#( am i using that word correctly? the world may never know

[j2hoes]

All Your Fault (Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader)

Word Count: 12.5K

Summary: In no world could Y/N like Steve Harrington, that's what she kept telling herself despite everybody's insistence that he was a good guy. They couldn't possibly be right, could they?

Warnings - Mature Language, Suicide, Mentions Of Sex, Death, Injuries, Bullying, Drug Use

A/N: This is my longest fic yet and of course it's for the one and only Steve Harrington! Just wanted to say that I know this doesn't follow the exact plot and I have changed some things so it fits in with the storyline. Also I am not condoning bullying in any way, shape or form!! Not proofread so forgive me.

“Hey, dingus, we need a ride!”

My bedroom door swings open, just about slamming against the wall before the irritating voice of my younger brother reverberates throughout my bedroom. Startled by the noise, my head snaps in Dustin’s direction. Not expecting to see his little group of friends in tow or for them to be in the company of Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley. Who I know them to spend a lot of time with nowadays despite my incessant complaints about Harrington being quite possibly the worst person on planet.

“Dude! Knock much?” I groan, swiftly closing the notebook that I had previously been writing in, in order to avoid any wandering eyes. “I was in the middle of something!”

“What? Making out with your stuffed toys?” Dustin jokes, resulting in a few snickers from his friends and a roll of their eyes from the older teens.

“I’d be happy to make out with you.” Mike comments, my brother throwing a small tap to the back of his head in disapproval.

“Ew gross. Get out of my bedroom you little perverts!” 

“Listen dickhead, mom and dad have gone to the movies and if I’m remembering correctly they said you have to drive me places when they’re not here. So, we’ll be taking that ride now please.” 

“Fuck’s sake.” I grumble, combing my fingers through my hair in annoyance. “Doesn’t your new best friend Steve drive?”

My voice is laced with malice, eyes fixated on the older boy with a glare, eyebrows raised as I await his response. Not that I needed any confirmation, everybody in Hawkins knows that Steve drives. God, he never shuts up about his deep red BMW, it’s one of his more insufferable qualities.

“Yeah, my car is kind of in the garage right now. It’s gonna be out of action for a while.” He admits, cheeks flushing a soft scarlet indicating his embarrassment. 

“So that makes you our designated driver.” Dustin tells me, a smug look on his face as he knows that I have no option but to accept defeat. “Plus, your truck is a lot bigger than Steve’s car. You won’t even have to speak to us because we’ll sit in the bed!”

“Fine! But I am not giving you a ride home because I’ve got a shift at the roller rink tonight and I cannot afford to take another night off!” I state, reluctantly grabbing my keys and throwing my fur coat over my shoulders.

Making my way towards the group, they’re quick to make their way down the staircase, scurrying out the front door as though afraid I may change my mind at any given second. I take my time locking up the house, wanting to delay the inevitability of having Steve Harrington in my truck for as long as I physically can. Sure, it’s annoying having to cart my brother and his friends around the town of Hawkins at their will, but the kids, I can deal with. One of my childhood bullies, not so much. 

Strolling over to the garage, it’s hard to miss the way Steve and Robin stand close to one another, giggling like school girl’s at whatever they were discussing. With furrowed brows, I can’t help but wonder when they became friends. Not only is Robin a year younger than Steve and I, but she’s also the complete opposite of Steve’s normal company. After all, he is friends with cheerleaders and jocks, Buckley is in the school band and spends most of her free time studying other languages. There is no world in which they could possibly be friends and yet here they are.

“Steve and Robin are gonna ride up front with you.” Dustin speaks, clambering into the bed of the truck with very little grace.

“What? No, you can all get in the back!” I argue, offering Max a hand as she struggles to pull herself up.

“Sorry but eight of us back here is too much of a squeeze, guess you’ll just have to make do.” Lucas remarks, arguing my brother’s case for him, forcing me to plaster on a fake smile as if I couldn’t be happier.

“Okay. Let’s just hope I don’t crash on the way, I’d hate to see a six body pile up on the side of the road.” My tone is ominous and I catch the slight gleam of fear in each and every one of the kid’s eyes. “Where am I taking you assholes?”

“Starcourt please Y/N.” Max hastily replies, hand clutching the side of the truck so tight her knuckles are turning white and I smirk to myself as I close the tailgate, pleased I have managed to instill a sense of panic in the usually overly confident group.

Hopping up into the driver’s seat, I’m about to turn on the ignition when out of the corner of my eye, I register that Steve has taken it upon himself to choose the middle seat. Situating himself comfortably between Robin and I.

“Uh no. Not happening. You two need to switch sides.” 

“What why?” Steve questions and I could be wrong but I’m almost positive there is a twinge of hurt in his tone.

“Because I don’t mind Robin.” I smile sweetly at the girl, before replacing it with a scowl as my eyes lay on the chestnut haired doofus. “You, on the other hand, I’d rather take a knife to the eye, than sit besides you.”

As much as it feels like a punch to the gut when I spot the pained expression wash over Harrington’s face, it is completely overshadowed by the sense of pride that I feel at being able to make him feel small, the same way him and his posse of imbeciles did to me for years. I know, deep down, that I should be the bigger person, that just because he treated me poorly throughout our school years that I shouldn’t do the same to him. Yet, I’m resentful. I’m resentful and having accepted the cruelty of this world, I’m also bitter. No longer the sweet and optimistic young girl that I once was.

“Yeah, I actually can’t take the middle seat.” Robin confesses, an awkward smile resting on her face. “I get real bad claustrophobia.” 

With an exasperated huff, I focus my eyes on the road as we begin the drive, doing my best to ignore the passenger sitting beside me. Even if I am trying to distract myself, I’m unable to hide my annoyance, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard, I’m afraid it may shatter beneath me.

Fortunately it’s only a short ten minute drive to the Starcourt Mall, as long as traffic is in my favor, I should even shave off a couple of minutes. Though the silence within the small space is deafening, frustrating me even more. Before I can stop myself, I’m reaching over to turn on the radio, hoping the joyful melodies of Joe Jackson’s Steppin’ Out will boost my mood before my shift.

Unluckily for me, as I reach to grab the steering wheel once again, my hand lightly brushes over Steve’s hand, causing me to flinch away with such force it feels as though I have been electrocuted. 

“Sorry.” Steve mumbles, tucking his hands away into his pockets to avoid any more uncomfortable interactions.

“So, I’m sensing a teeny bit of tension here.” Robin comments, stating the obvious.

“Yeah, no shit Robin.” I snap, feeling my entire body go stiff at her teasing.

Glancing over at the two teens, I take note of the way Robin slumps down into the seat at my words. Folding her arms over her chest as if she’s a child that has just been scolded by their parents. 

“Why are the kids so desperate to go to Starcourt anyway?” I ask, not directing the question at either of them in particular in an attempt to change the subject, feeling slightly guilty at my previous outburst.

“Oh um, we’re meeting Eddie, just thought it’d be nice to take that bunch of losers out for the day you know. Nancy and Jonathan might even be joining us later too!” Robin explains, smiling to herself as she peers out the back window to make sure the kids are doing fine.

“Besides, they deserves a break with everything that’s been-”

“What Steve means to say is that they’ve had a lot on at the moment, what with school. We think they’re getting a little stressed.” Robin interrupts, doing her best to subtly elbow Steve’s stomach, though I’m able to spot it, mostly because his body jerks into mine as she does so.

“Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?” I ask, slyly peering over at them from the corner of my mouth.

“Nope, we’re not hiding anything.” Robin asserts, turning away from me to gaze out of the window.

“Yeah, nothing to tell. Definitely nothing going on.” Steve agrees, the haste in which they both answered only raising my suspicions.

Before I can question them even further, I realize I’m pulling into the Starcourt parking lot. Quickly finding a space and turning off the ignition, I don’t give the duo any time to get out of the car before I’m turning the child lock on, forcing them to remain in the vehicle with me.

“I swear to God, if my baby brother is in any sort of trouble and you haven’t told me, I’ll kill the pair of you, okay?” I ask, both of them nodding their heads furiously at my threat and leaping out of the passenger door the moment that I unlock it.

Rolling down my window, I can hear the kids hopping over the side of the truck, eagerly chattering amongst themselves at the plans they have made for the day. Tiny smile forming on my face as I light a cigarette, watching Dustin jokingly fight with Steve. The interaction holds no maliciousness, I can see no sign of the older boy deliberately trying to hurt him and for a split second I find myself questioning whether it could be possible that the great King Steve has changed in his ways. However, I’m quick to shake that thought away.

“Do my eyes deceive me or is that Y/N Henderson?” Eddie Munson’s voice calls from a mere few feet away.

“Oh shit.” I whisper, taking a long drag of my cigarette before jumping out of the truck and resting my back against the door, waiting for him to approach.

It’s safe to say Eddie and I have a complicated relationship. What started out as him simply being nothing more than my dealer, blossomed into a somewhat beautiful friendship. Considering we’re an unlikely duo, we have a lot in common. Sharing similar taste in films, books and sense of humor.

I suppose it was inevitable that we’d end up sleeping together. Fuelled by our drug induced state, we shared a very hot and very exciting night of passion together. Following with me sneaking out of his trailer first thing the next morning after I had slowly come to my senses and discerned that our relationship should remain just friends. Not wanting to pursue anything at this moment in time.

“Hey Eddie, it’s been a while.” I comment, flicking the ash from my cigarette onto the ground as he places an arm beside my head, caging me between his body and the truck.

“I never heard from you.” He speaks quietly, doing his best to avoid the attention of the group standing not too far from us.

“I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot going on.” I mumble, looking anywhere but the boy in front of me.

As my gaze finds the group, my eyes instantly fall upon Steve Harrington. He’s speaking to Max, clearly in some sort of debate with her that looks like it may be about to explode into a full blown argument, yet his attention is solely focused on me. Observing the close proximity between me and the metalhead. His eyes falling to my lips as I allow the smoke to exhale from my mouth.

“You know, you could at least look at me when I’m talking to you.” Eddie chuckles, attempting to hide the hurt undertone in his voice, head rotating to follow the direction of my eyeline.

“Sorry, I just don’t get what Harrington’s problem is. He’s been staring over here this entire time.” I tell him, finally staring up at the tall boy.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asks, teasing smile resting upon his lips. I shake my head slowly, dropping the cigarette to the ground. “He thinks you’re hot.”

My hands slap against his chest instinctively, the idea being completely and utterly absurd to me that I have to laugh. 

“I’m serious! Look at you, you’re a fucking smoke show.” Eddie asserts, pushing his argument even more as he sneaks another glance over to the topic of our conversation. “Want me to prove it?”

The idea of Steve Harrington finding me even remotely attractive is so far off the table that I find myself entertained by the idea of proving Eddie wrong. I’m sure he’s simply intrigued by the idea of me and the freak being friends, nothing more. 

With a small nod, Eddie’s hands drop to my waist, touch as light as a feather to not push any boundaries that I may not be comfortable with. Playing along with his antics, I take the lapels of his leather jacket in my hands, pulling his body impossibly closer to mine. The hard expression on Steve’s face is difficult to miss as Eddie’s head rests in the crook of my neck, peppering gentle kisses along the base.

“Ew Eddie, come on man!  That’s my sister!” Dustin’s whines pull us back to reality and Eddie takes a dramatic step away from me to please the curly haired young boy.

Although we now stand with plenty of space between the two of us, Harrington’s face remains in the same cold expression as before. Jaw clenched tightly as his eyes flick between Eddie and I. Leaving me more confused than ever at what his problem is.

“Alright, see you later kids.” I shout, climbing back into my truck and leaving them in the capable hands of their babysitters. “Don’t be causing any trouble!”

***

Steve could think of nothing other than the mean girl that had reluctantly drove them to the mall. It didn’t matter how many stores they went in, or arcade games they played, he just couldn’t get her off his mind. Wondering why she had such a huge vendetta against him. What could he possibly have done to this girl, that he is almost certain he has never met before, to cause her to act in such an unpleasant way towards him.

He knew he hadn’t been the nicest of guys throughout high school, caring more about his popularity and how his friends perceived him than being a decent person. However, he was sure he’d remember if he had been rude to her. He was sure he wouldn’t have been rude to a girl like her. Hell, he was wondering why he hadn’t pursued her sooner. Her beauty indescribable and more radiant than any other girl he had seen before.

“Steve, what’s going on? I’m regretting picking you to be on my team!” Dustin exclaims, frustrated at the loss of yet another game due to Steve’s lack of focus.

“That was your sister?” He asks in disbelief, still completely overwhelmed by the limited interaction they had shared hours prior.

“Yeah, she’s a full on bitch right?” Dustin comments, unaware of his friend’s infatuation.

“Has she always been that unkind?” Steve asks, causing Dustin to look up at him with a questioning glint in his eye.

“Oh you got to face her wrath did you?” The younger boy laughs, amused at the thought of his normally cool and charming friend being bitched out by his older sister. “Yeah, she still hates you dude, never shuts up about you actually.”

“Wait, she talks about me?” His tone is hopeful, feeling pleased to know that he’s on her mind. I mean, that’s got to be a good sign, right?

“Calm down loverboy. It’s not a good thing.” Dustin smirks, though when he sees the downcast look on his friend's face, he can’t but sigh, patting him on the shoulder lightly. “Look, I think you’re cool, smart, charming, and some would say classically handsome but my sister usually refers to you as a no good, shit for brains, wank stain. Amongst other things, that’s usually her preferred term.”

Steve sighs at his words, combing his fingers through his hair awkwardly as he comes to terms with the fact that he quite possibly has a zero percent chance of becoming romantically involved with the intriguing girl. He knew that since leaving high school his luck with the ladies had severely dwindled, struggling to maintain a relationship that didn’t solely focus on sex, and yet, his heart sank a little lower knowing that the one girl that had truly piqued his interest was the one girl he would never stand a chance with.

Dustin, on the other hand, took pity on the boy he looked up to. Despite the countless tales of torture and misery that he knew Steve had put his sister through during their school years, he knew that the boy had changed. Sure, he’d felt sympathy towards Steve when he ended up working at Scoops Ahoy following his graduation, knowing how much it took a hit to his ego that he’d lost his King Steve title and was now serving children scoops of ice cream every passing day. However, he knew that the shitty job was a good thing for his friend, alongside his role as the unofficial group babysitter and assisting in their pursuit to save Hawkins, Dustin knew deep down that taking such a low blow was Steve’s saving grace. Reminding him that he wasn’t in fact above everybody else and truly changing him for the better. The young boy had seen it, but he also couldn’t blame his sister for being blind to it.

“Look Steve, I know that you’re a good person and I know that you’ve changed but you put Y/N through hell. She struggled a lot at the hands of you and your friends and I know she’d kill me for telling you this but she’s been in therapy since she was fourteen years old because of what you guys did to her. We were really worried about her actually.” Dustin admits, Steve’s breath catching in his throat as he hears the shakiness in the boy’s voice. “My parents still are. She didn’t even bother applying to college, and now she spends most of her time hiding herself away in her room or getting high with Eddie.”

“Dustin I’m so sorry, I don’t even remember her.” Steve states, struggling to get over the sinking feeling in his stomach that seems to be consuming him.

“Of course you don’t remember her, you only thought about yourself and your stupid friends back then.” Those words hit Steve like a ton of bricks, never had anybody truly called him out on his former behavior, not to this extent anyway. “Look, you just need to show her you’re a good guy, I’m not gonna say it’ll be easy because if I know Y/N, then I know she can be a cruel, heartless bitch, but I also know that she has a good heart and as long as you can prove to her that you’re sorry and that you’ve changed then she’ll come around. Maybe just wait until after we’ve destroyed the Mind Flayer.”

***

Monday nights at the roller rink are always notoriously quiet, only a couple of people passing through our doors for the majority of the night. I’ve argued with my manager on numerous occasions, pleading with him to change our closing time from eleven to nine, but to no avail, I fail every single time. As a punishment for doing so, I’m placed on almost every monday night shift alone, which wouldn’t be too bad, had I something to do. Instead I stand at the counter, lazily snacking on some popcorn that I most definitely didn’t pay for, awaiting any customers that may wander into the building.

Hearing the large doors squeak open, I immediately straighten my posture, my best winning smile slapped on my face as I prepare to serve the group that just strolled through the doors. That is until I see the group just so happens to be the same group that I dropped off at the mall earlier in the day. Smile dropping from my face almost instantly.

“What do you want?” 

“Don’t you mean, welcome to Paradise Skate World, how can I be of assistance?” Eddie jokes, leaning against the countertop.

“No, I mean what do you want?”

Wasting no time, the group excitedly shout their shoe sizes at me, a flurry of words and numbers that I struggle to understand. After swapping a few pairs multiple times, I finally manage to line nine pairs of rollerskates along the countertop, the kids frantically grabbing at them and discarding their personal shoes all over the floor. Not caring to use the cubby holes provided.

“That’ll be twenty seven dollars please.” My voice is monotonous, not caring to be pleasant with them, not that they seem to care.

Steve doesn’t speak as he hands over thirty dollars, mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’ as I hand him his change. He sits beside Robin on one of the dirty old benches, helping her to lace up the boots before slowly escorting her over to the rink where she is left in the capable hands of the younger teens. Who, for whatever reason, all seem to be incredibly confident on eight wheels.

Having lost sight of Steve as my attention was fixed on the kids gleefully skating around the rink, I round the counter preparing to pick up all of their discarded shoes, only to see the boy already on the floor matching pairs of shoes together.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I tell him, joining him on the carpet to gather together the rest of the shoes.

If I didn’t dislike him so much, I’d think his actions were sweet. Paying for the entire group and cleaning up after them, he’s a customer service worker's dream, yet I still can’t help but feel resentful. Why couldn’t he have been like this in high school?

“I know, but those guys make so much mess that it’s not fair to leave it all for you to clean up.” Steve comments, placing the last pair of shoes in one of the cubby holes. He rises to his feet slowly before offering his hand to help me up. However, I choose not to accept his help, rising to my feet without his assistance.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

He smiles softly at me, returning to the bench to remove his own shoes and placing the rollerskates on. When he rises from the bench, I can’t help but giggle at the shakiness in his legs, standing like a baby deer, he just about makes it to the countertop before needing to grab hold of it in order to keep himself upright. Resulting in a loud laugh from me, finding much amusement in the situation.

“Need some help Harrington?” I ask through my roars of laughter, having to cover my mouth to keep my volume down as he looks at me with sheer panic in his eyes.

“You sure you don’t wanna just stand there and laugh at me in my time of need?” He questions, flashing a cheesy smile my way to ensure I know that he is joking.

With a small sigh, I make my way over to him, taking his hands in mine, forcing him to let go of the countertop that he was clutching onto. 

“I may not like you Steve Harrington, but I’m not gonna let you fall on your ass like an idiot, not with the kids watching.” I state, walking backwards at a snail’s pace to allow him to find his feet. “Besides, it’s company policy to offer a hand when needed.”

Steve laughs at my words, a deep chuckle that causes my mouth to quirk upwards. Am I actually smiling in the presence of Steve Harrington? Shaking my head, I rid myself of the contentment on my face. 

“I’m going to embarrass myself aren’t I?” He asks, staring over my shoulder towards the rink with worry. “I don’t know why they thought this was a good idea, I’ve never skated in my life.”

“That’s probably exactly why they wanted to come here. They get to embarrass you and they also get to annoy the fuck out of me at the same time.” 

“I’ll try my best to keep them from annoying you, it’s the least I can do after ruining your peaceful evening.” His voice is soft, and I find myself unable to look away from his face.

It comes as no shock that the boy is attractive, he had girls falling over their feet for him since the moment he hit puberty. I’d never understood the obsession with King Steve, though I suppose I’d never been this close to him before. Never able to see how boyishly handsome he was. 

Chestnut brown hair that falls lazily over his forehead, coffee coloured eyes that hold a deep softness and a cheeky twinkle. His nose falls in a perfect slope, lips plump in a gorgeous salmon color with a sprinkling of light freckles scattered across his face. He truly is the epitome of beauty, it’s just such a shame that his personality is completely lacking.

I’m snapped out of my trance when I feel the hardwood of the rink beneath my feet, hesitantly letting go of Steve’s hands as he pushes himself forward ever so slowly. Testing the waters as to how far he can go without falling flat on his face.

“Well you did it. Now you just have to show that pack of dickheads that their ploy to embarrass you isn’t going to work.” 

He smiles at my comment, opening his mouth to say something in return, however, I spin myself around and hastily walk back to my position at the counter before he can say anything. Muttering a small ‘have fun’ as I do so. Not wanting to be entranced by him further and not wanting to forget about all the shit he put me through just because we had a fairly nice interaction for all of ten minutes.

In an effort to distract myself, I busy myself with cleaning any and every surface behind the counter. Very unusual behavior for me, but at this point, I would do anything to get the thought of Steve possibly being a good person out of my mind. Even if I have to spend my time cleaning to do so. Though, I guess anything is better than gazing longingly over at the boy in the rink and trying to ignore the racing of my heart.

“You know, I used to think Steve was a bad guy too.”

Robin’s voice startles me as I don’t notice her standing by the counter, she’s smirking playfully at me. 

“How the fuck are you and him friends? I mean, no offense but you’re exactly the type of person whose life he would’ve ruined in high school.” I don’t mean to come across as rude but my tone definitely says otherwise, Robin raising her eyebrows at my statement, clearly taking offense.

“Steve has a good heart, he’s doing his best. I know it’s not my place to say anything and I have no idea what went down between the two of you but what I do know is that if he can reconcile with Nancy, Jonathan and Eddie then perhaps that’s a sign you should give him a chance.” Robin remarks and against my best judgment, my eyes instantly find him out on the floor of the rink. Max and El hold his hands as they drag him around, all proudly displaying their delight.

“He did a lot of fucked up shit to me Robs.” I sigh, knowing that no matter how much I want to forgive him, I’ll most likely take my hatred to the grave. “They all did.”

The girl follows my lead and releases her own sigh, reaching across the countertop to take my hands in her’s. Thumbs gently stroking the backs of my palms.

“I know, I’m not going to excuse his behavior. He was a complete asshole, even when I first met him, I thought he was an asshole but he proved me wrong. Trust me, I never thought I’d be over here vouching for Steve Harrington of all people.” Robin’s gaze never leaves mine as she speaks, asserting just how much she truly means the words she’s saying. “Just maybe try to let go of that grudge you’re holding, I reckon you two would actually make pretty good friends.”

***

Regardless of how much I tossed and turned, Robin’s words kept me awake for hours. Unable to sleep and with no sign of tiring myself out anytime soon, I decided to do the next best thing. Hence why I am now sitting on one of the many docks stretching out into the depths of Lovers Lake. Joint in hand as I try to process all the emotions I had managed to bury deep within me for so long.

The joint does nothing to soothe my shaking body, though I’m unsure of whether it’s from the frosty fall air or the recent events that seem to have dredged up everything in my past that I had tried to forget, either way, I wrap my fur coat tighter around myself as a weak attempt to ease the shaking. God, if only Dustin hadn’t gone and befriended the one person that caused me so much pain.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize anybody would be here.” The voice from behind catches me by surprise, not expecting anybody else to be down here at two am. Glancing over my shoulder, I can’t help but laugh at the world’s cruel sense of humor as the person racing through my mind stands only mere feet away. “Wait, are you crying?”

Raising a trembling hand to my face, I feel the dampness of my cheeks, clearly too high to discern that I had in fact been crying. The fact causing me to laugh once more and Steve’s face floods with one of worry, hesitantly trudging towards me and taking a seat beside me, swinging his feet over the side of the dock in the same manner as mine.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, genuinely seeming to care about the reason for my tears, tone soft with no evidence of an ulterior motive.

“No.” I admit, offering him a weak smile whilst quickly wiping the tears away that roll down my face. “No, I’m not okay and I haven’t been for such a long time and I don’t even know why I’m telling you this because it’s all your fault.”

Steve’s mouth opens to speak and yet no words come out. Guilt scrawled across his face as he attempts to come up with the words to comfort me. Once again, I can’t help but laugh at the humorous nature of the situation. I’ve never opened up to anybody about how I’m truly feeling, hell, even my therapist doesn’t know the half of it but who feels comfortable enough to voice their darkest thoughts to a complete stranger in a very clinical setting? I’m going to blame the joint for my willingness to open up to the one person who I’d rather never speak to again.

“It’s probably really shitty of me and you probably don’t want to hear it but I am so sorry Y/N. Truly, I can’t even begin to describe how sorry I am.” Steve tells me, voice shaking and almost catching in his throat, however, he never once looks away from me. Forcing himself to own up to what he did. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Taking a drag of the joint, we remain in silence for a few moments, the only sounds to be heard are that of my repeated sniffles. It’s almost comforting in a way that the boy doesn’t speak, not rushing me nor pressuring me to accept his apology. 

“It’s funny you know, I thought I would’ve moved on from it by now. I thought that as soon as I graduated I would’ve been able to forget everything that you and your friends did to me and leave it all in the past.” I state, not even knowing where to start. I never expected to be in this position, never thought I’d get the chance to confront the monsters from my childhood but as he sits before me, he doesn’t seem to be much of a monster. “You and Carol and Tommy, you guys destroyed me. You hated me so much that I began to hate myself and I’ve never recovered from that.”

Steve lets out a sharp exhale, causing me to look over at him and what I see shocks me deeply. Although he’s trying his best to hide it, I don’t miss the tears that fall slowly down his cheeks. Guilt consuming him as he comes to terms with his actions and the direct consequences they had as a result.

“I almost killed myself, Steve.”

My words hit him like a knife to the chest and his head is snapping to face me so fast, I fear he may have given himself whiplash. Mouth slightly open in shock as he processes what I just confessed.

“You, you wh-”

“You’re not to blame for that. I could never blame you for that.” I whisper, feeling lighter as I open myself up more and more for the very first time.

“How, how did-” Steve stops himself before he speaks, this time it’s him that’s wiping away tears. “What happened?”

I know Steve is questioning whether it’s appropriate to ask. Unsure of whether I’m willing to talk about the most traumatic most of my life thus far, especially with him. With nerves coursing through my veins, I shakily offer him the joint, he accepts with a small smile, slowly taking a long drag, allowing the weed to flood through his body.

“Junior year. I think I’d been planning it for a while, or at least thinking about it. That day, I think you must’ve been at a basketball game or something, Carol and Tommy they-” I sob hysterically, feeling so much shame as I explain everything to him. “They cornered me in an alley as I was walking home. It was just the usual insults, but when I didn’t react they got angry. I don’t really remember it all, I think I’ve tried to black it out but I woke up unconscious in that alley, and I just remember feeling so at peace when I laid there.

So I went home, ran straight up to my room because I didn’t want anybody to see me. As soon as I looked in the mirror, I just felt disgusting. My eye was all swollen and my face was just covered in bruises and scratches. Not that I felt beautiful before, but I felt hideous. 

I’d been hoarding my pills for weeks at that point and I just began to take them. Handfuls at a time, I think I got about halfway through my stockpile before my mom walked in. She was screaming and crying and I couldn’t do anything, I just passed out.”

“Fuck.” Steve whispers, trying to suppress his own sniffles.

“I was in the hospital for about a week, apparently they pumped my stomach and I only have very minor damage to my internal organs. I had to practically beg them not to take me to the psych ward though.” I chuckle at the memory, pleading with the doctors that I was fine and it was all just a mistake, even though that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“I had no idea that Carol and Tommy did that to you.” Steve admits, dropping the joint into the lake as he clenches his fists tightly at the thought of what took place in that alleyway. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, I could spend my life apologizing to you and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

I’ve never seen Steve so emotional before, candidly breaking down in the most vulnerable way as he allows his sobs to be released. Face flushed scarlet and throat raw from how much he is wailing. I thought I would feel better if I made him feel the same as he made me feel. If I made him cry so hard that he thought he would never feel happiness again. However, seeing him in this state doesn’t even make me the tiniest bit happier. It doesn’t bring me an ounce of joy to see the boy this way no matter how much I thought I would.

In all honesty, it hurts more so knowing that my words are the cause of the pain and turmoil that Steve is in right now. As much as I had built up such a cold and callous exterior trying desperately to protect myself from the harshness of this world, I know deep down that internally, I’m nothing like I portray myself to be.

Once he gains his composure, Steve manages to speak through deep breaths, “Do you know what’s funny?”

His question throws me off guard, tilting my head and raising a brow, alerting him of my piqued interest.

“I’ve also tried to block out most of high school. I didn’t even recognise you today and couldn’t understand why you were acting the way you were. Which I now realize makes me sound like even more of a dickhead.” He laughs quietly, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck to relieve the tension within him. “As soon as I got home, I spent hours, staring at your pictures in the yearbook, remembering everything that we put you through. I’ve never felt more guilty about something in my life and I felt disgusted with myself that I would treat such a beautiful person as though they were anything but.”

“You’re just saying that.” I retort, not wanting to believe that he would spend so long staring at the photos of me that I hated so much. Not only that but not wanting to believe he could find such photos of me to be beautiful.

“I mean it! I was a stupid, pathetic little boy that just wanted to prove myself to the people that I thought were cool. I never thought about the effect my actions were having on people and now that high school’s over, none of that popularity shit matters.” He states, wishing that he could take back all of the cruel things he did to his peers. “None of it matters. I’m a fucking loser now. I work at an ice cream store in the mall where I have to wear a stupid sailor’s outfit, I have no college prospects, no girlfriend and I hang out with a bunch of sixteen year olds in my spare time. All that high school shit, it means nothing now.”

“You’re not a loser Steve Harrington.” I giggle, nudging his shoulder gently with my own. “You’ve just made some very poor decisions that are now biting you on the ass.”

“Hey, why aren’t you at college? If the yearbook is anything to go by you were one of the smartest people in our grade.”

I try not to feel upset by the boy’s question, knowing he means no harm. However, I also know that as much as Steve has made poor decisions, so have I. Decisions that directly affected my path to college and resulted in me working at the roller rink.

“Didn’t study those yearbooks well enough clearly.” I joke, believing that if I’m able to laugh about my situation then perhaps I won’t burst into tears yet again. “Last year I kind of gave up with school. After what happened junior year, I just didn’t see the point in trying anymore. Started skipping classes and when I was there I was too high to learn anything. My grades dropped and so did my chances at college.”

“I really fucked things up for you didn’t I?” Steve asks, tone suggesting it’s more of a statement rather than I question.

“The roller rink isn’t so bad, I mean I get to skate for free and the pay is pretty good.” 

I can tell he doesn’t quite believe me, he knows I’m bothered about not going to college, despite this, he doesn’t push me. Doesn’t force me to admit the truth. For that, I’m thankful.

Casting my gaze over the lake, the first light of the sun shines bright through the treeline. A warm amber glow, illuminating the still water beneath my feet. Birds wake from their slumber and their faint chirps echo across the lake. There’s something so peaceful within this moment and for the first time in years I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my chest. One that I was unaware had been weighing me down.

“I should probably be getting home before my parents wake up. Really don’t need to be giving my parents another reason to worry about me.” I state, steadily rising to my feet, the warmth instantly escaping my body as the sharp breeze nips at the full length of my body.

“Yeah, I should get back too, I should at least try to get some sleep before work.” Steve comments, walking in step with me along the dock.

We walk in silence, the sound of the dark oak creaking beneath our feet. A solemn cloud follows us as we head back to reality, most likely never to speak of this night again. Neither one of us wanting to reflect on the distress we shared at Lovers Lake.

“I think maybe people are right about you.” I declare upon reaching my truck, much to the shock of the boy standing opposite.

“What?” He asks, in disbelief at the confession I had just made.

“I think that maybe you are a good guy.” 

***

“Have you taken your pills today?” My mom checks, shaking the little orange pill bottle on my desk as though she can feel if it is lighter than yesterday.

“Of course I have.” I mumble, dragging my hands across my face, exhausted from the late night I had endured.

“I’m only checking sweetheart, you know I worry about you.” She wraps her arms around me from behind as she speaks, squeezing me tightly, more so for her own comfort rather than mine. “Now, your dad and I are leaving town for a few nights. He has a meeting up in Indianapolis, but if you don’t feel like you’re well enough to stay here alone with Dusty then I am more than happy to stay behind.”

“Mom, I’ll be fine, honestly.” I whine, feeling guilty that she dwells on my wellbeing so much. “I promise.”

I love my parents. I really and truly do, more than anything on this earth. Nevertheless our relationship has been somewhat strained since the events of sophomore year. My mom treats me like I’m made of glass, one wrong move and I’ll shatter into one million tiny pieces. My dad is arguably even worse, refusing to even acknowledge what took place nor speaking on the topic of my mental stability. Dustin tries his hardest to make things feel normal, but there’s only so much a sixteen year old can do to try and hold their family in place.

Not only do I feel guilty about the way I make my parents stress about me, but I also feel guilty for the way this has affected Dustin. Our parents are often so preoccupied with ensuring that I’m well and doing fine, that they often forget about their other child. Sometimes, it feels as if I’m the only person that notices Dustin’s presence. Or lack thereof, what with him spending more and more time with his friends and Steve. Frequently returning home stressed, anxious or just generally in a bad mood and in all honesty his behavior has started to concern me. Though it appears that I may have been the only one to notice.

“I need a ride to Starcourt.” As if on cue, Dustin’s head pops around my bedroom door, demanding yet another ride.

“Your manners really could use some work kid.” I tell him, to which he shrugs and I find myself grabbing my keys with less reluctance than I had the previous day.

The drive to the mall passes by a lot faster than it had on the uncomfortable journey the day before. Filled with Dustin singing at the top of his lungs to whatever cheesy pop song was playing on the radio and me secretly hoping deep down that I’ll catch a glimpse, or even better a chance to talk to Steve again. 

My former bully had somehow managed to penetrate my thoughts ever since we departed ways in the early hours of the morning. Consumed by the thoughts of where we go from here, was our emotional conversation reserved for that one night only or would we develop a casual friendship? As much as I was pretending like nothing had happened, I was itching to know how Steve was feeling.

Before I know it, I’m turning off the ignition and the boy in question is directly in my eyeline. Lazily smoking a cigarette against the side of the entrance to the mall. Presumably waiting for my little brother in order to escort him into Scoops Ahoy, so he is unable to cause any mischief on his way to the store.

Steve spots my truck almost instantly and I could be mistaken, but it certainly looks as though his eyes lock on mine straight away. I hardly register Dustin jumping out of the truck as Steve flicks the cigarette butt to the ground, strolling towards the truck and before I can stop myself I’m climbing out of my seat. Much to the surprise of my brother.

“Hi.” Steve mumbles nervously, a soft rose tint settling upon his cheeks.

“Hi.” I reply just as awkwardly, my face no doubt the same shade as his.

“Okay, this is weird. I’m just gonna-” Dustin uncomfortably points towards the main doors before hurrying off in that direction, eager to get away from whatever is happening between Steve and I.

“So about last night-”

“I want to forgive you.”

We both speak at the same time, sharing anxious smiles as neither of us dares to make the first move. Though after taking a deep breath, I find myself being the one to break the tension.

“I want to forgive you. I meant what I said, that I think you’re a good guy.” I state, timidly picking at my fingers as I try to look anywhere other than the dark haired boy. “I don’t think I’m fully there yet, I think I’ve still got some shit that I need to work through but I’d like to. You don’t deserve to be hated for the stuff you did as a kid, especially when I can see how hard you’re trying to be a better person.”

I’ve barely finished speaking when Steve’s arms are wrapped firmly around my shoulders, pulling me into a firm hug and for whatever strange reason, I hug him back. Cautiously sliding my arms around his toned waist and allowing my head to rest against his chest. Inhaling his scent deeply, an intense sandalwood with a hint of cigarette smoke and despite all of my logic within me screaming to snap out of it, I can’t resist his musk, finding myself strongly intoxicated by it.

“I swear you won’t regret it, I’m going to spend every day making it up to you for as long as I live.” Steve mutters into my hair, gently pulling away from me once he stops speaking.

“How about we start with a free ice cream and go from there?” I ask cheekily, causing him to beam cheerfully at me with a swift nod.

“I’m sure I can manage that.” He laughs, before we make our way into the mall, joining the group of kids inside Scoops Ahoy, much to Dustin’s disapproval at my presence.

Sliding into the booth besides Max, I’m acutely aware of the way the group huddles closer together, voices lowering to no louder than a whisper. Even Eddie Munson, who’s voice can usually be heard for miles, speaks in a hushed voice. 

Narrowing my eyes, I try to pick up any of the conversation, only able to hear certain words here and there. Their side of the table is scattered with papers and I’m able to make out what looks like a map of Starcourt. Although I am completely baffled, if not slightly annoyed at their secrecy, I can only assume that this has something to do with one of their Dungeons and Dragons campaigns.

“You and Harrington made up then?” Robin inquires when I join her at the counter, resting my elbows against the cool marble.

“Kind of. I don’t know, we talked for hours last night and as much as I want to hate him, I just can’t.”

Robin can sense how difficult it is for me to acknowledge my willingness to believe her friend has changed. She knows that it’ll be a long road going forward, and yet she’s unable to hide her pride. Not only at her friend for accepting the suffering he caused, but also at my openness to trust that somehow Steve isn’t such a bad guy.

“Yeah I’ve heard, he hasn’t been able to talk about anything else other than the heart to heart you two shared last night. I’m really proud of him, he’s come a long way.” Robin explains, busying herself with preparing a milkshake that she smoothly slides my way with a knowing wink. “Consider that on me, you deserve it, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to make my childhood bullies confront their own actions the same way you did. It took real guts.”

“As much as I would like to take credit, I think the weed was probably more to thank.” I disclose, taking a short sip of the strawberry treat in front of me. “I have a tendency to get real honest when I’m high.”

“Don’t I know it sweetheart.” Eddie chortles, dipping his finger into the cream atop my milkshake and licking it off dramatically.

“Ew get your own!” I groan, pulling the glass away from the metalhead as he tries to swipe some more cream.

“Where’s Harrington anyway? Those little dickheads are going over our game plan and apparently he is a pivotal part in their plan and is needed right away.” The boy asks Robin, eyes scanning the room as if Steve is hiding in one of the red leather booths.

“He’s in the back, apparently he wanted to make Y/N’s ice cream extra special.” Robin speaks, nodding her head towards the staff only door.

“What’s he gonna do? Jizz on it?” The moment the words leave his mouth, Robin and I are both groaning, disgusted by the question.

“Do you have to be so repulsive all of the time?” I ask, hearing the squeak of a door followed by rapid footsteps.

“I didn’t hear any complaints when my mouth was between your legs!”

“That’s because you can’t speak whilst you're down there!”

So caught up in our current argument, I fail to spot Steve uneasily standing at the other side of the counter. A large scoop of cherry ice cream sits in a tub before him, decorated elegantly with a large helping of sprinkles, pieces of chocolate and a singular maraschino cherry placed neatly on top.

“Is this a bad time?” He questions hesitantly, carefully observing Eddie and I, a twinge of what I can only perceive as jealousy flashes across his face. However, it disappears before I analyze it any further. 

“No, no. Not a bad time at all.” The words tumble out of my mouth with haste, Robin struggling to hide the amused expression on her face as she witnesses the tension between us.

“One scoop of cherry swirl, with all the toppings. On me, as promised.” He announces gleefully, pushing it towards me with a small plastic spoon, which I am more than happy to accept.

“Thank you.”

I delicately place the cherry between my lips, pulling it from the stem which I then twist between my fingers absentmindedly. Though, I feel the warmth rising to my cheeks as I catch sight of the three of them staring at me, eyes trained on my mouth.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone that can make eating fruit look so hot.” Eddie comments, pupils blown out causing me to grimace.

“Hey Steve! We need to go over the plan!” Lucas’ yell, alleviates the awkwardness of the current situation.

“Always the goddamn babysitter.” He mutters under his breath, offering me an apologetic glance before meandering over to the group of youths, Eddie Munson in tow.

“Now I don’t want to alarm you, especially not with how fresh your reconciliation with Steve is but I think he may have a teeny tiny crush on you.” Robin whispers, moving her head closer to mine in an effort to remain inconspicuous. 

“What? No, no, he’s just being nice is all.” I shut down her theory quickly, fixating my gaze on the melting ice cream so as not to reveal the bashfulness slapped across my face. “Anyway, what’s that all about? New campaign? I didn’t think D&D would be the sort of things you and Steve would be into.”

“I see what you’re doing and I’m just going to go along with it.” Robin says, referencing the fact that I am so obviously trying to change the subject. She turns away from, as she continues to speak, occupying herself with refilling the toppings station. “It’s just a stupid thing they’re planning, some big quest. Steve and I just kind of got roped into it I guess, but it’s not so bad.”

Her response is vague and leaves me with more questions than I previously had, not entirely believing that her and Steve could possibly be lame enough to enjoy the fictional realms of Dungeons and Dragons. I let it slide though, thankful that she didn’t push me to discuss the possibility of Steve Harrington liking me and so I return the favor. Accepting that there is a very probable, most likely embarrassing reason that they’re not telling me about their secret activities.

***

Most young people would kill for the opportunity to have an empty house. It’s the time to throw wild parties or hook up with a guy without having to sneak around or risk being caught by nose parents. Or even worse, younger siblings. Had I been a normal eighteen year old girl, there was no doubt in my mind that I would be doing exactly that.

Instead, I’m lounging on my bed, recapping the events of the past couple of days to my diary as I try to fill the deafening sound of silence with the beautiful vocals of Stevie Nicks. I’d never truly realized just how eerie and isolating our home could be without the usual noise of my family. No football game broadcast on the television, or the clattering of pots in the kitchen, not even the sound of Dustin screaming down his walkie talkie. It fills me with a sense of unease that I can’t seem to shake.

Just as I’m about to try and fill the void by running the bathtub to take a relaxing soak, I become distracted by the high pitched shrill of the phone on my bedside table. Curiosity engulfing me and I wonder who could be calling me at such a late hour. Better yet, who has got the phone number that is usually only reserved for Eddie or my parents.

“Y/N, I don’t have much time so you have to listen to me carefully!” Steve’s voice is full of panic as he hurriedly speaks down the line, my body instantly going stiff at the urgency of his tone. “I’m so sorry and I should’ve told you sooner but Dustin was adamant that he wanted to keep you out of it.”

“Out of what? What’s going on? Is Dustin okay?” 

“I can’t explain other the phone, you’d never believe me anyway, but we really need your help. Just get to the Starcourt as soon as you can, please. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.” Steve spits out, the uproar of what sounds like wind almost drowning him out. “And bring a weapon!”

With that, the line cuts off. I remain still, nostrils flared as my hands continue to hold on to the phone, knuckles white. My heart feels like it is about to burst violently out of my chest and I struggle to gain my composure with such short, rapid breaths.

“Okay, it’s gonna be okay. I’m sure it’s nothing, they probably just need a ride again.” I mumble to myself, grabbing my keys and racing down the stairs. “Yeah, that makes total sense, I mean a girl should always carry a weapon when alone at night.”

Hands trembling furiously, I stand opposite my dad’s rifle cabinet, staring at the gun through the sheer glass. Questioning whether I’m truly about to take his property. I’ve only shot a gun once, I was twelve and my dad took me hunting. It didn’t become a regular thing, my dad refusing to take me again after I burst into tears upon shooting a deer.

Despite the fear racing through my body, before I can even think about what I’m doing, I’m grabbing a vase off one of the shelves. Using all of my strength to smash it straight into the glass, thousands of miniscule shards flying everywhere. Flinching as it hits me with force, ripping open small wounds across the exposed skin of my face, neck and arms. Though I only really register the injuries on my hand, the flesh of my knuckles shredded brutally from where my hand made contact with the pane. Vase doing little to take the extent of the collision.

A shaky exhale escapes my throat, grabbing the rifle despite my second thoughts. Sticky, crimson liquid dripping against the heel of the gun, staining the burnt mahogany. 

“Sorry dad.” I speak quietly, frowning slightly upon seeing the mess of broken glass across the lounge.

In my hurry to leave, I don’t even bother to lock the doors of our house. Focusing on nothing other than getting to Starcourt as quickly as I physically can. Throwing the gun carelessly on my passenger seat, I’m in autopilot as I start the engine. My driving being much more reckless than usual, ignoring speed limits and stop signs in my race to get to the mall. 

The closer I get, the more I start to question what type of danger I am just about to get myself into. Sky above the large building an array of violet and sapphire amidst the dark black of the night. Wind whirling harshly around my truck, the closer I get. It feels reminiscent of a tornado, a ruthless storm that holds no mercy.

Arriving in the parking lot, I’m able to see a singular car parked by the entry doors. Nancy, Jonathan, Will and Lucas scurry around the vehicle, clearly in search of something and don’t seem to care at all about the volatile weather that Hawkins is experiencing.

“Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Dustin?” I shout, rifle in hand as I sprint towards the burgundy car. The group ignoring my arrival and instead climbing into the vehicle’s interior.

Squeezing myself in besides Will and Lucas, it’s only at that moment that they acknowledge me. Faces ranging from confusion, to shock, to anger. Not a single one of them displays any positive emotion at my being there.

“What are you doing here?” Jonathan asks, voice raised and tone harsh, wounding me more so than I thought possible.

“Where the fuck is Dustin?” I spit, solely caring about ensuring the safety of my baby brother. Knowing that if anything happened to him I would never forgive myself. “Where the fuck is my brother?”

‘I don’t know, okay Y/N. He’s with Erica!” Nancy yells, preoccupied with pulling open the glove compartment and rooting around urgently.

“Erica? Erica as in your ten year old sister?” I snap, attention diverted towards Lucas who stares at me with worry, afraid of how I am about to react. “What the actual fuck?”

“Look I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re kind of in the middle of something and you really shouldn’t be here.” Nancy tells me, finally turning herself to look at me from the passenger seat.

I’ve never seen her look so troubled, face free of makeup and stress lines prominent. She’s too young to look as agonized as she does, asserting to me that whatever is currently taking place is far beyond what I could have ever imagined. Far more threatening than anything I could dream up. 

“I think I’ve got it.” Jonathan announces, a chorus of relieved sighs escaping the group. 

“Get it started then.” Nancy pushes, watching anxiously as Jonathan begins to fiddle with the car wires, hands clammy from the stress of the current circumstances.

“Guys, we could have a problem.” Will mutters, eyes trained out of the window to the otherside of the parking lot.

A car sits ominously, headlights pointing directly towards us. Nancy and Jonathan both curse under their breath, and despite having no knowledge about what is taking place, even I can understand that this is clearly not a good sign. Even worse when the vehicle begins to drive slowly straight at us.

Unaware of my own actions and unable to stop myself, I’m rounding the car confidently. Standing right in the path of the oncoming vehicle, I raise the rifle, releasing the safety and pointing directly towards what I can assume is the driver’s seat. Struggling to see effectively against the bright beam of the headlights.

My move seems to threaten the driver, the car gaining speed and barrelling at us with no sign of stopping. Despite the fear that has overcome me since receiving Steve’s call, whilst standing in the path of immediate peril, I feel weirdly at ease. Unbothered by the potential risk of death that I am face to face with. 

“What are you doing?” I hear Nancy scream, her voice sounds as though it is miles away when I know in reality she is almost right behind me, tucked away inside the automobile.

Steadying my breath, I squint my eyes in an attempt to better my aim, before releasing the trigger. Having no time to think about the consequences of my actions nor the moral implications of shooting at a living being that formerly plagued my mind, releasing bullet after bullet as the driver steps on the gas. Accelerating at such an extreme pace that I can only fire so much before having to accept my twisted fate.

With the car only mere feet away, I drop the gun, fearing that no matter how well I shoot, there is no winning this fight. Grabbing my head, in a weak attempt to protect myself, I drop to the ground, eyes closed tightly as I prepare to face the impact. 

I’ve never been a religious person, but the only thoughts flying around my brain are prayers of protecting my family. Prayers of Dustin’s safety as he faces whatever is coming for him. Prayers that my passing is swift and painless. Prayers that this is all over quickly.

And yet, nothing comes. 

Warily, I open my eyes, removing my hands from my cautiously, only to see none other than Steve Harrington, reeling from the impact of smashing his car straight into the one headed my way. His eyes find mine and my heart stops, the look of sheer relief on his face is indescribable. 

Rising to my feet, Steve’s hurriedly climbing out of the vehicle and by my side in a second. Face bloodied and bruised, despite that, he’s solely focused on me, scanning over me intently, worriedly taking in all the minor wounds I obtained from shattering the rifle cabinet.

“What happened to your hand?” He’s asking breathlessly, my mind preoccupied with the knowledge that he just put himself in harm's way to save my life. 

I can’t find the words to say anything as I take in the sight of his swollen eye and the stains of dried blood coating the lower half of his face. My mouth opens to speak and no words seem to slip out, mesmerized by Steve’s beauty in spite of his unsightly injuries.

Blaming the adrenaline, I find myself throwing my arms around the boy’s neck, pulling him into me and squeezing tightly. His hands settle on my hips, touch firm, fearing that if he were to let go that I would simply disappear. Absentmindedly, my fingers delicately thread through the strands of dark hair at the nape of his neck. Needing to be close to him.

“You just saved my life.”

My voice is no louder than a whisper, breath hot against his neck as I nuzzle myself closer to him. Feeling safe and secure in his embrace. Desperately needing the comfort right now, even if it is coming from the most unexpected of places.

“Uh guys! We should be getting out of here! Like now!” I hear Robin shout, releasing myself from Steve’s hold to see that not only has Jonathan managed to get their car started but also that Billy Hargrove is now stumbling out of his vehicle and has his sights set on us once again.

Neither of us need to say a word, abandoning my truck in the Starcourt parking lot and speeding away from the mall and ultimately the danger that lies in wait there. 

***

The Battle of Starcourt resulted in the mall burning to the ground. Dustin and I reunited later that night at Steve’s house, the pair of them, alongside Robin, explained everything to me over a much needed pot of tea. El’s powers, demogorgons, Russian soldiers and the Mind Flayer. It was certainly a lot to take in and I could only apologize to my brother for not being there for him throughout all of this taking place. Wishing I could have helped him from the start.

It’s been a struggle adjusting to my daily life for the past couple of days. Dustin’s been staying at the Byers’ household, wanting the comfort of his friends and with a lack of parental presence in our home, the place feels cold. I can understand his decision completely, yet I can’t help but feel alone in such a big house.

I spend my nights awake, unable to sleep, and when I do manage to drift off, I’m plagued by nightmares of that car barreling towards me. My days aren’t any better. Alone with my thoughts at the roller rink, dreaming up all of the ways that the events of the night could have gone differently, most resulting in the deaths of either Dustin and I. And if I’m not at work, I lounge around my home, hopelessly trying to occupy my mind from the swirling images of Starcourt. 

Steve and I haven't spoke since that night, more so my fault than his. I’d closed myself off again, become a recluse and struggled to leave the house with the exception of work. I believed that my mind had been playing tricks on me that night when I found myself enamored by his beauty. Or that it was simply the adrenaline and the intensity of the circumstances that I needed his embrace. However, the more I think about it, the more I believe that it was a decision of the heart rather than caused by the stress of the night.

Standing outside the Harrington household, I wonder if I am making a huge mistake. I hadn’t intended to come here, only leaving my house to take a brisk walk and yet here I find myself, fist raised in preparation to knock. Though making no effort to do so. In all honesty, I think I just need to talk to somebody about what transpired and Steve is the only person that I can willingly open up to.

“Y/N?” The boy’s voice startles me, he’s standing in the doorway dressed in plaid pajama pants and a loose black sweater. The wounds on his face are still prominent, though evidently more healed than the last time I had seen him.

“I’m sorry, I was going for a walk but I guess I just instinctively came here. My house is too quiet and I just really need to talk to somebody.” I confess, staring down at my bandaged hand so as to not make eye contact with Steve.

“You walked here?” He’s shocked by my admission, not that I’m surprised. Living on the other side of town, the walk to his house is easily an hour long, if not more.

“Well my truck kind of went down with the mall.” I laugh softly, though it sounds more forced than I intended. 

“You should’ve called, I would’ve picked you up.” He tells me, voice gentle as he opens the door for me to enter his home, following me through to the lounge where we collapse onto the couch.

He has a small fire crackling away, the orange embers lighting up the room and subsequently offering a toastiness in comparison to the chilly night air.

“What’s going on? Are you?” There’s a tenderness to his voice, speaking to me the way you would speak to a timid animal so as not to frighten them. It’s sweet.

“Do you get nightmares from that night?” I ask shyly, not wanting him to view me as weak for struggling with the things that occurred.

Steve sighs, settling further into the couch as he takes his time figuring out how to say what he wants to get across. Part of him wanting to lie and pretend that everything is fine, the other part of him knowing that he should just be honest and recognize his feelings.

“Yeah.” Steve settles on the one word reply, deciding it may be the better option rather than confessing the truth as to what occurs in these nightmares.

“I haven’t been sleeping much, everytime I do, all I see is that car. Or Dustin’s lifeless body and it’s horrible. Waking up alone, hyperventilating, nobody there to tell me it’ll be okay. I don’t know how I can keep going like this.” I admit, daring to look at the boy and noticing the pained expression on his face.

“Can I be honest?” He whispers, words so quiet I almost don’t hear them. Nodding nervously, his eyes fall to his lap as he speaks. “Everytime I shut my eyes, I can only think about what would’ve happened had I not got to you in time.”

“But you did-”

“You would’ve died, you would’ve died and it would’ve been my fault because I was the one who asked you to come.” He’s crying as he talks, recounting that night and what could have been.

“Steve, you did save me. You’re the entire reason that I’m sitting here right here now. You’re a hero Steve Harrington.” I tell him, shuffling closer and taking his hands in mine. To which he brushes his fingers over my bandaged knuckles. “A very stupid, idiotic, reckless hero. But a hero nonetheless.”

“I would’ve never forgiven myself if I’d let you die. Fuck, I can’t even forgive myself for the way I treated you in school.” He states, gazing over my face and taking in the handful of miniscule cuts scattered across my cheeks from the shattering of the cabinet.

“Would it help if I told you that I forgive you?” I ask, soft smile settled upon my lips.

“Are you sure? I know I hurt you and I don’t want you to feel like you have to forgive me because of what happened and-”

“Steve, I forgive you.” I cut him off, squeezing his hands as I do so. “Not just because of what happened. I mean I’d probably be a shitty person if I didn’t forgive you when you deliberately put your own life at risk to save mine but, you’re a good person. I can see that now. You’re a really good person with a really good heart and in all honesty I think-”

My heart jumps to my throat as I realize what I’m about to confess. Questioning how I even got myself into this mess. If you told sixteen year old me that only two years later I would be sitting on the couch of my nemesis about to own up to the feelings that I may or may not have for him, she would’ve laughed in your face.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks softly, before I am able to finish what I’m saying, thankful that I no longer have to find the words.

“I’d really like that.”

The boy’s hand is gentle as he cups my cheek, apprehensively bringing his face to my own and brushing his lips lightly over mine. He’s cautious at first, testing out the waters to ensure that I am truly comfortable. Though, when I push myself closer, fisting his sweater in my hands, he exerts the passion that he had been holding black. Lips moving in sync with mine and bringing his free hand to caress my waist delicately. As the heat grows and any nerves wash away, he effortlessly slides his tongue into my mouth. Shy whimper escaping my mouth as he does so.

When he pulls away, I don’t miss the string of saliva that connects our lips to one another and can’t help but smile. Heart fluttering as Steve’s eyes focus on me adoringly.

“I guess all the rumors were right.” I tease as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, tilting his head slightly at my words. “You really are good at that, King Steve.”

“Oh ha ha.” He replies sarcastically, pulling me into his side and allowing me to rest my head on his chest. Listening intently to the steady beat of his heart.

“Can I stay here tonight? I can’t face another night alone.” I ask, tracing circles across his stomach, his hands stroking my hair lightly.

“I’d like that.”

Whilst I lay in the arms of Steve Harrington, I couldn’t help but feel as though things were starting to look up for me. Sure, it didn’t happen in the way that I was expecting or perhaps wanted. I certainly could have done without the monsters but right now, I finally felt at peace. Even if it was only for a little bit.

[vexwerewolf]

why is it that we only have like two licenses from any mech producer that’s a good guy? For a game where like there are clear good and bad guys (even if who you play isn’t necessarily linked to that) it seems strange to me that the only loot and XP you get is… more benefits from the bad guys

I can tell you the answer, but to do so, we're gonna have to talk about a completely different TTRPG.

If you've read @makapatag's truly excellent Filipino martial arts TTRPG Gubat Banwa (and if you haven't, here it is), you may notice that every single character class description (with one notable exception) ends with one of these babies:

I am not Makapatag, and I cannot write with quite as much grace and eloquence as he can, but I will try:

If you choose to become a Lancer, ask yourself why you mock the name of peace with these weapons of war. You call yourself a saviour, but your steed was forged from the murder of a world. You stride across the sky in a colossus built in your own image, so why are you too cowardly to give it your face? Why do you believe these machines of death can preserve life?

It is important to note that the admonitions in Gubat Banwa are not just there to make you feel bad; they are there as legitimate questions. The Sword Isles have seen so much blood, death and tragedy. Wars are not glorious and killing is not a game. So, knowing all of that, why have you taken up this discipline - no matter how noble and virtuous it might claim to be - to shed more blood, to bring more death, to write more tragedy? What could possibly drive you to this? What need is so great that you must kill?

The thing with Gubat Banwa is that there are legitimate answers to these questions! There are bad people doing bad things, and some of them will not be stopped with words or kindness. Sometimes, as sorrowful as it is, killing is the correct choice to prevent greater suffering and deeper tragedy - but adding less misery and death to the world is still adding some amount of it. Even the most necessary wars will drench the ground in the blood of the innocent.

A sword is a tool meant to kill humans; while it can be used for other things, it is not well-suited to anything other than this. A mech is, in its most basic essence, just a very complicated sword: it's usually used on things larger than a person, but it's still a tool built to kill.

So why have you taken up this path? Humanity was saved from the brink of extinction and has created wondrous technologies like printers, cold fusion and mind-machine interface, and yet you use them to play soldier in a giant metal man. Why do you choose to take up this machine of death, built by the greedy and pitiless? Why do you think these machines can ever make things right?

Because sometimes, despite everything, they can.

Warhammer 40K shows an awful world full of monsters and monstrosity, and in the darkest moments of its history, Lancer's world looked just as bleak, but Lancer's world differs in one crucial way. Warhammer's world has long given up trying to be better, but Lancer's world never did. Lancer's world kept insisting a better world is possible, and it used what tools it had to make it so.

Sometimes the correct choice, no matter how bitter it may seem, is to kill someone. When you need to do this, a sword is a perfectly good choice for the job.

If you find yourself discomforted by the fact that all the people you can buy mechs from are corrupt and immoral - good! You have correctly engaged with the text. You have understood that the sort of people who would make giant walking death machines and sell them for profit are not good people. But you still have a job to do, and you need the correct tools, and those people have them.

Lancer is not a game about a perfect world - it is a game about a deeply flawed and imperfect one that does not let its imperfection stop it from trying. You have to try to make a better world, even with imperfect tools made by unpleasant people.

[shiny-jr]

from DIASOMNIA

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Gender-neutral reader. 

- Characters: Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver, Sebek Zigvolt.

- Summary: (Continuation, after this “we just got a letter, wonder where it’s from”) You have barred them from entering the safety of Ramshackle Dorm, but they are determined to make their words reach you. Which is why the letters begin arriving at your doorstep.

- Note: This is just the first part, only with Diasomnia. I’ll post the rest later once its written. For now, I hope you enjoy this part! Oh, and this was inspired by the mention of letters @qierxing​‘s fic inspired by the whole imposter au idea. So yeah. Hopefully I caught all the mistakes in this post because I am not rereading all that again.

Diasomnia   |   Ignihyde

Among the first letters you pick is carefully sealed in a black envelope. You found it peculiar that Grim, who had offered to use his claws to open the envelopes, hadn’t been able to cause the slightest tear as if it were being protected by some magic. But it opened with ease during your first attempt to rip it open.

You didn’t care much for the wax family crest that had sealed it, or the black envelope itself. Maybe it would feel liberating to just set them all ablaze as soon as you finished skimming over the carefully written words.

To my dearest human,

I understand the pain I have caused you.

Ever since that moment I betrayed you, all I have seen in my vision and in my mind is your expression of terror. It tortures me. Your terror spurred by my actions and my very own hands. I am your most beloved and loyalest of companions in this world, and yet, had my retainers behind those doors not intervened, you would have been gone forever. And it would have been all my doing, all my fault.

I write this letter to apologize, but as I write this, I realize that there is no forgiving what has been done. Ever. No matter how I plead or what comes from my lips. But I will say this: there are no amount of words that can truly convey how sorry I am. This will haunt me for the remainder of my centuries of life.

Agonizing thoughts plague my mind and torment me at all hours of the day and night, at every and each moment. Even now, I reflect on everything I had done to harm you. While, the time I believed in those falsehoods was minuscule compared to the days others knew and acted upon it, the fact still stands that I was too easily deceived by mere rumors alone. I was blinded by my rage when I heard that someone dared to impersonate you and had been the probable cause of your vessel’s malfunction, that I did not even take a brief respite to consider the validity of the information that reached my ears.

Believe me, although I realize you have no reason to hold even a shred of faith in a single word I say and for that I would not blame you, but I will atone for the crimes I have committed. In any way possible. Even if it takes my entire lifetime, I will continue forward until I have achieved this goal and you may smile upon me once again. There is a human saying, which if I recall correctly I believe goes something like, forgive but never forget. Well, I would beg for forgiveness, while knowing full well that my misdeeds will never truly be forgotten. The harm I inflicted will leave scars that will never fully fade.

For every scratch my nails left on your delicate flesh, you may drive vines of the sharpest thorns against my own skin until blood pools all around me. For every bruise from my hand that tainted you, I would hand you an iron sword to use as you wish against me until you believe I’ve had enough. If it pleased you, I would even utilize my magic to transform into a figure with wings, which I would then proceed to sever the wings by my own hand and offer them to you on a silver platter.

Any punishment you can think of, I would readily accept.

Although living with the guilt of my mistakes and knowledge of the weight of my actions against you, is by far the most painful torture I’ve ever known.

If I do not receive word from you soon, I fear I may go insane with my own guilt. Yet I know I bring this upon myself. And if I were to go insane, if I was not insane this entire time already, you are all that would be in my thoughts. You are all that would remain in the part of my mind that is intact. You are currently and have been all that I think of, so perhaps my sanity is already long gone.

I would venture into the deepest crevices of hell and back, just to prove my worth to you. Even if I must be punished for the rest of my life, so be it. But I implore you to allow me to redeem myself, let yourself bear witness to the incredible feats I may accomplish in your name. Redemption... The thought of perhaps one day receiving the blessing of your smile and your grace once more in the near or distant future, is the light at the end of the tunnel in this dark period of my existence. I am yours. Whether you still desire me or not, I will forever be yours, and I will brave through trials of fire to demonstrate my eternal devotion to you.

Just know that I will do everything in my power to please you. Whether it be to fulfill the judgement you cast upon me, to demonstrate my worth and determination to achieve redemption, or simply because you command it so, it shall be done. 

For now, I will wait on your response and deliberate over my next course of action. Should you desire anything, anything at all, wether it be something as simple as traveling to the store for a purchase, you have a moment of recluse and desire company, or if you command me to move the island or clear the very heavens, all you must do is speak my name. Then, consider it done. Once my name is upon your lips, I will be there as the last syllable leaves your tongue. 

I will await the moment I am summoned.

Forever yours,

Malleus Draconia

That was... unnerving. Your hand unconsciously drifted up to the slight puncture wounds on your neck. They had long since dried, but you vividly remember feeling the thin trail of crimson being drawn and dripping down like a steady stream. 

You could remember the way Malleus withdrew as soon as he realized the truth, like he had been burned with his hands on you in that fashion. The blood, your blood, staining his sharpened nails. The red was deeper than any nail polish or ink. 

You were nearly sent spiraling, until you felt a tap and the texture of paper against your arm. When you glance down, you see Grim pressing his paws with another crumpled letter onto you. The ink on this letter is red, but the feline’s wide curious eyes are a glowing blue. 

“You okay? What’s so interesting about that wall you’re lookin’ at? You’re kinda just staring off into nothing there.” 

Offering a grateful nod to Grim who frowned worriedly, you accept the already opened envelope while tossing aside the letter from Malleus. “I’m good. Just... thinking.” 

Lifting a hand, you place your palm against his head and scratch the spot behind his ears. Grim lets out a content purr and holds a bag of junk food, which he probably found among the mountain of gifts, and curls up beside you. You continue the slow and soothing scratches as you use your freehand to unravel the letter Grim brought you from the towering stacks. 

This envelope was already cut open. It was a light brown and more square-shaped as thin rope kept it tied together. It had a mash of colorful strings that formed a messy bow to top it off. At least, you assumed it was meant to be a bow, but it looked more like a messy knot that would be impossible to untangle. Good thing it was already partially cut by Grim’s claws earlier. 

As mentioned, the ink was red, an interesting choice. While the handwriting was not as elegant as Malleus’ letter. Some words were written neatly, before falling off the line and blending with other words. Making it a bit difficult to read, but you managed. 

If you’re reading this, 

This means that I am not irredeemable in your eyes. 

Had I been beyond redemption, you would have not even opened this letter. If this was a lost cause, a merry dance, this paper would’ve been tossed into the trash without a second thought. But, my words have reached you. You’re reading this right now, aren’t you? It’s why I decided to write this. I could predict the actions you’d take. You are different from your vessel, but it’s only natural that you would act similarly to the silly little doll you controlled, the same doll that sparked this whole fiasco. 

I truly am so sorry if I frightened you. While I will admit, it was my intention to strike fear into your heart and use you to serve for another dubious purpose, that was when I hadn’t recognized you. Although, I know this doesn’t mean much to you, I figured I should be entirely honest to you. It’s the least I can do. I’m such a fool for being quick to believe the rumors like some sort of senseless child.

All I can do now, is remain true and offer up my loyalty. It’s nothing compared to the mistakes I made, and I’ve made plenty, but I know an apology will never suffice. So, even if you’re still uncertain about redemption, I’ll remain loyal. Among all the beings and creatures I’ve met in my lifetime, you remain an enigma. You’re human, but at the same time, you’re different. There continues to be so much I do not know of you. I wonder, could you hear me whenever I spoke to your plaything? Do you recall the stories I told, of my time as a reckless youth? Foolhardy, wild, that I was. But I was also fiercely loyal. For the Draconias, I razed down all foes like wheat in a field. 

Now that I consider it, perhaps it's best if you hadn’t heard me recount those tales. While I had been eager to share with you my experiences and act out my thrilling adventures, perhaps my story telling was much too graphic. I wouldn’t want the vivid details of bloodshed to be cause for alarm as our most recent encounter was far from pleasant. You have to forgive me, sometimes I get carried away when narrating my accomplishments and exploits. I’ll share more light-hearted memories with you the next time we meet. 

Our first meeting with your true self really went abysmally, didn’t it? I know that things never really go as planned, so I don’t bother planning such things in advance. But, I had pictured it to be a lovely moment. Silver and Sebek would look at you with shining eyes and proclaim their loyalty as they had practiced vows over and over again for such an occasion, I would get to embrace your true form and unlock your secrets, and of course Malleus would be truly content for once as he finally received the company he deserved. 

But, as expected, things didn’t go accordingly. 

Those three youths are miserable, thinking of the proper words to pen, a way to apologize for the suffering they’ve caused. But now, we are the ones suffering because we hurt you. 

They write and write, but tear their letters over and over again as they believe no words they’ve written so far are adequate. Soon they’ll realize that no words will ever be sufficient for an apology. Even if they were to create new words that are unheard of by any dictionary, it would not come close to being enough. That’s why I’ve decided to stick with this single attempt, because I already know that nothing I ever write will measure up to being acceptable. 

There is something about you that always leaves me bemused. Your grace left me feeling dizzy and giddy, like I was experiencing a little crush again, although this was much more intense than any crush. The truth about your vessel controlled by you, had me perplexed as I had never heard of such a thing. And well, the disastrous chase that followed your arrival... you know that part well and could assume how I feel about that from what I’ve told you. At present, all I can do is remain loyal, for what my loyalty is worth to you. Beyond that, despite having an abundance of experiences, there is no such situation that could have prepared me for this moment. 

Genuinely, I am stumped once again. I cannot even envision what can be done with my own two hands, that can be worthy of your attention once again and earn me redemption. But, you can be certain of one thing, and that is: my loyalty is undying. I still have a few years left in these old bones of mine, and I will use the rest of my life to serve you. 

Whether you want me or not. If you still want me, I will be of use to you. Whatever you are in need of, a soldier, a plaything, a companion, or even someone to take out your anger on. I shall be it. If you don’t want me, I will still be there. I will always be there to smile and lift your spirits like you once did for me through your doll. 

I eagerly wait for word from you. 

Until we meet again soon, 

Lilia Vanrouge

None of these letters were comforting in the slightest. In fact, they only placed you further on edge. For a moment, you considered stopping it here after only two and getting rid of the rest. 

Grim by now had settled in your lap, and looked up at you with those watchful blue eyes. Had he been staring at you the entire time? 

“Let me guess, they’re not taking it well?” 

“No, not at all.” You answer with a grimace. If this was how they were like now, you didn’t even want to know how they acted when they found out your vessel stopped working over a week ago. 

“Huh, sucks for them.” The feline stretched out, his claws poking out for a moment before quickly retracting as he plopped back down on his back with his stomach up. Maybe it was his own attempts to fill the silence, or to let you know you weren’t alone, but he eventually groaned. “Hey, read me one. I wanna know what they say.” 

Unable to say no to your companion, you nodded slowly and smiled weakly, “Alright, alright, let’s see what we have here...” 

You plucked out a random letter with neat packaging. However, just because the exterior was pretty, didn’t mean the interior message would be. You learned that already from the last two letters you had read. 

This envelope looked somewhat similar to the last one, square-shaped and tied closed with string. However, instead of the knot of ribbons on it, it held a simpler gift. The brown rope around it was tied in a neat bow, and between the string were lavender stems with a small branch of wild berries. 

Grim immediately indulged in the berries and the flowers, staining his little fangs and whiskers with the sweet sticky juice and purple petals. All the while exclaiming, “Oh, oh! I remember this letter. Some bird came to drop it and it flew away just before I could catch it...” 

A short laugh escaped your lips as you hear him. “So that’s why you were grumbling this morning.” 

Not wanting to be reminded again, he swat his paw at your nose as the feline hissed, “Shh! Just read already!” 

Dear player, 

I truly am deeply remorseful and I offer my sincerest apologies. 

I was to be a knight, that has been something I have strived for ever since I was a child. A knight not just to serve Malleus but to protect others, and eventually I discovered my purpose was to serve you as well. But... all I did was stand idly by and watch the torment. Shortly after meeting your vessel, I had promised to shield you from all danger. I broke that promise. 

I cannot imagine how frightened you must have been. Had just one person stop and thought things through, they may have realized the horrible mistake that was being made. Had I acted as soon as I felt the tug on my heart when I saw you weakened and on the dirt, I may have saved you from anymore pain. 

Those eyes, your eyes, I see them in my sleep. You were scared, and through your gaze you were pleading for help, were you not? I see it every time I close my eyes. You witnessed it yourself, the very moment when I had failed you. You were right there, so close I could have extended a helping hand. But my grief rendered me sightless, all I could think of in that moment is how my heart ached and how I longed to see you again. Even if it was through your vessel. The rumors didn’t quite make any sense to me, as I wondered how could anyone possibly be so cruel as to tear you away from us? 

Father had said that it would all be over soon. That capturing the imposter and bringing them to their knees, would make everything better. But when I saw you on the ground before we learned of your identity, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was alright. Would the player have wanted this? Would they have scorned upon witnessing the scene? Would this undoubtedly end the throbbing pain I felt in my heart? The pain was becoming unbearable, and I was not the only one to feel it. The news made little sense to me. Sebek insisted that it was true, and Father seemed to believe so as well. However, that is no excuse for how I went along as if it were okay. 

You were innocent and helpless, you, the player, not only witnessed the scene but were the victim. I’m so sorry, I should have done something... If it were the only way to gain your forgiveness, I would spend every moment of my waking hours writing letters of apology. To do so I would keep myself awake for as long as humanely possible. If asked, I would use every moment to pen these letters, each different from the last. Although after several attempts in redoing this single letter, I realize that it would be a pointless endeavor. 

After reflecting, the only way to make up for what I have do is be patient. 

Be patient and await for word from you. I cannot force you, I cannot pressure you, I can only pause and prepare myself to do whatever I must in order to earn back your grace. 

Please, do not keep me waiting too long. I know I have no right to ask you this. I’m willing to wait years if needed, but part of me has this fear that I will never regain a spot near your heart until I’m frail and feeble with age. Rest assured, even in old age, I would be willing to be your knight. Even if my bones ached, I would raise my sword and shield. If I couldn’t use my weakened legs, I would call upon a horse to be my steed. And if I were to become magicless, I would use the remainder of my physical strength to serve you. 

If I may be honest with you? I have no idea what to do. Yes, I said I would wait, but what else can I do? What can I do to eventually secure a place beside you, if it were possible? In times of trouble I normally turn to Lilia and Malleus for advice, however, I am a bit unsettled by their approach to this delicate matter. Truthfully, I am anxious, but while they share the sentiment, they are oddly confident that things will turn out alright in the end. I am unsure how they can muster the self-assurance to quell their fears. Maybe they know something that I do not, and have decided not to share this secret for now... 

Nevertheless, for now I’ll eagerly anticipate the day we can reunite just as I have dreamed. I greatly look forward to the second where not only I can see you smile once again and your eyes might finally look at me with content, but also the moment where all those I know might get the opportunity to be in your peaceful grace. 

I’ve dragged this letter on for too long. If you were to take something away from this letter, let it be this: I will carry out your wishes. No matter what you may think of me, whether it be a positive or negative image in your mind, I will continue forward in your name. Even if you think me unfit for the title of knight, then consider me a humble servant instead. Nothing will shake my commitment, and I will do whatever it is you ask. 

This is a pledge that will not be broken. 

Cordially, 

Silver

This letter felt a bit lighter than the others. Still, it was slightly intense in its own way, but it was nowhere near as extreme as the previous two were. And, maybe you had a better opinion on Silver, not because he was gentle with his words but because he was one of the very few who hadn’t threatened you, directly harmed you, or treated you cruelly. 

But! He didn’t get a free pass just because of that. Yes, he may not have directly caused any harm, but he didn’t exactly help you either. 

Grim had taken the letter from you, and inspected the paper in his paws. He held it above his head, scrunching up his nose a bit as he looked it over. “I dunno... he’s okay.” 

At that, you roll your eyes a bit as a smirk crept up from the corner of your mouth. “You’re not just saying that because his letter came with a snack?” 

“No! You think me easy to bribe? I think not! It would take a whole bucket full of berries just to get me to even discuss it. Then, I’d turn them down and take the berries anyways!” The feline proclaimed his brilliant plan should that situation ever arise. Maybe the gifts you allowed him to take were starting to get to his head. “But... he could be worse. Silver, as dumb as he was like everyone else, he did hear me out after they separated us.” 

Silver did that? If that were true, it’s possible that he wasn’t as bad as the others who had wronged you.

“That’s... good to know.” You murmur as you pluck up another random envelope from the pile. 

The last envelope you pick up before you planned to take a break was surprisingly plain. It was just that. A plain white envelope, sealed by green wax with what looked like a family crest that depicted a creature with fangs and scales. One of the corners was crinkled, as if it was gripped too tightly there. 

As soon as you slid out the folded letter, you were bombarded by the ink. Whoever had wrote this, seemed like they applied too much force. This caused certain parts of some letters to be too round and heavy with ink that made those bits feel damp and stain your fingers the slightest bit. Like whoever wrote this, placed just as much pressure with their hands on the pen gliding across the page, as much pressure as they felt weighing on their mind. 

Great Player, 

As I pen this, I am on my hands and knees.

I have prepared a multitude of letters which I will send daily, so that now and in the future you will continue to hear my apology and know I truly mean it. One admission of regret is not enough. An apology is only an acknowledgment of an offense, it does not absolve one of their wrongdoings. I know this! So, I, Sebek Zigvolt, will atone by any means necessary! 

To you, the player who I wronged and deserves nothing but happiness and perfection, I give my deepest sincerest profuse apology. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m SORRY. Right now when I look at my hands that I use to write, I’m reminded of the vicious way I grabbed you like some... heathen! These hands sullied your flawless self, and for that alone I will never forgive myself!

Had it not been for the wise words of Master Lilia and the bothersome yet logical reasoning from Silver, I would have been at your door everyday, every hour, begging for a second chance. In the midst of brainstorming, I presented my idea of crawling on hands and knees, from Diasomnia to the Ramshackle Dorm, to deliver the letter myself. Then, I would display whatever cuts or bruises formed on my palms and knees which I would receive from the rocky roads or thorns, that way you may see my devotion was true and no lengths are too great when it comes to you! No matter the pain or burden! The idea seems to appeal to Lord Malleus, but I was told that it comes off as too extreme...

But! I beg to differ!! I only consider it so that you may understand what I feel, so that you might comprehend the things I would do for you, and receive me back in your good graces! Additionally, delivering the letter in this manner would cause me as much or more physical pain than I caused you! It is a shame that things have come to this. I had wished so much for our first proper meeting to be one of joy where you might accept me as your knight! In spite of that, I will not falter in shame! If I were to deliver the following letters in that method I had detailed earlier, I would wear the scars proudly! It would be physical proof of my faithfulness towards you! 

I am sorry, and I will continue to say it. Perhaps, this may be presumptuous of me, but if you consider it, Diasomnia did not torment you nearly as long as any other insolent dorm had! And! We retainers accompanied Lord Malleus every day to check on the wellbeing of your vessel, and watch over it while investigating various possible approaches on how to revive Yuu. We diligently did this until the moment we encountered your true self! 

I swear to you, no one shall harm you from this moment forth! 

From now on, I’ll march forward and see to it that you are never hurt ever again! This is something I know that my fellow dormmates will tirelessly work toward as well. 

Have you realized that we have been guarding you and the serenity of your dorm in the past days? Have you not thought it strange that none have come to needlessly pester you? Yes, that is all thanks to the efforts of those in Diasomnia! Even when you do not realize it, we are insuring your welfare and the tranquility you require to recover! Of course, as much as I desperately want to inform you of the details, I will not. It is best you don’t know. 

Now, I must be honest with you. Originally, I had planned this letter to be much longer and have contents that would have been much different than what you are currently reading. I aimed to be honest in my feelings! But before I could sign off on the original draft, I realized that the others may be in the right. It is possible that our devotion, my devotion, may come off as disquieting if I were completely sincere. I’ve had to restrain myself on many occasions, reminding myself to at least appear collected and controlled. That is not as easy as it sounds! 

How could it be, when the one I must suppress my emotions and actions for, is you? That’s as if asking to repress part of my very soul and heart! I absolutely detest hiding it!! But when I remember this is for you and your own comfort, it becomes bearable. I can only hope that soon, very soon, I might be able to unveil my true sentiments towards you! As intense and extreme as they may be! 

It seems that I’m nearing the word limit that they imposed. Once again, I apologize. I’ll have to contemplate new ways to write ‘sorry.’ I wish I could write a million more words for you! But even a million words wouldn’t be anywhere near a satisfactory amount for me to detail how much I revere you! And it would take more than another million words for me to write a full apology, but even then I wouldn’t be satisfied! No single letter is adequate enough, so be prepared to receive the rest I have written! 

I will make sure they are delivered posthaste! 

Faithfully, 

Sebek Zigvolt 

Great... you’re back to being unnerved again. 

There was something about them all being so weirdly obsessed, but in vary different ways. Malleus and Lilia puzzled you, they had you feeling the most uneasy by far. Maybe it had to do with the fact that they were both not human, they were arcane beings with enigmatic personalities and objectives that were incomprehensible to you. 

Out of the four, Silver was the only one that was fully human like yourself, but even he was a bit of a mystery as he was raised by the fae. It was hard to be wary of him, which was probably because your distrust and fear of him wasn’t as intense as it was towards the others due to his good nature and lack of actions he took during the whole disaster. 

As for Sebek, well, he was unnerving in his own right but it was nowhere near on the level that Malleus and Lilia were on. At the very least he wasn’t a complete mystery to you. It was easy to figure out his intentions, because he either said them or wore them on his sleeve. 

Your mind was spinning as you looked over the four letters, filled with lines upon lines and more lines of pages. In that moment your breath quickened as you noticed the cloudy sky outside. For a brief second, you feared you would see that familiar flash of green lightning, taking you back to that dark day when you nearly died. It’s like you could feel Sebek’s hands tightly gripping the back of your skull that forced you against the earth, you saw Silver’s sorrowful gaze that spoke a thousand words you didn’t yet understand, you heard Lilia’s words hinting to a doomed fate of becoming some lifeless doll, and god, you couldn’t forget him even if you wanted to. Malleus. He was the worst of all. You felt his nails and fingers constricting around your neck and squeezing out all the air, you saw his haunting green eyes with those slit pupils as he glowered at you with such anger and hate, and you heard what you had thought would be the last words you ever heard come from his lips––

“Hey!” 

You were torn out of those dark thoughts by the feline in your lap. A concerned frown tugged at Grim’s lips, but once he saw he had your attention, he mustered a slight grin as he held up what looked like an armful of snacks. At least, as much as he could carry in his small paws. From his grin, you could see his little fangs still covered in the remnants of the berries and flower petals.

“Look, I found your favorite! This is getting boring, so let’s just take a break!”

[ko-existing]

Get used to seeing your experience as experience only

by Being_is_IT on Twitter

The only fact you have is your experience. Misinterpreting or misrepresenting this fact is the cause of all suffering. Is there something as correctly interpreting this fact? No, correctly interpreting this fact is equivalent to not interpreting at all. Your experience is not interpretable. You better leave it as it is.

Without trying to interpret your experience, then, you will come to discover what it actually is. Such discovery is doable because you are IT already. The only undeniable fact is your experience. Your experience is presence. What does it mean? However you interpret this presence is entirely arbitrary, but the fact of being present is undeniable. Every single thing you think you know about this world and about yourself is entirely this experience. It's not actually that 'a word' appeared. It's not actually that 'a me is born'.

The only thing that appears is this experience.

Please get used to seeing experience as experience only, rather than stuff you interpret them to be. Simply notice the fact that what you are experiencing is experience itself.

Let me stress it again:

You are not actually experiencing a so-called 'life', you are experiencing experience itself.

You are not actually experiencing 'space and time', you are experiencing experience itself.

You are not actually experiencing a world, you are experiencing experience itself.

You are not actually experiencing sun shine, you are experiencing experience itself. You are not actually experiencing "I am living...", you are experiencing experience itself. You may be calling it a 'world', but that is just an interpretation of your experience.

How do you know this is a world? Because you have an experience. And you are interpreting your experience as consisting of a world. How do you know you have a body? Because you have an experience. And you interpret the experience as consisting of a body.

How do you know there are other beings? Because you have an experience and you interpret your experience as consisting of other beings. So, the actuality that is present is simply your experience. All the rest are just your interpretations. It is very easy to hold your interpretations as actual or as truth.

You are used to hold your interpretation as factual reality. But actually, there is no basis for such holding. When you begin to take your experience as just experience itself, rather than take them as interpreted framework of ideas and concepts that you are used to accept, then, you begin to feel very interesting properties. What kind of interesting properties are they? For example, your experience is present, undeniably present.

Nothing else whatsoever is present but your experience alone. You can't find anything other than your own experience. You cannot turn off your experience even if you try. Your experience is automatic. Your experience is instantaneous. Your experience is always here and now. It's always brand new because experience never repeats itself. Experience has no duration. It does not come and go.

You notice that your experience presents infinite range of qualities, such as, colors, lights, sounds, textures, thoughts, emotions, sensations, all of those infinite qualities and nuances. As a convenient pointer, I would name those infinite qualities as Infinite Radiance, or Infinite Shining Forth. So, this presence is Infinite Radiance or Shining Forth.

Even when you are in deep sleep, the Radiance show up as something. Maybe something very subtle, maybe something you can never be able describe, but it always shows up as something. Even when you are dreaming, although the Mind interprets it as 'dreaming', the so-called 'dreaming' is none other than radiance shining forth. The radiance showing up in your experience tends to have infinite degrees of patterning.

Of course, such patterning can be interpreted as 'body, me, others, space, time, events, world, sun, moon, light, dark'. But they are not actually what's interpreted as, they are simply radiance shining forth in your own experience. Please notice, no pattern has any consistency. No pattern ever repeats itself. You never experience exactly the same configuration twice. You never see the same thing twice.

Even if it's a room you go in and out everyday, every instance of your experiencing this room will be a difference experience, always unique and never duplicate. You never think the same thought twice. You never feel the same emotion twice. Nothing whatsoever repeats itself. As soon as a certain pattern appears, it disappears and morphs into some other patterns. Even if you are looking at the same apple for 5 minutes, you may interpret that an object called 'apple' exists independently.

Not so actually, all you are seeing is a patterning in your experience that never repeats itself. It is an illusion to imagine that there is a stable object called 'apple' existing somewhere. This patterning is absolutely unresolvable. Even though the patterning appears to be very structured, when you try to get to the bottom of the patterning, you can't find exactly what this patterning actually is.

Because as you go deeper in your search, the patterning morphs into infinitely different patterning. You will never be able to determine what it actually is. That is why I say that experience is absolutely unresolvable. Many people wish to obtain a definitive and final experience. This expectation is an illusion. You will never be able to reach a final or definitive type of experience. You may imagine that 'death' is a kind of final experience.

Not so actually. When it comes time for you to die, you will discover in total surprise that 'death' is not what you think it is. And you will discover that there is no such thing as 'death' in the first place. Let's get used to seeing experience as experience only, rather than holding them as 'this thing, that thing, me, others, world, universes, my life, me living my life, past , future' and etc., then, your entire energetic alignment will be realigned and subtle miracle would appear.

Directly noticing your own experience is the highest yoga you can ever practice.

[sonotpattismith]

My Lost, Fearless Leader. (yuta okkotsu x reader)

As the men masqueraded, I hoped you’d return with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you’d learned, because love’s never lost once perspective is earned.

word count: 9k warnings: angst, me never making it easy for poor Yuta a/n: inspired by Peter by Taylor Swift. Lowkey a self-insert as I too am a therapist, tee hee. I hope y’all enjoy it, I absolutely love writing for Yuta even though I make him suffer every time 🥹🫶🏻

masterlist.

Dear Okkotsu,

I know you only landed last week, but you left me with so many questions when you said goodbye. At the risk of sounding too forward, I thought for a moment that you would kiss me before you left. You had a look in your eye, one I’d never seen before, and I even thought I saw you square your shoulders like you were about to charge into battle.

Inumaki offered to give me your number when I asked about you, but I feared too quick of a response if I were to text you. After all, I love to torture myself. Somehow a letter felt safer, more disconnected. Still, I hope you have the time to write back to me while you’re out there growing as you so desperately wanted to.

You still have me in your corner here in Tokyo.

With kind regards,

L/N.

Dear L/N,

I hope this letter gets to you soon, though I know it has some way to go— I don’t want to leave you waiting again. I wondered if I should just text you, but you’re right, maybe this is best for wimps like me who were too scared to kiss the girl they like before traveling oceans away. There’s more courage in me hiding behind a pen than I ever had standing in front of you.

No matter how badly I wanted to show you how I felt, I didn’t feel worthy enough when I looked at that scar on your face— one I should have been able to prevent. There’s so much for me to learn about this world, and Gojo-Sensei says Kenya is where I need to be. I trust him implicitly, and I only hope here I’ll be able to grow into someone worthy of coming back to all of you at Jujutsu High. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but I hope to become someone worthy enough to indulge myself in you as well.

I hope you can find it in you to wait for me all the way in your corner of Tokyo.

Respectfully,

Okkotsu.

Dear Okkotsu,

You were right, your letter did travel far, and after two weeks, I feared I may not ever hear back from you.

What happened with Geto Suguru wasn’t your fault, and, if I remember correctly, you were the one that saved all of us that night. It breaks my heart that you feel you don’t have a place here with us. I never thought you needed to prove yourself, and if that’s the only reason you went thousands of miles away— then you should board the next flight back over.

If I had known it was the scar on my face that stopped you, I would have covered it just for you. No one else around here is willing to take the blame for me when I break one of Maki’s spears— that alone should earn you a spot right beside me over here. Speaking of, I hope the bump on your forehead has gone down.

Luckily for the both of us, patience is my best virtue, but I do hope you don’t make me wait terribly long. You don’t have to be the strongest.

Holding my breath,

Y/N.

Dear L/N,

Maybe eventually I’ll work up the courage to call you, but our weeks of waiting in between will just have to do for now.

I think you’re beautiful— regardless of your scar, and I hope I didn’t send the wrong message when I said it’s what stopped me. I only meant that it reminded me of the kind of guy that deserves your attention, one that has brought about more good than he has bad in his life.

I’ve hurt so many people, and it wouldn’t be right of me not to try to make up for the wrongs I’ve caused. It’s only been a month, but Miguel has taught me so much, and I’ve seen so many wonderful things. I’m not sure if you’re interested, but I’m sending you some pictures of all my favorite parts.

I hope Maki has been merciful to you, and, yes, my bump is gone. Still, the little scar there reminds me of you each time I see it. So, I suppose I should thank her.

We’ve been talking so much about me, but I want to hear how you’re doing back in your corner of the world. How have your classes been going? I almost miss hearing everyone arguing with Gojo-Sensei every morning.

I don’t want to be the strongest, but I want to be strong enough to be worthy of you. The last thing I want is to keep you waiting too long, but however long it takes for me to be able to make a mark on those who have shown such faith in me.

Thinking of you,

Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

Surely that’s not you in that picture beside the giraffe? It’s only been two months— what are they feeding you over there? I had to do a triple take. You look well, Okkotsu.

I’m starting to wonder if it’s really you behind that ink. You were never so bold when you were here. Do you have a ghostwriter? I have my doubts, but I still hope all those thoughtful words really are coming from you.

I can see how hard you’ve been working, and I hope you’re beginning to find in yourself the pride I and all us here at home have always had in you. I don’t think anyone blames you for the unfairness that’s clung to you thus far, and no one expects you to make up for any of it— at least I know I don’t. If you really insist on doing so though, maybe you can start by giving me a call every once and a while? I’m sure you're busy, but I’d love to hear your voice again.

Classes have been going well. We’re almost going into our second year now, and everyone still talks so fondly of you. We wish you were here to start the year with us. I certainly miss having someone who was equally as clueless when it came to this world— it felt like you were the last shred of normalcy I was hanging onto. It’s okay though, I suppose I have some growing to do too.

Also, you don’t need to be so formal with me, I think you’ve earned the first name basis. Unless of course, you need to build up the courage for that, too.

I only felt it was fair to send some pictures of all of us here as well— though they’re nowhere near as badass as your safari photos. Please keep sending them— I’ll cherish the ones I have here for now though.

Still waiting for you,

Y/N.

Three months following Yuta’s departure from Tokyo, you first received an actual call from him. You had just turned in for the night, muscles aching from the mission you and Maki had just returned from only an hour or two prior. Truthfully, you were having a difficult time with the added responsibility that was accompanying your new year at Jujutsu High.

Last year, at the very least, you had Yuta there who seemed on a fairly level playing field with you. Still, he held more of a determination to move forward in his life as a sorcerer than you did. After your encounter with Geto Suguru that had left you partially blinded in your right eye, it was difficult for you to find that gusto you had when you first arrived.

The deep lulls of slumber had just begun to penetrate your exhausted mind, and you could swear a more pleasant dream was just beyond your reach. When your phone began vibrating underneath your still cool pillow, your brows furrowed at the intrusion. The sound caused an electric-like jolt in your body that had you shooting up as if someone had just pulled the fire alarm. Calming your racing heart, you reached down to snatch the device up. Your eyes squinted to adjust to the blue light emitting from the screen, and you saw a number you didn’t recognize. Under the caller location though, it indicated that it was coming from Kenya.

Sitting up with a gasp, you gaped down at the device, uncertain excitement bubbling in your stomach and up your chest. Without a second thought, you swiped to answer the call. Amidst your anticipation of who you thought might be on the other line, you forgot to greet the caller.

“Um… uh- hello?”

A smile spread across your cheeks at the sound of his timid voice.

“A call from Kenya,” You began teasingly, your voice still hoarse from sleep. “I wonder who it could be.”

There was an abrupt shuffling on the other line, and you could already picture him pacing around whatever space he was currently occupying.

“You got me!” Yuta quipped nervously, quickly checking the time on his phone upon hearing the sleepy tone that laced your voice. It wasn’t too late over in Tokyo, and he figured if he didn’t call you now while he still had the nerve to do it, he never would. Okkotsu had determined during his time in Kenya that his confidence somehow peaked right after a successful mission. Naturally, this was when he calculated it would be the best time to call you with the lowest possibility of making a stuttering fool of himself. “Di-Did I wake you? I can call back another-”

“After you took three months to gather all that courage up?” You joked with a fond smile, reaching down to toy with the corner of your pillow. Despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, you shook your head. “I think I can stay up for a few minutes.”

He was grateful, so eternally grateful that you couldn’t see the way the blood rushed up his neck and into his face. Pressing a cool hand against his cheek as if it would make the heat die down, he forced himself to sit on the edge of his bed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It had been too long already since he last spoke, and the silence on the call was becoming overbearing as he thought of anything to say.

“You there, Yuta?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m, uh-- still here.” The boy chuckled pathetically, pounding his balled up fist against his thigh, willing himself to quit being such a loser. Shooting up to begin his short trek around his room once again, he took a deep breath. “I-I wanted to thank you. You know, for writing to me the past few months. I think they’ve been kind of motivating me, actually.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, lying back down on your pillow to stare stupidly up at the ceiling of your dorm. In hearing that shy voice that you had been missing for so long, you had forgotten about the aching, abused muscles that had been assaulting you just minutes prior. In its place was the rushing endorphins of your child-like crush on the boy on the other line. “So, when you come back strong enough to beat Sensei’s ass, I can take partial credit, right?”

His soft laugh filled your once silent room, inciting the overwhelming butterflies in your stomach to erupt in a fluttering haze.

“It’ll all be you.” Yuta joked halfheartedly, rubbing the back of his neck in relief that he’d gotten past the awkward silence unscathed. He flopped back down onto his bed and looked out the window at the slowly setting sun. “Uh… speaking of Sensei, how is everything over there? The exchange event is coming up soon, right?”

This made your smile slowly wane.

“Yeah, it’s next month. There was some drama with the first years, but everyone else seems to be pretty excited.”

“Everyone else? It sounds like you’re not including yourself in there.”

You sighed gently. Yuta was always so determined about growing as a sorcerer, so these types of events were always right up his alley. Not to mention the manner in which he absolutely wiped out the sister school at last year’s event. It actually caused a bit of second-hand embarrassment to watch the whole ordeal play out— no matter how quickly it concluded. After the atrocities of the past few months though, you couldn’t find it within yourself to be excited for the goodwill event.

It wasn’t that long ago that you watched all your friends meet near death at the hands of Suguru Geto, and you weren’t too far behind. They had all seemingly moved on from it all so fast— all of them except for Yuta Okkotsu. It seemed that all it had done was given him more ammunition to spark his journey of self discovery. You wished it had had the same effect on you. In truth though, all it sparked was a fear that your life, along with your friends, was constantly at the mercy of a crueler fate than most your age would be subjected to.

It felt wrong. Yuta shouldn’t have felt the need to bear the weight of you and your friends’ injuries all on his own. He shouldn’t have needed to go off to search for some unknown answer to all the insecurities his grueling life had thrust upon him. Still, it was so important to him. You could see the way it gave him purpose, a will to keep going despite all that he’d been through. It wasn’t his fault, but you always wished you could have found that same purpose within slaying curses and putting your life on the line.

A soft call of your name on the other line pulled you from your self-depricating thoughts. Shaking your head, you attempted to lighten the mood.

“Last name again? So formal. I thought we were past that, Okkotsu.”

“Oh-- right, sorry.” He stammered out before trying your first name out on his lips. It was delicate in the way it rolled off his tongue, sending warmth straight through your chest. Recalling your sudden silence once his nerves subsided, his lips pulled pensively into a thin line. “Um, have you been doing okay? You know, since…”

Brows rising just a hair, you were shocked at how easily he read through your sudden change in tone. Your lip quivered into a slight frown. A deep breath was suddenly pushing down that biting urge you had to tear up.

“Yeah, I’ve been okay. Just… wish you were still here is all.” You confessed into the dark, lonely dorm room. “I think you were the only one who understood how overwhelming this all was.”

Yuta felt his chest constrict at your earnest confession. Part of him felt guilty for not being there, but he knew deep down that he was doing the right thing by building himself up before he allowed himself to come back— especially to you. Still, the boy knew where you were coming from. It wasn’t easy being the newcomer in a world where your peers had a fifteen year head start on.

The two of you understood each other—empathized with one another. You both strived to make sure the other was doing okay; whether that be sneaking out late at night to practice with one another in hopes you both wouldn’t make fools of yourselves in training the next day, or just being someone that the other could glance knowingly at when one of your classmates mentioned something it seemed that everyone else was privy to, except you two.

“I’m getting stronger everyday.” Yuta offered earnestly, a soft, empathetic smile playing on his lips— the kind you could just hear through his gentle tone. “And I know you are too. We’re gonna kick some major butt one day, y’know?”

The boy was relieved when your glittering laugh filled his speakers, and he found himself laughing along with you. A comfortable silence blanketed over you two, and for a moment it felt as though you were laying right beside him, your gentle breaths lighting a fire within his soul. The courage that he thought he had lost upon hearing your voice for the first time in months was slowly flooding back to him, and he began pensively rolling his bottom lip between his fingers.

“Hey,” Okkotsu called out feebly, resting his hand down on his chest and feeling his heart pounding against his fingers. Reaching down to your discarded letter beside him, he picked up the picture you’d sent along with it. It was of all the second years, and he wondered with a smile if you had Gojo-Sensei take it for you all, and, if so, how much he complained about not being included.

You stood in the middle of Inumaki and Maki, Panda standing proudly and towering behind you. His thumb reached out to graze softly over your face. In the photo, one of your hands was teasingly covering your right eye, and he blushed as he remembered your earlier conversation about that scar. You hummed in acknowledgment on the other line. “Did you mean it? You know… when you said you’d wait for me?”

“Did you mean it when you said you were gonna come back for me?” You countered quickly.

Yuta exhaled nervously, the churning in his chest making him feel as though he might pass out. Staring back at your smiling face in the photo, he nodded breathlessly.

“Of course, I meant it. I meant every word.”

“Then so did I.”

Yuta Okkotsu’s reassuring promise helped ground you in your studies of jujutsu for a while longer, but you could still feel the aching insistence in the back of your mind that told you this wasn’t where you were meant to be. Your friendship with the sorcerer continued to grow even over the thousands of miles that separated you.

He’d call you whenever he had the chance to, and you’d text him about updates on what all his friends had been up to without him. Although both Inumaki and Maki kept up with him regularly, he allowed you to retell stories he’d more often than not already heard from them.

He could tell that you were struggling to find and hold your place as a sorcerer. You always listened enthusiastically when he’d tell you about the new techniques he was learning or the missions he’d been sent on, nodding along on the other line and hanging onto every word he said. Still, when he’d await to hear the progress of your training or how your latest mission had gone, you didn’t have the same enthusiasm in your tone.

It had been almost a year since he’d been gone. The two of you had never implicitly discussed the nature of your relationship, but your lingering promise to each other seemed to be enough to keep your hearts locked safely away for the other’s return. As the months dragged on though, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was worth staying in the world of jujutsu that seemed to so expertly traumatize you and your peers.

You insisted on video calling him for once, eager to once again put a face to the voice that had been filling your every night for the past few months. Maybe, you thought to yourself, if you saw those warm, inviting eyes again paired with that timid smile, you’d find it in you to hold out just a bit longer.

“Ca-Can you see me?” Yuta’s ever anxious voice filled your quiet room once again. The palm of his hand briefly covered the camera before it was moved away, and it appeared as though he had propped you up on a dresser of some sort. He stepped back, hunching over so his face was still in the frame, staring hesitantly into the screen.

A brief exhale of disbelief left you at the sight of him. He had changed so much over the past year; from the inches he’d sprouted up, to the new broadness of his lean shoulders, right down to his more maturely parted hair as it swayed in his face.

His features appeared sharper than when you’d last seen him, a testament to how much he’d grown physically as well as mentally. The dark circles you remember being everpresent under his long, midnight-blue eyes seemed even more pronounced now, and you wondered just how hard this Miguel character had been working him. Despite his apparent lack of sleep though, he grinned cheerfully upon seeing your face.

Forgoing your previous concern, an ecstatic smile of your own lit up your face as you took him in. You had always thought he had a sort of innocent, gentle cuteness to him, but time and knowledge seemed to have morphed those characteristics into the sharp, hauntingly striking ghost of the boy you once knew presented before you. For the first time since knowing him, you thought you felt more nervous than he did at the moment.

“Wow! You look--” He paused, a slight flush filling his face, and suddenly he was that timid boy again, staring down at you with the false promise of a kiss. Your heart melted at the sight. Yuta was still looking nervously back at you, mouth hanging open as if his mind was running faster than his tongue could process. You raised your brows expectantly at him, hiding your amused smile. “Uh—pretty! You— you look really pretty.”

A soft blush fell across your cheeks.

“Thanks, Yuta.” You laughed softly, eyes fluttering across his face admiringly. “You look like you’ve… grown.”

“Oh, me?” He laughed skittishly, hand coming up to rustle through his jet black locks. His brows were furrowed slightly as he looked down at his own appearance as if he was only just now noticing the growth spurt he’d had in the past year. “Yeah! I guess—”

“Is that blood on your shirt?” You suddenly noticed, leaning forward so your squinting eyes could get a better look at the dark matter that clung to his white top. His eyes shot up to meet yours, and in an instant, his fumbling hands were working to unbutton his uniform shirt. It was no use though, the white t-shirt underneath was also stained through.

“Sorry, I just got back from a mission.” He admitted dejectedly, grabbing the phone and sitting on the floor, resting his back against the bed behind him. “I would’ve showered, but I didn’t want to keep you up too late.”

You sat back against your headboard tentatively. It was incredible to you how he was never phased by the violence and bloodshed that shrouded this lifestyle. There were so many nights that you lay awake, eyes unblinking as you tried to forget the horrors you’d witnessed just long enough to get some sleep.

“How do you do it, Yu?” You asked timidly.

Yuta took in the way your wide eyes glimmered with the threat of unspilled tears. There it was again— that underlying fear in your tone and demeanor that told him that something wasn’t quite right, and it hadn’t been right since you came so close to death.

“What do you mean, love?” He wasn’t sure where that term of endearment came from, maybe from the concern that had been pooling in him for months and had now suddenly burst upon seeing that broken look in your eyes. Either way, it was too late to take it back now.

“Act like everything’s normal when you come home covered in blood and guts and watch people die— watch your friends—”

“I’m doing this for my friends.” His response had a defensive edge to it, but his wide eyes were gentle, taking in your vulnerable state carefully. “And for the people I’ve had to watch die. Bad things will happen whether I’m a part of them or not. How can I sit back and do nothing when that’s all I’ve done my entire life?”

You suddenly felt small in your corner of the world. He was selfless, fearless, purposeful in his mission as a sorcerer, and you couldn’t fault him for it. Moreso, you faulted yourself for lacking that same drive.

“I just– sometimes I feel like this isn’t for me. I’m not like you, Yuta. I don’t think I’m strong enough for this. I’m not strong enough for this.”

Yuta continued to insist upon believing in your growth, just as you had believed in his. His persistence in your strength of character only served to break your heart more. You knew the deeper his faith in you ran, the more crushing his disappointment would be when you inevitably let him down.

In the weeks following your dismayed conversation with him, you weren’t answering his calls as often, afraid he would be on the other line hoping to hear of your growth and the things you’d overcome— but you had none to show for. You usually texted him with false excuses that you were on a mission, or that you were simply too tired to talk that night. No matter how hard you tried to pride yourself in your little victories, your faith in your abilities as a sorcerer was waning quickly before your eyes.

He had always said that he was the one undeserving of his place in this world— of his place beside you. The stronger he grew though, the more you only noticed the opposite.

It was a month after your phone call that you received a small package from Kenya, recognizing the stamp immediately as one of the various animal themed ones Yuta seemed to keep stockpiled just for you. Chewing at your bottom lip, a sense of guilt washed over you, knowing you hadn’t been keeping up with him as much as you once did. Despite this, he continued to try, desperate to get through to you somehow before you slipped from between his fingers all together.

Ripping open the orange, padded envelope, you overturned the contents onto your bed. The wooden beads of a bracelet clacked softly against one another as they fell upon the comforter, a letter landing gently atop it. You ran your fingers along the thin bracelet, thinking maybe if you concentrated long enough, you’d be able to feel the warmth of his fingers lingering from when he’d carefully placed it into the envelope for you. You picked up the accompanying letter.

Dear Y/N,

It seems like they’ve been keeping you really busy over there in your corner of the world! I had so much I wanted to tell you, but I thought maybe it’d be best to put it all into a letter so you could read it at a time that’s best for you.

Gojo-Sensei says that I’ll probably be coming back soon, maybe in the next couple of months even. If all goes well, I hope to be joining everyone for our final year. It’d be nice to all be together again. It’d be nice to actually see you again.

You don’t have to tell me everything, but I know you’ve been going through a hard time recently, and I’m sorry I’m not there to help you. You were wrong the other night on the phone— you are stronger than you think. This life isn’t easy, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not fit for it just because it hurts you right now.

When I felt I had no strength left in me to keep going, it was you who lent me some of yours until I could stand again. I’m sending it back to you now, so please use it to keep moving forward until I can lend you some of mine. Please, keep waiting for me.

The beads on the bracelet I sent you represent all the things I wish for you. The red represent bravery and strength, the kind I know you have in you still. Until you find them though, let these be a reminder. The yellow are for growth, and until you can see it coming your way, let these motivate you.

I got one just like it for myself, so I can be reminded everyday of the things I love about you. I’ll keep it on me always, and I hope as you’re waiting that you’ll do the same.

Still yours,

Yuta.

Tears were streaming freely down your cheeks and staining the precious letter before you. With wobbling lips, you bit back a quiet sob as you carefully slipped the thin bracelet onto your wrist. Strength. Bravery. Growth. They were all pillars that seemed so far away from you, but Yuta was convinced you held them just within your grasp. If anything, the beads would serve as a reminder that someone important was counting on you, and you’d rather suffer the uphill battle than disappoint him.

The next morning, you woke early to speak with Gojo. He was lounging lazily in his large, plush chair, laptop sat carelessly on his lap when you came in. As if expecting you all along, he looked up from his bored typing to offer a sly smile— the type that told you he was always steps ahead of you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gojo greeted, closing his laptop and setting it haphazardly on his desk. Leaning back, he laced his fingers casually in his lap, jutting his chin toward the seat in front of him.

Hesitantly, you sat down. Your posture was rigid as you stared back at his half-covered face. Although your sensei had never given you a reason to fear him, you couldn’t help but feel anxious at the thought of how he might react to your request.

“I… I don’t know how to say this.”

He stayed silent, allowing you to collect your thoughts. The small smile tugging at his lips said he already knew what was plaguing your mind. Fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist, you were reminded of the importance that you stand your ground here.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for being a sorcerer.” It was out there, and it hung heavily in the air around you. Looking down at your twiddling fingers, you felt that familiar lump building in your throat. Your sensei was silent before you. Glancing up at him through tear soaked eyes, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat. “I’m not like the others. I can’t bounce back like they do. It scares me; the death, the fighting, the loss— it terrifies me, Gojo. I can’t do it anymore. I-I just—”

“You’ve been struggling for a while now, haven’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question— an observation he’d been holding onto for some time. The older man wasn’t oblivious, he could see when his students were beginning to slip away; physically and mentally.

“How did you know?” You briefly wondered if Yuta had mentioned something to him during their regular check in calls, but you doubted it.

Standing abruptly from his chair, he strolled leisurely around the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You remind me of someone, is all.” Gojo’s cryptic message left more questions than answers. Though you had grown used to his dodgy answers and coded messages, now was really not the time. Before you could express your annoyance, he continued. “You’re not stuck, you know.”

Your mouth hung open as you stared at him in disbelief. Standing up to face him as he stared out the window, your mind was racing at the possibilities.

“You mean— I could leave? Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’d talk to the higher ups today for you if that’s really what you want.” Still, the edge in his tone indicated that he wasn’t about to let you off that easily. As if sensing your apprehension, he tilted his head playfully toward you, a fond smile on his face. “I’ve seen what this gig can do to people. I don’t need to see you fall victim to it too.”

“I mean— I…” You were stumbling over your words. For the past few years, you were sure that your future was set for you— one you were apprehensive about living, but one that was secure nonetheless. Where would you go from here?

Gojo hummed pensively— invitingly. God, how you wished he would just spit out what he clearly wanted so desperately to say. Of course, he always wanted his students to come to their own conclusions, set their own fates.

“The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.” The sensei announced dramatically, taking another lap around the room. You shivered at the mention of that night. He leaned toward you with a raised brow. “That’s when this all started, am I right? You almost died, if I remember correctly.”

“I would have if it hadn’t been for—”

“Yuta Okkotsu.” He cut you off, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, and for a moment you thought you saw his head tilt down as if to look at the bracelet you were currently rolling between your fingers. Nodding softly, he continued. “Still, you cut it pretty close. Must have been traumatizing. Partially lost your sight, almost lost your friends, your life.”

You nodded silently, unsure of where he was going with this long winded rant. Of course, him giving you a simple out was just too easy for Gojo-Sensei’s ‘everything is a life lesson’ style of teaching.

“Tell you what, why don’t I set up a meeting for you to meet with a counselor? Someone who specializes in all our creepy-crawly problems?”

“Like… like therapy?” You questioned with furrowed brows. A therapist for sorcerers? You didn’t even know such a thing existed. Still, the prospect sparked a certain hope in your chest, one that the six eyes saw instantly. He didn’t bother to conceal his victorious smile.

“Yup. Nice, comfy couch and everything.” He advertised as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. His long fingers began typing purposefully against the screen before he looked up at you again. “Of course, she’s kind of running a one-man show, so her schedule is pretty tight. I can pull a few strings for you though.” His words rang in your mind with a faint echo. That suggestive, underlying tone in his voice, it was beginning to seep through, and your gut was telling you his suggestion was a lot more calculated than you would ever give him credit for. “That kind of work is in high demand, you know— what with all the new curses popping up since Itadori came along.”

Gojo was continuing to drop hints, but you had already heard him loud and clear. This was something he thought you could do— somewhere he knew you would fit within this hectic world. As a teacher, it was his job to train the up and coming sorcerers for the perils that lay ahead of them. In the same prospect though, he had also become incredibly adept at discovering their potential and nudging them toward it— even if it wasn’t as gently as he thought.

The following week you met with the therapist Gojo had supposedly pulled so many strings to get you in to see. She had a small office just minutes away from the school, and you wondered why she wasn’t on campus. She hadn’t suggested it to you first, though she was well aware of what Gojo was trying to do when he set up this meeting.

So, amidst your explanation of everything you had been experiencing since that night, you dropped in questions. How did she know this was the right path for her— how closely did she work with Jujutsu High— how did she get where she was?

By the gentle and encouraging manner in which she answered all of your questions, you had a gut feeling once again that Gojo had already been three steps ahead of you. You were set to transfer out of Jujutsu High the following week.

Your sensei funded your education through an outside university, who’s higher ups had connections with the school. Kaori, the god-sent sorcerer counselor who’d seemingly fallen from the heavens right when you needed her, was more than happy to take you under her wing as well. In truth, she was relieved to have some help around the office given the influx of referrals she’d been receiving recently.

Everything had been falling into place, yet there was still one last loose end you had yet to tie up from your life as a sorcerer. You looked down at the box of letters you’d kept over the past year or so from Yuta.

Following his last letter, and how determined he seemed to be that you would make it as a sorcerer— you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you had given up. After everything he’d done to grow himself into the man he was now, a fearless and loyal sword to his friends and the innocent— and you had given up. In the end, despite his insistence that it was him not worthy enough to stick around, you realized it had been you all along.

You weren’t worthy of Yuta Okkotsu.

Your trembling finger hovered over his contact, but you couldn’t do it. Clicking your phone off, you stared up at the ceiling of your now empty dorm room and allowed the hot tears to burn your cheeks, dripping down your neck and into the hem of your shirt. He was still finishing up his training, growing into a man he could be proud of, experiencing the things that made him feel alive. It would be selfish of you to drop this on him now.

Setting down the box on your desk, you pulled out a spare sheet of paper and sat down to draft your last prose to Yuta Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

By the time you’re reading this, I’m sure you will have already heard about my departure from Jujutsu High. I wanted to call you and tell you everything that’s been on my mind, to give you a proper goodbye, but I didn’t want to interrupt your progress overseas.

I wanted to thank you for the kindness you’ve shown me over the years. I’ll cherish each bit of it as long as I live. You kept me holding on through my lowest points, even if it wasn’t the life of sorcery that I was holding onto.

I know I’m cowardly, but I just couldn’t look you in the eyes and tell you that I had given up. You’ve worked so hard and sacrificed so much to hold your place here, and I suppose a part of me feels foolish for giving mine up so easily.

Your passion for undoing the wrongs in this world is so beautiful, and although I couldn’t share it with you, it only ever made me love you more. Please never take it for granted. Continue to fight to hold your place here, because you hold more power than you could ever come to know. I can feel it, even when you’re not here.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t wait for you.

Forever yours,

Y/N

When Yuta Okkotsu arrived back at Jujutsu High three months later, he had already been sitting on the news of your departure for two weeks. His friends thought it best to at least prepare him for when he returned, but he figured so much when you stopped responding to his calls and messages. No amount of preparation could have stopped the hole from opening up in his chest upon reading the letter you’d left in his dorm room. It sat neatly on his untouched pillow— a ghost that haunted him the second he stepped in.

He tried with fervor to be excited for his return, smiling along half heartedly when his friends shoved a party hat on his head and insisted upon celebrating all the birthdays they’d missed. Those haunting blue eyes only stared lifelessly at the cake before him, his soul still sat on the edge of his bed where he’d read your letter.

Forever yours.

Yuta wondered if those simple two words meant the door was open for him to swing in and come find you as he so ardently promised he would. Gojo-Sensei said you were happy though— working toward your place in the world. It was one he no longer felt he had a place in— not when his life consisted so wholly of the very things you were running from.

Months passed, and the both of you tried so desperately to move on. Despite being content in the roots your lives had sprouted, there was always a missing piece that stopped the both of you from blossoming. You always held your breath in hopes he’d come back to you like he said he would, and he always hoped you were still waiting for him despite his insistence that you were happier without him. The both of you were only kids when you’d carelessly thrown out such a vow, after all.

Gojo felt whole-heartedly confident in his whim to have Kaori train you. There was a spark in you, one that wanted to heal those that this world had so carelessly wounded, even if that meant you having to heal yourself first. In the end, it was the right decision, and he prided himself in the fact that there was a happy medium to keep your talents within the jujutsu world still while also fulfilling your purpose. There was a missing piece of the puzzle that lingered ever present though, and that was the infuriating case of you and Yuta Okkotsu.

It was getting depressing— watching the boy mope around pretending to not have the very obvious chip on his shoulder all the damn time. Your old sensei still kept up with you and your progress often, seeing as the school worked closely with Kaori to refer in need sorcerers on a regular basis.

Each time he’d pop in for a visit or called unexpectedly, you’d always ask how everyone back at the school was doing. Sure, you really did hope your old friends were doing okay, but you were really holding your breath for when he’d mention Yuta. Gojo always spoke of him so highly, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly each time, thinking of how proud you were at how much he’d accomplished— just as he said he would. Still, the six eyes never missed that morose glimmer in your eye as you’d nod along to his stories.

“Have you ever tried sleeping at night, or are those dark circles just a part of you now?”

Yuta was snapped from his stupor when his sensei dropped unceremoniously beside him as he looked on at his friends ahead of him. As if having just been reminded of his perpetual exhaustion, he reached up subconsciously to rub at those aforementioned dark eyes.

“Oh, haha,” Yuta’s halfhearted attempt at a laugh only served to drive Gojo’s purpose right home. “Yeah, guess my sleep schedule never really adjusted back to normal, huh?”

“You aren’t performing like you should be, Okkotsu.”

He gaped exasperatedly at his sensei, blinking a few times as if maybe he just hadn’t heard him correctly. Frankly, he had been kicking ass lately, and everyone around him knew it too. Still, if Gojo-Sensei was telling him he was falling behind, it was seemingly the only opinion that mattered. Even if it wore him down till only his skeleton remained, he would keep getting better until he could prove himself to the man who took a chance on him.

Already picking up on the look of determination on the boy’s face, Gojo put out a solemn ‘slow your roll’ hand in front of him. Sighing in amusement, the sensei thought the boy would crush a semi-truck between his hands if it’d make him grow— meant he could prove himself.

“Your mind isn’t here. Hasn’t been since you got back. I can tell, you know.”

Okkotsu’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. No matter how much he worked to train physically, to learn to control his cursed energy and techniques, there was always that one lingering barrier that seemed to keep him from reaching his potential. Of course, he knew he had been more distracted since your departure, but he figured— hoped— it would pass eventually. He thought maybe if he ignored it long enough, pushed down that frenzy to rip his hair out by the roots and bellow out every frustration he’d held in for allowing you to slip away, each day as the urge melted away into dreams of you at night that woke him with a crater in his chest— maybe eventually it would fade just as you did.

“Try to get some rest, clear your mind. Do what you gotta do.” Gojo emphasized, leaning down to tower over his apprehensive prodigy with a knowing smile. His covered eyes flicked down to where Yuta’s fingers were rolling the beads of his colorful bracelet pensively. He hummed in amusement. “You know, I know someone who has that same bracelet.”

His student perked up ever so subtly upon hearing this. The prying man quickly moved to grasp his wrist and inspect the bracelet closer. It made Yuta feel exposed, wanting to crawl under his covers and not come out again if it meant no one else would lay their eyes on the one connection he still had to you. Gulping thickly, he snatched his wrist back, covering the wooden jewelry protectively under his other hand.

“Oh, you know her, don’t you?” Satoru feigned remembrance, snapping his fingers dramatically. “She used to go here.”

The stunned boy stammered out your name in question. It still felt so natural, so effortless rolling off of his tongue despite the prolonged period that had passed since he’d uttered those syllables.

“Yeah! Saw it on her just last week.”

All the blood seemed to drain from Yuta Okkotsu’s face. His wide, haunting eyes suddenly transfixed hazily on the smiling man before him in a manner that would have been terrifying had it been directed at a stranger. You still wore the bracelet he got you? The prospect had his mind spinning, and his stomach churning anxiously. The poor guy looked as though he would short circuit at any moment; brows twitching into a deep furrow, the corners of his lips fluttering in uncertainty. He blinked a few times before looking up at his sensei with a new sense of determination clouding his eyes.

“Where did you say she went?”

Bingo!

The clock’s ticking mocked you menacing as you raced to finish your assessment notes within the hour. Kaori was always merciful with you, understanding that you were still learning and would likely take more time with things, but you couldn’t help but urge yourself to do better.

It had been almost a year that you had been studying while working alongside the counselor, and you had blossomed in a way you never thought would have been possible. Granted, you weren’t able to do any of what you had lovingly labeled as ‘the fun stuff’ yet, you had adjusted surprisingly well to the countless intake assessments and documentation your mentor had entrusted you with. Of course, it wasn’t the same as having a second counselor there with her, but anything helped ease the weight of her overwhelming caseload. She knew it was good experience for you too.

Despite her hectic schedule, Kaori still found time to meet with you often to check in regarding the struggles that brought you to her in the first place, insisting it would be a crucial step in your training as well. Slowly but surely, you were beginning to rebuild that confidence in yourself and your own purpose in this monstrous world. It felt cathartic, being a part of the process of healing for those torn down by the very things that hurt you so long ago as well. It was meaningful— fulfilling.

You wondered if this was how Yuta felt when he was out there, helping people as well, just in his own way. A sharp pang struck you each time your mind wandered too far though, and you were always quick to reel it back in.

Your bottom lip was caught ruthlessly between your teeth, and it seemed the clacking of your keyboard was fighting against the ticking of the clock for dominance. A small spark of defeat struck you as you heard the door of the office creak open. Looking up at the time, your brows furrowed in confusion. You were sure that you had already completed the last intake Kaori had scheduled for you today. Scrambling into the drawer beside you to pull out a new form, you hoped you would at least look somewhat prepared whenever the unexpected patient came to your desk.

“Hi, there!” You called out from your tucked away cubicle, fumbling to save the document you were working on. “I’m back here, you can come on in.”

Slow footsteps approached closer and closer before pausing in front of your desk. Pushing the hair from your eyes, you looked up with a warm, inviting smile.

Oh.

The smile on your face slowly faded as Yuta Okkotsu towered over your desk. It wasn’t the version of him you once knew; this one was taller, more refined, more calculated with the manner in which he held himself. His wide, midnight-blue eyes regarded you carefully, but his face revealed nothing. Your mouth opened and closed pathetically, your mind desperately trying to catch up with the way your day had suddenly progressed. Stepping forward, he calmly sank down into the chair in front of you, hands gripping the arms casually.

“Yu—”

“I heard you offer counseling for sorcerers, right?” He was suddenly smiling sweetly at you, but there was a controlled glint in his eyes— holding him back. Not allowing you to respond, he continued. “Well, I have some things to get off my chest, so it’s lucky I found you, huh?”

You sank back into your chair, allowing the papers in your hands to slip from your fingers and swoosh softly onto the desk. Nodding gently, you urged him to go on, anxiety balling up in the pit of your stomach. He launched off on a long-winded story, one you already knew like the back of your hand— you lived it, after all. Your already knowing the climax didn’t stop the furious blush that overtook you as he recalled the letter he’d found in his dorm upon his arrival back to Tokyo.

“She always had this sweet way of signing off all her letters to me.” Yuta recounted with a soft smile, eyes glimmering as they looked back at you. Yours, on the other hand, were holding back the dam of tears that had been building up for countless months. As the first tear slipped down your cheek, you saw his resolve start to crumble, gaze chasing the drop as it raced down your skin. His bottom lip trembled. “She signed that last one— she signed it off ‘forever yours’, but I never saw her again.”

“Yuta—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t happy?” He finally snapped, his own tears swimming in his eyes. Bracing his hands on the desk, he leaned forward desperately. “I would’ve understood, I would’ve—”

“I tried! I tried to tell you, but you were so sure that I was going to get through it. How was I supposed to look you in the eyes after you gave up so much of your life to train to be better? How was I supposed to tell you I was giving up?”

“You promised me!” His cry rang out in the quiet office, shoving his chair back to stand over you once again. You heard Kaori’s office door open abruptly, likely startled by the perceived altercation. Despite his dominating presence and lingering stance, you couldn’t find it in you to be intimidated by him. You shook your head softly toward your mentor, letting her know you were fine. As the door hesitantly shut once again, Yuta was sinking closer to you despairingly. “I would’ve come back for you— I wouldn’t have cared where I had to look, okay? I wouldn’t have cared that you left everything— but you weren’t supposed to leave me.”

His wounded tone finally caught up to you, and you let your head fall down onto your crumpled hands as you cried. Yuta sighed softly, almost regretting his stinging confession. Quickly looping around the desk, he settled down on his knees in front of you and turned you to face him.

“I’m sorry, Yuta.” You cried, falling into him as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you from your chair. He was stronger than you last remembered him being, but his touch was just as delicate. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Hey, it’s okay. We’re here now, right?” He assured gently, pulling you away from his chest so he could look at you with a smile, tears still clinging to his lashes. His cool hand ran down from your shoulder to your wrist, and he traced the bracelet that hadn’t come off your wrist since you received it. A soft flush covered his cheeks. “You kept it, huh?”

“You kept yours, too.” You laughed breathlessly, wiping at your cheeks with one hand and grasping his bracelet with the other.

“I told you, I always meant everything I said to you. I still do.” His words almost made you break down again, but you worried if you started boo-hoo crying again that Kaori might just burst through the door with more determination than she had last time.

So instead, you took a moment to glance over his matured face, shaking your head in amusement upon seeing those familiar dark circles still hanging under his eyes. Your heart clenched as your eyes ran across the small scar that Maki left on his forehead. When you met his gaze once again, it gave you pause. Yuta had that look in his eyes— the same one he had all those years ago before he left for Kenya. The rapid patter of your heart could be felt in your throat.

Despite your nerves, your lips twitched up into a knowing smile. You reached up tentatively to place a hand over your right eye, covering the scar that had stopped him all those years ago. He pursed his lips at this action and shook his head. In an instant, his long fingers were wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face.

“Don’t.” Yuta said simply before leaning down to capture your lips in his, more assuredly than his sixteen year old self ever could have dared to, but just as sweetly as the boy who promised to come back to you would have.

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[cobaltperun]

Lost (Side - 3) - Daddy issue

Tara Carpenter x Female Reader

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Set after chapter 30. Tara lets something embarrassing slip and you both have to deal with consequences.

Word count: 1.1k

The horror... the worst case scenario... the absolute nightmare, no, the night terror! It was the end of the world as you knew it, and you and Tara were equally to blame for it as the two of you stared at your children like two deer in the headlights. How could you allow this to happen?! You dropped your guard for a few minutes, believing Zack and Susan were outside playing on the trampoline you set up for them. You should have known something was going wrong when you couldn’t hear laughter.

"W-what did you just ask?" Tara stuttered, her face redder than it was in a long, long time, and you would have found her blushing face adorable, if it wasn’t for Zack and Susan just staring at the two of you. confused and curious.

Zack frowned a bit, clearly not fond of the fact that he had to repeat his question. It wasn't that you and Tara didn't hear him, it was more along the lines of having to make sure you heard him correctly.

Susan was the one to shatter the last remnants of your hope. "Mommy, why did you call mom daddy?" she repeated Zack's question.

You and Tara looked at one another, neither of you quite sure how to explain to your eleven-year-old children that there was a bit of a daddy kind going on behind the bedroom doors.

You cleared your throat as Tara refused to look at either of the two kids. "Well, you see, that's," there was no way to explain it!

"Mom is a mom, not a dad," well, now Zack was just pointing out the very obvious fact.

"Right, that is completely right," Tara agreed and grabbed your hand. "Give us a minute, okay?" she let go of your hand to slice two pieces of the cake you made yesterday and set them on the table as the bribe. "We'll be right back!"

You let her pull you into the hall and she let you pull her into a hug as she hid her face in the crook of your neck. "This is a disaster," she whined, grasping onto your shirt as if her life depended on it. Considering how embarrassed both of you were that wasn’t much of an exaggeration.

There was no way you could deny it, you were in a very inconvenient situation. "Guess we need to find some explanation," you were trying, you really were, you helplessly looked around the hall, hoping something in it would give you an idea on what to do or say.

Tara just groaned. "I will never speak again," she decided making you chuckle despite the dire circumstances.

"Come on, we'll get through this," you kissed the top of her head. You were willing to bet you'd be laughing about it later. It was just a bad timing, Tara may have been a bit of a tease, so you went and slipped into a bit more dominant role, prompting a 'Yes, Daddy,' from Tara, just as the twins came into the kitchen.

Tara took a deep breath and looked toward the kitchen with a firm, confident and determined expression on her face. "Let's do this!"

You nodded and followed her once again.

When you came into the kitchen your children were happily eating their cake. "You don't have to tell us," Zack decided and you felt hope filling your heart and you were sure Tara felt the same.

"We'll just Google it!" Susan shattered that hope right away.

"No!" you and Tara yelled at the same time.

The twins tilted their heads, now even more confused.

"Okay, look," you glanced at Tara, and she nodded. "Tara and I really love each other, right?" you asked prompting the twins to nod.

"And sometimes when people like Y/N and me love each other," Tara blushed again and looked to the side, scratching her cheek while taking hold of your hand for comfort.

"We sometimes joke around. 'Cause I am really strong, you know, the famous 'dad strength'?" was it a lame excuse? Yeah, and to make things even worse it didn’t fit what Tara was saying at all! But you still hoped it would be enough.

Zack and Susan looked at one another. Then back at you and nodded. "Okay," they agreed much to your surprise.

"This sounds too good to be true," you whispered to Tara, who nodded.

"We'll just ask aunty Mindy," Susan decided and you could almost hear Tara’s brain short-circuiting while your heart plain and simple stopped.

"NO!" you and Tara once again yelled but the kids were already calling Mindy.

"What's up?" Mindy's voice came from the speaker to your and Tara's absolute horror.

"Aunty Mindy, why did mommy call mom daddy?" Susan asked causing Mindy to choke.

"Mindy," you warned, your tone dangerously low. Surely she would have some decency, some semblance of logic and reason and empathy and just make something up.

Mindy coughed a few times. "Sorry, kids, your parents are kinky," she opened the can of worms and hung up, leaving the twins to once again look at you and Tara.

"What does kinky mean?"

This was hell, this was worse than Ghostface, this was...

"You are too young to know. Who wants chicken schnitzels and fries for lunch?" you were already grabbing the chicken breasts from the freezer as the kids cheered, at least for now forgetting about the conversation you just had.

Later that night Tara’s phone rang just as she was about to lie down next to you and she nearly chucked it at the wall when she saw it was Mindy. She still, begrudgingly, answered. “What?!” she demanded, pissed at the woman.

“Oh, nothing much. By the way, how’s your daddy? Does she call you babygirl?” Mindy teased, laughing her ass off with Anika.

Tara gripped her phone as her eye twitched, but then she turned toward you with a smirk on her face. “Hey, Y/N, did you know Mindy still sleeps with a giant teddy bear? Anika spoons her and she still needs to hug it to sleep,” Tara told you casually while Mindy stopped laughing.

“You are diabolical, Tara,” you could hear the pout on Mindy’s face. “And I am not sleeping with a teddy bear… anymore,” she muttered and hung up, making you and Tara laugh as she joined you, and you wrapped your arms around her as the two of you snuggled for a bit.

“So, that teddy bear thing,” you began and felt Tara giggling. “I just guessed,” she couldn’t help it and began laughing again.

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[demonqueenart]

hi! first of all, i'm so sorry you're feeling the way that you are. you've helped open my eyes to things i admittedly didn't know (dan's comment at wad, for example) or didn't notice. i'm glad you're receiving at least some support from other phans! i don't know if this helps at all (and it's not me trying to excuse dan), but i wanted to add some context to his "third-world country" reference. as an american, i can tell you that we grew up learning "this"third world" as the proper term. most of my colleagues, friends, family members, etc. STILL use it casually to refer to developing nations/the global south - we were literally taught to use it in school. of course it has since become obsolete, as the wording is incredibly offensive. i know about this because of my time in academia, but this awareness hasn't at all spread to the general population (especially in dan's/my generation of millennials and older). as smart as i do think dan is, i wonder if that's also the case in england. he has the responsibility to educate and inform himself and he needs to acknowledge that he's hurt and alienated a large proportion of his fanbase, so i still hope he'll do that soon.

as for the tour, one of my my best friends is mexican (and lives in mexico) and she was really disappointed during ii when they had to cancel the announced mexico dates. they had assumed the dates would work out, but - if i remember correctly - were presented with a lot of visa/permissions issues. they tried to make it work but it didn't, and they waited much too long to tell anyone. my guess is that they wanted to avoid a similar disappointment this time and not give anyone false hope, nor accidentally say anything negative about those countries as they explain their reasoning (which, of course, just comes off worse - ignoring is never the issue).

other artists have had similar issues with asian and middle eastern countries as well, as there is increased censorship and visa requirements. i've spent four years of my life in asian countries (and a few months in south america) and know that there are phans there who'd love to see them, but it might not be feasible.

ultimately, however, dan and phil owe everyone transparency and need to acknowledge if they're having difficulties with bookings in other countries and why. they usually go back and add dates later, so fingers crossed that they're trying to work out some dates in latam and may yet still add them.

It’s the lack of transparency that is the issue here. How am I supposed to trust them when they won’t tell me anything in the first place? And if they expect me to assume for the best, I don’t think I can do that. Not with all the time they tried to bury their mistakes when people have been hurt as if it’s nothing. I’m sorry but if they’re choosing to look good in the public eye before choosing us, then I don’t think I can trust them anymore. And it’s not that they’ll look bad when they’re talking about this stuff, but the fact they have never once talked about it ever really makes it feel like they want to keep this shut. And that hurts a lot.

Thank you for your perspective tho. I think it helps seeing where they can possibly come from.

Auto-message: This ask’s purpose is to acknowledge dnp’s past/present exclusivity, not to cancel them! But to embrace mistakes that they’ve made so that 1. we won’t exclude people in need in this community, and 2. we can normalize bringing up exclusivity so that improvement can happen. Hopefully this will one day help dnp realize that this is a safe space for them to talk about their mistakes, so that this space can become safe for people of all kinds too <3

*If you don’t understand what is happening, scroll through my blog for context. And I’ll be taking time to answer my asks, so don’t think I’m ignoring youuu*

[roguelov]

I think have an answer to an ask from so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site had about calliope saying orpheus was an accident baby and a) people probably have nightmares about condoms breaking and accidentally becoming pregnant so that may affect Morpheus but also b) calliope is a greek goddess and also a daughter of zeus who had like a thousand kids hypnos who is Morpheus dad in the myths had a some kids maybe calliope should be happy she only had one kid 🤣

but also imagine reader finding about this and gets really really really nervous. Having one child is enough, never mind the fact that she may have a whole army of kids to carry and birth. Morpheus will not be touching her without several layers between them both who knows if its just the regular way he can get people pregnant and not through osmosis or something

😂😂😂 I would keep a yard stick between us for eternity sorry Dream you’re not putting a baby in me

“My dear, you are being ridiculous.”

You were wrapped up in layers of blankets, while sitting on the couch. “Safety first,” you mumbled from your cocoon.

“That is not how it works,” Dream sighed.

“Have you seen mythology? People got pregnant from the weirdest things. Nope, not risking it. Not ever.”

Dream couldn’t deny that. He was there for some of it. “Yes, but -“

“And didn’t you say Orpheus was a surprise? What the hell do you mean he was a surprise?”

Dream winced internally. “Well, that was different.”

“Fucking how?” It was obvious you were get irate.

“Calliope and I are gods, beings above the rules of the world. Different logic applies to us.”

“Dream, how is that supposed to comfort me?” You huffed, and retreated further into your bundle. “‘Logic doesn’t apply to me’ blah, blah, blah. You’re not helping in anyway.”

He sighed deeply. He supposed he didn’t word it correctly. He slowly walked over and sat on the couch. “Please, come out. I assure you, nothing will happen unless you consent to it.”

“Still not risking it.”

“My love,” he whispered softly.

You slowly peered over at him.

“I will keep you safe entirely.” He carefully peeled back one layer of the blankets. You allowed him, if not somewhat begrudgingly. “To be blunt, I am not ready to father a child again. But, maybe with time and with a proper conversation with you, I may.”

He removed all the blankets, tossing them aside. He cupped your face, leaning in closely. He pressed his forehead against yours, so you saw his eyes clearly.

“I am telling you if you ever so wished, you will only get pregnant in the traditional way.”

He was telling the truth.

And you believed him.

You sighed, closing your eyes. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he kissed your forehead. “Your concerns are valid, but nothing - and I swear nothing - will come of it unless you consent.

[chillybarba]

Broken Banjo

Chapter One: Shattered Threshold

Ao3 | Wattpad

Welcome to the Broken Banjo AU, where Stanford and Fiddleford end up trapped beyond the portal together.

>> 4.4k words

>> fiddleford & stanford // fiddleford x stanford

>> slow burn, alternate universe, pov ford pines, hurt/comfort, young stanford & young fiddleford, alternate portal incident, the nightmare realm, psychological trauma

“Fiddleford, are you alright?” Stanford’s voice was soft, albeit concerned, but Fiddleford still flinched and spun around, nearly whacking him across the head as he did. But Stanford was quick as he stepped back then sighed, “I suppose that answers my question, although without much of the underlying context… Are you still having concerns about the portal?”

“Am I still-” Fiddleford almost laughed, “Am I still having concerns about the portal? Course I’m still having concerns! Stanford, as groundbreaking as this all is, it’s… it could be dangerous!” 

Outside of the control room, the interdimensional portal whizzed loudly and shone brighter than the light of one thousand LED light bulbs. Stanford was staring at it, unfazed somehow, and it occurred to him then that Fiddleford would never understand it. More correctly – Fiddleford would never understand him. He may as well be considered “insane” as his partner had told him many times, and he accepted that. (Fiddleford was probably right.)

“All science is dangerous in the wrong hands, but we’re not those hands. We’re going to do so much good, don’t you see? This portal, this… this bridge between worlds, it’s going to change things for the better, revolutionize all we know! Who knows what sorts of things we’ll be able to learn from other dimensions!” Stanford placed a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder and he felt him shrink beneath it, still tense, so Ford gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry so much, Fiddleford. Today’s the test run. Whatever happens here will be in a controlled environment with a test dummy.” 

Fiddleford looked up at Stanford, but his eyes ended up looking at his feet, and he took an audible breath. He wasn’t the bravest between the two of them, or really, between him and anybody. Although he was proud of his work, he was always afraid of the possibility that his technology would be destructive rather than useful. With his son in the world, that fear had become greater with time, and he was terrified of destroying this life. Stanford knew that, and he was always reassuring him, but sometimes it just wasn’t enough – and Stanford, again, knew that. He couldn’t blame him for it.

“We’re so close, Fiddleford… We’ve come this far – we can’t turn back now,” he whispered to him, squeezing his shoulder before letting go, “Come on.” He slipped out of the control room then, trying to leave Fiddleford to his thoughts in hopes that it would help. Stanford wasn’t ever really sure what anyone needed. Already he was bad enough at taking care of himself.

Stanford went to the back room to begin gathering up the test dummy they’d thrown together a few weeks ago, and Fiddleford joined him soon after. But he watched as his hands couldn’t quit their slight trembles as he worked on tying a rope around one of the dummy’s wrists, even as Fiddleford made sure to knot it twice, leaving no room for error. Stanford watched him closely, concerned still, but knowing it wasn’t the time to talk about it anymore. He tried to help though, assisting Fiddleford in wrapping the other end of the rope loosely around his wrist.

“Alright, I’ma ready now, Stanford. Dummy’s all tied up to go,” he visibly forced a smile at Stanford but it didn’t reach his eyes. Stanford made no comment and he didn’t return the gesture either.

“Thank you, Fiddleford. How about as soon as we’re done here, we can grab some dinner? That restaurant you like…” They both knew Stanford wasn’t good at being emotional or all that caring, but he tried, and that fact seemed to settle the shake of Fiddleford’s bones a bit. Stanford knew it to be true as his smile reached his eyes then and he nodded.

“Sure thing, I’d like that. Let’s have the all-ya-can-eat, I’m already starvin’!” Fiddleford relaxed further, and Stanford allowed himself to back off of him a bit as he laughed in return, nodding right along with him.

“Sounds good to me,” Stanford replied with a genuine smile.

Stanford then grabbed the test dummy’s other arm and they walked together out to the portal. It seemed to glow brighter somehow, as if taunting them, egging them on. Like it was hungry. But Stanford shook such a crazy idea from his mind as soon as it came. He took a deep breath to prepare and steeled himself, stepping to the edge of the yellow caution tape before the portal. Beside him, Fiddleford looked at him, exchanging a last glance which he met easily. 

“To science, hm?” Stanford gave a coy grin, far too excited, and it made Fiddleford chuckle.

“To science,” Fiddleford replied gently before he looked ahead. There was the sudden feeling of impending doom, but at that moment, everything began to happen too fast, much too fast.

Without either of them realizing, the rope had tangled just enough around Fiddleford’s arm to tether him to their test dummy. So, when he believed he was letting go, he was suddenly being swept away faster than he or Stanford could stop it. Arm first, Fiddleford was grabbed by the portal’s pull, and he cried out in fear. 

“STANFORD!” His scream rang throughout the laboratory. Stanford could feel its vibration in his feet, and he jumped, grabbing hold of the rope before it was too late – before Fiddleford was taken. 

“Fiddleford-! H-Hang on, I’m- I’ll…!” Stanford stammered, possibly for the first time in the past decade, as the rope burned and tore into his hands, the portal’s gravity much stronger than him. His whole body was dragged closer and closer as he tried to hold on, desperately and painfully so, but it slipped away from him. 

Fiddleford’s pleads were cut short and the silence made Stanford’s ears ring until it drowned out the sound of his pounding heartbeat. Maybe it was that it had instead gotten caught in his throat as he suddenly felt himself unable to catch even a single breath. He looked down to the ground beside him, where Fiddleford had just been, where they had just spoken, seconds ago. And then he looked behind to where they had a few minutes ago agreed to get dinner once this was all said and done. 

How quickly it was that things could change. 

The bitter taste of panic clawed at Stanford’s chest while his mind recounted what had just happened, turning through each moment like pages in a book, trying to make sense of it. As if a cruel joke, the portal grew louder in Fiddleford’s absence, something akin to mocking laughter. Teeth clenched, Stanford seemed to realize many things so suddenly, things that should have come to light much longer ago, before everything had spiraled out of control. How blind it was that he had been. How Fiddleford strayed further and further from him. How he had been utterly beguiled by Bill’s flattery. All of it caused his one true friend to be ripped right from his hands, torn away like a kite in the wind. And if Bill wanted to help, he would, but he wasn’t there. The most crucial moment, and he wasn’t there, as if he didn’t really care enough to help. Bill, he realized, made him lose one of the few things he still cared about.

Losing Fiddleford would be his biggest failure and regret yet, and in a flash, for the first time in months, Stanford could find himself caring less about the portal. He needed to get Fiddleford back and that was all that mattered then. Though, the portal was beginning to destabilize; he had to hurry, so he rushed into the control room. There he grabbed his and Fiddleford’s magnet guns, shoving them into a bag and throwing it over his shoulder. They hadn’t come up with much else in the form of handheld weapons so it would have to do.

A crashing came from the portal room, and then a great rumbling rocked the entire chamber. Stanford was running out of time. He grabbed whatever other supplies were easily accessible before rushing back to the room, nervous for the first time since he had begun the project. After everything, it finally was occurring to him that maybe Bill wasn’t the good guy. How did he really, truly, without fault know he could trust him? What if he’d been a fool that would now end up getting himself and his best friend killed? Stanford tried not to think about it, there was no time to be afraid. He gripped tightly onto the strap of his bag and jumped forwards without allowing himself another thought, right over the yellow tape on the ground, and was subsequently pulled into the interdimensional portal in mere seconds. But the journey felt like hours. 

Around Stanford was a flurry of lightning and stars and purplish-blue hues, and he could only guess that he was in some sort of rift or wormhole. His research into them was very limited given that he had never actually seen one before, only ever theorizing about them. The closest that he’d come to something like it was the bottomless pit and the current situation was much different than that one. Stanford’s theories were that going through a rift or wormhole would likely kill someone with a mortality such as his – that was, any mortal being, humans very much included. If not the traveling through in itself, it would be the lack of oxygen accompanied by it, yet he was breathing fine. In a way that one might consider tragic, he wished that he wasn’t. 

Swirls and flashes of colors swamped Stanford’s eyes and hurt his head, but he didn’t stop looking around, looking for some type of gap or tear in the rift that could free him. He stared in the direction which was ahead – the way he was heading – and squinted. A growing pinhole was at what he could only assume to be the end of the wormhole and he felt a wave of relief. (There was always the concern of being forever trapped in one he’d learned from his studies.) There was a sudden and strong force of gravity tugging on him again before he knew it, and he clutched tightly onto his bag, swept quite forcefully out of motion and into space. 

Stanford gasped a breath as he felt the wind get punched out of him – or replaced, in a stranger explanation of it. For a split second, his entire abdomen and throat ached, but the pain dissipated as quick as it came. Instead he felt a warmth grow, and it became like a bright light within him as soon as his eyes flickered upwards to see Fiddleford floating limp through the void. From where he was, Stanford couldn’t tell if he was dead or unconscious, but lord did he pray like he had never prayed before that it wasn’t the former. 

Securing the bag’s strap around his shoulder, he reached out his arms, making swimming-like motions through the stretching void. He propelled himself towards Fiddleford and collided with him, arms wrapping around him, holding on tight. Stanford reached around and pressed two fingers against the pulse point on his neck, sighing in relief to learn that he was merely knocked out, not dead.

“Fiddleford…” he whispered, even if no one would ever hear him again, “I am so sorry.” 

In Stanford’s arms, Fiddleford stirred a bit, and he could only assume it was the warmth that woke him. His eyes opened slowly, as if afraid to find out what would be there to see, but there was a visible relief that came over him (plus a hint of shock). Stanford felt his heart skip a beat as he saw it and he could only assume it was from a correction of his anxiety.

“S-Stanford-? How come you…” Fiddleford trailed off, then continued, softer, “You came after me?” Although his voice was quiet, Stanford could hear his surprise, and his own guilt increased more than tenfold. 

“I’d always come after you. I couldn’t…” he started before correcting himself, “I wouldn’t let you leave. Especially not after everything. You’re my friend, Fiddleford.” 

Fiddleford didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t get the chance to figure it out, because there came a not-so-distant sound. An awful, wretched sound; something akin to what one would imagine to be flesh being torn from muscle, then muscle being torn from bone. And then a gnawing, a crunching, and a shrill screaming. 

When it began, Stanford immediately held onto Fiddleford tighter and kicked his legs and flailed one arm, pushing them forward. He hid them behind some space rocks and let go of Fiddleford once he did, looking around for the source of the noise. It seemed that he wouldn’t be the one to discover it, though.

“Oh- Oh, God-!” Fiddleford gasped, unable to look away from what caught his eye, and Stanford followed his gaze to it. His stomach dropped as he saw it, and the nausea came seconds after: the sight of Bill Cipher, demented, almost unrecognizable. 

The one he considered his muse was there and feasting, his exoskeleton – if that was what you would call it – removed to reveal raw, twisted flesh. His eye opened like a mouth, revealing sharp and jagged teeth, devouring his meal in less than a minute. Bill’s body stitched itself up after he was finished, regrowing and regenerating each glowing yellow layer, and it was as fascinating as it was sickening. 

At first, Stanford believed they went unnoticed, but the way that Bill’s eye locked onto them so apace made him believe that he knew they were watching the entire time. He was horror-struck, but snuck a glance at Fiddleford who was struck frozen and as white as a ghost. 

“Well, well, well!” Bill’s voice rang cheerily, and Stanford could hear the underlying venom clearly for the first time since they had met. He realized at that moment that it had always been there, he merely had been too blind to see – Bill had blinded him. “Look what we’ve got here. My good pal Stanford and his cute little lab partner! I didn’t expect you to end up here so soon!” 

“Bill,” Stanford had gained his confidence, overtaken by anger and feelings of betrayal, “What is this place? This… You told me-!”

“Ah, ah! I told you everything from the start! Welcome to my dimension, Stanford… You’ve made it to the Nightmare Realm!” Bill’s hands raised above his head and he laughed, squinting a smile at the two. What he lacked in remorse, he made up for in malice, his tone dripping with it and sadistic glee, and Stanford felt a chill. The full reality of their situation hit him like a freight train—this wasn’t just some otherworldly adventure; this was a trap, meticulously crafted by the very being he had trusted.

Fiddleford’s breath hitched, snapping Stanford out of his thoughts. His friend was trembling, eyes wide with terror, the horror of Bill’s morbidity paralyzing him, and it was all his fault. Stanford instinctively moved closer, shielding Fiddleford with his body as if that would protect them from what he then knew to be the monstrosity taunting them.

“Oh, don’t look so glum, boys!” Bill went on, voice dripping with mock concern. “This is just a little taste of what’s in store! You didn’t think I’d let you go on and prance around my dimension without a proper welcome, did you?”

Stanford’s mind raced, searching for any possible escape, any way to twist the situation in their favor. But all he could think of was the twisted version of Bill floating before them, the terrified Fiddleford stuck shaking behind him, and the gnawing fear that there was no way out.

“You’re insane,” Stanford spat, trying to keep his voice steady, although his distress was palpable. “This isn’t what we agreed on, Bill! You lied to me! Pulled the wool right over my eyes!”

Bill’s uncontrolled laughter echoed through the nightmare-scape, harsh and grating. “Lied? Oh, Sixer, don’t be so dramatic. I merely omitted a few… details. But you should be thanking me! You wanted knowledge, didn’t you? You wanted to see the universe in all its glory? Understand all the things you couldn’t before? Well, here you are – front row seats to the grand show!”

“This isn’t some game, Bill!” Stanford’s voice wavered as he moved forward, covering Fiddleford further, his yelling fueled by pure hatred by that point, “You’ve taken it too far, the deal’s off!” 

Those words caused Bill’s eye to narrow with anger and his body doubled in size, towering over Stanford and Fiddleford, coloring a deep red. His voice dropped to an unsettling growl. “You don’t get to call the shots here, Sixer. I decide when the game’s over, and trust me, it’s just getting started. You can’t get rid of me!” 

Stanford’s heart pounded as Bill’s presence – quite literally – loomed larger, his shadow casting them into darkness, as if divine punishment. The world around them began to distort as the Nightmare Realm itself seemed to twist and groan with his fury. Stanford felt Fiddleford clutch at his arm, a desperate grip that brought him back to the moment, reminding him that escape was their only option.

“Fiddleford, we have to move – now!” Stanford urged, his voice barely a whisper. But before they could react, Bill’s energy crackled in the air and he pointed his finger at them, sending a shock of lightning that obliterated the asteroid they had intended on using for cover. Stanford shielded his eyes as chunks of rock and dust flew out in all directions and rendered them blind within its radius. 

Choking on each breath as he inhaled dust, trapped in the mess of the destroyed asteroid, Stanford kept down his panic and swam through the cloudedness, grabbing Fiddleford without a word as he went. He held him tight by the arm, not about to lose sight of him again, and dodged stray bolts of lightning that Bill sent their way. Stanford used the blindsight to his advantage, trying to keep them in the dust cloud as best he could, holding his breath for most of it. 

“You can run and you can hide all you’d like, but you know I’ll always find you, Fordsy!” Bill said, almost sing-song like. Stanford could feel his face become red – with anger or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure. He remained silent, though. 

They hid behind the dusty smokescreen until it became quiet enough, once Bill’s taunts had settled. He decided then to propel himself and Fiddleford as fast as he could out of the debris. Although Stanford knew silence wasn’t very good – especially during a fight with an insane demonic entity – he knew it was a “now or never” moment. If they waited too long, they’d never be able to slip away, so Stanford went and brought Fiddleford closer to himself, just in case. Again, he shielded him, as Bill was far less likely to kill him than he was to kill Fiddleford. 

Somehow, by the grace of someone, their escape was clean; Bill didn’t spot them. Stanford thanked whatever god had been listening to his agonizing prayers, but after everything, he was even less sure that he believed in the existence of one. They slipped away through spacious gasses and stray stars, off into a nearby asteroid belt, and Stanford scanned each one for an entrance to hide in for cover. Some were shiny with gems and minerals, and some were dark with obsidian and coal. 

But there was one, he noticed, that looked strange, and upon further examination, there was, in fact, a way into it. A purple glow emanated from a hole in the side and Stanford felt a glimmer of hope for the first time since they’d gotten trapped. It looked to be a cave or cavern, a place they could recover and think up a plan while hiding from Bill. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, Fordsy!” Bill’s taunting voice echoed through, just as soon as Stanford thought that maybe he’d given up. His laughter again reverberated around them, bouncing off of the asteroids’ surfaces and making it impossible to tell where he was. But Stanford ignored his goading, knowing they had found their escape. The purple glow from the entrance to the hollow asteroid cast shadows onto their faces, making Fiddleford look even more haggard and terrified than he already was.

“We have to get inside,” Stanford whispered urgently, tugging Fiddleford toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what would be inside the glowing cavern, but he knew that staying exposed out there was a death sentence for at least one of them. Bill was playing with them, like a cat with a mouse, and Stanford had no intention of letting them become caught in his claws.

Together they crawled through the narrow opening, Fiddleford with some struggle as he continued to run on adrenaline alone, the glowing light surrounding them as they entered the alcove within the asteroid. There they discovered what exactly that purple glow was coming from: a campfire. Specifically, a campfire with various unfamiliar beings huddled around it. Stanford immediately put his guard up, but settled a bit as they noticed him and Fiddleford but made no move to do anything harmful towards them. They simply observed the pair for a moment before looking back to their fire, talking amongst themselves in a language Stanford couldn’t even begin to understand. But he took it as a sign that they weren’t unwelcome to join, so he made his way to the corner with Fiddleford struggling alongside him while on his hands and knees. 

Initially there was a great relief Stanford felt as they were finally in shelter and not alone, but that relief quickly evaporated as he noticed Fiddleford’s labored breathing and the way he winced with every little movement. Fiddleford had been running on sheer willpower, but now that they had a moment of relative safety, his condition was becoming impossible to ignore. Again, there was that pang of guilt deep in Stanford’s chest: How had he not noticed that Fiddleford was injured?

“Fiddleford, are you alright?” Stanford asked, voice hardly above a whisper as he then helped Fiddleford lower himself onto the cool ground. His skin was pale and clammy, stark contrast to the flickering purple that bathed them both. Fiddleford tried to nod, but his attempt at a reassuring smile came off as more of a grimace. The fact that he was still shying away from Stanford nearly broke him. 

“Jus’ a scratch,” Fiddleford murmured with a hint of a slur, the way he clutched his side counteracting his words. Stanford’s heart sank as he saw the dark stain spreading across Fiddleford’s shirt – blood, and a lot of it at that. He bit back the surge of panic rising in his throat. They didn’t have the time or the resources for this, but there was no way they could keep going. Stanford couldn’t let him suffer in silence by cause of him anymore. 

At that, Stanford glanced back at the group of aliens, his mind racing, trying to figure out what he could do to communicate with them. He had no idea if they were friendly and he was sure they didn’t understand his language, but they were the only chance Fiddleford had. The injury was too severe for Stanford to handle alone. Taking a deep breath, he decided to approach them, keeping his movements slow and non-threatening.

“Please,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady, “my friend is hurt. Can you help him?”

The aliens stopped their conversations and turned their attention to Stanford. Their eyes, some glowing with the same purple light as the fire did, regarded him with unreadable expressions. For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire and Fiddleford’s labored breathing. Stanford felt unsettled, unsure if he’d made the right choice, but what other choice did he really have in his situation? 

Any response or assistance that Stanford hoped to gain seemed to not be coming, and he felt torn up and raw inside. He stood there for a moment longer, hoping they would do something, anything, but it was a futile battle. So, he nodded at their lack of answer, and swallowed his tongue. As he was about to go back to Fiddleford and try to help with what he had, his body turned away, a weight was placed upon his shoulder. Stanford jolted and looked back to see one of the aliens, briefly afraid of what may happen to him, but when he looked down, he saw they held a fabric satchel out to him. His eyes shot up to meet theirs, which were calm and gentle, and then back down to the bag. Stanford took it with shaking hands. 

“...Thank you,” he managed to get out, any other words he wished to say caught within his throat. The alien only nodded at him and moved away, allowing Stanford to go and sit back down beside Fiddleford. Silence remained in the recess as he opened the bag, taking out what was inside: a small electronic device with the indentation of K127X carved into it, as well as a vial (which he could only assume was a medicinal agent), bandages and the like, and some rations of food and drink. 

The fabric satchel was untied carefully by him, and he laid it with the resources out on the ground very carefully as the aliens resumed their background chatter. Stanford picked up the vial, a liquid sloshing around inside with a similar consistency to that of water but was instead golden colored. It shimmered unnaturally but he removed the cork, looking over to Fiddleford who looked to be having trouble keeping conscious. He should have but, he wasted no time in bringing it to his lips and tilting it up, helping him to swallow it down. 

Fiddleford drank it all and the effects occurred faster than Stanford expected. His shallow breathing evened out and his slight twitches of pain stopped, hand slipping from holding his side, seemingly no longer in pain. But his face was etched with exhaustion still, and Stanford’s brows furrowed with another ache of sadness and guilt. It didn’t help that Fiddleford remained silent, even though he had helped him. Stanford didn’t say a word about it, though. He knew he deserved that silence. As long as Fiddleford wasn’t on the edge of death anymore, he was fine with anything. At least the ache in his heart was soothed a bit as Fiddleford felt comfortable enough to rest his head on his shoulder and relax. 

And while Fiddleford began to take the time to rest, Stanford decided to try to figure out some sort of plan to get them home safe – that was, as safe as humanly possible… he hoped.

Next Part >>

[areallyhappyperson]

Evil gravity falls idea: during the portal scene where Mabel says I trust you she gets sucked in like Fiddleford and swaps places with Stanford

And Dipper and Ford would both ostracize Stan for doing what they see as the stupidest decision possible. This of course pushes Dipper to become much closer to Ford and as the summer continues the brothers Pines don't grow closer together. Stan is kicked out and Dipper takes the apprenticeship.

Seeing no other options Stan goes on the road and tries once again to look for his next biggest idea, but is haunted by the fact that he may have killed his great niece. He is once again fully cut off from his family and while he has the money he received from the mystery shack he is Stan Pines once again.

Dipper follows Ford's footsteps and learns more about Gravity Falls. His parents of course say yes that their child can take a homeschooling with the guy who HAS 12 PHDS. Dipper starts to follow all too well and he begins to delve deeper and deeper. The two start to find more about the Nightmare Realm, but at least it is safe from Bill's hands.... unless they didn't have unicorn hair. While the two are great in their problem solving they were never able to even summon the gate as Grenda and Candy stopped talking to Dipper when he revealed he let Mabel get killed. Dipper and Ford continue to try and work as they cut more and more people out for acting too Bill-ish. Dippers mind is scanned and he is protected from Bill, but there are other dangers to be found.

And finally our dear Mabel. Of course Bill didn't initially know that she was in the Nightmare dimension, but it was only a matter of time before he found out. It doesn't take two braincells to figure out a place called the Nightmare Dimension was probably home to some nasty people. What does take a lot of skill is evading Bill and talking with refugees. With only her will and her creativity Mabel starts to do her best making it along in the nightmare dimension. She grows a hate for her trusting and kind nature as it was the exact thing that likely got her family killed. The portal did exactly what Dipper and her head said it would. She would of course try to stay positive, but how long can you stay positive when, you're pretty sure, no one is coming to save you. She tries to get in contact with people, but after a long time of hoping there is nothing in the end. Ford says it is too dangerous to open the portal again and Dipper never can push himself enough to open it. Not to mention the fuel it requires.

Though bad ends don't just end. The world continues on. Bill realizes just how close he is to getting this portal open. He knows how gullible Mabel can be and so he finally makes deals with the remaining Pines. Mabel was easier. He just had to tell her a half truth of promising he would not open the portal himself or personally invade using the portal if she joined his side and said a few words, but Stan was harder. He was a con man and the world's greatest one at that. Bill would have to do something he never realized was so hard. He would have to tell a whole truth. It was the one thing that Stan would never be able to figure out. He just had to give Stan what he wanted. He wanted to pilot Stan's body for 30 minutes and then he would make Stan a god in Weirdmaggeddon. He would give Stanley everything he ever wanted with no extra cost. He wanted to preserve his own life and make their universe something he thought would be greater.

At the lowest point in his life Stanley finally says yes and the convergence at the Mystery Shack begins. Mabel is ready to slip through and set the portal to the highest setting as Stanley drives back to confront his brother. Bill takes over just outside of the Mystery Shack and disables Ford immediately before threatening to kill Dipper and doing what he needs to to break the dimensional rift.

Is this anything y’all I would love to hear ideas or if I am doing this fanfic thing correctly

[bunnylovesani]

I know you said that you want to move on from this, but I have to tell you my thoughts because I can’t stop thinking about all of this.

I am a content creator as well, and I write for Anakin. I have been writing for various characters from various shows for years on here, and nothing - nothing - is more toxic than this fandom right now.

From everything I’ve witnessed, I can only attribute it to one person. Indy.

Unfortunately he cannot be helped because of how vain he is, which aren’t even my words. They are his. And it would be fine, if he just left other people alone.

But indy is a bully. A big bully. He polices this whole fandom like he’s got nothing better to do at all. And I’m so sick of it. It makes me and other creators feel like we have to walk on eggshells when we post on here (thus why I am anon. Because god forbid indy sees this, and his little squad of bitter rejects try to ‘cancel’ me too - which, don’t even get me started on cancel culture).

Indy has been called out for creating things before that other people don’t like. His advice? “Just block, don’t read, keep scrolling.” How fucking hard is it to practice what you preach, rather than dragging a new person through the mud each week?

Not to mention, that shit indy was spewing a few weeks back about “not liking how other creators are writing about Anakin because it’s not correct” ? “Be careful with my toy?” “I’m taking him back until you can learn how to handle him correctly?” What kind of entitlement let’s him believe Anakin is HIS to write for only. Anakin is not his idea. He is not his toy. He is George Lucas’s idea that EVERYONE can enjoy, and play with.

And his opinion is not the only correct one out there. I don’t care how much “character studying” he’s done, he can be wrong. Other people can “character study” and come up with completely different conclusions about Anakin. And he can also just let people write what they want to write. Don’t like it? Block, don’t read, keep scrolling. Stop fucking posting about it and laying claim to something that was never his to begin with.

I tried to support indy, because again, he is a phenomenal writer. but he’s way too problematic. It makes me sick seeing his name pop up on my feed, cause that blog literally emits toxic energy.

I am sorry he sunk his claws into you.

Anyways, this isn’t about indy. He was told it was a private matter so he had no reason to butt his big head in anyway. This is about you and Ava.

While Ava may have written an Anakin stalker au, she DOES NOT own it. Nobody own that. Cause nobody owns the ideas of stalkers, and nobody owns the idea of Anakin except GL and Disney. Your work does not resemble hers even slightly. And whose to say someone else hasn’t already written that au in the past? Maybe it’s buried somewhere in tumblr’s vaults. Do they own that idea? Should you dig through years of posts and credit them somehow?

The whole idea is ridiculous. You credit people for their original ideas if you are inspired by them and have permission to use it. You do not need to ask permission or credit something that belongs to everyone.

I could start writing about, I don’t know, firefighter!anakin right now - do I then OWN that au?

Fuck no!

We are all here for the same reason. To write fake scenarios about fake people. Of course, don’t blatantly steal peoples words and ORIGINAL ideas, but the fact that people are spouting all this bullshit about OWNING these common au-ideas now is crazy. Unless you’ve done some kind of world-building or OC-creating, that shit is not original. It’s been done before and it will be done again. Cry about it.

Now let’s bring the linecook Anakin au into consideration. How is it fair that Tilly can write about it, not credit anyone, and get away scotch free? Why didn’t she get called out like you did?

Granted she took it down, but I still think it’s horseshit. Nobody owns that idea. I’ve seen it used for so many different characters on various platforms. She did not have to take it down for some bullshit law indy place on this fandom.

I really am saddened that so many people got dragged into this. Ava left; an amazing content creator. Tilly deleted her work; also an amazing creator. And indy continues to show his true colors; an entitled asshole who can’t let anyone breathe on here.

I want to go back to when this shit was enjoyable. Now all I see on my feed is people throwing each other around because no one can play nice anymore.

Don’t steal peoples ideas. But don’t claim ideas as your own if they are NOT original.

I am on your side bunny. I think you’ve made some very good points, and I commend you for keeping your work up and for standing up for yourself.

At the end of the day, you are a victim of circumstance. I truly just think people need to stop dick riding indy. And I know if he ever sees this, he’ll try to make some witty comeback that only halfway makes sense. he always sounds so defensive when he tries too hard to make it seem like he doesn’t care. He probably cries himself to sleep over these things. I think he needs that.

DAMN ANON. Wish I knew who you were so I could kiss you.

I second everything you’ve said. Blocking me without giving me the chance to respond or explain to a public post made about me was very high and mighty as well as cowardly of him.

I don’t have much more to add since I said I was done talking but I’m gonna post this masterpiece so others can read it.

Seriously thank you for taking the time to write this out and share your valuable thoughts, much love ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[favorvn]

(I'm sorry for the mistakes, English is not my native language) (*/ω＼) Hi, yesterday I found out about Favor and fell in love with your game. First of all, for her artistic style - it's damn beautiful, Z is both frightening, but at the same time admires and attracts (both his hair and horns ~ and I want to touch them). The fact that I can't see his eyes, but I've seen hints of what they look like (I've managed to read your entire Tumblr several times) makes my imagination work like never before! Secondly, for references to real religion. I am practically not interested in this, and my knowledge is extremely superficial, but if I understood and remembered everything correctly, then the fact that you did not invent (to some extent) any fictional religion in the universe of the game (I have absolutely nothing against this), but turned to an existing religion, causes me to repeat the admiration. I have so many questions about the game, but in order not to drag out an already long message, I will ask only some of them (I hope you don't mind). 1) Will you see angels in this game? 2) You mentioned that if Z does not find the means to immortality for Y/N, then he will simply seduce him (her) so that he goes to hell, to him. What would Y/N's "life" in hell be like? (if it's not spoilers) 3) Referring to your mentions described above, it became interesting to me. Let's say Z has found a means to immortality, but Y/N is against it? What if he (she) wants to live an ordinary human life and, when the time comes, die? Will he try to convince you/N to become immortal, or will he do everything without his (her) consent? 4) Given how old Z is, how many human languages does he know? I apologize if my questions turned out to be stupid or strange. And I apologize if my words may have seemed rude, I assure you, not a single word of mine had a non-native meaning. Many thanks for the amazing game from one of the first (I believe) fans in the CIS. I am looking forward to the release of the continuation of the story! (I speak without pressure and attempts to hurry up somehow). Please take good care of your physical and mental health! (⌒▽⌒)☆

(Oh, and also taking this opportunity, I congratulate you and Z on Valentine's Day! (*^.^*))

Thank you SO much for the detailed and thoughtful message, I'm sure this took forever to write, but I am so touched 🥰!

I will say about religion: In the game, I mainly use ideas from Christianity/ Catholicism/Judaism/Islam ect as a base, I try to take common aspects and common and contrasting ideas that cross amongst monotheistic religions. A lot of the topics in this game surrounding religion or religious ideas and values are thoughts I tend to wonder about often. Religion is a contentious topic, so I do want to say that whatever the game is saying or asking doesn't mean it's right or accurate to everyone, it is just my personal creation at the end of the day.

And when we get to that point in the game, I am definitely interested in hearing what others have to say.

But onto your questions:

1. Yes

2. I would imagine Z would take care of MC and show them the ropes. Z would make sure MC didn't get recruited into any demon armies so they could stick around him all of the time and not have to be around other demons. - I don't plan to get to this point in the game, so it's kinda up to interpretation.

3. Z would do everything in their power to win over MC either immortality or to hell with him. If MC ends up in Heaven, Z would essentially be separated from MC and Z isn't willing to risk that outcome.

4. Z knows a few human languages, but mainly old ones (as he only really interacted with humans long ago). He just recently picked up English (from his 20 movies, some video games, and fellow demons). Z is a fast learner, thankfully because he has a lot to learn about the human world.

Your questions aren't stupid! Thank you SO much for taking the time to read everything and then ask them 🥰💕 It really made me happy! I'm happy to have a fan in the CIS (I actually have plans for a slavic character in the future!) Thank you again for your time and care into these questions!

[weepingfromacedartree]

Ten Milestones (Interlude): The Usual Spot

Hi friends!

The last interlude is live 🥳

May 9th, 2022

Monday

This morning, like most Monday mornings over the last twelve or so months, Colin is standing outside a coffee shop in Central London. He’s waiting for Penelope to arrive, which only happens about 33.33% of the time on mornings like this; usually, she beats him here. 

She mouths “Sorry” from across the street at 8:34 AM — approximately seven minutes later than she usually arrives. Colin gives her a thumbs down and a sarcastic scowl in response. For about 30 seconds, he watches as she stands there, an unwitting smile rising then fading on her face; the passing traffic between them cuts up her movements like frames of an old movie. 

Inside, she orders a croissant and a coffee with cream and sugar. He orders a sandwich and a drink with a silly name and a composition of at least 50% sugar. They leave the shop at 8:44 with their breakfasts in hand. As they start on a familiar route, they pick up a familiar conversation.

“So… What’s your pitch for today?” 

“Ithaboutuh,” Penelope mumbles, still chewing on her pastry. She swallows, then clarifies, “About the Premier League.” 

“Really?” Colin chuckles. “That doesn’t sound like a typical topic for a Penelope Featherington column.” 

“Well, it’s less about the club itself and more about the effects it has on local tourism. You know — fans flying in from around the world, hotel rates skyrocketing, local businesses bringing in more cash, drunk Americans getting mugged at increasing rates, et cetera.” 

Colin snorts. 

“Sounds like something Danbury would like.” 

“That wasn’t my reason for choosing the pitch — but Danbury’s approval always helps Monday mornings go smoother.”

When they halt at a crosswalk, Penelope sips her coffee while Colin thinks over her pitch. Just as the little green man lights up and signals for them to continue forward, he clears his throat.

“If you want to do some on the ground research on crazed football fans, I bet Michael could get us two tickets to the Arsenal game on Friday.” 

“Friday?” she echoes, her brows stitching together. She sounds confused, like the two syllables don’t fit together correctly in her mouth. 

“Um. Yes?”

“Friday night?”

“Yes,” he confirms, slightly more assured this time. 

She takes another sip of her drink before saying anything else. From the way she tilts her head back, it appears to be the last sip. 

“That’s a great idea, but I —” She takes a breath. “I’m busy on Friday night. Unfortunately.”

“Oh, that’s —” 

Fine, is what he was about to say. Objectively, it is fine. Penelope is a busy person with a full life. She doesn’t have to come running whenever Colin wants to hang out with her. (Which is just about always, these days.) 

It is fine. But Penelope’s sudden change in demeanour…

“Is something wrong, Pen?” 

“No!” she answers quickly. “I just — I have plans.” 

Colin takes a sip of his own drink. He uses those few seconds to mull over her words. He doesn’t want to pry, but he also knows there is something under the surface that Penelope isn’t saying.

“Do you already have tickets for the Arsenal game? If so, I promise I won’t be offended. Well, not too off—”

“No, I just have a date.” 

She says those words casually, as if they would have no impact on him, past clarifying the nature of her plans on Friday night. Objectively, this makes sense, seeing as Colin has never said anything that would make her believe otherwise. 

They do have an added impact, though. Even if Colin knows that’s ridiculous. Even if he knows that Penelope can and does date people who are not him. Even if they’ve discussed this subject in the past. Even if he knows they could put it to rest once and for all, if only he weren’t too scared to —

“A non-football related date,” Penelope clarifies with a soft chuckle, only after Colin doesn’t respond for several seconds. 

“Oh! That’s —”

He searches his brain for something logical to say. He has trouble doing so, though; his brain is too busy focusing on one particular image, instead. 

A pale blue envelope. One that arrived at his own flat yesterday and is currently sitting unopened on the counter in his kitchen. 

“Does this have to do with Ben’s Save The Date going out? That’s over five months away. You have plenty of time to secure a da—”

“No, Colin,” Penelope interrupts, her tone suddenly defensive. She throws her empty coffee cup into a nearby trash can; he can practically hear it rattle against the metal basin as it drops to the bottom. Then, beneath her breath, she delivers him the most devastating insult he’s ever heard. 

“You sound like my mum.” 

“Woah! I —”

“I do date, you know. And not just to ‘secure’ a date for a wedding several months from now.” 

“I know,” Colin claims, sounding just as defensive as her. He tries to tone it down as he continues, “I know that, Pen. The timing just made me think the two could be related.” 

“Well, they’re not.” 

When she offers no further details — when she doesn’t say anything at all — Colin can’t help but ask the question currently weighing heavily on his mind. 

“So, uh… Who with? I didn’t know you were — uh — seeing anyone at the moment.” 

Penelope swallows, then looks up. They’re a few steps away from her office. 

“A coworker. We aren’t ‘seeing’ each other, he just asked if I wanted to get dinner with him after work on Friday.” 

Stupid fucking wanker.

“That’s great, Pen,” Colin says through a smile and gritted teeth. Then, despite his better judgement…

“What’s his name?”

“Sam Debling,” Penelope says, still looking straight ahead. “You don’t know him. He’s, um, new to the city.” 

She’s right. The name doesn’t sound the least bit familiar to Colin. He sounds like a right prick, though. 

“That’s —”

“Oh!” Her voice goes up nearly an entire octave. She’s looking down to her phone. “I have to run — I can’t be late for this meeting. I’ll talk to you later!”

Before he can return the goodbye, Penelope turns on her heel and disappears into the lobby of Queenmaker Magazine. 

Once alone, Colin raises his drink to his lips and whispers one word into its half-empty interior. 

“Fuck.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

On Monday mornings, after dropping Penelope off at her office, Colin usually goes to the gym. Sometimes he visits Anthony at the firm. Sometimes he heads to Mayfair. Sometimes he gets work done at a park or a library or anywhere that isn’t his usual office. (His bed.) 

On this Monday morning, Colin goes straight home to his flat. 

The walk from Central London to Bloomsbury is long and bothersome. He spends most of that time swatting away the first flies of summer and unwittingly recalling Penelope’s words from earlier. Each step only sharpens the sting of annoyance in his gut.

A coworker. Sam Debling.

As he cuts through Russell Square (annoyingly over-populated with happy couples this morning), the irony of the situation does not escape Colin’s notice. For the first 25 years of his life, at least he was ignorant to his ever-growing feelings for Penelope. But what’s his excuse now? Timing? Fear? A lack of a sign? 

I do date. 

As he rounds the final corner to his flat, Colin thinks over those excuses. The ones he has gripped onto and subsequently lost sight of over the last four years. In truth, he doesn’t fully know why he remains quiet. It’s difficult for him to put into words. But still, there’s a block. 

You sound like my mum.

A shiver runs down his spine as he steps into the air conditioning. He wonders how today got off to such a tremendously terrible start. Monday mornings are usually his favourite — 

“Morning, Bridgerton.” 

His footsteps stop short. It takes him a second to realise where they had led him to. 

He’s in the middle of his lobby, about four paces away from the lift ahead. His name had been called out from the left. From the mailroom. 

It takes him another second to realise who had called it. 

“Morning, Cordelia.” 

Cordelia Patridge lives in the flat directly below his. She moved in about a year ago, but due to London’s perplexingly tight social circles, he’s known her from afar for most of his life. 

Over the past twelve months or so, the two of them have formed a routine of sorts. When passing each other in the stairwell, lift, mailroom, etc., the two greet, engage in about 30 seconds of playful banter, then go their separate ways. 

That last part is crucial. Hypothetically, a stranger could walk into this lobby and perceive their “banter” as “flirting,” but Colin doesn’t see it that way. It’s not flirting if you have no intention to turn those words into action. 

Today, Colin doesn’t have the energy for the words alone. After throwing her a polite nod, he turns back to the lift ahead. 

“Running off anywhere special?” Cordelia asks, quickly falling in step with him. Her mail items remain tucked away beneath her armpit. 

Colin hits the button with the upwards facing arrow.

“Not especially.”

“Just a boring day at the office, then?” 

“Well, my office is typically just my bed, so —”

“Ooh.” She snickers. “Naughty.”

Colin clears his throat. Before saying another word, he listens to the creaking of the old metallic lift as it descends the floors. It sounds close. 

“‘Lazy’ would be a more accurate term for it, I think.”

With that, the lift doors creak open. Inside, Colin pushes the “2” for Cordelia and the “3” for himself. 

“Is that it for today, then? Wasting your hours writing in bed?” 

Colin considers the question. 

“Account for several trips to and from the fridge and… Yes, that sounds about right.” As Cordelia giggles, he asks, “And you? What of your day?”

“Working. But not from my bed. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.” 

Perhaps on a different morning, Colin could muster up a halfway decent retort to that. Today, he thanks god that the lift doors open when they do. 

“Toodles, Bridgerton.” 

When those metallic doors screech shut again, an odd feeling washes over Colin. The stinging annoyance from before is still there, but it’s now mixed up with confusion after that interaction with Cordelia. 

Objectively, it was not all that different from their usual random bouts of banter in the halls. It just felt… more than it usually does. Like, for the first time in twelve months, he doesn’t feel so confident in his distinction between “banter” and “flirting. (Even though his intentions were no different than they ever were.)

He doesn’t spend too much time thinking over the interaction, though. Once the lift opens to the third floor, the matter leaves his mind entirely. Annoyance takes over once more. It sticks with him as he walks down the hall to 303. It grows stickier when he enters his kitchen and sees the unopened blue envelope on the counter. It only lets up once he returns to his bedroom and opens the dresser, searching for something more comfortable to don before climbing back into his office for the day. 

On top of the pile of clothes lies a burgundy jumper. The one Penelope wore on her last morning living in his flat. The one she wore most mornings during that awful, blessed month. When he lifts it to his nose, the fabric still smells of honey. 

Objectively, Colin knows this is impossible. He knows that, two years later, even the faintest hints of honey are nothing more than phantom smells from a time he wishes to return to.

Pulling the fabric over his head, he doesn’t give a shit if the honey smell is real or fake. The jumper feels good around his body, regardless. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Tuesday

It’s not fair to say that Penelope’s date with Sam Fucking Debling was the only matter on Colin’s mind for the past 24 hours. It would be fair to say it was the most recurring, though. 

On his way home from the gym Tuesday morning, remnants of their conversation are still coming back to him — as much as he wished they wouldn’t. 

You sound like my mum.

You sound like my mum.

You sound like my —

With a long-suffering sigh, Colin forces his gaze to lift from the pavement below him. When it does, he sees a familiar face. 

Cordelia isn’t looking at him. She’s leaning on the wall outside their building, a phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She’s smiling down at whatever it is that’s on her screen. 

Desperate for any sort of distraction from the date he won’t be attending later this week, Colin chooses to see this as a sign. 

“Morning, Cordelia,” he calls out, slinging his gym bag further over his shoulder. 

“Good morning, Bridgerton!” She smiles brightly as she looks up to meet his eye. “What can I do you for?”

After one millisecond of hesitation…

“Are you busy Friday night?” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Friday

Colin Bridgerton has not been on a date in London in over seven years. When he first began travelling, his time at home became too limited and otherwise-occupied to allow for non-essential activities like dating. And though he’s been grounded (mostly) in London for the past two years, this trend has not changed. Still, he only goes on dates when he’s far away from home. 

Until tonight, that is. 

He and Cordelia are standing outside of a Chinese restaurant in Central London. They’re waiting to be seated. She’s smoking a cigarette. He’s chewing on a mint and watching traffic pass by. 

“Beautiful night,” he comments, unsure of what else to say. 

“Every night looks beautiful through a puff of smoke, I think.” She laughs lightly as she offers Colin her cigarette. After thinking better of it, he pinches the little white paper and takes two drags before passing it back.

He’s about to ask Cordelia about her plans for the weekend, but then the hostess pops her head into the night air and informs them that their table is ready. Once inside, they order their drinks, then look down to their menus. 

Colin doesn’t really like first dates. (A fact that’s coming back to him with startling clarity tonight.) He’s always found them to be too unfamiliar at best and dreadfully awkward at worst. His travels only exacerbated this issue; when you spend so much of your professional life making small talk with strangers, the prospect of dedicating an entire night to doing much of the same becomes rather unappealing. 

Since his realisation in Catalonia four years ago, the prospect of a first date has only become less appealing. (The prospect of a second date has ceased to exist.) Now, he only goes on them when he finds himself so lonely or bored or desperate for connection that a night of endless small talk doesn’t seem so bad, in comparison. 

That’s another reason why Colin never dates in London. If he’s bored here, he’ll just hang out with Penelope. Excluding nights when she’s on a date with stupid fucking wankers like Sam Fucking Debling, of —

“Are you two ready to order?” 

Colin says yes to the sudden apparition of their waiter, despite having spent not a single second reading the menu in front of him. He blindly orders Kung Pao Chicken and a side of fried rice. Cordelia gets the Sesame Jellyfish.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he finally asks. 

Cordelia shakes her head lightly. 

“Just travelling north on Sunday. I have a conference in Manchester next week.”

“Oh. Right, you’re uh —” 

Colin’s mind briefly short circuits. He thinks over the countless 30-second interactions they’ve had over the last year. He desperately attempts to recall any concrete details Cordelia has shared about her personal life through all that talking. When he comes up with minimal factual information, he realises just how much of a stranger Cordelia Patridge is to him.

“You’re in finance, right?” 

“Sort of. I’m in marketing, but I work with a lot of pricks who work in finance.”

“Right.” Colin chuckles. After a beat of silence, he asks, “And you enjoy doing that?”

Cordelia shrugs.

“It’s a job,” she remarks unenthusiastically. As she picks up her drink, she laughs lightly. “I suppose when you’re a travel writer, your job isn’t ‘just’ a job.” 

He considers her question. 

“I suppose so. But if you do anything long enough, there will come times when it feels like a chore more than anything else.”

As he delivers those last few words, he feels a buzzing in his back pocket. When he pulls his phone out discreetly and checks who’s calling, his heart nearly skips a beat. 

pen 💛

A millisecond before picking up, Colin remembers that he’s currently sitting across from a woman who is not Penelope, who he did ask out on a date tonight. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells Cordelia just as her mouth opens to say something new. He’s careful to keep his phone screen pointed away from her as he continues, “It’s my mum. She’s, uh — It’s sort of an emergen—”

Before he can get through the lie, Cordelia smiles and gestures for him to take it. 

Outside the men’s restroom, Colin picks up just in time to save Penelope from being transferred to voicemail. 

“Hey, Pen.” 

“Hi! By any chance, do you —” Her sweet voice stops short. “Sorry. Are you busy? It sounds a bit loud on your end.” 

“No.” Colin is almost shocked by how quickly the bullshit falls from his lips. “I’m just, uh — I’m picking up some takeaway. Chinese. Why? What’s up?” 

“Oh!” She chuckles nervously. “Nothing. I was just bored. Thought I’d see if you’re free and want to hang out.” 

Colin’s grin grows even wider. He can’t help it.

“Well, we’ve already established that I’m free. And you know I always want to hang out, so…”

As Penelope laughs softly on the other end of the phone, Colin is suddenly hit by a fact that’s been haunting him for the past four days. 

“So I take it your date didn’t go well?” 

Moments after, Colin can’t believe those words left his own lips. Penelope sounds disbelieving too, her laughter cutting off just as quickly as it came. 

“Oh. It was, um —” 

She clears her throat. She laughs again — just a little. 

“I’m surprised you remember that.”

Desperate to find his footing in this conversation again, Colin audibly gasps and says, “Pen, I’ve known you nearly three decades. By now, I would hope that you are aware of what an exceptional memory I possess. You should be careful what you say around me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says — mostly beneath her breath. Colin can practically hear her eyeroll through the phone. “Regardless… You want to meet at the usual spot?”

“Yes.”

And he does. He really, really does. But he also happens to be on a date right now.

“Okay, gr—”

“But is it okay if we meet in like —” He checks his watch. “An hour? Sorry. But I’m downtown and this place is an absolute madhouse. I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

“Right. Yes, of course.” She laughs softly. “Is there any way you could pick me up an order of dumplings while you’re there?” 

“Of course. I’ll see you in an hour.” 

“Perfect. See you soon, Colin.”

With that, Penelope hangs up. It isn’t until the line goes silent that the concept of guilt reintroduces itself to Colin’s brain. 

“Fuck,” he mutters beneath his breath, turning on his heel to return to the date he left behind. The food is waiting for him when he gets back.

“This looks delicious,” Colin remarks, taking his seat again. 

“Quite.” 

After chewing a single bite of her jellyfish, Cordelia asks if everything is okay with his mum. Colin briefly considers saying “No” and that he has to rush to the hospital asap, but ultimately thinks better of it. Instead, he nods and returns to their previously scheduled awkward small talk. 

Approximately seventeen minutes later, they both finish their meals and Colin signals for the waiter to bring the check. After such an awkward night, he assumes they’re under the shared assumption that they will go their separate ways as soon as the check is paid, but…

“So…” Cordelia smiles and brushes a piece of hair off her shoulder. “Our living situations certainly make it simple to share a cab home. And eliminate the need to ask questions like ‘Your place or mine?’ Although,” she laughs, “if we’re choosing, I would say mine. Save you a flight of stairs until the morning.”

Colin doesn’t know what to say. In the end, he goes with…

“Could I take a raincheck? I, um —”

His voice momentarily falters. He searches his brain for the lie that will cause the least amount of damage. 

“I actually wasn’t planning on taking a cab back. I think I’m going to walk home, actually. My lungs could use the fresh air.” 

Cordelia’s face tells him that may not have been the best lie for the current circumstances. 

“You want to walk four kilometres in the middle of the night to get some ‘fresh air?’”

Colin nods — a poor attempt to appear convinced by his own statement. 

“And does this ‘fresh air’ have anything to do with what your ‘mum’ said before?”

Fuck.

“I —”

“Save it.” 

With that, she stands from her chair and starts pulling out cash to cover her half of the meal. 

“Oh, you don’t have to —” Colin starts, determined not to be a complete arsehole tonight, but…

“You’re an arsehole,” Cordelia informs him. She throws the money on the table and swiftly takes her leave. It isn’t until she disappears outside that he realises their waiter has returned.

“Your check, sir,” he says, thankfully pretending he had not just witnessed Colin being so brutally, deservedly put in his place. Colin nods in thanks, pulling out his wallet. But just before he can hand the man his credit card, he remembers Penelope’s request from earlier. 

“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Can I add another item to go?”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The “usual spot” is Mondrich’s, a bookshop by day and pub by night. It’s located on the north end of Mayfair and just so happens to fall on the exact midpoint between Colin’s flat in Bloomsbury and Penelope’s in Hyde Park; it’s an approximate 19-minute walk from either end. The establishment also happens to be owned by Will Mondrich, an old friend of Colin’s; though the bookshop portion isn’t open at night, when accompanied by his “responsible friend Penelope,” Will lets them hang out upstairs after hours. 

The two of them are sitting on a couch between the romance and true crime sections. There’s a little plastic container of dumplings precariously placed on the cushion between them. 

“Why did you go all the way downtown for takeaway?” Penelope asks. Thankfully, she sounds more curious than she does accusatory. “They have Chinese in Bloomsbury, don’t they?” She giggles. “Or delivery, at least?”

Colin shrugs, plopping another dumpling in his mouth. 

“Needed the fresh air.” 

Thankfully, the lie works better on Penelope than it had on Cordelia. She doesn’t press the issue any further. Instead, she leans over, takes a sip of her cocktail from downstairs, and allows for a comfortable silence to sit between them for a moment. Unfortunately, Colin uses that time to fester on a subject that has been eating away at him for most of the week. 

As soon as Penelope puts down her drink, Colin pushes away the voices in his head screaming “This is dangerous territory!” and asks her about it. 

“So, how was your date with —” He facetiously stops short. “What was his name? Dan?” 

“Sam,” she corrects, initially throwing him a suspicious look. “It was fine, just…”

Her eyes flick towards the true crime shelf, seemingly racking her brain for the right word.

“Awkward.”

“Awkward?” Colin echoes. Despite his consternation over the subject this week, he’s suddenly eager to hear more.

“Yup. I get along with him fine in the office, but I don’t think we’re meant to hang out outside of it.” 

“Why’s that?” Colin asks casually, his gaze settling lazily on the romance shelf behind her head. 

“I don’t know. I suppose it felt like we were both putting far too much effort into making the conversations flow naturally.” She wrinkles her nose before saying, “Like, he kept calling me ‘Penny.’ He never calls me that in the office.”

Colin snorts. Penelope hates when people call her “Penny.”

“And I don’t think we had much common ground to discuss, outside of office conversations. Like —” She laughs suddenly, bracing a hand across the back of the couch. “I asked him what his favourite type of food is. He said ‘crunchy.’”

Colin laughs, too. 

“Sounds like a sociopath.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Penelope says, laughter slowly leaving her system. “It just wasn’t a good match.”

Colin could have told her that on Monday, but he doesn’t say that now. He decides they’ve wasted enough time discussing Sam Fucking Debling as it is. Besides, his mind has moved on to another topic that has been plaguing him all week. 

“So,” he murmurs, quickly taking a sip of his beer. “Does this mean you have yet to secure a date for Benedict’s wedding in the fall?” 

“Jesus Christ,” Penelope murmurs into her own drink. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem quite as annoyed as she did when he first brought up the subject on Monday. She does appear a little annoyed, though. “I told you that’s not why I went out with Sam tonight.” 

“I know. I just wanted to —”

“I’ve had one ‘secured’ for several weeks now.”

“What?” Colin says, unable to hold the syllable in. If Penelope notices just how quickly he lost his cool, she doesn’t let on. She shrugs, then takes another sip of her vodka cranberry. 

“El asked me to be her date within five minutes of your brother becoming engaged.” 

Silently, Colin wills his cool to return. “Oh,” he says, smiling in a way that hurts his cheeks as much as it grates on his nerves. “How proactive of her.” 

Without much effort, their conversation returns to a natural, un-awkward flow after that. Colin retrieves them another round from Will downstairs. Penelope tells him about the progress she’s made on the Premier League piece. Colin spends the rest of the night listening and laughing and loving each moment he gets to share with her. 

What Colin does not do tonight is consider if now is the right time to tell Penelope the truth. To tell her what he’s been holding inside himself for the last four years. Six months from now, though, he’ll look back on this Friday night at the usual spot and wonder, “What if?”

[thrashkink-coven]

Had a very intense and interesting session with Prince Cerberus today. We spoke at length about the principles of Death, the deathly realms and the power of Lady Death. He made his warnings very clear. Never should I abandon his side or disobey him in that place, or I will forever be lost in the infinite darkness. He then introduced me to her, and she immediately commented on my patronage to Lady Inanna, saying “this is far from the realm of your Goddess, her authority is abandoned here.”- basically making it loud and clear that I am in HER house and will be subject to HER laws.

The place was pitch black. The only sense that can be made is through the complete trust and guidance of the soul. There is no logic here. There are deep rivers of blood that constantly flow. However, even with that movement, the realm is extremely still and extremely quiet. Every living breath I took was extremely noticeable and loud. I felt very much like I was in a place I shouldn’t be, like I was doing something very wrong. It’s extremely easy to get lost there if I don’t keep my entire attention on following Cerberus. Looking around and snooping about is not advised. I can’t speak too much on the layout of the place, but I can say that there were multiple sets of gates that only Prince Cerberus could enter.

Death is a stern, absolute, but gentle energy. She is closer to us now than she has been in quite some time, and that is a little bit disheartening to think about. There is rampant war, genocide, and violence on this planet, especially now. She had no opinion on this, but stated that She was happy to offer a comfortable and soothing conclusion to so many chaotic and miserable lives. When she spoke, it was like the entire world spoke. When she was quiet, everything was quiet.

“I know not why it is in the nature of man to slaughter its brethren, I care not for the deeds of man. I am always here to guide these lost souls, to ensure that their flame is correctly snuffed and that their energy is correctly dispersed. In this infinite darkness, I am the last companion, the only companion, that can offer solace to these wandering creatures. I am peace. You’ve known my son, the holy gatekeeper, and seen his mighty dominance. He is my guardian, of which I am very proud, for he has contained the Dead, and refused the Living. You continue to harbour life here in this place, only through his guidance and my mercy. You may not return to this place under the authority of any other, for if you dare, you will be trapped here forever. Hear my words. As I dismiss you, you shall leave this place. You are not to look back nor hesitate, or I will keep you here, and you shall never leave.

Many before you have questioned my authority and the strict rules of my domain. You ask why I am cruel to the sick and the young? I am not cruel, nor violent or vengeful. I collect every being indiscriminately. You have always been promised to me. I do not harm, I deliver from suffering. I have seen every suicide, genocide, and unjust killing, and I have made them just. I have settled every impurity of every living creature, and it is I who will settle the Gods and the Earth and the Sea and the Heavens. All shall become mine. I am Mother. I am Death.”

She showed me a couple things that I will keep to myself, and as we moved through the realm She became more friendly, and even smiled at a few of my answers. She is fascinated with living creatures. She is extremely stern, but She obviously enjoys her role and having conversations with humans. We seemed to be on some kind of time limit, because after some time She looked to Cerberus and told us to leave. She said I did well, that made me feel really good.

There’s something very beautiful about the vulnerability that we experience with Death. She sees our most desperate moments, our inner child that just wants to be held, and despite all of our deeds, she holds us. Cerberus is the terrifying fall, the fear that comes with unknown destination of death. He is intense and dangerous, strong and chaotic, but his Lady Death is quiet and subtle.

Death didn’t feel cold and scary like I though it may have. It was comfortable. Serene and quiet. Like being cradled, held and cherished. Protected. I felt like I was curled up beneath a big warm blanket in a swaddle, innocent and pure as if I was still an infant in my mother’s womb. Nothing could harm me. I was safe. Consuming and whole, infinite, gentle, comforting darkness. Something about that is very satisfying.

I think we’re all going to be okay.

[the-s1lly-corner]

.....i hate that you converted me. Fine, you win, may i please request Itward comforting reader? The post about matchmaking(specifically the bit where they get locked up) made me feel. Things.

I just think it would be interesting to see usually laidback and chill reader crumble a little at this. Specifically because i hate hate hate things going out of control when i expect them to be predictable. Outside? Yeah, i cannot control the world, it's not my burden. In a group of people? Well am a part of it only, so i can only do my thing and socialize, not police what they're doing.(althrough i do so.. sometimes.. i just like being reliable..) But in MY LIVING ROOM? Nah, if something unusual is happening i'm stressed. Oh the door is closed? Well fuck, just gonna have to sit here and panic, then rage for a bit and try not to cry. And if its a tight/dark space? OHOOHOOO, a panic attack is waiting!

Itward comforting reader !

Yahoo I'm finally getting to this ehehehe!! Hope you enjoy this!

As for the converting

Giggles

Evilly smiles

The evil spell has worked (evil spell is my writing and character interpretations)

Also that last bit gave me an idea so this post is gonna tackle two settings, in terms of where you guys get locked up >:)

Side note today today by jack stauber reminds me of itward idk why

So it may have.. left my mind.. but I forgot that itward can kinda. Teleport. Or at least make little portals, as seen in chapter 1... as well as being able to just vanish as seen when he opens the window for fran in the twins house (not sure if that was him becoming invisible or teleporting, both seem in character)

But let's say, for the sake of plot and perhaps some character stuff... there are rules for his abilities, which can prevent him from using them. Mostly cooldown stuff, which.. wouldnt prevent it much unless hes doing it a lot but.. hush, I dont have many ideas!!

With that said, let's get on with the post!

Assuming you guys are locked in a room within the ship:

At first only you notice the door shutting. Itward doesnt notice it wont open until he goes to exit, only to find you're both stuck. Lets also say this is the only room with one exit; so the chemistry room most likely. Though if it were any of the other rooms, we can assume the second exit is also locked down

Itward would likely think that it's a malfunction of sorts, thanks to the doors not being manual push/pull doors... probably silently curses himself for not thinking about the possibility of a jam

Though, hes very clearly a skilled mechanic and engineer, so hes already thinking of what could be the issue and how to fix it

Probably gets way too sucked in taking off the button panel thing to get into the mechanics and wiring... it's not until he notices you quietly freaking out that he looks over his shoulder to check on you

Oh..

Oh dear..

Slowly drops the spare tools he keeps on him (I mean.. we DID see him pull a wrench out of no where when he started working on his ship during the fire berry thing... perhaps he keeps them within his bones? Like his rib cage? Like obviously it was just the game trying to save time from hydt having him pull one out rather than animate him picking one up from the ground buuuuut I'm silly)

Quietly asks if youre alright

A silly question, he can admit, hes been around many people and this is no new sight for him..

Barely refrains from putting a hand on your shoulder but stops before he reaches you, afterall hes never seen you like this and he doesnt know if you're okay with touch

Assures you that he will have the door open soon, correctly assumes that that is the issue... I mean, he can understand why it's scary, I mean, to be trapped like that. No one would like that

(Ignore that he did the same to fran, albeit non maliciously)

Refuses to get to work on the door (doesnt even realize hes prolonging the issue) until he can get through to you and help you

Hangs onto every word you say, and delivers anything you need

Need a hug? He will wrap his arms around you, and perhaps even purr. Need reassurance? He'll let you know the door is just jammed and he will fix it soon enough. Need to fill the silence? Itward will rattle on about things to keep it from going wuirt5

As soon as the door is opened he steps out of the way, letting you exit first

Keeps a close eye on you for a few hours after the fact

If you guys get locked in a closet

This one is already way worse thanks to the limited wiggle room as well as the darkness. The only light is coming from itwards eyes, and even then its not a lot

You guys are pressed up against each other, but this little scenario is not at cheesy or romantic... itward can feel your heart beating against him, so he immediately knows something is wrong

How did you guys even end up trapped here?

I dunno :3

It's too tight and cramped to move, so itward trying to force the door open or mess with the button panel is a no go.. really, of all the doors to have a manual door, the broom closet should have been the one to have it..

Honestly I think he tries 1 of 3 things

Force the door open with his strength (can he do that? We know that in terms of his powers hes packs a bit of a punch, he managed to face off remor to buy fran time in chapter 1, but I'm unsure of how strong he is physically)..though hed have to try to twist around to face the door

Knock on the door with his foot to try to get someones attention for help, and perhaps guide them through how to open the door

Or three, try his little teleporting trick and take you with him

Regardless of what option he goes through, he can't deny that theres something wrong with you

Unfortunately of you need a hug he cant, given the limited room.. plus you may feel claustrophobic enough..

Tries to give nervous reassurances as he tries to come up with an idea

Most likely case is the teleporting thing, assuming he has the capabilities of doing so in that moment

But just know as soon as you guys are free hes sitting you down at the table in the main area of his ship and making you a cup of tea

Quietly asks you if everythings alright

Similarly, he keeps a close eye on you for a while after this

[ieirisms]

[ dramatics ] as sender and receiver argue back and forth, sender launches forward and kisses receiver to stop the fight

resentment is an ugly thing. it festers like a rotting wound, never healing, and even when you think it's gone, it comes back with a reopened vengeance. now, it oozes out of her and sticks to her like the purplish blood of the curses they exorcise. it makes her words cruel and harsh. shoko has never had a hot temper, but there's an anger that flairs up in her chest, lending over to a desire to spite him, to resist his attempts at placation.

"well, that's new. " he remarks with an ease that frustrates her, as if her upset is inconsequential. like it bores him.

"am i wrong? " she attempts and fails at keeping her voice level. as much as she internally professes to know him like the back of her hand, the same could be said about his knowledge of her. even if she doesn't yell, she knows that he can hear the subtleties in her inflections. "i'm not some warm bed you can come back to whenever you're feeling nostalgic, geto. "

"me, feeling nostalgic? that doesn't sound like me, shoko. " she may refuse to call him by his given name, but he won't drop his familiarity. if only to spite her right back. "if i remember correctly, you were the one who asked me to stay in your warm bed last time. what was it you said? ah--- 'stay with me, suguru. just for tonight.' how sweet of you, i thought. you even called me by my name. multiple times. "

" shut up, don't talk down to me. " she finally snaps, bronze-hued gaze inflamed with anger.

"then, don't talk down to me. do you really think that's all i'm here for? " he steps into her space, bridging the divide between them. he half-expects her to step back, but shoko remains still, as if daring him to take another step.

" what else could it be? " she dares him to give voice to it. to the feelings he denies, the ones he insists have long dissipated along with the person he used to be. geto told her once that to seek out the man she once knew would be fruitless, to become accustomed to the man that stands in front of her now. she had willingly blinded herself, fell into a dangerous rhythm that felt too reminiscent of their past to believe any differently. how could he say that to her? when in these private moments all she sees is the him of the past?

" just leave. " she finally relents, stepping back. maybe it's time to set a match to the bridge between them, to burn what's been left and let it blaze like she should have when he said goodbye the first time. "we should have known better. i should have known better. " she's gradually losing that biting edge to her tone, jaw tightening as she gives him one last fierce look. "i don't need you around here anymore. if all we're going to do is hu--- "

her words are cut off. her mouth warm with the press of his lips to her. for a moment, she wants nothing more than to lose herself again, to let go of her pride, her dignity, everything. one more time... just one more time. but, she catches herself before she slips, her hands pressing against his chest, pushing him away from her.

when his hands grasp her wrist, his touch is gentle, thumb brushing over her pulse points as he holds her steady.

" is it so terrible, shoko? to admit that this is all that we can have? we're worlds apart now. that will never change. " his words are salt in a wound. but, she can't look away. "so, i'm taking what i can get. isn't it the same for you? "

@eleutheriya