Guess what! I got food stamps back!

Literally the only way we were able to make this happen is by finding out that one of Tyrell’s friends works for job and family services– so she was able to arrange some phone calls for us and got me through! So food for Remy is now covered for a while :’) 🥳

But we could really use some help with a bag of Arlo food ($15-$40ish size depending), and I’m 6 days late on my $80 monthly doctor bill. Arlo’s held over for now but it’s running low.

It’ll still be a couple of weeks before this litter of rats is ready to be homed. Tyrell’s been out of work herself this week healing from an injury so it’s a little harder for her to help this month. If you can spare any, ... 🙏🏼 Venmo: @remywolfe CashApp: $remywolfe PayPal: [email protected] or paypal.me/wolfstephollow ApplePay: 4805199559 kofi: ko-fi.com/remywolfe

Tw: pre-romantic prinxiety, slight near-panic attack mentions, mentions of storms, descriptions of crushing, mentions of deep sea swimming, mentions of lack of escape and difficulty breathing, semi-shitty writing, I think cursing this has been sitting in google for a while I wrote this back in like early November at 3 am let me know if there's any others minor spoilers for FWSA

This was written the same night as this one and takes place after technically it's meant to take place shortly after the 2020 election was called this one is just fluff despite all the trigger warnings it's just an idea of the minor similarities yet differences between Roman and Remus' rooms like how it would feel to be in them and I had to write it out and the original idea had come from think of Virgil going in their rooms and describing how they made him feel so I ended up writing it as prinxiety and I like how the descriptions turned out this follows the same headcanons as the previous one shot added on is Roman is also an insomniac sometimes he has a lot of ideas sometimes he keeps working having gotten absorbed into his work sometimes he's overwhelmed with emotions inspiration or just plain can't sleep

Word count: 1,708 words

Virgil sighed, he couldn't sleep again. Why? He didn't know, sometimes it was Remy being a petty bitch sometimes because his anxiety was running high. Some nights he just... COULDN'T. This was one of those nights.

He had been scrolling through tumblr for a surpls of hours, it was nearing 5am, groaning Virgil decided to head downstairs and get some coffee. No point trying to sleep if it just wasn't gonna happen.

He got up slipping on his hoodie over the My Chemical Romance shirt and sweatpants he was trying to sleep in. Grabbing his phone he slipped out the door and into the hall.

He would have gone and asked Roman if he wanted to watch Disney or something had he known for sure Roman was awake tonight. As he snuck down the hall he noticed Roman's door was slightly ajar, a slight breeze blew from the crack in the door. This would not be the first time Virgil had been in Roman's room. Nor the first time he found out Roman's room could be altered to what Roman wished, imagination and all that. In fact being honest he hadn't been surprised at all when he found out, because Remus' room also held that ability. What had surprised Virgil was not the fact it was altered but insteadd what it had been altered to.

The first time he had found out for sure Roman's room could change too it had been late at night, and he had found Roman in the middle of a feild beneath stormclouds watching a lightning storm above him. Virgil had always found lightning storms relaxing. So long as the lightning was far off. It had never struck him as something that the fanciful prince would also find a peace and serenity in storms. And yet that had been what Virgil found, the prince laying on his back in the center of a feild watching the lightning storm. Explaining when he noticed Virgil come in (and asked him to shut the door) that it was peaceful in its own right and he enjoyed changing his room when he was overwhelmed, sometimes with ideas sometimes emotionally.

Feeling overwhelmed was something new to the prince to admit and right now only Virgil knew his secret. They helped each other when they felt overwhelmed or broke down ever since the day Janus had shared his name and Roman broke down to Virgil.

Virgil stepped up to the door enjoying both Roman's company and Roman's rooms ability, as well as usually finding a common scene they both found relaxing, he was curious to discover what the room was tonight.

Roman did not disapoint

Virgil LOVED space. There was always something about the vast mystery that was space. Calm an peaceful.... He and Logan could often be found talking about space and the night sky. Logan would let Virgil into his room to use his telescope whenever Virgil wished.

Tonight, Roman's room was breathtaking. Roman lay in the center of a greeen meadow staring up into a stary night sky. The green seemed to go on forever and technically, it did.

Virgil stepped into the meadow far closer to a pale blue in the moonlight. He quietly shut the door behind him and walked over the the man who lay alone in the center of the grassy meadow, watching the sky slowly move.

"Hey starry-eyes, room for one more?" Virgil asked as he sat down beside the older sides head.

Roman let out a chuckle eyes focusing on the emo now leaning over him, "Always is room for you, so what do you think?"

"The night sky? Seriously? You're really here asking ME if I like this view?"

Roman smirked sitting up part way resting on one elbow, "I asked if you liked the scenery not the view. You're looking at ME right now~" he sing-songed, causing the other to blush.

"Oh shut up you KNOW what I meant!" Virgil cried out shoving the prince to the side as Roman laughed. They were both quiet for a moment just enjoying the serenity of the meadow and company of one another. A few minutes had passed and a breeze blew when Virgil hummed musingly, "I don't think I can ever get tired of coming into your room. I love it here."

Roman looked over having long ago laid back down. He watched as Virgil joined him in laying on his back. He turned back to the sky above the two and hummed an agreement, "I certainly love my room as well. Is it just that you like the rooms shift ability? Because if I'm not mistaken mine isn't the only room which can. Remus' room and The Imagination can as well..." Roman trailed off turning his head to look at the calm, anxious trait laying beside him.

Virgil let out a lighthearted laugh. "No, definitely not. I've been in Remus' room and yours is just... different. The way it feels is... nice."

Roman was still staring at him now quizzically and Virgil turned to look back at him, "How is that? How does my room feel any different than The Imagination or Remus'?"

Virgil looked back at the stars as he pondered the question. "It's... Kinda hard to explain.... See The Imagination doesn't feel like anything really, there unless with someone doing something it feels like any other room so that one's easy. But to describe Remus and your rooms? I'm not entirely sure how..." Virgil glanced at Roman before looking up once more.

Roman was thinking on Virgil's answer in the silence that had proceeded, "Remus' room..." Roman looked over as Virgil began to speak. "Walking into Remus' room is like swimming under water deep in the ocean. You feel a weight suddenly pressing down on you. There's no where to go no way to escape. It's the end, you're running out of air and you know you'll never resurface in time. But you try to anyways knowing it's pointless. Yet you also feel weightless... the way water can make you. Like you mean nothing. Weigh nothing. About to be swept away. It causes you to panic you just. Can't. Breathe."

Virgil's hands tightened into fists as he explained, his chest tightening just at the thought of Remus' room. "I hate it in there. I can never breathe." Roman nodded understanding. When Virgil didn't continue for a moment he thought that was all. That his room held feeling unlike The Imagination, and didn't feel as awful as Remus'.

Virgil's hands relaxed he needed to calm down which was easier here than anywhere else in the mindscape. "Your room..." Roman looked over at Virgil again noting he had more to say, "Your room is the opposite. You feel light... calm.. content and happy."

Roman looked at Virgil with interest, he never really particularly thought so. Virgil continued thoughtfully, "Stepping into your room you suddenly feel like anything is possible. Like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders and you can fly. You feel like you're about to float away and yet..." His hands closed around the grass beneath him, "You feel grounded. Safe and secure. Whatever mess is outside the room is exactly that... outside. While here it can't bother you. It can't do anything to you. It's easier to calm down in here because of that. It's like... the room itself holds your care and compassion. Not to mention your passion. When it's a STORM it goes as all out as you do."

Virgil smirked, "It feels like stepping into your arms. Safe, warm, welcome...." He turned his head to meet the prince's eyes.

Roman was speechless. He was touched Virgil felt safe and welcome with him. In fact as their eyes met he was beyond speechless.

The stars reflected in the eyes of the man who lay beside him. Virgil was still smirking the shadow beneath his eyes a bright purple, he took Roman's breath away, "Coming in here, is like being able to breathe for the first time. You didn't even realize you hadn't been breathing till you come in. Just like with you."

Roman didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to kiss the emo right beside him caution be damned. But he knew better. Virgil was sweet with the words but they were friendly and not to be taken as anything more.

Besides as romantic as this was and as many fantasies of a first kiss ran through his head in that moment. He wouldn't, consent meant everything to Virgil and Roman wanted to be sure if it ever did happen, he was entirely comfortable with it. He wanted verbal confirmation.

This was romantic and would make for a great first kiss with non-verbal consent. But he wanted Virgil to KNOW he understood the man's boundaries. He wanted the first kiss to be asking permission and after either a direct nod of confirmation or a verbal queue. So Virgil knew Roman would never do anything he was uncomfortable with and he would always feel safe.

So he just nodded as they stared at one another in the moonlight. Each longing to lean in and kiss the other. One afraid of what might happen the other wishing for another scenario where he could directly ask without it sounding out of place.

They chose instead to just enjoy the rest of the night, together.

Eventually they must both have fallen asleep as the next thing they remember there was knock on Roman's door.

"Hey Kiddo, I'm about to go make pancakes, usually you're already up by now so I wanted to be sure you were alright. Also... have you seen Virgil?"

Patton's voice rang out breaking the silence. The two were now laying on the hardwood floor of Roman's room. "Yeah we're fine we were just hanging out last night!" Roman called out.

"Alright kiddos, well breakfast will be ready soon see you then," Patton then walked off leaving the two to wake up properly while he finished cooking breakfast.

The two smiled at one another memory of the shared moment fresh in both their heads as they stretched. Virgil leaving to go get changed. And they both went about their day.

Part One; “A Wounded Snake Lies Still”

A continuation fic in the au i built from this art piece I did and this post that I’d written that inspired this whole idea. I don’t know how many parts there will be, but the plan is for it to be hurt/comfort? It’s just that the comfort comes in small increments, but I promise the ending will be happy!

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Ships: mentions of past healthy Anxceit, start of story begins w/ analogical, end goal is analoceit! Side royality, Remus is lowkey Aro.

Minor Trigger Warnings: in no particular order.. brief mentions of painful memory loss, brief food mention, Remus and Deceit as sympathetic characters in general, accidental revealing of a secret-Remus feeling awful about it and Deceit being completely forgiving on it. Deceit being sorta selfish but also being very selfless without realize it. Deceit lying when he speaks/ backwards talk.

Serious Trigger Warnings: (slight spoilers) Deceit ignores his own distress in favor of keeping up a nonchalant act around the others, and doesn’t process his inner emotions in a healthy way. Deceit repressing years of his own resurfacing emotional trauma that originally came from his separation from Virgil, Deceit also briefly relives said trauma in the fic and pretends nothing is wrong even though something Really Is. Patton has minor empath abilities in this au and accidentally gets hit with a ride of very negative emotions that Deceit is already internally feeling when he touches Deceit.

(Let me know if I need to tag something else!)

Summary: Virgil’s missing memories have always been a touchy subject. After Remus and Deceit gain their acceptance of from the Light Sides and Thomas, Deceit still seems to have a few secrets to hide. If you asked him, he’d tell you it was for the best that he kept them. Partially concealing the truth was a slippery slope, indeed. But, could you really blame him? When Virgil was dating Logan and finally seemed happy again? To him, All the repression of his own trauma was worth Virgil’s happiness. Their years of love were lost with Virgil’s memories of the past, and there was no way in hell Deceit was about to jeopardize Virgil’s current stability now, not when the only person at fault for losing was Deceit himself.(or, was it? He’s never sure anymore. Trauma is a fickle beast.) Well, one slip up from Remus is all it takes before Deceit finds himself faced with that exact dilema fast approaching, and he finds he is less than prepared to face the music..

[[MORE]]

“Ugh, gross. In front of my deodorant?? Could you guys like. Not?? Be romance-y in the living room?? You two remind me of when Dee and Virgie were dating.” Remus grumbled offhandedly, too tired to deal with his twin’s particularly loud and loving attention directed towards Thomas’s literal representation of the heart this late into the afternoon.

They’d been loudly and shamelessly flirting back and forth from across the room while everyone set up for movie night, Roman in the living room with the others and Patton in the kitchen with Deceit making snacks. It was only seconds later that the duke realized his slip up as everything and everyone around clattered to a halt, the other sides turning stare at him in confusion.

Three years. It had taken Deceit three long, painstaking years and counting to distance himself from the years of memories he’d spent in bliss, to separate his mind from the heartbreak of losing his only love. Three years to come to terms with the fact that his only love now held no memories of the time they spent together, to accept that his love now deeply loved another.

Three years to come to terms with the fact that Virgil would never know what it was like to watch helplessly as his love writhed in pain. To watch as The Line ripped the memories from his love’s very being, forcing Virgil into a clean slate. Three years to come to terms that Virgil would never remember.

Three years of patience and heartbreak and anguish and lies, telling himself that it’d be okay, telling himself that he would move on and heal eventually. Three years of painstakingly separating himself from the narrative he and Virgil used to share, and ensuring that Virgil never had any inkling to what had been of his past. It was the only secret Deceit ever asked Remus to keep.

Rest assured, he’d tried to respark Virgil’s memories many times in the first few months after Virgil crossed over The Line from Dark side to Light, having ultimately crossed for good. It’d only led to fight after fight, driving a wedge further and further between them with each escalated argument. With a bleeding heart, he’d eventually given in, and stopped any further attempts. After all, each attempt only seemed to fuel Virgil with irritation. It had been clear then, that whatever they’d had, was never going to be again.

Three years it’d been. He thought he’d nearly healed, really. Most days he found he could exist and interact with the others and not be reminded of the past, and be comforted that he himself would not be a reminder to the past. Repression had always been his strong suit, though, conciously or not.

The Line had diminished as of late, after Thomas had really begun accepting Deceit and Remus. They could cross The Line for long amounts of time now, and mostly be fine. Occasionally they suffered from a bout of fatigue when disagreements with the others briefly turned sour, feeling The Line tugging back at them insistently. It never lasted for long, but there was always that underlying worry that The Line would finally snap them back into the dark for good if one of them made a final wrong move. The Light Sides didn’t know about The Line, not even Virgil remembered stumbling away from it after all that had happened. And well, if it were up to Deceit? They would never find out about it. Too many questions, too many messy answers.

Three years later, Deceit finds his heart splintering once more, an ache sinking into his chest that he knows Patton feels as they stand nearby one another. Memories flood in harshly, a deep painful longing resurging from the depths of his mind as it always did when faced with his reoccurring trauma sinking its claws into his psyche.

It’s only been seconds, but the silence is starting to feel heavy. Instead of moving on from the previous comment, Remus glances to Deceit, eyes pleading and devastated by having made his mistake, breaking the only promise to Dee he’d ever been seriously asked to keep. And Deceit knows he must do what he does best to save face, there is still time to redirect the carnage.

“Remus, please don’t refrain from spreading lies, that’s certainly not my job, after all.” He teases lightly, keeping his tone precisely on the edge of amused confusion, though his eyes hold an understanding none of the others know to read for. “Next you won’t be telling me that your favorite animal is a squid, not an octopus. Not your worst try at shock humor, yes?”

Remus catches on after a millisecond, drawing out a full cackle. “Sorry, not sorry! You should’ve seen the looks on your faces though! Priceless!! Who knew a shitty joke falling so flat would shock everyone so good!”

Their reactions held the desired effect. Quickly, everyone around the room seemed to relax, Roman even firing back his own playful quip to further lighten the mood. In the end, it was just a bump in conversation, something Remus caused every once in a while as everyone adjusted and Remus learned. Not a single step amiss that wasn’t already expectedly out of line.

Still, he’d have to talk to Remus in private later. Remus was just as sensitive to rejection as Roman was, and paired with his inherently intrusive thoughts, it would come to no surprise if Remus already thought Deceit now hated him. He didn’t, it’d been an accident, and Remus’s first ever slip up in three years since making the promise. Even if Dee had been mad about the slip up, he wouldn’t have had any right to be. He’d be sure Remus was the first person he sought to soothe when they got a free moment alone, it wasn’t right to let those kinds of thoughts fester.

Remus first, Virgil next, as it wasn’t quite crisis averted. He could feel Virgil’s eyes on his back from the living room. He denied his bleeding heart the closure of meeting Virgil’s gaze, of sharing his expression. He was too vulnerable, even now the anxious side could read his tells far too well, often without even realizing why. There was no doubt Virgil would try and talk to him later about it, and no matter how good the terms they were on with each other now were, Deceit knew the conversation would be a rough one. Virgil knows he has missing memories, and only recently had he accepted Remus and Deceit’s vague answers when he’d asked lightly about his past. It was at least him acknowledging they had the answers to the past he doesn’t remember.

If he wasn’t careful, each and every brick in the wall that Deceit had carefully worked to build up in the past three years could crumble right before his eyes, leaving him stripped emotionally defenseless, his trauma bared for all to see. And who knew what the others would do if they knew so much? What would they think of him then? Deceit inwardly shivered at the thought. It would not come to that.

Slipping into the nonchalant act was an easy card to play, it being his strong suit and most comforting form of security, a version of his own little lie of omission to soothe the bumpy situation over.

What he didn’t account for, was Patton gently reaching to touch his arm when everyone else had settled and their attentions returned to their tasks at hand. Deceit fought against his immediate urge to pull away, knowing the moral side just preferred connection through touch when addressing another, and instead looked up to meet Patton with a questioning gaze.

Whatever Patton was about to say died on his lips as he suddenly seemed to reflect an absolutely heartbroken expression, tears welling up in his eyes. Pain and sorrow and surprise seemed to seep into the other’s expression, warring for dominance amongst the primary confusion. It was only then that Deceit realized that Patton was still touching him, his bare arm with an equally bare hand, to be exact. The memory that Patton bore minor empath abilities that were tied into his existence as the representation of Thomas’s morality and feelings sunk in two seconds too late.

Direct skin to skin contact, something Deceit sought often to avoid in general nowadays anyway, was a direct way for Patton to tune into another's current feelings through said abilities, often by accident. There were limits that Patton could control, of course, and Patton only ever seemed to struggle coping with that ability when faced with an overwhelming swell of emotions from the other side. And, well.. Deceit’s mind certainly hadn’t taken well to being reminded of his repressed past, seeping through his protective mental walls with all sorts of roiling negative emotions.

From self-loathing, to dread. From anger, to guilt. From longing, to grief, then to depression, and finally apathy. It just couldn’t be helped that Deceit, a master of disguise and deception, had had three whole years to perfect the act that hid it from the outside and controlled it all from within.

Carefully, Deceit pulled Patton’s hand from his arm, and gently tucked it against the moral side’s chest. Still, he keeps his gloved hand there, letting Patton grasp it with both hands to ground himself after such an emotional ride.

“Deep breaths, dear Patton. Whatever isn’t the matter?” He asks gently, still playing into his act but his eyes plead a different story. ‘Not now,’ they say, ‘I will tell you, but not here,’ they beg. Patton nods slowly, and Deceit carefully wipes away Patton tears. In a move he knows he might regret later if it raises questions, he slips his hat off to gently plop onto the moral side’s head, and gently presses against the others clothed shoulder with his own in a show of comforting affection. It has the desired effect of distracting Patton and lightening his mood, Patton’s lingering upset masked by a watery smile only they can share. Deceit silently mourns the loss of his safety blanket, but accepts that a few minutes of feeling vulnerable while comforting Patton is a good trade to escape having his distress found out. He couldn’t have the other sides cornering him into explaining why Patton had suddenly begun crying without reason. It certainly wasn’t the fact that he felt guilty for Patton having experienced second hand an echo of his painfully raw emotions, no, not at all.

Thankfully their little scene goes unnoticed by the rest of the preoccupied sides, who are far too busy bickering over the movies they want to watch. Well, unnoticed by all but the one who sits to the side. Said side keeps an unconcerned but intrigued eye on the two in the kitchen, glancing over every time he adjusts his glasses to avoid suspicion. Logan says nothing, but knows he has questions for his dearest Virgil when movie night is over. He can only hope that the answers Virgil gives will not raise more questions.

(..Unfortunately, they do raise more questions than answers.. However, they now know exactly who has the answers they seek. It’s only a matter of getting those answers that is a task far harder than they’d ever expected it to be.)

To be continued..

Sally Mckenna x Reader (oneshot)

I'll come up with a name for my stories later.

So I made my own prompt list from 3 other peoples ones on Tumblr and randomly generated the two I’d have to do and a person I’d have to write it for (I ran it through twice in case I really couldn’t for the first). I got Sally and both the prompts were about crying which made me laugh. I can think of at least 3 different ways I could do it so…

The prompts

38. “I really can’t take it when you cry like that… smile for me, alright? You’re so pretty when you smile.”

113. “I never cried over a gift before, but there’s a first for everything”

You’d been trapped in the Hotel Cortez for years. But you never really ventured around the building or mingled with the other ghosts. Not because you were shy, they didn’t really interest you. How you wound up here isn’t important nor was anything that led up to it. You only got along with one of the residents besides the bartender Liz. You’d met Liz on the night you died, she was the last person you spoke to while alive. After your demise, she gave you a rundown on all the residence like you; with every description, you became less interested in everyone. They all seemed like people you’d avoid in your normal life.

You’d met ‘Hypodermic Sally’ on a similar night to this one. You’d comment on the weather saying something like, ‘it was a stormy night, with a slight nip in the air’ but your a ghost stuck in a hotel, you don’t feel the cold and you sure as hell don’t know what the weather outside is like. You were in a cubical, lounging on the plush lounge seating, drinking whatever Liz poured into your glass. You’d not payed attention to your surroundings since the bar area opened, too busy shutting out the world.

You felt eyes on you, snapping you out of your zoned-out state and jolted up from your lounging position on the bench. A dishevelled woman in a cheetah print stared at you from across the bar. She took a long drag from her cigarette before smirking at you. As she crept closer to you, you noticed the tear marks staining her face.

You hummed placing a face with a name from the archive of people you knew of in your head.

“What’s a pretty thing like you seating in a bar alone?” She purred.

“I don’t know. What’s a pretty thing like you crying about?”

You took her aback. Subcouniouly, she reached up and touched her face and as she found the remnant of her last crying session. She hadn’t realised she’d started crying again.

You gestured for her to take a seat on the other side of the bench and ordered refills for the both of you. Throughout the course of the night, she’d tried to pursue you. You played into it for a bit, but the flirting shifted into banter. Neither of you minded.

The conversation was natural and you got lost in each other’s words. With no need for sleep, you spoke for hours without a moments break.

The two of you met up more often, with it leading to nothing more than a chat. Not that she didn't try to get with, she would shove it a lot I to conversations but you'd shift the discussion and somehow manage to catch her interest in the new topic.

News got around fast of your friendship with the junkie. You appeared to be the only person she wouldn't make snarky comments to and managed to avoid her attempt to sleep with you.

She’d grown addicted to having you around. You were another drug to her, you were stronger than anything she’d had before and was desperate for more.

So when you didn���t show up at the bar like every other night she began to panic. You couldn’t leave her too. The night turned into a week and you still hadn’t shown your face. You’d decided to fade away for a bit, the hotel was getting too much, everyone knew of your presence and annoyed you constantly as you were (at least in their eyes) the new ghost. In hindsight, you should have told Sally but the decision was last minute.

When you resurfaced, the first thing you did was searched for Sally. You saw her alone at the bar drinking and annoying Liz with whatever irritated her toady. Her face was stained with her signature tear track marks. Over the time you’d gotten to know her you’d noticed the stains slowly fade, you’d hoped she’d been crying less.

You sat on the bench beside her and looked down at her slumped over the bar counter.

“I really can’t take it when you cry like that,” you said. She frowned when she turned to you. “… smile for me, alright? You’re so pretty when you smile.” She lightened up. Wait, you found her pretty, she must have thought.

She pulled herself off the counter, her mood fading back into annoyance. "Why should I do anything you want?" Sally snarled. "You left me."

"Sally, I didn't leave you- I needed to get away for a bit."

"Oh, I see how it is-" She turned away from you pretending to ignore your presence.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. This is why I could be around you, you turn everything into a pity party." Sally turned away. "I needed some time to myself. People kept wanting to be around me and I doubt like it, I'm a loner, people’s attention scares the shit out of me." She scoffed. "The only person I like having around is… well, you." You scratched the back of your head.

Your last comment gained her attention.

"You like having me around."

"Yeah."

"Prove it."

"Alright," you said. You walked away from her leaving the blonde confused. "Well, aren't you coming?"

"You seriously expect me to follow you?"

"Yes," you smirked. "I can guarantee you won't be disappointed Love."

'Love' that was new.

Sally downed her drink before joining you. She might as well humour you.

You spent the night worshipping her and giving her everything she could have ever wanted. The two of you were a giggling mess by the end of it. Wrapped up under her bed’s sheet, smoking a cigarette each. You’d never smoked but now that they can’t kill you was the best time you take them up.

“Never leave me again,” Sally said.

“I can’t promise you that-” Sally was going to interrupt when you cut off her chance to. “But I’ll always come back. I’ll never leave you forever.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” you said. YOu cuddled closer into her side. “I love you, Sally.”

The didn’t notice her tear up.

You made her a promise for when everything got too much and you had to disappear you’d make it up to her somehow. Which came into a tradition of you gift-giving.

You were both an official couple for years now. She’d gotten better with dealing with your absence which was rare and you even managed to convince her to give up drugs.

Reminiscing on your past, you’re glad how things turned out. You sat on the same bench, the other woman at the bar. You both hadn’t aged a day, if it weren’t for your memories it could have been a snapshot from the day you met her. You fiddled with a little gift-wrapped box in your hand. It was a stupid gift; you don’t even know where you came up with it.

When you got up, your nerves spiked. Sally beamed when she caught a glimpse of you approaching her. “I didn’t notice you were here.”

“Where else would I be? I sort of can’t leave this establishment.”

You’d been away again for a bit. She couldn’t get upset anymore, she had finally learned you’d always return.

She noticed the box in your hands. “What’s that?”

“A gift of sorts, here,” you shoved it into her hands before you could change your mind. Your mind screamed to run away but your body sat you on the bench beside the blonde.

She slowly tore the wrapping paper and cracked open the box.

“I know it’s a shitty gift. I don’t think it’s even your kind of jewellery but I thought it was kind of funny cuz we’re ghosts-” Sally started to tear up. You didn’t know what you did wrong. “Oh my god I am so sorry, I Should have thought you’d hate it- I can return it-”

“How did you-” You couldn’t leave the building so how did you get her a gift.

“I asked Iris for help. Turns out if you’re nice to her, she’ll help you out,” you said. She could be a mean old bitch sometimes and Sally did kind of kill her son but that was all in the past- kind of. Even Iris was happy that the blonde wasn’t as broody as she was before you shined some light into Sally’s life. Maybe it was a thank you gift for taming the dysfunctional mess that was Sally.

“I love it,” Sally said. It was an eternity ring, usually given by a spouse to their wife on the occasion of a significant anniversary, typically after 10 or more years of marriage. Though you weren’t married, you could never see your life without this woman (and you didn’t want to get an engagement ring). The fact that you’d haunt the hotel for an eternity together made this option more than perfect in your eyes.

Sally wiped away her tears and said, “I never cried over a gift before, but there’s a first for everything.”

“I can’t believe that-”

“Shut up-”

“I’m glad you like it. I was worried.”

“You know I’d love anything from you.”

“I know-”

“Now, if you follow me back to our room, I have a thank you gift I’d like to show you.”

“I wonder what it could be,” you said sarcastically knowing it was going to lead to sex.

Hope it wasn't crap.  I'll probably try and do some prompts for a while to test my mind and fill in when I'm not working the series.

Everything you write is good. Can you write something about clingy David? Him just needing and wanting Matteo?

Thank you, dear anon. Here you gooooo. Can’t say it’s the best thing ever written, but this is a good concept. I like it

It had been an unusually hot day, the first of a series of four if Matteo can believe his weather app. It’s nearing eleven thirty, and the air is only now losing some of the unbearable heat, offering refreshment to Matteo’s bare arms. He had a late shift at the restaurant, arriving at Carlos and Kiki’s place a bit late. Summer isn’t really summer without stupid parties at his friends’ houses, Mattoe thinks, so he came, even though all he wanted was to strip and lay on his bed spread eagle while he takes sips of water and waits for his body to fall asleep. 

But where’s the fun in that? 

He rings the doorbell and pushes the building door open when someone buzzes him in. He climbs the stairs and finds the apartment door open already, loud music booming out of it. By the sound of things there seem to be more people than Carlos originally told them there would be. 

Jonas greets him immediately once he enters, leaning against the wall next to the front door with a beer in hand, talking to a girl Matteo doesn’t know. ‘Luigi!’, he yells when he sees him enter, and Matteo can’t help but smile at his loud, slightly drunk voice. He’s already glad he came. ‘You made it! Finally, dude, we’ve been here ages.’ 

‘Yeah. Work, you know’, Matteo answers, because there truly is nothing else to say. 

‘Yeah, yeah’, Jonas says absentmindedly, before turning back to the girl he’s talking to as if he just remembered something. ‘Hey, this is Amelie. She’s in one of my classes, and that’s Matteo, my best friend.’

Matteo smiles at Amelie and pretends not to feel a little spark of happiness at Jonas’ way of introducing him. It’s definitely not the first time and he really should be used to it, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be to people openly acknowledging Matteo plays an important part in their life. 

Matteo’s just about to walk further into the apartment to find something to drink, when Jonas calls him back one more time to say: ‘You should find David. He’s been waiting for you since he got here.’ 

Matteo frowns at that. They hadn’t seen each other today, as David had morning classes and Matteo had work starting in the afternoon before David got back. It’s always weird to spend a day without seeing David, something that doesn’t sit quite right, but they do live together so it’s not like it’s been ages. 

Plus, David never feels out of place at parties like Matteo does sometimes, and especially not when the majority of the people present are their friends, so it’s a bit strange for Jonas to mention it. Matteo isn’t worried per se, but he’s also not completely at ease. 

Matteo walks further into the apartment. It’s not a large place by any means, but he still runs into most of his other friends before he spots David. When he does, though, he finds him sitting on one of the seats by the window, next to a talking Kiki. His face is turned her way, but he doesn’t seem to be listening or even looking at her. He nods regularly, which must keep her going, but Matteo can tell from across the room he’s not taking any of it in.

He can also tell the moment his eyes land on Matteo, because his entire expression changes from badly feigned interest to immediate joy upon seeing Matteo. That’s another thing Matteo should be used to after all these months probably, but can’t imagine ever being. The way David looks so undeniably happy to see him every time, that Matteo can tell how means he means to David just by looking at his face. Who needs poetry and public gestures when he has the anthology of David’s love available to read in his eyes whenever he wishes. 

Matteo makes his way through the crowd until he’s standing in front of the couch. ‘Hey.’ 

At the sound of his voice, David’s smile grows even wider and so does the love in Matteo’s chest. ‘Hey.’ 

Kiki rolls her eyes and gets up. ‘Maybe you can get through to him, because he hasn’t been listening to anything I’ve been saying.’ 

Once, she’s gone, Matteo takes her place and sits down. David has a strange look on his face and he’s not moving to greet him either. ‘So, why haven’t you been listening to Kiki?’ 

David shrugs. ‘Kiki’s stories can be���’

‘Boring?’, Matteo suggests with a smile. 

David shakes his head at him in disapproval, but he’s still smiling. ‘Not always interesting.’ 

‘Ah, because those are very different things.’ Matteo doesn’t really have anything against Kiki, he’d even go as far as saying he’s come to care for her in a way, especially because he knows she makes one of his best friends so incredibly happy, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be truly interested in the things she has to say. 

‘Shut up’, David says, ruining the meaning of the words when right after saying them he lets his forehead rest against Matteo’s shoulder. ‘And I missed you.’ 

Matteo almost asks if David is drunk because he’s not normally this sappily affectionate in public except for when he’s had a drink too many, but he really doesn’t seem to be. He’s never been very good at hiding his intoxication. 

Matteo wraps an arm around David’s waist and pulls him close to him despite the heat. There are a few ventilators scattered throughout the room, but the day’s heat hasn’t vacated the place entirely yet and Matteo is pretty sure it won’t before the sun comes up again. ‘Long day?’

David makes an affirmative noise against Matteo’s shoulders and then shifts slightly so his head is resting more on Matteo’s neck, but his mouth is free. ‘Just shitty profs and then we tried to work on that group project, which really didn’t go as planned. And then my phone died, so I couldn’t even text you about it. Just… needed to see you.’ 

And that Matteo can understand, so he simply kisses the top of David’s head before resting his head on the couch behind him. He’s not very good at relaxing at parties, especially when completely sober, but David’s touch and nearness always has an immediately calming effect on his body, so he sits there for a few minutes stuck in some weird mix of those two. 

He’s getting progressively thirstier the more the minute pass by, though, so he stays that way for a few minutes, before he sits up. He wants to stand, too, but then David holds his arm back and makes this high-pitched whining sound that Matteo really just cannot ignore.

‘What are you doing?’, David asks, also sitting up a little bit. On second thought, he doesn’t look drunk at all, just very tired. 

‘Getting us something to drink.’  

David shakes his head faster than he usually would and tries to pull Matteo back into their earlier position. Matteo is in no way strong enough to resist his boyfriend, who is being very cute right now, and so he lets himself be pulled until he’s leaning against the backrest again and David has made himself comfortable against his chest. 

He can’t deny the warmth growing and spreading, going straight from his heart to the rest of his body. Matteo often needs to have David close, to feel his body strong against his, to remind him that he’s here and that he has love in his life and that he can let go of some of the tension he carries around. He doesn’t try to hide that he’s a very tactile person that needs the reassurance of being loved. He’s always been that way, although at one point he tried to repress that part a bit as he feared it would reveal things about himself he didn’t want to get out. But it’s not a secret anymore. 

His boyfriend has to deal with that side of him more than anyone else, and Matteo often feels as if he’s too needy, or annoying, or asking for too much, that one day he’ll ask for affection and care, and David will have had enough. It hasn’t happened yet. He always gives in with a smile and holds Matteo close. 

One night when it had all been a bit too loud in his brain, Matteo had confessed his fears. David had kissed him and told him that if Matteo wasn’t so forthcoming with his touch, David would be the one asking for it, because he needs it just as much, that being close to Matteo and not touching, even a press of fingertips, feels wrong and unnatural. It had quieted Matteo’s fears in the moment, but it doesn’t stop them from resurfacing now and again.

This is a nice change. It feels good to be so obviously needed, instead of being the needy one. 

How could he refuse his boyfriend anything right now? 

So, he stays and he tries to ignore everything that isn’t the weight on his chest, David’s breath against his neck, his hand on his waist. He manages somewhat. 

After a while of sitting in silence, Matteo’s favorite kind of silence, the one that sounds like love and understanding, David raises his head again. Matteo smiles when their eyes meet. 

‘I know you just got here, but… can we leave?’, David asks, his voice quiet, either from tiredness or embarrassment. Matteo hopes it’s the first one. He never wants David to feel like he does in any way ever. 

Matteo raises his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, hoping to get a smile out of his boyfriend. It works. ‘Shut up. Not to go have sex, dumbass. I just --’, he shrugs, before continuing, ‘Want some time with you.’ 

Matteo smiles and gets up. How could he ever say no to that? ‘Let’s go then’, he says, holding out his hand. David takes it and kisses him once he’s up. 

‘Let’s go then’, he agrees.

Fairytale Lies Along

Well, my fan-story is not complete yet and not translated as well. That kinda sucks, but I’m working on it, even if I know that probably it would be next winter when I finish it, because I’m a slowpoke. 21 chapters already written and no sign of happy (or unhappy) ending. *sigh* Well, I’m posting the second part here, just for luck or something like that. The hero, I remind you, is a shitty person with shitty motivation, because he’s lost, so just you wait and you won’t get bored. If you’re interested that is. 

2. Family Matters

Emma and I had fun in the company of a cake, sparkling wine and a pleasant, non-binding girl, in short - Becky. This type of girl could be picked up only in bars, clubs or by lucky chance somewhere in the art gallery, but in our case it was obviously not an accident, because my dear mistress could not bear to calmly walk around museums and other similar "dullness" as she aptly expressed each time I dragged her there. Certainly, the only thing to blame was my insatiable enthusiasm in exploring this world, so my girl visited that kind of places enough for a lifetime. And while we had fun, I still couldn’t suspect anything about the approaching bearer, so to speak, of all my hopes and dreams for this boring, almost non-magical world. Therefore, we enjoyed the company of a half-naked beauty, I must admit quite successfully enjoyed, and she was already ready to spend the night with us. “With us” meant - I felt and saw everything, despite the fact that I’m removed from direct control of what’s happening.

Well, I don’t know how Emma felt deep inside, but some time ago I was nauseated by the greedy glances that idiot debtor was throwing at us. He tried to escape us so ridiculously, that Emma, who, due to my significant presence in her head and the equally significant presence of my rather gloating humor, learned how to manage her face at a decent level, still couldn’t handle the situation without sincere laughter. And she laughed on the way back to our apartment, when the face grimace and the convulsive actions of the jerk resurfaced in our dialogue. And in order to dispel this filthy feeling after unpleasant words, though they came from a complete stranger, I offered to call a friend who showed interest in Emma and they already have enough dates to have hours of sexual activity, as I call it, trying not to look and make myself jealous.

Swan was not too amorous, and it always seemed to me that I didn't play a very important role in that quality of her character. I was the only adult who had been with her throughout her life, even though I told myself not to give her any extra advice or help just because it’s a good thing to do. After the death of Cleo Fox, a woman who was chasing my careless Swan, I stopped giving advice at all and stopped saying anything other than "Decide for yourself, Emma Swan." "Why didn't you talk me out?" - It was the first thing she constantly told me when she didn’t listen to my advice, especially when it was about that woman’ death. Although it didn’t come to a quarrel, because Emma knew very well from my tales, which I rashly told her as a child, that I could not heal the dead. For this you need the Death Water and The Living Water, both. But in this world there were absolutely no such thing, and she didn’t want to give me control over the body to create the ritual. Cold blood, indeed. Throughout my entire stay in her body, I was like: “I’m the only one who understand you!” or “Oh, these modern dishonourable people,” or “You deserve more!” and, that one is the most used: “Try not to trust my ass-based feeling again when I say this person is sketchy!" Yes, yes, I am an evil freak, a manipulative pig, and, in general, I’m extremely aggressively defend my property from the encroachments of all kinds of other freaks, yes!

Well, I still feel everything that Emma feels, and her ignorance of my words about this Neal, who left her soul with disturbing wound, was based on the fact that I constantly grumbled about any guy looking obliquely at my beautiful girl, Emma. It seems, that I already considered this body my own to some extent, and that’s why I had such an attitude - Emma had to shut me up every now and then until she grew out of her teenage surges and began to listen to me more often.

The question arises - why I never moved into her body, taking advantage of childhood and the deplorable situation? It's just because I never do that! Children are inviolable, and the child can not, should not be absorbed by me. I didn’t think about the original reason for that decision, but I never had many problems with little Emma. I soothed her, sang songs when she asked, told her about my life in the guise of rhymed legends or tales, forced her to read, and that last one was for avoiding the horrible death from boredom in these many years. I would even associate myself with her parent, I had to educate her so much and so much to invest in her, but I would never trade my own undivided and indivisible, of course if you don’t take into account the possible dismemberment, body for her friendship. I could tell myself that only thing for sure even when Emma was an incredibly touching lost being, close to me in spirit and literally brought up by me from her very self-awareness of herself as a person.

Emma Swan, by the way, could be not only touching. She often pleased me with flashes of anger, which gave me a microscopic opportunity to pick up the drops of magic that emanated from her during that display of emotions, and it sparkled with such a bright flash when the doorbell interrupted the removal of the panties of our excited girlfriend.

“Oh, fuck this late guest!” - I growled and moaned with doom. - “Emma, your birthday and it’s eve are too full with surprises.”

Emma irritably pushed the beautiful girl away and went to open the door.

First, my ass-based feeling howled even more than when I met Neil or that strange girl, Lily.

Second, the boy said that Emma is his mother. The boy looked like someone else, but not Emma - I thought so at first glance at him. At his age Emma was much less self-confident, she never had this deceit and manipulation, which he showed later when we tried to expel him, and I personally suggested just throwing him out the door by the scruff. At the same time, I sent to the devil my non-quite-immutable rule-on-advice, again. And in spite of my old age extremes like paranoia and grumbling, I can't help but remember Emma when she was ten years old - this is exactly about the time when I finally and fully showed up, making a course of action with this active kid without a tsar in her head, really, and that means she was “flaky” and “rudderless”. The boy was dark-haired and quite puny. He definitely was not from a poor or especially unhappy family. Emma and I have always noticed these - their eyes were different, they were too incredulous for the age of the child, but this boy's eyes were alive. He smiled quite sincerely, didn’t try to hide and shrink under the stern look that Emma gave him for the interrupted party. And these are the signs from which I drew a conclusion - parents rarely shout at the boy, spoil him well and love him with high quality, I’d say.

“He seems to be lucky with his family,” I said to Emma as she walked off to the door with Becky, who was looking at the child with undisguised interest. - “Well dressed, taught independence, not intimidated, not clogged. For example, my father sold me before I was born to the Queen of the Sea because he couldn’t drink from the Living Creek asking for permission first, as everyone does. The King, for fuck’s sake, unable to just ask for the cure. At least, that’s why I met my future wife, yes... And since I was the firstborn, and very foolish as my father thought, it…”

“Listen, old man, stop nostalgia! I have already heard this story about the Queen of the Sea five times!”

In fact, I felt Emma’s panic and focused my attention on what was happening.

“A child came to me, I have no right to even see him, after what I did to him!”

“Then your foolishness is enough! Let's get the boy back!” - I snapped back and looked at the situation closer, trying to understand what Emma feels right now. - “I understand everything, you do not want to remember your oh not the best choice in life, but the result of this choice now stands before you, my darling!”

“Enough with this "my darling"! I constantly ask you to stop because it is contagious, and I repeat after you this mocking "my darling" without any need for it!”

“Emma, if there was no need, then throw at me ... Well, take what you can throw at me, then throw it!”

I laughed, forcing Swan to roll her eyes, and the boy, her son, took the grimace at his expense and put an extremely discouraging remark at the end of his speech.

“And if you won’t agree, I will tell the police that you kidnapped me!”

Emma couldn’t stand it and laughed, as if echoing me, and I literally just finished laughing in our inner world.

“Kid, you are very clever for your age and independent, yes!” - she trustingly patted him on the back - he sat on a bar stool and drank orange juice from the bottle throat. - “But you should know that the testimony of two adults that you yourself found this apartment and that address would beat your babble on this. Study the laws, kid! And please, if you come to stranger’s house, could you still ask permission or at least drink from a cup?”

Emma sighed, took the juice out of his hands and twisted the lid.

“And now, kid, we take my cake and... now completely your juice - after all, you drooled into it - and we go to your family. Would you like a sandwich? I’ve got with tuna and egg. Ok?”

He looked incredulously into our eyes, as if surprised at such an easy agreement on his request, but Emma — I knew — understood that she had no special choice, because she had a criminal record even if it was appealed and kind of amnestied, and that stopped her from any calls to the police. Emma didn’t wait for an immediate response from the child and asked.

- So, where to go?

- Storybrooke, Maine.

***

"Fairy tales?" - Emma repeated my thoughts, looking mistrustfully at the book that the boy was holding in his hands. - “Is this a fairytale book?”

“This is not just a fairy tale!” - the boy answered without any hesitation and I was somehow immediately alerted, after all, he was ten years old, not five. At this age, not everyone believes in Santa. - “It's true! Every story in this book actually happened!”

“Of course it did…”

I am quite sure that Emma did not argue with the kid, not because she was sorry to debunk the boy’s illusions. She was screaming at me now, panicking again, although in the real world she was simply frowning.

“Are you kidding me?! Is it contagious? Is it transmitted genetically? Is this some mutation? He thinks that fairy tales are real, and a relic of one of these fairy tales lives in my head!”

“Not these!” - I would have shook my head if I could. - “These are yours,” - I emphasized this word especially, - “fairy tales. Not ours, Emma. Not the ones I come from. We don’t tell tales of the Queen and the Snow White. We have other heroes, you know.”

“And how do you know that the book says about the Queen and Snow White?” - she was surprised, but didn’t forget to follow the road - we turned onto the highway.

“I read briefly just now”, - I answered and gave a laugh. “If you don’t see something, it doesn’t mean that I don’t see it, Emma. I need one glance to remember.”

“And why haven't I graduated the University with this ability yet?” - Emma sighed, but her sarcastic question didn’t require an answer, and I knew how much I would infuriate her if I answer it.

“Of course, because you're a stupid lazy bird,” - I drawled with pleasure. - “And not a swan, but a penguin. If you don’t kick it, it won’t fly!”

“Did you believe me?” - Henry decided to ask after a long silence and reached for a bag of juice and sandwiches. - “May I...”

“It’s much better when you remember to ask,” - Emma nodded but stopped short that parenting attempt. - “So what were you saying about fairy tales? What’s that about?”

“They are about you. You are there.”

The child shrugged and, putting the book aside, dug into a sandwich with indescribable pleasure written on his face, despite the fact that just couple of seconds ago the car was slightly inclined aside because Emma was a bit dumbfounded.

“It seems you have problems, kid…”

Emma sighed, straightening the steering wheel, and was hardly surprised when she heard the boy’s answer.

“Yeah. And you fix them.”

***

“Thus, the Sandwich Eater, I have a task for you!” - said Emma, when we moved into this Storybrooke of his and drove up to the clock tower. - “You must make your parents finish my cake with me on board. Judging by your ability of whining and persuasion, you are quite capable of it. It is going to melt to hell, and the holiday is already ruined enough. Though we will talk over a cup of tea about your behavior…"

We discussed Emma's further behavior strategy, and in the end she decided to ask kid’s parents why the boy ran away from home - Emma herself had similar runaways, and the reason of those wasn’t the great love of the adoptive family, for sure. But there was something obviously wrong in all that, and how he could find Emma was an unsolved mystery yet. I felt something strange somewhere on the border of Yavi, the Reality, but it could be just an ancient burial ground of some Indians, or a nasty cemetery, so for now I decided not to tell my mistress that I was slightly shaken by the thin Border in this terrain.

“I have no parents, I only have a mother,” - our little jerk replied. - “And she is evil!”

“Evil?” - Emma slowed down in the middle of the main square of the town and got out of the car. - “Get out!”

He obeyed, and I murmured to Emma, not to dare to hurt that little asshole, but she waved it off and sat down in front of the child so as to see his lowered eyes, shyly in search of a way out of the situation.

“Do you even think what you say? She is not evil! She is the person who became your family, when I - hear me - I was the very first evil in your life! And, you know, boy, life is not a damn collection of fairy tales - you are very lucky at least with the fact that you do not have to climb out of your skin just to eat enough.”

“My name is Henry!” - he exclaimed and looked us straight in the eyes. - “She doesn't love me. She only pretends to love. And you can help break the curse!”

“What other curse?” - Emma lowered the tone, during the interrogation of the little boy, asking me an extremely urgent question. Urgent for me, mostly.

“Old man, do you think he is talking about you? You yourself told me that this is your curse and you don’t know how to remove it ... Maybe it’s not by chance that everything's happening now? The kid fell into the hands of this book or… oh, backwards, and you always said that there are legends about you in our world, which definitely correspond to reality you lived in.”

I want to take your body, and you want to help me. Ironic, really. I would grin if I could. There’s too much inaccessible things to me that I would like to feel, that’s why I’ve long been thinking about how to finally seize that receptacle. And I'll pretend to be who you want as long as it is needed. I won’t repay good with good, no, that would be a mistake. Although, I wonder what Vasilisa would say on how exactly and how much I changed during this time? And does she know that I am alive, if finally I got lucky and came across the reality that’s parallel to mine?

“Emma, my darling, do you even know how to experience brain activity? I told you there was something about Snow White and the Queen in the book. Read it - and you would never find either Ivan, the son of tsar Vseslav, nor the daughters of Koschei, nor himself with his Sea Queen wifey. Although, on the other hand, no one knows what’s on the other side of the Infinity Forest…”

My mocking words were not particularly important to Emma, in any case, that was clearly unnoticeable. She didn't respond, continuing dialogue with the boy. He explained her exactly what kind of curse we are talking about. And it was clearly not mine.

“Look at the clock,” - the boy pointed to the tower, where the clock should've been hitting something around midnight long ago. - “Time is frozen here. The Evil Queen did it with her curse. She sent all of the Enchanted Forest here.”

“So, now I understand” - Emma put her hands on her hips and paraphrased. “The Evil Queen sent all the heroes of fairy tales that you told me about to this place?”

“Yeah, and now they are trapped.”

“Stuck in time and locked up in Storybrooke of Maine? Urban fantasy looks cool only in big cities, you know.”

Sarcasm obvious feel I in the Force... but she is right - I haven’t heard of such spells. My wife could, knew and practiced to transform the dead into a living, to unwind time, or with the help of mavka-navka, little magical fairy creatures, to collect magic and use it for whatever she wished to built. She also was quite good with fire and learned from her grandmother how to pick up soul-skulls and use them for magical purposes. But to clear the memory of all that people, not even for forever, when the cure is possible…

This is either hopeless stupidity, or such conditions were written into the curse, that wasn’t written by the Queen. So, the point is - it was the writing of someone else but that Evil Queen. Approximately and apparently she’s called like that as I was called the Terrible once upon a time, yet never Dark, this is a slightly different level. There was no other choice, and if there was, then the achievement of the goal was more important. Although I can’t even imagine how much you must not want to kill your enemies, the Queen... Instead of simply turning the whole reality into Stone or something like that, as the Stone Princess once wanted to do, and she was the blood of Yagg’s blood, who have protect the Reality because of that blood... That Queen bothered herself too much for petty avenge. Although, I think, the same thing guided the one who planted my soul into this semblance of the Underworld.

That Queen had not only the desire to make her enemies suffer, but had the desire to rule and entertain her Ego. After all, I cannot be compared to a large number of people to fit in the kingdom.

“It’s true!”

“So why don't they all just leave?” - Emma tried to appeal to reason, while I was silent, thinking about what is happening.

“They can not! If they try, bad things happen!”

Henry also seemed to appeal to reason, but for Emma it was clearly not an argument, and the boy was not allowed to explain more. We were interrupted.

“Henry!’ - slightly bald ginger man with a dalmatian on a leash approached. - “What are you doing here?” - he looked at us with a worried look and asked Emma. - “Everything is good?”

“I'm fine, Archie,” - the boy immediately started to stroke the dog, that showed his close acquaintance with a man who smiled uncertainly in the direction between Emma and Henry.

“And who are you?”

“I’m just bringing him home.”

Obviously Emma didn’t want to make new acquaintances here, as well as I really wouldn’t want to, if it’s not so suspicious and not connected to fairy tales. Once I asked Emma to look for something from the history of the Russian lands. The search ended in folklore, and most of the adventures from fairy tales named folk or based on them were true, but incredibly distorted, and that probably happened with…

Do I even believe it?!

“She is my mother, Archie” - said the kid, solding out my darling Emma for nothing.

“Not really,” - Emma clarified and asked Archie. - “Do you know about adoption?”

“Ah, yes,” - he let the dog off the leash and it came up to us, sniffed Emma's knee, and Swan immediately began patting it on withers. - “He goes to therapy. I had to find out.”

“Therapy? Kid, it gets harder for you to convince me, honestly!”

“Convince you?” - Archie looked at Emma inquisitively.

“No worries, we both know what I mean!”

Emma smiled awkwardly, winked at Henry, who wanted to answer, but realized that his mother had finally behaved like an adult who had learned a bitter experience and understood that the voice in her head was almost as serious as believing in a fairytale world, and very few of the “caring adults” will like it to such an extent that they decide not to do anything about it.

“Oh, he told you too!” - Archie's face lit up. - “So, what are you doing here?”

“I am searching for his mother's house,” - she shrugged and added. - “I think you could tell me the address, or maybe you want to take him there yourself…”

“Oh, no, no,” - Archie’s smile became tense, as if he definitely didn’t want to meet that woman. - It’s on Mifflin Street, the mayor’s house is the largest. You’ll recognize.”

“No matter who Henry’s mother is”, - I told Emma in a casual tone, - “she’s clearly no less annoying than her son.”

“Mayor! His mom is a fucking mayor! She will put me in jail!” - Emma panicked. She loves to panic in her own brain, especially when there is such a wonderful me, ready to listen, understand and forgive. For the time being, of course, but ... Sometimes I even like it.

“That’s why we come bearing the cake!”

Brittany’s Open Letter to Lily Peet

Before I start this letter, I'd like to take a moment to confirm a few things; - Lily Peet and I were never involved romantically. I am not her ex girlfriend, we were just close friends. - Lily Peet and I met back when she went by Bhaalspawn on Youtube. She had two RVI videos up at the time (Lavender Town and the South Park episode), which was between 2010 and 2012. - I only have access to conversations as early as 2013 due to the earliest ones being on a laptop I no longer have. - The Gyazo collections on KiwiFarms came directly from me. Blake was my willing messanger (thank you!) - Everything in this letter can be verified in the Gyazo collections, which will be linked at the end of this post. - I'm open to any questions regarding this situation. Just leave me an ask.

Dear Lily; Never in my life have I regretted a previous relationship, be it platonic or otherwise, until now. The lows you have stooped to shocked even me, and you know the shit I've lived through and seen. Let's get one thing straight, I'm not naive. I knew you were going to deny everything, and I figured you'd attempt to throw any dirt you had on me in retaliation. What I didn't expect was for you to swing as low as you did. Not only did you make disgusting accusations against me which are verifiably false, you knowingly dropped my legal first and last name to your followers alongside them. Don't think I don't know exactly what you were trying to do. Your delusions of grandeur seem to have you convinced that Blake and I have resurfaced because we are "obsessed", or "jealous" of you. So let me take a moment to explain to you and everyone else my motives for coming forward after two years of silence. I was genuinely happy for you, Lily. Despite what had happened between us, I did check on your channel every so often to see how you were doing. You came out, you got the following you'd been wanting, you had a girlfriend, and you seemed to be a lot more comfortable in your own skin. I didn't watch your content much, but just based on the tidbits I'd see, I was PROUD of you. I thought you'd grown up and left old Peet in the past. Then I saw Josh's video and discovered how wrong I was. I watched as Blake came forward about how you'd treated him (I'll address that in detail later), then the Sapphire Heartsong fiasco, so on and so forth. FNGR's channel served as a handy summary of the pettiest shit you'd done after we lost touch. Oh, and in case it hasn't been made perfectly clear yet, ANTHONY AGUILAR DID NOT SEEK ME OUT! I found his channel, I reached out to him, and he was the first person to give me a platform, which I appreciated. That's it. I didn't come forward to try to convince YOU of anything. As far as I'm concerned, you may very well be beyond all help. I'm sharing my story to bring some sense of validity to everyone you've ever treated like shit. Up until now, all the wildest rumors about you have been unproven. I'm here to say that yes, ALL of it happened, and I was there to personally witness it. On that note, how's Tara? I have to hand it to you, Lily, you are more ballsy as a woman than you ever were trying to live as a man. You accused me of sexual manipulation. The person who convinced me and many others that a pedophilic nymphomaniac existed, and used said "person" to get sexual favors and sexual confessions out of your friends. The person who set up a fund raiser for me during a financially difficult time, only to throw it back in my face and say that I needed to "throw you a bone" in return for trying to help me out. The person who constantly made me feel guilty as fuck for not returning your feelings, so I started forcing myself to humor you (which was a mistake on my part, I never should have forced myself just to placate you). The person who conveniently started picking fights with me around the time you would've met Lizzy. The amount of self-loathing you must have to try to flip all that back around on me must be overwhelming. How the fuck do you live with yourself? You know FULL WELL that I have been on the receiving end of sexual harassment, and sexual molestation. And you know the intimate details of those experiences and how badly it messed with me. IT WAS ONE OF THE MAIN ISSUES YOU HAD WITH ME. How fucking DARE you accuse me of perpetuating that, despite the fact that YOU took advantage of ME. Blake and I have been comparing notes. The more I learn about you, the more disgusted and disappointed I get. You had me hating him. You convinced me that he was making aggressive sexual advantages toward you (noticing a pattern here) when the reality was he was having a suicidal depressive episode and needed help! You alienated him from his only support system when he needed us most just so you wouldn't have to deal with him. Oh, and I know you stripped for him too. I hadn't told anyone about that, because I didn't think I'd be believed. But oh buddy was I wrong yet again. I guess it was arrogant of me to think I was the only person you tried to strip for. I love how you blatantly told both of us exactly what you thought would get us to let you do it, risk of getting caught be damned. Your story for me was essentially, "Hey, I'm your safe dick-possessing friend that wants to help you get over your trauma. Let me show you my dick." And I went along with it. Just so you know, it didn't work and your constant badgering has contributed to my distrust of anyone with a penis, so good job. Now what did you have for Blake? Oh yeah, you were thinking about being a camwhore. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against cammers or sex workers in general, especially considering most of them have more dignity and integrity than you do.

That "lol cringey aura" story you've been spreading sure is cute. I'm starting to wonder if you're lying intentionally, or if you've warped your own reality so badly that you truly believe the shit coming out of your mouth. For the people at home, the story she is referring to pertains to a highly abusive relationship I was in for just shy of two years. I won't go into too much detail, but by the time I'd gotten her off my back, I was broke, extremely depressed, and ended up on suicide watch for a day. I had told Lily about the extent of the verbal and emotional abuse I had suffered, which included but wasn't even close to limited to being told to "fuck off and die" multiple times a day, and being expected to pay for both of our expenses by myself on minimum wage. Lily, you took the fact that I identify as Pagan, and twisted what I said to make me sound cringey and discredit me. Let me repeat, YOU TOOK MY MOST ABUSIVE EXPERIENCE, CHEWED IT UP, AND SPAT IT BACK OUT TO COVER YOUR OWN ASS. But PLEASE tell me more about how I'M the shitty friend. You don't deserve the platform you have. You use it to manipulate people, and to stroke your own twisted ego. You have built the echo chamber you like to accuse everyone else of having. You can't take criticism, you can never be wrong, and you are INCAPABLE of truly respecting anyone. You make sure everyone around you is constantly on eggshells or kissing your feet. You attract lonely, emotionally vulnerable people who want someone they can look up to. When you're told you're wrong, or that you need to change a certain behavior, you throw the pettiest temper tantrums I've ever seen. I can't figure out if you enjoy the drama, or if you simply lack the mental capacity to look at yourself from the perspective of someone else. Maybe one day something will snap in your head and you'll realize just how much of a slimey, narcissistic, pathological, impulsive, dishonest person you've become. I'm not holding my breath. If I can do my part in warning people not to get too close to you, coming out of hiding will have been worth it. STAY AWAY FROM LILY PEET! She is a user at best and a predator at worst. She will treat you like gold until she sees no more use for you, then she'll discard you without a second thought.

Tara: https://gyazo.com/collections/3eae56479eb5e8c0041dd0f6e4317dfa

Lily part 1: https://gyazo.com/collections/f4c0b3383d32c050f69334f9a025b6db

Lily part 2: https://gyazo.com/collections/7109813af16d4e3be1f2e5f58668697b

Special Thanks to Bombastic Blake Diamond, FNGR, It Came From The Internet, and TheSecondR.