#I wanted to write a longer reply because I don’t like not acknowledging counter arguments but there was just so much bullshit here and so

[empyrangel]

Right, babygirl, I’m not replying to all of this because I simply cannot be asked to care about your incessant whining, but I’ll take some shots.

First of all, quit acting like the anime doesn’t spoil the quest. Paimon was constantly like “oh would the knave actually do that it’s so horrible!” Every time Clervie would mention something about the darkness in the hearth or we found out some stupid red herring like Arle executing people for trying to leave, she would keep going in and on about that. It was a huge part of the quest and it was obviously something the audience was supposed to be in suspense about except we couldn’t because we already knew that all this was about the old knave and not the current one because of the anime. The quest is partially about the past whether you like it or not.

Secondly, you made a pretty big assumption there, and of course it didn’t pay off. I never denied that some of the characters were murderers. I never said that other characters weren’t also terrible people. Who are you even arguing with about this because it sure ain’t me. I’m fully fucking aware that Raiden has killed/been responsible for many deaths, but just like with Arle, hoyo handwaved all that away in favor of making her more marketable. Raiden was forgiven almost immediately and faced no consequences for her actions. She’s now good friends with the traveler and Paimon and no one ever brings up her war crimes except when the game wants to joke about them. It’s not that I don’t realize there are villains in this game, it’s that all the villains are handled terribly.

Your third point is weird because you’re actually agreeing with me that the ending was predictable but you’re still weirdly hostile about it?? Of course its due to yet another assumption, I expected this from the likes of you. It’s ironic that you think I’m the one who needs critical thinking skills when you’re the one who’s so rabidly set on interpreting every single word I say in the most bad faith possible way that you’re actually claiming to know my own intentions better than me. For your information, I wasn’t trying to “flex how smart I am” or whatever with that point. I was criticizing the ending for being predictable. Again, ironic that you claim I’m the one who lacks media literacy when you need someone else to explain to you that plot twists being predictable from the very beginning of the story is bad actually and is in fact a flaw that should be criticized.

Not you saying the point of Crucabena’s character wasn’t to show that Arle was better but just that she was different, and then saying that because we’ve seen what Crucabena did I “have to admit [Arle’s] better.” How many times can I say ironic before I get tired of it?

You know what? I am getting tired of this so I’m gonna try to wrap it up (which is easy considering half of what you’re saying literally isn’t relevant or you don’t actually expand on it. Seriously, you can’t claim the quest is actually about the siblings fixing the flaws in the system and not give examples of that actually happening. If you make a claim you have to back it up, that’s like debate 101). You say that the narrative is in fact aware of Arle’s flaws and that the ending wasn’t about sucking her off despite all the evidence to the contrary and no evidence to support your point.

I mean it’s just awfully fucking convenient that you completely ignored how Fremi and Lynette said that Arle’s fight had them bedridden for two days and unable to move and yet they’re still singing her praises at the end, about how they need to thank her, how she’s what makes the hearth feel like home, how they’d follow her anywhere. How Lyney literally calls her a hero and says her kindness to him must be repaid right after she forced him to fight her for the lives of the other members. And of course how Clervie, who was dedicated to calling out the cruelty in the hearth expressed that she approves of Arle’s actions and thinks she’s a great knave. “The narrative is aware that Arle is morally grey” my ass. The ending was just a bunch of Arle worship and characters ignoring all the heinous things she did. That’s an objective fact and not up for debate. Look at all that dick sucking, especially from a character who is explicitly stated to supposed to know better and tell me it’s self aware. You’re just biased and are seeing things that aren’t there. You’re just admitting you know nothing about how genshin works. This game doesn’t do subtlety. When the game wants you to know something, Paimon will repeat it 30 times in her annoying ass voice. Sure, a better piece of media would be able to pull of that kind of subtlety with showing how the characters are brainwashed while still being self aware about a morally grey character’s actions, but that’s not what we’re dealing with. I’m not giving genshin credit for something it didn’t do, no matter how much you bitch and whine about my “lack of media literacy.” I don’t care. What kind of motivation would I possibly have to care what some random butthurt stranger on tumblr thinks of me?

Please actually listen to my argument before you write long reblog posts critiquing it. That way maybe you can write counter arguments that actually refute my points instead of just making several dozen wrong assumptions about my personal intentions, and yelling about media comprehension like a broken record while simultaneously displaying your own lack of said skills, and agreeing with my points but taking your anger out on me anyway.

Finally got around to doing the Arlecchino story quest and I gotta say. what the fuck. genuinely this might be the worst story genshin has ever put out

I was so hyped for it between all of the quests in Fontaine being so good up until now, and the trailer making it seem really dramatic and tense and like it was really going to go in depth about the dynamics in the house of the hearth, just for it to be as boring as it was frustrating.

Part of what made it such a bore to sit through is that we already knew exactly what was going to happen in it. They spoiled so much of it with that terrible amine short they put out prior to the quest. There was no mystery or suspense around Clervie’s identity or all the terrible things she was accusing the house and the Knave of because we already knew she was Arle’s childhood friend and she was talking about the old Knave and not the current one. Seriously, why did they release that short before the quest? And everything that wasn’t spoiled beforehand was painfully predictable. When they were talking about Arle executing people for just wanting a better life than being forced to work for a terrorist organization, I knew there was no way they were going to commit to that. That is way to absurd and cruel and they were absolutely going to chicken out from making Arle villainous so it had to be a red herring. I joked to myself that there was going to be some big reveal about how actually Arle hasn’t been killing these people, she’s just been putting them in witness protection and giving them new civilian identities to live under. And you’re fucking telling me that they actually pulled that shit? Like unironically that was the route they chose to go with? That’s laughable.

This applies to the anime short as well as the quest, but Crucabena was such a one-dimensional cardboard cutout of a character. She was evil to an absurd, almost comical degree, and that’s literally all she was. It’s so obvious she only exists to make Arle look like a better Knave by comparison (and to give her a pathetic sob story of a childhood). She’s not even her own character and she only exists as a foil for Arle, that’s ridiculous.

And that leads into my biggest problem with this quest, which is not only how they absolutely refuse to let Arle be portrayed as a villain or even a morally grey character, but how that leads to insane levels of favoritism that simultaneously harms her character, the characters of everyone else in the quest, and the story itself. I mean the narrative really bends to Arle’s favor in a borderline Mary-Sue-like manner.

She’s all-knowing, apparently. She just knows about both of the plots going down behind her back with no explanation as to why and no prior characterization of her as being omniscient. She knows because she’s ✨special✨ and she just does. Neuvillette has been established to have the power to resonate with and read people’s emotions, but oh so conveniently he can’t read Arle’s emotions. No explanation as to why except that she’s just ✨special✨ and ✨emotionally repressed✨ and he just can’t. She’s also omnipotent btw, because we can’t have the audience believing that Arle is anything other the most perfect most special girlie in Teyvat. The traveler has fought and won against gods, and dragons, and dragon gods, and three other harbingers? Well fuck all of that because they can’t beat this mortal human with ✨special✨ fire magic. Did I mention how strong and special she is? What even was that fight though? Again, the trailer hyped it up so much just for it to fall completely flat. The traveler didn’t manipulate the elements, why not? Were they even trying? Arle just showed them some vision and it completely disabled them. But the audience doesn’t have the context as the what the vision was or what it means (because god forbid we ever get any traveler lore) so it just feels like some lazy cop-out to make sure Arle won the fight no matter what, because she’s the most specialist girl and she’s the best at everything. Can’t have her looking weak.

And that’s another thing, Arle doesn’t have any weaknesses or character flaws. Technically she does, for example she is extremely emotionally repressed. But the narrative isn’t aware that’s a flaw and therefore doesn’t treat it like one, instead she’s treated like the pinnacle of existence. She’s all-knowing, undefeatable in combat, immune to all other characters abilities, a master manipulator, she always has the upper hand against everyone else, she’s intelligent, organized, ruthless, unable to be influenced by emotion, she’s everything except a well-rounded character because this game is so insistent on keeping from Arle from actually being shown as a villain that they somehow did a 180 and made everyone think of her as a hero and the greatest thing since sliced bread. And that leads me to the worst problem with this quest.

The massive Arle dick sucking contest that is the end of the story quest. What the hell was that? Instead of killing people for simply wanting a better life, it turns out Arle forcibly removes people’s personalities and sense of self in a process that is explicitly stated to be extremely painful, and then drops them off in the court of Fontaine with no memories and no idea who they are to fend for themselves for the rest of their lives, but apparently since she doesn’t kill people everyone starts worshiping the ground she walks on? Did everyone conveniently forget that Arle forces children to join the house, then manipulates them into not trying to leave by pretending that the penalty for that is death, and then when people inevitably begin to hate her for being a piece of shit, she removes people’s personalities and sense of self in a process that is explicitly stated to be extremely painful, and then drops them off in the court of Fontaine with no memories and no idea who they are to fend for themselves for the rest of their lives. And on top of that, she’s brainwashed the children of the house to believe that not wanting to forcibly work for a terrorist organization for the rest of your life is the same as betraying your family. And she made the siblings believe that they had to fight her and win to get her to spare the other members when she was going to do that already. Let’s not pretend all that’s not extremely fucked up.

But then you have the two npc’s who were wanting to leave apologizing to her because they were pissed she forced them into the house and made leaving illegal? Like wtf are you apologizing for, you guys are completely in the right? And Lynette and Freminet, who had been beaten by Arle so badly they said they couldn’t move for two days were like “Well that wasn’t even 1% of her power, she could’ve killed us if she wanted to but she went easy, we’re very grateful for that.” Grateful for fucking what? That she didn’t kill you? That’s absurd. And Lyney, who is currently being groomed by Arlecchino to soon take her place in the cycle of abuse, thanks Arle for sparing him and letting him be in the house. He calls her a hero. These people think they actually owe Arle lives for bringing them into the hearth wtf. When I said that the Arle favoritism was ruining other’s characters besides her own, this is what I meant. The siblings could have had some development in this quest. They could have finally woken up to Arle’s manipulation and we could have some nuance to their opinions on and loyalty to Arlecchino while still having them stay in the house because it’s the only home and family they know. But no, all of that got trashed in favor of showing the audience how great Arle is for not killing and experimenting on children and how everyone loves her, and is blindly obedient, and never questions her.

But I think the worst of it was Clervie. We get that whole backstory about how Clervie dedicated her life to seeking freedom and opposing Crucabena’s terrible way of leading until she couldn’t take it anymore and decided the only way to be free was to die. And then she witnesses everything that happened at the ruins. Arle threatening to kill people just for wanting to leave a place they never chose to be a part of, the people begging and crying for their lives, Arle demanding that rules must be upheld above people’s lives, the blatant way Arle was using “loyalty” to manipulate the people in the house, her making the siblings fight her with the lives of the other members on the line, her painfully removing people’s memories and personality and kicking them out. Clervie saw all that and still told Arle that she was a good Knave and Clervie approved of what she did. At this point the game might as well just come out and say “See! Everyone loves Arle and thinks she’s the greatest. Even her friend who opposed the old Knave for being cruel thinks she’s doing a great job. That means you have to like her too. Pay no attention to what an actual piece of human shit she is and just admit that she’s the specialist and the bestest character :)” because honestly that would have been more subtle than all this bullshit.

And what really gets me is that in the quest they explicitly made a point about how sad it was that the children except for Arle and Clervie were too brainwashed to realize how cruel the old Knave was, and then they went and pulled that ending. This goes beyond irony.

Only good part of the quest was that conversation between Lyney and Freminet at the beginning and Lynette calling everyone a dumbass. This whole quest should’ve just been them.

I had such high expectations because all of Fontaine so far, from the archon quest, to the world quests, to events, to story quests have been almost perfect. I’m so pissed that we’re leaving this incredible nation on such a sour note.

[thatsdemko]

the fight - n.hischier

masterlist

requested: yes

pairing: nico hischier x reader

warnings: arguing

a/n: I’m back! I haven’t written in while so requests are open and welcomed! you can find the list of what players I write for here

two weeks. that’s how long it’s been since you’ve last seen each other. the distance and time away from each other couldn’t have been more dreadful for you. all you were wishing for was nico to be home, and things could be better. but unfortunately with the devils road games resulting in losses, you knew nico was going to be in no mood to curl up in bed with you when he got home.

you knew being the captain was taking a toll on him, but it was starting to take one on your relationship too. every loss came with an argument, and every win came with the ability to relax.

the clock read 2am when you heard the apartment door slam and the bags drop to the ground. you knew better than to get up and comfort him. it was too early for either one of you to be sane enough to a have conversation, and you couldn’t deal with nico’s grumpiness and his lack of sleep.

“are you even going to acknowledge that I’m home?” was enough to jolt you out of falling into a deep sleep. you sat up to see his figure in the doorway, hands on his hips. you couldn’t make out much, but you could almost see his anger and defeat.

“nico, it’s 2am can we talk in the morning?” you grumbled falling onto your back trying to block out the bright hallway lights by squeezing your eyes shut.

you heard a sigh and a few words you were unable to make out, “you’re always like this when I get home!” you heard from the kitchen. you knew sleeping was no longer in the books for you, and nico was not going to let it happen on his watch. if he couldn’t sleep because of his anger and frustration, you weren’t going to either.

pushing the covers off your body, you rose out of bed throwing on whatever sweatshirt you could find in the dark, and make your way to the kitchen where your boyfriend stood hovering over a bottle of whiskey and a short glass.

“what’s got you so upset, nico? what can’t wait until morning?” you slid in the seat at the kitchen table unable to even look your boyfriend in the eyes. you knew what was coming, and he did too.

the glass in his hand came pounding down on the counter, jumping at the noise he made and the words coming out of his mouth, “wow, y/n, that’s how you’re going to treat me? no ‘I’m sorry, let’s talk about the loss’ instead I have to come home to you sleeping peacefully! it’s like you don’t even know what happened on the road!”

you looked up at him confused. he knew you’d been watching. he knew you texted him after every loss to see if he wanted to talk. you showed what you could from a distance to be there for him, and most of the time you were left on delivered or didn’t hear from him for days. it was not your fault he seemed to want nothing to do with you.

you rose from the chair sick to your stomach at his words not wanting to sit around any longer. you’d let him stew in his own hate while you slept if that’s what it took for him to come to his senses. “I think you have the wrong girlfriend because I texted you every night, every morning of a game, and after every game. it’s you who didn’t reply! it’s you who didn’t want to talk! and now all of a sudden I have to make myself available for you at this ungodly hour?”

you’ve never talked back like this to anyone, and it seemed to have shocked nico. but you didn’t like being accused of not caring when all you ever did was love nico unconditionally, and if nico couldn’t see it maybe you needed someone who did. it was not your fault that the team had lost, and you knew nico needed to communicate his feelings. but you were not pleased with how he was handling it.

you could see the wheels turning faster in his head and you just watched the red around his neck grow as his anger grew. you’ve never fought back with nico like this. your usual arguments after a game were never this blown out of proportion. you watched as he opened his mouth and closed it one too many times. you knew he couldn’t think of a thing to say to explain his feelings or think of an excuse for what he said.

you finally exhaled some of the stress after nico looked defeated, “when you’re ready to have a decent conversation, you know where you can find me. but right now, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

before he could say anything to your face you shuffled along to the bedroom grabbing his pillow and a few blankets for him. you didn’t even hear him follow behind you to the bedroom, but when you turned around you were met face to face with what felt like to be your worst nightmare.

“I’m not finished talking, I’m upset and clearly you don’t care!”

you dropped the blankets and pillow at the sound of his voice beaming through all four walls of the bedroom. you were pretty sure your neighbors could hear him, and you knew you’d have to apologize for the noise in the morning.

“don’t raise your voice at me!” you somehow matched his volume and it scared the both of you. out of all the times you’ve argued, he’s never seen you this mad. he’s never heard you like this, and he knew he fucked up.

his face softened when he noticed there were tears brimming your eyes and you were shaking with how angry you were at him, “y/n, I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to get upset with you. you’re right I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

you watched him pick up the blankets and the pillow you had for him, “I’ll go. I’m sorry.” he walked out the bedroom door closing it behind him. you could hear him putting away the glass he almost shattered and the alcohol. the next thing you could hear was the hum of the television from the living room.

you quietly opened the bedroom door and snuck out to see him snuggled peacefully on the couch, “nico, you can come in the bedroom.” your voice so small you weren’t even sure he heard you. but his eyes opened at the sound of your voice.

he sat up on the couch and you watched the small pink blanket slip down his bare chest, “I just yelled at you? we deserve space.”

you closed your eyes letting out a sigh,“I’ve gone two weeks without you, nico. please just come sleep with me?” your voice shaking just wanting some sort of comfort from him.

once you opened your eyes, you saw he was already standing up, the television was just shutting off, and he was collecting the blankets off the couch, “okay, only because I love you and I’m sorry.”

[btsslowburnfic]

BTS Reacts-Argument with their S/O- Hyung Line

BTS Angst: Argument with their S/O- Hyung line

TW: infertility

Maknae Line found here 

Jin: You sit there crying in the bathroom for the 18th time in 18 months. Every time you get your period is a reminder that you're not pregnant. A year and a half of feeling like your body had failed you and that you had failed your husband and his parents. Of course they don't feel that way, but you do. You rub your eyes and stand up. You don't even have the energy to get up and try to do anything today so you throw on some period panties and crawl back into bed.

The first few months after you and Jin started trying for a baby you shrugged it off as your body adjusting to the new hormone levels after you stopped taking the pill. But then more months went by. And more. At the year mark you made an appointment to see your doctor. She made some recommendations but told you if you two continued to have trouble you would need to see a fertility specialist. So here you were, 6 months later crying in bed and watching Netflix. The silence of your apartment amplified by the lack of baby cries and giggles. You had mentioned the specialist to Jin after you came home from the doctor. He shrugged it off. "We just get to practice more, if it happens, it happens." he kissed your forehead and then the two of you proceeded to make love, the discussion put away for another time.

You hear the door to your apartment open and close. You had forgotten Jin was coming home today from the dorm; days were running together for you lately.

"[Y/N]?" you hear him call out. "are you here?"

You close your laptop and sit it on your nightstand and pretend to be asleep. You hear his footsteps echo through the living room and office and finally, you hear the doorknob turn.

He walks over quietly and sits next to you on the edge of the bed. He gently runs his hand across your back, “Jagiya, wake up. It’s afternoon.”

You acknowledge you're awake but don’t roll over.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” he asks, his voice laced with worry.

You feel fresh tears in your eyes as you roll over to face him. “No. I’m not sick.” you whisper.

You see his face fall as he sees the sadness in your eyes. “Then what’s wrong?” he strokes your face.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” you respond quietly.

“You know you can talk to me about anything.” he runs his long fingers through your hair.

“I got my period again. Jin, I don’t think we’re ever going to be able to have a baby.” you start sobbing.

“Oh Jagiya,” he moves into bed next to you and helps you sit up so you can rest against him. “I know this is a hard day for you each month.”

“Each day is hard for me now Jin,” you sob. “Each day in this quiet apartment without a baby. Each time another one of your friend’’s wives gets pregnant even though we’ve been trying longer. I just want us to have a baby.”

“I know [y/n], me too," he says as he holds you.

You cry for several minutes like that and then reach across Jin for a Kleenex. “Jin, I think it’s time to make an appointment to see the specialist.” you say. You feel him stiffen immediately.

“We don’t need that, ” he replies icily.

“Jin, there is clearly something that needs to happen differently. We’ve been trying the same thing for 18 months. There is literally a doctor that helps people have babies.” you turn and face him, your sadness turning into anger.

“We don’t need help. There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with me.” he sternly replies.

“It’s not about something being wrong Jin, it’s about doing what it takes for us to have a baby.” you can’t believe you are having this conversation. You shouldn’t have to convince your husband to go to the doctor with you.

Jin rarely gets actually angry but you can tell he is. He has turned away from you, his legs hanging off the bed.

“Well maybe if you weren’t so sad all the time you could get pregnant.” his words cut you to the core.

You snap your head to stare at him. “I swear to God Jin if you don’t unsay what you just said to me I am leaving this apartment. I have tried for 18 months to have a baby even when I used to be happy. Pretending like everything is great won’t suddenly make our eggs and sperm better.”

“If you want to see a doctor to fix what’s wrong with you, you can go ahead and make an appointment. I’m not going .” he says.

You feel your entire body fill with rage.“Fuck you Jin.” You get off the bed and go to the closet, grabbing your carry-on suitcase and you start throwing things into your bag. You walk back into the bedroom, taking underwear and socks out of your dresser.

Jin’s eyes grow wide in shock, suddenly shaken out of his angry stupor. “What are you doing?”

You walk over to the bed and look into his eyes, snatching your laptop and charging cables. “What does it look like? If my husband isn’t willing to help the two of us have a child, to make the small sacrifice of going to a doctor’s appointment with me, then what the fuck am I even doing here?” you ask rhetorically.

“No. You aren’t leaving. You stay here. I’ll go stay at the dorms if you’re angry with me.”

“No,” you counter as you start walking out to the living room. “I’m not staying in this shell of an apartment where we planned on having a family. It’s torture.” You grab your purse and put your shoes on.

Jin looks at you, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.”

“Good.” you respond and walk out the door.

Part two found HERE

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Suga/Yoongi: You keep checking your phone. You had basically lit a fuse earlier and now you were just waiting for the bomb to go off. Still no messages from Yoongi. You sigh nervously and pick at your nails. Suddenly you hear the door open to the apartment. Maybe Yoongi hadn't been to his studio yet and the two of you could talk. "Hey Yoongi! I wasn't expecting you today," you get up to go see him and the second he walks around the corner you can tell that he knows. "Did you change the password to MY fucking studio?" You had practiced this conversation in your head several times since this morning when you went to see Yoongi at Big Hit. He hadn't been home in weeks. They were gone for the tour for 6 months, he saw you for an awkward week and then had gone back to the studio full time. The two of you weren't even roommates at this point, let alone boyfriend and girlfriend. He barely returned your calls or texts. You had resorted to texting Jin to ask if he was OK and he confirmed that his friend was eating and relatively well, but he was locked in his recording studio most of the time. So this morning, while he was at a meeting, you went and changed his passcode. Can't work if you can’t get into your studio. You purse your lips and prepare for the argument. “I did.” He stares at you with hatred in his eyes, his small frame shaking with rage. “Well at least you’re not dumb enough to lie about it. You are the only person, and I mean the only person who I have ever trusted enough to tell my code to and you fucking went behind my back and did that. What the fuck is wrong with you?” “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Weeks. After not seeing you for months. You hardly answer my calls or texts. You never come home. What am I supposed to do?” you plead. “I miss you so much. I love you but I don’t feel like you even exist anymore. It’s like I’m in love with a memory or a ghost.” “Yeah well, I can never fucking trust you again so I guess none of that matters now. If I wanted to see you, don’t you think I’d see you?” he throws back at you. “Wow. Really? Really? Are you serious? So you’re not here because you don’t want to see me?” “Do I look like I’m fucking joking?” he responds. You stand there for a minute, taking in Yoongi standing there. His thin legs, pale skin, and oversized clothes. Once upon a time this was the man you dreamt about spending the rest of your life with, and here you were today wondering how things had gotten so bad. You ask the question even though you don’t want to. “Do you still love me?” “Aish, don’t ask me stupid questions.” he replies looking off to the side. “Answer me Yoongi. Do you still love me?” You wait for what feels like an eternity. No response. “Ok. Cool. Great, Well, you know what? Here is your fucking password,” you grab a pen and write it down: your anniversary. “Don’t worry, the next time you come home in 2 or 6 or 10 fucking months I won’t be here.” You grab your backpack, you’ll come back for the rest of your things later, and you shove the paper into Yoongi’s chest without saying another word. You slam the door closed to your apartment leaving Yoongi alone clutching the piece of paper.

Part 2 found HERE

--------------

RM/Namjoon: 3 years. You had been secretly dating Namjoon for almost three years. And today was the day you were over it. Last night you had brought the topic up one more time. “Namjoon, when can our relationship be public? Our third anniversary is coming up. We’ve met each other’s parents and siblings. What more will it take before you’ll feel comfortable?” Namjoon looked down thoughtfully. “I just want to protect you. Between any crazy fans, the paparazzi, and social media I think it’s best if people don’t know about our relationship.” It was the same line every time. For years. Usually at this point you would drop it, but last night you weren’t about to. “Ok so when will we tell the world? 5 years? 10 years? If we had a kid together, would they also be a secret? Would they not be allowed to see you in public or walk down the street with you?” “Of course not, that’s ridiculous.” “How is it different? If we are in a committed relationship then how is it different?” you challenge him. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “It just is.” “It just is? Wow Genius IQ over here has declared it so it must be true. I am sick of feeling like we’re doing something wrong. I feel like I’m a mistress or something when I’m actually your girlfriend who has been living with you for the past 2 years.” “I don’t want to argue with you.” he says as he gets up and tries to leave the room. “I’m not done talking to you about this.” you put your hands on your hips. “Well I am done talking about this. I’m not ready and I think it’s for the best.” “Why do you get to decide?” you ask, increasingly irritated that he won’t even discuss this with you any further. He lets out a heavy sigh, “Look, I love you. I’m committed to you. We have a good life together. Why isn’t that enough?” he says. And it kind of makes sense, but you don’t like being a secret. It makes you feel awful. “Please. I knew who you were when we started dating, I can handle it. Please,” you ask, surprising even yourself at how small and sad your voice sounds. Namjoon just looks at you and goes into the bedroom leaving you alone. ------------ In your sad and angry stupor last night you drank a bottle of wine and then leaked your own photos of you and Namjoon together to a tabloid. Oops. The next afternoon you see an incoming phone call from Namjoon, take a steadying breath, and answer it. “Hey cutie, what’s up?” “Oh I think you know.” he responds angrily. “What? What’s wrong?” you feign ignorance. “I don’t know. Put my name into google and see.” he responds quickly. You do and see several of the pictures you had sent to the tabloid and lots of headlines about his dating life. “BTS RM has found lasting love. Exclusive interview to follow, ‘we’re just so happy!’ girlfriend gushes“ you roll your eyes. You had submitted the photos anonymously, there was no interview promised. “Huh” you say. “Huh? Do you think I’m stupid?” “I mean maybe sometimes but usually you’re--” He cuts you off, “Don’t do that right now. I’m not joking. I am not ok with this. I told you I did not want this to happen and you did it anyways.” You double down on your crazy, “And I told you that I wasn’t ok with us being a secret anymore. So why is what you say final, and what I want tough shit? Huh? You got your way for three years. Let me have my way for the next three. I don’t care if they rip my shitty clothes and thick thighs to shreds.” You hear silence on the line and then slow deep breath. “I am only entertaining this because I love you and because I don’t want them to have to run a break up story, but we are going to talk about this when I get home. I’m still super pissed at you.” “Roger that Mr. Kim,” you respond. “I love you too.”

------------

JHope/Hoseok: You unlock the door to your apartment. You've been working 12 hours a day six days a week while your husband, Hoseok, was on tour. You walk in and see his shoes in the foyer and a smile instantly spreads across your face. "Hoseok!?! Are you here!?" you toss your work bag down and run into the living room where you see him sitting with a sour expression on his face. You walk over and sit next to him on the couch and give him a squeeze. "I wasn't expecting you until next month! Is everything OK? I'm so happy you're home." He turns and looks at you. "Clearly you weren't expecting me since the house is a fucking mess. There's coffee cups in every room and dishes in the sink. It's disgusting." You unwrap your arms from him. It's true. There were dishes in the sink and cups everywhere. You were a messier person than him and tried hard to conform when he was home. You were going to clean on your day off. You worked 8-8 every day; there wasn't a lot of extra time. You swallowed your pride and decided to apologize. "I'm sorry baby, I know I'm messy. I was going to get it all cleaned up before you got home. I know it grosses you out. Why are you home early?" you take his hand in yours. "I came home to surprise you. We have three days in between our performances so I thought I'd come see you. I wish I hadn't now though." Honestly it would have hurt less if he slapped you in the face. You feel tears threatening to fall but you try and stay calm to salvage this time that he's come home. " Well. I'm happy to see you. Why don't you nap and I'll pick up." you say and stand up, beginning to gather the coffee mugs and cups. He sits there with an angry expression on his face. "I can't believe you just sit here and trash the apartment I bought for you. Do you just sit here all day and make more garbage?" Tears sting your eyes and you turn to face him. "What the fuck dude? The apartment is a mess because I've been working 72 hours a week for the past 4 months so my quotas will be complete and I can take off work to spend time with you when you're home. And just because you make more money than me doesn't mean I don't contribute. I have a job. I pay bills. I work. I'm sorry that the apartment isn't up to your standards sir," you angrily take the mugs to the sink and wash the dishes while fuming. He's sitting in the same spot you left him, holding his head in his hands. "Well there you go. I'll be sure to mop and polish tomorrow morning before I go to work. Now if you'll excuse me." you head back over to the door. "Where are you going?" he asks, his head snapping up. "You said that you regretted coming home to see me, so don't." you pick up your work bag and walk out.

[vidalinav]

Queen of Monsters: Chapter 4

I still don’t really have an official summary for this, since every one I write makes me cringe, but alas... Azriel is in the chapter for a brief moment and more of Cassian’s POV!

Bet you didn’t think I was going to meet my Tuesday/Wednesday update deadline! I for sure didn’t think so. 

Chapter List, General Masterlist

~

“Rhys wants a detailed report in two weeks.��� Azriel noted, setting the box of this week’s supplies on the counter. Cassian eyed it with impatience, his stomach rumbling at the prospect of food. He’d hoped Nuala and Cerridwen had missed him enough to put a dessert or two in the contents. Maybe a few extra steaks for dinner this week. Mother knows he’d missed Velaris’s food.

Azriel rolled his eyes as he stepped back from the table, giving a wide girth for Cassian to trample past. It was such a Mor-like thing to do, Cassian wanted to ask if he’d been spending more time with her now that he was gone but thought better of it. No sense in touching on subjects that might make Azriel run back quickly when Cassian wished he’d stay longer.

He was not ashamed to say he’d missed his brother.

“He says that we’ve given the clans enough time making a ruckus, and it’s about time they remember who their high lord is.”

Cassian huffed a laugh at the words. Leave it to Rhys to be dramatic even in messages.

“What does little Rhysie want me to do about it then?”

Azriel shrugged, his wings rising slightly as if they too didn’t know what to make of Rhysand’s command.

“I’d like to imagine that’s up to you, but who knows what he’s planned.” Azriel spoke, his words strait-laced and dismissive. “Rhys says he wants Kallon dealt with before the Rite this year.”

“No shit, but why does it have to be so soon? It’s not like I’ve been sitting on my ass.”

Cassian understood the urgency, of course. The longer this went on, the worse the situation would be and right now it was on attainable levels. Rhys called for civility. Cassian would abide of course and so would Azriel whether he liked it or not, but Cassian knew exactly what Azriel would have done in his place. So Cassian was not surprised at his nonchalant tone.

“With the games coming up, Rhys thinks that this will be the perfect time to stop any more speak of rebellion. He’s giving you twelve days—”

“You just said two weeks!”

“He thinks the momentum will give you an edge.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and was about to tell Azriel exactly what he planned to give Rhys, but Azriel straightened. His shadows twisting around his arms. Not being one to take any of Az’s suspicions lightly, Cassian braced himself for the unknown threat.

Well, until he heard the door slam shut.

Nesta walked past them, those braids of hers tucked into a wool hat. Her nose was red, and her cheeks were blushing.  But her eyes were as callous as the moon.

Cassian stepped towards her without a thought, “I left a cup of tea on the table.”

Cassian watched as Azriel lifted a hand in greeting and Nesta nodded slightly, but to him, she did not acknowledge. The gesture made his temper flare and one of his wings rose to cover Azriel in her line of sight.

Nesta jeered, her head cocking slightly before she dismissed him with a cold turn of a shoulder.  

Azriel tilted his head towards the female who headed for her room, the door shutting with a soft click.  “I take it it’s not going well.”

Cassian grunted out a reply. No, it had not been going well, he wanted to say. It had been far from well. A fucking disaster.

Azriel sensing the mood change, started opening the box. “Elain made sweets for her and packed a few books.”

“And Feyre?”

Azriel shrugged. “I didn’t open the box. Elain just caught me before I left and told me to bring them to her.”

Liar, he wanted to say. Like those shadows of his hadn’t told him exactly what was inside and who exactly had packed each item. But, Cassian decided against arguing about it.

“And how are the sisters doing?” He asked.

Az shrugged. “As well as they can, I suppose. As well as all of us.”

“That’s not very specific.”

Azriel pulled out a box of sweets and Cassian grinned, swearing he’d find gifts to repay Cerridwen and Nuala’s kindness.

“What do you want me to say? I’ve barely been at the house since you've left. Mor’s been in between her estate and the human lands. Rhys is always with Feyre doing something or other..”

Something or other, indeed.

“Glad to know you’re all empty without me.” He said, only half joking.

Azriel gave him a mocking smile.

Together they pulled the rest of the contents out of the box. Steaks, luckily, had been included. Along with breads, spices, notes, and candles. There were things for Nesta, too. Books that Nesta probably wouldn’t read and clothes that she definitely wouldn’t wear. Because she hadn’t the last few weeks her sisters had sent them over.

It seemed that Nesta was set on making all of them pay for bringing her here.

Azriel took a deep breath.

“Advice?” He asked softly.

“For me or for you?” Cassian grumbled. Az only gave him a look.

He knew what that meant.

“Ask her to go with you.” Cassian groaned at the idea, but Azriel silenced him, “or the next time I come, I’m going to make sure this box is filled with everything you hate.”

Cassian slapped a hand over his eyes but conceded. He thought of all the ways Nesta could learn how to castrate him in the next 24 hours. She already knew where he slept.

A terrible fucking disaster, he thought.

~

It always seemed to snow in Illyria. Sleeping mountains under blankets of sterile white. Nesta wanted to grab the pots from the kitchen and bang them as she stomped around. Wake up, wake up, she wanted to yell.

Giants, Nesta imagined shouting. Sleeping, slumbering giants made of stone. Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

But Nesta did not yell the words from the living room hallway and they did not blink their tired, beady eyes. In fact, the snow seemed to come in harder as she watched from the window. A reminder, she thought, that only the dead and the dormant remained in Windhaven’s eternal winter.

Nesta swiped the glass, her hands scrunching at the cold. The puffs of her breath clearing patches of frost. She could just envision her feet sinking to the ground. One step and then another. Her body shuddering at phantom shivers.

“I can take you to town if you want.”

Nesta stood taller at the rough tone.

“I thought you left already,” She heard herself say.

Cassian’s footsteps pressed into the spines of the floorboard and it creaked as he stepped. Nesta could only close her eyes. The vision of legs… and arms… and severed heads and white—white like bone and snow and bloodless faces and the outline of his eyes as he lied beneath her.

Nesta curled her hand on the window, the urge to push through the glass almost too much.

“I was waiting for you.” He replied, a thousand pieces of glass scratching at his throat. She could hear the tapping of his foot and Nesta wondered if that was what he always sounded like in the morning. Rough from heavy sleep.

She didn’t want to look at him and try as she might Nesta wanted to resist, but her eyes moved and her shoulders moved, and just like all of the other times, her body looked without permission. Her hands itching to touch him as he stood plain in Illyrian leathers. Nesta dug her nails into her palm.

She hated him, Nesta reminded herself. She hoped he suffered.

But half of her brain wanted to chastise her for such a thought.

No, you don’t, it argued.

His hair was tied in bun at the base of his neck and a belt sat at his waist. His leathers fit well, Nesta noted, because she could see the outline of his muscles indented in the fabric and… he was tall. He had always been tall but he stood looming and heavy in front of the hall that led to the front door.

Hulking size was right.

She finally met his gaze and Nesta was annoyed to find that bright, unwelcome gleam and that small tilt of his brow. As if he knew exactly what she was looking at and was satisfied that she’d indeed liked what she saw.  

Nesta wanted to grab one of the brown accent pillows and throw it at his head.

“You should have just left,” she fumed, his figure stepping back only slightly as she brushed past him heading toward the dining room.

Nesta took her coat and her gloves from where she had placed them on the table.

The gloves reached her elbows and every time she put them on, she thought of those days where her problems were reduced to something as small and meaningless as becoming a proper young lady. All of that pompous, poshness wrapping around her fingers like silk.

“Nesta…”

She paused at her name from his lips. Such a soft word in that tired sigh.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

Nesta laughed at that, something terribly cruel settling in the pit of her stomach. Something she felt in her chest, that burned her lungs and made her whole-body tense up.  

If only he knew how much she had yearned for their arguments when she was locked in that so-called House of Wind. It had seemed like a tower then, but Nesta had been no princess and Cassian was no prince.

That anger his words caused made her do strange things and she prowled towards him, noting the way he sized her up. His wings growing taller and taller. She raised a brow, as she set a hand on his chest. Her head lowering as she stared at him through her lashes.

He stared at her lips, and Nesta could smell that firewood scent. It brought back memories she did not want to remember.

Nesta could feel the heat of his hands as he settled them at her waist.

“You don’t want to fight?” She teased. “Well, I do.”

Nesta laughed, the sound stark and wicked to her ears.

“You want me to play nice? I won’t.”

“You want me to behave like those sycophantic fools in Velaris. I would never. I am not your lover, I am not your Night Court companions, I am not those idiots that fall at your feet.”

Nesta pulled away, noting the way his eyes hardened where hazel pooled into white. His nostrils flaring as he breathed harshly.

“You are nothing, Cassian.” She hissed. “You have never been worth my time.”

She watched as he swallowed, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

Then he was gone, brushing past her and stalking towards the door with loud steps. A giant in a small house. But he looked back, towards her. Her own breath coming out in silent pants.

“At least, I have a family to go home to.” He spoke, and Nesta clenched her fists. “What do you have?”

Blood rushed to her face, her ears and Nesta stalked towards him, as he pulled the door open and let the freezing air in.

You did this, she wanted to screech, the phrase tasting like blood in her mouth. Nesta wondered when she had begun to hunger for the taste. But she let the words fill her. Her body wanted all of its nourishment.  

This is your fault, Nesta wanted to sing, the sentence tasting sweet on her tongue. You failed us, she heard whispered in her ears. Feyre. Elain. You failed me.

But Nesta didn’t say those words out loud and couldn’t even if she tried. Cassian twisted back, taking a breath as he said, “I’m leaving for Ironcrest in a few days.”

“Don’t come back,” she spit, even if the words sounded foolish to her. This was his house.

“I hope you rot there,” Nesta corrected.

Cassian didn’t look at her, but she could see how his shoulders dipped even if the rest of him staid positively still. But he pulled the knob at last, stepping through the door that lit like a beacon in sterile, placid white.

He looked back only once, and Nesta couldn’t name exactly what she saw in that gaze, but she knew what he saw in hers.

“Don’t forget your scarf.” He said, and Nesta raged at every syllable.

The door shut with a click and just like that Nesta was alone. The whirring wind louder than all of her thoughts. Nesta pulled her coat tighter around her, the fabric suffocating her in fur. But she left the scarf on the chair. She didn’t want to touch it at all.

She watched his figure from the window, felt the boom of his wings as he left and only then did Nesta step outside to feel the chill soak into her skin.

Wake up, Nesta whispered.

~

Ira reminded Nesta of Amren most days. She tried to pinpoint exactly what it was, between the harsh, often critical words to the pragmatic way they both talked.

Ira, though, for all her knowledge, did not invite her to learn more than what she taught, and she seldom answered any of Nesta’s questions like Amren had indulged. Nesta was reduced to cutting up bandages, to clean up duty, to dusting old books handwritten in that language she could not pronounce. It was dull work, tedious work, but Nesta didn’t complain… most days.

Today was no different as Nesta entered the tent to pick up the mop and bucket she’d left there yesterday. But Ira, anticipating her routine, held a hand out in her tracks.

“I need you to go collect these.” She said, handing her a piece of paper with names scribbled in neat cursive. Nesta grazed over the list. “You know what they look like don’t you?”

She nodded her head, the images appearing in her mind between pages and ink. Rose hips and chickweed. Black walnuts, pine, and chicory. She could see the list so clearly; her eyes having studied the pages for weeks.

“Good. Take this before you go,” she took a chain tacked to the wall. One lone bead hanging from the metal. “Our stock is running low and that seems to be the perfect time for Illyrians to start hurting themselves and getting into all sorts of accidents.”

She placed the chain in Nesta’s hand and it laid flat in her palm, the black clay cool against her skin.

A symbol was carved into the center and Nesta yearned to know what it meant. She wanted to ask the female, but she shooed her off.

“Get going. We don’t have all day, do we?”

Ira gave her a look of impatience, shuffling around the expansive tent without so much as a glance, busying herself with collecting herbs and material.

“Where would I go?” Nesta asked lightly, her lips pursing at the lack of knowledge.  

“Where would you expect to find plants?” She asked derisively. “You think the kitchens will have them? Maybe the blacksmiths?” The female sighed, shaking her head as if the idea of Nesta exhausted her. “Go to the forest, past the training fields. Show them the medallion and the guards will let you in.”

“You want me to go into the woods. I thought no one was allowed there.”

“You ask too many questions” Ira snapped.

Without further explanation, Ira grabbed the gloves and the scarf from her own chair, shoving them in her hands. “Off you go.”

Nesta refrained from sneering as she picked up the basket, the forest already taking up space in her mind.  

~

Against the entrance of the forest, stakes of wood crossed in a line of X’s. Nesta couldn’t see where the barrier ended or began, but the trees stayed tucked behind common lines.

Windhaven was surrounded by forests, one bleeding into the next, and she found it odd that the Illyrians had tried to contain them. Fences and guards… She half wondered if all the security was made to keep Illyrians out or… something else in. For what was stopping anyone from sneaking all the way through? She, herself, had walked past those damning woods every day.

She looked towards the skies, the color pale and ashy grey. Nesta wished to reach up, wipe a finger along the surface until baby blue shown beneath, but she traced figures instead. The Illyrians flying high above as their shadows played with the sunlight.

Two males stood tall and lean beside the entrance, and Nesta stared as they shuffled at her perusal. Walking towards them, she took the emblem and squeezed it tightly in her fist.

The taller of the two, looked past her and she studied his features. His eyes were a deep shade of brown and his golden skin was lightly dusted with freckles. He was large too, not quite as large as Cassian, but he was strong and muscular and Nesta might have had her eyes on him if she’d been someone else. Someone she hadn’t been in a long time, though she yearned for somehow.

“No one is permitted past these lines. Get back!” The male called out. The other raised a sword in front of the entrance as if he thought she might run through. Nesta wanted to scoff at the gesture.

She noticed the way they eyed her. Not with the subtly of soft sheets or the images of playthings and allure, but with a dark look. A cautious look. As if they didn’t know exactly what would pounce at them if they squirmed.

Interesting.

She smirked softly as they stilled, stalked slowly as they rose in height for every inch lost in distance. Each of her steps a question as to what she was going to do to them. Oh, to have so much power over those who feared her.

Nesta laid out her palm, the emblem pressing against her skin.

“Your healer is requesting I go get supplies and you are standing in my way.” She said coyly.

The male to the left only glanced at his comrade, the bridge of his nose dipping in a silent language that Nesta could imagine meant you deal with this. She pulled the chain back, the emblem falling from her hand as she let it dangle between her fingers. She tilted her head as the male on the right shirked back, sinking into himself in answer. Nesta wanted to laugh.

“You seem to think I have all day,” She taunted, rolling her eyes, but the males did not part. They kept looking at each other, going back and forth and Nesta’s patience wore thin as she tapped her foot.

“For Mother’s sake, one of you follow me in if it makes you feel better!”

But the male to the right, at last lifted the sword from the entrance, unblocking her way. She scrambled past before he changed his mind.

The two closed off the entrance as she became enclosed around trees, and Nesta distantly heard the pretty one grumble something about her lacking manners. Nesta scoffed. Manners of Brutes, she decided.

Nesta surveyed the area.

It was uncommonly dark in these woods where light escaped between fingertips. The forest tops splitting into veins, the trees pulsing. Nesta looked at the note again, though she already memorized it.

Good thing, too, since she had to squint at the paper to see. Even with fae sight, she could barely make out the words.

She set the list back in the basket and sighed.

Nesta looked towards the clearing of rock and roots, spotting the chickory stalks as she walked closer. Nesta knelt to her knees, her hands brushing off snow. She plucked the roots from the ground, digging until it was easy to pull and setting it in the basket.

She’d found the pine on the evergreens, of course. An easy conquest, and sooner than later she had most of the items checked off.

The only thing left was the rosehips… She hadn’t found the rosehips.

Nesta didn’t know how far she’d gone searching for them. Before she knew it, she was circling the area and everything had looked the same to the last 30 minutes. She could barely see the sun.

Nesta shivered as the air seemed to grow colder in the dark, and she pulled her scarf closer to her. Her teeth chattering louder than anything she’d heard thus far.

It was quiet in these woods. Nesta heard her feet crunching beneath her with every step. But in her last attempt, she spotted the vibrant color tucked into wood. Stark against snow, it gleamed red and Nesta reached for it. Twisting her arm between branches where the rosehips had barely brushed her fingers. She tried again and still could not pull off more than a few.

She crouched low, aiming to some at the roots of the evergreen. The front of her dress was already soaked with snow.

Her palm brushed against the branches and it was only then that Nesta realized she was alone in the forest. She was alone in the forest and it had been quiet, and it had been dark. But it had not been this dark, and it had not been this quiet.

Nesta could feel the hair on her arms rise, shivers dancing along her spine like fingertips trailing up her neck. She scrambled to move, but she felt her body lock up and Nesta inhaled slowly as she heard a branch snap.

Nesta closed her eyes, squeezing her lids together as if the sound might disappear again, but she heard another snap a little farther away and she blinked awake. Her hands pushed off the ground without a second thought and suddenly her body was moving.

The sky grew darker still, the trees creaking as they twisted.

Nesta ran into that darkness, ran until she saw the gleam of swords and the wings of two men who would not be happy to see her.

~

“Did you grab everything?” Ira questioned as a way of greeting. She held a mortar in her hand, crushing contents that made a thick purple paste. Nesta sniffed at the smell.

She set the basket of herbs on the table as she rattled off the list. “I could only find a few rosehips, so I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Ira didn’t so much as look up from pounding away at the concoction.

“I can come back in the evenings after my shift in the kitchens is over,” Nesta continued, pulling out the plants and plucking away at the dirt.

Ira lifted her head. “You never work late.”

“I can,” she admitted, biting her lips. “For the next couple of weeks anyways.”

Ira lifted the pestle until the purple mucilage fell like paint from a brush. Pursing her lips, she eyed her squarely, and Nesta straightened at the look.

“I don’t need you in the evenings.” She drawled.

“Oh,” Nesta remarked, her fingers tracing the needles of a pine branch. “Well, if you need me though, I am free.”

“So, you’ve mentioned.”

Nesta twisted the branch in her hand, the sap sticking to skin. The scent was strong and she wiggled her nose at the smell. “I could start taking inventory… or making list of people we’ve seen.”

Ira slammed the mortar on the table and it rattled so loud, Nesta jumped.

“Illyrians.” Ira corrected firmly.

“What?”

“Not people. Illyrians.” The female clarified, rolling her eyes, groaning as she continued. “I’ve heard you use that word so often. We are not human. And what is this free business? You’ve been firm about that schedule of yours since you’ve gotten here. A fact I find odd since you were the one who begged for a job.”

“I did not beg!” Nesta insisted, dropping the rosehips, the red scattering on the tabletop.

Ira waited for her to explain, and Nesta felt unnerved to be watched by the female who began tapping her fingers nails on the counter. One sharp flick after another.

Nesta tried hard not to twiddle her thumbs… or bite her lips like she wanted to when she got nervous. She’d knocked that habit when she was young. It was strange, she thought, for it to come out now.  

“Cassian—you know I live with him.” Nesta began to explain.

The females mouth soured. “The general—yes.”

Nesta nodded her head in agreement, “He’s going away for a while and… I don’t have anywhere to be and I have all of this time. I can work a bit longer.”

“Where is he going?” She asked abruptly.

The question caught Nesta by surprise, but she repeated the name he’d told her that morning.

“He’s going to Ironcrest.” The Illyrian echoed, reaching out a hand to grab a bottle. Nesta watched as she began to spoon the purple contents into the vial. “Marvelous. When you go, you can pick up something for me.”

Nesta’s body tensed. “But I--”

“It’ll save me a trip in the spring.” She admitted. “I’ll get you a list before you go. It shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

At Nesta’s look, Ira quipped a brow. “You asked for extra work, didn’t you?”

~

The walk back was prettier than she’d expected it’d be. The stars seemingly brighter when they were not hindered by city lights and people’s dreams. Nesta had always wondered what made up the night skies.

She distantly remembered discussing the idea under blankets and sweet giggles. Elain jumping on the bed to declare that stars were hopes manifested, all the accumulation of people’s wants and wishes. Feyre with a laugh shook her head. No, stars were the friends of the moon, she said in that innocent way of hers. So many to shine, so that the moon would never be lonely.

Nesta had not said anything. She was far too logical for that. She needed to research more—find every word hidden in anthologies, alphabetized by S for star or perhaps A for astral planes, or C for constellations… celestial… cosmic… She couldn’t find an answer that satisfied her without proof so she laid back, her head hitting the pillow as her father smiled waxing crescents.

The stars are made of fire, he’d said, tucking the girls in one by one. Feyre at her right and Elain at her left because they still never wanted to sleep alone. It is why they shine so bright and it is why they will keep on shining—like the flickering flame of a candle. To light our way in the dark.

Nesta had held onto those words.

Her father had wanted them to fall asleep to pretty answers, but the questions had danced in her mind, rattling like jumping beans in all corners. How would the stars burn? She wanted to ask. If they were indeed made of fire like her father had said, what caused the fire for they were not made of wood? And if they did burn what would happen when the fire ran out as every fire had before?

But her father, seeing her look, had merely kissed her forehead. A good night to stop those sleepless, ceaseless thoughts of hers and all that would beat across her mind until she was satisfied with an answer.

Nesta couldn’t imagine the stars being made of fire now when they glittered like moving silver in kaleidoscope colors. She didn’t understand how Velaris could be named the City of Starlight, when the residents didn't see this view. Nesta was sure they’d agree had they stood on these mountaintops and snowy plains.

She’d gotten use to the trek, as long as it was. Learned to be excited for it. A moment where she could be by herself, thinking nothing at all.

But Nesta was not alone tonight, where the stars blinked their beady eyes above her. They watched her… and something else did too.

Nesta looked to the unmarked path, the halfway point between Windhaven and the cabin. Too long to run in either directions, she thought.

Standing in the middle of the snow, a cat sat lazily in her way, blinking at her with bright blue eyes. Its fur was orange. Long, and thick. With puffs of white at the chest, and Nesta didn’t know what to make of the creature, whose tail swished back and forth. A curling finger, she imagined, coaxing her forward.

Nesta looked beyond it and then looked behind herself. Too far indeed.

She tried to shoosh it away, flapping her hands forward and hissing at it. But the cat blinked softly, tilting its head at her as if she were the one that didn’t belong, not itself who appeared out of thin air.

Nesta decided then to walk around it. It was just a cat, she thought.

Just a cat, just a cat, just a cat. She repeated.

Only when she’d past it, it’s body twisting to look at her, only when she was sure she was far away, did Nesta turn to survey it again. She jumped as the cat stood beside her.

Nesta stepped once more, and she watched as it did the same. She stopped and it stopped. She walked and it walked. Nesta made motion run, but the cat picked up speed, running alongside her.

Nesta gave up trying to shoosh it away, but that didn’t stop her from watching every swoosh of its tail and counting every time it tried to rub against her. The cat simply trotted in step.

When she reached the cabin, Nesta noticing the lights, rolled her eyes, slumping forward as she kicked up the snow. The cat meowed as the snow hit its face, but Nesta paid no mind.

Cassian was standing in the door frame, his stance wide and open, and she remembered that time across the wall. Her knee hitting the most sensitive parts of him. Nesta doubted she could get away with it now, but he was asking for it she thought, with that stance alone.

Hulking, indeed.

Nesta looked back to the cat, wondering exactly what it thought about this male who stood in their way, but when her gaze finally landed on the snow beside her, the cat was gone. She twisted around, combing the field and the forest surrounding, and nothing. Just as the cat appeared, it had vanished. Into thin air.

Cassian squinted his eyes at her, wanting to see what she saw. Nesta had to restrain herself from grumbling, thinking of orange fur and blue eyes.

Coward, she thought.

~

Nesta looked back to the pathway and Cassian squinted his eyes to see what had caught her attention. He watched her as she shook her head and looked back at him. Her once serene face swiftly changing to that You are dead look.

“What were you—”

“Is there a reason you're standing in the doorway like a psycho?” She hissed. Cassian stepped away from the door, Nesta brushing past him. He had to try to maintain some figment of composure as he caught a whiff of her scent. Fresh air and lavender.

She caught Azriel’s gaze and Cassian could feel the uneasiness rise. Her eyes squinting at the sight of the two of them conversing in the kitchen, entering her space, pushing the limits she had set in their time here. Azriel hadn’t left like she probably hoped, a reminder that she could not run from any life she’d left behind.

Cassian drifted in front of her, meeting that murderous look.  

“I’m leaving for Ironcrest in a few days,” He repeated as he had that morning. Nesta tilted a fine-groomed brow. “And since you don’t want to come with me, Azriel is going to stay with you until I get back.”

“Who said I didn’t want to go?” She voiced flatly. Cassian met her stare, the blue of her eyes a sterile, pale color.

He looked back at Azriel slowly, unsure and a bit confused. His brother merely lifting a shoulder.  

“You said this morning that—”

“And now I’m saying I’m going with you.” Nesta said quickly, her words ringing and loud. “Is that not clear? Or are you going to say I can’t?”

Cassian gulped his impatience down, his eyes closing for a moment and the opening again. Who was this female? He wanted to ask aloud as Nesta crossed her arms.

Her cheeks were still red from the cold, her neck still flushed from the heat of the house and perhaps all of that anger that seemed to simmer in her veins, coat her skin, keep her alive, he thought, because he’d not seen her live without it.

In another time, it might have been fun to see all the parts of her that bloomed that pretty red, but now... it was starting to eat away at him in ways he couldn’t satisfy.

“We leave the day after tomorrow,” He managed to grit out, his teeth rattling with restraint.

Pleased with the answer, Nesta took one last look at him, gave one last look to Azriel behind. As if she dismissed them from her presence. As if this was her castle to do so.

She stepped lightly away and when Cassian heard the click of her door slamming shut, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Cassian sighed, his wings falling in exasperation.

Azriel simply laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

~

Tagged:  @my-fan-side  @ekaterinakostrova  @anastasia-orlov @lord-douglas-the-third @autumnsletters @soitsgorgeous @sjm-things @courtofjurdan @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives

Cassian and Nesta’s relationship is very slow in this fic as with any fic that I have ever written. I just don’t think they can really get together without a whole bunch of scenes in between, maybe whole books even. Authenticity is the game I play always. Also, I wanted their narratives to sound different, so that’s why Nesta’s is sometimes a lot more introspective and descriptive than Cassian’s may be, which may change a little bit as the story progresses. 

I’ll edit this later too, my priority was just posting it...

Comment, like, reblog, ask to be tagged etc if you enjoy this fic and you are anxious to get another chapter! We’ll be in Ironcrest in the next one and maybe we’ll see some Illyrian celebrations... and perhaps Cassian and Nesta start the process of becoming not enemies!

[thisbrokenmask]

Moving On

Title: Moving On

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Established relationship, fluff

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1.7k

Song inspiration: Moving On

A/N: Another one of my submissions for ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo Event, and this one is especially poignant for me as I got the keys to my new apartment today! It’s also my first time living entirely on my own - no fellow students, no partner - so I’m very excited to be taking on this next adventure! 

Also, in case you didn’t notice, I’m a bit soft for Yoongi :) 

“Is this the last one?” You turn to see Taehyung pointing to the box at his feet and nod in confirmation, watching as he immediately bends down to lift it. He doesn’t mention your lack of sarcastic comment that the last box sat in the middle of the room is clearly the last one, and you try not to frown at how effortlessly he lifts it and turns to take it out of your apartment. You remember how you’d had to slide it across the floor once you’d filled it not even a week ago, but you aren’t about to question your significantly stronger friends when they’re helping you and your boyfriend move. 

Once Taehyung’s footsteps disappear down the hallway towards the elevator of your soon-to-be ex-apartment building, you turn to look around the now-empty room that was formerly your lounge. The TV is no longer on the wall, the wide expanse of blue somehow looking smaller without a flatscreen in the middle of it, and all of your photo frames are securely packed away, their hooks removed from the walls and the holes filled in and painted over. 

Your footsteps echo on the bare wooden floors as you turn to wander towards the kitchen, the rugs you’d used to cushion the floor already rolled up and waiting inside the truck outside. The ghosts of tummy-aching laughter and birthday songs ring in your ears as you try to remember all of the celebrations and movie nights that have happened here over the years. You subconsciously step to the side to avoid the end table that’s no longer there, a short chuckle passing your lips as you realise how deeply this action has seeped into your muscle memory. It’s understandable, given how you’ve lived here for just over three years, but you still can’t help but laugh at yourself. 

The white kitchen cupboards gleam in the sunlight that seeps in through the window above the sink, all of them meticulously wiped clean and emptied. A soft smile graces your face as you remember all the dinners you both cooked here, the glasses of wine you giggled over, even the few times you made love on the floor when the bedroom was just too far away from the front door after a date night. 

“Ready to go?” A pair of arms wraps around your waist and a chin settles on your shoulder as Yoongi whispers in your ear, his deep voice the most sinful ASMR you’ve ever heard. The warmth of his chest against your back helps to soothe the nerves that have been creeping up your spine for the last few days. While you’re glad to be out of the small, cramped apartment that you could barely afford by scraping your earnings together three years ago, you’ve never been good with saying goodbyes, even to places. 

You remember the first night you spent here, the two of you sat on the floor with a few take out containers between you. Boxes sat on the counters above you and took up the floor in the next room, and a mattress was waiting on the floor in the bedroom for when you eventually collapsed into bed together, frameless until later on in the week. Your belongings were threadbare at best, a lot of secondhand pieces making up the most of your possessions, but it was finally your own space. The two of you, together.  

“I think so,” your whispered reply is shaky as you place your hands over his where they rest on your stomach, his hum of amusement rumbling against your shoulders. 

“Don’t tell me now you want to stay?” he teases, turning his hands over to lace his fingers with yours. 

“Definitely not,” you laugh, squeezing his hands in return. “I’m glad to be leaving, really. We’ve outgrown this place and I’m ready to move on.” You nod to yourself, feeling your confidence rise with each word, knowing that you mean them all wholeheartedly. You’ve definitely outgrown this apartment, both of you now making much more money than you’d ever dreamed of three years ago thanks to Yoongi’s growing success in freelance music producing and your own writing career taking off just over a year ago. 

But it’s not just the money. The two of you have gone from strength to strength as a couple, weathering the storms of being broke, missing out on dream jobs, stress-fuelled arguments and late nights spent deciding whether to pay the bills on time or eat more than packet ramen for the foreseeable future. You’re ready to keep moving forward through life with him, already knowing that you’ll stay by his side for as long as he’ll have you. 

The man who lives full time in your heart starts to sway slightly, his hold on you guiding your hips to follow his from side to side. “Yeah?” His nose nuzzles into the spot just below your ear, your breath catching in your throat as he places a gentle kiss to your pulse point. You nod weakly, your confidence slipping at his question. “Then why do you look like you’re going to cry?” 

With a deep breath, you close your eyes and pull your hands from his. You feel him tense slightly, but he relaxes as soon as you guide his hands to the slope of your body between the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips. You finally turn in his arms, looping your arms around his neck, unable to blink back the tears in your eyes despite the smile on your lips. His eyes are watching you carefully, dark and deep and attentive as always, even when the black hair of his fringe threatens to overlap them. It hides his eyebrows, but you know one is cocked slightly to match the lopsided smirk he’s giving you. 

“Because, this is where we grew up, Yoongi,” you tell him, watching as his expression relaxes from a teasing smirk to match your soft-eyed smile. “We went through so much here; the good, the bad, the ugly… the fun.” You pull gently on the hair at the nape of his neck at the memories of the kitchen floor you’d just been reminiscing on and grin, a deep sigh sounding when he closes his eyes and bites his lip before staring straight back at you, pupils dilated. “We’ve got so many memories here,” you continue, looking around at the empty walls and pretending to ignore the way he grips you tighter. “I know it’s not the best apartment, but it was us. This was our home, and I’m going to miss it.” 

Yoongi’s stare softens once more and he internally curses how he knows he’ll never win against you; you hold his heart in your hands and he worships how gently you hold it, never squeezing too hard or letting him feel like you might drop it. 

“I won’t miss it,” he says quietly, catching you off guard as he leans in a little closer.

“No?” He shakes his head. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my home,” he states, as if it were a fact universally acknowledged. “As long as I’m with you, I’m more than happy.” 

“You’re my home, too,” your watery smile threatens to push your tears down your cheeks, but you manage to catch yourself before they do. You smile instead, adoration clear in your eyes as you look up at him. 

Yoongi’s heart beats wildly at the conflicting emotions coursing through his body, wanting to make sweet, reverential love to you, fuck you against the wall until you know nothing but his name, and simply hold you tightly against his chest, all in equal measure. You bewitch, ensnare and captivate his senses all at once, always have done, and he constantly struggles with how he can possibly express how much he loves you. He wants to worship every inch of you and yet feels too inadequate to even gaze upon your body. He wants to wait on you hand and foot and give you anything you want, but also wants to see you thrive in your own spotlight, carving your own path as you go. He’s torn between fierce attraction and heady admiration at every turn, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

As his friends have repeatedly said, he’s whipped. 

And guess what? He’s proud of it. 

You’re the woman who has stood by him despite everything, despite all the hardships you easily could have upped and walked away from. You’re the one who comforted him when his own parents refused to recognise his dreams, letting him vent and cry rather than telling him they weren’t worth the pain they caused him. You’re the person who admonished him for wanting to give up on his dreams of music, even when it was barely bringing enough money to the table despite keeping him up all night. You were the first person he wanted to tell when he finally sold a track for a decent amount of money, running home to show you the cheque in person because he could barely believe it himself. 

And here you still are, in his arms, gazing up at him like he’s worth more to you than the whole world, a position he still doesn’t feel like he’s even close to earning. You entered this flat together and you’re leaving together, off to take on new adventures together on stronger legs. Your new apartment is bigger, with enough room for Yoongi to have some proper equipment in a proper studio space while you have your very own writing desk in your new office. You’ve been able to upgrade your bed from a rickety-framed double to a memory foam-topped queen. There’s even more space on the kitchen floor. 

You smile as he lets his forehead rest against yours, both of you closing your eyes as you breathe into the same private space between you. As you feel his hands move around to rest at the base of your back, you feel a new surge of confidence fuelled purely by the love you feel radiating off of your partner. As long as you’re with him, you feel invincible.

“Let’s go,” you say, not moving an inch. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, pulling you closer so that your chests are pressed firmly together. 

A final deep breath, you pull apart. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

If you would like to read any more of my writings, please feel free to check out my masterlist here. 

[akar0ku]

50 with Nogueira

“Fading Light”

Nogueira let out a tired, yet relieved sigh as he tucked away the last of his personal belongings and latched the wicker travel chest shut. He dragged it over to the two identical looking chests by the doorway of his home, all ready to be loaded onto a goat drawn cart in the morning.

“Thank you for your help and company today Gil.” He glanced over to Gil, standing a respectful distance behind him and smiled gratefully.

“Of course my Lord.” He replied with a small nod. “Will you be needing company on your trip tomorrow as well?”

Nogueira thought for a moment. Traveling to the Nowem region by cart would definitely take longer than if he were to take it by wing. Still, he should be there before nightfall and he foresaw little in the way of potential complications.

“No thank you. It would be far too inconvenient for you and I feel you should stay here with Zane. He’ll be on his own as the leader starting tomorrow, and I think he’ll need your help far more than me.”

Gil simply nodded again, though the expression on his face gave away something more that he wanted to say.

“What are you thinking right now? Do you also wish to tell me that I’m making a mistake in leaving?” He tried to speak his words with some degree of casualness, but there was still an edge to his tone. Many of the other light elves had expressed such opinions about his leaving but Gil had so far projected an air of indifference to the situation. Though he felt it was more a matter of the poet biting his tongue than actually having a particularly progressive opinion on the matter.

Surprise flashed across Gil’s face before shifting to a look of uncertainty.

“The decision’s yours to make. Perhaps your guidance will steer them away from any...less civilized behavior they may be inclined to by nature.” Before Nogueira could finish his frustrated sigh and launch into his counter argument, Gil continued. “No, my concern is in fact with Lord Zane. Will you see him again before you leave?”

A complex mix of emotions swept through Nogueira. They had fallen into a massive argument not even a week ago, mostly due to Zane’s own resentment and prejudice towards the dark elves. Zane hadn’t spoken to him since and Nogueira had given up trying to seek him out rather quickly.

“It depends on if he decides to grow up and change his petty opinions.”

“You know that won’t happen so soon.”

“I don’t have the time or energy right now to deal with his tantrums. I still love my brother dearly, but I will not change my decisions simply because he demands it.” Nogueira turned away from Gil and flipped open one of the chests. He tried to make as if he were checking over all of his belongings, hoping that Gil would drop the matter and leave. Gil did not take the hint, or most likely he didn’t pay it any mind.

“If I may, can I put a slightly different perspective on things?” Nogueira remained silent, curious to hear what Gil had to say. “As your younger brother, Lord Zane has never experienced a life without you by his side. You are very much the sun with which his world revolves around and; his opinions aside, I feel what really upsets him is the thought of losing that light which has guided and nurtured him for so long.”

The dried woven reeds groaned in protest as Nogueira unintentionally tightened his grip around the edge of the container. The thought had never crossed his mind and he mentally kicked himself for it. Zane had always struggled to be forthright about what was upsetting him, unless what was upsetting him had to do with the humans of course.

“Please don’t be too hard on yourself over it.” Gil continued, as if reading his mind. “There’s a lot of stress on your shoulders as well and emotions are tricky things. You do not have to change your decision to appease him, but please don’t leave him with the thought that that light will be forever gone.”

---

Thankfully it hadn’t taken too long to find Zane, despite the sun having almost fully set by this time. Nogueira found the younger light elf strolling along one of the foot worn paths just outside of the City of Flowers. He landed a few feet behind Zane, making just enough sound to alert him to his presence but not enough to startle him.

Zane turned from observing the freshly opened evening blooms and immediately his face tightened into a look of hurt and anger. He turned away from Nogueira but remained standing in place.

“Zane, please. I’m sorry I had been so hard on you when we fought the other day. I had already been stressed out with everything else that was going on and failed to think that maybe there had also been other reasons as to why you were angry.”

“I’m angry because you’re leaving us to go live with those filthy half breeds!” Nogueira allowed his brother the moment to vent. “They’ve been perfectly fine in their own corner of the world up until now. Why do you feel the need to go interfere with them all of a sudden?”

“They’re a young culture Zane, they’ve barely been able to survive and they have no alliances with any other race. If anyone were to decide to attack them, they would be wiped out.”

“Okay fine, so you go and help them build up a better society and then what? They ally with the humans and become greedy and arrogant just like their ethnic cousins? Draining life from everything they set their little fingers on?”

“You’re forgetting they’re also ethically related to us. This is why I’m going there. If everyone else turns their backs to them then they’ll be vulnerable to being manipulated by anyone who’s willing to acknowledge them. I’d rather go there myself to help them navigate making positive social connections with the other races.”

“Fine! Then go! Leave me and go to them!” Zane turned just long enough to swat an arm in his direction, as if he were an annoying mosquito. Though it was too dark for Nogueira to see any details in Zane’s face, there was an unmistakable shakiness to his voice.

“I get that this is difficult for you. I practically raised you. Taught you everything from how to fly, to how to lead an entire group of people. At this point there’s nothing left for me to guide you in and I’m going to put my time for now into guiding our other kin. That said, that doesn’t mean I’m gone forever. We can still write and I’ll try to make time to visit with you as often as I am able.”

The brothers were silent for a long while. Nogueira was almost ready to give up and accept that Zane wouldn’t ever speak to him until…

“I forgive you.” Zane’s choked, his body now trembling from his quiet sobs. “And I’m sorry I lashed out at you as I did...I realize I ruined what little time we had left together.”

Nogueria closed the distance between them, placing a hand on Zane’s shoulder and gently turning him around. The wet sheen of tears on his younger brother's cheeks caught his eye and without hesitating he moved to wipe them away. 

“I also forgive you.” He drew Zane in closer and allowed Zane to cling to his body as he quietly cried into his shoulder.

“I won’t be not gone forever. We will have plenty more chances to see each other again.” Nogueria reassured, gently stroking Zane’s back and blinking away the hot pinpricks of tears in his own eyes. He let out a shaky sigh and pulled Zane closer, not wanting to let go of him for the rest of the time they had left.

Thanks Henry!

[thedeviljudges]

based on @codyrhodesofficial prompt so uh, this literally didn’t turn out how i think u wanted it but fjalskdfa i tried!!!

Steve curses under his breath, twisting the pencil around in his hand. The eraser flies across the page, sprinkles of excess rubber shavings leaving his desk a mess. It shouldn’t be this difficult to write, shouldn’t take him goddamn hours to make sense of a language he grew up speaking. But it is; the words don’t come to him so easily, knowing this is something akin to permanent. Sure, he can erase until he rips right through the paper, but it won’t change the fact that as soon as the lead touches the slip, his brain goes blank, and he feels a little too stupid to even bother trying.

“What’s that?”

Quickly, Steve covers his paper with his hand, a loud smack against the wood. He hadn’t known Billy was awake, hadn’t heard a noise from the bed until it was too late.

Steve bites his lip, wondering if it’d be too obvious to smush it into a ball and throwing it away. The paper is dull now, gray and white and unfamiliar from his original scribbles. He’s made a mess of the page, not good enough now for a submission, as if it was ever good enough to begin with.

“Something I’m working on,” he says and hopes that Billy will leave it at that. There are a lot of things Steve is self-conscious about, and there are a lot of things he isn’t. The former is what he feels this time, his lack of mental dexterity a sore spot he doesn’t want provoked. Steve knows he’s not been smart about a lot of things, struggled with some classes more than others, and he thinks that maybe it’s really his fault for not trying hard enough despite the numbers and letters mixing no matter how hard he’s willed it to stop.

“Something important?” Billy asks from the bed. Steve glances at him, mere inches away from the chair he sits in. There’s a mess of curls sticking out from under the covers, two eyes blinking back at him with laziness while his nose remains covered most likely due to the chilliness in the air.

“No, it’s-” He shrugs, not having the heart to lie but also too distraught to bring attention to his misgivings. The joke’s on him though because Billy reads him like a goddamn book – the irony – and it makes him even more uncomfortable under such scrutiny. “It’s really nothing. I thought I had some time to rewrite this.”

“For what?”

Steve’s lips thin, tongue flicking out to wet them. He’s reluctant, at a crossroads because what he has is a mess of a college application paper staring back at him, taunting him for all the things he isn’t and might never be. Steve’s always been good at being decently cool, knows his sports, and maybe it’s easier for him to figure out equations involving numbers.

But this is writing, and it’s the only thing that matters out in that big old world, particularly if he ever has any desire to get the fuck out of town. Sure, money might buy him a spot or two, but it taints his stomach with unease thinking how little he’d deserve that kind of reward if he hadn’t worked for it.

“College application,” he replies simply, can’t take his eyes off the desk and the torturous stationary that mocks every fiber of his being. “It’s a lost cause.”

Setting the pencil down, Steve picks up his words without any delicacy involved. With every intention to crumble it up, he pauses when Billy shuffles out from under the covers with a single grabby hand that makes Steve arch a brow. “You’re not looking at this.”

Billy’s eyes narrow reaching forward just a little more until he’s got Steve’s paper in between two fingers. “You’re sure?”

Steve sighs and lets go, lets a shirtless Billy fall back onto his bed like he owns the damn thing while he slouches in his chair. The two of them have been through enough not to be embarrassed of judgment from one another, but his toes curl against the cold floor, and maybe his heart picks up a little speed as Billy settles down to read the absolute trash that’s become the bane of Steve’s existence for the past several weeks.

“Listen,” he starts, fingers curling into the palm of his hands, nails digging into the flesh. “It’s not worth the read, really. I can’t- I’ve never-”

Billy only hums, and Steve rolls his eyes at the fact that he can’t speak now. So, he leaves it at that, let’s fate take its course while he suffers in silence, holding his breath on an exhale.

It takes all of five minutes before the staleness in the room dissipates, Billy pursing his lips in thought while Steve’s stomach twists into fucking knots. “Nancy said-”

Billy glances at him, eyebrows rising of their own accord. “Oh yeah?” he questions, the annoyance clear as day; he’s never been fond of the girl, especially not after Steve’d randomly let on how he’d has his heart broken after a few too many beers.

He’d also questioned Billy and asked him not to break his heart, too, but that’s neither here or there, and Steve doesn’t have the time nor patience to deal with the flush of his cheeks when he thinks about it. Curse his body’s lack of patience with alcohol, and curse his inability not to be a Chatty Cathy in the most inopportune moments.

“Yes, she said-”

Billy snorts, honest-to-god releases that sound in the midst of Steve’s feelings of inadequacy. “Good thing I don’t give a shit about what she says.”

And that’s certainly not what Steve was expecting.

Furrowing his brow, he stares at Billy, trying to gauge whether he’s really fucking with him or not. Sometimes it’s so hard to tell, what with those goddamn eyes and those lips and how eager Billy is to give him a smirk when he least expects it.

“She’s not wrong, though,” he counters because Nancy’s comments sure as shit didn’t help his confidence. And it’s not like he desperately needed the compliments and for her to lie to him about what he’d attempted, but it was still a let down knowing he tried and failed. What’s worse is that he still doesn’t know how to correct it.

“Did she tell you it was shit?” Billy turns in bed, lying on his side, paper still nestled between his fingers. He glances back and forth between Steve and what’s left of his writing before he gives up waiting for Steve to reply. “Because it is; your thoughts are all over the place.”

Steve lets out a frustrated growl and slouches even further into his chair. “Thank you, captain obvious. I know that, which is why I was trying to fix it.” Immediately, the anger deflates. Like Nancy, he can’t fault Billy either, and deep down, he knew he’d get an honest response. Though, Steve’s not sure if he prefers the way Nancy handled it or the bluntness that comes with Billy Hargrove.

“Look, you’re on the right track.”

“Don’t flatter me, asshole.”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he keeps Steve pinned with his gaze. “You just need some reorganization, make it more seamless.”

“I swear to god if you’re fucking with me-”

“I’m not,” Billy replies, voice rough as it lowers. It makes Steve blink and reevaluate whether he was raising his voice out of resentment of sorts, the apathy he has for this conversation overshadowing his real feelings of defeat.

But Billy looks as serious as he can be, playfulness set aside for something much more raw. It stirs familiarity in Steve’s chest, like an old memory playing on the backdrop of a warm summer night. It coddles him like a blanket, that look, full of genuine care, and rather than it startling Steve, he wraps himself up in Billy’s ability to graze the line between truthfulness and tenderness just when Steve needs it the most.

“If you want,” the other boy begins, gaze fluttering down to the floorboards, “I can help you.”

And now the tables have turned, so slowly and casually, Steve almost misses it. Billy looks just as nervous as Steve had felt, like his offer might not be well received nor appreciated. But Steve, god, does something inside his chest flip: most likely his heart, if he could guess. It dances in waves, like a soft breeze caressing the flowers. “Do you want to?” he poses because Steve has to know if Billy is really willing to take on a task like that, through the grievances and thoughts that encompass Steve’s inability to communicate. “I’m not very good at it; we might be here awhile.”

And well, that brings up another point of contention: for how long is Billy willing to stand his presence until he abandon’s all resolve and leaves Steve scrambling for some semblance of coherency.

“Steve,” he hears, tone falling to the depths of a warning. “Let me help you.”

Reluctantly, Steve nods, not willing to push this into an unproductive argument. Instead, he reaches for a random book, rolling the pencil he’d forgotten about in between his fingers. “Move over, then.”

Ungracefully, he clambers onto the bed, Billy huffing as an elbow and a knee knocks against his bones. Steve doesn’t settle until there’s a pillow behind his back, pressed against the wall while the rest of his body casually lounges across Billy’s lower half. “Okay there, princess?”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, refuses to acknowledge the heat crawling up his neck and onto his cheeks because he knows how distracting that gets; not just for Billy, himself included. “I’m good now. My ass wasn’t havin’ it much longer on that chair.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Billy says, slowly smiling like he’s got a secret or two to kill. He doesn’t say much else after, but he does reach for the book Steve has in his hand, using it as a solid source to write on. Reluctantly, Steve hands over the pencil, eraser pitiful in its shape.

Seconds later, Billy’s scribbling shit down, and as curious as Steve is, he doesn’t look. It’s hardly from wanting to keep the momentum of surprise and more so his lack of restraint when it comes to criticism on his end. “I didn’t know you liked writing,” he says curiously, not remembering whether Billy had previously shared a love of language with him or not; though Steve is certain he’d remember something quant like that, didn’t question Billy’s ability in school and whether he remained true to the stereotype that all the pretty ones were idiots.

No, that was Steve, and maybe somewhere deep down he’d be jealous if it wasn’t for the amount of appreciation curling along the length of his chest.

“I don’t,” is Billy’s reply, though. It’s quick from concentration, but still as sharp as a knife as if Steve’s stumbled upon a subject Billy isn’t interested in entertaining.

“Oh,” he breathes because well, if Billy is shit at this too, then he supposes this entire session is a lost cause. “You know what you’re doing, then?” But as soon as he asks it, Steve regrets it, winces at the sound of his own voice and the lack of assurance he should have in the one person who’d willingly offered their time and their help.

The pencil stops moving, and Steve suspects that maybe Billy will climb out of the comfort of his bed, leaving Steve the asshole and with a foot in his mouth.

Rather, Billy seems to space out for a second, like the paper and the book and Steve aren’t right in front of him, like they’re worlds away from Steve’s near empty house, to a place where Billy doesn’t know a Steve or the small town of Hawkins, Indiana. “I’m sorry,” he begins, wishing he could slap himself upside the head for being a dick.

But he doesn’t get much more out because Billy is countering his apology with a heavier statement that leaves Steve both breathless and in awe.

“My mother,” Billy says, almost randomly if Steve hadn’t known better, hadn’t understood the context underneath the tone. It drills so deep, the silence that follows, a standstill and confusing. Steve tries to read Billy as much as he can, particularly in such a moment when the boy beneath him is crossing the line of the unequivocal into uncharted territory.

So, Steve doesn’t know what to say, lost in both a detail left unclear and how Billy blinks away a new shine to his eyes. It’s like he expects Steve, so suddenly, to nag him until he cracks further, right down the middle until nothing is left but mushy innards that can’t be stitched back together with titillated words. Which, in all honesty, Steve does have that power, has a magical way of slithering under Billy’s skin without trying too hard. Those wounds reopening something fierce, debris breaking loose the point where it makes Billy re-exam parts of himself he’d long forgotten.

And Steve never means to pry like so, tends to wade in the water until Billy drags him farther in, down a rabbit hole filled with guilt and despair.

So this little revelation, a stumbling block Steve did not, and had never, anticipated is there for the taking. And he’s curious; god is he curious about every part of Billy he doesn’t know: the good, the bad, and everything in between, but some things are meant to be left alone. Steve may not be very good at reading between the lines, or reading in general really, but he knows Billy, and he knows the basis of what makes him tick.

“She loved literature,” Billy says softly under the dim glow of sunlight that filters through the blinds in Steve’s room. His fingers tap against the book beneath his hands, eyes not yet filled to the brim with tears, but glassy and distant like he’s in another time, another world far away from what his life has become.

Steve thinks he can picture it, maybe, a young boy too wild and hyped up on candy every Halloween, climbing trees in the woods near his house, accumulating scrapes and bruises his mother kissed away. A much gentler Billy takes over his mind, and he wonders if Billy misses that kid, if he misses that life and all the promises it held for him until it took away the one thing Billy cherished the most.

“What was her favorite?” he asks instead, would rather not reveal how deep his affection goes. It’s already vulnerable, and Steve partly regrets pulling out his paper to look it over now, not quiet sure if he made a mistake in unleashing memories of a happier time on Billy’s part.

Just slightly, Billy turns his head, finally glancing up from the parallel lines turned baby blue. Upset has never been a good look on Billy, and he’s grateful that that’s not what this is. It’s familiar, those occasions when Billy recalls the nuances he’d left behind in favor of anger and torment. Similar to a setting sun, the pinks and oranges mixing together with the blue from the ocean, designed for a snapshot and a brushstroke until Steve almost snorts at the simplicity. Doesn’t everyone believe that? Majestic as it is, humans have little ability to steer clear of what they already know, and this is no exception.

“I think-” is the voice that breaks through his thoughts, and when Steve studies Billy’s face, it’s all changed again; his demeanor, the depths of his eyes, the crease between his brows like he’s struggling to find something that just isn’t there. Distressed, Steve thinks, as he reaches forward, curling delicate fingers around Billy’s wrist because he knows that’ll get his attention.

It does, and Billy gives a soft smile, emotions fading by the second. “I don’t think I remember anymore,” he says.

Steve doesn’t miss the desolation, the acidity of what that statement means, what it’s dredged up. For the first time in quite awhile, Steve doesn’t know what to do and doesn’t know how to comfort a loss he’d never been apart of. There’d hardly been any rules between them to begin with, each moment a stepping stone together, building boundaries together, and Steve doesn’t have the heart to make that a thing they must do right now; it’s much too soon.

Alternatively, Steve finds the end of a curled piece of hair resting between Billy’s shoulder and neck, twirling it around his finger and letting it fall into a ringlet against his skin. “Will you read to me?” he proposes, wondering if this compromise will be enough for today. If Steve cannot have Billy’s memoir, then he will find another, bringing forth an interest he believes Billy might’ve forgotten he could care about.

“If you want me to.”

Steve nods and doesn’t say another word, lets Billy fall back into writing, erasing, and posing questions when he needs the answers. For now, it’s Steve’s turn to dwell on his misgivings, and it’s then that he realizes exactly why Billy refused to work on his.

There’s a time and a place for everything, and even in their shortcomings, everyone gets their turn. Today is for Steve and Steve alone, and if he thinks too much on it, he knows it’ll leave him breathless.

Instead, Steve thinks about how much he’d like to kiss Billy, leave him just as senseless as he feels. But he waits, he waits a few minutes in this moment where Billy’s voice cocoons him in encouragement and prompts him for details that expose the foundation of his very being.

And by the end of it, even if he may not have a full essay yet, Steve brings his own encouragement to the table, discarding the paper and falling into a natural ease that comes so easily when it’s just the two of them together.

[pink-ink-goblin]

Aftermath

(Anti and Dark’s mudslinging in the recent video had me in tears. I know it’s not canon, and that I’m pretty late to the party, but I couldn’t help writing something about it. Here’s a poorly written oneshot about two salty edgelords. And many Kudos to @adreamoverlife for not only having the courage to sift through this mess, but for giving me angles to work off of!)

Warning: Lots of conjecture and poorly made arguments.

Dark threw himself out of his portal, grasping wildly in front of him for something - anything - solid, staggering until he slammed into his heavy desk with enough force to scoot it a good half a foot before sagging heavily onto it. The portal closed behind him with a sound like sand in a sifter, dissipating into wisps of black smoke, leaving him blissfully alone to recuperate.

That had been close. Far too close. It wasn’t the first time he had had to flee his own dog - she honestly had the capacity to be much scarier than he was - but poor Choco; how on earth could he have forgotten about her? He rose a hand above his head lazily, forehead resting against his other arm, and with a flick of his wrist, a bowl of food appeared somewhere within the void. He had no idea where, but he had faith Choco would find it.

And now, in the peace of his office, he had time to reflect on how poorly things had turned against them both. It was meant to be a showdown. A final stand. An act of dominance and defeat. Something the demon had been preparing for for months in tandem with his glitchy rival. But, when the day came and Dark had opened his void to allow Anti passage, neither of them had expected any of the other negative egos to collectively jump in as well.

It had been… interesting to see what else the world had to offer, and bothersome when they couldn’t have the battle that they had planned for so long; but it became truly ire inducing when Dark, in near blind panic, had to take the quick route home to escape the wrath of his own dog. Embarrassing and very messy. At least she had eliminated pretty much all witnesses.

With all hope, maybe she had taken Anti as well…

A quick high pitched flickering sound, followed by some heavy stumbling and a lot of choice swearing, unfortunately, told him otherwise. The demon raised his head and sighed wearily.

“J̷̧͜e̢͢͡su͢͝s̕҉̡ ̕Chri̶st̕ ́͏́D́͢a͞ŕ̕k,” Anti chirped, holding his arms out and flicking them around, throwing viscous droplets everywhere. "M҉a҉ybe re҉me̢m͡b͢e̢r͠ ta ͝f͏e͠e͏d̷ y̕our ͢d̢og̢ ͞b҉e͢f͢o͡r̷e ́we ͘t̢ry ta ̛t̡hr͞ow͡ d̀own ne͝x͞t ̷tim͞ȩ.”͠

“She has food now,” Dark replied flatly, running a hand through his hair and scowling upon finding unwanted wetness.

“Oh͢,̀ that͘ ̛w͘a͘s ̧y҉ou?͘ T͜h͝a̷nk̢ God̡,͞” Anti sighed in relief. “Sh͝é ̸alm̶o̧s̢t ̕t͝ook̸ my̛ ͟b͠ļoody͏ he̸ad͢ ͞o̵f̶f.͝”

Dark let out a short breath through his nose - a near laugh - before standing up and turning to fully face the glitch. “Huh, guess I should have waited a little longer.”

“̵Bi̷g co҉wa̴rd̵. ͝D҉on’t ͞ma҉k̨e y͠oųr ͡dog͢ ̛do ͘y̧òưr di͢rty͝ ̴work̀ f͏o̶ŗ yo͢u͢..”̢ Anti bit back, giving him a dirty look. He took pleasure in the minor twitch on Dark’s face as he wrung out the hem of his shirt all over the carpet.

“Why are you even here? Go away,” Dark commanded petulantly, emphasizing his desire with a shooing motion. “I’m sure the good doctor would like to go home as well.”

“͘No҉t͝ic͟ed ͢tha͝t̷,̵ h͞uh?͠” Anti grinned, head glitching to the side a few times to show off a gauge-free ear.

“Of course. You can’t do a damn thing without a host.” Dark scoffed.

“Ps̕h,͡ ͞at ͝l͢eas̢t̡ I ͡do̴n̷’͘t̢ ne͞ȩd permiss͏ion,҉ ̷y͜a̢ decr̛èp͡i͢t̛ ͟o͠l͏d͝ ̸vam̷p̕i̷r͠e,” Anti sneered obnoxiously. Dark gave him a weary stare.  

“Have we really devolved into petty name calling?”

“I͘ ca͡n̢’͠t͢’ve ̴i̶n̛ju͘red͞ y͢ǫu̵r̵ ove̡r̨b͜lown̸ ̛s̢en͡se ͟o͜f ̶pri̵de ̶al̶rea͟d̨y?̶ ̧I͠f̢ I͞’͠d͜’̀ve ̸kn͢ow̶n̷ ̡y̧a̵ were̡ ͡so̶ ̀f̶ra̸gi̸le͠ ̨i͞n ̛your ҉o͢ld͏ a͟g͢e ͏I ̀wou̕l͢dn̸’͜t̡’v̵e̶ ev͜eǹ c͜ḩalĺeng͏ed́ ̢y̧a ̶in̷ t̀he firs͠t̷ ̢p͘l҉ac͏e̵.̕”͢  

There was a gleam of something dangerous in Dark’s eyes, like the stirring of a mighty beast from his watery lair, as the day finally grew longer than the demon’s patience. He drew a calming breath before continuing.

“Once again, I suggest you leave,” Dark demanded in clipped tones. “Or I’ll have Google eradicate you like the computer virus you are.”

Anti sighed and shook his head. Or, at least, tried to. The glitching made it difficult to follow. “͝The͠r͞e̵ yo̕u͢ go̶ ̢a͏g̛a͠i̧n͠,̕ ̡m̶aki͢n͏’ ̀ơt̛h̛e͟rs ̡do ͢your̢ j͜o̕b. ͞How̛ is̴ ̴s̸ome̴ơn̵e a̵s̵ ͢i͠nc҉ap̛a̷bl̛e͘ ͘as͘ ýo̴u st҉i̷l͠l i̧n c̕ha͟rgé?”

“Perhaps because I can hold a corporeal form for more than five minutes,” Dark spat, stretching his neck as he he tried to quell the swirling chaos within him. “I understand how it’s difficult for a Tulpa to fathom that kind of power.”

Anti narrowed his eyes. That was a low blow. “Y̡ę̡aḩ,̨̢ ̷͞s̴̸͢u̸͡re̢, p͋ͭ̒̇ͨ̂҉͏ō̵ͣ͂̿w̵͗ͫ͆é̵̸ͫͥr͋ͤ̏̓͊̈́̊̔͠. F̴ų͠nn̕y̸͜ ̡h͏̴̢o̷̷w̶͢͝ ̛͟I͜ ̵͞n̷e̷͞v͏e͘r̨͠ ҉g̕é̸t̨́ ͜r̡̕e͏j̛҉̀e̵̷c̀͘͡t́͜è̷d f̵̡̡r̴o̡m͡ ̶́̕m̨͢y ̡͜͠o͜ẁn ̶͜sh͡͡ęll ̨͜ą́t̴ ̢raǹ̸d̛͘͠o҉̨m̶̸̨,͡ ̵y̶o͏u͞҉̷ ̴̛̕p̀͢o̷̡o̧̨ŗ͠ly͏̷̕ ̨͡pu̸̧t҉ to̢g̶et̷͟ḩ̴e̸̛r̵̨͡,̛́͢ ̧́͡d͏i͡c̢͢hro̴͢m̧̀a̛ti̧̛͞c,̨͝͠ e͝͡m̷͞o ̢̕w̷͜͝a͟ńn͘͟a̶͡-̕b̷̀͜e.̵͡”

Dark’s snarled viciously, his shell cracking into three eye-crossing colors; red and blue skewing Anti’s vision as the ghost of a reflection flickered behind the demon with teeth bared.

And in a blink, it was gone, Dark standing there as if nothing had happened, seething inside, but prideful enough not to let it show. Anti, however, was not fooled by the cool act and glitched a little as a wicked grin spread across his face.

“U̢h̛-oh̴, ̷am ̧I̕ g̢et͠t͜in͟’́ ̴u͜nd͟er ̛t͘h̕at̷ ͘thi͢n, ̶e̵l͞de͘r͜l͘y sk̛i̕n o’ you͞r̶s?” The computer bug giggled, but there was something in the way he smiled. It was something almost calculating that made Dark pause to think twice about the teasing.

And then it clicked.

The air around them grew cold as the corner of Dark’s lip twitched, but his irritated glare remained uninterrupted. “Really? You really want to start this again right now after that sorry display?”

“My͟ ‘̕s̸orr͜y ̢d҉i̸sp̨lay’? L͝o̴òk̢ ̷wh̛o’s ͢tal͠k͡in͝’̡.͝” Anti pressed nastily, but his terrible grin grew that much wider at the acknowledgement. Finally.

“I refuse to play this game,” Dark replied shortly, drawing himself to his full height which was just barely taller than Anti himself. “Go home and bother Sean.”

“͞C̀’͘mon, ̷ólḑ m̴a͞ǹ, ̷g̵et́tin̷g͟ t͢ír̛e͟d al͏r͢e̛ady? ̨Go̸tt͏a ͡g̕e͢t̡ ̶rea̛d͢y ͠foŕ t̛hat ȩa͟r͟l̡y͟ aft̡ern̷óo͞n̕ ̸b̵eḑtim̵e?͢”̴

Dark paused, eyes narrowing. The demon had only a limited amount of patience before he could no longer tolerate disrespect in any form, and the day had gone on for far too long already. Their fight had been interrupted, his dog had tried to make a snack out of him, he had been made to look a fool and now Anti was here trying to do it all over again. It was too much. If this damnable creature was so desperate for a lesson, then Dark would be more than happy to put him in his place.  

He fixed Anti with a hard stare and the glitch’s grin looked like it would rent his face in two. “You have a filthy habit of picking on people who are infinitely bigger than you. Perhaps this is why you’ll always spend your days at the bottom of the proverbial barrel of bargain toys.”

“Says͜ t̶he̷ ̢ḑe͟mo͢n ̛w͏ho̸ r̶uns̶ t̀ḩe ̷m̷isf͏i̕t̶ c̵of́fee sh̕op. Y̧òų ͝wo҉u͟l̀dn͞’҉t kno̴w̛ ͜ho͞w to g͜a̕in͡ ͡ṕrope͟r at̨te͢nţįoń ̷f͡r͢om ͟a two͏-̷s̷t́ep͜ pla͠n.͟”  

“Because I don’t need to clamber for attention to remain alive,” Dark countered crossly. “How does it feel to have a following that doesn’t love you for you, but for what you do?”

“̕W̶̛̛h̨͞y ̛d͢o̧̕n҉’͝t̢͡ ̶́͠y͘où t̨̡e̸͠ĺ̷̛l̨ ̧́m̕e̡͘?̸”̛ Anti spat back, but there was a hint of defensiveness in his voice. Dark had managed to touch a nerve. “T҉̴͘h̢ey ́k̶͠n̨ǫ͜ẃ w̷̧h̶̛̀a̢̨t̸͏ y͢ò̡u͜ ̷r̶̸è̵al͢͝l̵̕͡y̕ ͘ar̨e͝.”͘

“And yet they still come to me. No one actually loves you,” Dark pressed maliciously, feeling his barely contained power rolling within him violently, nearly tearing him apart. “No one even loves what you do. They love the game, but as soon as you play your final hand, they will all collectively turn away and you’ll be back on the bottom fighting to stay relevant.” 

“You’̢re͡ ͘w̛ròng ͟t̕he҉r͞e͢, Ḑ̀ͭ͑ͦͦͨͤ͜a̵ͨͯ̍ͦͧ̄̈ͦ̋͟r̛͊̃͊̀͑̿͘k̛͑͗̽̅̐ͯ̈͐͏ḯ̛ͪͯͯͨ̓̀p̴̈͊̾ͪ͗̂̚͟͡ǫ̨͊ͮ̄͊̐̚o̡ͪ͘,̵̶͊̓͆ͩͬͦ”͂͊͋͋ Anti singsonged, but it sounded rough and bitter. Dark had found his sore spot and was systematically picking away at it. It set Anti’s sharp teeth on edge. “̵͟Th̕e҉̴ŕ̸e̸̶̴ ͝i͏͞ş́́ ̵̡n͏o̸̧ ͜͝d͏͝i̵̕f͠f̶̸̢e͢r̷̀͘e͘͠͞n̸҉̢c͜͡e̛ ̸b̧̡é͜͝tween͡ ̶̀͏l̕͟òvi̶҉͝n̢g͡ ̸͢͝t̸̨h̷͝e͘ g͡͏̧ąm̸ę,͢ a̢n̕͘͝d̴͡ lo̢͞v̡̛͢i̷̧̕ng̡ ͢thȩ ̧̢͢o̕҉̀ne͘͢s͏͡ ̴w̶̨hơ̶ r̢͠u͢n͠͞ ́ì̵̢t̡̕.҉̶ ̛I̶͟͠ ̧́g͟͜͟e͘t́ ̢͞p̛͡͞o͜we̛͞r͡ ́by̴͟ ̵̧͢p͜ŗ̨͘ox͏̕y͞,̧͘ ͞͡͏s̵̢͞ơ̛ ̕I͏ ̢͠win̸ ̸̕͞b̶y̡͞͠ d̛͝ef͟͞a͝ul̢t̸. ̀Y̸̡o̧u͜’͢͢d ͢͝ń̵e̴̵ve̸r̕͢ kno̵̧̨w̧ w̶h̛́à͞t̕͟ ̡̀t͏ḩ̷a̷ţ̨ ̷͏w̕͟à͝s͝ ̵̴̢l̛͘͠įk̢͢e͡ ̷̛b̡̛ec͘a̶̶͠us̕e҉ ̕͟y̵̧o͠u̕ŕ ̕҉͡g̷̷a͏͝m͞és͠҉ ś̡u̕͘ck̶̶ ́t̀h̷͞e ͜l͢i̸f̀́͠e͡͡ ̡͡o̢ut͘͢ ҉́o͝f̸͝ evę́r͟͠y̡̛̕ǫ̸n͡e pl̴͜ay̧i͜n͠g͝.̡͡”̕͝

“That may be true,” Dark purred. “But my ‘game’ is only dependent on one single moment of weakness in my prey. Yours needs constant validation - like a restive child - and the masses do not possess that kind of patience nor attention span. You act as though your plan is greater, but, in the end, mine takes absolutely, even in times of lull.”   

“̵̕Y̵o͜͝ú̴́r̶͜ ͘p̶l͡a҉͡n̶ ̨̧is͞҉ ҉̛f͘l͡ąw̛ȩ́d̷͝!̨”͘ Anti snarled, pointing forcing at him. “̶̕͜A̡n̨͟͏d ̷͘y͞ou̵͘͝’̴r̕e͟ ́t̡͝o̧o̶̢̕ ҉c̴̴onc͜ei̴t̡͜ed͞ ̸̛t̢ò̡͟ ͠͡s̢̛e̷̛̛e͡͡ ̕it͘!̶̶”̴̢  

Dark’s form twitched, displacing itself like an incorrectly taped VHS reel, before he came back and spat: “Coming from an ill-conceived, limited, glitch like you? Such bold hypocrisy.”

“͜Oh́,̶̢̛ ͜Í̶’̛m͝ t̨͏̧h̡́͜e̶̷͢ ͡h͜͡y̛͝p͢ocrį͝t͢e̷͠?̶̵” Anti hissed, looking murderous. His hands curling into claws at his sides while his glitching grew in intensity. He opened his mouth to argue, to cut with words where his knife couldn’t, but he found his well had run dry. Dark sensed this hesitance and dug in for the kill.

“Face it,” The demon growled, the words that rumbled deeply in his chest spoken slow and pointedly. “You’ve lost this battle. You have no place in this world. And those beings you cherish will never love you for you.”

“̛͆ͫ̓ͬ̍̈́͑̈̑̅ͫͣ̇̊ͪ́̋̃ͩ̕͞T̈ͩ̿̐̎͏̴̧̨͠H̸̴̅̓ͧ͌͝E̶ͭ̓̿̓͑͌̊ͭ̂̚͘͘͡Y̢̢̿̃́̿͌̇ͤͯ̉̑̐҉̸’̸̸̶̨̢ͩ̆̋̈ͯ̔ͩ̓̑͒̓̎̿ͩ̉̓͆̓̚L͂̀̉̽͝͡҉̶L̴͂ͫ̄̈̔͊͟͠ ͯ͊̔͆̃ͭ̔ͨ͐ͨ̎̇̍̋ͤ͊̆̿́̚͏̸N̍͊͑̀̅̒́̃̉ͨ̽҉̸҉Eͪͤ̎̓̑͗̅̾̇ͤ̅͛̾͒ͮ́ͧ͛̀͡V̍͑͌̉ͥ̉̅̊ͫͮ͋̇̂ͥ҉̨͘E̛ͮͯͣ̈̉ͧ̆̚R̷̢̿̊̉ͫ̿̔ͤ̽͂ͧ̐̎̕ ̧̢ͣͥ̉ͯ̈ͨ͛̀ͮ̉͋̔͗̔̊̉ͦ̊͛L̶̷ͫͣ̏̾ͭͧ̉ͩͫ̾̊̈̕͠O͊ͮ́̂͆̃̀̕V̡̅͒͋ͯ̀̑̎̏̌͊ͯ̒̈́̆̽̉ͪͦ̕̕͢͡Ë̡́͋̅̀͂͐ͯ͒ͣ͗̄ͤ͒ͮͮ̈́̂̚̕͢ ̛̌ͤͦ̃͒ͯ͂ͣͩͧ̓̏͋͌͆̚̕͘͞͝Y̸̡ͪ̒͑͂̌͘͢͟O̶̢ͩ̔͋͑ͫ̔͆͝͞Ů̧̑̆̅̓͛̆̂͂̚͜͟ Eͦ͑̈́͛̓̀͢͢͜͝Iͭ̈́̉͌ͬ̀͞T̅ͣ͂̌ͦ̒͏̶̀͜H̡̧̊̔ͦ̂̓͊͑̀̿́Ē̽ͨ͛ͫ͊͒͒̓̽ͤ̓͂̉͌̎̐ͧ̀͟͝͝R̡̓ͨ͌ͭͮ̽ͦ̾̀ͪ͐ͩ̌̒̉ͣ̕͜͡͝!̃̄̇̂͢͏͘!̨̧ͧ̎̃͋͌̎̌ͨ͂̅̈́̀ͩ̈̚”̴̧̌ͩͤ͋͜͜͞ Anti shrieked with rage, everything about him, including the air around him, glitching about spastically.

With a roar that sent the office quaking, Dark’s shell finally broke completely, the room flooding with black smoke, encasing them both and drowning out the rest of their surroundings. Anti looked around, glitching about to prevent a sneak attack, but the demon had disappeared into the cloud. But not for long. When Dark reappeared, he was a scant foot or so from Anti, looking like he was being lit from underneath by a myriad of blinding lights.

“Their ‘love’?” Dark’s multi-layered voice hissed, his eyes wide and his mouth open like he intended to rip Anti apart with his teeth. “I don’t want their love! I want their undivided devotion! I want their subjugation!” Everything flickered and suddenly Dark curled in on himself like he was in pain, twitching wildly, hands clawing in front of him as he shouted: “I WANT THEIR VERY ESSENCE!!” Another flicker and he was standing stiffly, a bloodthirsty smile dominating his face. “I want their everything, and I will BLEED them dry to get it! And when they have nothing left to offer, I will cast them aside like a used husk, empty and broken and still pleading for more! THIS WORLD IS INFINITE AND I WILL NEVER RUN OUT OF AMENABLE TOYS TO BREAK! They may flock to you now, and dance for you, but they will grow tired of the teasing and pawing. You have nothing grander to offer than hints, puzzle pieces, and scornful words.

“So when you stand here and accuse me of wanting to be loved, I can only laugh at your ignorance and wonder if you will ever realize how small minded you truly ARE.”

A normal being would have backed down. A normal being would have been afraid. A normal being would have run, pleaded, cried… anything. But Anti was not a normal configuration of being. The virus blinked forward in an instant, closing the distance to mere inches as he looked up at Dark with a snarl.   

“Ṡ̷̸̸́̀̑̏̽ͦ̋͆ͪ͒͜͢M̸̡̢ͣ̍̎̌̏ͧͬ́̚̕A̷͌̾̀͑̽ͯͥ̋̃̓̇̅̕͞͞Ľ̡̢͊̾̇͗ͮ͛̈̐͊̔̊ͨ̒͗̊̒ͦͧ́Ĺ̛̎̊͌ͧ͆͌͡ ̢̈́̿̾ͨ͒̀ͭ͊̕M̊̎̄̾̿̓͗̿̎͑͘͢Ḯ̵̸̢̛ͣ̑ͦ̀̃̃ͣͦ͆̈͐N̡͂͒̑͊̇̋ͨ͝D̷̍ͩ͒̎̿͘͠Ę̷̋͐̑ͯ͛͟͞͡D̴̸̅̔ͦ͌̒̽ͦͪ͒̉ͨ͗͆̒͘͝͠?̶̸̶̷͛̄̑͗͆̄͊͆̇̑” Anti’s voice had broken, sounding distant and right next to Dark’s ear at the same time. He was defecting side to side now, jumping from giggling and looking like he was in his own brand of pain. But his words were as solid as the tone that followed them. “̧͡Y̛͘͞͞O̧͘U̴̡̡͞R̸̛͘ ̡͝G̴̀O҉̛͏À͡L̷̡̀͠ ́̕͟͝H̸̡̀͜A̴͡͠S͘͝ ̀҉͜͢À̡̕ ҉̸̶̀͝F̧͢͟I͘Ņ́͘I̶̷̵̕͡T́̀͜È̷͘ ͠P͡Ơ̧̨͡W̶̕͠E͏͘͢͟R̨ ́́S̵̸͡O̸͞Ų̴̢͞Ŕ̶C̢͞҉É̡̡̧͜. ̷́҉W̴͡H̡͢͏̵E͞͏͢͏N̸͏̶ ̨͡T̵̕Ḩ̶̕͜Ę̧ ͟͞P̵̴͝E̸̢͢Ơ͏P̷̶͜͡͠L̴̛̕E̵҉̵ ͟͝C̶͜À̛̛͞T̸̨́͝͝C̸҉͘H͜ ̷̷͡͡O̴̴N̶̨͏.҉̀ ̛͢T̡̡͞͏H̶̴̡É͜Ý̢̀͠’̛L̛͠L̸͠҉͠͡ ̶̧͢G͠͞R̴̢̕͟͜O̵̢W̧̢̧͘͘ ̴̧̛͟S͘͜I̢C̷̕͡Ḱ́͏ ̛̛͞O̢F́͏̢̛ ̡͘Ţ̧́Ḩ̴̀̕È ̸͘͟͞U̷̕͢P̀͠P̸̧͝Ì̶͞T̨̕͢͡҉Y̵҉͟,̵͢͟͠ ̡͜͞͏P̵̢R͏̧̛͟Ò̵Ṕ͡Ę͡҉͝͞R͟҉,͏̷͏ ͢͏̧N҉̵͢I̵̧̕C̶̨̧͜͠E̛͢͠͞͠ ̶̵̢͢͞D̴̕͢È̶M̢̕̕͝͝O̧̢Ǹ͢͟ ̸̨̡̀A̸͜͞C̨͢͜͞͏T͘͢.̡̛̀͜ ̢͘Í̛͟N͠҉̵͘͞ ̸̷̡̨̀Ţ̵̸͝H̷͝͠͠Ę͢ ̧̡͞͞L͘͝͡͏Ó̀͟Ń̸̀͘͠G͠ ͢͡R҉̶Ú̷͟͠Ņ̨͢͜͡,̸͘̕͜͠ ̵̷̴͝I͏̢͢͡͠T̶̶̡͘̕’͞͞S̕͘ ҉̷̴̢̀À̷̶̶L͟҉L̸͝ ̕͟A̡͝B́͞O͘̕͜͞U͝͏T̶̡ ́͜͢͠Ţ͡H̕͝͡E͡͠ ̵̸͞͝E̸҉́̀͜N̨͜͡T̴̨̕È͢͢Ŕ̸̡̕T̵̶̨͘Á͘͟͠I̧҉̢͘N̡̧̢͢M̸͏҉E̵̛N̵͡͞T̨̡͟!̸̧̀̀͢ ̨͜͞͠È̵͘V̀̀͘͜É̷Ŕ͘͢͞Y̢̛͘Ǫ̵͝N̴̕͜͠҉E̕͘͢͞ ̧͟͞L̸̸̷͜͡Ǫ͡V͏E̢͝҉҉S̵̢̨ ̀͟͡͠A̴̢͢͠ ̵̡̧G͟͏̷Ó̷̸̸̀O̧̡͘D̢͟ ͡S̀͡H͏̶Ò́͘͝W̶͟!̴̡́͡!̴́͜҉ ̴A̵̡͟͞Ǹ̵̵͠Ḑ͟ ̴́͜͟I̢͟͏̷’̷͝M̴̛͜͞ ͜͞Ḿ̴͝Ó҉̸̀Ŕ̴̀͜͡É̴ ͏T̵̡̨҉Ḩ̵̨̀A̸҉̨́͡Ņ̶̀͘ ̷͢͠͞C͘͞A̵̡͠P̕͏̷A̕͡͞B̷̨͞͠͝L̢E̴̴̛͜ ̡҉O̴͘F̴̷́ ̡̡̡̀͏P̷̡͝R͢͠O̵͝͡V̵̢͞I̸̶̡̨D͏̶I̵̢͏N̸̕͢͠G̀҉ ̴̢́͘W̸̧͢H̀͘Á̸͡͝Ţ҉ ̷̵̧̧̕Ý̸̨͟Ò͜҉͟U̴̶͞͡ ̛͝L҉̵͏̷A̶̶͢͞C̨͏K̸̡͡.̨͟͝ ͏̷͜͠͠A͞N̴͢͡D̷̀͢͢͞ ́͝͠A̷̡͞L̶̛L̵̷̸̡͢ ̵̡͘͡Ò͘͞͝F̷̀͘ ̷̨̧́Ý̷̡͡O̴͜͝͞U̷̴̢̕͢R̨̨̕ ҉̴̧͜S̀͡I̡͘M̢͏̢̧P̶͟L̶̢E̛͠͝-́̕͘͟M̸̴̡I͢͠͞N̵̵͏D̴̨͠͠E̡̛D́͢ ̀͘͡F̧̕A̕͝N͘͝A̸͟͡T̸̸̸̛I̢̧͜͞C̨͏̵Ś̶ ̧̀̕͜Ẃ̴̡Ì̵̢̕͠L̸͝͠҉Ĺ̷ ̷̷́͠͞C̴̀͜͏̀Ơ̶M͜͡E̸͞͠ ̵̢҉̢C̵̷̡̀́R͡͡͡͠A̡̕͞W̶L̀́͘͝Į̶̡̛͢N̷̛G̨̛͜ ̷̸̛͢͠T͏̴͠͡O͟ ̷̶͜M͞͏͝E̵͘͜ ̢̨҉̧B̧̛͡Ę̛́͜͠C̸̛͜A̴̷̧U̢̢S̶Ę̧̕͡ ́͟I̧̕ ̷͠K̨͡N҉̛͢͠O̸̷̷̧͡W̢͏ ̛̀H̨͡͡O̧̡͝W̡͝͡҉ ͢͝T̵͠Ờ͘͘͟ ͢҉K͟͟͠҉̸È͞Ȩ̴̀P̶̧͝҉͟ ̸̀͘T҉H͘͠͏͟E̷̛M҉̵҉̧ ̛͠Ǫ̶͘Ǹ͡ ̸͟T͢͟҉H͏̸̡̀̕E̸̡̛͠͡I̶R̵̛̛̕͞ ̶̀͜T̡̢͢O̢̢͟͢E̛̛̕͢͡S͢͞!̨͟͢!̸͜ ̵̡̨̀́A̵̡̛͘͢S̴̷͢͞ ̴̕L̢̨̀͘O̴̡͞҉͢N̡̨͟͠G̸̢͢͠͡ ̴̢́͟͞A͡҉̶́S̨ ͏̨͜T̶͜H̴̨͟͢E҉ ̷͘͡Ẁ̧̨O̷̧͘R̴͢͞L̷̕͢D̵̀̕͘͘ ̸̨̨̛͘L͘͡O̕V͡E͘҉Ş̸̨̀́ ̧͢͜͡M͏̵E̛͘͜͝,̷̀ ҉̛͡I̵̸̧ ̢̢͟C҉̨́͜͝A̢͢͝Ņ̡͜҉ ̢D̶̛̛͡Ò̡́͘ ̀͜A̡͟N̵̸͢͝Y̢͞T̸͡͏̷H̸͠͝I̴͘̕͘͟Ǹ̸̡̀Ǵ̷̸͞!̷́͜͡ ̵͏̢S̕͘͜͜Ą̷Y̡̢͏ ̷Á̸̛͠Ǹ̶̶͡Y̡҉̸͏T̵̴̵͠H̶́͞Ì̢̕͝N̡҉Ǵ̷͞!̵̷͜ ͡I̸̛ ̶̴́͝͞B͏̴Ŗ̴͢͞Ì̶̵̕N̷̛͞͡Ģ́͘ ̧̨̀͞T̸̵̵͏̷H̶̴̡̛É̶̷M̡̨͢͟͝ ͡T̷͢͢͝͠Ó̸̵̕͠ ͟͜͠Ţ͜͏͜H̴̢͟Ę̶̛͠I̛͟Ŗ̸ ̵Ḱ͘͝͠Ń̴̵͟E̵̛É̡̕͜͠S̸̢̀͟ ̸̛A̕͏̷̷̡N̸͟͝D̨̀͘͘͜ ̵̧̛́T̡̕H͜͏E̸̢̛̛͞Y̸̸̷͘͜ ̛̀͜L͏͡͠͞O̶̡͡V̸҉͢E͏̴̷̶̡ ̸̶̧̀T̸̵͘H̷͢E̕͜͡ ̧̛̕T̢́̀͝͏O̷͘͠Ŗ͠T̡̧̨̡U̶͡R̛E̸͝!̴̴̷ ҉̧W̷҉͡H̵̨̧́͢E҉̸͠R͟͏̢͢͡E̵̴͘’̶̕͝Ś̴̢͜ ́́͏̡͜A̷͟͜͝͝N͜͜T̷̛̛́͜Í̷̶͘ ̸͏͡Ǵ̸̢̛̕O̶̧͏I͏҉̡̧Ņ̧̀͜͏G̢҉ ͠Ţ̀͜͞͞O̴̡ ̧҉̢͏̵Á̢̛͟P̛͢͞P̡҉̡E͏҉͢҉͞À̢Ŗ̷͟͏ ̢̢͟N̵̴͜͢͝É́͢͝X̴͟T̡?̡͘!̡͢͡ ͏̸́̀Ẃ҉H̵̡́͡͠Ó̧͞’̧́̕͡͞S̡̕͜ ̶̨̛͜͟H̨Ę̧͢͞ ̸̨҉͘G̶̨̕͜͠O̧̨͢͜I͢͝͏̛́N̷͢͜͝G͞ ̢̢̛͜T̷͡Ó̵̢͘͠ ̵H҉̵́͡A̧̕̕͜R҉M̸̵ ̶҉Ņ͢͠E͞X̡͜͟͠T̨̛͘?̸҉̵!҉̢ ̛̛͢Ẁ̧̕͢͝H̡̀҉̷͢O̴̴ ̴̛҉͢͟K̷̸̀͞N̨͘Ó͘҉͜W̢̡̕S̶̶̸ ̶́B̷̀͜͠͠E̷͘C͘͡A̧̡Ú̷̧S̷̨͘͝E͏҉̷͜ ͘͘҉̸̕I̵͏̡͜͜ ̢͜D̵́͞͏͟O͡͝Ņ́͝’͝͏Ţ̀̕͘ ̢͟͜͞͠K̸̵̨̧͟I̶̧̕͡͞S̡̛͠S̷̨͘͝ ̛͝À̶̵̡͟N̵̡̢͢Ḑ҉̸̛͜ ͜͠T̨̛́͏͏E͏̴̛L͝L̴͡!͘͡!̶̀͡͞ ̶͢Y̧͘͜Ǫ̷͟͢U̸͏̡̢̛’̀͡R̨̀E̴̴̡ ̷͜͠A҉ ̶̢̧̛͡O̵̵̡͘N̵͝͞E҉̶ ͠͞͏A̛҉̴̛C҉͠T̶̨͡ ̕͏S̨̕͏H̕͟͜Ó̶͘͜͡Ẁ͢҉̕ ̡̢͠A̴̕̕͟͡Ǹ͟͟Ḑ̛ ̛͟N̸͢͞͞Ǫ̷́͢͠ ̶͏̧̀Ǫ̷͘͡͡N͘͢E̷͜͡͞͡’̨͞Ś̴̨ ̛͏̵̸Ģ̶̨͜͝O̢͘͟҉҉N̛̕̕͝ǸÁ̕ ̷̕͜͠H̶̀͘͞͏A̴̵̡͟N̢Ģ̛̀͞ ̴́Á̀̕͢R҉̧̛́O͘U͞͏N̷̨̕͢͡D̨͢͠͏ ̡̨͡F͘͘Ò̵͜Ŗ̸͘͡ ̵̧͠T̀͠H̴̢́͞͡E̶̶͝͞ ̡͞S̨͞ĄM̧͟Ę̶̧͡ ҉̷Ò̸̕͏̛L̵͢͟͞D̛̀̕͟͞ S̶̸̡̗̰͍̩̟̠̹͎̮͔̱̙̦͚̼̠C̴͉͉̺͞H́͞͏̢͈̙͍͍̝̟͍̼͎͈̺̬̻̫͖T̷̢̰̖̹̞̱̝͎̻̭̻̞͖͍̦̭͍͍̜̲͜͠Į͏̱͚͍͔̳͉̙̖̰̤̥̝̳̟̪ͅC̛͢͏̠͕̳̝̙͚̩̜̣̟̖̺̗̼̲͡K̷̴̢̩͓͈̳̗̘̟̣̯͝͞.̸͘͢͏̘̯̻̘”̵͢͞͝͝

“Y̷͢O͜҉U͢͠R̴̷͟ ̢͘͞Ḑ̕͠͏A̶͝Y͏̶́Ş̷̢̧ ̶̕͞A̴̡͞R̸̵͟É̴͞ ̨̛͟͢͞Ņ̴U̵̶̡͞͡Ḿ̶͞͠҉B̸̵̨̛͜E̡̨̕R҉͜É̶̴͞D҉͟͏ ̵́͢͝͡D̶̸̡A͢҉Ŗ͜҉K҉̴͞Y̕.̴̛͜͞ ͏̶̛̕B̧̧͡Ȩ̷͜͏S̶T̴̕ ̵̸̡̛͡S͘͠͞T̡͜͟͝A҉҉͘R̷̴̶̨̧T̡ ̸̡͜͢͡M̸̷̕͏͟À͞K̀͘͜͠I͘͜N̛͏̛G̶̸͏ ҉̨̕T͘͟H͏̵͠E̡̢̕͢M̷҉͜ ̴̷̵͢͞Ç̧͢͡O̴̴̕͢͠ƯN̡͝T͢͢.̸̀”

Anti’s final words reverberated around the void, bouncing around erratically as the echo tried to contain as many voices as possible. But it was snuffed out like a candle flame as their powers flared up around them, whipping wildly as far as one could see. Anti’s flickered shades of green and cast off small clusters of free floating glitches that blinked in and out of existence while the virus himself glitched to and fro erratically. Dark, however, was perfectly still for once, the darkness he exuded spreading and flowing like water while his form cracked into two eye wrenching red and blue reflections of himself. Both of their stances screamed mass murder...

But neither of them moved, staring the other down close enough that their noses almost touched. The demon’s face was a barely contained stone mask of intimidation, while the virus held a wide cheeky grin that spoke every promise of violence. Their powers collided around them, dark tendrils whipping at technicolor glitches, creating small, brilliant explosions of pixels and smoke.

Just one move. All it would take was one move, and the very environment could explode. Reality itself would end, unwoven by two titans with extreme chips on their shoulders. And as they watched each other, they felt the tension come to a head.  

“You have no class.” Dark nearly whispered, the ghost of an unnerving smile tugging at his lips.

“T̀͜c̕͜͟͡h̶͢,” Anti tutted playfully, completely unfazed and matched the demon’s low tone. “̸̡͏T̀el̡̡l ͏҉m͜͟e͝ ͘͘w̴҉h̡at̶͜ ͞y̷̶o̧͢͠u͘̕r̴̡ ̸̢̨H͞ò̢t̨ ̧͞Tó̵̢p͏i̛c̨̢̀ ͏͡b̡͞u̴̢dg͘͢e̷̵̵t͘ ̨͟͢i̶͝s͜ ̶͜ą̡͟n͢͟d̷ ́̕th̡eń̡ ͡we̶’̢̢ļ̸l̢͢ t͘a͜l̷̵̛k̷͡.̷̸͘”̸҉

The silence stretched into what could have been years, the tenseness between them coming to a dangerous head. This was it, the final clash. A test to see if time and space could handle two infinite beings going head to head. Both were ready; it was going to be the battle of their lives.

Or it could have been if, all of a sudden, the silence of the room hadn’t been broken by a poorly contained snort, followed in quick succession by the very disjointed sounds of someone unable to hold back their chuckles.  

And neither of them knew why, or who broke first, but suddenly the room was filled with distorted, hair-raising, uncontrollable laughter. The echoey, chorus of the damned that was both of their voices resonating into and against the very walls that contained them. Dark had an elbow resting over the top of the table while he was doubled over, shell broken and throwing reds and blues everywhere, while Anti had just allowed himself to fall where he stood, body contorting and rolling as he glitched to all possible corners of the room.

As it finally began to subside, all of their earlier animosity and tension evaporated; the shadows that had encased them dissipating back into Dark’s immaculate office. They shared the mutual look of two beings who had only been playing a game. A very dangerous game that could only be appreciated between two demons of such immense power.

And as everything finally calmed, Anti glitched back to his feet as Dark fixed his jacket.  

“Th͡a̶t ̸wąs fu͘n̕,̡” Anti grinned, the act still looking mean even if it wasn’t meant that way. “Wa͞nt̵ ͘to d̵o͞ t͢h̷̨a͏t̀ ag̶ai̸n ҉sométìme?͞”

“Pick a date.” Dark replied casually. The demon watched with amusement as Anti looked mildly surprised to be given the reigns, but the little upstart had finally proven that he was worthy of Dark’s respect, if only a touch.

“A̵lri̕g͜ht,́ I͞’l̵l͘ ţhink ͘a͡b͏o̴ut ҉it,̴” The glitch crossed his arms, trying to hide his excitement behind his cocky snark. “But̸ w̛e͜’̡r͠e̛ ͠g̸oin͠g͢ ̨t͝a my̛ ͘p͡lace͠ th̷i͜s tim͟e. ̷An̨d ŕe͠m̶e͜m̛b͟e͝r ̀ta f͟ee̢d y̶our dàm̸n͜ ͏d̵og͞.”

“Fair enough,” Dark chuckled. He gave a lackadaisical wave as Anti blinked once, twice, and, with a effect not unlike a breaking computer monitor, he was gone, leaving behind a few distored clips of laughter that disappeared shortly after he did.

Oh, they were going to take this world by storm. He had already known himself capable, and had every plan already laid out, but if he could twist Anti just right...

Then everything would be his.

Who won this battle? You tell me. Also let me know if Anti’s text was too much and I’ll dive in and tone it down.