry I'm this way. I-I didn't mean to yell. I didn't mean to send you away. I want you here. I-I'm sorry. I lied. I’m a liar.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. We all have our things‒ we’re human, right?”

You cry harder. "No, you don't understand."

"Are you fae?" He asks, looking at your pointed ears and teeth he'd seen in the students in Diasmonia. "There's nothing wrong with that. You're still‒"

Wonderful .

He chooses his words with care in your state. “- my friend.”

You swallow the bitter taste in your mouth. "N-no. I'm nothing of the sort. I-I…" Everything is so unbearable‒ you're unbearable . Your fangs pierce into your lips when you bite down, suppressing the wailing pressure that threatens to leak from deep inside your throat. It burns all the way down when you swallow it, only leaving you with a portion of your dwindling volume.

" I'm a monster ." You spit, looking directly into Trey's eyes‒ like you did moments before‒ hellfire stirring within them. The palms of your hands face him, framed with the sharpened claws of your hands that spot with blood from the splitters still embedded within them. Slowly, you furl them onto yourself, drawing red upon your palms when they ball into fists. "A vampire‒ like the ones you know from books and stories. That's me ."

That is all I am.

Your vision blurs, and you tuck your limbs into yourself as if you brace for impact.

Instead, softness‒ honey lemon eyes, sweetness, golden.

"You're hurt."

You make a sound through your sobs when he takes your hands. Impossibly soft, feathery under your own, he picks the sharpness out of them. The blood is wiped away with his handkerchief, staining the light clover green fabric with blots of red. Now it's dirty , you think. I’ve poisoned it.

"You're not a monster." He says, unfurling your hand further, prying apart your sharpened fingers from your palm. They twitch at his words.

"I tried to hurt you‒ send you away.” You feel like your throat is going to collapse.

He’s quiet for a moment, you can see him roll his saliva through his mouth, and the doubt and anxiety which passes across the movements of his downwards eyes. A barbed look‒ you feel it prickle familiarly against yourself‒ so you ever so slightly inch your pinky towards his hand that rests near your own, making a small gesture with your pinky to intertwine it with his‒ I’ve got you .

A heavy breath pushes past his lips. “People do that all the time. I get it‒ I mean‒ I know how it feels to be anticipating the color and tone of people’s faces. I grew up doing the same. From a certain point‒ you can kind of sense when people begin to tear themselves away from you‒ like you thought they would do eventually‒ it’s kind of a relief, isn’t it? To confirm that the distance you were placing between people at least did something .”

You nod, giving him a small quirk on the lips to agree. He continues. “I’m really just a normal guy‒ you know? I don’t really have the power to change things, or have an effect on people. Like you do.”

“Me?”

He hums, rounding his expression with a small curve on his lips. “You light up the room. You charge everyone with a certain energy. A je ne sais quoi .” He jokes‒ you laugh. “It’s probably a lot of pressure, a lot of fear. But you face it. I like that about you.”

“ I’m not like you .” You hear from him. You want to remind him‒ you're a fool.

“You-” You gulp. “You do that for me too. You light up my day. But‒ I don’t know. I feel bad feeling these things. It’s like I can’t wait, you know?”

Trey scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. “Can’t wait for what?”

“I can’t wait. For the moment you‒ or people‒ leave, like you said. I’m always anticipating it. I digest people inside of me‒ pick them apart. I’m really not a good person. Sometimes there’s just something inside of me that switches when I’m faced with anything pointing to people confirming my suspicions‒ like I’m always tipping off the edge. I don’t know‒ people are…” A baited breath. “Bad. And I’m something a lot worse.”

Trey takes your hand again, drawing circles with his thumb.

“I don’t know who I am. I have no reflection, no substance, no form‒ nothing . All I know is that I’ve been emptied to carry this filth that terrorizes me‒ and whenever I lash out at it, I end up hurting other people.” The afternoon light that weaves in between the curtains illuminates a streak of dust and smoke in the room. “My story ends all the same. Like any good fabled monster.”

“What if this time it ends differently?”

A weary smile wobbles onto your lips. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stand, dust yourself off, and offer a hand to him. He accepts.

“It will.” His assertiveness almost surprises himself, but he reminds himself why‒ it’s you .

“Why‒ aren’t you certain?” Bitterness seeps your tongue.

“You’re the reason for it. You’re all that.”

There’s a feeling that wells inside you that replaces the tension that slips from your shoulders‒ something a tinge sour, sweet, and warm. You don’t search for the underlying tones and clandestine beats of his words. Clear as day‒ you accept this feeling. Hesitantly, you lean against him, soaking with the feeling that seems to also radiate from him.

“You’ll stay today?”

Trey feels you relax against him.

“For as long as you'll have me.”

He doesn’t let you go.

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

"I've never seen snow before I came here." You watch the soft speckles of white float gently down from the skies. "I'll never get tired of this scene."

Trey slows his pace a bit, so you can linger on the white landscape. "Really? Not even in the Queendom of Roses?"

You nod. "The island I lived on before I was exiled was exceptionally warm. I wasn’t allowed‒ ”

Quickly, you shift your words. Control.

“-I wasn’t much of an outside kid, on account of the whole sun thing before potions could handle it. And after I had left I hopped from one island to another‒ most of them were too warm to have snowy weather. And when I visited the main island it was always during the warmer seasons.”

You remember the supreme suggesting warm climates‒ quiet, sunny peaks in the outlands, away from people. Those suggestions grew on you with time. You liked warmer climates anyways, . The room you had at the temple had always been cold and damp, the only light that would peek through snuck in through the stone that had eroded over years of negligence. You shiver.

"I don't like the cold, too much. But the snow is beautiful."

You suddenly feel wool, warmth on your neck. Trey fixes his scarf on you, you almost jump away, but after the initial moment of surprise, you relax into his scent that has melted into the wool. Lavender . He always smells like sweet floral, you note. It reminds you of the patches of grass and wildflower that would sprout sparingly in the parts of your room where the sun would kiss‒ the dew that would form on them like opals would be sweet like the fragments of light that wove in soft petals on the hard stone flooring. When you touched that light refracting in honeyed rays in those small drops of water the morning chill brought, you could remember a fraction of your humanity. Summer like a warm blanket and the crickets that chirped outside while you and your sister sat beside the window sill, giggling at the lantern light. The verdant coolness that swept the bakery while you helped your papa prepare the bread rolls for proofing. Silly, small things. It could make you cry, even now, as Trey diligently wraps the scarf around your neck.

“...You were exiled?” He chooses his tone, his words very carefully, softness like velvet honey.

You smile, a shape meant to comfort him. “I was. My hometown was very poor. People needed something to believe in, and they already had their hero.” Supreme leader, in his gilded cloak. "You're going to catch a cold‒ and this scarf‒ it's from your siblings, is it not? I feel bad, you shouldn't give stuff so easily to people." Despite your words, dive your nose deeper into the yarn, threading your claws carefully within the chunky pattern.

"I’m warm enough‒ besides, you wear things like this well.” He finishes fussing with the scarf. The warmth that had welled into the wool from his skin melts into you like cotton candy‒ sweet and soft. “And you’re cold, aren’t you? If I catch a cold I’ll just have you take care of me.”

You press your cold fingers onto his bare neck to hide the rosy heat coloring your cheeks. With a shiver and a smile, he yells "Hey!" while laughing.

"Well I guess I have no choice then.”

A moment of silence after your laughter dies down‒ Trey hardens his expression. “You’re still shivering. The blood supplements haven’t helped?”

A sigh pushes through your nose. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t feel too keen on asking hospitals for donations either. I’ll be fine, pretty boy.” A curt smile curves onto your lips to reassure him.

Trey makes a face. “What if you get sick again?”

The smile you wear tightens. “I’ll be fine .”

“It’s worrying.”

“I don’t need it.”

The silence of the snowfall roars against your ears when he says‒ “What if you fed off of me?”

The dense crunch of your footsteps packing the snow stops as your chest rises and falls with a thickened rhythm.

“Don’t joke about such things.”

“I wasn’t.”

"Then don’t say stuff like that. I said I don’t need it."

"But you do! Look at you! You're emaciated‒ a few days ago you were barely standing!"

"That's‒"

"It’s not healthy, you know. You need blood to survive."

“It’s scary to see you like that.”

You’re genuinely taken back from his internal voice, a slight treble which rings against your ears. “I don’t understand. Why would you be scared?”

His answer is instantaneous, exasperated. “Because you’re my friend.”

You bite the words climbing your throat. As much as it pained you to see Trey like this, you could not swallow that thought threatening to simmer through your lips, a burning notion that had engraved itself into every piece of yourself.

I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need I don't need‒

"Why won't you accept this offer? Accept me?" It chokes you to hear him like this‒ but the familiar nausea that seizes your throat overpowers it.

Because I could never make up for it. Make up for it being me that you choose.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“ Fuck‒ yes I will!” You hiss. Quieter, you muster. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. I’m made that way.”

His silence drives a hot coal down your throat‒ prompting you to push down that blackness that gnaws at you.

“Sorry‒ I‒” A release in the tension of your shoulders. “I apologize. I was just…overwhelmed. It’s a serious proposition‒ you really shouldn’t take it so lightly. I haven’t interacted so much with my own kind but from what I heard, it would be almost a lifelong commitment. At least for you that is. When you die, I will..." You attempt to swallow the tightness in your throat- a hunger. "I will not forgive myself."

“I’m sorry‒ I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. We should talk about it more‒ alright?” He rubs circles with his thumb across your skin, and you feel the ridges of his fingers drawing shapes. “But if it’s regret you worry about‒ know that I would never regret spending my life with you. At any capacity.”

There were stories you heard of centuries after you were reborn as a vampire about beautiful things spun by poets and artists. To reach to the monster‒ approaching it with gentle softness rather than stakes and silver. Risking sharpened teeth with lethal maws, defying the hardwired fear and repulsion against something that has tremendous capacity for violence. Saintly, divine touch. You had deemed it one of the most beautiful things‒ sublime, and completely unfathomable to you.

But when Trey reaches to you in that moment‒ in your moments‒ you think‒ this is what it is. This is what it must feel like to be touched by something beautiful. This is what it must feel like to be touched by god. You almost understand the Supreme Leader, in a way. You understand faith ‒ it’s a terrible thing.

He cools the tindering hellfire in yourself with his touch. It burns as a searing stake through your chest.

He doesn’t let go as you walk through the ashen landscape.

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

He makes you promise you’ll talk about it. And you do‒ hesitantly accepting his proposition with a box in hand.

“I think it’s a good time to give you this.”

The smell of oak flushes his nose when Trey draws closer to inspect the intricate honeysuckles that weave through the wood.

It’s an old, tattered thing‒ something given to you when you were young by your parents. The flowers were meant to be a gesture of nostalgia and deep affection‒ and you manage to remember the fragments of your mother’s many sayings‒ something about always been meant to be with you, how she felt a strange sense of reunification when she had bore you and your sister.

A bitter taste spreads on your tongue when you move the box towards Trey, and the contents inside clack against the wood. How furious she would be if she knew what you had done.

"What is it?"

“ Insurance .” you answer, quickly.

He gives you a confused look before taking the box into his hands, opening the rusted latch on it. You only hear the eroded hinges creak as he cracks open the chest, the speckles of rust falling onto the table.

You made sure there would be enough to pack the box‒ but it seems that there is still some air when they rattle against the walls of the box. Sharpened to perfection‒ you hope they won’t wear down too much from this motion.

After a minute, there’s the same sound again, then the closing of the box before it’s shoved towards you‒ back fully in your vision once more.

“I don’t need this.” Strained, his voice comes thickly between his constricting throat ‒ a similar feeling proceeding to his chest, flaring at the ends of his fingers which tuck tightly into his palms.

The face he makes worries you.

For him, of course, but for yourself as well. You're afraid you're going to break right then and there, throat etched in silent shame‒ but you pull yourself together with a sharp, willow breath sucked into your lungs. You feel the air settle cold on your tongue, and it almost shakes.

"It's just insurance ." You say, opening the box. A wooden stake is rolled across the table to him. He averts his eyes as if it burns him. "If the time ever comes‒"

"If it comes?" The voice pounding heavily at the back of his throat raised with his breaths. He parrots your words angrily. " If the time comes? Then what‒ I have to kill you? I have to be the one?"

"I would like it to be you, yes."

He gathered his eyebrows further into the center of his forehead. "Me?"

"Only you. It could only be."

You hear his shaky breath. No‒ you feel it press deeply into your bones, a vibration that makes its way from the tremble of his fingers, through the table, into your own flesh, far inside you that its precise throb stretches the growing cracks he's made in your resolve.

"I can't."

"You must ." You feel your claws scratching against the leather of your gloves. "To protect yourself."

He feels terribly selfish, childlike for the quiet volume of his voice. "From who?”

You feel the hungry thing inside of you flourish at your own words. “From me.”

He calls out to your name. “I don’t think I could ever be afraid of someone who is so afraid of themselves.”

You have no response to that.

An inhale‒ before he continues. “You’re the reason to the certainty in my words‒ that’s not really something I had before. Nothing feels normal with you‒ but it’s the good kind. You‒” despite the situation, he laughs, cracking the expression you love. “-you really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

A sharp finger presses against your palm to confirm this is truly‒ really‒ actually real. You doubt yourself, telling yourself that you somehow tricked him into thinking you were this good. It must have been all those pet names‒ the saccharine composition that had somehow trapped him into your siren spell.

He faces you with all his sincerity‒ revealing the sharpened claws of your hands when he slips the leather off of them. He holds them softly, hoping if his words don’t reach you‒ at least this language that you had both curated against each other, might. You feel that it does, unable to find a trace of deceit, doubt, or anything besides the honey lemon hue that basks you in all its sweetness.

For the first time in centuries‒ you feel the blood inside you churn warmly in your cheeks, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

“I suppose I didn’t.”

So of course, when he first allows you access to his blood‒ the first action you do is to cover his eyes above all else. He makes a small noise when your cold fingers fall softly on his eyelids.

Without even thinking, he reaches towards your hand‒ he sees the crimson light that weaves through your hands that eclipse into pitch darkness when he lays his hand on top of yours. In the darkness, his voice seems louder when he calls out to you.

"Can you move your hand?"

The fibers of his neck tickle against your stiffened breath.

"Not yet."

He feels your teeth open his flesh, his skin parting like a ripened fruit. The curve of your soft lips that cup warmly around the wound, leaning deep into his scent‒ to dive further into the sweetness of his blood. He groans as a moment of pain passes, but his sound relaxes‒ slurry‒ in his throat when he feels sweet pleasure, thick as honey, feathering from where he feels you feeding. His breath quickens, and you feel the warmth of his exhales. As close as a lover’s breath.

He lets out a shameless sound of pleasure‒ a whisper you drink in with his sweet ambrosia.

"Ah, this isn't so bad."

He feels the fingers you keep firmly on top of his eyes twitch.

"Sorry. 'M sorry." You mumble against his skin. His senses feel so jumbled, flooding as thick and raw syrupy mountains. He blindly accepts them‒ unlike your words, which he makes sure to affirm should not be so. I am not sorry, he thinks. You do not have to be either . There’s a tremble in your lips when he slips those words into the air, humming sweetly against his skin.

He doesn't trust his voice, but the heaviness that clouds his mind barely filters his thoughts.

"A-are you done already?"

"Mhm. Sorry, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just need a minute." His chest slowly rises and falls. He notices he's gripping your hand. "Can you move your hand now?"

"Let me see you. I want to see you."

"Just a moment." Even in the sensory deprivation, your voice feels particularly far off. "Not yet."

Trey closes his eyes, waiting for the tight pleasure that still prickles under his skin to pass. When he opens his eyes again, he finds your hand gone, the sun seeping through his fingers. You're facing away from him, sitting at the edge of the bed, bloody handkerchief in hand, unnervingly quiet.

"I'm sorry if I caused you any pain. I'll go get bandages and some pain killers for you."

You turn a bit towards him, but he doesn't see your face. He grabs your hand before you could walk away‒ calling your name.

A beat of silence. "Yes?"

"..."

It seems his senses have returned to him when he confirms the weight of your trembling hand‒ how it feels a fraction of a degree warmer than before.

"Why can't you look at me?"

" Why won’t you show me your face?

Your expression?

You?

Are you smiling? Are you mad?

Why can't you show me?

Am I‒ "

"No ." Your back gives out as you press all your force into that word, making the bed creak when you fall into it. "No. It's not you. It's not you. I just‒" A breath. "I don't want you to look at me. While I’m like this. It is a mercy. ”

Waves of scrambled noise crash through you. You want to squeeze your hands over your ears, shut your eyes until all you can feel is the vast darkness, and your fading form within it. You’d congeal with that void, rot until there is truly nothing left of anything you had‒ to to the dust as dead and far as the remains of your home.

"I don't want to just look at you. I want to see you."

You don't trust your voice, so you shake your head. When you swallow the lump lodged in your throat, it tangles in your shaky breath when you feel his hands wrap around yours.

"I want to see you." He repeats.

The noise parts with the lightness of his voice. Slowly, you turn towards him. Instantly, his hands are molded to the curve of your shape, as if they were forged by the decaying whispers of your labyrinth heart. In secret, they were cast by your hearth, and now they are cooled, and formed around the salt and tears that etch florid down your face. These hands are made for you, you think. Only the starlight has come this close to your monstrous form. Only the starlight.

"I'm sorry‒ I shouldn't be so‒ this right now. But I just can't‒ I'm so sorry." The apologies bubble from your trembling lips, as you try to form a coherent thought. But the softness of which he touches the cruel sharpness of your form‒ it wells a crescendo symphony of desire that you withheld, lurching upon you all at once.

He pulls you in, tighter.

This was home. You had always stood at the edge of it, drawing a line before the entrance to remind yourself‒ you had not been welcomed yet. But he had always welcomed you. It felt as if some speck of his soul had always done so, with the relief you feel when you step within it. The room inside your heart when you merge your warmth with his does not feel so full‒ nor so empty. It is filled with potential. Future. Something that had risen from him, infinitely.

"Don't‒" you place your fingers over your mouth. "Not while I taste like this."

He breaks your lips with his words. “Trust me?”

The warmth that folds over you feels like a prayer. Have faith . When you open your mouth, flesh is at your mercy, but you do not bite down as you expected the thirst inside you would have. Stars, the world stripped of its layers until it was only you, and him. For once infinity does not seem so much of a curse.

You must be intoxicated by the sweetness of his blood. Bittersweet‒ it seeps.

"I'm not…" You gulp down the swaying warmth. "I'm not supposed to like you."

"But…?" His smile curves so high the whites of his eyes are almost completely eclipsed by his honey lemon hue.

You intwine your hand with his. Another prayer. "Foolishly, I do."

“It isn’t foolish at the slightest.”

“It’s alright.” You smile. “I’d like to be the fool for once.”

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

You fidget with your suit steps away from the spotlight, holding your cello with your other hand.

“Stop fidgeting.” Trey instructs you, flattening the creases you’ve made to your suit jacket. He smiles. “It’s just nerves, they’ll pass when you get up there‒ you’ve told me so before..”

“I don’t‒ I don’t know if I’ll be able to play it right. I haven’t been this nervous in ages.” You still straighten the tie around your neck. “Maybe I should tell Azul‒”

The cloth is straightened again, before he glides his hands to your shoulders, bringing you an inch closer to feel the warmth that radiates off his skin. “You’re going to be amazing.”

Your eyebrows crease. “How can you be so certain?”

“You’re all that.”

His hand guides you towards the curtains, lingering when his fingers reach yours before you step into the spotlight. Azul finishes your introduction as you look towards the audience, searching for a familiar face. You find his eyes, and there is no need for any magic, any power‒ for you to find the faith in his eyes. You let it guide your bow, and the strings vibrate like golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, marrying sweetly‒ your internal harmony guided by his sweetness.

The music swells, breaks, heaves‒ before it dies out once more. The lounge fills with the sound of applause, and you sheepishly smile again the few whistles and whoops your club-mates send your way. Each and every thread of sound resonates within your body, vibrating with color.

Once you get off the stage into the crowd, you see Trey march towards you, before almost knocking you down with the force of his embrace. You allow a bit of your power to spin him off his feet, before you separate‒ wanting to see the look on his face.

"Will you come with me?" You pull his hand away from the crowd, breathless in your excitement.

"Where?" He asks, similar in his bursting fruition.

"Out there. Here. Over there. Wherever."

He smiles, the warmth moves the beat of your heart to the tip of your fingers, back into his palm when you lace your other hand with his. You think‒ I'd be a follower, a devotee, a dog for this. Have faith. I've got you. It’s terrifying, and it shakes you with excitement.

"I can't wait."

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

Notes:

The book I mentioned the priest had is based on the real Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Ghosts, and Concerning the Vampires of Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia that 18th-century Benedictine monk and distinguished biblical scholar Antoine Augustin Calmet wrote. It was actually a large source of inspiration to Bram Stoker's dracula. Basically a collection of reports and examinations of vampire/monster attacks emerging in eastern Europe during the late 17th to early 18th century. The accounts of the undead rising and infecting whole villages, reaping of their health and blood that were recorded in this compendium of monster attacks formed a lot of the imagery and characterizations associated with vampires.

Historically, bloodletting was a popular method during the 19th century to cure medical conditions, especially psychological‒ as it was based on the concept of humors. Fun fact, this is why there is a distinction between surgeons (“barbers”) and physicians, and is why the striped barber sign is red and white‒ red symbolizing blood and white the bandages. This method was used from everything from hysteria, insanity, and heartbreak, to things like scurvy and epilepsy.

Bloodletting, transfusions, and vivisections (experimental surgery) both appear in Dracula because they were the hot new science of the Victorian era. Stoker's father was actually a physician so a lot the medical cures and information in the narrative frame the work very closely to the social, religious, and medical attitudes during the period.

Though Victorians still believed the world of humors (ie blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm, or more commonly known by their four counterparts: sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic)- the era began to see a rise of Heroic medicine which sought to shock the body of its ills (ie bloodletting, drinking blood, etc etc)

During the New England vampire panic of the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead”, because of the seemingly unexplained rapid spread of this disease that would “consume” its victim and its family at an alarming rate (this was mostly just due to general hygiene issues and the cures for TB being syrups and elixirs of like literally just morphine and cocaine). TB victims usually had pale, emaciating skin, and in combination with how to identify a suspected vampiric corpse (ie grown fingernails = sharp claws; plump skin = immortality/fast healing); the common cures to TB other than those concoctions during the period such as bloodletting, blood drinking, and the “climate cure” (spending a lot of time outside in sunny, warm climates = aversion to the sun); as well as the spread of TB (highly infection, if one person got it in the home, it would spread rapidly to other members of the family = seems like that originally infected person was “consuming” the rest of the family members) kind of makeup the symptoms, physical aesthetic, and indicators of vampires we know today. Pre-Christian notions believed that a body could be “infected” by evil spirits, the concept of evil, etc.. if not buried properly, which translated into the Christian context as demonic or satanic influences entering the body. And because Churches were often the ones dealing with burials, and setting the precedent for burial rituals‒ they had a lot of influences in setting the precedent for burial rituals, how dead bodies should be handled, etc

Because of the strong religious influences during this Victorian romantic period, and the seeming “failings” of empirical science and thought‒ a lot of people turned to the church

Historically, during the New England vampire panic in the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead” because it would “consume” the entire family, beginning with one of the family members, then spreading to everyone else because it was highly infectious. This is why things like pale skin, and vampires needing to feed off of blood is a thing because it is connected to the symptoms and infection of TB (blood drinking was also a cure at some point??)

Everytime I'm like "should I add this ultra specific detail with an irl artist's name??? Does it make sense with the twst universe?? Ah whatever‒"

Anyway I choose Chopin for a lot of reasons. The primary reason was that his music moves me deeply (please listen to the piece if you haven't heard it before). He also suffered from TB (aka consumption), and most likely suffered through a chronic version of it his whole life, which caused a lot of suffering and medical complications through his youth, and into adulthood when rising to fame as a composer. This cello piece was the only sonata that wasn't on the piano, and was played at his very last public concert in Paris. He also had kind of a miserable love life because of his weak health (a condition he could not fix), I thought it would be an interesting connection with MC along with the emotional value the song has on its own.

BPD is very misrepresented and incredibly stigmatized in media especially but also the mental health and treatment spheres in general so I did a lot of not only personal introspection but also research on it as well. I thought vampirism would be a good metaphor for BPD because I imagine the concept of eternity and also having to physically drain someone of their life source would cause a lot of attachment and abandonment issues in addition to the feelings of shame and guilt that often come with having BPD (“why am I this way?”). The monstrous appearance described and often visualized in Dracula/vampire related films and media, as well as the myth that vampires don’t have a reflection also not only conceptualizes BPD and its affect on self image, but also visually narrates the aspects of mentioned shame, guilt, and self hatred that come with BPD and the emotional regulation issues that affect relationships. Anyways I not only wanted to do BPD justice because I feel like its very rarely represented in media accurately and with a happy ending, but I also wanted to explore

I didn’t want to go too in-depth with the cult stuff because I feel that could veer off track. I drew from my own experiences (I have a close family member in a cult), as well as some research + some inspiration from a game series called Faith: The Unholy Trinity. But of course the central ideas of isolation, salvation (under a specific pretense), and dependency are there.

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