#136

The pact was signed between the King and the Fairy Queen, 1,000 years of prosperity for his kingdom, in exchange for his yet-to-be-conceived first born. The Fairy Queen however did not expect the king to slit his own throat and die on the spot seconds later.

The Green Scarf

CW: blood, head wound, hospitalization

Gerard kept a brisque pace in the snow-covered sidewalk, the frigid air colder still as the sun sank into the horizon. It was hardly the time to dawdle, but something in the air seemed not quite right, almost sinister in its unnatural silence.

It was then his eye caught the little droplets of red scattered in the snow, leading up the steps to the main school building. Probably nothing, he told himself. Best keep moving.

He heard a soft whimper.

Reluctantly Gerard ascended the steps to a small bush, behind which lay a prone figure, face-down and much too motionless.

That scarf.

He'd know that obnoxious green scarf anywhere.

"Blair?"

His heart thrummed in his chest. He gently rolled the body over. Blair. The absolute thorn in his side since day one of university.

He shook him briskly.

"Blair!"

Scoff.

"I should leave you like this after the way you embarrassed me yesterday," Gerard said aloud, mostly to himself. "Serves you right."

No response. It settled like a lead weight in his stomach.

Blair's skin was much too gray, much too dull. His breathing, much too weak.

Red... Pooling from the back of his head. He wrapped Blair's stupid scarf around the wound.

He checked his radial pulse. Faint.

Gerard groaned and glanced around for anyone to shove this responsibility onto.

No one. Of course not.

"Blair. BLAIR." He patted his cheek insistently. "Wake up. I am NOT carrying you."

Why wasn't Blair wearing gloves? Or a coat? Where'd he get that head wound?

That wasn't his business, Gerard decided. Well beyond his business.

His rival getting hypothermia, on the other hand...

He called emergency services.

"High than normal call volume. Wait time is 2 hours--"

He screamed a curse.

Moving Blair proved tricky. Not just the dead weight, but he had no way to determine if there was a neck injury on top of the head injury. The stairs would also be tricky.

He needed something to drag him with, and there was really only one thing that would do.

"You'll owe me BIG for this," he grumbled, pulling off his overcoat. He rolled Blair onto the overcoat unceremoniously and began dragging him down the stairs. The snow kept bunching into piles, slowing the forward pull. The cold made Gerard's teeth chatter, and he kept muttering curses with each merciless gust of wind.

He reached his apartment and threw open the door, snowflakes scattering across the front entry. With one final pull Blair was in, and he kicked his legs out of the way to slam the door shut.

"God, even when you're unconscious, you're still trouble," Gerard grumbled, turning on a space heater with shaking hands.

He felt Blair's pulse. Weak, but still there. He assessed the head wound. The bleeding seemed to have slowed. His hands were cold. Gerard pulled him near the space heater and bundled him in a blanket.

With little other option, he gathered first aid supplies. Antiseptic on the head wound, proper dressing.

The warmth was bringing color back to Blair's cheeks. Gerard's eyes pricked with tears, and he picked up Blair's cold hand in his.

"You'll be okay," he muttered. "You'll be back to that obnoxiously chattery self in no time, right? I'd better enjoy the silence while I can."

He laughed at himself for that, and quickly wiped away a hot tear.

A voice in his pocket broke the silence, and he quickly dropped the hand.

"Emergency services. What is the nature and location of your emergency?"

Oh. Right. He'd been on hold. He picked up the phone and explained the situation to the best of his ability, a bit flustered.

Emergency services arrived. Gerard rode with him, because wasn't that the right thing to do?

Blair came to about an hour later.

"Blair!" Gerard started towards him.

A moment of relief cut short.

"Gerard?" Blair spat, a note of disgust.

"Oh, shut up," Gerard grumped. Sat back.

"What the hell are you doing here? And-- wait, is this the hospital?!"

"Well, it's not the morgue," Gerard snapped.

"Why the hell did you ATTACK ME?!"

"Me? ME?!" Gerard held back the urge to strangle Blair. "I just dragged your sorry ass across town, and you're blaming ME?!"

Blair felt the back of his head. "Well, SOMEONE hit my head!"

"It'll be me soon if you don't drop the attitude," Gerard growled. "I didn't do it. I hate your guts, but I would never stoop that low."

"You wouldn't?" Blair quirked his brow skeptically.

"You're so much cuter when you're concussed," Gerard grumbled.

Chattering down the hall.

"Your friends are here," Gerard said. "Maybe ask one of them who had enough of your bull."

He stood to leave, but Blair caught his wrist.

"No. Wait. You really didn't do it?" Blair searched his eyes. "What d'you mean, you dragged me across town?"

Gerard yanked at his wrist. "Let go," he said.

"You brought me here?"

He didn't want to meet Blair's eyes.

"You really brought me to the hospital?"

"You were in front of the school," Gerard didn't answer. Didn't meet his eyes. "Just... Did what anyone would do."

"Yeah. Okay." Blair let go. "...Okay."

"Get better soon, asshole," Gerard said. He stormed out just as the group of well-wishers rushed in.

Arrived home. Realized Blair's stupid green scarf was still on the floor of his apartment.

Blair would definitely come back for it.

He kicked it across the room in frustration. Then proceeded to wash it in cold water.

//AN Sorry for not posting much this last week! I've been struggling to write and not really happy with anything, but I felt I should try to post something. Anyway, I hope you're all doing all right in the New Year. Thank you so much for reading!!!

Too Many Beds

(Reverse Trope: Too many beds, as seen on @out-of-jams )

Context: Hero and Villain forced to work together and need a place to stay for the night

Hero had been sent back to the car to gather their things while Villain booked them rooms for the night. Refusing to use a readily available luggage cart, Hero pridefully piled several bags across their body. They held two in each hand, two more were strapped crossbody–one resting on each hip for balance–making them so wide they would have had to step through the lobby door sideways. That is, if they could open the door in the first place, considering their hands were full and this hotel was sketchy enough to be skirting the ADA.

When Villain came back outside with only one room key, Hero could only hope that there would be two beds awaiting them behind shoddy wooden door.

Image their surprise when they unlocked the door to find not one, not two, but three beds clad in all-white linens.

Villain, ignoring the gobsmacked hero, pushed all the way into the room and made a bee-line for the bathroom. In a rather fittingly-villainous move, Villain had refused to relieve Hero of any of their cumbersome stuff during the trek up to their second-story room. The hero finally gathered themselves and their bags enough to step into the room, throwing villain’s bags on the far bed, placing their own bags on the bed closest to the wall, and sitting themselves on the bed in the middle. Immediately feeling their aching joints relax, hero fell back into the plush dramatically. They contemplated the merits of stealing some of the extra pillows to transfer to their bed before a light bulb lit up over their head. After a moment’s consideration, they stood up and started pushing the center mattress towards the one on the wall.

Mega Bed. First come, first serve.

“Hey! I got that one for me,” yelled an incredulous voice behind them. Apparently, Villain was back from the bathroom, and they were very very jealous of Mega Bed.

“You don’t need two beds!”

“Neither do you!”

“Sure I do!”

To punctuation their point, hero belly-flopped dramatically onto their claimed, enlarged sleeping arrangement.

“If you wanted more room to sleep, then you should have booked a room yourself!”

“What kind of motel has rooms with three beds anyway?!” Hero’s question was muffled by the comforter as they held their ground starfished face down over the blankets.

“This one does,” stated the villain from what sounded suspiciously far from his allocated regular-sized bed on the other side of the room.

“Obvishushlee,” the hero mumbled in reply.

“…”

The hero recognized this as a dangerous silence. The silence of plotting.

“Look, we can be adults about this-“ Hero was cut off with a yelp as they were dragged by the ankle out of Mega Bed and onto the questionably-clean carpeted motel floor. Villain attempted to step over them, presumably to claim Mega Bed for themselves, but Hero caught onto their ankle in a grand feat of revenge, thus preventing Villain from crawling into the rumpled sheets.

Hero would not give up Mega Bed without a fight.

As Hero and Villain tumbled on the ground, knocking over the lamp and accidentally turning the TV to the Spanish channel in the process, a stroke of genius hit. Hero grabbed Villain by the back of the shirt, stalling their scramble for the bedpost, playground-king-of-the-hill style.

“Stop! Stop-,” Hero shouted, then added placatingly, “I have an idea.”

And thus the Super Mega Bed was born.

lovely spin

guess whos gettin back into animatingggg

doin a comm for a friend. havent done this shit in forever but im getting there lmao. forgot how fun it is when you get in the zone

You're a murder victim haunting an old apartment building. The newest tenant's apartment is full of teenagers trying to perform a seance. You're doing your best to be as disruptive as possible because they keep almost summoning your murderer.

In fairy tales and fantasy, two types of people go in towers:  princesses and wizards.

Princesses are placed there against their will or with the intention of ‘keeping them safe.’ This is very different from wizards, who seek out towers to hone their sorcery in solitude.

I would like a story where a princess is placed in an abandoned tower that used to belong to a wizard, and so she spends long years learning the craft of wizardry from the scraps left behind and becomes the most powerful magic wielder the world has seen in centuries, busts out of the tower and wreaks glorious, bloody vengeance on the fools that imprisoned her. 

That would be my kind of story.

CW: implied abuse, wrongful imprisonment

It had been five years.

Five years since Villain heard that laugh.

Their blood ran cold. Their heart pounded in their chest. Too afraid to turn their head. With shaking hands, they pulled out their phone and angled the camera to view behind them.

It was them. Oh God, it was them. Sitting with their friends at a table, like everything was normal. Like they were normal.

Every nerve was in high alert. Throat constricted. Villain left cash on the table and rushed to leave--

THUD.

Villain fell back. Phone slid across the floor.

"Oh my god, I am so so so sorry," the person who ran into them babbled. They held out a hand to help them up. "I didn't even see you-- Are you okay, are you hurt? Let me help you up."

Villain glanced up at the friendly voice. Hero's Sidekick.

Villain quickly ducked away and ignored the hand, instead opting to crawl towards their phone and grab it before--

"Oh, is this yours? Here."

Those boots. That voice.

Villain couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Hero crouched face-to-face with them. Holding their phone. Rooted on the spot.

"... Villain?!" A flurry of emotions crossed Hero's face. "You're-- you're alive?!"

Villain bolted. Hero screamed for them to come back. Past the parking lot, past the tree line, into the thick of the forest. Not the best place to cut through to get home, nor the fastest, but an easy way to shake someone off.

They didn't stop running until their legs gave out. Lungs stung with the exertion. They upchucked everything from the bar.

Villain had escaped them. They had faked their death so perfectly. Vanished without a trace, all away across the continent. Hero wasn't supposed to ever find them. Yet here they were.

Villain leaned against a tree to stand up shakily. They needed to get home, grab their cash and whatever they could carry, and leave.

They arrived at their door covered with leaves and dirt. No time to shower.

First thing to do was to grab the money. They crossed the room halfway before they stopped. Something was off. Something was wrong, but they couldn't place what.

Peppermint. They never had peppermint in their house. Hero ruined it for them. Yet they smelled it now.

They turned to leave too late.

Hero was there, blocking the front door.

"You left your phone," Hero said, holding it up.

Villain backed away. "Let me go," they pleaded. "Let me go, please."

The back of their legs hit a coffee table, and they fell backward. The table cracked and collapsed. Hero stood over them.

"Why would I do that?" Hero said. They pressed onto the villain's chest with their boot. "You had me fooled, I'll give you that. Look at the life you've made for yourself here. Nice little apartment. Friends."

They clicked cuffs over Villain's wrists.

"You and I both know your only home is behind bars," Hero whispered in their ear.

"Please..." Villain withered. "Please take me to the proper channels. Please take me to prison."

Hero patted their cheek. "You wouldn't last five minutes in prison, my pet. I built the basement solely to keep you safe and out of trouble."

Villain shook. They tried to keep down the building panic attack and couldn't. They were sobbing, gasping for breath.

"I missed you, " Hero said, caressing the side of their cheek. "You're as perfect as I remember."

They carried Villain into the back of the car.

"Wow. You caught a bad guy on vacation?" Sidekick said.

Villain hung their head.

Hero startled. "Sidekick? When did you get here?"

"I followed you in case you needed backup. You left in such a hurry."

"I don't need your help," Hero said hurriedly. "This is a... Special case."

"It's not trouble," Sidekick said with a smile. "What'd they do, anyway?"

Hero's eyes darkened. "I'm sorry, Sidekick, but that information's classified. Please forget you saw this."

Villain peeked at Sidekick from the corner of their eye.

Sidekick glanced back. If Villain didn't know any better, they would say they looked worried.

"Okay," Sidekick said. "We're still driving back together, though, aren't we?"

Hero groaned. "I thought you were driving back with the others."

"No, they're taking a detour and we need to get back."

Hero relented, and for a while they drove in silence. Sidekick kept checking the back seat.

They reached a rest stop. While Hero was in the restroom, Sidekick ran to the back door.

"Quick. Here's some cash," Sidekick said. "Get out of here before Hero comes back."

"Why--" Villain tried to say.

"I recognize you. You were Hero's first sidekick." Sidekick looked away, expression pained. "I... I know your story. And I believe you. I know why you did it."

"...Thank you," Villain whispered.

"Get out. Now. That truck's leaving."

Villain nodded, then ran for the truck that was pulling away.

Hero screamed. "No, no, they're GETTING AWAY! STOP!!!"

Sidekick smiled and waved sadly as Villain watched them fade into the distance.

You, the villain, faked your death and started over years ago. But you never expected the hero to stumble into your new favorite bar, laughing with their friends.

I love love all your writing and jealous villains / possessive villains always make me kick my feet!! Can I request a hero that’s been under appreciated by the city and getting hurt / almost killed by civilians they were meant to protect? And the villain finds the aftermath? ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

"My god." The voice was strained. Familiar. Them.

It really wasn't the hero's day, was it? They released a slow, pained breath, pushing themselves gingerly off the grimy, rain-puddled street. "Enjoy the show?"

"What show? You could have taken them. You should have taken them."

The hero grunted. They straightened. They wobbled.

The villain appeared out of the shadows, at their side, in an instant. It took the hero a moment to realise that the villain had placed a steadying hand on their arm.

The villain's face was harsher in the streetlight; all firelit edges, beautifully demonic, orange pinpricks glinting almost red in their furious eyes. Rain spat down, soaking into the villain's hair and clothes. They didn't seem to care.

The hero did a double-take. The flippant comment they'd been about to make died in their mouth.

"How much did you see?" the hero asked.

The villain's jaw clenched. "I just got here."

It was an unexpected confession. On closer inspection, the rapid rise an fall of the villain's chest suggested they'd been running.

"Huh," the hero said.

The villain's gaze raked over them, taking in every bruise and scrape and bit of blood. "You didn't fight back. Why didn't you fight back? You could have pulverised them. Made them fear ever hurting someone again. That's what you do if I attacked you."

The hero shrugged, awkwardly. They eased their arm free of the villain's grip.

"That's not an answer," the villain snapped.

"I would have killed them. Normal people can't deal with my powers."

"So better to let them nearly kill you?"

The hero shrugged again. Everything ached; they weren't especially in the mood for hearing about how wrongly they'd handled getting the flying spit kicked out of them, they weren't in the mood to explain how the villain was different. Even at war, it was easier with them.

"You're in uniform," the villain said. "They knew who they attacked."

"Oh." The hero hadn't realised. The truth of it struck them like a low blow and their shoulders slumped, as if it wasn't already far too late to brace and curl into a foetal position to guard the heart of them. "Right. Yeah. Well, bold move on their part!"

They tried for chipper. They failed completely.

The whole time, they'd been so preoccupied, they'd thought the strangers had no idea. A wave of stupidity, prickling with humiliation, washed over them. Their eyes felt hot.

The hero swore under their threat.

"I'm going to kill them." Possessiveness threaded low and heated through the villain's voice.

"I don't need you to do that."

"I know. It will be my absolute pleasure." The villain grabbed the hero's arm again as the took a step and stumbled. "They shouldn't-"

The hero could feel themselves beginning to shake, a myriad emotions welling up inside them, threatening to explode, as they listened to the villain's insistence that really no one else should be allowed to touch what was theirs.

"I said, I don't fucking need you to do that."

The villain went quiet. Still.

The hero closed their eyes again, already regretting their sharpness. A treacherous tear rolled down their cheek. Christ. That was all they needed, wasn't it? Cherry, meet the top of the garbage pile. They swiped furiously at their face and didn't say sorry. They couldn't say sorry. They'd never stop, they were sure of it.

"What do you need?" the villain asked.

The hero glanced up at them, startled.

It wasn't that the possessiveness was gone from the villain's face, only that the burning of it had finally cleared enough for the hero to see what lay beneath it.

The care, the sincerity, in the villain's question felt like a knockout blow. They didn't know what to do with it. They had no armour for it, no shield.

"What do you need?" the villain asked again, softer, when the hero said nothing. Their other hand rose, cupping the hero's cheek. "You want me to get you home? Your leg's screwed. You can't walk."

"I can walk." The hero looked down at their leg. They could...well, it wouldn't be fun walking. They eyed the villain. "Seriously?"

"Well, I'd prefer to hunt the bastards down and kill them, but I also do an incredible taxi service, yeah."

"Thank you."

The villain looked almost as uncomfortable as the hero felt. They shrugged. Their jaw worked, eyes narrowing when they caught sight of the hero's injuries again. The hero could feel the villain's fingers flexing against their skin with barely leashed violence - and, yet. It was leashed.

The villain dropped their hand.

"My car is this way. Can you - can I - I can help you get there. If I'm allowed."

"You're asking permission to touch me?"

The villain glared at them.

Despite everything, the hero managed a weak smile back. "Yeah," they said. "You're allowed."

The villain nodded, wrapping an arm around the hero, before pulling them up into an unexpected bridal carry. They were strong. All lean muscle and warmth against the hero's frozen body.

"I'm going to get blood on you," the hero said.

"Because nobody has ever bled on me before ever."

The hero huffed.

They let the villain walk them out of the alleyway, brain still sluggishly working its way through all of the implications of the villain's sudden appearance.

They'd come running when - what? When they learned the hero was in trouble? When they learned that the hero wasn't fighting back to the full extent they were capable of?

Thoughts were hard and the villain's car was warm, the heating soon on full blast.

Thank you. It welled in their throat again. The hero choked on it.

They didn't think they'd ever been as well looked after as they were that week.

The Monster crawled out from under the bed. "You saw that, right?" He asked in his low, scratchy voice.

He skittered towards the light in the back of the closet, now dim. He felt along the edges of the wall with his claws and growled, "The portal's already closed."

Rainbow Panda stared at the closet, breath caught in his fuzzy throat. "We need to go after him."

The Monster's lip curled. "We? You want to work together with me?"

Panda sighed, world-weary. "I don't agree with your methods, but..."

"But you admit I was right," The Monster finished, a somber edge to his voice. "I tried to make him more afraid, more cautious. Now he's been taken who-knows-where."

"Oh, just admit you like scaring people," Panda scolded. He adjusted his bow-tie, a habit for whenever he was agitated. "If he wasn't so desperate to prove himself, he wouldn't have ignored his gut."

The Monster shook his head and pulled back the clothing in the closet, looking for a seam or crack left over from the portal. He seemed to be lost in concentration, and didn't reply. "We can return to our squabbling after the boy is safely home," The Monster said finally.

Panda bowed his head. "You're right." He slid off the bed and hobbled over to the closet. He picked up a small keychain flashlight from underneath a pair of discarded socks. "What even was that?"

The Monster shook his head. "I have lived in this house for many years," he said. "I have seen all kinds of imaginary creatures manifest into being, but I have never seen one promise a life reborn in a new world. Much less see a human take that promise at face value."

The teddy bear stopped in his tracks. "Isekai. Portal fantasy," Panda explained, voice quivering. "He's been reading webcomics and watching anime."

The Monster stopped to look over his shoulder. "Web... Comics?" He grunted. "How do humans use webbing in comic-making? That sounds made up."

"Do you not-... Wha--... That's not important!" Panda shrieked. "The boy is in grave danger! A key component to most isekai is being reborn into a fantasy world after dying!"

"But... How do we find him? Where did he go?"

They sat in silence, wheels turning.

Quietly, the teddy bear hobbled to the bookshelf. "We need to read," he said. He shook the bookshelf, causing some of the books to fall off.

The Monster groaned. "You read. I'll keep looking for a way to get through."

"These stories always start with a character feeling powerless and inferior in life," Panda said. "Oftentimes isolated."

"We should like such stories, then," The Monster laughed. He crawled under the bed and returned with a box of crayons.

"I need you to take this seriously. He followed that... That charlatan because he didn't see other options," Panda huffed. "What are you doing with those crayons?"

"Drawing a portal," The Monster said. "I know not of these new webbed comics--"

"Stories," Panda corrected. "Just say stories."

"--but I know of the old tomes, and the old tomes drew doors with crayons," The Monster finished.

He gently pulled out a red crayon between thumb and forefinger, and drew shakily over the moulding, an imperfect straight line up to his height. The line sloped angular, then back down. Finally, a doorknob, jaggedly circular.

"Did it work?" Panda asked, uncertain.

The Monster pushed on the door. It pushed in, ever so gently. The doorknob, like a writhing ball of yarn, floated from the wall.

Panda abandoned the book and padded over to the makeshift door. With bated breath he tried the knob, and sure enough, the door opened.

"O-oh," Panda said. "It... It opened."

He seemed to hesitate at the opening. The Monster tilted his head. "Are you afraid?"

Panda nodded, and grabbed his hand. They jumped into the abyss together.

Down, down they fell.

Swirling around them were strange lights and discordant sounds.

Laughter.

Music.

At the end of it, a large field of grass.

The boy was hunched in the center of the field, shaking.

Panda ran to him. "Wait! I'm here! You don't have to be afraid."

The boy turned, tears in his eyes. He was... Laughing? His smile died seeing the small stuffed bear.

"What are you doing here?" The boy said. Annoyed.

A girl and boy around his age emerged from the long grass.

"What is that thing?" The girl said.

The Monster backed into the shadows of a tree and hissed at the sunlight.

"We came to save you!" Panda said proudly, chest puffed out.

The new boy snickered. "Save him? He just destroyed a lich, and you think he needs you?!"

"Maybe the little bear is going to save him from loneliness," The girl said with a snarky smile. "Oh, wait, he doesn't need you for that, either."

Panda, taken aback, looked back at The Monster helplessly. The Monster shook his head.

"This world is dangerous," Panda tried.

The boy huffed a laugh. "So is my old one. At least in this one I have the power to fix it."

Panda wilted. "You... You can change the old world too," He whispered. "We could change."

"I'm not a child," the boy said. "I'm sick of being treated like one."

"But--" Panda grabbed his arm, and he pushed him back.

"I'm not going back," the boy growled, and pulled out a sword. "Back off or I'll run you through."

Panda backed away, tears in his eyes. Then, stupidly, foolishly, he lunged for a hug. "I'm not letting you--"

The boy was true to his word. The Monster watched from the shadows as the sword pierced through the back of the stuffed toy. Panda went limp.

The boy laughed, high-pitched.

"That was a bit dark," the girl said, a little disapprovingly.

"Well, he did warn him," the new boy said snidely. "Besides, he was probably a spy from the Iridescent Wastes. Why else would he look like a rainbow puke bear?"

The boy discarded the teddy bear, and the three left the field towards a path to the edge of a small town. The Monster rushed to the stuffed toy and clutched him tightly.

"My old friend," The Monster moaned.

Panda did not respond. His little bowtie lay crooked, held on by a string.

The Monster sobbed, because how couldn't he? He was alone in this strange world to save a boy who didn't want saving, and lost the closest he had to a companion.

The sun melted into the horizon and cast long shadows over the grassy fields, and The Monster craved his little hideaway under the cozy bed. He crept to the edge of town, skittering across cobblestone streets. He knew well how to camouflage, and that he did when townspeople passed by with their oil lanterns.

A small tailor's shop sat at the corner of a long strip of shops, and The Monster scuttled over to the rich fabrics and glistening buttons in the window. He clutched the teddy bear tightly, and crawled in through the open door. The tailor, done with his long day, closed the shop door and locked it. He blew out the lamps that lit his workstation and proceeded to bed.

The Monster waited until the coast was clear, and searched around for an appropriate needle and thread. He wasn't adept at stitching, having only seen it as a small Monster many years ago, but gently he poked the stuffing back in and jaggedly stitched closed the hole in Panda's chest. He took a small piece of ribbon and wrapped it around his wrist to keep his small friend secure.

The Monster waited for the tailor to retire to bed. He crawled underneath, holding the stuffed bear aloft. He hoped the Under-the-Bed network worked in webbed comics. He felt around with his clawed hands until they grabbed onto the crook in the wooden floorboards. He smiled, sharp and toothy, as a jagged passage revealed itself to him.

--

Panda woke up in a sweat, which was strange because he had never once sweat before. He shifted in bed, and felt strange, like he was much, much too long. His fur was all on top of his scalp, the rest replaced by soft, smooth flesh. His eyes had lashes, and his little bowtie was replaced by a pajamas.

"What am I?" he asked, and even his voice was different, less squeaky and more... Human?

"We await your orders, my Prince," a soldier announced from the door.

"Prince?" Panda repeated. "Prince of what?"

The soldier looked at him with mild concern and embarrassment. "Apologies, it is early still. I will ask your personal attendant to assist you."

Suddenly a whole team of people were poking and prodding Panda, and he remembered idly how he got passed around and brushed and dressed and tossed about during a birthday party once, and wasn't this sort of similar?

He was brought down to breakfast, and that was a little more out of his depth. He didn't quite have a mouth, or teeth, or any sort of involvement with food before. He pushed the food around with a fork, trying to judge what was and was not supposed to be part of the food. The cloth seemed safe enough, but he got strange looks trying to nibble that. Thankfully the attendants assumed he had no appetite, and he was able to skip the whole thing.

In the drawing room, scary-looking men were peppering him with questions. "I believe we are at a disadvantage trying to flank them from the west side," the General said. "I say we sacrifice the new recruits to get them off-guard, then head them off in the mountains. They'll think they're winning and get sloppy."

"S-sacrifice people?" Panda said. "No! Don't do that!"

The General gave him an odd look. "My Prince, are you well? You yourself proposed the idea."

"W-well, it was a bad idea," Panda said, eyes sparkling with tears. "It sounds like we have a lot of big feelings, but we should use our words when we're hurting. Not hurt other people."

The General crinkled his nose. "My Liege, are you mocking me?"

Panda crumpled into tears. "No! No, no no and I don't get what's going on!" He wailed.

The military commanders and lords looked helplessly at the Royal Advisor, who in turn looked upon the Prince with a mixture of morbid fascination and disgust.

"Perhaps you should retire early, my Prince," the Royal Advisor said.

Panda grimaced. He looked over the map before him and whimpered. He tried his best to be brave, but this was far outside his element. The Royal Advisor gently guided him out the door.

"Perhaps he has... Reverted to a more child-like state as a result of the accident?" one of the Lords in attendance murmured.

"The Prince did take quite a fall," another agreed.

The door shut behind them, and the Royal Advisor guided Panda back to the Prince's room.

"Rest now, sire," the Royal Advisor said. Panda nodded uncertainly. The door closed and he dropped to the floor.

"...Monster?" He called from below the bed.

It was silly to half-expect his old friend to be underneath, but-- apparently not silly enough. From the floorboards appeared the telltale fanged creature, long claws climbing up from a set of endless Nightmare stairs.

"Monster!" Panda cried, and threw his arms around the beast, who flailed and hissed at the unexpected embrace. The Monster slipped out of his grasp and fled to a far corner, wild-eyed and heaving. The teddy bear slipped from the ribbon and fell to the floor.

"Who are you," The Monster said, baring fangs, "Who calls upon a wretched creature such as I."

Gently, Panda picked up the teddy bear and tilted his head. "You... You kept me," he said softly. He hugged his old body close. "You do care."

A low, beastly rumble from the back of the beast's throat. The Monster slowly lowered his shoulders, anger and fear replaced by curiosity. "...Panda?" he asked, uncertain, "Is that you?"

"Yes, Monster. I explained isekais to you, right?" Panda explained. "Death in an old world, and rebirth in a new one!"

"But you died in the new world," The Monster said. "Are you trapped here?"

Panda shook his head. "I don't know. What's important is getting the boy to safety. We'll figure the rest out later."

A child goes missing late one night after investigating a light emanating from their closet. The Child's teddy bear and the monster that lives under the bed must put aside their differences and form a truce in order to rescue the child.