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thekadster · 2 years

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

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 426

Trigger Warnings: None!

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

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

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

also read it on ao3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

But who was he to disobey?

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

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

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

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #drabble #dema #trench #scaled and icy #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #cliquetober day 8 #tyler joseph #twenty one pilots bishops #writers on tumblr #clique art #clique writing #sulatnikad #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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

Fandom: Newsies (All Media Types)

Word Count: 2,279

Trigger Warnings: None!

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

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

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

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

also read it on ao3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack frowned. “Jeez.”

“That ain’t where it ends.”

“Oh, my bad. Go on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know!”

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

“Hey–”

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

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

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

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

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

Crutchie chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

Even so, he couldn’t help but reminisce.

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

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

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

He paused and his mouth gaped. “Oh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His expression softened. “Jack…”

The painter was quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled.

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

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Whaddaya mean?”

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

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

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

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

“But we’re here now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crutchie giggled. “Just glad to be here.”

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

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

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

Maybe the present – maybe love was worth holding onto.

#newsies #newsies forever #newsies fanfiction #newsies oneshot #songfic #jack kelly newsies #crutchie newsies #crutchie morris #jackcrutchie #jack kelly x crutchie #fanfiction #oneshot #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 451

Trigger Warnings: None!

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

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

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

also read it on ao3!

Clancy knew life in DEMA was dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #drabble #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #skeleton clique #cliquetober day 20 #clancy twenty one pilots #dema #scaled and icy #trash the dragon #fanfiction #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 412

Trigger Warnings: None!

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

❝ Tyler took a breath of the cool evening breeze.

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

also read it on ao3!

All the while, the world stood still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #clique art #skeleton clique #trees twenty one pilots #twenty one pilots bishops #twenty one pilots livestream #good day dema #dema #trench #scaled and icy #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 531

Trigger Warnings: None!

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

More spooky writing for the spooky season >:D

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

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

Unfortunately, he had to pass by the necropolis. ❞

also read it on ao3!

It was hard to lose your way in DEMA.

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

Josh would’ve rather had the tunnels.

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

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

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

Unfortunately, he had to pass by the necropolis.

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

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

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

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

One of the figures turned around, and Josh froze.

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

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

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

It was Clancy.

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #drabble #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #josh dun #clancy twenty one pilots #keons #twenty one pilots bishops #dema #trench #scaled and icy #skeleton clique #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 461

Trigger Warnings: None!

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

❝ It had been a year since Tyler disappeared.

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

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

also read it on ao3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He froze.

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

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

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

“Josh?”

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #cliquetober day 12 #skeleton clique #clique art #clique writing #josh dun #tyler joseph #blurryface #drabble #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 488

Trigger Warnings: None!

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

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

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

also read it on ao3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t.”

“Then why keep it around?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #skeleton clique #clique art #clique writing #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #cliquetober day 10 #jenna joseph #tyler joseph #trench #dema #rebel red carnation #drabble #twenty one pilots bishops #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 1 year

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

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 505

Trigger Warnings: None!

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

Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy :D

❝ It was another night at the Bandito camps.

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

also read it on ao3!

The moon shone down on it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was already home, and that was enough.

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #tyler joseph #josh dun #ned twenty one pilots #jason twenty one pilots #trash the dragon #trench #banditos #drabble #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 1 year

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cliquetober day 29 & 30: jump & stage

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 605

Trigger Warnings: Implied death, mention of human decomposition

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

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

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

But their leap of faith would cost them.❞

also read it on ao3!

Every Bandito has a choice to make.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But their story wasn’t over yet.

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

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

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

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

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

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #lisden #sacarver #dan lisden #sally sacarver #dema #scaled and icy #cw dead body #cw implied death #cw decomposition #drabble #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 1 year

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cliquetober day 28: return (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 663

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Finally something more lighthearted after the mystery and angst from the pasts few days KDJFHGFG

❝ After the fall of DEMA, Tyler and Josh stood in its familiar streets.

“It’s been a while since we’ve gone back here.” ❞

also read it on ao3!

“It’s been a while since we’ve gone back here.”

Tyler and Josh stood in the streets of DEMA. Normally, it would be a death wish to be out in the open, especially during the day. The city hated rebels like them. The Bishops and city guard would be on their tails, and the only chance they’d have at escaping would be the underground tunnels.

But today, no one was chasing them, and they didn’t have to rely on the cover of night for safety. The city was usually silent, but this kind of quiet held a certain peace, distant birdsong floating on the late afternoon breeze. They never thought that could happen in a place like this.

“Yeah,” replied Josh. “Remember when I had to get you out of here through the tunnels?”

Tyler smiled to himself. Those times seemed like so long ago. Times, plural – because he’d always find himself back here eventually. But even if the Bishops always caught up to him, so did the Banditos. He wouldn’t know what he’d do without them.

“More times than I can count,” he said. “I practically memorized the tunnels.”

Josh’s eyes scanned their surroundings. Once standing cold and proud, Nico’s district was now home to the vultures and vines. Flowers of all kinds sprang up from the lush grass, finally adding some color to the concrete. The only places he ever saw flowers in DEMA were in hidden drawers and the coat pockets of friends.

He turned to his friend. “Where do you think the Bishops are?”

Tyler paused. The Bishops were so prominent, even the rebels had a hard time adjusting to life without them. They were shrouded in mystery, ever the object of reverence and rumor. Even a year later, he still couldn’t believe he intercepted their ritual. It set DEMA ablaze and ultimately caused its collapse.

But after the flames died down, apart from Keons, no one had seen them since.

“I don’t know,” answered Tyler. “I don’t even know if they’re still alive. They could be anywhere.”

“In the ground, hopefully,” mumbled Josh.

Tyler chuckled. The idea did sound nice, but he wasn’t sure if such a thing was possible. “Do you think they’re still out there?”

Josh tilted his head. “I don’t know, either. Maybe they moved somewhere and started another cult.”

“Good luck building another giant city. You think they rode on their horses?”

“Yeah! Rode off into the sunset.”

Their laughter echoed off the empty walls. It was peculiarly pleasant, pleasantly peculiar. They never thought they’d be able to stand here of all places, joking about the city like it hadn’t tried to kill them one too many times.

After the fall of DEMA, it became just another part of Trench. The ruin and rubble was natural, raw, real. Some would argue that the city was more alive than it had ever been before. The air wasn’t as heavy as they remembered, smelling of moss and earth. No longer was it stifled by pointless rules and rulers, by vialism’s dictated destiny. For the first time, it was worth taking in.

It was a shame that not everyone could. Without the Bishops, the city was free, but many didn’t live to see it happen. The neon graves still glowed, forever the resting place of Banditos and citizens alike. Forever a reminder of what could’ve been, of who could’ve been standing with the two of them at that moment.

But it wasn’t the end, and it never would be. As painful as it was, in true Bandito spirit, the lost would only serve as inspiration to press on. They had to, for the sake of those who didn’t make it, and for those who hopefully would.

DEMA was dead, but their journey was far from over. They still had people to protect, mountains to climb, lessons to learn. They didn’t know how long it would take, but with Trench in front of them, Slowtown wouldn’t be much farther.

#spam posting cliquetober writing because i forgot mb KSDJHF #twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #drabble #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #dema #tyler joseph #josh dun #banditos #twenty one pilots bishops #trench #scaled and icy #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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cliquetober day 26: blue fire (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 616

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of injuries, implied amputation

Author’s Notes: I swear this is the last time I'm gonna write about The Outside MV I just wanted to write from this idea for Florence KWJHEKJHDFG

I haven't drawn what Florence looks like yet, but I headcanon him to have a prosthetic on his left arm, so this is basically the story of how he lost his arm :0

❝ Florence almost thought the distant thunder was a dream.

That’s when the room began to shake.❞

also read it on ao3!

Distant thunder echoed in his ears and woke him up. Sleep still weighed heavy on his mind. Maybe it was an auditory hallucination; it wouldn’t be the first time, what with how long he’d been here.

That’s when the room began to shake.

The thunder came again, louder than before. He thought it could be a storm, though he never recalled hurricanes being common in DEMA. He’d never heard of storms strong enough to make the small cracks on the wall spread, either.

Among the noise came hurried footsteps climbing the stairs and a door swinging open. Two guards walked in, and Florence could only watch in confusion as they began to open the cells. The floor rumbled under their feet, but neither they nor the prisoners spoke.

As they were led out in a single file line, thousands of questions raced through his mind. In the usual silence of the prison, he’d long believed that he was the only one, but there seemed to be about twenty of them. He descended a spiral staircase; he’d forgotten it was even there. Where were they going? Why were they walking so fast? Were they in trouble? Was the air always this hot–

The tower shook once more, but it couldn’t sustain itself any longer. Stone and dust rained from above, blue fire quickly climbing through the cracks. The guards only hurried them on, but some of them tripped and even fell through the floor as it began to collapse.

Florence tried his best to keep up, but a large chunk of stone fell dangerously close to him, and the stairs gave way. He held onto the edge with all his might, but everyone else was scrambling for their own safety. In the briefest moment, he saw someone reach out their hand to him, but his fingers slipped before he could take it.

He screamed as he hurtled through the air, the smoke and flames climbing higher by the second. He didn’t even have a chance to register the pain, swallowed by darkness as soon as he hit the bottom.

He was on his back when he woke up, the aching in his body only growing as he came back to reality. The slightest movement shot lighting up his limbs, and the lightest breeze of air stung his skin. His mind spun, vision swimming and swaying as his eyes focused against the dark sky. He didn’t even know where he was.

Figures knelt over him, talking among themselves. He saw yellow on their clothes, which both comforted and confused him. He could hear them asking him questions, but their voices came muffled in his ears. He wanted to speak, to ask what was going on, but he could only respond with a groan.

Looking down, he found some parts of his body were wrapped in gauze and torn-up cloth. If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, his left arm was wrapped in bandages. Or what was left of it, at least.

The world came into focus, and looking up, his eyes widened. Several blocks away, the mighty towers of DEMA were falling apart. The blue flames devoured concrete, unrelenting and insatiable as smoke rose to the starless sky. He could only watch, gaze fixed on the unholy display, knowing that he could’ve just as easily been swallowed up by the blaze and debris. The ash and the ruin – that could’ve been him.

Commotion came from all around as other Banditos tried to help the citizens. He didn’t recognize the ones tending to his injuries, but he felt relieved in their presence regardless. It had been ages since he’d seen the color yellow.

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #drabble #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #dema #scaled and icy #florence banua #banditos #the outside #mention of injuries #amputation #fanfiction #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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cliquetober day 25: voldsoy (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 515

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Ok I know this is the third time I've written about The Outside MV but a lot of the Cliquetober prompts are related to it so it's kinda hard not to KSDFHGSFG

❝ Two Banditos watched Tyler and Josh make their way back to the main continent of Trench.

“They’re coming from Voldsøy, right?”

He nodded.

“You remember the time we didn’t even think it was real?” ❞

also read it on ao3!

Two lights appeared in the distance.

Another one mirrored them on the opposite shore, then two, then five. About fifty torches blazed in the night, spread out across the sand and cliffs by the bay.

Two Banditos watched from a hillside, staring at the two flames across the water.

“Is that them?” she asked.

“Seems like it,” he replied.

She paused. “They’re coming from Voldsøy, right?”

He nodded. Her eyes strained for the outline of the island in the dark. “You remember the time we didn’t even think it was real?”

He chuckled. While growing up in DEMA, the Bishops lied to them – a lot . They heard stories about the rebels in yellow and the monsters in the sea, but they were taught that it was all myth. Voldsøy was one such fairytale; an island with dangerous inhabitants guarded by a fearsome yellow-eyed beast. It wasn’t until they found the green jacket lying in the middle of the street, that they discovered proof of life even existing outside the city walls.

“Do you think they’re real?” he asked, half-jokingly. “The bloodthirsty creatures with horns and big black eyes?”

She looked at him and laughed. “I mean…maybe? The Bishops lied about a lot of things, so who knows? Maybe they aren’t dangerous after all.”

“You don’t think they’re dangerous?”

“If they’re still standing, then they mustn't be.” She gestured to the two distant torches, who now slowly made their way back to the main continent. “Or at least not as hostile as they say they are.”

As Tyler and Josh journeyed across the bay, the blue flames from the city roared on. They still had trouble processing that DEMA, the formidable city of stone, was now crumbling to the ground.

His mind returned to the jacket. He was wearing it now; it fit him better than when he was younger. He only got it back with the help of some other Banditos, with whom they first escaped with. He remembered that the Bishops confiscated it, but neither of them were punished. They were only children, after all; they didn’t know any better.

Maybe the Bishops would rather have it that way, he thought. It disgusted both of them to wonder what would’ve happened if they let the jacket get burned, if they submitted to vialism, if they never made it out.

But now, it was different. They didn’t have it all figured out, but they were older, bolder, wiser. As all Banditos do, they learned that DEMA was built on nothing but deception and delusion. They learned that the world outside was worth fighting through, and people were worth fighting for. Sure, Trench was dangerous and uncertain and messy, but most importantly, it was real. Its truth wasn’t at the mercy of some higher power, and their destiny wasn’t limited to a neon grave. It was raw, honest, alive.

They didn’t know a lot of things; they didn’t even know the final destination of their journey. But they knew better, and that was something the Bishops would never be able to take away from them.

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #drabble #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #voldsoy #dema #trench #scaled and icy #banditos #bishops #tyler joseph #josh dun #fanfiction #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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cliquetober day 24: letter (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 628

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of death (implied, nothing explicit)

Author’s Notes: I think this is the saddest Cliquetober writing I've done so far oops

❝ Every Bandito knew about Clancy.

His writing continued, until one day, he disappeared.

Still, the rebels waited. Until the letter came.❞

also read it on ao3!

Every Bandito knew about Clancy.

He was by no means the first of the rebels, but many recognized him as their figurehead. Those who knew him would tell you that, although he was just as afraid as everyone else, he had courage. There was so much he didn’t understand about the world around him, but he pressed on anyway. They needed that in a leader, especially in a place as precarious as Trench.

He was known for his letters, though no one had ever read them. He always kept them close to his chest, safely tucked away in a journal. They told of the dull monotony of DEMA, and the journey he took to escape it. It held his stories of the outside, among the endless mountains and his newfound friends.

His writing continued, until one day, he disappeared. No one had seen him go, not even those of his own camp. Whether he wandered too far or he lost his way, it was safe to say that he got recaptured. People seldom ever willingly left their camps for good.

Nevertheless, the Banditos held out hope. Although they knew that the Bishops wouldn’t be too kind on him, they knew that Clancy was too important to lose. He was the leader of the heathens who dared to defy them. For whatever reason – no matter how twisted – they would want to keep him around.

And so, they waited. Until the letter came.

Vultures arrived at a number of camps one morning. The rebels would sometimes use them to send messages, so it wasn’t surprising when they were carrying scrolls of paper. But nothing could’ve prepared them for what was written inside.

It was a letter from Clancy. They were overjoyed upon first seeing it; many had long feared that the Bishops had gotten the better of him. It was a sign of hope that their old friend was finally writing back to them, but more importantly, that he was alive.

Well, it would’ve been, if not for what he had to say.

Scrawled in his own handwriting were words that confirmed their fears. He said he’d given up on the Banditos, that he’d been wrong about DEMA this whole time. He’d been beaten down so much that he questioned if the journey through Trench was even worth it. The terrain was exhausting and the food was often scarce. Their trek had gone on for so long that he began to doubt if the continent’s horizon had an end, if Slowtown even existed.

In his resignation, he would be devoting himself to vialism. He was too tired, too sick of the ruthless world outside, and would rather have the familiarity of the city. He didn’t want anyone to come for him.

It caused an uproar among the Banditos. Many screamed betrayal; but they’d known Clancy for long enough to know that he would never give in, let alone encourage others to do the same. Many also didn’t believe the letter was real; but he was human, and humans weren’t meant to last under so much weight. They were fragile, fickle, prone to error.

Conflict came between them and rescue missions were organized, but that wouldn’t change a thing. Clancy would never be able to express his true feelings, that he was doomed from the start. The Bishops granted him at least one freedom – to write – but even that was controlled. His own letters would eventually be used to renounce the thing he’d hated for so long. That he would live and die by his weapon of choice.

By the time the Banditos got to the city, it was too late. Other rebels came running back over the hillside, relaying the sickening truth from within the city walls: Clancy was dead.

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #drabble #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #skeleton clique #clancy twenty one pilots #dema #trench #scaled and icy #twenty one pilots bishops #angst #tw implied death #tw mention of death #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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cliquetober day 23: shadows (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 528

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Tried making an original character + their introduction! meet Florence :D

❝ He couldn’t remember how long he’d been here for. He couldn’t even remember his own name.

The only thing that kept him on edge were the shadows.❞

also read it on ao3!

He didn’t know what day it was.

While locked away in his cell, he couldn’t even see the rising and falling of the sun. He tried relying on his body clock, etching the days on the wall as they passed. But without so much as a window, he quickly lost track. He could’ve been in there for a week, a month, a year; it all felt the same.

He grew up in DEMA, and as a child, he looked towards it with adoration. For many people, this city was all they’ve ever known, and probably all they’ll ever know. He never seemed to have a problem with that; he was content with serving the Bishops for as long as he was allowed.

That was, until he became realized.

Once he knew that there was a life outside the city walls, he’d never been the same. He dreamt and searched for a way to escape; and one night, he and his friends gained enough courage to sneak out. With the Banditos, he was able to discover the wild wonderful world around him. He learned that there was more to life than concrete walls and rituals and red robes. He learned that hope, joy, and freedom were recklessly and undeniably alive; that he wasn’t alone.

But he got caught.

At this point, the details were fuzzy, but he could remember bits and pieces: wandering in a field, the moon in the sky, cold hands on his neck. After that, the days began to run together in streaks of grey. The neon light above him remained indifferent, almost mocking him as it hummed. He’d been in this concrete prison for so long that he memorized the cracks on the wall and dents on his cell bars. Even the food they would give him had long lost its taste.

The only thing that kept him on edge were the shadows. At first, whenever the lights would go out for the night, they didn’t even phase him. But as the weeks dragged on, the isolation got to him. He could feel it eating away at his mind, memories of his friends and family slipping away like water through his clenched fists. As the hope of freedom began to fade, he found the shadows weren’t much kinder than the neon light. He swore they shifted out of the corner of his eye, wordlessly taunting him.

He could feel them watching with hungry eyes, waiting to swallow him whole. Maybe one day, when the lights would go out for one last time, they finally would.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d been here for. He couldn’t even remember his own name.

Florence – that was it, maybe. He wasn’t sure if it really was his, but if not, then it would be now. It felt right. It sounded like something the Banditos would call him, a name of the fields and the flowers. It was where he longed to be, among the trees and rivers and rain.

His name was Florence, a silent declaration to the city’s cold walls and its red-robed rulers. He had to get out of here. He wouldn’t let the shadows win.

#twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfiction #drabble #cliquetober #cliquetober 2022 #skeleton clique #cliquetober day 23 #dema #banditos #trench #twenty one pilots bishops #original character #oc #florence banua #fanfiction #light angst #sulat ni kad

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thekadster · 2 years

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cliquetober day 21 & 22: pen/harpoon & sign (a twenty one pilots drabble)

Fandom: Twenty One Pilots

Word Count: 500

Trigger Warnings: None!

Author’s Notes: Again, I realize that this is thematically similar to what I posted for Day 8 KJDSHFG One of the alternative ideas I had for this was Tyler and Josh making missing person signs for Ned and posting them around town xD

❝ The pen was an instrument of freedom, one that Tyler knew how to handle well.

But now, who was it pointed at?❞

also read it on ao3!

Time couldn't go by any slower.

Tyler's fingers drummed on the table, half out of thought and half out of impatience. The silence of the room was supposed to help him focus, but he hadn't written a single line. He could almost feel the blank page staring back at him disapprovingly.

As he fiddled with the pen in between his fingers, he thought it was strange. It had been ages since he last held one, and while in his cell, all he dreamt about was creating. He missed the way music sounded like, felt like. It was a friend, a lover, taking him by the hand to who knows where.

Taking him anywhere, anywhere that wasn't DEMA.

And yet, the Bishops themselves granted him the ability to create. He thought that maybe he was going crazy from the isolation. Maybe they found joy in giving him false hope. But no; they instructed him and Josh to make music. For the good of the citizens, they always said.

They gave him what he needed, desk and all. But try as he might, the words stopped at the tip of his tongue. His mind was grasping for something that was only almost there.

Josh sat in a chair next to him. He’d seen Tyler create before. He knew that, if they could, they would make songs tearing down the very foundations of vialism itself. They would expose the lies of this city and open the people’s eyes to the world beyond its walls. That the world outside was dangerous, but it was alive – the one thing that DEMA was not.

But they couldn’t do that, not here. Not while the Bishops watched from the back of the room.

The pen was an instrument of freedom. It was its own form of magic, breathing visions into reality. It was a harpoon that could shoot down the mightiest of beasts, a weapon that Tyler knew how to handle well.

But now, who was it pointed at?

Still, they pushed through it. They wrote lyrics, made melodies, eventually creating a scaled back, isolated parody of the music they really meant to write. It felt painful watching the Bishops take their writing at the end of each session; to even have to look for their approval in every detail.

But as the album was completed, they knew all their effort wasn’t for nothing. They knew the Bishops were watching, but so were the Banditos. The rebels were everywhere, not just in the mountains but also in the city itself. Tyler and Josh just hoped they hadn’t given in yet, that they still remembered the Torchbearer’s plan.

And they knew that somehow, someway, it would work. The album would serve as a sign of hope, of life, of freedom. No matter what the Bishops did, they were confident that their kind would understand.

This city hadn’t gotten the best of them yet, and the fact that they were still creating was a sign that it never will.

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