#I don’t have to SCARF EVERYTHING DOWN like a. beast

[reamed]

haven’t smoked in a week I’m about to be soooo skinty

[hwan-g]

𝑺𝑨𝒀 𝒀𝑬𝑺 𝑻𝑶 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑵 (18+)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ pair. music professor! chris x fem! reader | genre. teacher/student, chris’ pov, age gap, smut, dark romance, angst | warnings. power imbalance, obsession, flawed characters, profanity, unprotected sex, use of pet names, dirty talk, graphic sexual content — mdni ! | word count. 8.1k

𐙚˙⋆.˚ synopsis. I’m too weak to let you be, to walk away from you. It’s a twisted, distorted thing, what’s going on inside me. I see no end to it, no relief. Only suffering. I did this to you, my heart, and I cannot apologize. I don’t want to. I’m jealous, I’m jealous, I’m wretched.

I watch you.

That’s a new dress. You walk different in it, your hips sway like you want everyone to notice, and they fucking have. I have. It’s hard not to when you’re so oblivious to your wanting, but I know you, I know what you want. There’s a scarf wrapped around your hair, and the boots you wear make you almost as tall as me, bring you up to my shoulders. I’m jealous of your calves, how they get to carry you all throughout the day, how they lay down with you at night. Your eyes, how they stare at you from every reflection, attached to you, able to see every inch of you from up close.

I’m jealous of your hands, how they brush through your hair as you sit down on the chair across from my desk, the chair you’ve been sitting at for three semesters now, the best view I get to have of you. The only time I’m able to be so close to you without anyone’s suspicion, the only time you’re required to answer to me and all my questions. I have so many of those, but I want to start with your skin. Is it as soft as it looks? When the air blows your way, how would you feel under my palm, shivering, a million tiny goosebumps rising on the surface?

You’re talking to the girl that trails you like a lost puppy, not quite a friend, always around you, yet suddenly I’m glad, because you laugh at something she said, a sound so clear, so light, it lifts the furniture and cures the wood, it builds the room and covers the cracks, pure fucking magic, until all is right again, until I am left with a gaping wound where that beautiful sound nests when it’s gone from the air. It suspends in my head and I let it. I can’t take my eyes off you. You command everything. 

Satie is in your hand, what we’re studying, the copy I gave you, my personal one, with all my marks and annotations. You treat the pages carefully, aware of my watching you, yet you don’t turn to me once. You won’t look at me at all. A beast rattles inside me, begging to grab you, to hold you, to never let go. I haven’t seen you in private for weeks and I’m mad with desire, the urge to bury into your sweet cunt and wrap my hand around your warm throat, feel the pulse there, see the gasp of your mouth, the red of your tongue, your eyes on me, me, me, afraid of what I can do, of the power you give me over you, your attention, the hollow ache in my chest; I’m angry at you for being happy without me while I’m being tormented by your absence, no matter how small, no matter how big, and you still won’t fucking look at me. 

(Y/N). I think of your name how I think of God. This mythical creature that has the ability to save me. Will you? (Y/N). Look at me. Look at me.

“I am tired of always dying with a broken heart.” I speak this from memory and stare directly at the boy who’s been tailing you lately. A mediocre student, unremarkable. Nothing at all.

You can’t possibly entertain him, I’ve already told you this. He doesn’t see you, couldn’t possibly. He’ll fuck you once—even at merely the thought of this I bristle, I want to crack his fucking head open—and move onto the next pretty thing, blind to you, to what you are, to all you have yet to become. It’s unbearable to me that no one seems to realize how incredible you are; your mind, vast in all directions, insightful, and your music compositions, profound and disturbing, the little I’ve taught you and all that you’ve taught me, the way you hold the pen between your fingers, how you curl around your notebook, the way your eyes skim the pages I’ve toiled over for five years, six more prior to becoming a professor, all leading to the beginning of this school year, how you walked in my class and brought me to my knees.

“So dramatic,” someone in the back mumbles. Someone else giggles, a girl I had last year. Mundane.

I wait for your reaction, but it never comes. You stare pointedly down at my book and ignore me. You’re gonna force me to get your attention some way else. You’re punishing me for something, and I’ve no fucking clue what. You want this. Me. Begging for you. Risking everything. My God, look at your wrists, so goddamn delicate, so small. I picture wrapping my hand around them how I did the first time I stopped you from leaving, I picture myself shaking you, demanding to know what’s wrong, making you see how you make my heart bleed.

I need to know you’re okay. I need you to look at me.

“Satie was an absurdly spiritual composer for his time,” I explain, leaning against my desk, crossing my ankles, my arms over my chest. One glance at everyone else, then I stop at you. I speak to you. Let me in. Let me see you, (Y/N). “A very solitary man that was capable of inventing his own religion in order to break further from society. A character like that would be a tad dramatic, albeit entirely genius, yes?”

“How do we study this guy? There’s nothing  to learn from his techniques!” Your friend shook her head, slamming the book in front of her shut. “Child’s play. Overly simplistic. Only two noteworthy compositions in an entire career. Seriously, does anyone know anything besides Gymnopedies by him?”

“Gnossiennes,” another deadpanned. “Your point is shallow. He changed the tides. Music before the work you mention was entirely different from what it was after. Debussy, Poulenc, Ravel—all legendary figures that were deeply impressed by his so-called simplified style.”

A few heads nod in agreement. You remain still as ever, unmovable. What is in that brilliant little brain of yours? Why won’t you share with me? I know you best of all, I’d understand anything. Tell me. Tell me how a girl ruined an already troubled man, and we’re studying it a hundred and thirty-one years later. Tell me about obsession that rules over the mind, of the living digging graves of the dead and hugging their bones, of loneliness so haggard it chokes the air from my fucking lungs. Let me in, and I’ll point at you, my Suzanne Valadon.

“He fell in love once,” barely a sound, barely anything, yet it’s all I hear. I focus on your voice, the lull of it. Your castrating words, my baby. You’re here. You’re burning alive.

“He did.” I jump at the opportunity to talk to you in public. I’d give my blackened soul to hold your hand, to walk you to class. They’ll paint me a monster, but I’d be yours, I wouldn’t care. They’d whisper scandal, unethical, but I’d have stood next to you, defending what I feel for you, knowing very well they’ve only seen a sliver of my monstrous need for you.

This is not enough for me, but I can’t ask for any more of it.

“They tie many meanings to us, meanings that forsaken them, per their request. Satie loved Suzanne, but only because she was the only woman that ever paid him any attention. He wanted to possess her, so that he’d never be alone. It was a selfish love, barely a love at all, more like a torn house looking for an exorcist.”

There you go. Come on. Fight with me on this. Let me hear your voice, wash over me.

“You cannot fault a man, a man of music no less, for the way he loves. We are wicked by nature, we do not possess the softness you do. Even then, Valadon was a painter, as wildly eccentric as him. She refused to be put in a box. She saw only a mirror, and in that way, she saw herself. You could say her love was narcissistic.”

“Bonjour, Biqui, bonjour!” I hear somewhere from the side, but I only see you. I'm tuned in to you, your opinion about what I have to say.

I only ever care about what you think. When I grade your papers, my hands tremble to touch something so precious as your mind. I am the weakest man when it comes to you, I cave in like a house of cards. Pick me up and shuffle me. Toss me across the table, face down. Only use me, let me feel you. Visions of my cock entering you render me blind. Your voice, then. My name on your mouth as I push all the way in, right there on your desk, lights off, door locked. I can’t see no one but you, (Y/N), I’m tortured by the memories.

Can I see you after this? Will you stay? Will you let me lock the door again?

Your eyes scorch me. They light me on fire and leave me to die, I can’t bear the heat of them. How have I wronged you? What did I do to get your hate? And if this is it, then give me all of it, let it be the last thing before an afterlife wandering through a black forest, cursed with only the echo of you. I love you insane, battered and bruised. I love you with a dying breath, a horrible ending.

“Perhaps,” you say and it takes all of my willpower not to crawl to you. “Perhaps they deserved each other, in all their terrible love. Him obsessed, her always leaving. She got married to a banker. He wrote a twenty-eight second, four bar song, after all the portraits and love notes.”

You’re humiliating me. This. What I feel for you. You haven’t been in my office in days, you’ve become a stranger to your soul, and now you come back and shame me. You’ve found someone else. Who is he? Have I seen him? I’ll fucking end him. I’ll kill him, I swear. Don’t fucking test me. You don’t want to see that part of me, you don’t want to see what I’m capable of doing for you. 

“‘Her whole being, lovely eyes, gentle hands,’” You pin me down, you stab into me. “We enter the Romantic Era, page two hundred and seventy-nine. Known characteristics of this movement: a greater emphasis on melody to sustain interest, a focus on the nocturnal, the ghostly, and terrifying…”

I go the entire lecture desperately trying not to stare at your face, that beautiful openness you offered me now tightly shut, entirely passive. How do I survive this, even as I know I am a grown man and should not think this way. I cannot, for the life of me, remember who I was before you walked in this room, what I was doing, why, there was no reason; you, you, you, I was waiting, maybe, an empty train station, and you the flying bullet train, cutting oxygen supply as you passed in front of me, making your stop slowly then all at once, sighing into me, giving me back my life or a semblance of it.

I assign passages and give examples, muscle memory on the piano; I grill the fucking kid that has a crush on you, I make his life miserable, and I think, that’s it, that’s right. You do it to me. You do it to me so easily. This is how it is to love her, man. You’re not made for it, but I am. I’ve survived, and she’ll acknowledge it. I’ll make her.

I sound childish to myself, petty. Truth is, you’re mine. You’re fucking mine. You can’t do this to me.

You jot down notes, you burn through the board, you raise your hand and say all the correct answers, picture perfect student, and I’m as good as dead to you. I’ve been inside you, baby, you can’t forget that. I’ve felt your warm slick clamp around my cock, I’ve had your mouth on my neck moaning my name. You can’t get rid of me. I can’t rid myself of you.

I dismiss the class at eleven sharp, and call you to me. A minute, I say, about the extra credit, even as your friend eyes me, even as the boy glares at me, even as rumors have started to circulate. She’s fucking the teacher, it’s obvious. She’s with him all the time. Except you’re not, not even close, not nearly as much as I want you to be. If I had it my way, I’d hold you to me so tight you’d become an extension of me, unable to escape me whenever you feel like.

I wait until everyone exits, then inconspicuously close the door half way, grab your arm and drag you all the way to the other side of the room. You don’t put up a fight, but your dress has risen on your hips, and I’m suddenly furious. I pull at it and trap you against me and the wall. The lack of reaction sickens me. How is it possible I’ve lost you already?

“What the fuck have I done to you that was so bad, huh?” I speak low so only you can hear, but I’m boiling inside, I’m as dangerous as I’m hurt.

I want to fuck you senseless. Dead. I want to kill you. I want to bury inside you so deep I can’t ever get out. Your breathing pattern changes, you must see it on my face. I don’t feel like being fucked with right now. You’re scared of me, but not really. I would never hurt you. It’s all fantasies, all obsession. I can’t bear the thought of losing you is all, but I need to know what’s going on. This has cost me, it will cost me even more.

I grab you by the hair, tug softly at the ends, and your chin lifts. I trace it. Your eyes widen a fraction but you don’t give in, not yet. I press my erection against you, I breathe like a wild animal. You’re so small in my arms, I could do whatever I want with you. You’d let me. You have already. I just need to find that girl in you again, pull her out.

“I won’t be the teacher’s slut,” you spit out, your lips cherry red and begging to be kissed.

“Too fucking late, isn’t it?”

You try to push me away but I keep you there, your wrists above your head, your face close to mine. I’m lost on you, my mouth goes for the soft skin of your earlobe, I suck on it and feel you melt, I move to your neck and you let me, you’re rubbing your thighs together, you’re begging for friction. I have to close the door. I have to close the door and make sure I’m quick. Classes are still in session on this side of the building. I can’t let myself get sloppy. I’m not gonna risk losing this.

I bite on your neck and you gasp. I’m hard for you. My free hand reaches under your dress, cups you over the thin fabric of your underwear. Wet, goddamn soaked. A string of curses escapes me, as I glance back at the door.

“Stay here, don’t fucking move.”

I take four long strides and lock the damned thing separating us and them, though I know I still have to be quick with you. I held you back in front of the entire class. It’s already been a considerable amount of time for a simple back and forth.

“I can come back later,” you say as I near you again. “After hours.”

In my office, where it’s private and secluded. Where no one will interrupt us or hear us. What you’re suggesting is more sane than what I want to do right now. The logical part of my brain wants to agree. The rest of me lifts your dress and shoves two fingers where I know you want them the most. You writhe against me, and hook your thigh around my hip, opening. That’s it. I knew that’s all you needed. It’d been too long, that was all. I just had to show you how good it is again.

There’s my good girl. Fucking yourself on my digits, your cunt throbbing for my cock.

“I need you, please, please, please, please…”

I cup your breast in my palm, free your nipple with my teeth and bite on it. You hiss, and say my name. I almost finish in my pants, hearing that filthy mouth mutter my name, but your hands are quicker, they’re unzipping and pulling me out, red veins popping, leaking precum, hard as a fucking rock. I want to tear you apart, I want you to feel me for days after.

You jump in my arms and I lift you up. You guide me inside, and I slip into you so easily. A well rehearsed game between us, how fast we can fuck, the thrill of getting caught too great, the adrenaline rushing through my veins pistoling through you, and I pump, I fuck your little soaking cunt until you’re a blabbering mess, until all you can moan is yes yes yes, just like that, right there, right there, and I know where that is, I got you, I’ll take care of you, I’ve done it so many times before.

Where did you think of going? No one can give this to you better than me. You love my cock. There’s no other girl that will do it for me like you do. I tell you this, my forehead dropping to meet yours, your mouth seeking mine. I kiss you, my tongue tasting the strawberry bubblegum you were chewing on earlier, my dick impossibly hard. You’re milking me dry, you’re so horny, I never want to stop, (Y/N).

“I’ll never get sick of how your body responds to me, baby. Come on. I know you’re close.”

You get so whiny when you’re on the verge, your voice raspy from all the hard breathing, and I meet you thrust to thrust, I fuck into you with all I have until I shoot inside you, until my arms give out and I have to lay you on the closest desk, and still I don’t stop, I keep going until I feel your cream, until I reach between us and shove it all inside you, three fingers this time, then kneel down and taste us. You’re so far gone by that point, and I’m distantly aware that we’ve overstayed our time.

I can’t bring myself to care. I want you. I want you so much, my heart is screaming at me. I need to eat you out until you’re coming apart for me again. My hand shoots up and grabs your throat to pull you to sit up, rough, how you like it. Your face is flushed, your hair a mess. I’m proud I got you looking this way. My seed will be inside you for days, you won’t be able to wash it out. I lift your dress once more, your smooth, swollen cunt fucked nice and raw, before I give it a stern slap and bring your underwear over your other leg, dressing you.

We smell like sex. I know we’re not careful anymore. I can’t bring myself to care. Sometimes it happens, it’s a good enough excuse. This, between us. Especially between us. We’re two consenting adults. There was no way to escape you. There was nothing I could’ve done. You grew roots inside me and have been growing ever since.

“Come visit me tonight,” I tell you as I walk you to the door. I unlock briskly, and look outside, left then right. 

No one within earshot.

“Perhaps we should…” I look at you. Whatever’s in my gaze, makes you pause. “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t get a reputation, Chris. I won’t.”

“Two minutes ago you told me to call you a good-for-nothing fucking whore as I fucked you dumb. I think we’re past lying to ourselves, yeah, baby?”

You blush and look down. “I just…”

“Do I need to put you on all fours?”

“That’s not fair. You can’t wave sex in my face and get me to stay.”

I retreat like a wounded dog at your feet. “Is that what I’m doing?” I ask you honestly, Heaven and Hell fighting inside me. Yes, one side says while the other soothes, you’ve done only what you know. You’ve been desperate, clinging onto whatever scraps she throws at you.

You kiss me suddenly, your hand resting on the nape of my neck, pulling me down. I move away a burned man. The door is wide open. You study my reaction and sigh. I can’t help but feel this was some sort of test and I just failed terribly.

I have more to lose than you, a regrettable and bitter realization. If the board takes this entirely the wrong way, I could get fired and my license suspended. The power imbalance is too much. If I can’t teach, I won’t be able to see you how I want to. You’ll be here and I’ll be God knows where. You want to protect me. I haven’t been doing the same. I’ve been taking and taking, I’ve been the selfish one.

“Go,” I whisper. “Leave.”

“Chris…we can still—”

“For fuck’s sake, do what you’re told for once!”

You run away from me faster than you ever have before. And for once, I don’t feel like stopping you. My body is another story. My hands tremble at my sides, my fists clenched so tight I’m afraid to move.

I want to hit something. Anything. I want you back here, telling me it’s okay, no one will know, not if we’re careful, not if we keep our distance otherwise. How I say yes, yes, as long as I get to have you like this, as long as I can get lost in you, and how I lay you down, how I never once thought of the consequences then.

Night comes, and we’re back to this. You, knocking softly on my door, and me, forever answering to your summoning, forever bound by the chains that lead only to you. The hallways are dark, the rest of the faculty having locked up long before, probably enjoying dinner in the common room, wondering once again where I am, why I never join them, how I’m no better than the rest, despite teaching Music Theory at one of the oldest universities at my twenty-nine years. I’ve earned my time of solitude. I don’t need to answer to anyone.

Anyone but you, (Y/N).

I hug you to me, and pull you inside, locking behind us. You’re tender in my hands, so impossibly soft, and I feel your melancholy mood, your glistening eyes, full of unshed tears. I wipe at them, I kiss them until they’re mine, I pacify you by whispering your name, very very quietly, my baby girl, so I can convince you that this is real, that you will never lose me, that I have nowhere else to go but you. That I would choose you over and over, that I’m so fucking sorry I ever made you doubt this singular truth.

How I regret meeting you under these circumstances, and if I had it my way, we’d be moving in together by now, we’d be browsing for a couch and a dining table. You laugh at that and call me silly. I don’t care. I got you to laugh, I shook the dreaded uncertainty away. I would do anything for you, my heart.

I sit you down in my chair and get on my knees. Your hand reaches out and I keep mine at your hips, afraid of all the things I want to do to you, with you. Your skirt is black, it reaches just above your knee; all that expanse of naked skin, smooth and unbearable. I rest my head on your lap, the stubble of my jaw rubbing against it, and you shiver, your breath turning quick, excited to have me so close to your core.

“Did you shower?” I ask you, getting hard at the thought of you walking around all day with my scent on every inch of you.

I feel you shake your head, and I smile, kissing the side of your thigh, fingers roaming down down down, the curve of your calf, down down down, your ankle, the delicate bone there. I stretch your leg and kiss all that I can. I smell your arousal, I’m so close to where I wanna be. You exhale a small breath, and I look at you. Your eyes have gone dark, wanting. My baby. I know you. I got you.

“Take your jacket off, let me see you.”

You comply, and I give you time. I make space in my desk, I turn off the lamp, I drench you in absence. All the while my need grows savage, my stomach knots. I feel like a fucking teenager, so eager to slip into warm pussy and never come out. Your warm pussy. For me, only yours.

When I turn around again, you’re taking off your skirt. No underwear. My body goes taunt, I all but fucking growl, as I grab you and smash our mouths together. My fucking girl, mine mine mine, you exist only for me, I’m going to fuck you so good, I’m going to eat you alive.

“I did it for you,” you mumble on my skin, shy, and I put you on the desk, open your legs wide. “I’ve never done it before.”

I dive right into the heat of you. Wet and sweet and slightly musky. So filthy. I love you, every part of me beats this. I love you like this, I love you, I love you. I suck your clit in my mouth, nibble it, bite it. You gasp and moan and move, your fingers in my hair, pushing me away, pulling me closer. You’re a tide, I’m at your mercy. My tongue slips in your hole, and I get to fuck you like this too. I’m so lucky. I’m so fucking privileged that it’s you under me. No one will ever compare again.

You’ve ruined me for everyone else.

What we do after this—you come, violent and thrashing, and I drink every last drop, a thirsty beast at your feet, under trance, under powerful spells and your smell, your smell, baby, your juices. I’m parched. I can’t get enough, I’m greedy, I ache all over; I pull you up and I kiss you. I kiss you and I die. You want to get down, you say, you want me in your mouth. You’re so impatient, so hungry, my love. I deny you nothing.

I grab your hair into a makeshift ponytail and let you undress me. Your fingers, working my buttons, lowering, stroking—I close my eyes, the picture of you etched behind my eyelids—I see you, stuffed with cock, slurped cunt satiated; you’re orgasmic, baby, I contemplate shoving your face on my carpet and taking you from behind, tight and ready for me. I groan, fuck your face until I see white, slapping your red cheeks, spitting in your mouth and shoving myself back in there. You’ve unlocked something primal in me and you’re enabling it, because you love having sex like this, you love being told what to do, you love being manhandled.

At the sight of you crying, I bust. You swallow everything. “Fuck, baby, god fucking damn me…” as I get on your level and wipe your face, lick the salt off your tears, bruise your lips. I take you in my arms and you fall against me, exhausted. I lay you down slowly, an angel being consumed by sin, me the devil, the defiler, and for a moment I’m ashamed; I took you a sophomore, music only your minor, literature your true passion, where your loyalty lied, and I changed your entire plan. I didn’t mean to. I only wanted to keep seeing you, to hear more of what you have to say, to witness it first hand, mere steps from you, so close I could touch, so close I could reach you.

The piano lessons I gave you in those first months, the stolen touches, glimpses of your profile as you learned the keys, as I explained the five finger scale, and then your first song, your second, the way you kept getting better and better, the fastest student I’ve ever had, your ability to write music with no idea how to play it. Teaching you was falling in love with you. It couldn’t have happened any other way. As I stare at you underneath me, hair fanning around your fucked out face, all I wanna do is lay next to you and fall asleep. 

Watching you sleep. Being next to you, trusting me with your eyes closed—I can’t have it like this. You’ve never stayed the night. I’ve never let you. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe from what I’ve dragged you into. It can only go so far until I stop it. I do it with my heart breaking, an open cage. This emotion slams into me, like I’m holding you back from some amazing thing somewhere else, anywhere else, like you could have more; all this could ever be is this dark room with the lock in place, the piano on the side, quiet, in the dead of nothing. You’re attached to a ghost, you love no one.

I’m jealous of your shadow, how it follows you around unbothered, with no shame. My head would hang, a pariah paraded, they’d throw stones, scream names. It’d be all they see, all they’d talk about—see this girl, she’d disappear every evening, and after class, yeah, so many people saw her, she’d chase after him like a lost puppy, what a strange thing—but it was me chasing, it’s me lost, the sick dog begging at your doorstep, the stranger, the disturbing.

“Chris?”

I dig my nails in your hips and lift you up, flip you around, press on your back, your ass flush against my hardening length. I refuse to let you see the monster. I’m too weak to let you be, to walk away from you. It’s a twisted, distorted thing, what’s going on inside me. I see no end to it, no relief. Only suffering. I did this to you, my heart, and I cannot apologize. I don’t want to. I’m jealous, I’m jealous, I’m wretched.

You reach and grab me from behind, rubbing your slick, coating me in your wetness. I’m in shambles, baby, and can’t you tell? You hold me by the balls. I can’t see anything but you. I’m dying. You’re killing me. I enter you, dripping, bleeding. You whimper, backing up to meet me, and I bottom out. Being inside you like this, I’m burning in the last circle of hell. There’s nothing as agonizing, no form of torture more severe. 

It’s here, like this, when I can truly lose myself entirely, where I can let go of any inhibitions; I am not a professor or a member of fuck all, or even a person, I’m nowhere near a man, surely, instead almost completely animal, because I fuck you, I’m getting what I want, I pistol into you, a mad thing, a predator, and I lean my body to cover yours, my mouth breathing hot over your ear, and you’re whining, you’re sobbing onto the carpet, where I’ve taken you over and over and over again, my perfect fucking girl, perfect little whore, how you fucking like it, yeah, just like this, helpless, desperate—yes, yes, please, please, God—I’m going to fucking ruin you, (Y/N), feel this fucking cock, so fucking full of me, baby—I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come, Chris, don’t stop, please, please, please—

“Stop begging,” I groan into your skin, biting your shoulder, lifting you entire as I shove myself in you. “Stop fucking begging. Clamp me. Drain me, baby, come on.”

“I can’t, I can’t—”

I’m digging into you, I’m scavenging, exorcizing. This is the roughest I’ve ever had you, and you’re taking it all so well. I’m swelling with pride, I feel so deeply for how your body receives me that I can’t hold out any longer. You let me come inside every time. I know you’re on the pill, but my mind races, primal instincts and caveman thoughts—you, swollen with my child, naked, always naked, as I slowly make love to you, staring into the face of my truth, my only right, the only thing I can never regret—you’re so goddamn beautiful it hurts.

“I love the way your come drips down my thighs,” you say breathless, lost in your lust. I’m still moving inside you, still so fucking horny for you. “I sound insane.”

I collapse next to you, but keep your back tight against my chest, lifting your leg to keep fucking into your warmth, unable to stop. Sweat runs down my brow. I’m never not impossibly hard for you. No matter how many times I have you, no matter how aggressive I am, how brutal—you take it all, you fucking amazing girl. My death. 

“Tell me,” I rasp. “I could do this all night, (Y/N). Say the fucking word.”

You tilt your neck and kiss me. I salvage your mouth, run my tongue over the roof of it, and your hole engulfs me. Your pussy tightens, refuses to let go.

“Keep fucking me,” you whisper, avoiding my eyes, embarrassed. “I’m so close, Chris.”

“Tell me what you need, baby. Let me hear you.”

You mewl, and turn away from me. I quicken my pace again, this position allowing me to get deeper, and I do, I ram into you hard and fast, just how you like it, and your voice propels me, it drives me crazy, it wraps my arm around your neck and chokes.

“Your cock…I need it so bad, I crave it every night…please, Chris, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop…”

“That’s my fucking girl. Come on, baby, come on…”

I need to fucking taste you, I can’t wait any longer. I slip out of you, your wail of protest loud enough that I have to slap my palm over your mouth, slap your fucking face for disobeying the one rule I’ve set for you.

And then I dive right into your raw cunt. I slurp and lick and lap, so wet I have to reach down and stroke my dick, the sound of you so fucking filthy it’s pornographic. I growl and spit on my palm, masturbating to the sight in front of me. You climax with a gasp, and I persevere through all of it, keeping you still, but desperate for a last dip.

Once, twice, I slam back inside, and scramble to come on your stomach, thick spurts shooting out, my vision blurry, my chest heavy. A fucking mirage, covered in my cum, spent and destroyed. I love you. I love you.

“I’m goddamned obsessed with you,” I confess, falling back on my heels, breathing ruggedly, running a hand through my hair. You’re a mess all over. My fucking cumdoll. “I am a ruined man, (Y/N). I can’t think of nothing else except this. How I can spend the most amount of my time inside you.”

You laugh, and bite your lip, closing your legs on me. I slap them open, stare at what I created, a visceral feeling tearing through me. I want to cut you down, slip myself inside you, wear your skin as mine. I’m the insane one, not you. You were made to want, while my wishes condemn me.

“You’re never fucking leaving me,” I’m not proud to admit this toxic, acid thought. “I won’t survive it if you do. You’re stuck, do you understand? I’m not going to apologize, and I’ll never mention it again, but,” I rub my thumb on the inside of your thigh, braving a glance at your spent face. You’re scared, you love me. You’re afraid of the fact. “What we have… it’s not fucking normal, (Y/N). I can barely explain it myself. I need to fucking possess you, baby; I have terrible, god-forsaken thoughts of—of crawling inside your bones and carving a place for me there, a place I can never escape.”

I kiss your wet cheeks and wrap myself around you. I rest my head on your stomach, and close my burning eyes; I listen to your heartbeat, your deep breathing. You’re falling asleep, but still, your fingers reach down and soothe my demons away. I’m so devastated by you, (Y/N). I have ruined my entire life to have you. It is the highest form of happiness, the worst imaginable punishment. I need you like I need my own breath.

I drift off with my cock erect, and tears running down my face. It will never be easy, will it? Being close to you. 

It shakes the very fucking foundation of me.

They find out eventually, as we always knew they would.

The board of trustees propose a meeting, a formality, really, since I’m well aware of the rules of the school, and the ethical standpoint of these kinds of things. I’m the big bad monster that seduced you, and you hold no power over me. What do they fucking know, as I stare each of them in the eye and accept their decision. What do they fucking know. You haven’t come to class in four days. Are you okay? Are you embarrassed of us?

“Seeing as you are both adults, I’m sure we can end this unfortunate event amicably. Miss (Y/L/N) will willingly withdraw from your class, and you will be taking an extensive absence of leave for the rest of the semester. The council’s vote was unanimous on this—as a brilliant established member of the university, and a graduate of it, as such, we find it a grave disadvantage to us to let you go. Therefore, an exception has been made. Do you agree with this?”

I have no choice. I pray for whoever tipped off the Chancellor that I never find them. A severe thought crosses my mind—they’ve taken you from me. How will I be able to see you now? What will become of us if we are found disregarding their rules again? Surely death. I couldn’t possibly bear a different kind of separation, one where I lose you beyond just the classroom. It’s unimaginable and it fills me with a freezing dread, a pure horror that I feel down to my fucking core.

“Will you guarantee that this will be kept under wraps? (Y/N)—Miss (Y/L/N) is an exceptional student, one that does not deserve the public outrage something like this would cause her,” I keep my face straight, my expression contained. “It was a mishap, a lack of judgment on my part, nothing more. She remains a brilliant girl, and I wish for nothing more than to see her excel and graduate with utmost respect.”

“Of course. This is a private matter. But, Mr. Bahng, if we receive a similar document again… you understand our position, surely?”

One last time. I need to see you one last time.

“Certainly. Thank you for your time.”

Your phone sends me straight to voicemail. I’m not brave enough to try your dorm room, not with all those girls in there and their judgy eyes, and you refuse to step foot in my class even though you still have two lectures before we’re both to leave. They must’ve told you it was better to stay away for a bit, as to not make it so obvious, and yet I cannot for the life of me see the logic behind you being so far away from me, where I can’t reach you.

I’ve told you this. It won’t end well if I lose you.

I am over myself. I look for you everywhere. I see you in everything, in my dreams, to what little I manage to sleep, in the corners of my office, all the places I’ve had you writhing underneath me, your seat in the very front now occupied by that stupid boy—they all seem to know. Not for certain, but it’s in the glint of their eyes, the silences your voice would fill with such certainty it would steal my fucking breath away.

I ignore them all. I DON’T HAVE YOU, I want to scream at them. My worst nightmare came true, and I can only remember your sweet laugh as I’d bite on your neck, your honey exclamation—oh, it tickles!—as I did it over and over again. I can only remember the warmth of your cunt, the vivid smell of it, and your heart, the fluttering of it against my chest, how I held you to me, and you were safe from all of them, how we should’ve stayed in that office and never unlocked the door.

Leave a message after the tone. Beep.

“Answer your fucking phone, (Y/N). You’re driving me crazy.”

A day later, there you are, getting coffee, a book in your hand, your entire face smiling, so kind it messes with my head, the inner workings of my chest cavity.

I watch you from afar, notice how absentminded you look, how ignorant I must’ve been those past few days thinking this all hasn’t meant a thing to you, because it’s always been in the little things your face makes. Your tells, the things that give you away. How you listen without having heard a thing, how you play with your hair when you’re nervous. I’ve noticed them all, my love, and I can tell right now, that you’re thinking of me.

I think of approaching you, of showing myself to you, but it’s too soon. I can’t walk up to you in public, not on campus. I weigh the risk, the consequences—they’re the same, they haven’t changed, because to me this was always the outcome, this was always the end of us.

I call your name in my grief. Only to myself, a gentle summoning, just so I can pretend your name still belongs in my mouth. It does. It always will.

You do not see me. Or, if you do, you pretend not to. I can’t be sure which hurts more. You shatter me.

I try again the next day, a Saturday. As soon as we’re out of school grounds, a good distance away, I pinch the fabric of your jacket, jilting you. You turn around terrified—this is how I feel, I want to yell and shake you.

Alone, lost, in a labyrinth where I cannot find myself, I cannot find you. Endless loops, unbearable darkness.

“We can’t do this,” you say immediately, flinching away from me. From me. I’m ugly then, I’m dangerous, I can’t seem to control my temper. “I told you we can’t do this.”

I lunge for you, I grab your face in my hands, and force your ruinous eyes to look into my blind ones. I’ve seen nothing since that night we slept together. I’ve been walking around without knowing what day it is, without direction.

“I’ve called you,” I rasp. “Where’s your goddamn phone?”

“I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Oh, my baby. You’re sick with grief, aren’t you? Just like me. Your eyes are raw underneath all that black liner.

Still, I ask, “Why?”

You place your hands on top of mine, and remove them slowly. I cherish even your rejection. At least you’re here, in front of me, corporeal and talking to me.

“I got off easy,” you admit, head dropping in regret. “I didn’t know what they did to you, I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“I can’t be near you. They sent me on ‘vacation’.”

You nod, and it takes every last bit of willpower to not smash you into my chest and keep you there, safe and sound.

“It will never be the same between us, will it?” You sound so eternally sad. I want to fix it. Fix all of it.

But I can’t. And it eats me alive.

“It will not.” In admitting this, I lose a piece of myself. My heart wails.

Look at me again, (Y/N). Meet me halfway and I’ll always choose you. Nothing has changed for me. Meet my eyes, see that I love you. That I’ve loved you from the beginning, that I was made to love you, that nothing ever existed before you, and that I cannot see in front of me.

“Then, we should end it.” 

No. No.

“If we end it once and for all here—”

“I won’t,” I say, keeping my hands to myself, biting down my anger, the pain rising up to choke me. “End it? What does that—I’ve buried myself in you, (Y/N). You’re in me like my own fucking spirit. End it? This will never end. We can never end.”

I got you crying now. As much as it tugs at me, I’m glad of your tears. They show you care, that you don’t really believe the bullshit words coming out of your mouth. I won’t hear any of it, I fucking won’t. You reach for any part of me to hold, fingers lifting in desperate attempt, and I pull you to me by the nape of your neck, our bodies crushing, the wave coming up to meet the shore.

I’ll remain astute as you come and go. You don’t have any choice but to return. It’s where you belong. With me, I whisper in your hair. Stay with me.

“To what end?” You mumble, your voice broken with emotion.

I bring my other arm around you, hold you close against me. “Ours. Until I’m dead. There’s no one else for me, baby. You. It’s always gonna be you.”

You won’t hear any of it. “I can’t ask you to do this for me, Chris.”

I silence you, kiss your forehead, your eyelids. “This is for me. I’m the fucking— I’m the selfish son of a bitch that can’t quit you. If it happens again, I’ll resign,” I made a promise to myself then. “I’ll resign and wait for you to graduate. Once you do, we’ll leave this damned place and go wherever you want. I’ll take care of you, you know that right?”

You nod, and I feel your fists bunching the material of my shirt, as if being this impossibly close isn’t enough for you. As if you’d wear my own clothes if you could, coexist in this body of mine. That’s all I’ve been asking for, you know. To somehow become one entity, to never have to part from you.

Why were our souls split? Not ours, I think bitterly. Ours should’ve never parted. What a cataclysmic event it must’ve been.

“I’ll rent an apartment, I’ll leave campus,” I whisper my plans to you, as we walk along the maple trees wrapped in each other’s arms. “It’ll be ours, you can come whenever you please. You’ll have your own key.”

“I’ll buy my stupid couch and a matching coffee table,” you laugh softly, and I’m ready. I’m sure about this.

I need you to be happy like this, to not have a care in the world. I’ll make it happen, I fucking swear it to you, my heart.

“And the island chairs, and ridiculous knick knacks that I won’t have a say over?”

Your unadulterated giggles set me on fire. “All of them, yes! It’ll be out of an IKEA catalog.”

All I want, all I want—my very soul beats this. A life with you. Beyond the class. It’s always been beyond it.

I say this to you that evening, as I make love to you in a borrowed bed, my name coming from your lips still the sweetest sound I’ve ever had the privilege to hear. My heart’s song, the greatest one. The rise and fall of your breath. My own. Its unique composition.

I love you. I love you so much my chest bleeds open with the truth of it. I’ll gladly run dry at your feet. 

“You’re everything, (Y/N). You’re everything.”

Nothing will ever take you from me. Not even death itself. Especially death.

I will find you there as well, if I have to. 

[peachesofteal]

Fae!Price/female reader This is a little piece of Long and Lost from this world.

Inside the pub on main, there is a girl. 

She’s a normal girl, to most, perfectly ordinary in nearly every way. She works her job, sees her coworkers, visits the darkly lit bar for a pint every now and then. Within the throngs of people drinking and eating and laughing, she appears like any other. Dark eyes watching the television with mild interest, glancing across other people’s faces politely. A brown coat, dusky orange scarf, a pair of blue jeans. Black leather boots that are scuffed at the toe. She orders a beer, keeps to herself, and minds her manners. She blends in so seamlessly, you’d never take a second look her way if you were in this bar, drinking with your friends, having a laugh. 

The only thing that could possibly distinguish her, is the black ribbed turtleneck. The bartender has never seen in her any other shirt, even in the summer. He assumes it’s because she’s a creature of comfort who likes what she likes, the type who enjoys a staple piece. It’s how he thinks of her, whenever she settles herself at his bar. The turtleneck girl.

He doesn’t know the turtleneck hides the most unique thing anyone in this town would ever see. He doesn’t know that the skin beneath her jaw glows with a sea glass green mark, one that calls to a world beyond a veil, that shines like a lighthouse guiding its lover home through treacherous seas. A mark unique in its shape, size and power, unlike any of this realm, or any realm, save for one.

It’s nearly midnight when they arrive. 

Almost everyone has gone home for the evening, and only the bartender, the turtleneck girl, and the old man linger. 

When the bell chimes, they all glance at the newcomers, and only the girl does not say hello. She does not say anything in fact, choosing to look immediately down into her half empty pint, turning the options over in her mind. The bartender welcomes them, directs them to choose a place a sit, wherever they like, hospitality their kind does not deserve, a truth no one here could know, except for her. The back door is so, so close to where she’s perched, and she could make it, if she ran. If she flew, she could be outside the pub and over the rooftops in seconds, leaving this town to the ash, to the destruction that the 141 will surely wring from its bones, as they do most places, in most realms. 

A trace of power slithers across her skin. It’s a probe, an inquiry of some kind, scratching at the shell surrounding her magic, tapping against the ethereal light that sits trapped inside her chest. Her muscles tense, thighs shaking with the effort to hold still, hold her breathe, hold herself at bay. She wants to explode, wants to Shine inside this pub and shred the Fae hunters to pieces, wipe them from this plane of existence and send them back to their own. 

They’re war addicted, hungry beasts. They don’t belong here. 

But they’re not the only monsters in this room. 

She shoves the power away, shoves it as hard as she can, a pulsing shockwave that rattles the foundation, and leaps from her stool, sprinting out the back door, run, run, run-

She makes it as far as the alley before she feels the Prince’s sun kissed whip around her throat, jerking her backwards like an animal, restraints wrapping around wrists and legs, forcing her to her knees. 

Maybe if she begs, if she cries, they’ll let her go. They’ll spare her. 

“It’s not me.” She croaks, flexing against the sun searing rope that stays taut around her neck. “You’ve made a mistake. Release me.” 

“I don’t think so.” The Prince croons, smiling in a sick, sadistic way that turns her stomach. She rails against the binding, straining with everything inside of her, urging her power up through her pores, wings screaming beneath the sinew at her back. Shine, they cry. Shine and blow them all back to Faerie.

It’s no use. She’s no match for a single Fae in this world, let alone four of the most powerful, not with how weak she’s grown. 

The Captain settles himself on the pavement, bending at the knees, still straight backed and proud, blue eyes meeting her head on. He’s not afraid, does not tremble, does not falter before her like the others who have tried to collect their bounty have. 

“Fuck you.” She sniffs, turning her face away. The other three loom in the background, unmistakable now that they’ve dropped their Glamour. 

The Ghost.

The Chaos.

The Prince.

The 141, in the flesh. 

The Captain rises to his full height, motioning for the Ghost, some sort of magical bond sizzling through the air, communication that burns in the breeze on this cold winter’s night. “You’re in a lot of trouble, little angel. And so far from home, too.” He cocks his head, arms crossed across his chest, and she snarls, snapping her teeth.

“Keep your cretinous fucking hands off me.” She spits, and John Price only smiles, cupping her jaw in a wide, warm palm. 

“No.” 

[yaksha-lover]

Wishes of Love

Summary: For Leona’s birthday, you decide to take him out for a date and him something handmade.

Leona Kingscholar x Reader

“I told you, tonight is on me,” you say, tugging him into the restaurant.

The smell of all kinds of delicious grilled meat fills your nose as soon as you enter the restaurant. Based on Leona’s hum of appreciation, you picked the place correctly.

“On you? Have you forgotten I’m a prince? I don’t need anyone to take care of my meals,” he scoffs gently.

“I know you don’t need me to, but I want to anyway. Please? I want to treat you.”

“We’ll see.” Leona rolls his eyes, but it’s mostly just for show.

The server shows you to your table and the two of you take a seat across from each other.

“So, you want to do gifts now or later?”

“Never,” he deadpans.

“Now it is.” You smile at his annoyance, placing a gift bag in front of him. You carried it in from the car, so he’d already known it was coming, but he grumbles about it anyway.

Unwrapping the gift with a wary look, he picks up the dark green scarf you’d crocheted for him. “What the hell is this?”

“A scarf?” You joke, despite the sudden awkwardness you feel. “I made it. I thought you could wear it for your upcoming trip. I know you don’t have many clothes meant for cold weather. You uh- you don’t like it?” you ask. You hadn’t thought he would be jumping with joy, but even this reaction from him was unexpected.

“It’s not that. I told you, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Look, I know it’s probably not of the quality you usually wear, but I thought it could be something special. Sorry, if you really don’t like it I’ll take it back-”

“What, you’re trying to take my gift back now? This is mine,” he says, slipping the scarf around his neck, despite being in the middle of the restaurant and the intense heat of the summer.

“But, Leona-”

“No buts. Keep your grubby herbivore hands off of my scarf.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. Leona never acts straightforward, but you can’t help but enjoy his brand of love.

Despite the strange looks the waiter gives him, Leona refuses to remove the scarf throughout the night. He keeps it snugly wrapped around his neck, one end fashionably thrown behind his back.

The two of you chat lightly throughout the meal, discussing anything and everything. A comfortable silence settles between you as you eat. Leona remains focused on his steak, and you admire how cute he looks so focused on his favourite food.

He speaks suddenly, a few minutes later. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“The trip you mentioned in the north. Falena wants me to go for some diplomatic process, but there’s no reason you can’t come along.”

“I don’t know, Leona…What if your brother is upset? Does he even know you’re seeing someone?”

“Of course he knows about you,” he states bluntly. When he realizes what he’s said, Leona is surprisingly flustered. “I meant, he probably does, I don’t know. Who cares what he thinks?”

“Leona…do you talk about me at home?” you tease him with a cheeky grin.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, ears turned-down.

“You do! You’re so cute,” you laugh.

“Cute?! I’m not cute. You’ll see later tonight, I’m far from the gentle beast you seem to be making me out to be.”

Now it’s your turn to be flustered by his forward words. “Leona, not in public.” You kick him gently under the table.

He snickers at your embarrassment.

You’re tempted to tell the waiter that it’s his birthday so he’ll be forced to suffer the humiliation of having the entire restaurant sing for him, but you know he’ll kill you, so you let him have the last laugh.

In return, he allows you to pay for dinner as you wished. You find out later that he transferred twice the amount of the dinner into your account, but for now you are satisfied at your win. The two of you stand to walk out together, and you hold his hand. Normally he would make a show of complaining about you being clingy, but tonight he releases your hand and wraps his arm around your shoulder instead. It feels safe and warm, being in his arms.

Arriving at the car, he opens the passenger side door for you, motioning for you to get in. The two of you drive home, the radio playing gently in the background. Although the dinner date is technically over, your night with him is only just beginning.

Looking up at the night sky, you silently wish upon a star that you’ll be able to spend many more birthdays with your lion prince.

[andkisses]

♡ a good way | beomgyu ♡

despite the director casting you and beomgyu, your best friend, as the romantic leads, you both promise it won’t change anything between you

♡ beomgyu x gn!reader | wc. 9.1k ♡ genres/tropes: college!au, friends-to-loves, theater!au, hurt/comfort ♡ mentions of/warnings: injuries, lmk if there's anything else ♡ a/n: this is a rewrite of a fic i wrote and posted YEARS ago; unfortunately it was eaten up when i accidentally deleted my blog :’) it was originally for joshua from svt; i changed some of the times in the fic from the original, so if it’s a little wonky that’s why :’) pls enjoy ! <3 at the time it was my longest fic, now only second to roman holiday ^^ a/n 2: apologies for my absences ! i had some health issues even tho it was supposed to be my break :') im doing well now ^^

♡ masterlist ♡

It was strange. Weird. Practically unfathomable and there must be some kind of mistake. The play had those two characters as romantic leads. The ones who slowly turn to look at each other, catch the starry glint in the other’s eye before slowly leaning in, before slowly closing their eyes, before slowly feeling their heartbeat accelerate because oh heavens this is it—before slowly kissing each other for the first time with such tender passion some members of the audience start to cry.

Those roles were not ever meant for the ones who have been friends since seventh grade, where one of them accidentally tripped and tossed their lunch all over the other, rendering the former an apologetic mess and the latter slightly smelling of garlic for the rest of the day. Not for the ones who stayed up far too late binge watching whole seasons of anime because they finally turned in that big project and it’s in fate’s hands now. Definitely not friends who are each other’s best friends, always. Never them.

But when the director swings back to the two of you, the mischievous and excited glint in his eye is unmistakable. His giddiness even bubbles over and he repeats himself, happily gazing between you and the best friend of 8 years standing beside you. “Beomgyu, Y/N, you will be the best two leads this stage has ever seen.”

You don’t want to talk about it. You avoid it for as long as possible. Have every conversation about everything else possible except the one topic that actually needs discussion. The trees outside are slowly losing their crunchy leaves, littering the ground with crimson and gold and sprigs of chocolate in between. They rustle and fuss when walked over, and shuffle down the street in a hoard of warning, proclaiming threats of the bitter winds of winter that would soon approach and engulf everyone whole.

Some mornings, you can see remnants of late-night frost on window panes, icy designs laced over the glass in the early morning hours. The grass glistens and shimmers with frozen dew, and the sidewalk is slippery enough to encourage walking slowly or bypassing concrete altogether and walking through the dead leaves. Some nights, you can see your breath curl as you wait outside the diner, a translucent white beast disappearing into the night. As night draws darker earlier, the air grows colder, like a mysterious ghost. One moment, you’re warm—the next, a bitter chill sprints around you, immersing everything in a coldness that drills past your layers and settles into your bones.

But you’d wait a thousand years in the cold just to walk him home. You’d wait forever if it meant seeing him one last time before the day ended and blurred into the next through a series of dreams and quiet darkness.

Beomgyu is one of the last few people out of the diner; he never closes, but he stays as long as he can, helping out and cleaning before his boss gets angry and tells him to “go home! Don’t you have homework?” When he steps out onto the street, making sure to close the door behind him, he’s safely bundled up in a black pea coat and a plaid woolen scarf that, when wound up, nearly encompasses his neck, chin, and even the bottom tips of his ears. When he sees you waiting for him again, he smiles, eyes lighting up like firecrackers and his grin is so warm it starts to defrost your bones, slowly but surely.

“You know you don’t have to wait for me?” he says, falling in step with you as the two of you began the chilled trek back to your apartment.

“Yeah,” you shrug, “but then who will make sure you don’t get lost on your way back? Or, I don’t know, get eaten by a star-monster?”

“A star-monster?” He quirks his head towards you, raising his eyebrow in mild but amused confusion.

You nod your head. “What if the stars gang up on you and snatch you right off the face of the earth and you disappear into the sky? And no one knows or can save you because I wasn’t there? Hm?”

A bitter chuckle escapes his lips. The white curl of his breath fills the air in front of him before it fades, taking the bright look in his eyes with it. “Then I guess I wouldn’t have to be a part of the musical, would I?”

Silence washes over you like a breaking wave—it hurts and stings, knocking everything away and tossing the tiny ships around into chaos. The only sound now is the brush of the wind skirting the leaves down the street with you and the distant city noise. The heels of your shoes hit the pavement in time together, and your breaths slowly start to match up. But something’s off; you feel it in your heart and your bones begin to ache again as the cold ice returns once more, spreading their chilled fingers across them.

Somehow, you find your voice, but it’s quiet and small. “It couldn’t be that bad, could it?”

Beomgyu shrugs, looking anywhere but you. He throws his head back and stares up at the night sky, where the stars kindly twinkle back at him, almost as a promise of we’d never steal you away. You look up, too, but all you see is a menacing darkness that you’re not sure you can get rid of. It feels like it’s bearing down on you, pressing down on your head, your shoulders, and your heart. With it comes a dark doubt, one that oozes into the cracks of your armor and makes you start to question things. It beckons out the dangerous thoughts—the what ifs—and coaxes them into the light and forces you to acknowledge them. What if... this changes things. What if... it ruins things. What if...

“Y/N?”

Your gaze drops back down. Beomgyu stands a few yards ahead of you, in the light of one of the yellow streetlamps. You must have stopped while lost in thought, slowing down until you ended up stuck in between two lamps, in the shadowy part. “Hm?”

He shakes his head. “You just stopped walking.” He turns toward you completely and quickens his pace until he’s beside you again. The look on his face screams of concern, of wondering if his best friend is fine or if it’s something he can’t fix. He reaches out to take your hand in his. “Is everything okay?”

Your heart swells, but it still feels as if it will break, shatter, crumble at any time or place. It feels like porcelain, that if it isn’t handled with care and marked FRAGILE, it will ruin to the point that nothing can fix it. You know what question you have to ask; it’s weighing down on your tongue and you’ll have to force it out.

You gulp, and you can feel your hand shaking in his. Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit together, his starry eyes trying to search for what’s wrong. For what is in need of helping. You stare back at him, garnering the courage to ask the question that’s been plaguing you since roles had been assigned. “The show–it won’t change anything between us, will it?”

And then, he does something unthinkable.

He laughs.

Beomgyu lets go of your hand and bends over in half, practically cackling at the idea, whisker dimples on full display. When he stands back up again, he’s still laughing hard enough he crinkles into your frame, resting a hand on your shoulder and burying his head into your neck, an arm resting across his stomach. His body shakes with laughter, and it’s infectious. A grin slowly spreads across your face, and then a giggle works its way out until the two of you are both laughing like fools. You may be between two lampposts in the shadows, but there’s light where you are.

When the laughter finally subsides to gentle smiles, Beomgyu takes your hand again and tugs you close. He starts walking again, pulling you along, swinging your arms between the two of you. He knocks into your shoulder jokingly, and the both of you smile harder.  “Of course not,” Beomgyu says. His smile is pure, assuring. The hand in yours is warm, stable. “Nothing will ever change us.”

Seventh Grade.

The auditorium was full of anxious students, the buzz of noise telling the story of those who were waiting for their turn to shine on stage. The lights were turned on as bright as they would be for a performance, and the stage was decorated with real props from last semester’s performance, a steampunk rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. No one thought the director could pull it off, but when the curtains closed for the last time that first showing, everyone was left starstruck and a new round of students was inspired to try out for the next performance.

A loud clap from the director thundered through the auditorium, signaling for attention and shocking you into your seat a little further. The red fabric bristled against whatever skin your sweater didn’t cover. Outside, the harsh winter weather pummeled the barren landscape, the dead, empty tree branches getting whipped by the bitter, unforgiving wind. The light dusting of snow made everything brighter, almost to the point it hurt to look out the windows at the white world. Inside, however, was full of warm tones and warm breaths. The heat of the auditorium practically had you sweltering, making you wish you had worn layers instead of a bright green sweater. The threads around the collar began to itch at your neck, and you tugged at the hem in search of relief. You really wanted to be here. You really wanted to audition. But the number of people and how long you’ve waited has started to play mind games with you. What if they don’t get to you today? What if they skip over you entirely for someone else? Someone with more theater experience from prior years than you, a complete newbie? What if—

“Hey, uh, is this seat taken?”

You looked up, still fiddling with your itchy collar. It was the boy from the day before—Beomgyu. The one who had accidentally tripped over someone else’s backpack and thrown his lunch all over you. He looked like a complete wreck, one hand holding onto the wrist of the other arm, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes as he struggled to even look in your direction. You shelf your own nerves and offer up a kind smile and pat the seat, which he hastily filled.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a while afterward. On stage, more students rotated through songs and performances, some spectacular and others a little lackluster. It was beginning to become monotonous, and your mind started to wonder if you had gotten here earlier, would you have already auditioned by now? But then something happened. A student walked on stage, introduced themselves politely, and then began to blow everyone and every other performance out of the water. The way they moved, spoke, sang—everything they did was captivating and you felt yourself leaning forward in your seat, drawing ever nearer to the practically perfect audition. There was no music playing in the background, but their vocals and stage presence was more than enough. The entire auditorium erupted in applause when the student on stage finished.

“Wow,” you breathed out. You’d practically fallen out of the chair—feet standing on tiptoes, elbows on knees, chin rested in your cupped hands with a shimmer in your eyes. That. You wanted to be like that. Bewitching, enchanting, and utterly spellbinding.

“I know right?” the boy whispered beside you. The two of you turned to look at each other, and somehow, in the back of your mind, you registered he was sitting the same way you were, looking completely and utterly enraptured with the previous performance. He stared into your eyes—the first time, you noted—and you could see the stars, like a secret milky way full of wonder. There was a serious note in them. “Let’s both do our best so when we grow up, we can be that good.”

“No.” You shook your head, and Beomgyu’s face collapsed into confusion. You shook your head again, this time with a mischievous grin spreading across your lips. “No, when we grow up, we’ll be way better.”

A murmur ripples around campus. Sophomore year of college, and all of high school behind you. You’d think you would be used to it by now, the way quiet words spread around so sneakily but somehow always managed to make their way to your ears, too. But when the girls in the bathroom see you and slyly turn away, whispering how you and Beomgyu have the romantic leads, how of course they do, you can’t help but feel the knot in your stomach form and twist your insides until you feel pressure on your heart as well. Until it feels like you’re about to burst and spill everywhere. You want to spin at them, throw your hands out, and tell them how it’s not like that! That there’s nothing between the two of you except for friendship, the purest of kinds! Stop thinking that way!

But the wiser part of you, the one that’s been through high school, knows that they would just nod their head and try to hide their smirk. You can’t change their minds; they’ll always be thinking and imagining what they want.

Outside, the halls teem with people trying to get to their next class or break. You debate on stopping by your locker near the theater—you won’t need your books again until you go home thanks to rehearsal, but it would be out of your way to get there, on the opposite side of the arts block. But your books are heavy. Really heavy. Like shoulder-breaking, premature back pain-inducing heavy. You find that your feet have started to take you through the crowds to your locker before your mind decides on the plan itself.

In middle school, your and Beomgyu’s lockers were practically as far as they could be from one another. Yours by the gymnasium and near the arts building and the theater. With your mismatched class schedules, you only got to see each other at lunch and for theater. As your friendship grew, he would let you borrow locker space. It got to the point where you basically co-owned each other’s lockers; everything for classes on his side of the building was in his locker and everything for classes on your side was in yours.

By the time high school rolled around two grades later, the two of you were inseparable. As were your lockers. His at one end of the hall, yours at the other end on the opposite side. This only caused trouble junior year, when the two of you had such a bad falling out you could hardly bare to walk past one another’s locker let alone the other person. You would end up taking roundabout ways to your own locker, which worked until you ended up running into him one day without warning.

But you don’t have that problem now. As you walk past Beomgyu, who’s standing by his locker talking to another theater kid, you lightly slug his shoulder. You turn to walk backward and catch his reaction, and he’s staring back at you with fake confusion and his arms thrown up in the air. “You’ll pay for that!” he calls after you.

“Yeah, yeah, sure I will!”

You reach your locker, a happy smile on your face, glad your best friend is the kind of person you can beat up on. You spin the lock with precision, ready to open the door, slam your books inside on the shelf, and hurry to the theater for rehearsals. You can’t wait to see what strange exercises the director would have up his sleeve today; last time, he had everyone stand on the steps in the audience and each time they recited a line correctly, they got to move up two steps. First to the top wins; you and Beomgyu tied for first.

When you pull out the lock and swing the door open, what you see ruins your mood instantly. The crisp, white, inch-thick script stares back at you with quiet remorse. Remember me? it seems to say. Don’t forget about me. You’re almost afraid to touch it, knowing exactly what it holds in its pages even without having read a single line. If your fingers were to graze it, it’s as if an electric shock would shoot out and stop your heart from ever beating again. A tiny part of you wonders if, if your heart really did stop beating, would Beomgyu come to your side and rescue you?

Or would it be like the other night, with a sharp, bitter laugh and a mild happiness over a forgotten kiss.

You’re jostled out of your stupor by a neat punch to your arm, and you fall back into your locker with a metallic clang. When your vision focuses back on the real world, you see Beomgyu walking away from you towards the theater with a confident smirk on his face. He throws out his hands, his smile growing even wider. “I told you, you’d pay for that!”

You’re smiling too, now, and you hurry and grab the script and race after him.

It will all be okay. The two of you had already talked about it, how nothing could change between you two. Regardless of what the girls in the bathroom would dare to say in front of you. Regardless of what anyone else on campus or your major are thinking. Regardless of the script that burns slightly in your grasp, the crisp paper threatening to cut tiny slices into your delicate skin. You and Beomgyu—inseparable best friends for the rest of time.

It would always be that way. No play, no roles, no romantic leads, would get in the way of that. You’d promised each other you’d be each other’s best friend, always.

Freshman year.

Sunlight streaming through the loosely drawn curtains was what woke you, lit patterns playing across your face. Your back ached from sleeping on a couch at a crooked angle for who knows how long. You stretched and tried to pull at your sore joints, attempting to return them to pre-crooked status. The room was still dark; the lamps were all off and the only other source of light was the television, where Netflix was playing some random anime you don’t remember ever selecting or talking about. Vague memories float up to the surface slowly as you finished waking up: you and Beomgyu had turned in a big semester final project that neither of you had thought would be finished on time but somehow managed to pull off. Deciding to get take out and stay up as long as possible watching as many seasons of anime as you could fit in and—

“Boo!”

Your scream echoed through the small dorm and you pulled at the blanket on top of you, trying to hide behind the soft, comforting quilt. On the other side of the couch was Beomgyu, laughing so hard he nearly rolled off onto the shag carpet rug. You half thought about being kind, and warning him to be careful because if he fell he could hit his head on the coffee table, but the other half said he scared you and deserved whatever happened next.

“How could you be so mean!” you whined, reaching behind you to grab a pillow to throw at your best friend’s face. “How long had you been planning something like that?”

Beomgyu paused his laughter to think. “Probably since I woke up about ten minutes ago. It would have been more elaborate, but then you woke up and I ran out of time.”

“You’ll pay for that, you know,” you muttered, drawing the blankets closer against your chest, where inside your heart still beating faster than usual.

“Even after helping you with that project and pay for dinner? On a college budget?” He paused for another moment, resting his chin between his thumb and the rest of his fingers. “Wait, pay for dinner... seems like I’ve already paid for it, Y/N.”

“Beomgyu!” You lunged forward, diving towards his end of the couch. Instead of a successful attack, you landed squarely in his arms, where he proceeded to tug you tightly against his chest. Escape, you soon realized, was futile. You’d have to talk your way out of this one. “Beomgyu, let me go. Now!"

“You know, you sure are whiney when you wake up,” he commented, rustling the hair atop your head. Your heart was still beating quickly and you were convinced the flush of your cheeks was due to large bouts of boiling hot rage streaming through your veins. “And why should I?”

“I would be in a nicer mood if you hadn’t scared me!” You tried to wriggle your arms up and pry your way out, but his grip was solid still, strong and warm. Since when was he ever this strong? His cheeks, you noticed, were warm and rosy as well, but that was from laughing too hard, you were sure. Why else would they be flushed?

“You may have a point…”

“Of course, I have a point! Now let me go!”

Mischief swam around with the stars in your best friend’s eyes. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, planning something you could only hope wasn’t entirely embarrassing. One eyelid dropped shut, and the smirk on his lips was unmistakable. “I will, but only if you pay for breakfast. From somewhere nice,” he rushes to add. “Student union doesn’t count.”

You released a terse sigh, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Fine! Deal! Now, release me!”

His arms slid away and you rolled over onto the floor, gently landing between the couch and the coffee table. The carpet was rough against your bare arms, but you were glad to be freed from Beomgyu’s death grip.

He was situated on the edge of the couch, chin resting lazily on his forearm, his eyes filled with mild shock and awe. “Really?” he gasped, as if he couldn’t actually believe you’d agreed. “Even if it’s the overpriced brunch food from the boutique down the street?”

You sighed, staring back at him.  “Yes. Even the brunch food from the boutique down the street.”

A moment of stillness, then...

“I’m glad we’re best friends," he said plainly, no hesitation in his voice. His dark eyes had warmed to a welcoming honest color, the kind some people could describe as home. The air around the two of you was still, a precious silence that quietly begged to be broken softly. Outside, the morning birds began to sing their late winter tune, beckoning spring to arrive as soon as possible. The sun filtered through the tiny windows brightly now, filling the dorm with warm yellow like that made everything feel nostalgic. Like the perfect ’80s movie.

When you found your voice, your words were soft but not timid. They held the same amount of honesty and weight as his had. “Me, too. We’re best friends, always.”

A soft smile played at Beomgyu’s lips as he echoed your promise. “Always.”

The walk back to your apartment is chilly. Even though the sun shone brightly ahead, the first freeze of the season the night prior plunged your town from late autumn into early winter. What few leaves remain on the trees might as well be frozen on, and the rest of the dead ones scattered around on the pavement, crunchy husks of their former selves. It’s daylight, but you can easily imagine if darkness were shrouded around you, your breaths would be rising out in front of you in vague translucent puffs. Cold describes everything in sight.

Beomgyu is close by your side, nestled in that ridiculously oversized scarf of his. Christmas is a while away, but you’re already planning on getting him a nice, Beomgyu-sized scarf, probably a deep brown to match his eyes.

“What’cha thinking about?” His voice, clear as crystal, cuts through the air like a sharpened knife, but it doesn’t startle you. It’s warm and inviting against the bitter winter weather, a gentle fire among the cold.

“What I’m gonna get you for Christmas,” you reply, burying your hands into your coat pockets. The pavement scuffs beneath your boots, the walk back home growing boring. As you crossed the street where you two used to part ways freshman year, him to the left and you to the right, you remember when he said his parents told him they were moving during high school. How distraught the two of you became, only to find out he was moving in across the street from your house. Now, you split the rent for a two bedroom apartment. “How about you?”

“To be completely honest, I’m wishing I had remembered my gloves this morning, because right now, my hands are extremely cold.”

You laugh, a bright chuckle, and pull your own hands out of your pockets, staring down at the grey gloves cloaking your fingertips. You hold out your hand towards him. “Want to take one?”

Beomgyu scoffs. “And let you suffer from an equally terrible fate as myself? I think not. At least one of us needs to live.”

You laugh again, throwing your hands back into your pocket. “Fine, be that way.” You cut in front of him, dashing over to the short decorative stone wall running as a divider between the grassy park and the sidewalk. In a quick hop, you’re walking along the top as it gradually slopes higher to the point your feet are even with Beomgyu’s waist.

He stares up at you as you hold your arms at length on either side of you, a small frown playing on his lips. “Be careful,” he warns, the tone of his voice surprisingly stern, something he rarely treats you with. When you look down, you see his brows creased as he follows your pace.

“Yeah, okay, dad,” you laugh, finding the bitter look on Beomgyu’s face amusing. The stone wall beneath your feet is sturdy, and your balance is just as solid. Years of strange theater exercises had brought you that. You can even see your apartment down the street; you’d walk all the way atop this wall, taller now still, and show him.  You’ll get to the end and hop off dramatically and tease him for worrying. He keeps pace with you perfectly, still by your side even if there’s distance. The look in Beomgyu’s eyes tells you he wants to reprimand you, take you by the waist and set you safely on the sidewalk before scolding you on every reason why you shouldn’t have done that. But you don’t need him to. You’re perfectly safe with no reason to worry and—

You’ve misstepped.

Your foot is too far from the center, closer to the edge of the stonewall than you had anticipated. There’s not enough foot on the edge to save it. Your impressive balance is misplaced even further as your arms circle widely at your sides, trying in vain to regain some semblance of stability. You can feel yourself pitch sideways, your feet finally coming out from beneath you, and now you’re looking up at the crystal blue sky.

There’s not a cloud in sight, odd for this early winter day, and for the shortest of moments, it’s like you're falling through the atmosphere. The cold wind biting at your cheeks is caused by your descent. The screams you hear are just the air rushing past your ears, calling your name, not anyone else. The clunk of bodies hitting the pavement is just an illusion.

Your vision snapping to black is just a mistake, a cruel trick of fate, like the dark doubts that swarm around your head when you’re all alone. The blackness is almost welcoming, and you succumb quietly.

Twelfth Grade

Four weeks.  Just under a month. Your life had gone from bold with color and emotion to two steps from dead and lifeless. Subjects you’d once enjoyed, now dull and monotonous. Walks to school were boring. Lunch and free period were non-committal. You’d skipped theater more than your fingers could count; you’d gotten an email from the director asking if everything was okay.

But it wasn’t. Nothing was.

Because it had been four weeks, just under a month, since you’d talked to your best friend.

What you’d even been fighting over, you couldn’t remember. That entire night is a fogged mess in your memory banks, existing but inaccessible. You know it’s there, but your brain, or maybe your heart, refuses to replay the details for you. The only information it relays is that there was a fight, and somehow some kind of words were said that ended in hot tears and storming out of houses with no goodbyes, take cares, or any sign of always.

Life since then had been weird, like you had shifted from one plane of existence but the world didn’t shift with you. Like a blurry camera shot, where one part of the image is in focus with fuzzy edges but everything else is shaken and smeared like thick wet paint.

All the love and joy theater had brought you since seventh grade was gone, five years nearly shattered to pieces inside your nearly-broken heart. You had no idea when the light would return, or if you would ever act again. It was so closely entwined to him, it physically hurt to walk near the theater or even think of certain plays.

Just like it hurt in the classes you shared. Sitting across the room from each other as far as possible, as opposed to right next to each other and sharing looks and soft smiles. The other students and even the teachers were left in a mild tailspin of confusion. There was never a scene made, nor any words spoken. Glances weren’t exchanged anymore. You never looked in his direction; your heart would ache far too much to handle.

Different pathways were even chosen to get between classes. You didn’t want a chance encounter in the halls, you couldn’t handle it. You guessed he couldn’t either, because you never saw him. There were never any accidental meet ups by your lockers, either.

Your plan had been to skip theater again and take the bus home, riding it around until it dropped you off last. You wouldn’t have to see him, it wouldn’t have to hurt, for that day at least. But you were running late, another teacher asking if you were okay needing brushing off. You needed to hurry and stop by your locker to retrieve your books. The bus was leaving soon; if you wanted to leave, you’d need to rush.

The halls were empty, everyone either in their after school clubs or outside waiting for the buses. You hurried to your locker, fingers anxious to spin the code in, grab your books, and leave. You reached inside, ready to retrieve the books by their spine and disappear from this place for what would feel like a short eternity. The hall was too bright, too empty, too--

“Y/N?”

Your heart skipped a beat, head whipping to the side. Beomgyu stood mere feet from you, but he might as well have been a thousand miles away. There were no longer any stars in his eyes, no warmth or cheer. They were sad, dark pits of self-doubt. They were muted screams, begging for help but not being quite loud enough. The dark circles under his eyes pleaded as well, and the downturn of his lips was what sent your stoic, bored, “I can make this” facade spiraling downwards.

You reached forward instinctively, wanting to cup his cheek with your hand and gently rub away the dark circles with your thumb, but you froze midway. Your voice even hitched. “Beomgyu... you look…”

“Awful? Dreadful? Like hell?” he filled in for you, and you couldn’t help but nod. Your chest was tight, almost to the point you wanted to clutch and tear at your heart to find relief. And the way your best friend was standing, shoulders slumped and body looking one strong wind from caving in like a fragile house of cards, it seemed like his heart was aching, too.

“What happened to us?” you asked, voice quiet and quivering. The hot buildup of tears began behind your eyes, making the edges of your vision blur together in a mass of sad, muted tones. “Why did we—”

“I don’t know,” he answered quickly, anxiously, as if he doesn’t speak fast, he’ll lose you again. He took a tender step forward, leaving only a few feet between you, but it was still too much space. You missed being side by side, close enough to bump into each other’s shoulders or elbow each other’s sides. Beomgyu took another tiny step towards you when you didn't move back. “What were we even fighting about?”

“I don’t know.” You felt like one step away from crumbling inwards, clasping in on yourself and all the way to the cool hallway floor. Your hands were shaking now at your sides, and you gripped your hoodie hem to prevent the shivers from racing up your arms and shaking the rest of you until you shattered into tiny shards. The moment your fingers curled around the soft hem was when you realized: it was his. You’d thrown in on that morning without even thinking. Now, all you could notice was how strongly, how nicely it smelled like him. You took in a solid breath of air to prevent the tears from spilling over, but it was shaky and unconvincing. “Whatever we were fighting about, it’s not worth this. I miss you, Beomgyu.”

His eyes were still empty, no stars in sight, but now they were glossy with tears. His chin quivered, and his lips moved to say something but couldn’t. His fingers curled and uncurled around the leather strap of his messenger bag. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “I miss you. So much it hurts to breathe, so much I can’t stand to look at you in class or else I feel like crying. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please, please, forgive me and be my best friend again. I don’t think I can take life without you anymore.”

The both of you lunged forward at the same time, wrapping each other in a hug. Your arms clung to his neck while his encircled your waist, holding you close. Warm, salty tears finally spilled over, running down your cheek and onto the soft denim of his jacket. By his shaky breaths, you figured he was crying, too. “I don’t want you not in my life anymore either,” you managed, hoping somehow that you’d made sense.

Beomgyu laughed in your arms, drawing you even nearer. “Good, because I really didn’t want to have to explain to your father why I was standing under your window with my guitar instead of just letting myself in like usual.”

You laughed too, but the kind of broken laugh where you find pure happiness just after harsh sadness. Your heart swelled with joy, knowing that Beomgyu was still yours. The time you’d spent apart, not talking or goofing around or shoving each other playfully with stupid grins on both of your faces, had been life-draining. You’d never get it back, even if you spent forever together. You never wanted to go through anything like that ever again.

Beomgyu nestled into the crook of your neck, words whispered so quietly you knew instantly that they were just for you. “We’re each other’s best friends, always. Right?”

You wrap your arms around even tighter, a true smile on your face for the first time in weeks. “Right. Always, Beomgyu, always.”

The apartment is quiet. The shades are drawn open, allowing late afternoon sunlight to spill in and swim around on soft carpet floors, bathing them in warm yellow light. The television in the corner is on but mute, the news airing with no noise. The heater kicked on a minute or so ago, filling the house with nicely warm air. Outside, soft baby snowflakes begin to fall out of the sky, the first snowfall of the season. If the sound had been on, you would have known that the weatherman said the snow was no reason for concern—it wouldn’t accumulate to the point it was dangerous. Just a light dusting, something to make the outdoors look nice and wintry.

But you are unconcerned with whatever the weatherman’s words may be or the consequences of the snow. There are more pressing concerns.

Your voice warbles as you pull out the first aid kit from above the washer and walk back into the living room. “Beomgyu, I’m so so sorry, I—” You bite down on your lower lip to prevent yourself from crying; there wasn’t time for that now.  The white plastic lid snaps open, and you pull out the gauze, the alcohol wipes, and the bandages with shaky hands. He sits on the edge of the couch, one hand bracing himself on the cushion, the wounded one resting tenderly on his lap.

You lower to stand on your knees and reach out to take the hurt one in yours. You stare down at his split second knuckle, an ugly gash that would surely scar no matter how kindly or tenderly you treated it. Caused because of your stupidity, your recklessness. Caused because you tripped or slipped or something and fell off the wall. Caused because he risked his safety to catch you. You feel your heart break, knowing the scar would be your fault, forever, and you can’t ever fix it no matter how hard you try.

There’s no going back, or rewinding time to try again.

Beomgyu winces as you wipe at the cut with the alcohol wipes, and you mutter sorry after sorry. It’s beginning to not even feel like a real word. You can feel your chest heaving, one step away from a total breakdown as you swim through deep and measured breaths. Guilt pours over you like a thick syrup, sticking to every surface and threatening to drag you down and drown you whole. It fills into the cracks of your armor, bubbling up inside you like a witch’s brew. As you place the gaze and wrap the bandages around his hand, your breaths are coming shallower and shallower, your ability to keep it together fading. When you tie the bandages into place, you let go and drop to sit on your heels, all energy gone. Your head hangs in shame, and you wish you could crawl away and hide somewhere until further notice.

Which would be easier if you didn’t share a damn apartment.

However, your best friend won’t let you.

“Hey,” he calls, his voice soft and soothing. His healthy hand curls under your chin, gently begging you to look up, and you comply. His eyes are calm and filled with stars again,  and other emotions you can’t quite place. He smiles kindly, and you can feel your heart shatter at that instant. Right now, you don’t deserve that kindness. Your shoulders spike up and tears begin to spill over. Beomgyu’s face collapses into concern, and he slides off the couch to sit on the floor next to you, legs crossed.

When he places his hands on your shoulders, you try to shake them off. “Please, just...” Your voice falls away. How could you ever apologize for what happened? You knew you shouldn’t have, and yet you did. You knew he seriously disapproved, even if he didn’t voice it totally, and yet you continued. You knew, deep down, that you were getting cocky, and yet you didn’t stop. You had plans on teasing him, mocking him for his concern. The guilt presses down and down, crunching against your head, your shoulders, and your heart until you could scarcely breathe. Quiet sobs heave against your frame, from your torso down to your whole body. You could tell, soon, that you’d simply shake apart into fragments that could never be pieced together again.

You injured your best friend from your own stupidity.

“Hey,” Beomgyu says again, and this time, he reaches for you and pulls you into his lap, safely tucking you under his chin. You don’t resist, and even if you wanted to, you doubt you could have done it past all the crying. He gently rocks you back and forth, rubbing your back, soothing you as one would a small child. Once your sobs have subsided, and your breaths return to a semi-normal state, he speaks again. “I don’t hate you for what happened, if that’s what you think. I could never, I…”

You pull yourself slightly from his grasp, enough to stare at him at eye level, coming out from underneath the warm spot of his chin and neck and shoulder. The emotions swirling around amongst the stars in his eyes are new and unusual to yet, and some part of you feels at home with them. Your voice is quiet, almost hesitant, when you talk. “You... what?”

Beomgyu takes a breath, as if steeling himself. "I have something I need to tell you."

"Need?" you echo, head quirking to one side in confusion.

He nods, staring straight into your eyes. When he speaks, his tone is something you’ve rarely ever heard before. “Need. My chest might burst if I don’t get this off it, and that wouldn’t really help me graduate. Or tell you this. So... and seeming we might as well have almost died…” You roll your eyes at his dramatics, and Beomgyu seems hesitant, but only for a moment. Years of going up on stage have prepared him, but you can tell in this instance, he’s honest, 100% himself, and your best friend, not some actor playing a character for some play. 

He takes another breath before: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes grow wide, a small gasp escapes your lips, but he doesn’t stop.

“No, that’s not right. I know I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you for a long time but this... this is different. I want to keep you safe, to wipe away any of your tears. Seeing you sad just... tears at my heart. It hurts. Whenever you're sad or upset, I feel the same way, even if it’s just words over a text message. I really did feel like I was going to die when we had that fight. Living without you was unimaginable, but I had to go four weeks without you. Without your voice, your stupid jokes, your laugh. I guess I was in love with you then, too, I just didn’t know it.”

Words escape you, any witty comeback gone. You stare at him, the honesty in his eyes, thinking you’d see him differently after his confession. But you don’t. He’s still Beomgyu. He’s still your best friend. He’s still your Beomgyu.

One of your hands raises, and you tap yourself on your sternum. “Me?”

Beomgyu rolls his eyes now, as if he expected some kind of response like this. “Yes, you. I mean, who else would look up at the night sky, invent a star-monster, then worry about it taking me? I’ve wondered if I was really in love with you, like really actually in love with you. But when you fell and I caught you and you blacked out and I didn’t know why... Y/N, I was so worried. I could feel my heart breaking and I knew that if you never woke up, I wouldn’t ever be the same again.”

He’s mere inches from you, arms around you, body heat radiating off in such pleasant ways you feel okay with melting straight into the floor. His hands move from around your back to ghost around your face, like they want to caress you but are too afraid you might shatter like a fine porcelain under his touch. And his eyes—damn, his eyes. Every star, every galaxy, stirring together to create a beautiful milky way, a gaze so firm and caring you feel as if you’ll never look away. That if you somehow managed, too, you’d feel as if you were missing something dear and important.

Your heart flutters in your chest, its beat stuttery against your wrists. Oh, how on earth did you get here?

Maybe it was when one was so starstruck by the other they stopped watching where they were walking and dripped over someone’s strewn out, overstuffed backpack. When the other offered up a seat beside them during the audition to help settle nerves. Maybe it was when they woke up next to each other after having fallen asleep after binge watching an entire anime season or two, with Netflix on some other autoplay show, one was wondering how the other could look so soft and delicate just after they wake. When the other was happy that they were in each other’s lives. Maybe it was when they declared they’d always be friends, best friends, but now always seems to be more weighty and mean a little more than before.

Maybe, just maybe, this is when they slowly turn towards each other, catching the starry glint in the other’s eye. When they slowly lean forward, ever closer, to the point they can feel one another’s soft breath. When gazes go from eyes to lips and back. When heartbeats slowly start to be harder and louder. When you feel like you might be the one crying because oh heavens—this is it.

But there are things those plays never mention, things the audience can never detect.

They never mention how the palms of hands become sweaty, or how automatic it is to take a soft breath before another pair of lips meets yours, a touch so delicate you finally understand what all the hype is about.

How nice it feels to have two hands cupping your cheeks so gently, their little fear of shattering you gone, or how your own hand curls into the fabric of his shirt as if it’s second nature, the most right thing in the world.

How tantalizingly dizzy a first kiss is.

How soft lips are, how soothingly warm to the point you wouldn’t mind if they were all you felt. How tender goosebumps trail down your spine until something begins to pool in your stomach.

How, even though you’ve become utterly breathless, you can’t stop at just one, because now something that's been building and growing for years has unlocked.

Hands that trail from cheeks to ghost over the nape of the neck, sliding down arms softly to then find purchase at your waist. Kisses, more warm, tantalizing kisses that leave you craving for more. Kisses that roam from lips to chins, then trail down the jaw to tease and nip tender patches of skin on necks, only to return to corners of lips for more wholehearted, dizzying kisses.

You’re warm, almost hot, but it’s so pleasant. What exposed skin you have tingles with feeling, with a craving touch and affection, too. The two of you rest your forehead on one another’s, breath still shallow from all the kisses exchanged, hands softly interlocked with fingers entwined, or as much as one can with bandaged knuckles. He finds his voice first, though even it is soft and a little hoarse. “I should have done that a long time ago, huh?”

You giggle and snuggle closer, nestling into the crook of his neck. You place a kiss underneath his chin. Beomgyu rubs even patterns on your back with his healthy hand while you take the bandaged one in your own, cradling it gently. You pull it up to your own lips, kissing where each knuckle is softly. When you look up, you see the stars glowing in his eyes, brighter than anytime you’ve ever seen them. 

Beomgyu sighs, eyes softening at the corners. “I guess the kiss in the play won’t matter anymore, hm?”

You lightly slug in him the shoulder, a love-filled smile playing on your lips. He smiles back in a similar manner, his eyes lighting up with happiness. “Oh, and I guess this means you love me back, too.”

People fill and mingle around the diner, looking for an open seat among the crowds of customers. And older couple swoops in as soon as you vacate the booth, not even caring that your dirty dishes were still neatly stacked at the edge awaiting pick up. But you didn’t mind. You push through the doors to wait outside while Beomgyu paid. Even though there’s a small crowd at the counter, you knew exactly which one he was. Beomgyu wore his light blue jacket, the one that accentuated all his features nicely. You’d have to make sure that whatever Beomgyu-sized scarf you bought matched that jacket. He needed to wear it as often as possible.

The first official date was almost over, but you knew there would be many more to come. 

Once he’s finished paying, Beomgyu makes a beeline for the door, carefully navigating around all the people crowding the entryway. “Is it always this busy?” you ask when he rejoins you.

Beomgyu shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess so. But knowing you, the most gorgeous person ever alive, would be there waiting for me was very motivational.”

You do little to hid your smile.

He takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers as if it were second nature. Maybe, it was, and you two had just been trying to ignore it. This walk from the diner back to your apartment had been done countless times before, but this one is special. And now, you think, it really is your apartment. 

Beomgyu starts to casually rub gentle circles onto your skin with his thumb. “It’s the perfect kind of weather for me to take off my jacket and give it to you to keep you warm, you know.” He then takes a deep sigh and throws his head back. His next words come out playfully clipped. “But, someone had to be smart and wear their jacket.”

“Well, you’re not dating a fool,” you chuckle. When you notice Beomgyu pouting, eyes downcast away from you, you laugh again and poke him in the shoulder to get his attention. “Thank you anyway, Beomgyu, for always thinking of me.”

He turns back to you, all smiles. “Darling, I don’t think I could stop thinking of you even if I tried.”

“Ew, gross.” You laugh, white curls of breath forming in front of you. But, unlike last time, there is no cold or ice in sight. No dark thoughts and doubts plague you tonight. You’re delightfully warm and happy.

“Ew, gross yourself,” Beomgyu mimics, throwing his tone to match yours. “I’m cold too, by the way. So I guess thanks for thinking of me by thinking of yourself. God, you’re like the smartest person ever.”

As the walk home continues, so does the conversation. "Our parents seemed pretty happy when we told them, huh?" Beomgyu mentions, a smile playing at his lips.

“Maybe they planned it,” you muse. “Maybe the director was in on it. They wrote it all together because they decided it was now or never.”

Laughter fills the air, and even in the dark spots between the lampposts are filled with light.

You nudge your shoulder into Beomgyu’s, garnering his attention. “Can I ask you a question?” When he nods, eager to hear what you have to say, you continue. “Why did you throw your lunch on me that day in seventh grade?”

“That was an honest mistake!” he exclaims, eyes filled with desperate honesty. The blush along his cheeks as he looks away is readily apparent. When he looks up, his eyes are filled with sincerity. “But sitting next to you on audition day wasn’t.”

A soft smile plays at the corner of your lips. “I’m glad I got there late, then.”

“Me, too.” A moment of silence falls between you, but it’s comfortable, like an overtly fluffy blanket made just for two. Afterward, Beomgyu is the first to speak again. “Okay, I’ve confessed something from our past that’s mildly embarrassing yet still endearing. Now it’s your turn.” He turns to you with a mischievous grin on his lips.  "’Fess up, darling."

It takes a small instant, before: “Oh! You know that time we stayed up all night and watched anime after that big project? When we woke up the next morning, even though you scared the hell out of me, I thought you were pretty cute.”

Beomgyu’s eyebrows quirk up, his grin grows wider. “Cute? Me? You thought I was cute?”

Pink blush rushes to your cheeks before you smack him on the shoulder. You drop his hand and quicken your pace. “You were cute, you’re not anymore.”

Beomgyu races to catch up with you, takes your hand again, and bumps into your shoulder gently. “Of course I’m not cute anymore. I’m handsome.”

You make a fake gag. “Oh, please!” There’s no sense of lightness when you shove his shoulder.

“Hey, now,” he says, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand, another fake pout on his lips. “Be nice to your boyfriend.”

You scoff. “Is that what you are now?”

“What else would I be? More than friends but not a boyfriend…” Beomgyu’s eyes brighten as he lets go of your hand and snaps his fingers. “Aha! Your husband!”

You shove him with two hands this time. The idea of being with him like that is overwhelming to the max. “Fine, you’re my boyfriend, then.” The word feels foreign on your tongue, but you can easily imagine them growing comfortable. Your best friend. Your boyfriend. Your Beomgyu.

He slings his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close as your apartment slowly grows larger in the distance.  He leans his head over and rests it gently on yours. “I guess I lied,” he mutters, and you pull back confused even with his eyes on you, rich and loving. “I told you the play wouldn’t change things between us.”

A smile slowly spreads across your face. “But... we changed in a good way, right?”

Beomgyu answers you with a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, caressing your shoulders kindly and pulling you just a little closer. “Yeah, we changed in a good way.”

[justaragdollysblog]

Could you do a hurt/comfort Carnival!bunnydoll fic where Jax is having a mental breakdown over why he wants to hurt the players so much? I loved your last abstragedy fic <3

AHHH thanks so much!!!! I don’t know the absolute most ab the amazing digital carnival, so i hope this is okay!!

AU belongs to @sm-baby !

TW: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Mentions of death/murder, Mental breakdown

A Beast with Chains Still

Bites

———————————————————————

Jax lay in his room, which was more akin to a cell at this point. The chain around his neck had long since been cumbersome. He knew he was the reason for it.

He, like everyone else, had ‘woken up’ and realized the gravity of everything. That, even if they were trapped, no one would ask questions. No one would come find them. Even if they did, he hardly expected he’d be offered a way out.

Not after what he’s done.

He felt his ears start to droop, as he remembered what it felt like to hurt those players. People who meant well, at the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t know why exactly he slaughtered them, but he felt…somehow refreshed after.

But that was then, and this is now. And, how he wished it wasn’t. How he wished he was wearing his scarf again, teaching whoever wandered into his level about animation. He’d trade the softness of his scarf for the cold metal any day.

He recalled when he was first locked in his room. When he clawed at the door, begging for anyone to let him out. To understand what he was feeling and why he acted that way. One of his peers did, though:

Ragatha.

She would visit him very frequently, bringing him food and talking outside his door. Sometimes, on a rare occasion, she did enter his room. Those nights were spent in heavy silence, but her presence helped.

Jax could feel his heartbeat, or whatever he had in there, quicken. A lot. He gasped a bit, moving to try and hold his ears, like he did when he was upset and no one else was around.

The chain clunked against the floor as he grabbed his ears, and he started to sob at the hollow sound. It was a terrible, ever-present reminder of the fate he made for himself. A cell within a cell.

He hated that he felt this way. He hated that his first instinct with his newfound sentience was to lash out. It didn’t get him anywhere but more alone.

His breathing was frantic now, and he let out a strangled whimper as he feebly grabbed at the chain around his neck. The walls were blurring together, black and white, black and white everywhere. He was about to scream, when he heard a knock-

“Jax? I heard sobbing. Can I come in?” He recognized the voice almost immediately. Ragatha. The good-hearted, formal doll that had accompanied him on so many nights like this.

He took a deep, shaky breath. “…Yeah. Yeah, you can come in.” The gentle turning of the doorknob could be heard, and then an even gentler snap of the lock.

He didn’t meet her gaze. His breathing was still frantic and choppy, but slightly less so. Ragatha frowned and made her way over to him, kneeling down next to him. “It’s okay. Just try and focus on me.” She soothed.

Jax tried to calm his breathing, but the rattling of the horrid noise from the horrid chain didn’t help. He gasped again, shutting his eyes tightly. Ragatha smiled a bit, holding the chain in place.

“I won’t let it move, if you can try and breathe. It won’t make a sound, Jax. I promise.” Ragatha had a firm but kind grip on the chain. Just like she always was. Jax tried to breathe for several minutes, eventually returning to a rhythmic pace.

Ragatha smiled again, looking at him through a half lidded, understanding eye. “There we go. I knew you could.” She cooed, voice hushed. Jax felt himself wanting her to talk like that more.

“…I don’t know why I want to hurt them, doll. I don’t know why I did this to myself.” He muttered, voice catching on the last few words. Ragatha sighed a bit again, but a kind sigh. She was not incredulous or exasperated. She could understand, to an extent.

“I understand. I don’t think it’s right that things happened the way they did. But, I’ll always be here, bun. Even if the others warn me not to, I’ll find a way. I won’t leave you.” She soothed, putting a gentle and slow hand on his cheek.

Jax was entirely too tired and lonely to resist the touch or convince himself how much he didn’t need it. He moved his head into her hand, eyes closing. He really was tired. He could feel sleep and some semblance of peace pulling at his mind.

Ragatha scooched closer, laying his head down on her lap. She began to pet his ears, and she looked down at him with a smile full of empathy and understanding.

“We’re gonna be okay, bunny. No matter what.” She pressed a small kiss to his forehead, and he pressed his head deeper into her hands. How long had he been craving a touch like this?

Jax knew in the morning, he’d have to be alone again. He’d deal with it when it rolled around. Her touch was too soft to consider it going away right now.

He really needed this.

———————————————————————

WOOOO done! i hope this was good! if it wasn’t similar to the request, pls lmk! i went w this like after he was already locked away lol

reblogs are always appreciated! see you guys soon!

[a-land-lacking-sleep]

So, something interesting that I realized about the Shapeshifter chapter - No one (except maybe Senshi) sees Laios for who he is, but he sees them for how they are. Everyone is immediately able to catch who the fake Laios’ are because two are caricatures and one has the wrong (but similar) face, while Laios’ perceptions of Chilchuck and Senshi are only caught by details.

Chilchuck has a poor opinion of Laios that spawns from his social ineptness, which has only gotten worse with the open monster obsession since Chapter 1. So, even though there is some mutual respect between the two, the Laios that Chilchuck produces is so wildly dumbed down that the other two could pick it up in an instant as not being the person they know. Conversely, if Laios hadn’t assumed that Chilchuck wore a scarf, he likely would’ve made the most convincing Chilchuck. He worse almost the same expression the entire time he was on screen, and acted similarly to our buddy Chil.

Marcille gave us the most obviously wrong Laios out of the group, giving us a gangly yet blocky beast of a man who looks out of place with reality. All of this comes from how she has an ideal state for Falin and sees Laios as completely different for multiple reasons (male vs female, melee vs mage, uncaring and foreign vs kind and familiar, and most importantly, he took Falin away). Comparing the two is a quick way to anger her since she idealizes Falin, as we saw with Senshi’s view of Laios (which is next, don’t worry!). Conversely, Laios has probably the most solid view of Marcille, definitely the most out of the group. The magic book was wrong, but it was still a magic book because of his studies; Marcille’s hair was down, but she has done that before for various reasons; Fake Marcille had conviction that was outwardly strong, even if the real Marcille’s conviction is often hidden by her nerves.

Senshi and Laios, oddly, have the most realistic views of each other. Senshi sees him as feminine, yes, but that’s in comparison to how dwarves normally see tallmen (Senshi actually sees everyone most based on racial stereotypes, which is fitting at the oldest and most isolated member of the party). The only bit of Sensaios’ personality we see is quiet confusion as he observes the situation, a trait we see often in Laios, though it’s often accompanied by his internal monologue. Conversely, outside of the missing holes in Senshi’s helmet, Laioshi (I hope that’s not the ship name) looks almost exactly like Senshi (just with smaller eyes), and acts a lot like him too! Autistic monster-eating buddies know each other well.

I just really find it interesting that Laios is heavily misunderstood by his party and the fandom (don’t think I don’t see how people go around and characterize him like Chilchuck does, or make him obsessed with eating everything in sight, or reduce him to being overly weird about monster/demihuman girls), but when it comes to how he sees others? For the most part, it’s pretty sound. He makes some mistakes, sure (If he did a Toshiro shapeshifter, it would definitely be more friendly than the real thing but also much more taciturn), but the people he’s around are people he knows, and he makes sure to know them.

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Memories of Defeat (pt 4/4)

An In Stars and Time retrospective that revolves around everyone's favorite star. Major "secret ending"/epilogue spoilers below the cut!!

[Start from Part One here.]

Once upon a time, there were two brothers: one made of light, and one made of meat.

The elder brother was capable. Resourceful. He’s the one who had to point the way. Even if he was lost, or exhausted, or hungry and scared and alone, he didn’t have a choice. There was nowhere left for him to go. So he died! He died on purpose!! He’d rather be dead!!! Anything would be better than this!!!!

The younger brother burrowed out of their sibling’s ribcage. They were afraid, too, but they weren’t hungry. How could they be? They were born from a banquet of muscle and bone. Fermented in a womb of fresh-spilled blood.

The younger brother swallowed their elder. They swallowed his liver and his entrails, his heart and lungs and light. Everything good that was ever inside him would be theirs now. Then they wiped their mouth and howled their loneliness into the stars. Why did it have to be like this? What can’t I remember? Why am I so alone???

The night sky looked down and said, Because I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hope you eat shit and die. Die unloved and alone. It’s what you deserve.

But I didn’t do anything wrong! the younger brother wailed, pathetically, and also totally blinding hypocritically because they literally just ate their only kin, like, ten minutes ago. I only wanted to be loved!!!

Cool, the Universe said. Try telling someone who cares.

* * *

There’s no room for Loop in the caravan.

Which is fine. Preferable, even. It’s not as though they’re particularly eager to spend the night two inches away from the nation’s most nauseating lovebirds.

Siffrin insists on pitching a tent for them. That’s fine, too. It’s a free country. Siffrin can do whatever he wants. It doesn’t mean that Loop actually has to sleep there.

(They can’t even look at it. It smells like the past. Like the hole in their chest.)

They sleep on the ground, with a scarf draped over their eyes. They don’t want to look at the stars.

* * *

Loop’s eyes snap open a few minutes before sunrise. There’s someone watching them.

“You’re not sneaky,” they announce, without looking up. “I’m not one of your oblivious little friends. You can’t hide from me. I’m better at it, anyway.”

“Maybe I wasn’t trying to.”

“You know it’s pointless trying to lie to me.”

“…Yeah.”

Loop rolls their eyes. He’s the one who won, isn’t he? So why does he always go around acting like a sopping wet cat left out in the rain? “What do you want, stardust.”

“I’m deciding if I have to give you our cloak,” Siffrin admits.

That gets their attention. Loop sits up, intrigued.

Siffrin tucks their chin behind their collar. “It seems maybe… right? Um. Morally. But I really don’t want to.”

“Aww, stardust. You think I want that ratty old thing?”

“Of course.”

…Of course.

Loop smiles sunnily. “I bet you think I’m going to say something like, Ohh, you don’t have to do that. It’s the thought that counts! That you even considered it is more than enough for me!”

Siffrin looks hopeful. Stupid little beast. How were a hundred bloody deaths still not enough to wring all the optimism out of them?

“Well, maybe I won’t! We don’t all find you so charming, you know. Maybe I do want it! It was mine first!”

Siffrin’s face scrunches miserably. As they reach for the clasp that holds their collar shut, the first gleam of dawn catches on a silver coin, still pinned to their lapel.

…Ugh. “It’s fine, okay? It’s not even my style anymore. Anyway, I got to keep both our eyes, so. Who’s the loser here, really?”

Siffrin opens their mouth.

“If you answer that, I’m taking the cloak just so I can throw it in the river.”

Siffrin closes their mouth. But they don’t walk away. They just keep standing there, staring.

“Stars, what?” Loop demands. “Have you got some more restitutions for me? Going to give me your other eye?”

Siffrin shakes his head. “It’s just, um. Loop.”

“What?”

“No, I mean the name. ‘Loop.’ Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Stars, it’s one thing after another with you! Talk about intrusive! Do you do this with all your little friends, or it just me you can’t trust to make a single blinding decision for myself?”

Siffrin scuffs the heel of their boot through the dirt. “It just… doesn’t seem fair.”

“Oh, you figured it out, did you!! Ve~ry clever, stardust! It is unfair! Much like everything else in this miserable world! Nothing was ever going to be fair! What do you want me to do about it? Well? Go on! I’d love to hear your brilliant solution!”

Siffrin just keeps standing there, silent.

Loop’s fingernails dig into their palms. “Do you think I should be Siffrin again? Is that it? You think we should both be Siffrin? I’m sure that won’t confuse anyone. When your pet Fighter calls your name and the both of us come running.”

“...It would get confusing.”

“I’m not him anymore, anyway,” Loop spits. “They’re dead. You should know. You’re the one who killed them. And killed them and killed them and killed them and killed them! And—if I can be honest? Good blinding riddance!! You think I liked being you? Being some desperate, needy little freak with no past and no future?” They let out a tinkling laugh. “Get over yourself, stardust. Frankly, I’d rather die.”

“I’m not saying you should be me,” Siffrin says quietly. “I just mean… Loop, specifically. It doesn’t seem a little… masochistic?”

Loop blinks at them.

“I know you’re not me,” Siffrin says again. “Or even the me you used to be. But you’re not the loops, either. They’re just—something that happened to us.”

Loop rolls their eyes. “You escape one time loop and suddenly you’re a qualified therapist?”

“Do you really like it, though?”

…Well. Well of course they don’t blinding like it. But it’s fitting, isn’t it? It’s funny, isn’t it? Just like them!! Soooo~ funny!!!

“…Loop?”

“I don’t like it,” Loop hisses. “But. It’s… not as though I like anything else. And it’s. Familiar.”

Siffrin nods. Even he can understand that much. This world’s Siffrin may have had it easy—like, really, ridiculously, embarrassingly easy—but both of them went years without finding anything familiar. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“And you know you can change your mind.”

“Hard as it may be to believe, I am, in fact, fully capable of thinking for myself! But thanks ever so much for trying to dictate another aspect of my life! I was starting to worry that I might actually have to be a real person!”

Siffrin frowns. “You’re a real person.”

“Oh, for Stars— Haven’t you done enough? I’m exhausted. You’re exhausting.” They flop back in their bedroll, draping the scarf back over their eyes. “Just leave me alone, stardust. It’s what you do best.”

[You dreamed that you were drowning. Even now, you still can’t catch your breath.]

There’s an old fairytale, back in (don’t think it DON’T THINK IT IT HURTS) about the saddest man in the world. He’s so miserable, so totally consumed by his hurt that he can’t even talk about it, because no one would ever understand. He is utterly alone in his grief.

So the world’s saddest man makes a wish. He wishes for a copy of himself! Someone else, someone new, who might reflect the emptiness inside him.

But the copy is too good. Much, much better than the man ever was. There’s no bitterness inside it because, for as long as it’s lived, it’s always had him. It never had to learn how it feels to be alone.

The man hates it. He hates it. He can't stand to see it walking around, smiling and laughing and failing and trying. So he lures it back into his study. He gives it a smile. He opens his arms.

It’s still smiling at him, trusting, when he drives the knife into its chest.

The man drinks the light from its veins and swallows the wish in its heart. He leaves it empty empty empty. And do you know what?? In the end, when he’s left shuddering in a puddle of blood and spattered viscera, nothing has changed!! There’s nothing different at all!!! He still isn’t any less alone!!!!!

*

* *

* * *

The morning after the party sets out from Bambouche, Loop wakes up to find Bonnie standing over them.

“How come you don’t glow anymore?” they ask bluntly.

Loop blinks. “Oh. Um. W-Well, it was wreaking havoc on my beauty sleep. Looking this good doesn’t come cheap, you know! It’s practically a full-time job!”

“But how? What happened to your sparkles?”

“They… washed off?” It is sort-of true. For a while after Siffrin set them free, Loop wasn’t anywhere at all. When they finally gasped awake, they were neck-deep in the same black, frigid water that carried them to Vaugaurde, all those years ago. Except this world’s Siffrin already took the boat. Loop had to claw their way to shore with their own two hands.

Bonnie looks disappointed. What else is new? Water is wet and Loop is disappointing. “That sucks. It was cool. But I guess it’s good you can sleep now. Being tired sucks too.”

Loop’s mouth ticks up. “I’ll tell you a secret,” they find themself saying. “But only if you won’t tell Siffrin.”

“DEAL.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah!!”

“Super promise?”

“Of course!!!!”

“Super duper promise?”

Bonnie flaps their arms. “You gotta tell me right now or I’m gonna explode!!!!!”

Loop looks left and right, conspiratorial, before beckoning them close enough to whisper in their ear. “...I can still glow a little.”

“What!!!!!”

“Shh!!”

“Ahem!” Boniface clears their throat. “Ahem, hem. Of course what I meant was: forsooth, how doth you, um. Glow?”

Wow, they really have been going to school. Loop’s mouth ticks up. They might not be the real Boniface, but they’re still way too cute. “Okayyyy, okay. You wore me down! I can’t hold out any longer! I have no choice but to confess!”

“Yeah,” Bonnie agrees, scowling fiercely.

“Okay, check this out.” Loop scoops a fistful of dust from the ground beside their bedroll and holds it in front of their nose. Their eyes scrunch. Their face puckers—

—and they sneeze a spray of sparks into their palm.

Bonnie’s eyes light up. “What!! What!!!! You sneeze light?????”

“Not always,” Loop explains. They still don’t really understand why it happens. It’s not as though the Universe ever deigned to explain. “And don’t tell anyone! It’s our secret, okay?”

“But why!!! It’s cool!!!!!”

“Haha, well. Sometimes people don’t like things that are cool.”

“But it’s shiny!!!!”

Loop smiles wryly. “Sometimes people don’t even like things that are shiny.”

Bonnie’s shoulders sag a little. “But that’s… That stinks.”

(Do NOT make Bonnie sad.) “Oh, no, i-it’s not bad! It’s, um, cool! Like having superpowers! Or a secret identity or something!”

“It is bad!” Bonnie snaps back at them. “People are so stupid!! I think your sparks are cool!!!”

For a second, Loop almost forgets to laugh. “Haha! Well, I commend your exemplary taste. But there’s no need to worry about me, Bonb– Boniface. I’m doing just fine!”

Bonnie frowns at them. “Frin says that sometimes.”

The nickname nearly knocks the smile off their face. “...Is that right.”

“But usually only when they’re not.”

“Well. I wouldn’t think too hard about it. Siffrin is pretty stupid.”

“You’re his friend, though.”

(…Are they?) “Of course!”

“So maybe you’re stupid too.”

Loop chokes on a laugh. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re sort of scary-smart?”

“No,” Bonnie says promptly. “Mostly they say I have learning disabrilties. ‘Cause my brain is bad at words.”

“Well,” Loop tells them, confidential. “Don’t tell your sister, but between you and me… I think the people who say that might be even stupider than me.”

“Pffft— You can’t say that about teachers!! They’re in charge!!!”

“Not of me, they’re not.”

Bonnie stares for a second before breaking into a radiant, gap-toothed smile. “You’re cool, Loop.”

“I— Ah?” For the first time in several lifetimes, Loop finds themself at a loss for words.

“It’s okay!” Bonnie says generously. “Frin doesn’t know what to do when people are nice to them either. You don’t hafta say anything. You can just know you’re cool and not even say anything.”

Not as cool as YOU! That’s what they could have said. But of course it’s always already too late. “Um…”

“I’ll leave you alone!!” Bonnie shouts in their face. “Cause Nille says I’m bossy which is a strenth but sometimes means I have to give people space so they can decide if they wanna keep hanging out or not! But I’m glad you came back!! ‘Cause Frin and Za are all gross and lame now, so it’s cool to have someone cool!!”

“H-Haha. Well. I’ll… try to meet your expectations?”

“You don’t hafta worry ‘bout that,” Bonnie scoffs. “You already sneezed glitter.”

* * *

When the party meets Madame Odile at the crossing, she looks at Loop very, very closely. She shakes their hand politely enough. But she doesn’t approach them directly until later, after the Fighter’s already turned in for the night and Boniface is fast asleep.

“Loop,” she greets them. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to discuss it in front of everyone, but I wanted to tell you that I’m very glad to see you again. I’d been hoping for a chance to give you my thanks. I know I was a bit, ah, preoccupied when last we met… But it seems we owe you a great debt. Siffrin’s life, for one. Not to mention the state of our physical world.”

Loop bites back a sigh and readies the usual spiel. Haha, yes, that’s me! Eternally helpful etcetera etcetera! I can see that you’ve noticed the new look; would you believe, it’s actually a very funny story—

“And Siffrin,” Odile says levelly. She doesn’t look away. “It seems we owe you an apology.”

Loop chokes. “Aha? Haha, um… I think you’ve… perhaps… mistaken me for someone? H-Haha, ah… Maybe in your old age, your eyes have finally—“

“She knows,” Sif blurts out, from across the fire. “Sorry. I had to tell her. She’d already mostly figured it out.”

“Not when it might have counted,” Odile says ruefully.

“Which would be….?”

Odile looks at them like they’re stupid. “Obviously, when it still could have saved you.”

OHHHkay. Hahaha, okay!! So they’re just going to talk about that!!! She’s just going to look at them with remorse in her eyes, and regret, like she can actually see them!! Like she thinks it’s not their own blinding fault that everything went—

“…Siffrin?”

“Don’t call me that.” That’s someone else now.

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Hmh. Well. I think it probably isn’t.”

“What do you know?” S— Loop snaps. “No, let me guess. Because you’re old, you think you must be wise? Well, I do hate to be the one to tell you this, but I’m afraid that’s just not how it works. I would know.”

“Of course,” she says again, backing off. “I’m sorry.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t want anyone’s apologies. It’s not like there’s anything any of you could have done.”

“Hmh,” she says. Probably thinks she’s being diplomatic. Maybe she would be, if she were talking to someone as stupid as Siffrin.

“And I’m not—” The words lodge in their throat. Loop is seized by the violent urge to take a deep breath, but just thinking about it makes them want to peel their skin off.

They can feel Odile’s eyes on them, assessing. “...What was she like?”

“Wh-What?”

“Me,” she explains. “The one that you knew.”

...Oh. “Different,” Loop admits. “And… the same? You—or. She never figured it out, like you did. But I think maybe she might’ve. If I’d been less—” Weak. Spineless. Pathetic.

“Tch,” Odile scoffs. “Doesn’t matter what she might have done, if she didn’t.”

Loop blinks.

For once in her life, Odile actually looks embarrassed. “Ah. My apologies. I only mean that… I’m sorry that I was so useless.”

She startles when Loop barks a laugh. “You—haha!!! Hahaha!!!! You’re sorry! For being useless!!! That’s—no, no, it’s very funny!!”

Because their Odile could have been plenty useful, if they hadn’t been such a blinding coward. If they’d trusted her enough to let her in. But they didn’t, and now the Odile that Loop loved is gone. She needed them and S— Loop couldn’t take the heat. They gave up. They left her behind.

“I’m not sure I get the joke,” Odile says quietly.

“Well! It’s not exactly your strong suit, is it!”

Madame Odile studies their face, frowning. Then, disconcertingly, her gaze flicks toward Siffrin.

“Don’t look at them,” Loop snarls. Instinct thuds in their ears, take it back take it back TAKE IT BACK—

—but they won’t. What would be the point?

“Did you think we’d be the same?” they ask, sneering. Contempt dripping from every word like blood from the tip of a blade. “That you’d have one more cute little Siffrin tiptoeing around, hiding and crying and lying to people? Well! I’m ever so sorry to disappoint, but I think you’ll find otherwise. Oh, but don't get the wrong idea! It's not just me, teehee! We're both soooo~ much worse than you think."

“…Is that right.”

In another life, Loop let the King squeeze Bonnie into bloody pulp. They let the King throw Mira around like a ragdoll. They lied and lied and lied till they were sick with it, till their throat scorched black and their tongue dripped silver. They smiled and let her die and die and die.

“It really is!” They flash a bright, brittle smile. “How many times do you think I let you die, Madame? Would you like to take a guess?”

“I would not.”

“Too easy? I’ll try another, then. How many times do you think I killed you?”

She doesn’t flinch. Every muscle in her body deliberately Doesn’t Flinch. “...Loop.”

“Madame~?”

“I like your jewelry.”

“I—um?”

“Did you make it yourself?”

“I… did, yes.” When Loop finally clawed their way out of the sea, they had every intention of lying there until they died. But it wasn’t long before they were found. Apparently they’d washed ashore just a stone’s throw from a beachcomber’s hut: an artisan whose dilapidated hovel glittered with gleaming fusions of glass and stone and rusted steel.

Loop’s savior never spoke. Maybe they couldn’t. But their quick, clever hands could turn the ugliest, most disintegrating flotsam into inimitable treasures.

“Impressive.” Madame Odile says coolly, nodding. “Siffrin never had the knack for that sort of thing. Carving wood with physical tools is one thing, but mixing media? And across different Craft types, no less? That’s very advanced Crafting.”

“I—ah? Or, I mean… it’s not like it’s hard…”

“You may just have the knack,” Odile informs them. “Not everyone does. It’s a valuable skill, nonetheless.”

“R-Right.”

Madame Odile yawns. “Forgive me. I’m too old to be up this late. But I’ll see you tomorrow, I expect. And, ah—I suspect you don’t care to hear this sort of thing, but—I really am grateful. Truly.”

And before they can even begin to consider their reply, she’s vanished into her tent.

*

* *

* * *

Have you heard this one before? A Traveler walks into a House. Says, Housemaiden, I'm depressed. I can't find the joy in anything. I can't connect with people. I can’t feel ANYTHING. I can't eat, I can't sleep. No, I mean, literally, it’s been eons since I slept. The insides of my eyelids are brighter than the sun. It’s like a fireworks show in here.

Housemaiden says, You should talk to the Savior of Vaugarde. They’re soooo cute and special and pretty and perfect and everyone loves them no matter how many times they ruin everything by being a stupid little freak who can’t even talk right. I bet they could give you some advice!

The Traveler puts their head in their hands and laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs. Says, But Housemaiden! I -am- the Savior of Vaugarde!!!!

Aaa~nyway, they kill her and eat her heart. And would you believe? It doesn’t make them feel anything!!!!!!

[you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re—]

—fine. You’re totally fine. It’s a clear, bright morning, the breeze brisk and playful, and walking into Dormont doesn’t make you feel sick. The smell of flowers and pastries and juniper doesn’t make you want to vomit. The spiraled roof and crenelled towers of the House don’t turn your breakfast to stone in your stomach. Looking down the path through the trees doesn’t make you want to pull your spine out through your mouth. You’re fine.

Why wouldn’t you be? Just because you abandoned this place? Just because it killed you? No. No. You’re toooo~tally fine. You’re being so normal about this.

A few steps from the House’s gate, Siffrin jerks his hand out of the Fighter’s and throws up. Pathetic. You step into their line of sight to make sure they can see you roll your eyes. They were always soooo~ sensitive.

* * *

Siffrin refuses to enter the House, because they’re a delicate flower who insists on making their damage everyone else’s problem. Loop, of course, never had that privilege.

* * *

“Ugh!” Mirabelle huffs, scowling down at her pottery wheel. “I’ve ruined it again! Siffrin, would you—”

She stops short.

“I-I’m so sorry!!” she squeaks, one hand flying to her mouth. “I meant Loop, of course!! Sorry!! That was so rude; I promise I wasn’t thinking of someone else, it’s just that you… remind me of them, sometimes? N-Not because you’re from the same country! The King was, too, and he felt very very different!! The two of you just… feel sort of similar, is all. The way you take up space, and… the things that catch your eye… It’s almost like you’re—” She shakes her head vigorously. “Ohh, never mind!! I know it doesn’t make any sense!! ”

To Loop’s horror, they can feel their eyes start to itch. Oh, Stars. It’s the worst thing imaginable. They absolutely cannot cry.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean— I-I’m so sorry!!!” Mira’s hands flit toward them before landing in her lap. “I shouldn’t have said anything; I didn’t mean to make things even worse, I— Do you want a, a… cup of tea? Or some cookies?”

Don’t worry! Loop tries to tell her. I’m completely fine, haha! No problems here! I’m probably just allergic to ceramics!!!! Unfortunately, the best they can manage is, “No Thank You.”

“I—!!” Mirabelle squares her jaw, both hands clenching in the fabric of her skirt. “Loop. Is there, maybe, some way I can help you? I know you don’t think much of us, but we owe you so much!!”

Loop looks away. “You… think I don’t think much of you.”

“Oh. W-Well, um. We… never saw you again, after you helped us save Siffrin. And they’d go quiet anytime we tried to ask about you, so I—I wasn’t sure if—”

“Mira,” Loop says. They take a moment to collect their thoughts. “...Mirabelle.”

“Y-Yes?”

“That’s not a very reliable gauge for what someone thinks of you.”

Mira’s eyes widen.

“For all you know, I might’ve thought the world of you,” they go on, uncharacteristically reckless. “Anyone might. People disappear all the time! They hide, or they die, or they… go somewhere else. It doesn’t mean they never cared. It only means that they cared about something else, too. Or they cared a little too much. Or they’re dead, teehee!”

Mirabelle pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at her nose. “I-I’m sorry… I know you’re only here for our sakes, and now I’m being nothing but trouble…”

Um. What? “I’m here for what?”

“W-Well, um… I guess I thought you’d come to visit because Siffrin told you how upset we were, after you disappeared? Because you saved us—saved everyone—and then we couldn’t even thank you?”

“…What?”

Mira blinks at them, her disorientation mirroring their own. “Which part are you confused by…?”

For the first time in several eternities, Loop lifts a hand to their chest. They take a deep breath in, and out. “H-Haha. I guess, all of it? I certainly didn’t save anyone. Much less everyone.”

“But you did!!!”

“Uh…”

Mira’s eyes widen. “Ohhh,” she gasps, “I see. You don’t like that, do you?”

“—Um?”

“People giving you compliments and things. Praising the things you accomplished, as though you were some sort of storybook hero. When you know that what happened was much less heroic, and much more… accidental. Embarrassing.”

Oh. Huh. Loop had never thought about it in so many words. Probably because no one's ever tried to give them a compliment. But now that she mentions it... yeah. Maybe they can sort of relate.

“I’m sorry,” Mira says again, looking despondent. She slaps both palms against her cheeks. “Sorry!! I won’t do it again!! You just want to feel normal, right? So let’s—let’s Craft some clay!”

“If you’re sure,” Loop says faintly. (Calm down. You’re freaking her out. For once in your life just BE NORMAL.) “…But don’t take it personally if I turn out to be pretty good at this. I have it on high authority that I may have something of a knack.”

* * *

They keep it together for the rest of the afternoon. They finish Crafting their vase and help Mirabelle patch the weak points on hers, smoothing rough edges and pressing air pockets so it won’t shatter in the kiln.

They make it all the way to the bathroom before their smile drops.

The bathroom’s undergone some renovations since the last time they broke down here. Now tiny clay figures dance over the sink, and childish painted murals adorn the doors. A little Change God stands guard over each stall: waving its clumsy arms, kicking its stumpy legs. Its eyes are obscured, its expression unreadable. Its face is laughing. Leering. Mocking. What does it see when it looks at them? A memory? A means to an end? Or only a ghost?

Loop reaches out and takes it in their hands. The Craft that animates it makes it squirm like a worm on a hook. Loop doesn’t pity it. It’s only fair. The Change God never pitied them, either.

“Was it fun?” they whisper, as they squeeze. “Did you have fun? What about now? Are you having fun yet?”

Wet clay oozes between their fingers. The statue twitches and jerks. Loop’s chest feels hot. Their skull hums like a nest of wasps. Lumpy paper swollen with stinging hate.

“I’m having fun,” they tell the wriggling godling, smiling wide. They can’t even tell if they’re lying. To make the distinction, they’d probably need something to compare it to.

The wriggling slows. The heat of Craft fades as the statue goes limp in their hands.

Loop opens their palms. There’s no god there anymore. Only dead, lifeless clay.

They flick open the lock and shoulder through the door.

Outside the stall, there’s someone waiting. Watching. Staring straight at them.

Loop flinches. The stranger looks familiar, but also not. Like maybe Loop’s seen them before, but only in a dream.

—Claude. That’s who it is. Mirabelle’s roommate, Claude. (And who says they don’t have a good memory!)

Claude narrows her eyes. “…Did you just mulch that statue?”

Loop looks down at their hands, crusted with molten clay.

“People work hard on those,” Claude informs them.

Loop has already used up all their willpower for the day. They don’t have the strength to stop themself rolling their eyes. “People work hard on lots of things.”

Her eyebrows go up. “I could report you.”

“Please do,” Loop spits; and in one fluid movement, they’ve whirled around and flung themself out the bathroom window.

They’re three stories up, but they’re not worried about the fall. Worst-case scenario, they’ll drive their blades into the mortar and grind to a halt before they splat on the ground. Best-case, they die on impact.

[You dreamed you were being eaten alive. You can still feel the crunch and grind of tearing cartilage. The way the sinews stretch before they snap.]

Siffrin is fishing by the river. Just looking at the rod in their hands makes Loop want to throw up. They snapped that rod in half once. Tore it out of the fisherperson’s hands and broke it clean over their knee. And then they threw it in the river. And then then jumped in after it.

It’s not just the total futility of it all. It’s the whole process. Catching a thrashing, squirming being in your hands and squeezing the life out of it. Aligning your blade with the seam of its gills, just behind the thrum of its throat. Staring into those gaping eyes, that gulping mouth as you press down hard and harder. Careful, now! If you hit the angle wrong, you’ll miss the artery entirely! It’ll take ages to die! Minutes that stretch into eternities. Gasping, gulping, choking on the hot slick slurry of your own black blood.

Loop shudders. “…I can’t believe you can still touch that thing.”

Siffrin hums thoughtfully. “I think it’s the only thing that never got worse.”

“Ew. Or, I mean. Can’t relate.”

“Well,” Siffrin says. “We were always pretty different.” They flick the rod expertly, sending the fly dancing over the surface. “How’s Mira?”

“She recognized me.”

That gets their attention. “She what?”

“Not specifically,” Loop admits. “But. She said I felt… familiar. Like…” The words lodge in their throat. It doesn’t matter. Siffrin knows what they mean.

“…Hm.”

“Aw,” Loop purrs, mocking. “Does that scare you? Is it scary, to know that you could be so easily replaced?”

“No,” Siffrin says right away. “I guess I feel… relieved?”

(…What?) “Why.”

“I wasn’t sure they’d know me,” Siffrin shrugs. “You, I mean. Us. I wasn’t sure they’d even want to, if we were being… less careful.”

Loop bristles. “I’m more careful than you could ever imagine.”

“No, you’re not.”

Yeah, no, they’re really not.

“So it’s… comforting,” Siffrin shrugs. “To think they’d still like us, even if we were—“

“What? A failure? A ghost? A pathetic piece of work?”

“Well. Yeah.”

Loop squawks a laugh. ���Well!! Aren’t you the lucky one!! Even if you wind up as disgusting as me, your friends will still love you! Isn’t that nice!!”

“Yeah,” Siffrin says. “It really is.” They shift their weight, thoughtful, and then seem to remember something. “Oh, yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Loop rolls their eyes, but they don’t not listen.

“Why won’t you talk to Isa?”

Loop fails to suppress a flinch.

“He keeps asking,” Siffrin explains. “And I don’t know how to answer. But it’s getting harder to not-answer. I’m… not a very good liar.”

“…Is that right.”

“I’m an okay liar,” Siffrin concedes. “It just—feels bad.”

Loop is very much aware of that, yes.

“He just wants you to like him,” Siffrin says quietly.

“Be reasonable.”

“It’s hurting his feelings, I think.”

“Good,” Loop says coldly. They hope it does. It doesn’t even come close to evening the score.

Siffrin opens their mouth to argue and then just—shrugs, instead. “It’s your life.”

[You dreamed you were alone. You dreamed you were alone. You dreamed you were alone. You dreamed you were—]

—having a nightmare. You know it’s a nightmare because it’s the same one you have every night. You’re standing under a tree, looking at the man you love. He can’t be more than an armslength away. If you stepped out of the shadows, he would see you.

But he wouldn’t know you.

You watch him think of you. You watch him think of what to say to you. You watch him lose himself to heady daydreams. (This is not a metaphor. Subtlety is not his strong suit. The man you love is very obvious.)

You watch yourself approach him. You are short and strange and awkward. You are hiding and lying and you’re so, so, so-so-so-so stupid. The man you love loves you anyway, because he’s stupid, too.

“Isa!”

“Sif!!!” he shouts, when he sees you. “I was just looking at this Favor Tree!! Isn’t it cool!!!”

“Yeah,” you say slyly. “You might say it’s a pretty… TREE-mendous tree.”

Ha ha!! Ha ha ha!!!!! What a stupid blinding joke!!! It’s almost like your pathetic sense of humor wasn’t what won him in the first place!!! Almost like, all along, he was laughing along because he loved you!!!

Not that it matters now. The tree is in the past. The man is in the past. Your future is in the past. Everything you love was meant for someone else. There’s nothing left for you.

*

* *

* * *

Loop jerks awake. The dark is intractable. Undisturbed by any snore or snuffling wheeze. They are utterly alone.

Siffrin begged them to sleep in the Clocktower with everyone else. They even offered to sleep on the ground so Loop could have a whole bed to themself. But Loop wouldn’t budge. How could they? The thought made them physically sick.

They twist out of their bedroll and onto their feet in one smooth motion. They don’t know where they’re going, but they do know that if they have to lie here, alone with their thoughts, for a single second longer, it is actually going to kill them. So—getting up! Getting moving! One foot in front of the other! If they walk fast enough, maybe they can outrun an eternity of unrelenting dread!!!

They don’t have anywhere to go, so they just—go. They just walk. Anywhere would be better than here.

 * * *

Their feet take them to the Tree. Probably because it’s the closest thing they still have to a home. (And isn’t that just the saddest thing you’ve ever heard!!!!!)

They stand at the foot of the trunk and look up at the canopy. Thick strong boughs and wide, glossy leaves framing little windows to the starry void beyond. Idly, without any real urgency, they imagine setting it on fire. It would be easy. They don’t even need flint or tinder, now that their lungs crackle with swallowed stars. All they’d need is a bit of kindling, some pine cones or dry needles, and they could reduce this place to ash.

—A twig snaps.

Loop’s stance stiffens, then hardens. They know that gait. The slow, careful breath before each heavy clumsy footfall. No one sounds more obvious than a great stupid oaf of a Fighter trying to be discreet.

Maybe he won’t notice them. They could make sure he wouldn’t, if they wanted. Loop knows how to disappear. But they’re tired of going unseen.

“…Can’t sleep?”

The Fighter startles so violently that he nearly keels over backwards. Loop could catch him by the elbow, if they wanted. Steady him; help him catch his balance.

They don’t move.

“W-Woah!!” the Fighter gasps. “Haha, whoa! Um… Loop? That’s you, right? Wow, you are really quiet! I totally didn’t see you there at all!!”

Yes, well, what else is new. “I’d expect nothing less, teehee! You’re not exactly observant.”

“Oh. Haha, um, yeah. I guess not.” Siffrin’s Fighter shifts his weight, uneasy. “ Um… Loop?”

“That’s what they call me!!!”

“Did I… do something wrong?”

Loop stiffens.

“Like… I don’t know. Step on your feelings, somehow? It just feels like you… maybe sort of don’t like me? Which is fine!!” he rushes to clarify. “Not everyone has to like me!! It’s just… if it’s something I did, I could… make sure I don’t do it again?”

Loop almost hits him. They want to. They want to grab him by the collar and shake him. To throw him back against the trunk of the Tree and shove into his space until he can’t not see them. They can see the angry thrum of his pulse in his throat and they want to trap it under their thumb. To close the space and feel his heartrate spike. For months they had to watch themself stand in front of him, wanting and wanting and doing nothing, knowing all the while that if it was them, they wouldn’t just stand there, wanting. They’d take him apart with their hands. They’d eat him alive.

“...Loop?”

“Siffrin,” Loop grates out, an ugly scrape of sound. “Sif. Before I killed myself, that’s what you—all of you used to call me.”

“Wh-What?” the Fighter asks, baffled. “What does that even—”

“But that doesn’t matter now!!!!" Loop shouts, grinning wildly. "He’s dead now!! Now there’s only me!!!!”

“I—I don’t understand. I just saw Sif? Th-They’re totally fine!“

Loop rolls their eyes theatrically. “Ugh. Weren’t you supposed to be smart now? Not your Siffrin, obviously. I obviously meant another Siffrin.”

“But—what? What do you… How would that even work?”

A molten sort of hunger comes over them. Loop flashes a glittering smile. “Isn’t it obvious? ~I’m~ what happens when you don’t save me! When you just let me die!!”

“N-No,” the Fighter mumbles.

“Y-Yeah, actually,” they stammer, mocking. Throwing his pathetic stutter right back in his face.

“No, but… Come on. No way. Sif would’ve said something!”

“Oh, because you can definitely count on Siffrin to tell you anything that matters.”

The Fighter has the gall to look offended. “Hey!! They’re honest about important stuff!!”

“I am literally telling you that we are not!!!”

Isabeau shrinks a little. “B-But— But that’s not possible. It doesn’t make any—”

“Then how do I know them?” Siffrin snarls. “How do I know everything about them? Why do I blinding hate you?”

“I don’t…” Isabeau trails off. They can see him starting to wrap his mind around it. Blood cooling, stance wilting. “You… Are you telling the truth?”

“What do you think.”

His shoulders slump a little. “You… killed yourself?”

“Your Sif tried to break the world,” Loop says scornfully. “I think we can all agree on who’s the more well-adjusted.”

Isabeau staggers back. They can see him getting ready to freak out.

“Nope!!” they shrill. “Not allowed!! This is mine!! You weren’t even there!! Besides, you already saved your Sif! So clearly I wasn’t worth saving!! Or were you just holding out for the new model?”

“That’s not—”

Bile sours in their stomach. Steel screams in their veins. Their blood burns with the absolute assurance of what will hurt him the most.

“Do you want to know the truth?” Loop asks sweetly. “If you must know… I hate you! I always hated you. You had everything. Everything!! A home, a family, friends… and still you were dissatisfied? I mean!! Talk about entitled!!”

“I— What? I never said—”

“But you di~id! To every version of me! Even the pathetic rotten failures, teehee! You shared all your ugliest, stupidest hang-ups and guess what? They were all soooo~ lame! Barely an inconvenience! Baby-school trauma for babies!!! It's no wonder you couldn't save me, teehee… You were way, way, way out of your league!”

Isabeau just stares.

Loop’s fists clench. They wish he would get angry. This would be so much more satisfying if he would lash out already. Throw them back against the Tree and snap their brittle neck. But instead he just keeps standing there, looking devastated.

“Ugh,” Loop spits. “This is pointless. You’re pointless. I’m done.”

“L— Sif!!” Isabeau yelps, and that’s the last blinding straw. Loop tucks their head and bolts.

* * *

Isabeau tries to chase after them, but he’s big and slow and Loop can reach terminal velocity in about three seconds from a standstill. He might as well have tried to catch the wind.

They don’t slow down until they reach the field.

Then they cry.

(The cruelest thing is this: If there was no Siffrin in this world, Loop would be the one everyone loved. Loop would be the one who was difficult but loyal; high-maintenance and universally adored. Loop could have been the weird little freak who everyone considered worth the effort.

But Loop gave up. They gave their chance away. And now they’ve got what they deserved: absolutely nothing.)

What are they even doing here? Why would they come back? They knew what was waiting for them. There’s no space for them here, in this place, with these people. The understudy already took their place.

It’s all Siffrin’s fault. Siffrin the hero, leading their perfect shiny life surrounded by all their perfect shiny friends. Siffrin, who got everything they ever wanted and still demanded more. Siffrin wishing wishing wishing to see them again, yanking on Loop’s subconscious mind all day and night to make sure they could never, ever forget. To make sure they’d never be truly free.

…Maybe they’ll just leave. Without telling anyone, without leaving a note. That would show them, wouldn’t it? Siffrin would be so blinding pathetic about it. So hurt and confused. Almost as hurt and confused as Isa, when he found out that his precious little Siffrin could turn into something like this. Something ugly, broken, hateful. Living spite, made manifest. A ghost haunting their own blinding life.

There’s a rustle from the bushes. Light, uncertain footfalls. Loop stiffens. There’s someone coming up the path. Not Isabeau. Not Siffrin, either. A stranger?

From the shadows, someone clears their throat. “Um—”

They don’t get the chance to say anything else. Loop already has the jagged teeth of their knife pressed tight against their throat. “Who are you? What do you want???”

“I’d let go if I were you,” the stranger says coolly. “Unless you want to lose that hand.”

“You wish,” Loop spits. “You’re out of your league.”

“Bet?”

Against their better judgment, Loop can feel themself starting to smile. It’s strangely comforting to be on the receiving end of a threat, for a change. Talking to someone who doesn’t quiver and quail and bend over backwards to accommodate their every demand.

Loop flits backwards, out of slashing range. Probably Siffrin would land in a fighting stance, but Loop is above that sort of petty, childish showmanship. They don’t need a lot of posturing just to kill someone. “What do you want?”

“I heard crying.”

Oh. Was Loop crying? They didn’t notice. Though now that they think of it, their vision does seem a little blurry. “So?”

“Are you stupid or something? So I thought someone might need help. Obviously.”

Hm. That voice isn’t entirely unfamiliar, is it? It feels like Loop might have heard it before. Possibly recently.

—Oh. “Claude,” Loop realizes.

The stranger’s eyes narrow. “So what if I am?”

“Mira’s roommate, Claude.”

“Oh. You’re with the Saviors.”

“I’m not,” Loop snarls. (STOP IT, calm down, you’re going to scare her. Just apologize and run. Say something conciliatory and disappear, like every other—)

“Change,” Claude swears grumpily. “Sorry for breathing, I’m sure. I know you’re lying, anyway. I saw you show up with the Saviors. I’m not gonna act like I didn’t.”

…Oh. She… really isn’t scared, is she? “I—um. Traveled with them, I guess. For a little. I’m not with them.”

“I wasn’t asking if you all made crabbing friendship bracelets,” Claude huffs. “I just meant you’re not from here. What’s your damage, anyway? Why are acting like that?”

Loop chokes on a laugh. Wow, she really isn’t scared. “…Lifestyle choice?”

“Kind of a shitty one.”

“Like you’re one to judge.”

“Takes one to know one,” Claude says coolly.

Hah!! “Well. I’m sure you were really looking forward to swooping in to save some pathetic little loser, but I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. I’m doing great, actually. Just… out on a walk.”

“Uh huh.”

Why do they feel so defensive about this? “Sometimes I can’t sleep! Is there a law against that? Is it illegal to go for a walk?”

“It’s not illegal to go for a walk.”

“Well! What a relief! Then it seems like you have no justifiable cause to follow me around, harassing me!”

Claude snorts. “Wow. Okay, now I know you’re not with the Saviors. Those guys are way too sensitive for this kinda thing. And too sanctimonious for all that… you know. Lying.”

“Shows what you know,” Loop sniffs. “They’re not half as righteous as they’d like you to think.”

(But even so… She’s right, isn’t she? Siffrin would hate getting talked to like this. For a party of powerful warriors, the gang was awfully terrified by confrontation. Fighting Sadnesses is one thing, but fighting with each other? You couldn’t pay them enough.)

Claude gives Loop a flat stare. “For someone who’s not with the saviors, you sure act like you know them.”

“Well!” Loop says brightly. “W-Well!!! What if I told you that I used to be with them! For long enough to know them better than they know themselves!”

“I’d say you were full of shit.”

“Shows what you know!!!” Loop practically screams. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!!!”

“So tell me.”

* * *

Somehow, the whole story comes pouring out of them, in fits and starts and halting, hysterical gasps. Another life, another world. Another Wish. Another Mirabelle, abandoned to her fate. Another pathetic blinding failure of a Savior.

Claude listens, nodding. Then she says, “The King.”

“I’m familiar.”

“I wanted to be the one who beat him. The one Euph— The Head Housemaiden chose. I’m not saying I was right,” she adds, defensive. “Mirabelle is a marvel. There might be no one else who could do what she did. But I— I still wanted it to be me.”

Loop blinks.

“Mirabelle was… the right choice, probably,” Claude concedes. “Better suited. She’s got the right constitution, or whatever. No one could have done it alone. And I’m— I don’t know if I could have recruited like she did. Going around making friends and things. People don’t like me,” she explains. “People love Mirabelle.”

“I like you,” Loop hears themself say.

“Oh.” Claude stares for a beat, unblinking. “Really?”

“Yes.” They’re 90% sure that it’s not even a lie. When’s the last time they could say that?

“Oh. Well, um. Thanks. But I think you might have sort of bad taste. And maybe a bad personality.”

Loop sputters a laugh. “Haha!!! Yeah! I get that a lot.”

“Really?”

“No.” Most people are too scared to say it. “I should, though.”

Claude nods. She can understand that. “But I never got the chance. I couldn’t save everyone. I couldn’t even save anyone.”

“...How do you live with it?”

Claude shrugs. “Eat. Sleep. Don’t die.”

…Right.

“You should probably get out of here, though.”

Loop raises an eyebrow. “Are you throwing me out?”

“Are you actually stupid? Or are you just being difficult?”

(Hah!!!) “I’m being difficult.”

Claude rolls her eyes. “I just mean… You can’t step out of someone’s shadow if you’re still walking side-by-side. You gotta do your own thing.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then you can’t.”

“And if it kills me?”

“Then you die,” she shrugs. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”

Wow. Mirabelle’s roommate is… actually cool? “I think you could have done it,” Loop finds themself saying. “If you’d been the one Chosen. I think you could have beat the King. You just didn’t get the chance.”

Claude stares at them for a moment before her mouth ticks up. “Hah. Yeah. Maybe. No way to know now, huh? We just hafta go from here.”

*

* *

* * *

At the outskirts of town, a blot of stillness catches Loop’s eye. The absolute absence of movement. A hole in the dark, black against the surrounding gray.

“I told you,” Loop says coldly. “You’re not sneaky.”

Siffrin huffs a quiet laugh.

Loop eyes them warily. Even now, Siffrin has almost no presence. Almost like Loop is the one who survived, and they're the one who's dead.

For once, Siffrin is first to break the silence. “Running away from home again?”

“You are not my home,” they can’t help snapping. “But, well. I suppose so. Why not? After all, it went so well the last time.”

Siffrin chokes on a laugh. Then the smile drops. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I should hope not! I’m excellent company.”

Siffrin looks unconvinced.

“But there comes a time in every beautiful traveler’s life when they must shake off the bonds that hold them back and move on to bigger and better things! Forge their own path; digest their own trauma, etcetera and so forth! Maybe I’ll wind up even more famous than you!!”

Siffrin frowns. “…If you’re really leaving, can I ask a favor?”

“You can ask.”

“Can you tell me the truth?”

Ugh. “Fiiiine. I can’t stay because I—I can’t be here without— Without wanting my—” Their throat closes over the words. Fortunately, Siffrin isn’t so stupid that they can’t connect the dots. (My friends back. My life back. Everything that was supposed to be mine.)

Siffrin gives them a plaintive look. “We could share..:”

“Aw, stardust,” Loop laughs. Not a fake laugh. “Two people can’t be the same person. Anyway, we already aren’t.”

“...I know.”

This world’s Siffrin is the source of all of their problems. The root of all their suffering. So why does it make them so sad to see his shoulders droop?

“I’ll come back,” they hear themself mutter, grudging. “I won’t be gone forever. I wouldn’t—”

Loop falls silent. They know that they’re both thinking of the same scrap of paper, crumpled on the library floor.

“I won’t be gone forever,” they say again; only this time, they say it like a Wish. Like they can make it true just by wanting it. “I won’t disappear. I just—can’t be here. Yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Siffrin whispers.

“We all had our roles,” Loop shrugs. “You just got a better one.”

“But— But what if I never find you? What if we never—”

“We’re family,” Loop tells them firmly. A different kind of family. Not the kind you choose—the one you’re saddled with, by blood and bone, whether you wanted it or not. “Aww~~ Don’t worry, stardust. We’re bonded, aren’t we? You know I’ll always find you.”

“If you even want to,” Siffrin mumbles.

“Stars, how are you still such a brat!!! I’ll find you when I find you! Okay? You don’t get to control this! Just let there be one blinding choice that’s mine!”

Siffrin takes a breath. They let it out. “…Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” they say again. “You can be in charge. But you have to tell me everything, next time. How you came back, and… everything else. Because we’re family.”

Loop can’t stop themself from smiling. It’s just that—it’s all so unfair. They way Siffrin always gets what he wants, and… the way they can’t help loving him anyway. “Yeah. Okay. I promise.”

Before vanishing from sight, Loop glances over their shoulder. “Stardust?”

“Loop.”

“How do you get used to it?”

Siffrin tilts their head. To what?

“The not-knowing.”

“Hah,” Siffrin huffs softly. “If you find out, write me a letter. I’d really like to find out.”

[You dreamed you were alive.]

Did you know that hamsters eat their young? If you stress out a nursing mother—leave her out in an earthquake, or make too much noise around her tank—she’ll eat her pups alive. You’ll open the lid to find her nest stained black with blood. The half-eaten husks of her children, their claws and bones and hindpaws shriveled-pink and lifeless. It isn’t malice. It’s pragmatism. We can’t survive this threat, she’s saying. We must recoup these resources. Some of us, any of us, have to survive.

Wish Craft can’t hear your words. It only knows the Wish inside your heart. Loop ran away, but they never gave up. They wanted to be free, but they didn’t want to lose. And besides! What’s a little cannibalism between friends! They are family, after all.

There are things that Siffrin wants, too. Things they want and can’t have, because they’ve sunk their roots into the present. Loop isn’t trapped like that. Loop can go where they please.

Off the coast to the north lies an island that Vaugarde forgot. A graveyard for the lost. A monument to stories long forgotten.

But Loop knows how it is to be forgotten.

They look to the sky. The stars have already started to fade, making way for the brilliant flare of dawn. Loop runs a few calculations, cross-comparing the angles from the horizon to the Highstar and the sun.

They go north.

If you want, feel free to read the series in full here! Or if you want for something a lil comfier, you're invited to this very cozy isa/sif side-story.

[vibratingskull]

I was so excited to see your requests are open again!:D

May I request a live action Thrawn x Female OC, where it’s like that moment in ‘Beauty and the Beast’ where it’s snowing? Maybe a bit of Grumpy X Sunshine?

They can go to a planet where all it does is snow, and maybe Thrawn has a little vacation home there, just a fluffy story, like the OC can throw a snowball at him and he doesn’t know how to react, and they have some romantic moments together. Nothing Nsfw, just a cute fluff story.🤗

Fluffy fluff fic for you ! ❤️

Thrawn x F!reader

Tags : Fluff, domesticity

You open your eyes round.

Face pressed against the window you can’t help a squeal of excitation.

“Thrawn! Thrawn! Thrawn!” You call at the top of your lungs.

Thrawn rapidly appears behind you, his datapad still in hand.

“Is something wrong, Cha’cah? Are you hurt?” He immediately investigates, a hint of worry in his voice.

“It snowed! Everything is white! Look! Look!” You exclaim surexited.

He looks at you in the eyes like you were kidding him, before relaxing. 

“Yes, it is common in the region.” 

“I never saw snow!” You say like a kid opening presents.

You spend all your life on Coruscant and safe to say the weather never changes on this planet. You never knew the joy of seeing snowflakes slowly falling off the sky at the beginning of the holidays. You only heard of the phenomena and fantasized about it since your younger years. You are literally jumping up and down at the sight of the snow in the domain of your cottage.

It is a little house way out of the center of the nearest village with a large property that Thrawn bought for the both of you, a century old, built in the old fashion way, perfect to get away from your cramped urban life. 

You launch yourself to sprint to the door when Thrawn grabs your arm to stop you in your tracks.

“Where do you think you are going exactly?” He raises an eyebrow.

“To the garden! I have to see this!”

He sighs.

“Not in those clothes, you are going to catch death.” 

Too excited by what you saw, you were completely ready to jump headfirst into the snow in your little pullover and comfy socks without a second thought.

“Come with me!” You decide.

“I have work, Cha’cah.” He declines gently

“Come on! We are on leave, forget work for once!” You beg, trembling with excitation.

He purses his lips in response.

“Work never leave me, love. You know it.”

“If you don’t come with me now, I will not kiss you for the rest of the leave.” You insolently bargain.

“This is blackmail.”

“Does it work?” You hope.

He looks at you intently before lowering his shoulders.

“Alright, I am coming.” He abdicates.

You smile broadly at him and kiss his cheek with a sounding Muah! and run to the bedroom to put on more appropriate clothes.

You jump into the snow with your boots, running everywhere like a kid, head tilted back and mouth open to taste the snowflakes. Behind you, Thrawn follows you silently, hands buried in his pocket and nose buried in his knitted scarf. You jump and sprint, laughing out loud until your fall on your back to make and angel.

“It’s frozen!” You shout laughing.

“Indeed.” Thrawn says.

He looks down at you agitating your limbs in the snow, stern and detached.

“What is wrong?” You ask with a broad smile.

“There is still so much work to do.” He simply responds.

You growl and raise up to seize his arm and pull him down with you. Surprised, he doesn’t have the time to find his balance and fall in the cold white powder with a “oof”.

“There! That will teach you!” You grin.

He brushes the snow out of his face with his gloved hand in a dignified fashion.

“Relax, love. It is so rare that our leaves coincide, enjoy our time together. You can forget work for one afternoon!” You chant.

You press yourself against his tall, large and warm body, you can even feel his warmth through your clothes. He gives you a side glance, unconvinced, but you flutter your eyelash at him. A snicker escapes him.

“Alright, you win.”

“YES!”

 You jump at his neck, hugging him, and make you both roll in the snow, laughing hysterically. He squeezes your waist, ending up on top of you. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his eyes traveling on your face until they lend on your lips, he lowers himself slowly, stopping a mere centimeters away from your lips to leave you the choice. You circle his neck and meet his lips with pleasure, kissing him passionately.

You remain on the ground, speaking about everything and nothing, work, marriage, children, pets, gardening, pool… You drink his words, eyes focused on his haughty profile as he fixes the clear sky, disheveled. You kiss his cheek again, brushing the cold tip of your nose against his warm cheek. 

You part suddenly to sneeze.

He takes your gloved hand and intertwines your fingers.

“Let us get back inside, and drink something hot.” He annonce.

“A hot chocolate with whipped cream!” you decide blissfully.

He winces for a split second, that his an infringement on his strict diet.

But for you, he can indulge himself a bit.

“If you want, Cha’cah. I will start a fire and we can observe snow fall if you desire.”

You nod enthusiastically and raise up on your feet, snuggling against him as you go back to your warm comfy nest.

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar@thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037

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[csueno]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream picks flowers in Kinoko Kingdom

OKAY. TRIED MY BEST. unedited unbeated you know how it is

Dream & Sapnap (George ment.) | Gen | 1.1k words | two ex friends having a super normal conversation trust | @sixteenth-day-event

He doesn’t mean to stray far. 

He was just looking to make dye, for pink flowers that—despite his paranoid overstock in everything else— Techno lacked. 

A few tulips, maybe peonies if he could be bothered to look for more, because the guy has insisted on knitting himself a scarf, of all things, and they didn’t have pink sheep. Between a simple scouting mission and feeding Techno’s army of dogs, he would always pick to stay away from overexcited little beasts. Besides, he missed the sun, a delicacy in the tundra Techno chose to make home. 

Anyway. 

He doesn’t mean to stray too far; anxiety still lingers under his skin, making his muscles lock up whenever he isn’t inside the cabin, or rather, inside his 10 x 10 cubes mini bunker under the main cabins, only connected to Techno’s and the Syndicate room. Every second outside is a reminder that he’s still vulnerable, that he hasn’t built his own muscles again, that his response time is still stilted, and that his body and mind simply don’t work the way they used to, fine weapons intimately connected. 

He’s clumsy in his steps and only barely avoids leaving any important tracks behind him, but he knows any skilled hunter (and there’s people on his mind, there’s always people on his mind) would know exactly where to find him. He trusts a bit too much on his main prosecutor's incompetence in traversing the forest, and follows a path down, where he sees the beginning of a plain. Away, a mess of colors that promises wild flora.

His spotty vision isn’t an issue outside of the general feeling of fear he gets whenever he isn’t able to see too far beyond. He’s reconnecting with the world, and it takes time and effort, so it warns him (a tight feeling around his throat) whenever he’s in danger, but he can’t see above what another player would, like before. And when he sees tall, red mushrooms, he just wonders how far away from the cabins he is to appear on such an unfamiliar biome. 

Then he hears the sword draw, and he notices the flap of a flag too late. 

“Fucked up of you to show your face around here.” Sapnap spits, smoke falling out from his mouth and ears. He looked a bit like a kettle, which almost made Dream smile. His mask would’ve hidden it, but it’s the principle of the thing.

He’s in a bad position. He can barely move his neck (itchy, terse) fast enough to catch Sapnap’s face. 

 He’s in such a bad position, that he considers simply giving up, as easy as that. Letting the Syndicate’s efforts go to waste, render Ranboo’s ‘sacrifice’ useless, just to avoid arguing for his own life. He barely manages to turn his back away and face Sapnap completely, trying (and failing) to hide the flowers on his hand. He had only gathered two pink tulips and one single peony, wilting miserably with the grip Dream had on his hand. 

“Hey, hey, Sapnap… uh, long time no see?” 

Sapnap blinks down at the flowers. There’s a heavy pause, where he stares in disbelief. “Is that—are you looking for George?” 

Closer to hyperventilating than he would like, Dream doesn’t even think of lying. He just thinks about how he has an non-enchanted diamond pickaxe and Sapnap is one of the few people that can stand against him in fair combat. “No. These are for a scarf.”

“A scarf.” Sapnap echoes. 

“I-I’ve been staying with, uh, someone. They like to knit.” Dream continues. Whatever little self perseverance instinct he still has reminds him not to sell his only ally to a person who will not hesitate to kill him today, and help kill his other allies tomorrow. “I wasn’t going to enter. It’s, ah, a nice place.”

“Dream,” Sapnap looks conflicted all of the sudden, like Dream dropping all pretense he has the control has managed to wreck him. Dream swallows, something like pain cursing fast through his body. “I. I have to kill you.”

“I mean,” Dream drawls, standing up slowly, keeping his eyes connected to Sapnap’s. His heart is beating too fast, the unwavering grip of Sapnap’s hands on his sword keeping him on his edge, but he’s willing to bet on Sapnap’s own doubts. He’s good at making plans in a second, and he didn’t even expect to be able to make Sapnap pause anymore. Maybe Dream’s deplorable armor is getting to him. “You don’t have to, not really. I’m not planning anything. I don’t want trouble, I swear. Just getting these,” a weak gesture to his own plants. “I can even leave them there, if you don’t want me to steal. But they’re flowers. You guys have plenty. 

“Why do you think I can trust you?” Sapnap snarls, somehow remembering his own anger. His eyes flash red again, and his face blushes, irate. An angry Sapnap is an unpredictable, hasty Sapnap. Dream takes a step back, seizing his chances. 

“You haven’t killed me,” Dream reasons, another step back. “You could’ve before I even noticed–Sap, I had like, my back to you for five seconds. You’ve killed me in less time.”

“That was in fucking Manhunt, you asshole,” he stomps his feet, irritated. “There were no stakes there.” 

“What difference does it make?” Dream asks, getting frustrated too. He’s tired. He’s hungry. He would let Sapnap kill him. He—doesn’t like how okay he is with the thought of Sapnap killing him here, without a witness. To be buried between the flower beds that welcome the kingdom George and Sapnap made—explicitly— without him. It would hurt, but it would be the last time they hurt. “Look, you either kill me now, or let me go. I can’t even,” he makes his ax appear, which makes Sapnap’s shoulders raise until he realizes is a chipped, used one, “what the fuck can this do against netherite?” 

“You fought me the last time,” Sapnap seethes. “What’s the difference this time?”

“Honestly? I’m fucking exhausted.” Dream mumbles. “There’s nobody to see me losing. You could tell them, I guess. I don’t know. I’m tired, I don’t care to fight.”

He doesn’t say: the plan is both taking too long and is coming faster than I thought. He doesn’t say: Techno’s carpet floor itches, but I can’t shake off the wrongness of a bed. He doesn’t say: this isn’t the way things were meant to go. He doesn’t say: at least let me make sure you keep your promise. I wish you would keep your promise. Out of everyone, I know you would make dying the least painful. 

When Sapnap doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, he remembers the sun. The aurora borealis of Techno’s cabin. He remembers how good it feels to swim for ours, to cook something good and have others praise you for it. And then he throws an Ender pearl as far away from the mushrooms and flowers as he can. For a second, it stands against the sun and turns Dream’s world gray, and then it’s over and he’s far away. 

“If I were to bring George flowers,” he shouts, not looking back, “I would bring him roses!”

He goes back to the forest, and chooses a different path.

[late-nite-scholar]

Aug 12 (Day 1)- Breath/Forbidden

Noora at-Sura is the Last Dragonborn. When she finds herself in trouble, she goes to the one person she trusts, the person who’s hard work has kept her alive time and again. Prompts by @tes-summer-fest

Redguard LDB x Balimund

Warnings- burn wounds

Wordcount- ~900    

***

A banging on the door jolted him out of sleep. Who in Oblivion would be looking for him in the middle of the night? As he got closer to the door, he stopped and picked up his smithing hammer. Just in case. 

Opening the door carefully, he had little time to react as a body fell through. He caught it, heart leaping into his throat as he recognized her red scarf and small twists of hair. 

“Noora?!” 

“I… I didn't know where else to go.” 

He pulled her inside and shut the door again, locking it tightly. Dropping the hammer, he swept his arm under her legs and lifted her off the ground. At that moment, whatever was keeping her upright and moving melted away, and she sagged against him. 

Carrying her across the house and up to his room, he set her down in the bed he'd just leapt from. Her breath came in short, pained gasps and he could see the leg of her breeches had been torn, no burned away, her skin beneath it red, blistered, and crusted. 

“Noora, what happened? Who did this?” he demanded. 

She moaned, pulling her left arm close to her body. It was then he realized she had no shield, and her arm and sleeve were also burned. But she replied, in a shaky voice. “Cultists. Their kind have attacked me before, but this time they were smart enough to ambush. I escaped, but not unscathed.”

His blood turned cold. “Did they follow you?”

“I believe so. But I do not think they will reach the city for several hours.”

“Good. You rest, I’ve got something that’ll help.”

He bustled around, pulling together ingredients and grinding them into a paste. He must’ve woken Asbjorn, and the boy came wandering in and rubbing his eyes. “What's going on? Why are you making that in the middle of the night?” 

“Noora's here, and she's hurt. We're gonna need some clean bandages. Can you see what we've got?” 

The boy's eyes widened. “Of course! I'm on it!” 

Once everything was ready, they brought it all to where Noora waited. She gave the concoction a wary look. 

“What is this?” 

Balimund shrugged. “Just about the best payment I ever got. A poultice for treating burns. Used it myself many a time over the years and there’s nothing better. We’ll get you back on your feet in no time.” 

“Thank you.” Her soft voice had a little bit of its normal strength back as they began to apply the medicine and bandage her wounds. “It does feel a bit better. This is a most marvellous creation. You said it was a payment? Many thanks to that person, also.” 

“Don’t know who he was. This was back when I was pretty fresh at running the forge for myself. Mage headed for Winterhold came in with a half-lame horse. Said he’d got it at Cheydinhal and it started limping just past the border. Had to completely reshoe the poor beast. He paid me handsomely, and gave me this recipe as a tip. But this should just about do it.”

“Thank you, Sir Blacksmith.”

“Aw, you don’t have to be formal, Noora. Once there’s wounds bein’ patched up I think we’re past that. I’m just glad you found your way to my door.”

“I didn’t know where else to go… who I am rarely endears people to me.” 

“Why not?” 

Their eyes met and he saw golden flecks swimming in hers that he could've sworn weren't there before. “Because I'm not like them. I am the one who makes way for my people by bearing the dragon in the way of yours. As my power grows stronger I am less and less… human. I am seen as a hero, but also something to fear.” 

“I don't fear you.” 

“You are perhaps the only one brave or foolish enough not to. For that, I thank you.” 

“Well, I could think of a lot worse things to be foolish about. How do those burns feel?” 

She smiled. “They hurt, but they are better with your poultice. I appreciate this more than I can say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just concentrate on getting better.”

“But the cultists will come. I cannot just lie here.”

“Do you think they’ll attack the city?”

“No. But I don’t want… I don’t want you hurt if they search for me.” She reached out, touching his cheek. He leaned into it, but his voice was serious. 

“They could try. But if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s swing a hammer. They’ll not get through me and the boy so easily. What do these cultists look like?” 

“They wear brown and gold and strange, pointed masks. They use magicka and weapons as easily as the other.”

“I’ll keep an eye out. But you’re safe here, Noora. Try and get some sleep.”

“Thank you, Sir…” her dark skin flushed, “thank you, Balimund.”

It didn’t take Noora long to fall asleep. Balimund sat up for a while after, cradling his hammer and listening for any sign of trouble. Noora’s breathing had evened out to calm and normal. He had faith in this poultice that had worked so many times for him, but to hear it in her breath itself was a relief. She was going to be alright, and he would make sure she was safe until she was healed. 

Brushing her cheek gently, he whispered a promise. “I’ll guard you with my life.”    

[ikeromantic]

Alice and the Beast pt 5

For my IkeRev 1K Follower Celebration! Finally part 5 of this Beauty and The Beast/IkeRev AU. I have enjoyed this so much! So, part 5 of 5. Approx. 2900 words.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Alice had a very hard time feeling happy in the days following Lancelot’s curse. She wanted to help him. To find a cure, a way to free him from the Magic Tower’s power. But she could think of nothing. It hurt to imagine a world without Lancelot in it. 

Kyle noticed her mood and tried to cheer her up by sharing his alcohol stash. Edgar brought her all kinds of wildly colored candies too, and told her funny stories. He even brought the Creeks to her room. None of it helped. 

She just couldn’t pretend it was ok. That she was ok. Every day she crept by Lancelot’s room to gaze at the flower. There was only one petal left now, a defiant strip of scarlet. Alice hoped it would hold there forever. 

One cold afternoon found her sweeping snow from the kitchen steps, her thoughtful frown hidden behind a heavy woolen scarf. Her movements were precise, mechanical, as her mind traveled other paths. Imagining ways she might break Lancelot’s curse, like marching up to the Magic Tower and demanding they end it before it was too late. 

Then, out of nowhere, a clump of snow slapped wetly against the back of her collar, slipping down beneath her coat to chill her skin. Alice let out a shout of surprise. She whirled around to see where it had come from, and there stood Edgar. He had his hands behind his back, an innocent smile on his face.

“Why hello, Alice!” He gave her a little wave. “Did I surprise you?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You threw a snowball at me.”

“A snowball? Why would you think that? I just came out to give you a bit of good news.” 

“I can feel the snow dripping down my back where it got under my collar. And you’re the only other person out here.” Alice tried for a severe tone, but Edgar’s grin and pretend innocence brought a smile to her lips. 

Edgar gave a slight shrug. “Maybe a bird dropped it on you. Or it fell from a branch? Hm.”

“Yes. A bird rolled a snowball, lifted it into the air and just happened to drop it down my back.” Alice rolled her eyes. “Well, anyway, what is your good news?”

His smile grew wider. “We are having a party. Tonight. A proper one, just like the old days. Music, dancing, a feast . . . doesn’t that sound fun?”

Alice liked parties. They were few and far between in the village. But she didn’t see much to celebrate right now. Unless - “Did he find a cure?” Her voice shook with sudden intensity.

Edgar’s smile fell for a moment. “No. But he wants to celebrate your time here.” His jade eyes seemed to pierce her, seeing right into her thoughts. “We should enjoy the time we have together, not mourn what will be. Don’t you think so, Alice?”

“I . . . y-yes. You’re right, of course. We should.” She felt suddenly ashamed of her melancholy. Lancelot was still there, still with her. And she’d been wasting their precious time together by being sad. 

“I’m glad you think so too. So - Kyle and I are setting everything up. You should go and get ready.”

Alice nodded, a complex knot of emotion tying her tongue. She followed him back inside, still sorting out her feelings. He left her at the door to her room, to go ‘get things ready’. 

Inside her room were several fancy dresses, jewelry, shoes, and everything else a girl might need to attend a real ball. Alice spent a few moments just staring at it all. She’d never seen clothing so fine, or jewelry with real gems. Even the shoes were satin and velvet, much too nice for a mere village girl. She wondered for a moment where all of it had come from, but during her month at the mansion Alice learned not to question the strange magic of the place.

By the time she was ready, the sky beyond her windows was stained red and violet with the setting of the sun. She  hurried down the hall, hoping she wasn’t late. Surprisingly, Lance met her before she made it to the dining room. Alice saw him before he noticed her. He was standing straight, his gaze focused on some distant place only his mind’s eye could see.

Alice knew most people wouldn’t see what she saw in him. He wasn’t a beast, despite his thick fur and fangs and claws. Those were nothing to the man beneath, the one that shone through his sky blue eyes. Determined to do the right thing, even at great cost to himself. And she realized as she neared, that what she felt for him was love. She did not want to go home. She did not want to leave him, nor lose him. Not to anything. 

Lancelot looked up, his gaze radiant as he took her in. “You are beautiful.” 

The simple compliment made her pulse gallop and her cheeks heat. “I . . . thank you. The dress is - it’s very nice.” She found her tongue tied as she wrestled with her emotions. Alice wanted to run forward and throw her arms around him and tell him everything. But she held back. It would be unfair to burden him with her feelings. First, they needed to break the curse and then she could pour her heart out to him.

He held out his hand and she took it. “I want to show you something,” Lance said, guiding her not toward the dining hall, but another wing. One that had been blocked off, for safety - according to Edgar. Now, the doors were unlocked, and the handle turned easily when the Beast reached for it.

The space beyond took her breath away. A ballroom, lit with a sparkling chandelier, the tiny, chiming crystals threw dancing rainbows of light across the polished stone floor. The walls were hung with colorful tapestries between the windows, and there was a mural on the ceiling painted with scenes of past celebrations. Music hung in the air, soft strains of a waltz on the edge of recognition.

“Do you like it?” Lancelot’s gaze was full of some deep, uncertain emotion as he watched her.

“Lance . . . this is - it’s like something out of a book!”

He smiled, his shoulders relaxing with relief, though his gaze was still troubled. “I’m glad. I wanted to share it with you. This ballroom hasn’t been used since my father’s time, when he held dances for nobles and wealthy merchants.” He chuckled. “I’d forgotten how it looks.”

“I can imagine the sorts of parties you must have had here. Beautiful people, dancing and laughing. I bet it was amazing.” Alice looked up at him, her expression full of wonder.

Lance’s clawed fingertip brushed her cheek. “Not as amazing as you, never as beautiful.”

Alice felt her cheeks heat at the compliment. She couldn’t think of what to say. Drowning in those sky blue eyes, with her heart pounding against her ribs. 

He rescued her by leading her out onto the dance floor. “May I?”

She nodded mutely. 

Lancelot’s hand curled around her back, pulling her close as he began the steps of a simple waltz. 

He was so close. Everywhere he touched, warmth pooled and spun lazily through her like warmed honey. Her pulse raced, pounding in her ears, faster than the beat of the music they danced to. Alice felt as if she were in a daydream, her body abuzz with pleasurable tension. 

“Lance . . . this is very nice. I really like y-dancing with you.” She leaned a little closer as she spoke, just so he could hear her better - that was what she told herself. 

There was so much affection in his gaze as he looked at her. “I am glad. I needed to see you smile again.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, the barest touch of his lips, fur lightly tickling against her skin. “Don’t be sad for me, Alice. Promise me that?”

“I can’t.” Her breath caught as all her emotions bubbled up from her chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He smiled at her so sadly, a melancholic sweetness to the curl of his lips. “I feel lucky that I met you. That you have let me care for you. Sharing in your joy. I have loved our time together. But after tonight, Edgar and Kyle will take you home. I don’t want you to see . . . to be hurt when my curse ends.”

“Lance. I won’t go. I want to stay here, with you.” 

He stopped dancing, his massive hand cupped her face. “You have to go on, Alice. To be happy. If you stay, it will just hurt more. I can’t bear to think of you hurt. That I made you cry. Again.” 

Alice hugged him, burying her face in his wide, firm chest. The cool buttons of his vest contrasted with the heat rolling off him. “I’m not going to let you face this alone.”

For a breath, he tensed as if he might push her away, but then his arms went around her, holding her tight against him. He said nothing, though she could feel a tremor run through him as he relented to her plea. “Alice, I-”

The window nearest them exploded in shards of glass and wood splinters. Lancelot shielded Alice from the shrapnel, enveloping her in his arms. Then he pushed her back and whirled around to face the threat.

Three purple-robed figures stepped into the gap, their hands glowing with blue flame. “This is your last chance,” one said in a rasping voice. “Serve the tower or fall forever, Kingsley.”

Lance didn’t deign to reply. His lips curled in a feral snarl and he lunged for them. The robed intruders were ready for the attack. They hurled lightning and fire toward him.The broken bits of window spun wildly in the air, a storm of sharp edges and jagged ends. 

Alice let out a scream, horrified that her Beast would be hurt. She felt helpless as she stood there, unable to do anything but watch. 

“Did you think to find me de-fanged,” Lancelot snarled, his eyes turning crimson. The shards of glass and wood clattered to the floor. The arcing lightning and hissing fire didn’t touch him. He tackled one of the figures to the floor. “Send this message back to your tower. I will not give in!”

Just then, loud voices came from the hall. Edgar and Kyle. And . . . Jonah? Alice turned toward the doors in time to see them fly open. Jonah and Zero were struggling with Kyle and Edgar, pushing past them into the ballroom. 

“What are you doing here?” Alice couldn’t believe her eyes. Why were her village friends at the manor? 

“We came to rescue you,” Zero shouted. 

“And bring you home,” Jonah added. He held a hunting bow, arrow loosely knocked. As his amber eyes moved from Alice to the Beast, he looked confused.

Zero, however, did not look confused at all. He held a hunting knife in hand, nearly as long as a sword. There was a certain regret in his gaze as he began stalking toward the struggling mass of Beast and the purple-robed men. 

“See,” one of the robed figures sneered. “Your people fear and hate you. They came here to kill you.”

Lance’s red gaze flickered toward the door and back again. “Better them than you.” Despite his brave words, the fight was three on one, and his magic and strength were beginning to flag. 

Edgar rushed toward Jonah, intent on stopping him. Kyle frowned from his spot in the door, his expression one of worry and disgust. 

Zero raised his blade, tensing to attack as he drew close to the fight.

“Wait! Zero! No! Don’t hurt him!” Alice broke through her shock to run toward them. “Please!”

Zero and Jonah both looked to Alice, surprised. Jonah shoved Edgar away from him. “What are you talking about? He kidnapped you! He’s a Beast!”

“He’s not! Lance is my- he’s my friend. Please, trust me.” Alice put all the love and desperation she felt into the words. She was no fighter, afterall. There was no way she could stop the Tower folk or her village friends from hurting Lancelot. All she could hope was to persuade them.

Jonah seemed to struggle with himself. His gaze slid from Alice, to the snarling Beast. Then he nodded. “Alright. We’ll stop those robed guys and then we can talk.”

Zero narrowed his eyes. “Sounds good to me. But be careful. The acolytes of the Magic Tower are dangerous.” 

Alice wondered how he would know that, but this wasn’t the time to ask. 

Edgar stopped trying to attack Jonah once he agreed not to harm Lancelot. But he kept a wary eye on him even as his grin returned. “Always happy to welcome a new ally.”

“I’m not your ally,” Jonah snapped, even as he advanced on the robed figures. 

“Well, fine. Be that way. I won’t share any candy with you.”

Zero sighed. “That’s not very nice. Either of you.”

Edgar chuckled. “Me? Not nice? What a silly idea.” As he spoke, he gestured to Zero and Jonah, some movement Alice didn’t quite catch. “Now these acolyte guys, they aren’t nice at all. And you can tell they know it. Why else would they hide their faces? Is that shame I see?”

“You shut up,” one of them shouted, turning his attention from Lancelot to Edgar. 

“Yeah, you aren’t worthy to see our faces!” Another moved toward Edgar. 

The third was too busy holding the Beast from his neck to say anything, but one assumes he was equally offended. 

While those two were distracted, Zero and Jonah moved in. Jonah’s arrow pinned an acolyte’s sleeve to the wall, while Zero’s attack forced the other back away from Lance. 

The acolytes seemed to realize they were wholly outnumbered now, and they had no intention of staying for a fight they might lose. The one fighting Lancelot struggled away from the tiring Beast to help his friends. They fled away through the broken window, leaving a tattered piece of purple fabric behind.

Alice rushed to Lancelot while Kyle went to check the others. 

Lancelot lay on the floor, his scarlet gaze slowly fading to the calm blue of deep waters. “Alice,” he breathed, his throat working.

She knelt at his side. “Did they hurt you? Let me see. Oh - oh Lance . . .”

“No.” He took both her hands in his. “Just . . . the rose. The last petal.” 

Alice’s eyes went wide as she realized he meant the end of his curse had come. It would run its full course and tonight - tonight was his last. “No, no, no. I won’t - Lance, you can’t! We - we barely - I -”

His gaze was so gentle, so full of affection that she fell silent. “I want - to - to tell you-” The words sighed from his lips, barely audible. “Alice . . . I lo-” Lancelot tensed, muscles tightening with a sudden shock of pain. He fought it, but he had so little left to fight with. 

She knew what he wanted to say. Alice could feel it. In the way he looked at her. The way he touched her. She leaned down to brush a kiss to his lips, unable to speak for the sorrow lodged in her chest. A tear escaped her lashes to fall on his cheek. 

The last breath rattled from his lungs, as if, with her kiss, Lance could finally stop fighting. 

“It’s over,” Kyle said quietly from somewhere behind her, close and yet immeasurably distant. 

“I don’t understand,” Jonah’s voice, tinged with confusion and worry. 

Edgar’s sigh. “Come this way. Let’s give her some space. I’ll explain everything.”

The sound of shuffling steps, moving further away. 

Alice held Lance’s hands. She couldn’t bring herself to let go, even though the light had left his eyes and she could already feel the warmth ebb from him. Her heart felt like a stone, cold and heavy. She wanted to tear it from her chest. She could not speak. Could not breathe. 

In the space between her heart’s steady beating, something stirred. A magic older than any curse. A spell that had no words, no gestures, required no arcane component. It was the deep magic of the world. Feral, chaotic. Though Alice did not understand it, she knew something was happening. Something strange. 

A tingling heat seared through her nerve endings. A torrent of warmth and light. She felt it flow from her hands into Lancelot. She became a riverbed, and the magic overspilled her banks. Flooding wildly from her, seeping, soaking, drenching. Colors that had no name danced in the air around her, but Alice paid them no mind. Her eyes saw only one thing. 

Lancelot stirred. Or perhaps, stirred is the wrong word. He rippled. The gold and brown fur blurred, faded. Changed. And when it was gone, there was pale skin. Torn suit fabric. The line of his forearm. A squared shoulder. The noble curve of his jaw. The graceful arch of firm lips, turned up at the corners in a soft smile. His blue eyes shone with an inner light, familiar in its passion and strength. “Alice.”

She fell into his arms and he embraced her. How - why - none of those questions mattered. Time would come later for seeking answers and justice and allies. In this moment, there was only breath and laughter and the tentative exchange of shy kisses. The feel of two hearts beating together, pressed chest to chest and soul to soul. 

[astridthevalkyrie]

Favorite quote from each AOT character?

ahaha thank u for asking this also I’m completely indecisive so yeah

Eren - “I want you all to live long lives.”/“We’re special, for no other reason than the fact that we were born!”/“You rip my shirt, you’re dead!”/“Ever since we were kids, Mikasa, I’ve always hated you.”/“Gotcha!”/“You should be nicer to your mom, Jean-boy!”/"So fight, just fight."/"My very first ODM kill!"/"Hear me, subjects of Ymir. My name is Eren Jaeger."

Mikasa - “This world is cruel, but I have a place in it.”/“But Armin can help too! He’s special!”/“For wrapping this scarf around my neck, thank you.”/“If you’d just done your damn job and protected him like you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”/"See you later, Eren."/“Pick your side, Krista. Eren, or the bitch I’m gonna kill?”/"I'm a farmer too."

Armin - “Eren! How could you say that to her?”/“For humanity’s glory, in what little time I have left to live, I will advocate his strategic value!”/“In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever lied to you?”/“Makes you wonder why these chose us for this new Levi squad.”/“Lend me your strength.”/"We're not the good guys anymore."

Jean - “I blame everything about this on you, Eren.”/“You’re probably loving this, aren’t you?”/“Put her there, kid.”/“You wanna die? Fine, then I’ll kill you!”/“How in God’s name did I get ranked under Eren?”/“Sucidal blockheeeead!”/“Those ashes would never forgive me.”/“Shut up, Reiner, you really want your last words to be an ass joke?”/“That’s salty!”/“I bet everyone will forget about the chump who plugged up the hole in Trost!”/“Your speech skills need work."/"Sorry for calling you names and dismissing your choice in career."

Sasha - “Because we’re all so talented, I assume.”/“Yeah, couldn’t you go for some grub right now?”/“Soon, we’ll take back all the land we need for livestock.”/“Are you asking me why people eat potatoes?”/“So, are you saying you’re not going to eat that?”/“You were a vegetable farmer, that’s not the same!”/"Meat."/"It's something that's definitely not bread."/"Now go. Get out of here! Don't give up hope!"

Connie - “Mom, Dad, anyone! I came home!”/“Hey, ugly, get with the program!”/“I’m sick of getting betrayed.”/“All I care about, is getting a chance to take down the Beast Titan.”/“How does it feel to have your own roof over your head again? Geeeet it?”/“But afterwards, please, let me go home.”/"To save the world."/"Annie's stuffing her face!"

Historia - “God my ass! If it’s so special you become him!”/“Shut up, dumbass!”/“We’re all at the end of our tether, okay?”/“As promised, my real name is Historia.”/“Whenever I’m with you, I’m not afraid!”/“Did that hurt? Well, I’m queen now, so too bad!”/"Sorry, but the sweet Krista you knew died a long time ago."

Ymir - “Couldn’t say.”/“No, go on. If mummy dearest is a titan then it must be safe to assume daddy is too, right?”/“Honestly? Hell if I know.”/“Look at my Krista, keeping the peace. You are so gonna have to marry me later!”/“My one regret is that I never got to marry you.”/“Here to ravage me? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t think you were all that into girls.”/“Say what you will, the scouts get shit done!”

Reiner - “Don’t do it, Porco!”/“I’m the armored. He’s the colossal.”/“Nice ass, that one.”/“Captain Levi is dangerous.”/"Why won't any of you just let me die?"/"Why is Marco being devoured?"/“I will do it.”/“Gotta marry her.”/“I’m so sick…of walls.”

Bertholdt - “Reiner! Here? Now?”/“Shut your mouth, hellspawn! I’ll kill you!”/“Annie! Reiner!”/“Somebody, please find us!”/“Back in the day, he was more of a warrior.”/“You’ll always be my dear comrades, up until the moment I’ve killed you.”/“Because this world really is just that cruel.”

Annie - “I don’t want to fight anymore.”/“I’m going to gamble too, and here’s my wager!”/“Does it really matter? All of this is pointless.”/“I’m sorry I couldn’t be a good person for you.”/“If somebody told you to die, would you?”/"You're so mean...Daddy!"/“You have no idea what it’s like to be scared like a normal person.”/“I have to protect myself against the big bad man.”

Erwin - “I said advance, goddammit!”/"Thank you, Levi."/"This is a genuine salute, soldiers."/"It sounds to me like we're one step closer to the truth."/"Your hopes, your dreams, none of it matters as you lie, bleeding out, on the battlefield."/"I was quite taken with Marie as well."/"Who do you think the real enemy is?"/"I just...really wanted to reach that cellar."/"My soldiers, rage! My soldiers, scream! My soldiers, fight!"

Hange - "Well, I don't give a single shit what your motivation was."/"No, it's perfect!"/"Titans really are amazing."/"Ereeeeeeen!"/"However, nothing ventured, nothing gained."/"I'm only a novice at human torture, but while I lack experience, I plan to give this job my all."

Levi - "Maybe."/"Yeah."/"Not that I implicitly trust him, of course, it's more a matter of trusting myself."/"You don't need a good talking to. What you're in need of, boy, is to be taught a lesson."/"Kenny!"/"Eren. Listen, I really hate that I do this to you all the time, but you need to make a choice here."

[eldritchaccident]

Timing: Current Location: The Bizarre Feat: @vanoincidence & @eldritchaccident Warnings: None! Summary: Van wanders into the bizarre by accident and runs into Teddy!

Van wasn’t sure how she’d stumbled upon the market, and it was obvious by the looks on the faces of those who surrounded her. She felt severely out of place, and she looked it, too. She wrapped her arms around herself, keeping her head low. One wrong step, and the bright blinking arches had been staring at her. Before she could think about retreating, she was being carried forward by her own ill-suited curiosity. She’d only have herself to blame if things went south. 

However, the further she got into the market, the less people seemed to notice her. She noticed everything, though. There were animals of all kinds– some she’d never seen before, the kinds that she felt as though she could only pull from nightmares, and books among books. It dawned on her then, that maybe this was a dream, too. Or that somehow in an attempt to find a way to get rid of her magic, she had stumbled upon the answer. 

“Miss, why don’t you come over here? Take a look at these rings. I can read your mind, you’re looking for something, aren’t you?” The voice caught Van by surprise, because a part of her felt as though it were in her head. She turned around to see the owner of said voice staring her down, a grin revealing a gap toothed smile. “Hello, how can I help you?” But it was a different voice, wasn’t it? Van paused at the stall, looking over the jewelry. 

It felt… off, in a way. Her anxiety flared as it always did, and she looked around them nervously. “Um, I don’t … think I can afford any of this, actually. I make pizza money.” 

—

Magic. Theodore Jones was magic. Had magic. Used it! Not demon magic, real, honest to goodness, human magic. The bright teal display was a shocking revelation. No doubts about it. Another caster confirmed. Immutable. What Teds didn't understand was how. Comparatively, the demonic rituals were so different they couldn't even properly judge one against the other. Weaving magic before felt like just that, weaving. Taking pieces that were already there, altering the existing fabric to suit their needs. It was a process, it often felt like hard labor. Like they were physically lifting and bending reality. A damn intense workout. 

But this? The explosion of feeling, the way it poured through their veins? Alight, electric. Teddy had tried to conjure it immediately after getting home. They kept trying old methods, old rituals, to some effect, but not always the ones they wanted. They needed insight. Needed a focus they couldn't quite muster for themself. So, of course, it was off to the markets. The bizarre bazaar. A home of several friends, a bunch of contacts, and more than a few people who hated Teddy and/or their father. 

A disguise was in order. 

Far more plain clothes than they would usually go for as well as an old silk scarf. Expertly donned to cover up most of their face and more importantly their scars. A pair of sunglasses too. Something Audrey Hepburn would have been proud of. Honestly not too out of place around the patrons of the market. The people here could appreciate discretion. 

Among mountains of miscellaneous magic materials and such, Teddy found themself particularly attracted to a set of gemstone earrings. Sapphire maybe? They weren't the master appraiser their father was, but they'd picked up a discerning eye over the years. Perks of a parentage in purchasing paranormal paraphernalia. Leviathan had pretty much any creature land or sea beat on that front, even optimistic underwater princesses with bright red hair and a concerningly close relationship to crabs and clams. 

The great beast’s ward was just about to pick out the simple charm and inquire when the owner started to speak up. Not at Teddy though, at– oh shit. The kid. From the park? What was her name again? Didn't matter half as much as the hungry look in the seller's eye, or the way Teddy knew this particular stall to take…esoteric payment rather than money. Maybe your ability to see the color purple. Maybe the memory of your first kiss. Things that were far more powerful than people realized, things they think they wouldn't miss until it was far too late. 

“Sis, you know your birthday is coming up.” Teddy strode over, throwing an arm around the younger girl's shoulder and hoping she'd recognize them. (The shop owner definitely did. Maybe they could use that to their advantage.) They hoped that she'd understand that poking around a place like this was dangerous in the same way screaming gossip in the park might've been. Maybe moreso. You could quite literally lose yourself amongst the market stalls. But losing composure was like the first step to falling in a den of hungry spiders. All ready to knit you into their webs, truss you up and eat you for dinner. 

“Why don't you let me get you something, kiddo. Save all that pizza money for more shrimps.” Van. That was her name. Same kid that was arguing with Emilio. Hilarious one. Ten outta ten style. “Sound good?” Please, Teddy thought as loud as they could, knowing the younger caster couldn't possibly hear, please go along with this. 

—

Van’s neck nearly fell off the bone with the swiftness in which she looked at her newly arrived company. She opened her mouth to tell her that he mistook her for somebody else, up until she recognized them. From the park– the gossip, the way the transmutation had melted into the ground, the look on their face as she ran away… 

She dropped her gaze down to her hands, knowing that if she looked the stall vendor in the eye, he’d be able to tell this was all a lie. She didn’t think she looked like him, but what did this person know? Family came in all shapes and sizes, right? Van nodded, “um, yeah– in a month.” She cleared her throat, gaze sliding over the number of trinkets that covered the table. Some were desirable, some not so much. 

He remembered the shrimps, from online. Teddy, Van remembered now. She’d seen them flaunting their ability to spin any conversation around on just about anyone who’d listen. Maybe they intended to do the same for the vendor. 

She nodded quickly, the crick in her neck absent as she finally dared to look at the vendor. “Different um… moms.” She gave him a nervous smile before tugging the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, fists now balled up to keep the fabric in place. “Maybe we should look around a little more? There were like, a ton of stalls I haven’t looked at yet.” Most of which were far too… busy for her to think of looking over– tentacles, bottles of things with eyes. She was in the wrong place, this place wasn’t for her and she knew it. She worried her lower lip between her teeth before motioning Teddy to follow her. “Um, thank you.” Van whispered under her breath as they headed in the opposite direction. The last time they’d run into each other, she’d been so overwhelmed with what they’d shown her that now– with the shrimps in mind, all she could feel was gratitude. 

— 

Good. Good. She played along. Teddy’s heart relaxed just a little. Might not be the end of the world, but certainly a situation the kid didn't deserve to be put in. Not while she looked so lost. Both now, and back in that park. Van had a resilience to her, but if Teddy had to guess, it seemed like the kind you built around yourself by force. Out of necessity. They didn't know anything about her, not really. She worked at the pizza place, she was some kind of caster. And yet seeing magic was jarring and stressful for her. 

Maybe her introduction to the subject was traumatizing. They didn't know. Probably wouldn't learn either, not any time soon. Teddy was thankful for the upbringing they had. The way they could navigate a crazy place like the bizarre with relative ease. Leviathan had been an incredible teacher, and they were all too eager to soak in all they could. Just a shame that the way they had been taught didn't translate to their new type of magic. 

“Eh, no biggie. So what kind of things are ya looking for, for your birthday?” Teddy ushered the both of them farther from the booth, all while scanning for something they'd find useful or interesting. Even out of earshot, it was probably worth it to keep up the charade. What they wanted to ask was why she was here. Was there actually something she needed or was it an accident? 

—

“Oh! Uh… maybe… something shiny.” Her birthday was soon, but it wasn’t like she was trying to find something here for it. If anything, she’d go online and look up figurines of Kafka and whine over the prices. She stuck her hands into the pockets of her jacket and looked around, still taken aback by the sheer amount of oddities. How had she ended up here? Van glanced over her shoulder, immediately noticing that the vendor they’d just spoken to was now involved in what looked like a situational haggle with another customer. 

Van looked over at Teddy with a grateful smile laced with uncertainty. “I don’t know how I ended up here.” She forced herself to keep her gaze on the person ahead of her for the sake of not drawing too much attention to herself. Though, if anyone could read minds here, they’d know she was out of her depth. 

“I was just walking, and then…” She motioned around them, still too afraid to outstretch her hand too far as if something might jump from one of the tables and devour it. Van stuck her hand back into her pocket for safe keeping. “Do you come here a lot? The way you talked to that guy, it was like, super natural.” That was ironic, all things considered– everything about this was supernatural. “I don’t know if I’m like, supposed to be here.” 

—

Something shiny. Fair enough. Teddy themself was a connoisseur of all things glitz and glam.  When the mood struck at least. Even if it was part of the ruse, maybe they could find something for the kid before finding their exit. Having company on a shopping day was equal parts exciting and a little nerve wracking. Especially because Van didn't know about this place. As they had suspected. 

Around them, webs of people stretched far and wide. The further into the markets, the less folks would care for glamours, for appearing human. But here, on what could be considered the ‘main street’ the vendors were odd, sure, but only so much as ones you might find at a very eclectic art faire. It was the false sense of security that lured most victims in. Deals they couldn't quite keep up with, or things they didn't realize they'd miss so much. There were fortunes to be made too, if you knew where to look. 

“Ah, that kind of thing happens a lot. Places like this kind of find you. Usually when you need something from it, or well…” If it was hungry. Teds wasn't sure they wanted to ascribe sentience to the endless collection of shops and stores, but it did have a way of making you feel… watched. Desired, but in the way a coyote might look at an injured baby bunny. “This isn't the only market like this, but I think this one is sort of… local? To Wicked's Rest?” Teddy wasn't completely sure. Honestly if every version they'd ever been to with their father had been one massive sprawling liminal space that showed up out of nowhere, they wouldn't be surprised. They were always so fascinated by it when they were young. Still, they remembered the tight (metaphorical) leash the Leviathan kept on them. How hesitant it was to take them in the first place. Some of that worry must have passed down. Teddy couldn't help but feel it when they looked at the kid, when they thought of the darker sides of this place. 

“Come here as often as I need to. Try not to make a habit. There's actually some… really useful stuff around.” Ah, yes. Just a few booths away something piqued the ex-demon's interest. Teddy nodded their head towards the brightly colored tent, and towards the myriads of magical focuses housed inside. “Like these pretty babies.” 

—

“I don’t think I need anything from here.” In fact, wasn’t it the opposite? Van wanted so desperately to get rid of her magic– it didn’t serve her, and in its worst moments, only acted as a reminder of everything that’d gone wrong in her life. She wasn’t about to unload that on Teddy, though. She’d already freaked out on them once before, and if things went wrong here, there’d be a second time, too. Van felt herself bristle as eyes followed herself and Teddy as they continued down the pathway of the main vendors. Would they be able to tell? She looked at Teddy out of the corner of her eye, deciding that maybe not, considering the fact that she had no clue they’d been magically inclined upon meeting them. She thought about the markings in the ground, how they had burned with light. “Local? I’ve never even seen it before.” Wasn’t that sort of the point, though? If this place were out in the Common, she was sure there’d be articles day and night about the disruptive nature of its inhabitants. 

Useful stuff. Like what, Van wanted to ask– what could possibly be useful here and not harmful? Maybe Teddy loved their magic. Maybe they were secure in it– she couldn’t relate, and again, she had to remind herself that it wasn’t their problem. Her gaze followed the way in which they’d pointed and Van’s brows furrowed. “Did you just call those babies? What are you, Linda Belcher?” Actually, that sort of made sense the longer that she looked at them. “Forget I asked.” She cleared her throat and followed after them, knowing that her only way out might be by sticking to their side. She wasn’t sure why she’d found inherent trust in them, as it’d been the opposite that day when she’d been spilling lies all over the common, but she didn’t figure she had any other choice, not now at least. “What is this?” She asked, interest piqued at one of the items on a nearby table. It was a ring made of silver with a simple engraving on the side. Her mother’s voice rang through her head as she stared at it, don’t touch– just look. 

—

“Guess it’s the other thing then.” Teddy shrugged, not really showing the worry that sat just beneath their skin. Instinctively maybe, if they somehow even had instincts for this, they moved closer to Van. Hovering an arm behind her as their eyes found the proprietor of this stall. Making sure it was someone they could trust, or at least know they wouldn’t be getting fucked over by. Hard to say though, Teddy had seen the face once, but never met them. 

Instead, their attention returned to the kid, a half cocked grin sitting beneath their furrowed brows. “Okay first of all, I’m going to take that as a compliment. Linda is a goddess.” Teddy snorted, finding some real joy for the first time today. “And B. These are foci.” All sorts. Everything from enchanted jewelry to literal wands. Though, Leviathan always said those were a crock of hooey. It was better to have something you wore always. Something you could attune to, let it attune to you right back. 

“Essentially they’re… magic training wheels. Casters have been using these forever. I think it’s maybe where the idea of a wizard with a pointy stick or staff comes from. Funnily enough, they’re more for kids than grizzled old bearded men.” Teddy hadn’t thought about foci since they were a kid. When demon magic began to burgeon within them, when it wasn’t always something they could wield. Now they knew it was because the tether between them and their father was an open siphon. They had far too much access, needed the control. A valve. A focus. 

—

“Foci.” The word didn’t sit right on her tongue, mostly because she had no idea what it meant. Van thought about focaccia bread, but nothing here struck a resemblance. As they went on to explain, discomfort washed over Van. This was all too real, and even though she had since accepted that having magic was a part of her, it didn’t mean she was okay with it. It’d done more harm than good, and what was the point in having magic if she couldn’t end up the protagonist of her own story? Instead, she was some half-assed villain, written by an author to have the protagonist point and laugh at. 

“You mean those don’t actually exist? The blue hats with stars, or whatever…?” That was a bit of a disappointment, but the magic that she’d been exposed to– that ran through her like a second soul, it was nothing like what she’d seen in media. It was far more dangerous than that. It had killed people. 

“So this ring is like that? Instead of a wand?” She stepped closer, mildly interested in the way it glinted beneath the lighting of the tent. She stared at it for a long while before remembering she was in the company of somebody else– somebody who had far more knowledge than her. “I’m…” She cleared her throat, frustrated by her inability to just say things straight without fumbling over them. “I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Why’d you bring us into this one?”

— 

“Mhmm. Kinda like in D&D, that's a little closer I guess. Though it's pretty debatable. Maybe…. Think of it as a prism?” Teddy mused aloud, rolling over definitions and metaphors in their mind until they settled on a more effective means of explanation. “Or like… a sieve. Helps you hold back magic so too much doesn't get through. In doing so, it sorta teaches you what comes from where. How it feels inside, how it's supposed to feel. Makes it so you can learn how your magic works.” Satisfied, the flamboyant ex-demon nodded. Grinned. 

There was a gleam to her gaze that paused them though, made Teddy slow their roll and realize that maybe the way they'd told it, it sounded like Teddy was talking about it on her behalf. And while, sure, if she did have untapped, untrained magic the foci would be incredibly helpful. But they were– shoot. Better clarify. They didn't want the kid thinking that they were being talked down to. Especially with the training wheels comment. Nothing in the world could make a kid turn from help faster than some strange adult insisting they needed it. 

“I had a big change recently.” They admitted. Vague still, but mostly because you never really knew who was listening in. “My uh– source. Where my magic comes from. It's different than what it used to be. Majorly. I'm still getting used to it. Feels different. I can't control it yet. I came here because I could use one of these. Figured we could find the exit once I grabbed what I came for, right?” Teddy offered a somewhat self-deprecating smile and a shrug. “But hey, already said I'd get you a birthday gift. Ain't a liar, and– there's a lot of neat shit around, y’know?” 

— 

Van knew D&D. She could piece together what Teddy was trying to say about the objects ahead of them by translating them into the terms she’d heard crackled over a few dozen discord calls. It was easy, removing herself from the equation– pretending it was all fantastical. It was kind of fucked up, she thought, that for somebody who’d been so immersed in world building, the world around her was freaking her the fuck out. She could only think about what her friends in Portland would think if they could see her now. She stared at the silver ring she’d noticed first, tracing the etchings of flowers and ivy with her gaze. 

The way that Teddy described things, it made it make sense. Then again, she hadn’t really been seeking out many other magic users, at least, aside from Milo, and he had admitted that his own magic was on the fritz. “So it’s like a tamagotchi, only not, and like, helpful.” That was the best way she could wrap her mind around it, and maybe that’d go over Teddy’s head. Van listened to them as they went on to explain that they’d come into a different kind of magic– the kind that was hard to control. 

Her gaze snapped back up to meet theirs. “But you look like you have your shit together.” She wasn’t lying there. Well, except for the whole flirting with Emilio online thing, Teddy seemed like he was put together in the way that she thought most adults were. “I–” She looked back towards the ring, slightly drawn to it. She had no clue how much it was, and she couldn’t expect Teddy to pay for it, not when their only means of likeness was boiled down to the fact that they both had uncontrollable magic. “Do you melt things, too? Open portals?” She bit down onto the inside of her cheek, surprised by the way she’d asked the question so freely. Maybe she really was growing up. She looked back to them, tugging on their sleeve. “I don’t mean to like, be a super open book or whatever, but I’m like, afraid all of the time about what my magic can do, so you’re telling me this would help? Could it… get rid of it? Keep it away for good if I don’t take it off?” She felt a little bad about not consoling them over the way they’d undergone change, but her mind was at warp speeds– if there was a way to stifle her magic, then she needed to know. 

— 

Behind closed lips, Teddy’s tongue ran along the edges of their teeth. Counting each, feeling the far too blunt edges, missing the way they could reshape them into something else. Something they saw as better. Van was trying to change herself. Van had magic and was afraid of it. The sudden shock Ted’s magical awakening inspired wasn’t one of fear. It didn’t really dawn on them that it could be something someone would even be afraid of. Still, that didn’t mean they couldn’t hold compassion for the young adult. They could see the way it weighed on her. See how it hooked into her mind and dragged her to some aching past. Something she felt guilty about. 

Teddy could relate to that. 

They’d seen that look a thousand times, maybe more. On Emilio, on Wynne, Arden, Teagan. On themself. It wasn’t one that had ever been solved by cutting off a piece of themself. Wasn’t something that would get better if Van stopped being magical. 

“Mmmn. Not exactly a tamagotchi.” They had, in fact, gone to school in the 90’s. “That implies you’d have to take care of it in some way. If you got that ring, it would… stop the unexpected stuff. It’d also make anything you do intentionally a bit less powerful. If anything it’s like… training weights? Is Naruto still a thing you guys watch? Dragon Ball Z?” Sometimes the motels they stayed at only had a few channels. Teddy had spent many nights watching a bit too much toonami while Leviathan went off to do… Leviathan things.

“That’s the secret, Junebug. There’s no such thing as someone who ‘has it all together’, if they tell you they do, they’re lying, or they want to sell you something.” With a small motion, the ex-demon caught the attention of the shopkeeper. Speaking in a language it was highly unlikely the younger woman would understand. Teddy got lucky.  Once they heard his voice, they realized quickly that they knew  the old man. A client of Levi’s. One the great beast had left with more favors owed to it than it owed to him. The conversation was short, to the point, and actually pretty pleasant. Teddy didn’t have to haggle much, only had to retrieve something from storage on a different day. Easy peasy. The demon running the booth even threw in some extras. 

Teddy picked up the ring she’d been eying, placed it carefully in her palm then turned back to pick out the piece they’d been drawn to, a woven braided bracelet whose fibers seemed to be spun from pure gold. Simple in design, but beautiful in its own right. The ‘extras’ of course, were tidbits of gossip for Gabagool. With the gift exchanged, Teddy didn’t wait for an answer, or a thank you or anything like that. There would be plenty of time to talk without prying eyes and ears. They simply grinned, and guided the younger caster through the mess of the market and out onto familiar streets. Downtown. In front of an old tea shop and a newer pizza place. 

“There… are ways.” Teddy admitted, after a long silent walk. “You can get rid of it. But– It’s never–. Magic is a part of you. Good or bad. Taking it away would leave you empty. Worse than empty.” They swallowed, remembering the hollow they found themself in the night of the ritual. How they felt worse than death. “I don’t know your story. Don’t know how magic fucked shit up for you, but I do know that any magic can be used for good, if you accept it and learn to control it. Hell, even demons can be good guys.” 

—

Van blinked at Teddy, surprised they knew what both Naruto and Dragon Ball Z were. She was half-tempted to tell them that they were way too cool to be dating Emilio, but figured that wouldn’t win her any favors. Her issue with Emilio had nothing to do with Teddy and she had to accept that her maybe-magic-mentor would be linked to the stinky man himself. Not only that, but her two best friends were also linked to him. That was the funny thing about being linked to people– you were always linked to the bad ones, too. Though, she couldn’t completely see Emilio as bad. Just… really annoying! 

But Teddy wasn’t annoying. He was nice, respectful, and kind. Most of all, that was what Van saw most. Despite her freak out a couple of months ago and the way she held onto the notion that magic was bad, they continued to explain it to her in a way that would make her understand. Teddy reminded her a little bit of Jade. “I think… I see what you’re saying,” Van said finally, throat dry. 

She wanted to believe in what Teddy had to say, if not for herself, then for the sake of people she might be able to save from being inflicted with her magic. Van’s expression twisted at the junebug nickname, but she didn’t try to sway from it. Instead, she ogled as Teddy motioned for the shopkeeper to come over. The weight of the ring in her palm felt far heavier than what it was made up of in actuality. It held the determination Teddy held, she realized. She stared down at it, suddenly feeling very small. “You really– I don’t know how I’m going to pay you back for this.” Van was almost too afraid to put it on, and because of that, she stuffed it into her pocket. Would this ring really save her from herself?

As they walked, she listened– forced to see the world through their point of view. It was important for her to do so, or else she might die for the cause of losing everything. Van inhaled sharply. “That’s… what I’ve heard, but I still…” She shrugged, “feel like it’s better that way, to feel empty than to accidentally hurt somebody.” She stuck her hand into her pocket and rotated the ring around. Her gaze cut to Teddy as they explained even demons could be good guys. What did Teddy know of demons? Maybe that was a story for another time, because she hadn’t realized they’d effectively walked out of the market. She whirled around, surprised by the normalcy that surrounded them. “What– when did–” She looked over at them, wide-eyed. “This place is like, so weird.” She’d been living here all her life, and still, it never got any easier– especially now that she’d opened her eyes to it all. “Teddy, I… thank you, for this.” She motioned towards her pocket, “and for the talk and stuff.” She gave them a small smile of appreciation, an awkward air falling over her. Maybe it was easier to pretend she’d absorbed everything they had said; make them less likely to worry. The less people who worried, the better. 

—

“Hey, no need to pay me back. Just… pay it forward. If you see a chance to help someone, take it, y’know?” One thing Teddy had always been bad at was actually seeking reprisal for… anything. Whims dictated their every move, some had rationalization, but if they were being honest most of that came after. Justification found between the crumbs of forethought that managed to sneak in before impulse had its way with the ex-demon. 

Demons were supposed to collect on deals, weren't they? Maybe that's why they never really cut it. Even before the eldritch energy was stripped from every fiber of their being, they had never really grafted onto it in the way they probably should have. It took…more effort than they'd like to admit to shake away the idea that the deficiency was somehow one of the reasons Leviathan left. Even the fleeting thought tugged on the scars. Filled their chest with a dull ache that had Teddy looking off in the distance, as if they'd somehow catch a glimpse of the great beast around some corner. 

“Whole world is a little weird, but it does seem a little extra… concentrated here.” They shrugged, the oddness had been one of their favorite things about this town. Always something to capture their wonder, their attention. Maybe in time, Van could learn to see it that way too. Maybe not. Only time would tell, and that ring would definitely buy her a little more than she might have had before. 

“You're cool, kid. No worries, okay? If you have more trouble or questions…I think you know where to find me online.” Teddy remembered her messaging, trying to get the scoop on their very embarrassing but thankfully well received crush on the detective. “Ciao.” With little more than a flourish of their hand, Teddy smiled, turned, and disappeared down the street, heading off to who knows where. 

[salenakingston]

Re-Kindling

Another year, and the holidays are upon us. Hey @starlight-moth, you were my giftee! I heard your call for some fluffy lewvithur and was happy to deliver. I believe a dose of holiday fluff is perfect. I hope you like your gift!

Snow seldom fell in Tempo, but when it did, it was truly a sight to behold. White covered the ground, both a blessing and a curse for its residents. There was no denying the beauty that came with the blanket of snow, and what joy it could bring to those able to withstand the cold, but there were also risks. Ice for those on the roads, winds biting through even the thickest winter-wear, and the chance for power to flicker.

Thankfully, none of these were an issue for the blond making his way to his iconic van. “Their” van if you asked Vivi, but she wasn’t here right now.

The sun hung in the sky, light reflecting off the surface of the untouched snow covering the broken cars of the junkyard and few patches of foliage surrounding Kingsmen Mechanics. The only place seeming to be untouched was the large lot, asphalt on full display. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Jagged lines of white where the snow had seeped into the cracks, a reminder of what had occurred in this very spot not too long ago.

Perhaps they should look at finally getting that fixed. Well, a problem for another time. It wasn’t hindering work, and while the whole experience was not exactly “pleasant”, it was in the past. It wasn’t going to bother him.

Not today.

Arthur climbed into the front seat of the vehicle, pulled out of said lot, and began down the road to his destination. Well, first stop towards their destination. Vivi and Mystery would be waiting for him, and what kind of ‘knight’ would he be if he didn’t come to gather a waiting lady? The van might not have made for a noble steed, but considering all it had been through, none of the crew could deny its durability.

The drive was short, at least compared to the one that awaited them after this detour. The bluenette stood outside her home, ‘pet dog’ at her side. Yeah, wasn’t that quite the twist? No animosity was given to him, having been just as much a victim as everyone else. Truth be told, he was probably just as glad to have everything wrapped up as the rest of them were.

Speaking of being wrapped up, a grin crossed over the blond’s face at the red bow tied along with his usual collar. A light laugh escaped him when the dog hopped into the seat, Vivi following shortly behind him.

Seeing the bluenette as bundled up as she was was an amusing sight as well. Even when winter wasn’t being taken into account, her go-to outfit consisted of a sweater, scarf, and socks that covered up most of her legs. If anything, the only part of it that didn’t make sense was the skirt. Safe to say though, she was colder than most. Seeing her wear more in winter, something that was her element (HA) made the laugh rumble more in his chest.

One could say they were both wrapped for the occasion.

Arthur’s giggle session was broken by a playful shove from Vivi, “What’s so funny, huh?”

“Are you the gifts?”

“We just might be. You got a problem with that Kingsmen?” There was no bite to her words, a smile covering her face despite pretending to be offended.

“Oh no. Not at all. He’ll be over the moon.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re quite the catch yourself.”

That caught him a little off guard. His gaze instinctively turned away from her, “Oh, I don’t know about that…” At least that reaction wasn’t too unexpected. Relationships were messy, especially when the events were still fresh in all their minds. The saying goes that “time heals all wounds.” What a flawed saying, yet right in some cases. ‘Heals’ was not the right word, but happiness had blossomed into their lives, just as it had once been.

And there would be none of this nonsense today.

Not today.

“Sure you are. Just let me tie a few bows on you and we’d make a set.”

“Don’t you dare Vivi.”

“Watch me!”

While the two humans bantered, the beast sitting between them felt his eyelids close, leaving a deadpan expression. It was more of an instant reaction, being stuck between two friends having fun teasing one another. His expression didn’t last long, finding a smile curling along his muzzle. This kind of light-hearted interaction had been missed, and a welcome addition back into their lives. He uttered a small yawn, lowering himself to his stomach against the seat. Might as well get a little nap while waiting for them to leave.

This back and forth went on for a few more minutes before Vivi reminded Arthur of their schedule. Neither of them would want to keep the third (or rather fourth if you counted Mystery) of their crew. Arthur shifted in his seat, proper posture returning as he got the van started. One small jerk later and the trio were on the road again. The van sped towards the outskirts of Tempo, and soon enough, left it entirely.

Vivi found herself gazing out the window, watching the town grow smaller and smaller, up until it disappeared from view entirely.

A comfortable silence fell over the van, Arthur keeping his attention on the road, Mystery keeping to his nap relatively well, and Vivi idly playing with a loose end of the ribbon. The highway was the same sight for miles, at least until it wasn’t. The familiar dirt road lined with twisted trees made the van bob up and down. Mystery woke with a slight grumble, but was quickly forgotten in favor of watching out the window with Vivi.

There, on the horizon was a familiar mansion.

One that certainly looked better than it had the first time around, though that wasn’t saying much. The purple glow was still present, even matching the now setting sun in the sky. Black stone shaped the outer walls, though the one set of windows which were once boarded up were on full display. Its windows now matched the others, making the whole home look more uniform. Brightly colored lights lined the roof, their glow not as strong so long as the sun was still present.

It was nice to see his home fixed up and festive. Now if only he could do it to the rest of the wilderness.

The van parked outside the front steps, just as it had many times before. And just like always, two were eager to hop out while one took a moment, sitting with his hands still on the wheel. A nervous feeling always rested under the surface, one that never got any easier. All of them knew some things took longer to recover from than others. This was simply one of them.

Vivi’s offered hand to his now opened door broke the spell, loosening his grip, and taking her offer. One shut door and locked van later, the three stood in front of the entrance doors… doors that slowly opened on their own. Deep breath and they stepped forward.

SLAM!

Darkness surrounded them save for the warm light of sunset shining through the windows. A bright purple flame danced in front of their eyes, inviting them inside. It glided through the air, perching on a candle wick… the others following in line as each came to life. What once left a sense of unease was replaced with a warm and welcoming atmosphere. The gentle hum of the deadbeats rang through the hall, more multicolored lights mixing with the glow of purple flames. The only thing that remained the same was Vivi’s eyes, starlit with wonder at the sight greeting them.

Three deadbeats showed themselves, one happy to take their coats, another began to guide them down the hall, and the final one was content to curl itself around Arthur’s neck. He presumed they preferred doing this with him over Vivi as a means of apology. He wished they would understand it was no longer necessary.

So many smells hit them at once the further down the hall they went.

Arthur and Vivi’s heads turned to one another, matching smiles fixing to their faces. One step into the kitchen and they were practically assaulted by his talents. Skull swiveled in place, eye sockets closing in pure joy at the sight of them, “You’re here!”

“Hey Lew. It all smells so good. You sure you didn’t make too much?”

There was a reason for Vivi’s question. It was just the four of them, and if you wanted to get really technical, the undead among them didn’t have to eat. Even then it was practically a feast! The rest of Lewis’ body turned around, matching the same direction of his head. His hands came up, the tips of his index fingers tapping together, “I guess I just got a little too excited. On the bright side, there’s plenty for another day and I can send some back to your families.”

“Don’t forget your’s too, Lew.”

“Of course not Vivi.”

Arthur had stepped to the side of Lewis while the other two conversed, tilting his head slightly. The sweater where his usual suit would be was not unusual, but what were were the ribbons and bells somehow hanging from his flame hair. Then again Lewis was a ghost so who knew how things really worked with him. Metal arm reached up, lightly batting at a couple of the bells, “Cute look Lewis. Your sisters have something to do with this?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“They absolutely did.”

There was a light laugh coming from the big man, the other two soon following suit. All three worked together to bring his creations to the living room, a large coffee table resting in front of a burning fire. An orange glow encapsulated the room, the darkness of night now blanketing the sky, only dotted by the light of the moon and stars. The crackle of flames broke the silence, one of the deadbeats adding a fresh log into the pile.

Laughter and conversation livened the room more than it already was. There was an energy between them, a fire resparked from long ago. Lewis found himself watching the other two, so animated in their movements and expressions. It was times like these that he was almost alive again. The skeletal form melted away, leaving skin and normal looking hair. The only hint to his ghostly state being the black sclera of his eyes.

He had missed this.

Today was a special day, far more than any others since that incident. It was a time for them to come together and share in the company of one another.

Eventually, the three found themselves in close proximity to one another, Lewis wrapping his large arms around both of them. Arthur and Vivi in turn found themselves resting comfortably along his chest. Their peaceful moment was broken only by the soft jingle of bells when a blanket was draped over the trio. Mystery grinned before resting near Vivi’s side, head laying against his front paws. A soft sigh escaped from Lewis as he adjusted the blanket to fit over them.

Things would never be the same again.

But despite the wounds of the past, they were mended, just as was the beating anchor attached above his heart. It beat in time to their combined heartbeats. Together again…

Just as it was meant to be.

[loserlovesattention]

Blood of Fire Chapter Two Jacaerys Velaryon x Servant Reader

Summary: The day had been long and hard and lonely... So when the princes asked for a princess, how could you refuse?

Warnings: None

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Reader

Chapter Two 

The following weeks were a whirlwind of lessons, duties and exploring. All the excitement made you practically devour all your food when you ate, and rush through the corridors to get to your next activity. This rambunctious behavior earned you more than a few scoldings and extra chores. You couldn't help it- there was so much at Dragonstone to do and see and learn!

“Ladies do not run in the halls, scarf down their food like savages and especially squirm while standing!” Lady Jeyne lectured you. 

“I'm sorry, my legs hurt!” You whined. “How much longer must I do this?” 

“You will do this all night if you continue to shake!” 

She must have seen the tears welling up in your eyes at her outburst. Her voice softened.

“Y/N, when you become an attendant, you are expected to stand for long hours at a time. How do you think it would make the princess feel to have her servants lounging around, while she must be on her feet all day?”

You nodded at that, desperately trying to blink away the tears that gathered in your eyes. 

“Remember; keep your shoulders back.”

Shoulders back, stomach in and chin high, you thought.

“Don’t lock your knees! Standing at attention does not make you a statue, you must relax!” 

You exhaled the breath you were holding, urging your muscles to release. 

“Better, much better.”

Many minutes must have passed; when you glanced out of the window yet again, you found the sun had moved to setting over the horizon. 

“Let us continue this tomorrow, you are dismissed.” Lady Jeyne relented.

You curtsied before you made your leave, anxious with anticipation.

You learned quickly that evenings were the best time of day. By then everyone's day time activities were winding down and a majority of the household had about an hour's worth of downtime. Some of the gentlemen ushers and stablehands would play cards in the servants cookhouse. A couple of washerwomen would attend the sept to pray. A majority of the maids returned to the maiden's chamber to sow and gossip. Even the Maester would emerge from his cell to keep long important discussions with Lady Jeyne. Your mother often enjoyed long walks around the castle with the older ladies, talking about nothing and everything. 

Helyn and you found such activities tedious, forced to make your own sources of entertainment. On bleak rainy days, the two of you would find an unoccupied window seat to play with the few toys you possessed. Other days, the two of you played tag or hide and seek in the deep caverns located beneath the castle. But on clear sunny evenings such as this one, there was nothing more you loved best than climbing up to the rookery to watch the dragons. 

Ever since the royal families' arrival, the dragons they owned had been kept in the pits just below the keep. And on glorious days like today, they were released to roam the island as much as they pleased. To lure the beasts back, the dragon keepers would leave out freshly slaughtered cows or goats-sometimes even live ones.

It was exhilarating to see the sun gleam off their scales as they ascended into the air. Even from a distance, you could feel the gusts of wind from their wings when they flew past. The orange light from their blasts of flame seemed to fill you with an overwhelming, powerful sensation, which you had never felt before. 

When the dragons roughhoused, they would shriek boisterously- the large gold one especially. The smaller ones often fled from the fighting to perch on the lower roofs of the castle, or catnap in one of the courtyards. 

From time to time either the prince or the princess would emerge to saddle their dragons themselves and vanish into the clouds. 

Never together, you noticed. Well, mother had once told you married couples should spend some time apart. Otherwise they may tire of each other's presence. Perhaps dragonriding was something the two used to have some private time? 

As of late, the two oldest princes have been spending more time training their own dragons. The younger commanded the smaller pale one, crested with crimson. While the elder commanded the larger green one, whose wings shined like bronze.  

“Why don’t they ride them?” You wondered once. “If I had my own dragon, I would do nothing but spend all my days flying!” 

“I don’t think they’re big enough to ride.” Helyn answered. “You have to wait until they can support your weight or else you may crush them.”

However, you were in no mood to visit the rookery today. Helyn had come down with a chill and was sentenced to bed rest, at least until the fever abated. Going alone just wouldn’t be the same. 

Where have I not explored yet? You pondered. 

A majority of your lessons took place in the unused chambers inside The Stone Drum-the massive tower on the West side of the fortress. It was fascinating to go there on stormy nights, to listen to the roaring waves and howling winds. Occasionally lightning would light the room bright as day, before the whole tower shook with thunder. 

“You mustn't fear the storm Y/N,” You would remember, “Do you know where storms come from?” Storms are gifts from the Gods; to make us brave and strong. Sometimes you even liked to close your eyes and feel the vibrations all around you. This is what being inside a dragon must feel like…

Of course you had seen some parts of The Sea Dragon Tower, where the rookery was kept. But you were forbidden to enter The Maesters Chambers there, as well as The Royal Apartments where the princess resided. Helyn had taken you to the Tower Cells there once, only to find it empty and unmanned. Of course that hadn’t stopped you from playing jailor and prisoner there. 

“Aegon's Garden is just outside The Windwym Tower,” Helyn had explained. “You can only get there through a long corridor called The Dragon's Tail. I’ll take you there when the weathers good enough.” Why wasn’t the weather good enough today? As far as you could tell today had been the warmest day of the year! 

“Pardon me,” You asked one of the passing footmen. “I am still new to this keep. Could you please tell me where I may find The Dragon's Tail?” You made sure to bat your lashes at the end of your question. All the adults around here were fond of children, and practically bent over backwards when you played innocent.

“Of course, it is down these stairs, across the gallery and to your left.” He said, pointing. 

“Thank you!” You bowed low, before scurrying away.

There were many levels inside Dragonstone, each with their own purpose and stories. Some parts held broad stone arches and columns. Others contained statues of basilisks, demons, griffins, hellhounds, manticores, and wyverns. To the most grand and ancient rooms, you found their doors set inside the mouths of stone dragons. Even the torches throughout the corridors and halls were held in dragon's claws. Very often you found yourself gazing at all the details embedded around you; lost in a world of wonder.

It’s all like a dream from which I hope never to wake!

Even The Dragon's Tail was furnished in the grandest manner; with rich tapestries and detailed oil paintings adorning the walls. In the very center on the left hand side hung the largest painting of all: a family portrait.

In the middle stood a tall, robust man with a square jaw, short pale blonde hair and a matching close cropped beard. He wore a richly colored velvet doublet, a matching cape and a steel circlet studded with large square shaped rubies. On his left side was a slightly older woman, with the same pale blonde hair piled in braids atop her head. Shockingly, she wore mans mail with a grand three headed dragon on the chest. She even clutched a sword like the man beside her, albeit a lighter more feminine sword to fit her smaller frame. Lounging in a chair on the other side was a more girlish, gentle beauty. Again, the same pale hair but she wore it long in curls cascading down her chest. Her silk dress hugged her curvaceous body lewdly, fine stacks of bracelets adorned her wrists, and around her neck she wore a string of the largest diamonds you had ever seen. 

the conquerors, you knew instinctively. King Aegon and his sister queens: Visenya and… Rhaena? Rhaenys? You racked your brain to remember, but couldn’t find a clear answer. 

As a child you loved playing Visenya in your games with the other children. Often getting into trouble for playing too hard, whacking so forcefully with your pitiful tree branch; imagining it to be a sword.  

“Visenya was not like most women,” Mother used to tell you. “She was a great warrior, maybe even greater than her brother. She even wielded a Valyrian steel sword called…”

What had her sword been called? What was the name of the dragon she rode? It all seemed so distant now. It felt shameful- once you knew every detail about your idol, and now that you were face to face with her you couldn't recall a thing. 

You gazed longfully at the painting one last time before you departed.

I wish I was born sooner, when you lived here. Would you have noticed me? Would we have been able to be friends? 

Aegon's Garden looked nothing like how you expected. In all your fantasies, castle gardens were full of fountains, marble statues, large luscious trees and flowers that bloomed in the most vivid colors. 

This garden was sparse and dark. There were no fountains or statues to be found. The trees were tall thin pines that casted long shadows. There was a cobblestone pathway, but instead of being lined with posies, it was  smudged between towering thorny hedges. 

It was no pretty paradise that reminded you of peaceful meadows. No, this reminded you of the scary stories your father would tell, of deep dark woods that hid wolves, bears and wild cats. It was fitting for Dragonstone, you supposed. An equally dark, strange and exotic place.

Cautiously, you followed the path deeper into the garden. This was a castle after all, surrounded by strong high walls; you had no wolves, bears or cats to fear here! The path winded left and right, between a mixture of pines, shrubs and thorn bushes before emerging onto a clearing. In the center of the clearing there appeared to be a small pond beneath a looming black dragon, which appeared to be carved from pure volcanic stone. 

You kept your eyes on it as you moved closer. Was it volcanic rock? It was so black and shiny it must be-

“Ouch!”

You failed to notice the boot sticking out from under one of the bushes and fell sideways into the grass. 

As soon as you did notice it, you reached forward to pull back a branch, revealing the person lying there. Who in the world hides inside a bush beside a busy path?

“Hey!” 

It was a young boy, even younger than you. With a mop of curly hair and wide brown eyes-

“My prince? What are-” 

“There you are! I found you!”

A few feet in front of you stood the eldest prince, expression wide and excited.

“Looks like I win again!” 

Instantly, the younger prince jumped to his feet and out from the bush.

“That wasn’t fair! You didn’t even find me! I want to go again!” 

“Does it even matter? I’ll still win anyways!”

As the boys continued to argue, you did your best to remove yourself from the situation. Backing away slowly, you went to return the way you came. Perhaps you can wait to explore the rest tomorrow with Helyn…

“Wait! Maid!”

 Behind you was the eldest prince, trailed by his pouting brother.

You did your best to bow, remembering your lessons.

“My prince, please forgive me for intruding-”

“You may rise, there is nothing to forgive! In fact, there is something my brother and I mean to ask you.”

“Yes, my prince?”

“We’re starting a game of Come Into My Castle, and we need a princess to rescue…”

You had never heard of such a game, did they want you to find someone who did? Or…?

“What Jace means is, do you want to play with us?”

It was very tempting. The day had been lonely and uneventful without your friend, and you longed to play in a group like you had back home. But were you allowed to play with them even if they asked? Your mother or Lady Jeyne had never discussed it.

“You won’t get into trouble if that’s what you fear.”

You thought on it some more. Your one and only friend was gone for the time being. You were awfully bored. They had, in fact, approached you. They did say you wouldn't get into trouble… 

“Okay! How do you play?”

                                                           ~*~*~

“It’s not fair!” Prince Lucerys whined,“You’re bigger and stronger than me!”

“All is fair in love and war!” Prince Jacaerys whined back, mimicking his brother's high pitched voice. 

It turned out Come Into My Castle was not a very amusing game. All you did was scream when Jacaerys dragged you away by the arm and hid you in one of the trees. Whenever Lucerys tried to save you, only to be chased off by his brother, you occasionally cried out; “Oh save me my prince!”

When the two switched places, Jacaerys as the hero and Lucerys as the villain, nearly the exact same thing would happen: Jacaeys would best his younger brother at every turn, until Lucerys gave in to his exhaustion. This time Jacaerys had come out on top yet again, pinning his younger brother to the ground until the poor boy's face was full of dirt.

You waited until the round was finished before you spoke.

“It appears I win again and the Lady is mine to keep!” Jacaerys roared, offering his hand to help you down at least. As the youngest in your family, it pained you to watch the youngest at the mercy of the oldest. Immediately you thought up a game that may help.

“Perhaps we should play something else?” You proposed.

“Such as?” Lucerys asked excitedly.

“Such as…” You reached down to undo your belt, before loosely fastening it around Jacaerys waist. “Capture!”

The two boys stared at you, clearly confused. Perhaps this was not a game the highlord's played?

“One player, Jacaerys, must wear this belt. He cannot take it off. It is our job to take it from him!” Lucerys seemed to perk up at that.

“So it is like tag!”

“Exactly! And so we are not just chasing Jacaerys until he is too tired to run…”

You looked around briefly before picking out the best landmarks. “The stone dragon and the backgate are safe. Jacaerys can place his hands on those two things and we cannot take the belt from him- as long as he is touching those two things.”

“And what is stopping me from just staying in the safe spots?” Jacaerys asked, skeptically.

“You can only stay there for, let’s do thirty seconds, so you can catch your breath. Once those thirty seconds are up the belt is ours to take!”

Lucerys was practically bouncing up and down with excitement, clearly thrilled to finally have a chance to best his brother.

“I still don’t know…” Jacaerys asked, perhaps sensing a threat to his winning streak.

“Please!” Lucerys begged, “It sounds fun! And besides you’re still faster than me.”

“And it’s not like you’re afraid to be beat by a girl, right my prince?” You chimed in as sweetly as you could, again batting your lashes.

Prince Jacaerys considered it for a moment, before nodding his head reluctantly.

“Alright.”

If only he knew.

Boys are much faster than girls, you knew. But comparatively you had more running experience. But you couldn’t flaunt it, not yet. You had to lure the prince into a false sense of security first, before you won the game fair and square. 

So during the first few minutes, you always stayed two steps behind Jacaerys, with Lucerys trailing on your heels. To and fro it went, back and forth. When the prince's breathing grew more labored and his pace began to lag, you decided to pounce. As he circled around Lucerys, making a beeline for the dragon statue, you reached out snatching the belt clean from around his waist.

“Point!” You cried, triumphant. 

 Jacaerys appeared shocked, then determined.

“Okay, this time you wear the belt and we’ll see how well you do!”

Needless to say you lasted much longer than Jacaerys had, knowing the right time to zig zag, dip and dodge. You only relented when you noticed Lucerys still trying desperately to keep up. So it was to him which you gave the honor; winding around one of the trees and running right in the young boy's direction. 

“I did it! I did it!” Lucerys called.

“Boys?” 

You froze in your tracks. You recognized that clear sweet voice, even though you had heard it only once. 

Sure enough standing above you on the lower balcony, just overlooking the garden, was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne herself- Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Had she been there this whole time?

You dropped to your knees instantly, silently praying to The Gods for mercy. Jacaerys had assured you were free from any trouble, but still. You had not thought to get her permission before agreeing. Was going behind her back treason?

“What are you doing?” She didn’t sound upset. In fact she sounded simply curious, or at least you had thought so.

“Just playing mother!” Jacaerys called up to her, “We should be done in a couple of minutes!” 

She smiled at that, before glancing down at you, regarding you with careful violet eyes.

“And who is your friend?”

It hit you then, you hadn’t even bothered introducing yourself to them before you started playing. Of all the shameful stupid things- 

“Y/N, your grace. The princes asked if I should like to play with them so I-”

She held her hand up to silence you. 

“Very well. Make it quick, supper is almost ready.”

And in a quick flash of black brocade, the princess was gone. 

“Told you it was fine.” Jacaerys said, grabbing the belt from Lucerys and fastening it around his waist again. “At Kings Landing our uncles never wanted to play games with us. Aegon was too busy chasing girls, and his brother was…Well...So we played with the serving children instead. Mother never minded.”

You sighed in relief, placing your hand over your racing heart.

“Oh good. I had thought-”

“Are we going to finish the game or not?” Jacaerys teased. 

“Last I checked we still don’t have a clear winner!”