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twofootedbones · 3 years

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Wooden Boxes (Entire Story)

Summary: Small group of friends finds themselves in the forest just to get drunk and burn tree branches in a fire pit. One thing leads to another and now John is stuck with some kind of cheap horror movie plot box and a becomes responsible for a murder. Now that is all just between him and Father Erik.

"Father I believe I have done more than sin, " John sat calmly on his side of the confessional. The calm demeanor wasn’t going to last long as his story continued and he knew this. "Tell unto me your troubles child, " Father Erik had invited the boy into the safe space after his recent suspicious behavior. John hadn't always been one to make it to church every single Sunday, but the boy's family was well known here. The man had watched him grow up watching him become more and more of a strapping young man each Sunday up until he had gone off towards college. But for the young man to suddenly appear in his church after all this time, it was obviously a moment of need. John stared down at his shoes, simple black sneakers that he could see the collecting dust fall towards. The woven brown reeds were pierced by the dyed sunlight coming from the stained glass. Greens, blues, and reds danced around the space making everything seem like it was all a children’ room.

"It started through a party, "

Erik would've never expected the boy to say anything like that. The blonde never seemed like the type to go to any party higher than a get-together. But there could be a lot about the boy he didn’t know.

"We were all drinking, no one driving, it was technically supposed to be a camping trip, "

"If you haven't finished that wine yet you better fucking pass it bitchboy, " Conner gargled and cackled. His voice slurred through 2 fireballs and more than his fair share in beer. John clung to the white wine like it was a bar of gold. "You drunk slut! Get your own!" He yelled swatting away the hands of his brother. Saron sat across on a separate log, laughing into his premade sex on the beach, while poor Rick sipped from his Vermouth. He had to be the slightly sober one out of all of this, having to get at least a gallon or two of the booze before getting any kind of buzz.

The blonde twins on the other side of the fire continued to argue about who should get the long empty white wine bottle. The air was crisp, untouched by human pollution, it was strange to both Rick and Saron but to the other two, the forest was a second home. Everyone held their own geographic location close to their hearts, while Saron loved the feeling of sand and the sounds of the sea, John craved the smell of the great pines and the sight of the growing ivy. The fire crackled before them, embers flying up into the now dying daylight. The chill of the wind started to hit everyone but the safety of Rick's van was only feet away. John shot up, almost immediately falling back over in the process.

"I'm going to go take a piss, and I'm taking my wine with me, " he announced while stumbling towards the surrounding trees. "Don't stay out there for too long!" Rick called after him. Saron pats the older boy on the chest. "This is John we are talking about, if he gets lost then we're in a different forest, "

The blonde did a sloppy job doing his business, hitting everything around the tree trunk rather than the tree trunk he was currently touching foreheads with. Something yelped behind him, it was like a scream that was gagged too soon. The blonde shot around, zipping himself up with more precision than his blackout brain would've wanted. He had never heard a sound like that in the forests before, no bird or mountain lion could ever make such a sound. There was someone or something out there amongst the leaves with him.

Eyes started to search the leaves desperately, his drunken brain making him see and assume the worst of the worst. Was there a body amongst them? Did the poor boy wander upon a murder scene? The wind blew through the leaves, the temperature dropping with the sun. Once green trees are now turning black. The forest colors dripping down into the ground, making everything a harsh brown and an unforgiving black. Those green eyes wandered across something that might've matched the scenery, but the shape was wrong. A thick and tall wine box sat rotting amongst the forest floor. The top of the box was covered in layers upon layers of various colored candle wax. It seemed to be fresh wax, no dirt visible in the brightly colored substance. It sat straight up, facing the boy and almost inviting him in. At first, he was going to laugh, no amount of adrenaline could sober him up. He giggled at the box, unable to see any seriousness in the situation, believing that this thing could just be someone’s time capsule or some kind of harmless prank.

"Did you just scream?" he asked the box. He moved closer, stumbling and slow. He started to talk to the box like it was a small dog, fear had left him. "Ya cold out here buddy? Come on, let's go back to the bonfire, " with that John picked up the box and started to carry it back towards camp. Everyone had already crawled their way into the van by then, so he slipped the box into his lemon of a car, placing it in the passenger side before forcing himself into the pile in the back of the van, shutting the van door behind him. He pushed himself onto the end being back to back with his brother. Having all of the blankets stolen from him before he had even fallen asleep. The sounds of the forest seeming to pierce the metal walls and echo through the vehicle.

"This box, "

Erik interrupted the story snapping John back to the tan comfort of the confessional. "What did it look like again?"

John knew all too well what the box looked like, he knew every single detail and wax smudge on that stupid box. For something so simple it was stapled into his mind so well. The bright tan of the wood and how it was stained different shades from the candle wax. How the locks on the side looked so out of place and how the screws were put in wrong.

"It was a wine box, one of those old ones like the cigar boxes, with white and purple candle wax all over it, "

“Hm,”

The sun tried it's best to pierce through the dirtied and fogged up windows of the van but had no such luck, only creating a dim and dusty light that stained everything yellow. John had woken up first, almost expecting the sound of his alarm to attack his senses, but instead it was just the lovely symptoms of a hangover. The night before started to come back to him as he gazed upon the white wine bottle he fought so hard to keep cuddled up to him.

While the red of the metal walls and the yellow of the light provided comfort, something was off. There was something wrong about the scene, it felt as if he shouldn’t be here. The forest was silent, no morning birds, no sounds of the small creatures running through the leaves and the bushes, nothing. Something was stopping everything.

No matter how hard he tried to shake it, the feeling of someone watching him overpowered his murderous migraine. Rick, the patron saint of all their outings, had packed not only a surplus of aspirins and a cooler of just orange juice. His pounding mind pleaded for him to try and get up to get the two miracle products but something was stopping him. Something was looking right at them, he could feel it. A pair of eyes all too bigger than his own we're starting him down and he could feel them on him. Three deep breaths and counting the number of breaths that came from the rest of the room grounded him. Three of his own and three others. The sunlight started to brighten, desperately wanting to get inside of the van. How much time was he wasting staring at the ceiling? And how much longer was this feeling going to last?

Then something else tried to get in. An unidentifiable head covered the small back window, much too large to be a human's. It didn't move, just stood there. John couldn't see the window, but when the light that once covered the roof had up and left him, so did any calm demeanor that he once had. "Rick, "

He called out for the silver-haired boy, hoping and praying that he could see what he was seeing. "Rick, wake up, " John' eyes refused to leave the ceiling, watching and waiting for the light to come back. "Rick, " he repeated in a harsher tone.

"Wh- what? What?" He had finally woken up, and just like that, the light was back. John finally got his bones to move, sitting up and changing his focus from the roof to the window. "I think there's someone outside the van, "

"What?" was apparently the word of the day. "Yeah, I think there's someone outside, they were just looking through the window, "

Rick untangled himself from Saron and pushed himself up against the same window that the head was once hiding behind. The boy pushed to unlock the door while the other two struggled with their own hangovers. Conner lazily watched in awe as the silver-haired boy moved so fast. He swung the van door open as well as started swinging, looking back and forth for anyone around. “Hello?!” he called out to the empty, empty forest. John trailed out after him, wobbly from the sun’s rays attacking his eyes and brains. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s out here,” he said a bit calmer to the staggering blonde. “But there definitely was, look at your poor car dude,”

John staggered over towards his vehicle, hearing the van door slide shut behind him, the two left there no doubt snuggling back up and falling back asleep. The entire windshield was covered in sap. A full brown and golden coat covered the glass, almost completely obscuring the view. “It must’ve been some fuckin prankster kids or something,” Rick shook his head, reaching to touch the syrup. “I have a snow scraper under the seat it might work,” the blonde mumbled.

“The whole front glass pane?” the older man interrupted with another question. “If it really was just some hooligans, where would they have gotten all that tree sap?”

John laughed on the other side of the thin woven wall. “It would be quite the prank to pull, no matter how much I scraped, there was no real way to get rid of it,” the boy would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about gathering tree sap just to do that to Conner or believing that Conner had done that to his car himself. “Six car washes later it’s not as sticky anymore but the windshield wiper still gets stuck,”

“Continue with your story, my child,”

The door swung open all too fast, slamming the door handle into the thankfully placed door stopper. It wasn’t like it was stopping much due to the many doorknob sized holes in the wall. The apartment manager wasn’t exactly happy about it, but this wasn’t exactly anything new. He’s been living here for a year now, when he moves out he’ll fix it. The aspirins had started to wear themselves off as they lacked the power to last the whole migraine. That’s only expected from gas station migraine meds. He shut the door behind him with his foot, unable to touch the handle with his hands as they were both filled with the simple camping equipment and the new antique he gets to add to his collection, free of charge. He set the wine box down on the coffee table, for now, the glass clinking as the metal corners hit the surface.

John left the box there, wandering further into the two-bedroom one bath apartment to shove the other items there before returning to the couch where he would further hibernate. On the way back to the living room, he kicked off his shoes only to leave them somewhere in the hallway. Right now was not the time to keep things simple and clean. The shirt came off next, being thrown somewhere towards the kitchen but he never saw where it landed. A pale body flopped onto the small pull out couch, his feet hanging off the other end but being too lazy to pull the whole small bed out of the couch. Green eyes stared at the wine box that made the coffee table it's home. The box was surprisingly clean for being somewhere in the forest. John started to search for his phone, slapping his pockets until he could recognize the size of his ancient smartphone in his front pocket.

While Conner begged for him to update his phone and finally live the 5G life if it wasn’t broken don’t fix it. John clicked open the phone and started his common words search. Wine box covered in wax? Spiritual box? Vintage box covered in wax? Spiritual wine box?

The last search is when he actually got anything. Dybbuk box. What was currently sitting on his coffee table was something called a Dybbuk box. Thousands of clickbait videos showed up in the results. Tens of them having “Gone wrong” somewhere in the title. He opened up Youtube, clicking through the thousands of videos till he could find some kind of informational video that was obviously a child's clickbait. A short video by some kind of news site told him everything he could need to know. Well, not really but get the gist. The box held some kind of demon, a demon that would latch itself onto whoever came into contact with the box. John had carried that box with both hands on multiple occasions. The lady in the video said that the bad events would come in threes, but with the millions of clickbait videos, he started to believe that this was all just a load of shit. Mostly considering that the legendary box was a small wine cabinet and not a dinky single bottle wine box.

The boy clicked his phone off and set it down on the coffee table next to the box. “Did some Youtuber leave you in the forest, huh?” he asked the box. He smiled at the small prop, laughing about the story he could tell to Travis and Carol in class tomorrow. “I got a bookshelf with your name on it,” he spoke to the box again.

He didn’t realize that he had slept until he woke up to the natural light leaving him behind. What was he doing when he got home? The light of the street lamps found their way through his windows. He didn’t want to get up just yet, staring out his window and watching the cars on the road outside. Class started back up tomorrow, ending spring break and starting the home stretch to summer break. As if he was even going to make it that long. His grades have been falling to pieces before his very eyes, having to get Travis and Carol to help him with everything. They were upperclassmen and he’s lucky that he even got them to look at his direction. Maybe he could squeeze in a bit of homework tonight. His eyes wandered towards the ceiling.

Something blocked the light again.

The same pitch black figure, head much too large for its own body, it was a blessing that the neck could even support it. Or perhaps that's just what the shadow made it look like. John had only got a glimpse of it before it duck down below the window. The blonde shot up, staring back at the window. Now he was starting to regret not having curtains. He didn’t live in a shady part of town or didn't trust his neighbors, but he was starting to. John rolled off the couch, keeping his eyes on the window only looking away to check if the door was locked. It wasn’t.

The boy dreaded moving anywhere close to the window, it was an irrational fear, there was nothing there he could still be drunk and this all was just his eyes playing tricks on him. He was just tired. It was just one of his neighbors walking by. It was a car going by the streetlamp.

The two locks shut with two simple clicks. The door knob lock jiggles slightly and the deadbolt sliding securely into place. A short lived wave of calm brushed over him, a breath he didn’t know he was holding escaped between his lips. A crash snapped him back into reality, his body whipped around to face the wine box that had now flashed itself onto the floor, standing up perfectly. John wasn’t a very religious person, while his family forced him into church he believed it was all just some story that people preached for morals like fairy tales. But at that moment, he could believe that there was something in the house with him.

“This is ridiculous,”

Anger forced his anxiety out and made itself the leading factor of his actions. The blonde stormed over and snatched the box off of the ground, almost throwing it into the spare room. The box landed amongst the forgetting camping stuff on the floor. He slammed the door behind him and went to bed without a shower.

“You threw the Dybbuk box?”

The voice was harsh and stern. Erik was always a second father to him, so it was a bit difficult to hear that tone. John started to shake, regret and grief taking over him for disrespecting the box and disappointing Erik. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled holding his head in his hands. The center latched clicked open and the small door opened up, the older man slipping in a box of tissues.

The most annoying alarm rang through the apartment, breaking through the blockage of both the walls and the pillows. John slapped the life out of his phone, sliding his and back and forth to desperately shut the sound off. His face still buried deep into his pillow and blankets still covering his face. His hand bumped into something that definitely wasn’t on his nightstand last night. The harsh wooden texture and the smooth oily feeling made his eyes shoot open faster than a speed dial. There stood the box, right on his nightstand. John sighed, slamming his face back into the pillow, this had to be a prank. His hand remained on the box, trying to think of who had a spare key to his apartment.

Conner.

Of course his brother would do some stupid shit like this. His pranks always had layers upon layers of planning. A small splinter of doubt hit him, believing that Conner was too piss drunk to place the box behind him in the woods, but then he remembered that Rick was sober and that trio of assholes lived together. So, of course he would be in on it. The blonde rolled out of bed, checking the time on his phone before picking the box back up.

“If I throw you away then he won’t be able to move you around anymore,” he spoke to the box again. “But then again, if I hide you somewhere then I could catch him in the act,” he smiled, his plan sounding like a great one. There weren't a lot of places in his apartment that he could hide the box, but there were a few places he knew Conner would never look. So, into the back of the freezer it went. The box was covered up by frozen bags of fruits and vegetables. “Let’s see him find you now,”

John got home from class like it was every other day, slamming the door open and closing it softly before throwing himself onto his couch and crashing his backpack onto the coffee table. Only this time when his backpack slammed itself into the coffee table, it shoved something else off of it. John lacked a TV so there was no way he could blame the crash on something as simple as a remote. The blonde lifted his head to see before him the stupid box. He was started to curse this box and the stupid game his brother was playing on him, did the boy really search through everywhere?! And in the freezer of all places?! He was sick of it. He was sick of the idea that Conner had even thought that doing this stupid little demon prank was a good idea.

It all just bothered him so much more than it should, unable to understand these drastic moods lately. He was mad almost all the time now, mad at his apartment door, mad at his classmates, mad at his stupid car, mad at his friends for being so fucking nosy, and mad at himself for being mad. It was all so confusing.

But angering all the same.

The blonde struggled to find out where the thorn in his demeanor was from, while the box in front of him knew exactly where it was from. The boy stared at the box, brows permanently frowed together in the most peeved face he had ever made. “What’s even inside you anyway you useless thing?” he asked in the box. Then it jostled. Causing him to become startled himself. “What the fuck?” he said aloud, quickly shifting to sit up and pick up the box. It jumped again in his hands. This scared him more than just seeing it move on the floor. He's held jumping beans before, but those were small, whatever this was, was bigger than some bug.

John threw the box across the room, hearing it crash against the wall with a thud then crack open on the floor. The wax scattered itself and the wood splintered. The inside remained pitch black despite the many lights that flooded the apartment. John stood up, backing away but needing to get closer to be able to kill whatever rat or creature Conner had put in this stupid wine box. It was only after a void black dripping hand slapped itself out of the small box did he realize that this wasn’t a prank. The hand desperately slapped and gripped at the carpet floor, whatever it was attached to wanting out. The fingers curled and flexed in all different directions, seeming to drag itself towards John. The boy was stuck in place, watching with wide eyes as a second hand forced itself out of the broken box. Both arms and finger flexing and flailing around, the sound of the newly wet carpet being slapped on by the mystery appendages. A watermelon sized head pulled itself out of the small opening, the jaw was sharp and pointed in several areas, just above opening in a large toothed mouth with a swirling tongue that seemed to go up and lick the rest of the face like a gecko would to its own eyeball. The head shook back and forth, sometimes even slapping itself on the carpet too, desperately wiggling to free itself from the prison it had once been trapped in. A skinny body followed the head, neck thinner than would ever be expected to lift the head and a chest that was no larger than a notebook. There were no legs on the creature, relying on the long arms it had to keep it mobile. It seemed to look around the small apartment before making a Beeline towards the blonde that only watched in shock and fear as it dragged itself forward and onto the coffee table with just its thin and dripping arms. It was as if the creature was made out of nothing but stale and out of date ink. The large mouth opened before those arms propelled the body towards John with a powerful launch.

Last thing he knew, the creature was on his face.

John woke up on his apartment floor hours upon hours later. It couldn’t have been that long because it was still light outside, but the buzzing of his phone told a different story. The simple caller ID told him that it was one of his classmates. Well technically an upperclassmen, but he was a classmate all the same. “Hello? Travis?” he spoke slurred into the phone. “John!?” the voice on the other end boomed. “Where have you been!? You’ve been out for two days!”

There was no way his phone battery had lasted more than 3 hours the day he got home. The boy looked down at himself as the older man on the other line continued to speak, completely tuning him out as he examined himself. He was still wearing the same shirt and same shorts he had been wearing when he got home. The same backpack sat on the coffee table. The scene he endured came back to him, he whipped his head around to look for wither the creature that attacked him or the box he had shattered, but neither were present.

“Are you even listening to me?” Travis snapped him back to the phone conversation he hadn’t gotten a word of. “What?” he asked.

“Where are you? Me and Carol are going to come get you, we’ve been worried to death dude,”

Well that was reasonable. “I’m just at my apartment,”

“We’re on our way,” and with that the line went dead.

A feeling of dread started to attack the boy, although it was just a simple phone conversation, he was yet again alone in his apartment. He was afraid to move, even more terrified to even go into any of the rooms of the house. There was no telling where the thing had gone, even if it did make it back to the stupid box, he didn’t want to see it anymore. John looked down to his legs and noticed something he hadn’t earlier. From his ankle all the way up his legs, even so much as stretching under his shorts, was covered in patches of bruises. While some were a fading yellow, others were the deepest purple he had ever seen. How was he supposed to explain these to Travis and Carol?

John would either have to face his fears of the other rooms, or try and explain that he was attacked by a Lovecraft creature. The boy stood up on aching legs, almost immediately falling back to his stop on the ground. It hurt. The boy's face twisted up in pain, temporarily distracting him from the fear of the loose creature. Each step sent shockwaves through his body, his feet feeling as if he was walking on scolding needles. The walk towards the bedroom door felt as if an hour had already passed, sweat starting to run down his face already. While he turned the doorknob to the room, the one attached to the front door started to shake as well. It was followed by all too forceful knocks and a deep voice that broke through every wall. Maybe it had taken him an hour to get to the bedroom. “Just a second!” he yelled back, the remaining fear that gripped onto him let go, leaving just his injuries to slow him down. The knocks continued as he threw the dresser drawer open, he was surprised that Travis was being this impatient but then again he did drop off the face of the earth for two days. Wait, if they were really worried then why didn’t they just get Conner to let them into the apartment. John stared at himself in the body length mirror as he struggled to hop his legs into the longer sweatpants. Something wasn’t adding up, but he blamed it on school and some other unknown excuse he knew was there but couldn’t think of.

The blonde started to get used to the new pain that was walking as he rushed from the bedroom to the front door, the knocking continued up until he placed his hand on the doorknob. He paid no attention to it until he swung the door open to see no one there. Nothing but the day’s sun and the gentle breeze made its way through the entrance. A sound went off behind him, he could almost recognize it as the knives in the kitchen clattering to the floor and the coffee table bursting into pieces.

This time John actually woke up. The boy was on his knees in the middle of the small kitchen, steak knife in his hand aimed towards his legs. He couldn’t move, only observing in horror at the various butter and steak knives that sat around him in a circle, each blade curled completely into a corkscrew. His heart is the only thing racing. His knuckles shone white as he squeezed on the handle of the knife in his hand, terrified of the object but refusing to let go of it. He wanted to get up, he wanted to run away, he wanted to find his phone he really did, but something had his legs bolted to the tile floor. Half-assed deep breaths calmed his pulse down somewhat, but how was one supposed to be calm in a situation like this. The blonde tried to look over the kitchen counter towards the rest of the house, unable to see a single thing other than the darkness of the window. What day was it? What time was it? Was he still alive? John was endlessly confused with his situation. The mild confusion and anger stopped dead when a familiar slap sounded just out of his view. His heart rate kicked up again, being just as loud as the several wet slaps that followed the first. The long inked hand appeared again, just around the counter. The flexing appendages pulled and scraped the head and rest of the body into view, the creature dragging and lifting itself to sit right in front of the boy. It was silent. The only sound echoing through the small space was John’ breathing and the sound of the tar from its body dropping to the tile. It was a staring match despite the monster’s lack of eyes. The mouth started to open, open wide. John was convinced that the mouth of teeth would be the last thing he would ever get to see before his body would shut down. The mouth kept going, opening and curling back much like the blades on the ground around him. It revealed a face. The face of a boy much like him but so much younger, bright almost glowing red eyes met his green as the real staring contest began. The muk continued to curl back, revealing hair that could rival the black tar in color and a surplus of skin that one would only find on the body of an albino.

A simple dress shirt and sweater vest was revealed as it continued to drip away, splatters of blood covering the sleeves while whatever blood was on the vest had been swallowed by the darker colors. The rest of the tar dripped away revealing a sight much worse than the cover of the void. The creature lacked legs because the boy under lacked them as well. The dress shirt and vest were shredded at the ends, revealing in full view a pile of driped and wasted organs that spilled out of the open body. Flesh hung out in surplus, the meat seeming more of a petrified jerky with age. John had audibly gasped at the sight, almost expecting an attack from the boy in front of him for doing anything. But instead, he spoke. “I know,”

The voice was broken and raspy, but remained deep and sarcastic. “You need to do something for me,” the voice spoke again.

It took him more than a few seconds but the blonde managed to find his own voice. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Var, You need to do something for me,” he repeated, his tone becoming more and more aggravated. There was no avoiding the question. “What, what do you need?”

That was where he had started to cover up the grave he dug himself. John had invited the dybbuk onto himself. He had allowed the creature to attach itself to him. The spirit of the boy and the boy’s disgusting and murderous longing. The boy pulled himself closer, the curled knives moving on their own around him. “2116 Aervre Street,” the boy said, putting his hands on his, wrapping around them to help hold the knife in place. They were as cold as ice, burning his hands the longer they stayed there. The knife started to freeze in his hands, crystallizing and piercing his hands. This was real, this time it wasn’t a dream. The body of the boy melting in front of him, the knife staying attached to his hands. Whispered started from behind him, at first he couldn’t tell what they were saying, but as they grew louder and closer he could make out the word simply. “Kill, kill, kill, kill,” it chanted.

He had a job to do and Var was going to make him do it. Legs shooting up and moving on their own. The curled knives clattered around the kitchen as his legs started to feel. Wet. The black sludge from the floor flowing up and attaching themselves to his body. He didn’t come back to the present until he found himself sitting in the car.

The car started with a scream, the busted engine coming to life as the small key started the whole thing. The car lights turned on with a flash before shutting off, leaving the boy in the darkness of the night, only interrupted by the glow in the dark lights of the dashboard symbols. The sharp blade glimmered in the flashed lights, drawing his attention to it once again. He had everything he could’ve needed. Bolt cutters, the knife that had yet to leave his hands, gloves, simple toss away shoes he had left over from summer, he had everything. John could feel himself getting sick over the task at hand, half of his mind rejecting even thinking that the spirit had meant something else while the other half, the half that wasn’t him, was already committing the crime. The busted box sat in the back, fully visible through the rear-view mirror. Var was watching him, watching him closely. The blonde could feel the pressure of the creature resting on his shoulders, almost forcing itself into his body, forcing him to have a lead foot. The car calmly left the parking lot and out onto the main roads. Snoogle maps screamed the directions to him through the discount sound system. The bluetooth speaker glued to the dashboard jostled as he sped up, completely ignoring the speed bumps as he passed through empty neighborhoods. He bounced up and down in the car, feeling Var shove him back down into the seat. The tools that once sat next to him in the passenger’s seat now found their home on the floor, the wine box in the back seat refused to move, as if it was glued down tight to the middle seat. The fresh wax on the box seemed to melt, never dripping but a constant flow like it was all pulsing. Like it was living. It was living. John ran through a red light, the sounds of the honking cars in the intersection snapping his attention back to the road, he was back on the main road again. The cops were going to be called on him soon. He knew this as a fact.

The speaker roared his last few directions at him, the bass and water damage almost gargling the words. John was almost convinced that part of the sounds were the demon’s doing. The speaker said something about the destination being on the right before the dust dome completely exploded, shooting the guts of the small speaker forward and towards the metal mesh making that mesh the only thing keeping John from facing an electrical injury. The blonde slammed on the brakes, the tires shrieking behind him the trimming bound to be ruined by now but none of that mattered to him apparently. John yanked the key out of the ignition, checking over it to see if it was bent or not. It was fine though scolding hot to the touch, he learned that the hard way. Hissing as he shoved his twice burnt fingers into his mouth as if it was going to make a single difference. Once with ice and once with heat. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him, he could hear the raspy voice he had heard in the kitchen speaking to him. "Hurry up,” was all the voice was repeating. The words forced a noticeable amount of anxiety on the boy, draping himself over the center compartment to reach the tools he needed on the floor. John put on the medical mask with shaking hands, tucking his hair into a baseball cap he planned to burn after all of this, and scribbled all over his face with a body paint stick not even bothering to look in the visor mirrors. He needed to be unrecognizable. Snatching a satchel from the back seat he was ready to head out. The boy looked over at the house, the first thing he saw was the doorbell cam. There was no real easy way to take those out, so he couldn't use the front door or approach the front steps at all for that matter. The gate to the back was easy money, chain link and short enough not to make much noise climbing over.

The backyard was large, large enough to fit a pool but remained empty. A sharp knock to the back of his head staggered him enough to drop to the ground. “You didn’t even check for a dog,” the cracking voice screamed at him. Var was right, but John could honestly care less. His vision blurred as he tried to get up, the dybbuk cursing in the back of his mind saying things about how he didn’t hit the other that hard. The blonde walked around, viewing the backside of the house, looking for cameras, open windows, or any lights on in the house. It was as if the place was completely abandoned. Every single curtain was open while none of the lights were on. There was no camera and no lights. “You’re welcome,” Var almost screamed in his right ear. He had gotten all too used to having to deal with the creatures lack of volume control. The sliding glass door made a click, John could only guess that the lock on it had sprung open. The boy took off his shoes, shoving them into the bag and throwing on some cheap flip flops over his socks. Fashion didn’t matter in the middle of attempted murder. The pure rubber shoes squeaked as they pressed against the wooden floors. He started to shut the door behind him when a small gash opened itself up on his arm. It took a lot in his power to yelp while it happened, quickly covering it to stop bleeding. If his DNA evidence was found on the scene, they’d catch him almost immediately. “Easy escape,”

John acted quickly, sliding one of the flip flops off, yanking his sock off, and attempting to wrap and tie the fabric around his arm right as he slipped his foot back into the shoe. The sock ripped to shreds in his hand, easier to wrap around his arm. He was already wasting so much time as it is, feeling the demon on his shoulders grow more and more impatient the more he struggled to tie the fabric off.

John looked around the dining room and kitchen combo. It was pristine, as if the cleaning lady had just come by not two hours ago and deep cleaned every surface. If he left so much as a trace he’d be fucked. Var started to pull him towards a doorway, that doorway led to the living room. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling that seemed to stretch all the way to the roof, no divider between the up and down stairs areas. A small curving stairwell stretches itself from the bottom to top floor, proudly displaying an open hallway where several doors could be seen, every single one of them was closed. Stress was taken off of his back and neck, feeling Var lighten his attachment. The dybbuk was searching the house for the target, John stood patiently in the living room, looking around the doors to see if there was any kind of alarm system anywhere in the house. That was when he saw some items that started to raise a bit of suspicion. It was difficult to view in the plain darkness, so he pulled out his phone and flashed the light of the screen towards it.

A wheelchair sat next to the door, with one of those stair climber chairs sitting right next to it. Something wasn’t right here. Some kind of monitor sat next to the tv, the wires stretching from there to the couch. Before he got the time to investigate further the pressure of barbells returned to his shoulders, the pressure forcibly pushing him towards the stairs. His foot touched the carpeted stairs with caution, the fabric below him squishing down and bouncing back as if it had never been walked on before. The knife in his bag began to feel heavy, this time not because of Var but because of the guilt of knowing what he was about to do. While this was a problem, something told John that he wouldn’t even have to take the knife out of the bag. Tears started to gather, glassing his eyes but refusing to fall just yet. His nose started to stuff up but he chose to ignore it, breathing through his mouth allowing his shaking breaths become louder and louder. Var had not made some kind of comment or punished him for the behavior yet, but he knew it was going to come.

A quick slap to the face set him in the right direction once he got to the top of the staircase. To the left it was. The dead silence of the house was replaced with the light sounds of a breathing machine. Quite literally. John recognized the sounds from having to take his brother to the hospital for an asthma attack. The faint sound alone confirmed his suspicions, this old enemy is quite old indeed. The door was almost highlighted as it sat on the other side of the hallway, green lights shining from the crack at the bottom of the door. The blonde felt empty, as if the hands that were opening and door and the feet that were walking across the cushy carpet weren’t his. Before he could even come to, the once calmy beeping monitor was dead flat. The wire that once held the whole man together in his hands and out of the power socket, but Var still wasn’t satisfied and that was the last thing he had heard. The creature screaming in the back of his mind. “It’s not done till there's blood!”

The morning light invaded the newly placed curtains in the apartment, the light cream color giving the whole living room a comfortable feeling. John needed it. He was free from the creature that had plagued him, but it was all from over. Every single news article and report only reminded him of the monstrosity he had gone through and every single time he had been abused by the spirit that possessed the simple wine box. The blonde could only assume that Var was gone completely, not finding a single trace of the box anywhere in his apartment or car. The knives in the kitchen remained bent though and the scars he earned from his battle with the creature would remain there forever. Perhaps he would be able to deal with all of that.

John took a deep breath, completely calm by the end of his story although he knew there was nothing but trouble that could come from it now. Erik stared at the boy through the woven mesh, the natural sunlight now gone, leaving them with nothing but the artificial light of the church chandelier. The once calming kaleidoscope of stained glass colors is now gone and replaced with the buzzing of LED bulbs and eye straining bright white. The blonde looked up at the man who just stared at him in disbelief. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he begged.

“Not a soul,”

#original writing #original story #original fiction #writeblr #writing #writers #writing community #writeblr community #creative writing #horror writing #horror story #horror fiction #writing on tumblr

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twofootedbones · 3 years

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This Short Story is Supposed to Make You Feel a Specific Way

Can you name it? >Your heart restarts as your attention is not drawn to the water that filled your ears, nose, and mouth.

You were in no real rush to be rid of this water, instead opening your eyes to look around, finding nothing but some green stained water. Years and years of rust and algae building up in the water around you. There was obviously some kind of dirt floating around amongst the now ever growing plants. You are unsure if it is even safe for you to expose so much as a finger to this water. How did you get here? Your back hit the other end of a plastic feeling surface, your arms hitting two side walls that proved to hold more smoothness than the grounding plastic, yet the more your arms traveled upward the more crust they could feel. You couldn’t find the surface of the water, yet you could find the top of whatever container you were in. Sounds pierced the water. A simple melody that climbed up and down its own melodica ladder.

The water had muted everything the singer was saying, but it wasn’t like the lyrics of a song that didn’t exist bothered you. Your eyes stung from the unclean water. You just noticed this. It was like salt water, the chemicals getting into your eyes and thoroughly irritating them

. >You shut them tight and try to break the surface of the water.

Your lungs decided that it was time to breathe here and now. The disgusting water filled your mouth for a split second before your face broke the surface tension of the water. You sputter out the water filling your mouth but are now stuck with the taste of sushi, mud, and chlorine. The air and the world outside held little difference to the deafening sound of the water in your ears. The music had gotten much louder and the echo it gave off in the large area. It nearly hurts your ears just listening too. Your arms slapped around on the surface of the water, trying to remember how to keep yourself afloat as you are not lacking any kind of platform to stand on. Your legs kick wildly and you flail about trying to find something to either grab onto or plant your feet on. Sadly, there was nothing so you just had to relearn how to swim in more that 5 feet of water.

>You take a deep breath of this new found air, finding yourself surrounded by water with very very little light.

The air was stale and unforgiving. It was surprisingly cold for the lukewarm water you find yourself engulfed in. The song had changed now, something far more upbeat than you had heard under the water. Somehow still finding itself to be muffled, the music echoed the surrounding area, you could feel the beat vibrating through the water and tickling at your feet. Or at least you assumed that it was the beat of the music under you.

>You look around at the surface.

There seemed to be various metals reflecting light onto the surface of the water that reflected that same light up towards the glass ceiling that showed nothing behind it. No stars, no sky, no sun. Only a black surface that covered the window. From your short eye adjustments you manage to make out something resembling stairs, but of course your idea of stairs is a bit more warped than you thought it was. You weren’t even sure what you were looking at was stairs. Was the sounds playing actually music? Was what you were standing in actually water?

>Come back to reality.

The metal of the broken escalator shone in the lights of the LEDs and the bright white light they reflected all together against the linoleum tiles. You were no longer wet or were you? You are still unsure what water is. There was something about this area that shouldn’t be what it is.

#original writing #original story #short story #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #writeblr community #creative writing #original fiction

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twofootedbones · 3 years

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Rose Colored Shades

Summary: There was once a moment where Latula knew who Cronus was, but when you’re wearing rose colored glasses, every flag is just a flag.

A look through Latula’s eyes and her view of was had happened between her, Cronus, and Mituna that made them break farther apart than she would have ever liked.

You know those stories, those ones where they always start with the “just us three against the world?” Well that’s how this one starts. It was just me and my boys, my two goofballs that I loved with my whole bloodpusher. My matesprit Mituna Captor and my considering morail Cronus Ampora. The days we spent together were always perfect, it didn’t matter if we got a skate trick wrong, got chased away for loitering, or just couldn’t get past this one level in some dumb video game we picked up from the discount bin. We were the perfect Kingdom Bloodpushers trio! One epic heroine and her two boy sidekicks.

Then we started the game. Me and ‘Tuna saw it as the perfect challenge and we dragged poor ol’ Cro along with us. It didn’t take long for a lot of things to go sour though. Everyone started screaming and punching, pretty sure half of the screaming was Kankri’s fault but it was chaos nonetheless. We all went from one radical kickass group into a clusterfuck of horrible words and totally not rad violence. No one listened to each other and everyone tried to be the leader. Many of us actually broke away from the group to do things our own way. Blame is on teenage angst.

Then it happened. I wasn’t around to see it and I beat myself up about it every single day. The only one to see it was that stupid mime and he barely showed an ounce of pitty in those cursed eyes. Just bringing the body to us, plopping him on the ground, and walking away like he didn’t just deliver us the most horrific thing we had ever seen. No one knew how to act at this point, we stood there just staring at him. The Tuna I once knew was gone, none of us knew how to help him, he laid there on the ground just shaking and crying. He was covered in his own

The cursor flashed on the screen, waiting for the next words to be written. Latula leaned back in her desk chair, wiping the sudden tears away from her face ultimately ruining the minimal mascara she had put on just hours before. This was going to take a while. She didn’t know why she was trying to write something like this, Aranea claimed that writing gave “feels closure” whatever that meant. Just a few feet away sat lil Mituna. Well he wasn’t that little as he towered over her by a solid foot, but he was her little honey bee. He was starfishing in the bean bag chair as he idly chewed on a necklace he found somewhere in his hive. His hair was held out of his face by one of Latula’s scrunchies and he sat in just a pair of gym shorts, the fern leaf-like scars that danced across his body being revealed. He hated it when the others saw them, she was the only exception. She was allowed to gaze upon and touch the flowing scars. It was as if his veins had been dyed faint shades of red and blue.

He had yet to notice her eyes on him and continued to just stare off at the wall, not even paying mind to the show that was playing on the TV. Latula took a deep breath and turned back to the document.The same blinking cursor ready for her to continue.

When he woke up he wasn’t the same, or so I was convinced. When his eyes finally opened, they weren’t the same red and blue slushie color I was so used to seeing. They were completely void of his colors, a black and white that he carried with him to the dream bubbles. He was afraid and confused and he didn’t recognize any of us. He tried to run from all of us whenever he was awake, but all he gained from that was agitating all the harsh electrical burns he had. I was starting to grow sick of yellow being smeared all over the room. The day ‘Tuna first woke was the same day I saw Cronus Ampora genuinely cry for the last time. He stopped coming to visit Mituna shortly after, claiming that everything that came out of his mouth was wrong even though all that really came out was screams of fear. The last time he visited he lashed out at him, it wasn’t much just a shout of the words “shut up” before he ran out of the room. I was willing to push that aside back then, I was at my wits end too. We thought that my matesprit and his best friend was gone. We both believed that our trio was soon going to be a duo. Cronus couldn’t bear to see his friend like this anymore, leaving me alone to take care of him.

It didn’t take long for Tuna to start using words again. Guaranteed they were in the wrong order, but they were words. He stopped screaming at everyone and he stopped trying to run away from all of us. But he would still pick at his scabs and burns.

One day he asked me what my name was for the ten-thousandth time. Except instead of repeating it back to me or forgetting it immediately, this dork said and I quote: “That’s pretty, like you!”

At that moment I swear I was falling in love with him twice over. Every time I would come into the block we kept him in he would call me pretty. He eventually started calling me by my name, but for months he would always ask for me by calling me “the pretty lady”

Not even a sweep passed before we were all done for. Our game failed and now here we are living forever in the dream bubbles. Totally not a rad ending I kn

A crash interrupted her typing, she quickly turned around only to see that Mituna was no longer in the block with her. “Tuna?” she called out. A faint mumble came before she heard the boy in question reply from the nutrition block. “I DIDN’T BREAK ANYTHING,” was all he screamed. Latula had long gotten used to his lack of volume control. “It was plas- pl- not glass!” he followed in a completely different tone. “Are you sure you don’t need help bee?” she got up out of her chair and started walking towards the block. Standing in the center of a tupperware war-zone stood Mituna Captor and his perfectly poured cup of orange juice. “Hi,” he said with the largest smile plastered onto his face. Latula’s smile came slowly before she was just flat out wheezing at the scene before her, Mituna joined his cackling laugh mixing with hers. The Captor stopped to take a sip of the juice before kicking around at the tupperware. They couldn’t have anything glass in the hive because of this and the glass they do have is hidden in the lowest cabinets where this gentle giant doesn’t think to look.

“What happened?”

Mituna pointed up towards the cabinet. “I put the-them away lasst,” he admitted. The boy’s version of putting away the dishes is to stack up a disaster that will ultimately topple over the second someone would open the door. He put his cup down on the counter and started to clean up the mess. Latula joined him. This wasn’t anything really that new, he would always set up the dishes this way in Cronus’ hive whenever they would visit, just to watch the seadweller open the door to be pelted by this psionic’s genius pranks. Now it’s become a normal schedule to never open the cabinet door fully. Kankri has told them that Cronus still does that as a habit, having to watch the seadweller cringe before opening anything every time he goes over there to lecture him. Meenah has even just told Cronus to remove the door if he’s going to keep complaining about it

After fixing the nutrition block back up and settling Tuna back into his spot, this time with juice and a movie he would actually kind of focus on, Latula returned to her husktop, spamming the space bar to wake it back up.

Ya know, when you look at the world through rose colored glasses, all the red flags just look like flags. Things started to get worse and worse with Cronus the more ‘Tuna recovered. Cronus just couldn’t see the friend he once knew anymore but that gives him no right to treat him the way he did and still does. The day we started to completely cut off all contact with Cronus was the day he actually hit Mituna in front of me. Me and ‘Tuna were just out skating, trying to find the best place to try some basic tricks when we came across Cro’. We took a short break to talk to him for a bit, I should’ve noticed this so much sooner but Mituna was extremely uncomfortable being around him. It’s my fault for not hearing it in his words. Cronus continued to speak some kind of friendship nonsense and wrapped his arm around my bee’s shoulder. ‘Tuna tensed up and shoved the guy away, hard. Cronus looked at him shocked just standing there. Then the bastard said something I will never forget. “I should’ve fucking culled you after we found your broken sorry-ass,”

Then he reeled back and punched ‘Tuna square in the face. The visor on that helmet cracked and shattered. They started to brawl. Mituna pulled off his helmet to throw it right at Cronus’ chest and managed to pick up his skateboard to slam it into the dude’s side. I grabbed onto ‘Tuna and got out of there ASAP, the poor boy continuing to scream, swear and shout jumbled words all the way until we got back to my hive. I don’t know what happened to the beaten fucker in the dirt, but he could just sit there and wallow for all I care.

I blocked Cronus on every single platform we shared that night, went into ‘Tuna’s accounts and did the same. While he doesn’t use any of his accounts any more they are important to me and I wouldn’t want that asshole touching any of it. Each and every post being a museum of what Mituna Captor once was and continues to be.

There have been more times where the two of them have gotten into fights, usually times where I’m not around. I try my best to stay by his side and keep him away, but I can’t coddle him. I refuse to baby my baby. There’s-

A sudden weight on her shoulders interrupted her writing. “Whatcha writing, Tulip?” her boy said in a sing-song voice. She lifted her arms up to grab onto the ones around her. “Oh, nothing too important,” she tilted her head up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Mituna giggled and rubbed his face in her hair. She laughed, pushing the arms off her and getting up. “Wanna watch another movie? I’ll watch with you this time,” she asked, hugging him close. She felt those same awkward lanky arms wrap around her. “Nah, let’ss play Trollio Kart,” he said.

“Flushed for you,”

“Flushshed for you tooo,”

#homestuck #mituna captor #latula pyrope #mitula #latuna #dancestors #homestuck fanfic #hs mituna #hs latula

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twofootedbones · 3 years

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Psiioniic Legacy Ch.1(?)

Summary: Before there was the Helmsman, there was training and experience. Training and experience that was interrupted by a rebel and his impeccable conversation skills and partners in crime. Let’s see how Reg.8 Nmbr.22 became The Helmsman.

Really short little thing that I don’t know if I will be continuing, but I will try! Will be updated with ao3 link if continued

She stared him down, nothing but threats in those shielded eyes. The Gifted, The Psiioniic, The Goldblood, whatever those disregarded followers called him hadn’t mattered now. He was simply flesh beneath her foot, Her Captive. There was nothing those sparkling eyes could do to save him from the fate that lay upon him these very moments. “You are special,” she says, her voice ringing through his already rattling ears. “While there are thousands of yellow bloods like you, it’s only you who can hear those who are not speaking, correct?” she bent down, moving herself closer to his position on the floor. He remained silent, not even sparing her so much of a glance from those bi-colored eyes. “Am I correct?” she asked again, shoving her foot down onto his thin ribs harder than before. The troll beneath her let out a harsh wheeze, feeling the hollow bones start to bend under the tension. “Yes,” he spat, shutting his eyes tight, trying to deny The Condesce so much as eye contact. She lightened the force on his ribs, not wanting to already break her new tool. “Become my helmsman,” she demanded bluntly.

It took him sweps upon sweeps to get into this position.

A harsh slap to the door swung it open easily, the metal slamming against the equal metal of the wall forcing every troll in the hallway awake. The young troll bolted away, only 7 sweeps old and already programmed into the military schedule of the plantation. The blueblood who practically broke the door off the hinge, stared him dead in the bi-colored eyes. The other three young psionics in the room were just seconds too late to join him on their feet. It hurt him to hear the voice of one of them ringing through his mind, despite none of them talking. “Number 22,” the deep voice of the larger troll echoed off the walls. “Yes sir,” he replied as a habit. “Congratulations, you are being bought today,” the voice said again in the same deadpan as before. “Number 45,” the focus shifted to the other boy. His name was Jexson. But it wasn’t going to be for much longer. “You will come with me,”

Jexson and the blueblood commander left the room, leaving him and the other two psionics alone in the room. “Do you think we’ll ever see Jex again?” one of them asked the room. “No, I don’t believe we will,” he answered. “Congratulations on getting out of here Mituna,” the other spoke. “From one drill spot, to a drill spot with new faces,” Mituna replied. The room chuckled as they worked on cleaning the shameful piles of recycled tech they all have to sleep on. Organizing the stacks and hiding all and any wires before room inspections started. This was to be Mituna’s last room inspection before it was all going to be handed over to another up and coming psionic.

The pitter of Mituna’s feet echoed through the metal hallways as he made his way to the exhibition hall to meet his first master. Waiting for him at the end of the long metal corridor was a simple set of velvet drapes only barely obscuring the light of his new semi-freedom. He shifted aside the thick curtain to step his rough feet onto the plush feeling of the matching velvet carpets. There stood a bronze blood, no doubt sent there to pick him up and transport him to the new station of work.

Hooking up to a helm was a lot different than what they practiced with. They compared it with wires yet, it felt more alive than it should’ve. The bio wires wrapped around his body, holding tight onto his arms and legs and pushed against spots on his back. It was as if they were trying to force their ways into his skin and infect him from the inside. It was workable at first, feeling his power being taken from him in small amounts, yet the further the bio wires started to push around him the more he wished he was back at the camp.

#homestuck #homestuck ancestors #the psiioniic #the signless #the helmsman #hs psiioniic #hs signless #homestuck fanfic

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twofootedbones · 3 years

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Spoons Ch.1

Summary: Waking up from death for the second time wasn't anything magical. It was definitely something Vanitas didn't want, but here he was living in a passive-aggressive lockdown in the Land of Departure. While things were already downhill, they had started to dig down into the dirt. It was only when the boy did something drastic, did they realize how deep the hole was.

To read the rest go over to Ao3 right here! Gore warning for those that do! Happens only in Chapter 2.

It was wrong, it was all wrong. Vanitas stood in front of the large bathroom mirror, staring into his own eyes and not seeing them. They weren’t his. They weren’t his eyes, they were his master’s. Vanitas didn’t have his own eyes anymore, he had never had his own eyes. All of his eyes were given to him, at least his first pair had a color he could own. He missed the crimson reflection on the inside of his helmet. He missed the times where he had lacked a face that wasn’t his, existing in a body that wasn’t his, and owning a heart that wasn’t his. The raven looked away from the mirror and down onto the sink and counter. The bathroom here was so elegant. Everything these wayfinders owned was so pretentious, everything had to be perfect and clean and here he was to mess up all of that. Ventus was perfect and clean, Aqua was perfect and clean, Terra was perfect and clean, and Vanitas was disgusting. He knew this is what they all thought about them. The only reason he was allowed into the castle was because of Sora and his magic with the element of charisma. How he had managed to convince three people he had made murder attempts on before to take him in and house him was a miracle. But it was true. They thought he was disgusting, just like his master and the creatures that he created. He had been bottling since the final battles. It was killing him. The unversed pull and ripped at his skin causing bruises that were simply explained as results of training. They hated him, they hated looking into the copied eyes of the man that had ruined all of their lives and served them plates of trauma that would stick with them until their death beds. There was no real denying this. He knew that they hated him, they had to. He didn’t blame them, he hated those eyes too. So he tried to avoid eye contact with any of then the best he could. Training on his own, only leaving his room when told to, and staying out of the way during traveling and visitations. He was almost a model roommate. Yet, it was killing him. Shaky hands reached up and wiped the tears away from those hellish eyes. He wishes he had his own pairs back. Vanitas quickly got rid of any evidence that he was in the bathroom and left. Flicking the lights off behind him, leaving the room in the dark. If he had stayed in there for too long someone might have come. He knew this wouldn’t have been true because he was completely alone on this floor of the castle, but the thoughts still tugged on his mind. He didn’t want anyone to see him, to look at him, to speak to him, nothing. The lights of the stars were dancing through the windows to only light up pieces of the wall and floor near the glass panes. Vanitas liked his hallway during the night, being made of it himself, the darkness comforted him. The black color swallowed his footsteps, only echoing the sound. Sounds and feelings were real, they were grounding. Anything he could touch and hear was something he could inherit trust. His eyes would lie to him all to often, the sight of his master through the halls, the views of the creatures that haunted him, and the visions of his failure replayed over and over and over again. A world where he didn’t have to see a thing, a comfortable world where he was back asleep and only hearing the sounds of the scene that surrounded him. He took a deep breath, realizing that he had been standing in the hallway for longer than he wished. Actual footsteps started to break the thick silence as the owner of the sound made his way to the room of the hall he called his own. It was obvious that the castle once held hundreds as thousands of doors had lined the hallway, each with their own now completely empty room. It was strange to be the only furnished room on the entire floor but it just meant that if he ever needed some kind of extra storage he always had it. It was Terra’s idea to stick him up here and it was understandable for him to do so. Vanitas couldn’t blame the man for wanting to keep the thing that had ruined his life as far away from his family as possible. Terra had never really liked him, possessed or not, Vanitas was just the pain in his side that wouldn’t die. Maybe he should just leave. Escape them one day during visitations and just travel through the different worlds. He wouldn’t have to bottle anymore. The raven opened his bedroom door, greeting the room with sullen silence as he stared over his few objects. A dresser, a bed, and a desk. They gave him nothing less and he hadn’t asked for much more. The light of the stars had followed him in there much to his dismay. They wouldn’t let him have any curtains, Aqua thought it would be better for him to be able to have the light of the sun and to see the stars at night. While the statement did sound thoughtful of her, it was very unthoughtful all the same. Vanitas didn’t bother to put himself under the covers, the cold chill of the night was so much better than the feeling of the blankets suffocating him. He didn’t plan on moving much in the morning either. It wasn’t like he needed to go down for food. Vanitas started to wonder if they would even notice if he just stopped going down there at all as he drifted off to sleep. They would probably be thankful.

As morning rose the sun’s light has overpowered the light of the stars and taken over the entire room. Vanitas had stopped dreaming since he had woken up in the possession of the lights. They had made everything so fruitless. So instead of waking up and missing his dreams, he had to wake up and deal with the return of his bottled emotions. While everyone preached about how keeping your troubling feelings to yourself was harmful to your health, none of them would have even stopped to think about how harmful it would be for him. The bruises had gotten bigger this morning, stretching from as far as his calf to his hip. The raven could only believe that there was more on his back, but there was no mirror in his room to check this, thankfully. If his reflection followed him into his old space- The bed was warm where he continued to lay, the once hard surface now broken in with his day-in and day-out ability to sit in one spot without having to move. The springs in the center almost squished flat while the areas around them were as if they were never touched. He sat like this for a while, staring out the window at the sky. He counted the clouds as they passed by. Totaling them up as the sun had started to set already. There was exactly twenty-five more clouds today than there was yesterday. He knew they would never have noticed, no one had even come up to his floor today. What if they had left? The bright light of the sun was replaced with the dim light of the stars once again. Vanitas was tired of the light. The light of the stars, the light of the sun, the light that shone through the clouds as they passed his window, and the light that carried itself through his eyelids. That was the one he had hated the most, the point of closing his eyes was to return to the darkness and yet the light had yet again found its way into ruining everything for him. He wanted to go down to the training yards. The bed creaked in protest craving to keep him there until the walls of the castle decayed around him. Sometimes it was like they did, his mind managing to make him watch the walls chip away and the window fog up with age, everything aging and dying except for him. His footsteps were a bit louder in the hallway this time, his shoes hit the hardwood with clunks compared to the light steps of his bare feet. Walking down the stair was harder than walking through his hallway, the closer he got to the lights the easier it was for him to get caught going out this late. What was the point of him staying inside anyway? If they didn’t want him here so bad then why didn’t they just dump him outside somewhere? It would be easier to count the clouds that way. No one came out to question the clunks of boots hitting the marble floor or the bright yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness of the halls. Vanitas opened and closed the door behind him, the night air hitting him hard but being all too welcoming. The keyblade graveyard had always been a hot place, but the nights where he was free were always the coldest. Shivers possessed his body as he walked out into the grass and towards the sections of the training grounds he was never able to touch. Maybe coming out in just a tank top was a bad idea but, he was too far away from his room to just go and get a jacket or two. He was never able to summon his keyblade around the wayfinders. They were scared of it, with good reason. There wasn’t a lot his blade could do though. He didn’t have keyblade armor, he didn’t have any sort of keyblade transportation, and he couldn’t tap into a lot of what the lights could. Vanitas had come into the realization that his keyblade was just a sham, some kind of replica that Xehanort had created for him to wield when he needed him to. He would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn’t disappointed by this discovery, he was a fake. He was never really meant to wield the keyblade, he was never meant to wield any kind of weapon at all, he was forced into this physical body and forced to do all these things. Life was better when he was just himself. A sharp breeze whipped through his hair, bringing him back to the present. Oh right, he was at the training grounds. Void gear materialized and sat comfortably in his hand. His fingers slipping into the grips on the handle and the weight of the front end of the blade dragging itself down to the ground. Vanitas stood there, staring down at the weapon in his hands. It felt so wrong to be holding now. The weapon that he once held with power was now like some kind of souvenir. He lifted his arm to take a lazy slash at the hoops that stood stagnant. The hoop itself jingled back and forth on its chain, not nearly enough power to make the mechanism fully move around. The blade made a loud thud as it hit the ground. Vanitas could feel that it was disappointed in him, he could almost see the eyes as yellow as his own staring down at him with complete utter anger and disgust. If the master had seen him now in this pathetic state he would have lost a limb or two. The wrinkled tanned skin and the hands as hard as steel bore down upon him. He couldn’t feel them, but he could see them. He saw the motions, the speed, and the colors. He hated it. The dark boy was unaware of the eyes that were currently watching him. Thankfully they were not the yellow of his own, but the blue of the lights. Aqua watched him from one of the many hallway windows, it wasn’t surprising that she still couldn’t manage a full night's rest. Ten years' worth of trauma doesn’t exactly disappear within a month or three. She watched as he took six more swings at the hoops before just letting the keyblade drop to the ground. She started to take some pity in on him. While she had despised the creature that now lived in her home, she also knew that he was completely lost. It was only a matter of time before Vanitas did something dangerous and she could put him down for good this time. It’s not like Ventus would miss him or anything like that, they never spoke. Vanitas would never come down from his floor and Ventus would never want to go up. Yet, Ventus would complain at every meal Vanitas missed. She loved every single moment without the creature around. She craved for endless moments where she didn’t have to meet those golden eyes.

#kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 3 #vanitas #kh vanitas #ventus #kh ventus #kh aqua #kh terra #wayfinder trio #kingdom hearts fic #kingdom hearts fanfic

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twofootedbones · 3 years

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What Is A Flower’s True Meaning?

Summary: Every day for the past month Logan has been getting wilted flowers delivered outside of his door. Every day for the past month Remus has been trying to make flowers that were just as beautiful and alive as his love, but all he could make was destruction. Every day for the past month Logan has been saving the flowers, bringing them back with the power of botany. Every day for the past month Remus has been trying to confess his love through the flowers, but what is a flower's true meaning?

One of my favorite old Sanders fic of mine

In botany, it’s known that any plant has a saving grace period before befitting death. If the roots of the plants were alive or if part of the stem is still alive, there was still hope for the plant.

Step one, reviving the stems. Recut the stems of the flower, cut at an angle and cut a half-inch up the middle to provide a large area for the stem to absorb water.

Remus was near tears as he surrounded himself with wilted flowers. Roses, tulips, and carnations surrounded him as he tried over and over and over again to create a living flower. At one point he started to give up and try making some kind of normal plant, but within seconds of birth, they would all wither away. He screamed as loud as he could, shaking the room around him.

Most of the flowers turned to dust as he did so, leaving him surrounded by not only dying flowers but crushed petals and crushed hopes. It took him a while to stop the streams of water coming from his eyes, no matter how many times he wiped the moisture away it would always replace itself.

Labored breaths filled the room as he tried to calm himself down.

Once collected, he gathered up a bouquet of the best-looking flowers to deliver on his love’s doorstep. He held his head in shame as he held the wilted flowers, they needed to be beautiful for his love.

Someone was leaving wilted flowers outside Logan’s door. As the flowers started to show, the logical side took up researching bits of botany that Thomas had learned from previous experience, it usually wasn’t anything more than the flower’s name. Every Week there was a new type of flower, every day there was a different color. The flower’s always arrived in bountiful bouquets wrapped in a metallic emerald green ribbon. Logan got into the habit of pressing the flowers into various scrapbooks. While he craved to know how was leaving these flowers for him, he was afraid of bringing this up to the other sides.

It didn’t take long for the logical side to convince Thomas to look up how to revive a flower, blaming the need on being curious. Within minutes a sink, a new shelf, and dozens of glass vases had been added to his mind space.

Roman groaned as his brother had yet again entered his side of the imagination. “No, it’s no,”

“Aw come on! You didn’t even give me a chance!” Remus walked into the room with an ever so fake pout of his face. “You’re going to ask how to make flowers again,” the prince sighed watching the disastrous man fiddle with the ruffles on his sleeves. The poor man was nervous about the courtship that HE was engaging.

“All the ones I make keep dying!”

“And that’s my fault how?”

Remus whined throwing his hands around as if to gesture at a point that’s not there. He attempted to create another daisy only for the white petals to immediately droop and wrinkle.

“Look, I can’t help you make the flowers but,”

Remus looked up, his face lit up with some kind of hope.

“I can help you choose which flowers to use,”

Step two, hydration. Hydrate the flower within a vase of warm water. Warmer water will move up the stem faster, but cold water if preferred for flowers such as Tulips.

Everyone but Logan knew. Roman would complain about his brother’s annoyances constantly. Not only that, but Patton had caught Remus outside of Logan’s door on more than one occasion. “The poor thing looked so nervous standing outside the door,” he gossiped. “He tries so hard to knock and give the flowers to Logan himself,” Patton chuckled. “Maybe we should give him some tips,”

“Remus? In love? And with Logan of all people!?” Virgil was shocked considering this was the first time was part of the gossip session.

“Keep your voice down! The nerd himself might hear you!” Roman panicked, looking over his shoulder. “I’ve been trying to help him become more direct through his choice of flowers,”

“Is this why Logan keeps making me research flowers?” Thomas asked the group. Patton only laughed, it was obvious that Logan had taken an interest in the plants.

“What exactly is he making you research?”

“How to save wilting flowers,”

Step three, food. Add a drop of lemon juice and a pinch of sugar into the water.

The flowers started to cover Logan’s room. There were daisies, roses, carnations, lilacs, lilies, and peonies of all different colors. The one plain matte room, burst with colors as the once wilted flowers now thrived. As some flowers died over time, Logan would press them into the books he started when the flowers first appeared. He would write the date the flowers appeared and the date they died, along with what type of flower they were.

Three knocks hit hard on Logan’s door.

“Who is it?” the logical side called out to no answer.

Setting down the papers, he got up to investigate. There was no one outside the door when he got there, but there was a fresh bouquet waiting for him. There was something special about this one, rather than it being all one flower, there was an arrangement.

Acacia, Amaranth, Gardenia, Arbutus, and Heliotrope. The green ribbon that once surrounded the flowers was now a bright white lace. The wilted bouquet was beautiful.

“Got another one huh?”

Logan almost jumped three feet in the air as Roman spoke up. The prince chuckled as he walked down the hallway. “The one who’s sending them wants to see you tonight, meet me in the hallway and I’ll take you to him,” And with that Roman walked off.

“He wants to see me? Tonight?” Logan whispered to himself as he clung to the flowers. The logical side rushed the flowers into the room. He immediately got to work on saving the flowers.

Step five, wait. Within a few hours, the flowers should be back to their beautiful state.

“YOU WHAT!?” Remus screeched as Roman told him about the date he set up.

“Calm down! Calm down! I did you a favor! You need to tell him sooner or later!” Roman defended himself as his brother continued to throw various small objects at him. “But tonight!?”

“Better sooner than later?!”

“It's too soon!!”

“No, it’s not, just tell him!”

A wet fish slapped Roman across the face.

Logan pulled out the flower dictionary he made based on Thomas’s research.

Secret love.

Immortal love.

You are the only one I love.

Secret love, joy, sweet love, good luck.

Devotion.

Logan’s gasp echoed through his dead silent room.

The flowers were all secret confessions.

He looked around the room at the flowers he already had looking for the meanings of each one and each color.

Fascination, distinction, love.

Deep romantic love, passion.

Sweet and lovely, innocence, pure love, faithfulness.

Dreams of fantasy.

Loyal love.

First emotion of love.

High-souled aspirations.

Desire and passion.

Love at first sight.

Every single flower in his room was a love confession. A confession from who? Logan’s eyes panned to the pile of green ribbons the flowers usually came with.

“Oh my god, I’m an idiot,”

Step five, repeat if necessary. Sometimes a flower will stay wilted or only perk up a little, the way to fix this is to recut the stem yet again.

It was almost time for Logan to go meet his mystery lover, it was almost time for him to go see Remus. Logan felt like a huge idiot for not realizing this sooner. Taking a deep breath, he peeked his head outside his door to come face to face with Roman.

“Ready to go, Juliet?”

Logan only stepped out of the room ignoring the comment.

As the pair walked over to the shared imagination, the logical side had a brilliant idea.

“Hey Roman?”

“Yes?”

“Can you make me an ambrosia?”

Remus paced back and forth around the broken down fountain. He was nervous, to say the least. Nothing in Remus’s garden was alive, it grew sure, but none of it lived. The vines and shrubbery nothing but petrified wood, that was dimly lit by the fire of the lamps that littered the area.

He held his hands out, groaning in pain as he tried to create living flowers. The bunch of red tulips only faltered as they came into existence. He set the flowers down on the fountain's ledge, trying again.

Wilted.

Try again.

Wilted.

Try again.

Wilted.

Remus was soon surrounded by wilted red tulips. Just looking at them drove him further into insanity. They needed to be perfect. He couldn’t just give Logan wilted flowers anymore, he deserved living flowers that were as beautiful as him.

“You-who! Bro! I brought your date,” Roman called from the garden path.

Oh great, now Logan was going to see him surrounded by dead flowers. Surprise! I love you! Here’s some death. Remus panicked as his brother and his love came into view. Within a split second, everything changed. Logan stepped forward, the ambrosia in his hands. The flower was held delicately, with a metallic ocean blue ribbon carefully wrapped around the stem.

Return of love.

The ambrosia flower was a symbol of mutual love.

His eyes widened, his heart soared, for a good thirty seconds, he believed he was dead or dreaming. Logan looked around at the red tulips, then to the source of all his flowers.

“I’ll leave you two to it,”

With that Roman was gone, leaving the two ever so awkward love birds alone in the garden.

“Remus,”

Logan spoke first.

“Y-Yes?”

The logical side only held out the flower for the chaotic man to take.

“I believe this says enough,”

Remus hesitantly took the flower, he held it as if it was made of glass. The last thing he wanted to do was somehow make the flower wilt before their very eyes.

“Logan, I-”

He stared down at the flower with adoration as he held it.

“Remus look at me,”

The chaotic man shot his head up to look towards his love, he was quickly cut off as the logical side initiated a kiss. His body froze, his eyes shot open, and he held his arms out as he struggled to understand what he was feeling.

Roman almost laughed as he watched from behind the walls of vines. Patton was going to love this.

Within seconds, Remus wrapped his arms around Logan, squeezing him as tight as possible, slipping his eyes closed and deepening the kiss. Logan pulled back taking a deep breath, looking up at Remus with equally wide eyes.

“I marvel in your presence, the thoughts of you make me weak, despite everything I did to you, I want to give you the world, your beauty can be compared to the passion of the flowers and the shining stars in the sky, but nothing could come close to what the image of you does to me, you’re enchanting, you’re intoxicating, you’re my obsession, you blow me away, it would mean the world and the stars to make you my dame, my duke, my king, my God,-”

Remus continued to babble confessions as Logan only basked in the awkward praise. Slowly a smile as bright as the sun and as powerful as the moon spread across his face.

“Remus,”

“Yes?”

“I fancy you as well,”

Roman burst into the living room.

“GUYS HE DID IT!!!!!!”

“HE DID IT AND LOGAN SAID YES!!!!!”

Patton’s excited screams could be heard echoing from the kitchen.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #ts logan #ts remus #ts roman #ts patton #ts virgil #intrulogical #creatwins #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #ts fanfic

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twofootedbones · 3 years

Text

Give Me Your Answer Do

Summary: Something inside Logan's head was telling him that this wasn't a situation he wanted to be in anymore, whether it be Deceit's doing or his own brain, Logan selectively listens to the sounds. The other sides pound on the doors to bring the logical side back to the light, but the singing metal had become accustomed to the darkness.

Old fic, so please forgive any cannon errors!

‘They’re not going to listen to you,’

The voice grew louder.

‘They’re never going to listen to you,’

It started to make sense, but after hearing the repeated words they would lose their edge.

‘You might be a light side, but you’ll never be one of them,’

Logan wasn’t an emotion. Logan was the brain, Logan was logical thinking, Logan was thinking.

It’s obvious how the other sides would have a sort of bias against him because of this, but it still managed to hurt when all the emotions get their own way simply because there are more of them. Logan was alone in his accounts, he wasn’t like all the others, and because of this, they deemed it okay to not have to treat him like the others. They hurled insults at him faster and more often than at each other. They were all ever so quick to shut anything and everything he had down. Yet, the sweet small amounts of praise he gets when he's finally seen equal at the end of a video was exhilarating. Frustrating, he meant frustrating. Just as the conflict outside raged on, the conflict inside continued.

‘Just duck out now,’

Logan watched as Roman got presumably louder as he yelled at Virgil, who in turn yelled back, but he couldn’t hear a thing. The voices were all gone, he listened to everyone underwater as his own thoughts started to drown him. Roman turned to him and started to yell as well, it looked like he expects an answer to some kind of question, too bad he didn't hear it.

‘What are they going to lose?’

They would literally lose the voice of reason, he had to stay-

Right?

Roman turned away from Logan, throwing his arms up in frustration. Patton starred worried at the unresponsive Logan, it didn't take long for his attention to be pulled back into the argument.

‘You’ll always be a part of Thomas, you don’t really have to be here,’

That was true. That was extremely true. Logan himself had said that before, while he’s not an emotion he will always be working and will always be there.

So he left.

Logan sunk out while everyone continued to argue and bicker.

You can bicker you can talk you can bicker bicker bicker, but with the subject at hand, none of the other’s knew the territory. The logical side wondered how long it would take them to notice he was gone.

As Logan rose up into his room, the first thing he did was turn off the lights. Listening to people who have no idea what their talking about and refuse to let you talk for forty-five minutes can really give you a migraine. The darkness was comforting for once; Logan had always thirsted for knowing what exactly is out there and shedding light on life, but the unknowingness of the darkness calmed him on this day. He craved to emulate that darkness one day. To become nothing, yet everything all at once.

Knock Knock Knock.

Sweet, Sweet disruptions. Surprisingly enough it didn’t take them too long.

“Logan?”

It was Patton, of course, it was Patton.

“Ya kinda ducked on us,”

‘Like I was giving much to the conversation anyway, what am I even supposed to do just stand there and be the groups Bozo Bop?'

“Are you there?”

‘No, go away’

Logan sat on the other side of the door. He was dead silent, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t speak. There is a limit that every person much reach. There was something he needed, a smell, a touch, a reassurance. The cold feeling of the crisp night air hitting one’s face after opening a window. The smell of the trees and the precipitation in the air as the night’s clouds soon became the morning’s dew drops. The touch of the wooden windows frames as you pushed the glass up to let the air in and out.

Logan reminded himself of these simple joys. He romanticized these moments, he lusted after the short breaks in between constantly being at work to keep Thomas happy and healthy and making sure that the other’s don’t murder each other in the process.

The current feeling hurt. Logan listened to the sounds of Patton’s footsteps only travel a small distance away before joining in on a whisper with two other voices. The room smelled musty, it gave an ancient feeling in the worst way possible. Although the room was a stark black, Logan could still tell what a mess the place was, considering that he tripped on his way over to the door.

The room was hot, it felt as if the place had no windows at all. There was no light, no air, and no pleasant smell. There was no stopping the sensory attacks space had on his migraine.

There was a sharp tug at his shirt.

The others were attempting to summon him.

This only made the Logical side laugh.

There were sixteen more tugs before they gave up, they were finishing the video without him, whether they liked it or not. The pounding continued, the steady beat of the war drums rung pain through his body.

They didn’t care.

Tomorrow he would have to get up and re-live the process.

Get up, get yelled at, work, work, work, work, work, pass out.

‘Just stop’

“What do you mean?” he asked the voices aloud.

‘Stop everything, make them beg,’

“Beg?”

‘For you to come back of course,’

This was all so confusing. He wasn’t going to become one of Deceit’s egoists just because he has a few rough days. That's all they are. Rough days. Right?

As morning came and Thomas had to start the day, Logan got to work. At his desk. The logical side would never leave his room. He owed Thomas just enough work to keep him alive, he never had to show up to the side’s meetings. They were all meaningless anyway.

Every day they pounded at his door, they would bang and scratch at all his defenses, trying everything they could to get into his room. The rhythm of their fists slowly started to match the drumming of his migraines.

Strangely enough, just like soundwaves, the pains started to pulse through Logan. Something was changing, he just couldn't tell what.

Logan would slowly sing to himself as the days drew out, it was the only song he knew.

"Daisy, Daisy,"

"Give me your answer do,"

Logan would repeat the song while he worked, ignoring how automated his voice started to sound.

"I'm half crazy, all for the love of youUu,"

His voice hissed as the vocal cords became sound bites.

"It wON'T be A sTYLISH MARRIAGE,"

Like the flip of a switch, he started to sound like that famous computer.

"I CAN'T AFFORD A CARRIAGE,"

The synthetic sound rang through the room, it was beautiful in its own way.

"BUT YOU'LL LOOK SWEET, UPON THE SEAT,"

The voice felt natural, as if this is was Logan really was. He sang to himself varying in volume as the synthetic voice shot out of him.

"OF A BICYCLE BUILT FOR TWO-,"

It took them a week before telling Thomas he could infiltrate the room with ease. Immediately the man rose up into the darkroom. There only light that pierced the room was the shine of the stars out the window and the dying bulb of the green desk lamp.

"Logan? Please tell me you're here,"

The pang of desperation that rang through Thomas's voice made the logical side vaguely guilty.

A small shuffle in the darkness and the side reveals himself through the lamplight. The audible gasp that followed only made the guilt gain specifications.

"Wh- what happened, Lo?"

The metal skeleton only avoided eye contact as Thomas drew closer.

"We're all so worried,"

' That's rich'

Logan backed away, back into the darkness. Just looking at Thomas's face hurt him.

Can I bring the other's in?"

"NO."

Thomas flinched as the rough sound of an IBM 704 echoed off the empty walls. That was the first time Logan had spoken to anyone since he first clocked out, and frankly, it terrified him.

"Logan please,"

"THEY ARE BETTER WITHOUT ME, I HAVE NO REASON TO PARTICIPATE IN THE EMOTION'S CONFLICTS," the voice wavered as he spoke, the sound bites seeming to crackle with every word.

"That's not true! Patton hasn't stopped crying since you left, Roman is blaming and destroying himself, and Virgil hasn't spoken in ages,"

"THEY DON'T CARE, THEY DON'T LISTEN TO ME, WHY DOES IT MATTER,"

Thomas grew desperate, trying to find the source of the soft computer somewhere in the darkness.

"Please let be bring them in,"

"NO."

Thomas hesitated, he wanted to respect the Logical side, but what he saw was something he couldn't just let brew. He needed to calm the logical side down.

"I can hear your singing,"

The comment surprised Logan, he slowly moved closer to the light.

"YOU CAN?"

As the metal frame poked itself into the light, Thomas knew he got him. The seemingly rusty plates did everything but shine in the light, even the dark screen that was once his face refused to reflect.

"Yes, Roman says that it actually sounded pretty nice," Thomas laughed, but it was short-lived, he couldn't hide the concern on his face for the metal man standing in front of him.

"Could you sing for me?"

The machine whirred as several fans started to go off, Thomas could only assume that meant he was embarrassed about it.

"You don't have to if you don't want to-"

It didn't take long for the logical machine in front of him to start playing notes. Thomas watched a simple roll of paper, silently go turn over and over in Logan's arm. He played a simple tone as the mechanics warmed up.

"THERE IS A FLOWER WITHIN MY HEART,"

The melody was surprisingly calming.

"DAISY, DAISY,"

Thomas listened, waving his arms behind his back to bring Patton into the room.

"PLANTED ONE DAY BY A GLANCING DART,"

Thomas held onto Patton, urging for him to be quiet.

"PLANTED BY DAISY BELL,"

Patton finally heard the voice he had been listening to from behind the door for a week now.

Logan's frame broke him, he was no longer metaphorical flesh and bone like the rest of the sides. He was open metal plating, wires fraying out here and there that were obviously self-inflicted.

"WHETHER SHE LOVES ME OR LOVES ME NOT,"

Parron followed suit, slowly bringing Virgil into the room, covering the anxious side's mouth as he came into the room.

"SOMETIMES IT'S HARD TO TELL,"

Virgil almost screamed at the sight before him, that was what Logan turned into. A broken down Macintosh for a face with a salesman's IBM 704 model for a chest. A metal tube connected the chest to a pair of rusted metal prosthetic legs.

"YET I AM LONGING TO SHARE THE LOT, A BEAUTIFUL DAISY BELL,"

The synthetic notes chirped, the computer screen flashing as the sounds made Logan happy.

"DAISY, DAISY,"

The metal body swayed back and forth lovingly.

"GIVE ME YOUR ANSWER DO-"

Virgil finished the chain as he brought Roman into the room, quickly shoving a hand over the fanciful side's mouth as he attempted to scream. Roman forced Virgil's hands off his mouth.

"IM HALF CRAZY, ALL FOR THE LOVE OF YOU,"

Before Roman even got a peep out, he immediately knew what he was looking at. "Oh my god, Logan-" Roman whispered watching the computer continue to play.

"IT WON'T BE A STYLISH MARRIAGE,"

Thomas joined in on the end of the chorus.

"But you'll look sweet, upon the seat,"

"OF A BICYCLE BUILT FOR TWO,"

"Of a bicycle built for two,"

The computer sputtered and staggered back as it continued, listening as Thomas continued to harmonize with the cracking sound bites.

"We will go tandem as man and wife,"

Patton stepped forward and joined in.

"Daisy, Daisy,"

"PEDDLING OUR WAY DOWN THE ROaD OF LiFE,"

The melody started to break as Logan noticed how many people were in the room.

"I and my Daisy Bell,"

Virgil sang. Patton wasn't the only one who listened to Logan's song.

"WHeN THE ROaDS DArk wE CAN BOTH desPISE,"

Electrical cracks rang through the darkness, illuminating the room for split seconds as the machine became the man.

"policemen and lamp as well,"

Roman stepped forward. He pushed past everyone, trying to find the android in the darkness. The others quieted down, only humming the tunes as they watched the prince move forward.

"There are bright lights is a dazzling eye,"

"OF beauTIFUL Daisy Bell,"

Scrapping metal screamed through the room as the music stopped.

A sobbing voice came through the darkness.

"D-Daisy, Da-Daisy,"

Roman's strong voice called out to the logical side.

"Give me your answer do,"

An arm reached out for the creative side, he gladly grabbed onto the arm and pulled the body that belonged to it forward, pulling it into a tight embrace. Roman continued the song as he felt tears start to soak through his shirt.

"I'm half crazy, all for the love of you,"

He squeezed the logical side tightly, refusing to let him disappear into the darkness again.

"It won't be a stylish marriage,"

Logan's knees faltered, causing both sides to sink to the group as Roman refused to let go.

"I can't afford a carriage,"

The other sides rushed to make the place more comfortable, Patton turned on the lights, only to reveal the disaster that was the room. Virgil grabbed Logan's bed comforter once me managed to find it.

Logan shook in Roman's arms, his sobs wracking his whole body.

"But you'll look sweet, upon the seat,"

Patton, Virgil, and Thomas rushed over to the pair on the floor, Virgil wrapping the comforter around the group the best he could.

"Of a bicycle built for two,"

Roman finished the chorus, his grip on the Logan refusing to loosen. The group sat in near silence, the only sounds running through the room being Logan's labored breathing and Roman's sweet whispered nothings. "I'm so sorry Lo," he apologized for the 20th time.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean anything I said,"

Logan stifles a chuckle. "I-I," he had to take a shaky breath, he was lucky if he managed to finish his sentence. "I did- didn't even h-hear what you s-said," he looked up at creative side with a weak smile. "M-my my migraine w-was too loud," he admitted.

"Please don't do that to me ever again," tears started to form in the corners of Roman's eyes. The saltwater threatened to pour over as he repeated the words, his voice silently cracking. "I care about you Logan, I'm sorry, please don't do that again, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it," Roman continued to mumble clinging to Logan as if he was his only life source. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm-"

The logical side cupped the creative side's face, forcing him to look at him.

"R-Roman,"

Tears started to stream down the prince's face.

"It's okay,"

"I l-love you, Logan,"

"I k-know Ro-Roman"

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