#I've yearned to draw the sky

[passion-rising]

TSWFBY Page 47 part 2/2

[Snowed In and Stressed Out]

Alphys was there when Purple was captured, in case anyone forgot.

Somewhere while drawing this Passion-rising learned the importance of line thickness. 

I've been using the Tumblr app more and didn't realize the Index was only visible in browser. This format might be a little better- we'll see.

I got this done in time for January? I love shorter pages! Hopefully I’ll get another one done before my surgery date. It’s still months from now, but the next page is a little longer than this one. I’d hate for this to be where things leave off if things don’t go well, so for now if anything happens that halts the comic (Even though I’ll probably be fine) then you can consider the last page to be the finale, and any remaining antagonistic forces gave up. 

But I am not going to give up! And I hope you will no give up either! Please take care.

[Next]

[Previous]

[Index]

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: August 22

“When I Go” by Dave Carter & Tracy Grammer

[azsazz]

Silence Isn't Quiet Anymore

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel finally understands.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 892 (short but so good?)

Notes: This might be one of the most interesting concepts I've ever written. I'm obsessed.

_________________________________________

Azriel finally understands.

He’d caught a Suriel once. It hadn’t been anything more difficult than, say, crossing a river, which Suriels cannot do. He’d tracked it for an hour, two, the wind whistling through the trees as his only companion. His shadows had cowered away from the creature that belonged to something other. Another life, perhaps one before even the first of the fae or humans or animals that inhabit the continent found their way here. Before plants had taken root and clouds poured rain from the skies and the sun and the moon had been together, not forced apart by day and night.

There wasn’t a trap to be laid. A crossing of rivers had done enough.

The creature's tattered robe pulled from its bony body as a gust of wind brushed through the woods, sending shivers up his spine. He could’ve turned away right then. Should’ve. He wasn’t looking for answers to any questions, too stubborn in the fact that it was his job to know more about anything at any given time.

The Suriel stared into his soul as he stared into the cavity of its presence. A stalemate. Death looking at Death, a boy looking at his truth.

And its words were nothing but.

“One day, Shadowsinger, when the world has gone still around you, you’ll find out why silence isn’t quiet anymore.”

The harrowing words had haunted him for centuries. Azriel had shrunk in on himself, retreating further and further inside of the cavern of his mind as the words clung to his brain matter, always there. 

In times where he might’ve forgotten the roughness of the Suriels voice, the pondering of so few words spoken, as if they were a curse branded into his soul, even his shadows would remind him. Curling behind the backs of his ears in a movement that reminded him so much of ragged, bony fingers reaching out for him in the same way. As he stared into those empty eye sockets, puzzling words falling from lips that didn’t move, a tongue that wasn’t there, from a jaw broken and swinging with the breeze.

Azriel finally understands.

Azriel finally understands why silence isn’t quiet anymore.

It’s your soft breaths, fingers brushing against the crisp page as you turn it. The cracking of the stiff spine. Your quiet gasps as the story goes wrong and the rubbing of your thighs when it goes right. He watches you from his place next to you, blankets shifting as you draw your knees to your chest, completely lost in the novel settled in your lap. You don’t even know it, that his hazel eyes are drawn to you like a maggot to rot. You’re lost in your own world, the quiet of the room a friend, a safety that allows you to immerse yourself in letters on pages.

It’s the wooden spoon scraping the bottom of the pot as you stir, staring at him with those heated eyes as if this is as tough for you as it is for him, keeping away. It’s the constant constricting in his chest, a yearning slowly stoked into a wildfire, cracking in the quiet as he waits. It’s the way your skirts whisper against your skin as you move around the kitchen. The sprinkle of spices, coarse salt pinched between your fingers, dripping into the stew. It’s bubbling, it’s meat so tender it falls apart with the spear of his fork, it’s a slurp of broth that burns him up just like you do, accepting the bond.

It’s your body curling into his while you sleep. The crumple of the sheets as you roll. Your fingernails against the mattress as you feel for him, mind buried deep in sleep. He wonders what you dream of, when you cling to him like that, the contours of your body fitting perfectly within his own. He can feel it, almost, the warmth in his chest as you dream.

It’s the flap of his wings in the night sky. You, cradled in his arms. The whipping of your hair across his wind-burnt cheeks. The light scratches at his scalp as you run your fingers through his unruly hair. It’s the steady thump of your chest, your heart against his as you cling to him, the scream you hold in but your body is tight with it.

It’s when you’re gone and he’s all alone. The silence doesn’t stop, but neither does the noise. It’s filled with voices, shadows cawing in his ears, sliding against his skin, chasing his footsteps like predators. It’s the voices in his head, the roaring of his beating chest as it screams at him to find you, even though you’re only gone a few more hours. 

It’s clothes peeling away from skin. Buttons flying to the ground, fabric tearing. Footsteps stumbling closer to the bed. It’s nails scraping down his muscles, his around your waist, pressing bruises into your flesh. All the words that need to be said aren’t words at all. They’re tongues pressing against each other, soothing along each other. It’s teeth clicking, sticking to skin when you bite. It’s your flushed body peeling from his with every move, sticky with sweat. It’s the roiling inside of him, his mating bond coiling with yours, tighter and tighter and tighter until—

Azriel finally understands.

[theinnerunderrain]

Desires [Yan!Wishing Star x Fem!Reader]

Warnings: Yandere themes, description of abuse and reader being in pain (burning), fear, slight description of body parts, implied murder. can you believe the inspiration for this is the star from that Disney movie wish...

+

"It's not fair."

The entity standing in front of you,murmured gently, his hand clenching tightly as his eyes grew stern, echoing the firmness in his tone. In the velvety expanse where night unfolds its cosmic tapestry, a solitary wanderer emerges — the wishing star. A fleeting celestial voyager, trailing stardust whispers across the ink-black canvas, igniting the dreams of earthly dreamers. The celestial glow of the moonlit sky tenderly embraced his form, casting a delicate shimmer upon his blond locks, revealing a subtle stain on his pristine white blouse, obscured yet perceptible in the soft illumination.

"I've heard of your heart's desire," The wishing star advanced toward you with measured grace, coaxing a subtle retreat from your stance as you hesitantly took a step backward.

"I worked so hard to grant your wishes."

He persisted, the palpable frustration resonating through his typically captivating voice. Bathed in the gentle moonlight, it cast an ethereal glow upon his figure. Drawing nearer, the blemishes on his shirt became increasingly conspicuous—a flickering, profound crimson, accompanied by a faint metallic scent that stirred a disquieting nausea within you.

A startled yelp slips from your lips as you inadvertently tumble over an unseen obstacle, causing you to descend onto a patch of grass with your back pressed against the earth's surface. Your hand makes unexpected contact with something wet and warm. The unmistakable scent of metal permeates the air, urging you to swiftly withdraw your hand from the liquid. It's only then that you come to the chilling realization within the darkness—it's a limb, specifically a recently severed hand, its surface glistening with fresh blood.

Your gaze turns back to the wishing star, now standing just a few feet in front of you. His shadow looms over, imparting an ominous presence, and he appears almost like a fading star, deprived of life and passion, slowly dimming in the celestial tapestry. Trembling with fear, you parted your lips to voice a protest, but no sound emerged, leaving the unspoken plea hanging in the tense air.

As the wishing star resumed speaking, its tone softened considerably, a gentle cadence imbuing its voice, which seemed to be nearly carried away by the night's gentle breeze.

"I've done so much for you, for you weak humans. Yet, I've received nothing in return."

Descending onto one knee, he crouched down, his pristine white pants marred by the hues of blood and dirt. Remarkably unfazed, he wore the stains with an air of indifference.

"Tell me, [First Name]. Do you think it's fair?"

You take a moment to contemplate his question, striving to formulate the optimal response that would genuinely satisfy him. However, the awareness lingers that he possesses a keen perception, able to discern any falsehood, as if he has the ability to see through every nuance.

"It's not fair," you stammer, your words echoing through the stillness of the night. The wishing star tilts his head slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

A twisted smile creeps across his lips, and the moonlight casts an eerie gleam in his eyes. "Good answer, my dear [First Name]."

"You're right, it's not fair."

He lingered in a brief pause, his eyes gently closing, as if grappling with thoughts, a silent struggle to restrain any inclination to cause harm.

"So tell me, [First Name]. Do you think I deserve to be compensated for my hard work? Will you be the one to grant my wish?"

His words crashed into you like an oncoming train, resonating through the corridors of your mind as you grapple to unravel their meaning. After a moment of contemplation, you nod hesitantly, yearning for nothing more than the swift conclusion of this situation, eager to retreat to the village with a mind cleansed of the perplexing events of the night.

"Good."

His smile, a deceptive play of pink lips stretched into a wide grin, sent a chill down your spine. Despite its apparent warmth, his eyes held an icy indifference, a contradiction that left an unsettling echo in the air. It was as if his smile danced to a different melody, a tune that aimed to soothe while his gaze remained aloof, weaving a complex tapestry of emotions that begged unraveling. With an unexpected flourish, he delicately pressed a single finger to your forehead. A radiant, golden light emanated from his fingertips, enveloping you in a warmth that seemed to transcend the ordinary. In that moment, an enchanting weight settled upon you, as if the universe itself conspired to make your very essence denser beneath the gentle caress of his touch.

"W...wait..Callisto! What are you—"

As you mustered the courage to protest, his other hand extended, gently caressing your cheek with a touch that felt oddly comforting, as though it were a final offer of solace. The ambient light intensified, casting a surreal brilliance upon the surroundings, rendering the world too bright and eerily silent. Despite the fear coursing through you, there lingered an inexplicable sense of comfort emanating from both the radiant light and the tender graze of his touch. It was a paradoxical dance between apprehension and an oddly soothing presence that left you trapped in a disconcerting embrace of emotions.

In an instant, the beam of light against your forehead erupted, creating a deafening, bell-like resonance that reverberated for meters around. Your body, caught in the chaotic symphony, felt ablaze—no, it was as if fire had ignited everywhere. Desperation urged you to shift away, the searing sensation intensifying, yet his relentless grip forced you down onto the patch of grass. His two hands, like oppressive flames, pressed against you, melding your anguish with the burning world around you.

"No..!"

A piercing scream escapes your lips, the pitch climbing higher as you desperately attempt to roll and extinguish the flames enveloping you. Yet, the ethereal grip of Callisto pins you in place, rendering your frantic movements futile. Frozen in terror, the dance between your desperate cries and the consuming fire unfolds in a macabre symphony orchestrated by the relentless wishing star.

"I'm really sorry, [First Name]. It's going to feel painful at first, but once you wake up again. Everything will be for the better."

Callisto's voice, a haunting melody, softly echoed against the backdrop of your agonizing pleas. As you begged for relief from the erupting fire consuming your very flesh, his gentle tone contrasted with the visceral symphony of pain. With a tenderness that belied the horrors unfolding, his hand reached out, delicately caressing the side of your face, as if soothing the flames that danced upon your skin.

In the twilight of consciousness, as the world dissolved into an inky void and the torment on your body gradually subsided, you felt the celestial presence of the wishing star. One final utterance emerged from the cosmic depths, a whisper that cut through the fading echoes of your suffering, leaving an unsettling imprint on the precipice of darkness.

"As you awaken from your slumber, a transformation awaits you—a rebirth akin to a celestial metamorphosis. You shall emerge not just awakened but as a newfound star, destined to shine eternally in resplendent brilliance, a beacon of enduring beauty that transcends the mere confines of night."

+

[dahliakbs]

Batfam x Reader: Unexpected Trip To The Future

❥synopsis: You sneak out of the house to hang out with your long time bff only to be caught in the cross fire and forcibly ripped away from your family.

✷

Here you sat alone around the small camp fire, su itrrounded by the endless heaps of trash you'd found that were still of use. The night sky shone a prominent blue colour with the clouds being seen far off in the distance.

The air around you was calm and quiet and seeing as how you were the only human being left on this earth it'd be weird if you all of a sudden started hearing noises.

On nights like this you'd sit around the camp fire and think back to the life you'd lived before the accident occured.

You'd always reminisce back to the day you first came to the manor. Bright eyed and filled with joy and enthusiasm, your closest friend Richard Grayson obviously sharing the same enthusiasm as you.

The two of you were know to be quite inseparable, always being seen together no matter the circumstance. The only times you weren't with each other were when Dick had to go out on patrol, reluctantly leaving you in the cold and dark manor by yourself.

Even though at the time you understood why he had to leave you didn't want him to. Back then it was your clingy behavior that got you into the accident.

Both of you having lost your parents at such a young age had left you yearning for some kind of affection and Dick felt the same way. So at any moment of the day you two would be together, playing whatever games you two could come up with until Bruce came home.

But since you two were together every second of the day you didn't see why you weren't allowed to go out on patrol with them. So when you were sat at home by yourself waiting for Dick to come home you'd just decided that if he wasn't gonna come to you you were gonna come to him.

On that night you'd snuck out of the manor, Alfred having not noticed since you escaped through your bedroom window.

You'd somehow squired one the tracking devices B used to know your precise locations and used it to find your way, arriving in less than ten seconds.

"Dick- I mean Robin I'm here!" You yelled out as soon as you made it to the scene. Having not noticed the intense battle going on between your father figure and the joker.

"N/n what are you doing here?" you could see his eyes light up under the mask as he quickly sprinted of the battle field towards you, arms opened wide and awaiting your hug.

You'd returned it quickly, holding out your hands towards him in a silly manner.

"Don't tell B but I snuck out to come see you, I stole one of his tracking thingies and now here I am" you showed off the gadget in your hands to a wide eyed Dick.

"Wait you stole it?!" He exclaimed, drawing everyone's attention towards the two of you.

"Keep quiet or else you'll get me in trouble-"

"What do we have here" Joker suddenly appeared behind Dick, roughly pushing him out of the way to get a good look at you.

"What's a little thing like you doing out here, did you come to say hi to your old uncle Joker?" he asked, you liked down to his hand. Noticing the strange gun he held in his hand. It looked like any regular gun, just deformed and reeking of a strange acidy smell.

"Get away from them" Dick jumped towards the Joker only to be harshly side kicked away from the two of you.

"Well since your here" he grabbed onto your arm, harshly yanking you closer towards him before flashing his deranged yellow smile at you.

His eyes held a mischievous look in them, bloodshot and looking down towards you as if you were nothing more than a puny joke to him.

"I've been meaning to test this thing out and you seem to be quite eager to help your ole uncle J, right?" He asked, pointing the gun in some random direction and pulling the trigger.

The gun shot out a murky green colour, the murky green forming into a circular portal that led to somewhere unknown.

The panic set in for you as you noticed the smile in his face grow to inhuman proportions. Harshly trying to jerk yourself away from him as you called out for anyone's help.

"Someone help me, anyone" your eyes turned blurry with tears as you turned to Bruce then to Dick for help.

"Daddy please help me" you cried out before you felt yourself being thrown towards the portal.

The last thing you saw before being thrown into you the green portal was Bruce chasing after you, wearing an expression you could only describe as scared and desperate. Calling out to you before you were fully submerged inside the portal.

Immediately feeling your body be transported throughout time and space before finally ending up in the wasteland you currently resided in.

The wasteland being the ruins of the former crime city known as Gotham City. Apparently the world had gone to ruins a little after you'd gone to the future, leaving behind a vast dry land ready to be taken over by mother nature.

And all you could think of as you reminisced and watched over this forgotten city were the regrets you had, you just wanted to see your family one last time.

Seeing that expression on Bruce's face really shook you to your core, you didn't think he'd even cared that much about you until you saw how desperate he looked that night.

One of the biggest regrets you had was not being able to see Dick's face one last time, to atleast be able to see his expression before you left him and all you do about it now was cry and look up to the night sky. Hoping that if there was a god out there that they would send you back to the family you belonged to.

Hoping that if you'd finally be able to confess to tell Dick about the silly feelings you had for him when you were both so young. Or maybe hoping to finally spend some time with your cold and hurt guardian.

And as if someone was really out there listening to your pleas you saw a familiar murky green colour fill up the space between you and the campfire.

Immediately lighting up the small space you were in.

A couple seconds of staring at it later you heard someone speak from the other side before s figure emerged from the portal.

?

"Richard is that you?" You asked the figure. They looked exactly identical to him, only difference was that this person was much taller and looked around the same age as you. His suit was very different, instead of the bright red, green and yellow he wore when he was younger he instead sported a black and blue skin tight suit.

The figure kept walking closer, expression slowly crumbling as they inched closer and closer towards you before they stopped Infront you. Taking off their mask to get a better look at you.

"It's time to go home n/n" his voice trembled as he forced the words out of his mouth. He crouched down in front of you, placing his arms underneath your legs and hoisting you into the air without giving you a chance to think to much in the situation.

He hurriedly passed through the portal, almost as if he was trying to get you away from the cursed wasteland as soon as possible. A wave of nausea overcoming before you emerged in the other side.

The intense feeling forcing you into a deep slumber before you could even get to see what was on the other side of the portal.

[dollya-robinprotector]

I often joke with my friends, that the reason I'm still holding my V-card despite being the most horny repressed person they know, is because my standards are out of this world. Simply put, I'm a wibu, and no real man can meet my expectations.

But deep down I think we all know it's because I'm just a coward. I yearn to love and be loved, yet everytime someone expresses that they love me I get scared and run away.

I've mentioned this before, the feeling that I don't deserve love, because I'm weak and unstable, physically and mentally, hell even financially too. I bury myself in works and practice, I seek validation from every person I know, then fall to sleep everyday, exhausted from working and distracting myself from the fact that I'm not whole. And on days I can't draw, my mind is suddenly flooded with heavy emotions I'm so afraid of and tear blurred my vision.

Today is one of those days. Gray sky, no sun, cold wind and dry air make my nose bleed,... The weather is tricking me into thinking I need to be in a strong pair of arms, tightening into warm hugs, with sweet words whispered into my ears that ease my most fearful delusions and laughter and silly jokes that I can only keep to myself for now... This depressed weather, this depressed time of the year, when Lunar year is about to end, is radiating negative effects on people, I'm sure of it.

Even now, suddenly, words make no sense anymore, and my thoughts turn into dancing flowers. In my blurred vision I see them clearly. It's frustrating, you know, when all trains of thoughts just start running all at once, and their paths cross here and there so of course they would crash so loudly and messy. But the crashes all turn into flowers, and then they wither. The withered petals fall on my cheek, my eye lid, my nose and lips, and they tastes salty and wet. And then despite the cold, my cheek and ears burned.

I hate when my ears burned hot.

And then I don't remember what I just thought a moment before anymore. It's strange, I know I thought a lot, but I don't remember them anymore.

Still, my chest feels heavy, and my throat is clogged. My brain sinks, and my typing hands feel tired, and the under skin stops itchy.

And finally, I feel sleepy.

Finally the coffee went off.

God damn you have NO idea what a Vietnamese coffee can do holyshit I hope I can have a restful sleep before waking for class tomorrow.

[goingsunnythousandmerry]

Satoru Gojo X Suguru Geto - Fluff/Yearning/Angst/Pain

Authors Note: Hey friends! I know I am still behind on requests. It is next on my list. I apologize, school has taken more time than I planned. Anyways, I've gotten really into Jujutsu Kaisen lately so I wrote this for my best friend yesterday when Mr. Loverman was stuck in my head. She thought I should share it.

Hope you all enjoy and I'm sorry it HURTS.

Warnings: Umm if you don't want to be sad don't read.

Lots of YEARNING.

These characters are not mine they belong to the great Gege Akutami.

The above image isn't mine, credit to who it belongs to will give it if I am told.

Summary: Memory reflection of the friendship of Gojo and Geto and the words left unsaid.

Song listened to while writing:

Mr. Loverman by Ricky Montgomery featuring Chloe Moriondo

Hope you all Enjoy! Thanks for Reading!

***

How can two people know what love is if they’ve never seen it themselves?

The small classroom was empty except for two occupied wooden desks. Two men sat across from each other, separated by a few desks. The smell of freshly erased chalk lingered throughout the room.

Gojo looked at Geto and the clouds seemed to stop moving in the sky behind him. Geto spoke about his passions like the world at his feet could never crumble. The faint echo of the wind outside was erased by the warmth of Geto’s smile. Whenever Geto spoke, Gojo’s eyes shone like sunbeams piercing through deep water—soft, scattered, and alive with that lingering glimmer just before you break the surface. Geto’s morals and ideals were always  grounded in the possibility of others around them, but never their possibilities. 

The room suddenly felt too wide, like there was too much space between them, too much distance. Gojo stood, stretching, the movement drawing a faint breath from him as his eyes flicked back to Geto, who hadn’t stopped speaking.

Geto’s bangs hung loosely over his forehead, brushing the lids of his purple eyes. Gojo always hated his speeches, but he still listened. They were the strongest, that was all that ever mattered to Gojo, but Geto saw more. He saw more in Gojo than just what he was capable of, he saw who he was. Geto laughed as Gojo began slowly strolling across the room toward him, making some remarks about his moral compass. Geto’s eyes followed him, every step from Gojo drawing his focus tighter. Geto wasn’t sure what he was saying, he was too distracted by Gojo’s confident stride. His breath quickened, the muscles in his leg trembled, and his mind raced as Gojo approached.

Gojo’s gaze was steady as he crossed the room, his feet sure but slow. Gojo stopped in front of Geto with a sigh and the offering of a sarcastic comment. He watched Geto chuckle softly, shrugging his muscular shoulders in response. His laugh like the steady drum of a heartbeat, warm, constant, and grounding. With a quiet exhale, Gojo placed a hand on Geto’s shoulder, his gaze drifting toward the window behind them. 

“Satoru.” Geto whispered.

Geto’s voice lingered on his name, like a breath shared only between them, warm and familiar in the quiet space. His voice always made Gojo's mind reel. Those two syllables explained why Gojo constantly acted out. He wanted Geto to say his name and never stop. But within the silence between the lingering of his name and the moments when Gojo spoke Geto's, there were words left unspoken—feelings too uncertain to be named.

***

Gojo stood and stared at the puddle at his feet. In the water’s reflection were the colors of his memories with Geto– the bike rides, the curse hunting, the pranks– the echo of it all blending into a beautiful canvas. But at the heart of it all, always, was that day in the classroom—frozen in his mind, looping endlessly in the silence of his solitude.

A drop of water broke from the overhang above and splashed into the puddle, sending ripples across the reflection. His smile faltered as the moment cracked, the ache in his chest deepening with the memory of being too late to save him. He was always too late. 

“I wish I had told you.” His voice raw and quiet, a whisper to no one blending with the sound of the rain that began falling again. “I miss you now that you’re gone, Suguru.”

“Gojo-Sensei!” Yuji called his name and Gojo shook the thoughts from his mind.

[collinrobinsonsglasses]

I see you're taking requests for reader/Izzy

I really like this headcanon that Izzy loves to watch the stars when he's alone and I've never really seen anyone write about it? He could teach the reader about the stars/constellations or something.

That and like... I love the idea of him being gentle with the reader with touches or kisses or smth just-- he touches the reader as if they might break :') idk if you can come up with something with this mess of an ask but yeah thank youuuuu <3

This is a shorter one <3

Masterlist

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

Izzy’s absence during Stede’s story time was no surprise, but you made a mental note to tease him about it later. Instead, you found yourself nestled between Lucius and Wee John, listening intently to Stede’s tale of a young French girl yearning to go to the prince’s ball. Your head rested against Lucius’s shoulder as he boasted about how he would effortlessly catch the prince’s eye if he were part of the story. Frenchie chimed in, expressing his disdain for hoity-toity balls for rich people. 

Despite the interruptions, the crew members remained engrossed in Stede’s storytelling, a nightly ritual cherished by all except Izzy. Only when you dragged him over did he reluctantly join, grumbling until you settled snugly between his legs, your back against his chest. Then, he seemed content, holding you close, even if it meant enduring Stede’s tales for an hour. 

After the stories concluded and the crew dispersed to their sleeping quarters, you searched for Izzy, only to find him missing from his bedroom. Heading back to the deck, you were greeted by the serene night, the moon and stars casting their glow on the calm waters surrounding the ship. Eventually, you found Izzy near the stern, sitting on the poop deck, gazing at the starry sky. His silver hair shimmered in the moonlight, and you couldn’t help but admire how peaceful he looked. As his eyes met yours, you realized he had sensed your gaze. You tilted your head to the side playfully, knowing he would catch on to your silent admission of missing his presence tonight. 

A cocky grin spread across his face as he studied you, a familiar gesture he often did when it was just the two of you. “Did you miss me?” he purred softly, the tone in his voice sending a familiar chill up your spine. 

“Fuck off,” You rolled your eyes in mock annoyance. Yet, a small smile, curling up at the corners of your lips, betrayed your true feelings. 

“Oh, I see, you’re pissed at me?” he teased before gazing back up towards the night sky. You made a show of going to turn before his voice stopped you. “Get the fuck over here. Stop being a twat.” 

You pretended to pout at his command, but quickly complied, sliding between his two legs where he sat, nestling your back against his chest. It was exactly where you wanted to be, safe in Izzy’s arms. He enveloped you with his arms, drawing you closer, and lightly brushed his lips against your neck. Your body trembled at his touch, feeling your heart racing in your chest. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered in your ear, planting soft kisses along your neck. Although you were never truly upset with him, you melted at his touch, wondering whether you could ever be angry towards Izzy if this was his solution. 

Leaning his head back against the ship, he once again gazed at the stars, and you rested your head on his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of each breath. 

“What were you up to tonight, Iz?” you whispered, brushing your fingers lightly against the back of his hand. He responded to your touch by flipping his hand palm up, allowing you to easily intertwine your fingers with his. 

“Story time is when those twats finally shut the fuck up, so I take advantage of that time to just look at the stars,” he replied softly, speaking in a manner he often reserved only for you. 

Warmth radiated through your chest upon learning something new about Izzy. It had taken a long time for him to start being vulnerable with you, and you felt privileged every time he shared something new about himself. 

“Teach me,” you requested.

With a gentle touch, Izzy guided your hand towards the vast expanse of the night sky. “Here, look,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with a quiet reverence. His finger traced a familiar pattern among the stars, forming the outline of a bear. “That is Ursa Major. The Great Bear,” he explained, his whisper tickling your ear. 

You settled your head back on Izzy’s chest once he had pointed out the constellation, gazing at the stars he had indicated, as a wave of peace rushed over you. You felt Izzy’s fingers begin to trace up and down your arms as you both continued to gaze towards the sky. After a while, his fingers wrapped around your side, and he ran his thumb up and down your ribs. You couldn’t help but let out a long sigh at his touch, eliciting a low chuckle from Izzy that reverberated through the air. You felt your eyelids begin to grow heavy as time continued to pass in Izzy’s arms. 

“The Great Bear looks like a ladle,” you mumbled before sleep began to claim you. Izzy chuckled softly before planting a warm kiss on your head. “I’m going to call it Roach’s ladle.” 

Next thing you knew, Izzy’s arms had wrapped around your legs, lifting you up to carry you. You nuzzled your head into his chest, gazing up at him, before whispering, “I want you to tell me about all of the stars, Izzy.” 

“I promise,” Izzy whispered back, a warm, gentle smile gracing his face. 

You thought the stars in the sky were beautiful, but nothing in the universe could compare to Israel Hand’s smile. You would do anything in your power to see it as often as you could.

[merbear25]

eeeee congrats!! your writing is beautiful and you are very dear to me!!

requesting fem!reader w/zoro + 7 for the event 👉👈

Eeeeee thank you for sending in a request, lovely! Your words are so very kind and you are so dear to me, too 💜💜 I hope you like what I've written for you!

Holding on

CW: SFW, fem!reader, fluff

With the stars scattered across the nighttime sky, such beauty was meant to be relished in with someone close to you―near and dear to your heart. You counted your blessings that such a person existed for you. Although your feelings were reciprocated, they were still newfound. Being in the early stages meant they required delicate tending to so as to ensure the budding romance could flourish into an ever-lasting love.

Staring up at the wonders which the universe had in store, the warm breeze from the sea wafted over the both of you. Casting a sense of tranquility over you, while you laid shoulder to shoulder with Zoro. You closed your delicate lashes to allow yourself to bask in the hushed quiet you were often in search for.

However, those intruding thoughts of reality impeded on your time together. Knowing you'd have to leave his side whenever the Sunny eventually docked, not wanting to think about what lay ahead on those shores, the encompassing fear of 'what if': such intrusion opened the floodgates and carried you out to the raging seas.

There weren't as many moments as you would've liked to just be able to breathe and appreciate each other's company―fragments that you had to be quick to grab or else they'd fade into the nullity of whatever else had been lost.

Turning to him, your shallow breaths spoke volumes. "What's on your mind?" He asked without meeting your gaze.

With your eyes falling from his face, you thoughtfully crafted one of your deepest desires, "Can we just stay like this?" Wincing at your own display of raw emotion, you couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that it was a silly thing for a grown woman to say.

As the breeze picked up and carried more of a bite to it, your body shivered at the chilled teeth being sunk into it. The sudden shift in temperature alluded to a brewing storm, its whirling dark clouds itching to cast harsh force on your promising love.

Zoro still hadn't responded, which left your words suspended and further let doubt as to whether it was childish for you to say them blanket over you.

In spite of taking his time to respond to you, such worries as to why he was hesitatng were mute. Hearing you express such a simple, yet vulnerable want struck him to his core. He yearned for the same, though he felt as if whatever he said wouldn't do his innermost thoughts justice.

Instead, he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, and held on firmly. Showing you that he shared in your want to cling to this moment for as long as you could―grasping at this petal of elation fluttering past―was the most competent way for him to bear his heart.

The blanket that'd been thrown on you was now tossed aside, allowing you to breathe easily. A smile repelled the troubling thoughts that were creeping in, its warmth consuming the darkness that trailed alongside them. Such an inviting radiance was contagious; even without having to look at you, your tenderness made itself known to Zoro. His own satisfaction was shown on his expression.

The petals of your blossoming love bathed in the moonlight and shine of the stars, soaking up their softened rays. Despite the storm drawing nearer, threatening the foundations of it, your adoration for each other was securely planted. Such forces wouldn't dare be given the chance to uproot what the both of you were nurturing.

You could rest assured that whatever came your way, you both would be there to trek through it together. Even though the quality time that did manage to find you was short-lived, leaving your heart aching for more, you tried not to dwell on it. The present was worth giving your full attention to, holding on to that fragment for as long as you could.

[mcntsee]

Shooting star

Summary: You spot a shooting star, close your eyes tight, make a wish, and hope it comes true.

Warnings: Angst.

Note: This is not my favorite work, but I saw a shooting star today and just had to write something.

* ੈ✩‧₊��

Kaz wasn't certain what had brought him here in the first place, nor did he have an inkling as to why they were having this conversation.

"It's not foolish; it's a shooting star!"

Yet, deep down, he acknowledged it might have been his heart’s silent plea to remain close to her, willing to follow her anywhere, even through the depths of hell.

"It's not even a star."

"Quiet and let me make a wish."

He couldn't fathom it. Watching her squeeze her eyes shut so tightly, he wondered if she wasn't seeing stars.

Despite finding her actions silly, he couldn't bring himself to extinguish the twinkle in her eyes.

So he waited until she opened her eyes again. "I've seen you take down multiple men, yet you believe a rock will make your wishes come true."

“There’s people out there that can stop our hearts with a mere gesture.”

Not to mention those born destined to become Saints.

"I believe a rock entering the atmosphere could make a wish come true."

He recalled his mum mentioning shooting stars a couple of times. Just like Y/N, she had mimicked the same actions. Whatever his mum had wished for, he never discovered.

“Has it ever?”

“What?”

“Has a wish ever come true?”

“Yes. One.”

He wanted to laugh. How unfair it seemed that she could find happiness in a rock when he, as a child, had been let down by the so-called shooting stars multiple times. But he didn’t.

“What was it?”

“To be saved.”

If Kaz was known for anything other than the dreadful things he could do for the right price, it was for always having a retort. This time, however, he didn’t. So he listened.

“I was hungry, angry, cold and sad. And I saw one.”

She could recall that day vividly, as if it were yesterday. Granted, it had only been a couple of years, but she was certain she would never forget it.

“I wished someone would come and save me.”

She had closed her eyes tightly, her father’s voice echoing in her head, reminding her of the countless times he had taken her stargazing.

The day they saw a shooting star, her father had told her to make a wish. She had.

Sometimes she still wonders if the reason why her father died was was because she had shared her wish with her friend. If the Saints viewed it as breaking a rule and twisted her dream into a nightmare.

“Next day, you found me.”

“I think that’s called luck, love.”

“We don’t get lucky, Kaz.”

Kaz hummed. A silence enveloped them both, and he wondered what she had wished for. To live for many years? To always have money? Perhaps she had wished for love or to leave this city behind.

“You should try it.”

“I don’t rely on rocks for my wishes to manifest.”

With a sigh, she stood up. For a moment, Kaz yearned to grasp her hands and implore her to stay, to convey that he would, just to keep her from leaving. Yet, he hesitated, and that brief pause was all she needed to vanish.

“And, I already have my shooting star.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kaz never would have imagined that the next time he returned to this spot, it would be without her by his side.

He never anticipated the overwhelming emptiness that would consume him—the ache in his heart echoing the memory of her laughter and the beauty of her eyes whenever his mind dared to revisit those moments.

It had been so long since he last heard her voice—telling stories, teasing him, attempting to draw laughter from him.

His shooting star was gone, and all the magic she had planted within him was extinguished—ripped away just as she had been.

He felt so alone.

While his mind had been lost in what if’s, his eyes caught the swift movement in the sky—a shooting star, racing faster than the constant wind hitting his face.

He laughed—a laughter laced with pain—as he reminisced about the countless times he had seen Y/N pause, shutting her eyes tight in pursuit of wishes.

Without meaning to, he imitated the same actions he had seen her do countless times, closing his eyes. His wish left his lips in a quiet whisper.

“Come back.”

But she wouldn’t. After all, it wasn’t even a star. Just a rock breaking through the atmosphere.

In the blink of an eye, the shooting star was gone, much like his- his girl, his shooting star.

[shybunnie20]

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

★My Masterlist

Summary: After some time in the spotlight, Eddie returns to Hawkins and finds that his unfinished confession to his best friend awaits him.

Author's Note: Here's a little something I wrote while I've been chipping away at my other WIPs. It’s way longer than I expected but I'm happy with how it turned out. The angst is very mild and it has a happy ending!

AU with no Upside Down, no use of y/n, established past friendship, Eddie and reader graduated the same year but ages aren't specified, focuses on Eddie's POV, proofread to an extent.

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of sex, includes swearing

After posing for the cover of the latest Metal Edge magazine, Eddie was eager to head back home ASAP. While he enjoys his time on the East Coast, he was really looking forward to some much-needed downtime. As he boarded his private jet and set off, everything was going according to plan. However, the weather decided that he was going to make a pit stop. Rather, an emergency landing.

Plans get derailed and unpredictability is a part of the lifestyle. When your private jet is just about plucked from the sky during a lightning storm, finding a place to land is imperative, no matter the location. In this instance, his jet touched down in Indianapolis. Hopes of catching a taxi to Hawkins were dashed. No taxi driver in their right mind would willingly brave the distance from the city to the suburb in that weather. Eddie was left with one person to call upon—the man whom Eddie had been considering visiting for quite some time.

Wayne was surprised to receive the phone call but he agreed to pick Eddie up from the airport without hesitation. They haven’t been staying in touch as of late; Eddie’s life is nothing short of a whirlwind consisting of sold-out arenas and constant travel. Getting a hold of his nephew became a challenging feat. Wayne rarely got past speaking to Eddie’s assistants.

It was his uncle’s rare day off and calls at that time of night were few and far between. So, when Wayne’s canary yellow phone practically leaped off of the hook, he was astonished. After making the drive through the pattering rain, Wayne retrieved a sulking Eddie from Concourse B. As Eddie settled into the passenger seat of the fixer-upper, exhaustion from his turbulent journey was evident.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with a protesting ache in his lower back, the result of a night spent on the pull-out couch. As he sits up straight, he lets out a low groan, vocalizing how his body yearns for the luxurious embrace of the Egyptian cotton sheets that are fitted around his California king mattress. They lay chilled without him, thousands of miles away in his opulent hillside mansion in Beverly Hills.

As he stretches in an attempt to unknot the tension between his shoulder blades, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He stumbled through the front door so late last night that he had no energy left to get reacquainted with his childhood home. He even wound up sleeping in his designer jeans, the coarse denim a far cry from the plush pajamas he would normally change into before bed.

A gentle grin forms on Eddie’s lips upon feeling comforted by the familiarity of the room. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the simple life that Wayne brought him up in. Eddie gazes around, noticing the subtle changes such as the addition of new mugs and hats to their respective displays. One particular change catches his attention and draws a fond exhale from his stale lungs. The worn-out doormat, which was torn to hell when he was a teenager, was finally replaced.

Despite his internal clock being out of whack, Eddie’s brain knows when it’s time for a cup of jitter juice. He rises from the rickety mattress, his back cracking loudly at the extension. A moan of discomfort slips out as he winces at the pinch at the base of his neck. “Jesus, fuck,” he mutters aloud. Eddie makes a mental note to buy Wayne a new sofa.

His socked feet slide across the linoleum as he steps into the kitchen. He notices that the bedroom door is closed, though it’s doing very little to dampen the loud snoring emitting behind it. Eddie yawns as he grinds his fists into his eyes, causing a splash of tingling colors across the darkness of his lids. He approaches the corner cupboard, knowing that what he’s looking for will be in the same place it always has been. The cabinet door greets him with a squeak and he’s met with a single dented can of Folgers. That shit is practically varnish remover, it simply won’t do.

Eddie sighs as the craving for his favorite Italian coffee intensifies. It’s so rich, flavorful, smooth, and yet, it packs a punch. Just the thought of the hazelnut dark roast takes him back to the first time he ever tried it in Trieste. From that moment on, he needed it imported back home.

Well, the java situation is a bust. For the time being, Eddie has a choice. Either charred slices of Wonderbread or plain cornflakes. AKA, buttered plywood or a bowl of sawdust. Ew and ew. Settling for the arguably more exciting option, Eddie decides on toast. Each bite into the brittle slice causes dark crumbs to scatter into his open palm that he holds beneath his chin. He can’t be bothered to get a plate, even as an adult. The burnt bits accumulate in his hand as he continues to nibble. While Eddie brushes his palms over the sink to rid himself of crumbs, he catches sight of the magazine clipping held to the fridge door by a Tweety Bird magnet. Frozen in time on glossy paper is a photo of him at the American Music Awards last year. “Damn, I looked good.” He smirks as he recalls the tailored suit, the lapels encrusted with dazzling gems, and his pale bare chest blinding the paparazzi from beneath it. The memories of that night come rushing, the flashing cameras and the cheers of his fans.

With his tummy partially pleased but the craving for quality coffee intensifying, Eddie recalls that there’s only one good place around here to get a quality cup of Joe. Eddie takes a brisk shower to wash away the residual stickiness that clings to his skin from a night spent fully clothed in the stuffy trailer. He dresses in the most pedestrian outfit that’s in his suitcase, hoping to blend in as much as possible, and heads out. 

Eddie’s stride carries him through the glass door of Morningside Café, the cheerful bell above it announces his arrival. The café is bustling, as one would expect on a Saturday morning. The patrons have come for their morning pick-me-up, much like Eddie.

Initially, he considers keeping his onyx-lensed sunglasses on, a barrier that would shield him from potential recognition and the commotion that would ensue. But he decides to take them off, knowing that he might stick out if he’s wearing sunglasses indoors. Eddie tucks one of the folded arms of the frame into the collar of his t-shirt. To his surprise, nobody reacts. No one gasps or falls to their knees at his feet. The world around him continues to turn. Part of him yearns for the ego boost that comes with being recognized but, all in all, he’s relieved to experience a semblance of normalcy for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Taking a moment to soak in his surroundings, Eddie’s gaze sweeps across the interior of the shop. His eyes linger on the display case where flaky pastries drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauces are housed. The cabin-esque aesthetic warms the soul with rich wood tones and a brick fireplace. It stands dormant, flameless, because it’s too warm out for a fire this time of year.

Beside the fireplace sit two figures that catch his attention. Even from a short distance, Eddie recognizes the mane of luscious locks, a signature feature that only belongs to one person. He strolls over with excitement tugging at his chest.

“Excuse me,” Eddie’s voice is hushed as he addresses the two figures engrossed in conversation. “Do you happen to know if the creamer here is fat-free?”

Steve and Robin’s dialogue comes to an abrupt halt, their voices silenced by the unexpected interruption. They exchange a glance, their eyebrows raising in unison. Simultaneously, their heads turn to peer over their shoulders. And there he stands, Eddie, someone they never thought they’d see again.

Steve gets to his feet a beat faster than Robin and he’s all smiles. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

“Must be an expensive cat,” Robin quips while she eyes Eddie, a quick assessment that catches details he overlooked in his haste to blend in. Her comment refers to the flashy jewelry he neglected to take off. “Persian, right? Those are the goblin-looking ones that rich people like? Ugly little fluff balls, if you ask me.”

Eddie’s sigh carries relief, expressing his genuine pleasure in knowing that Robin remains candid and unfiltered, just as he remembers her. As he extends his hand, Steve meets him with a firm handshake.

A friendly slap on the shoulder from Steve follows. “What brings you to this god-forsaken town?” His question is punctuated by true curiosity and a hint of humor, alluding to Eddie’s past that has kept him from ever returning up until now.

 “I was in the area,” Eddie replies with a sense of restraint, deliberately avoiding the true source of his change in plans. “Figured I'd swing by to see what’s what.”

Robin gestures for Eddie to take the seat opposite of them. They all settle into their mahogany-colored chairs. Eddie shifts awkwardly, the denim of his jeans dragging on the leather noisily.

With her elbows digging into her knees, Robin leans forward and supports her chin with her balled fists, positioned to hear the greatest story in her life. “So?” 

Eddie blinks dumbly, bemusement evident on his face. “What?” 

Reclined deeply into his chair, Steve rests his hands on his belly with interlocked fingers. “Enlighten us. Where the hell did ya go?”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, “Well, uh, I migrated west and lived in my van for a while. Then I found an ad in the paper for a spare bedroom in a janky apartment. I did the roommate thing for a bit and then- I dunno,” He twists the grim reaper-shaped ring around the base of his middle finger. “Things just worked out, I guess.”

Robin blows a raspberry and sits back into a less anticipatory position. “Long story short, huh? The last I saw, you were on the red carpet escorting Heather Locklear.”

Her reference to Eddie’s past event appearance draws a smirk from him, feeling a sense of satisfaction in knowing that his old friends have been keeping up with the big things he’s been doing. While she encourages Eddie to delve into the details of his daily life, Steve looks across the room at you. Your nose is to the grindstone, your hands working deftly to maintain the rhythm that ensures that the orders are being fulfilled in a timely manner.

Opening shifts are the worst, for the customers and the employees alike. Nobody is at their friendliest due to the dark clouds of exhaustion hanging over everyone’s heads. Not to mention, regulars have their quirks. Some are particularly anal—specifying exact temperatures for their flavored fuel. They scrutinize your every move, even going as far as monitoring the thermometer to ensure that their demands are met.

The grind of the morning rush is draining, yet, you soldier on. You wipe away spilled coffee grounds from the countertop and amidst the clatter and constant flow of orders, you catch Steve staring right at you. His expression is peculiar, his arched brows paired with a subtle curve to his lips. You tilt your head inquisitively at him. What?

Steve subtly points across from him and mouths, Eddie Munson.

Your hand freezes mid-motion, the damp rag caught between your palm and the solution-streaked surface. Instinct takes over as you lean onto your tiptoes, straining to catch a glimpse over the top of the coffee machine. And no shit, there’s that head of chocolate curls. Your pulse spikes as apprehension floods your belly. Returning your gaze to Steve, you mouth back to him, oh my god.

Steve’s frantic wave beckons you over, his urgency not leaving room for subtlety. Eddie takes notice of Steve and he looks to see who he’s motioning to. Your eyes meet and for a split second, utter disbelief is mirrored on both of your faces.

You panic and duck out of sight, retreating to the relative cover near the floor. Your thoughts race, your heartbeat pounding twice that. “What the actual fuck is he doing here?” you ask yourself, unable to grapple with the overwhelming emotions.

Eddie’s heavy-footed steps carry him up to the counter, the air around him feeling electrically charged, making his arm hair stand up straight. His chest constricts as he approaches the ledge and looks behind it. There you are, sitting on the floor with your legs pulled close to your chest and your forehead against your knees.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles airily, though his brows are pulled together as to why you’re down there.

Reluctantly, you lift your head and meet his eyes. A sheepish grin tugs at your lips and you can’t help but scrunch your nose. “Eddie, hi!”

“Whatcha doin’ down there?” he asks playfully, then catching his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to suppress the smile that threatens to form. “Almost looks like you’re tryin’ to hide from me.”

You shake your head, only slightly annoyed at his amusement. “I’m just busted, aren’t I?” As you get to your feet, you wipe your palms on your apron before rounding the corner of the counter.

Eddie’s arms are already outstretched before you’re even in full view. You find yourself stepping forward to meet his embrace. The hug is brief, not quite as long as Eddie would’ve liked it to be. His beaming smile accompanies his glittering stare as it follows your features, studying the subtle changes since he saw you last. “Long time no see,” he teases with the lick of his lip.

You’ve already taken a step back, creating a bit of space between the two of you. With a deep breath, you nod. “Tell me about it, it’s been like what, six years?” It’s your turn to trace the contours of his face.

You’ve seen the tabloids on the racks in the supermarket, the pages that showcase his exhilarating career. You’ve seen his music videos on MTV. Regardless of the set design and general concept, there’s a constant—Eddie, partially naked with jeans slung low on his hips, surrounded by bleach-blonde stunners hanging off of him one way or another. He always stood tall, an embodiment of untouchability despite being touched just about everywhere by sets of cherry-painted fingernails. His image has become synonymous with charismatic magnetism and sex appeal.

And now, he’s standing right in front of you. Eddie’s silver nose ring catches the overhead lighting, a rebellious contrast to the well-groomed beard that frames his jaw. He has far more tattoos than he had when you were friends.

The dangling layers of necklaces twinkle like constellations. While you hugged him, you recognized his natural scent which was mostly the same, but with a faint woody undertone. The cologne he wears seems to have become one with his clothes, the scent being inseparable from him no matter how many times the article is washed.

Eddie also looks stronger and his physical presence is more defined. His slim frame matured into something more substantial, and his muscles are built and bound with raw talent.

It’s a curious juxtaposition to see him in such plain clothes. He almost resembles the Eddie that you knew, feeling both familiar and transformed, an evolution you’re struggling to take in all at once.

“Yeah, coming up on six. Feels like it’s been longer than that,” Eddie replies, the joy in his voice unconcealed. He shamelessly looks over your uniform, the baby blue polo shirt beneath the navy apron, with his interest plain for anyone to see. He took in your scent too. Your natural smell blended with coffee, and it struck a chord within him. The combination of the two is better than his beloved Italian coffee beans alone.

“How long are you in town for?” You inquire while playing with the hem of your apron. Meanwhile, you shift your weight on the balls of your feet, attempting to soothe yourself with the rocking motion.

Eddie sucks air through his teeth with resignation. “Just today, actually.”

“Oh,” you mumble, your expression subtly crestfallen at the news of his limited stay. “That’s too bad. You really can’t stay any longer?”

“I wish I could but stopping by wasn’t exactly on my to-do list. I was flying home from New York and then my jet-”

You’re startled as your supervisor’s voice booms from behind you, yanking you back to reality. Her words are stern, reprimanding you for being distracted. She scolds, saying that the line is twice as long as it should be. A quick glance at your coworker makes you feel guilty, seeing as he’s struggling to keep up with taking and filling orders by himself.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, “Coming!” With a final moment of eye contact with Eddie, you offer him a rueful smile. “Sorry, duty calls,” As you turn and make your way back to your station, you call out to Eddie over your shoulder. “It was great to see you.”

The sentiment hangs in the air, one that Eddie wishes you had a chance to elaborate on. But, time is of the essence and you’re already back to filling cups without waiting for his response. For a few seconds, Eddie watches you seamlessly shift back into work mode as if he isn’t there anymore. Returning to Steve and Robin, he’s met with pointed looks that are laden with interest. The weight of the encounter, the unexpected vulnerability he felt looking into your eyes, settles on his shoulders. As Eddie returns to the seat across from them, he slumps down with a pout.

Robin’s brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor. “Why the long face? Didn’t you ask her out?”

Eddie’s response is a sullen half-note while he stares fixedly at a speck of mud on Steve’s shoe. “No,” he says, “I didn’t, and quite frankly, I don’t think she’d even want to.” In the way that Eddie is carrying himself, it’s obvious that his insecurities have been stirred up. “You should’ve seen the way she looked at me. It was like she hardly recognized me.”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I dunno, man. Kinda hard to believe a hot shot like you can’t get whatever girl he sets his sights on.”

That remark sparks something within Eddie, a realization that switches his perspective. Steve’s words hit home—he’s Eddie fucking Munson. A Grammy award-winning recording artist for Christ’s sake. Casanova, heavy hitter, ladies’ man. His confidence resurfaces, becoming acutely aware of the charm he can whip out whenever he needs it; he’s well equipped for this moment.

Summoning the deepest breath he’s ever taken, Eddie rises to his feet once again, feeling sure of himself this time. His hands smooth down his shirt and he clears his throat. When Eddie chances a look behind him, Steve and Robin are giving him two, technically four, thumbs up as a means of encouragement.

With newfound resolve, Eddie approaches the counter once again. You’re a flurry of motion, caught up in the demands of your job. A bead of sweat threatens to drip from your brow as you ensure that the whipped cream on top of the ice-cold beverage is the perfect amount.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice cuts through the ambient noise, a little louder than necessary to ensure that you’ve heard him.

You peek up at him with a grin in acknowledgment. “Hi,” Though his presence is noted, your focus is unwavering, determined not to let any more interruptions affect your efficiency.

Eddie’s knuckles wrap against the counter, a drumming that underscores his everlasting nerves when it comes to you. “What are you doing tonight?”

Powdered cinnamon dusts the air as you gently tap the kitchen dredger over the tower of whipped cream. The finely ground burnt umber falls where it’s meant to, rather than onto your apron. “I don’t have any plans, why?” You hand the completed drink to the awaiting customer beside Eddie, giving them a polite smile that’s a testament to your professionalism.

The act of biting the inside of his cheek does little to help Eddie relax. “Would you maybe wanna grab a bite to eat?” he hesitates for a beat, the thudding of his heart is on the verge of drowning out his voice. “I’ll bet you’ll have worked up quite the appetite by the time you’re shift is done.”

You sigh softly, mulling over Eddie’s offer. “I don’t know…” You say contemplatively while flipping the switches on the machine, causing it to roar to life.

Eddie holds his breath, every passing second heightening his senses.

“Okay, I suppose I will be pretty hungry,” you concede, your eyes nearly forming tears of stress as you accept the ever-present line of customers. “Early dinner at Benny’s?” You suggest with an inviting tone.

“Just like old times,” Eddie smiles so wide that it feels like the corners of his lips might split and bleed. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.” He offers to pick you up, which he’d truly rather not. That would mean that he’d be taking you out in his uncle’s jalopy. In Eddie’s mind's eye, he would pick you up in a sports car and rev the engine to the point where you’re pressing your thighs together to stave off the vibrations coursing through you. A man can dream.

“No, I’ll meet you there,” you assert, your voice firm with certainty. The authenticity of your smile bridges the previously placed distance between you. “Thank you, though.”

His knuckles leave one last sequence of knocks on the marble surface, a rhythm of pride and assurance. “See you later, then,” Eddie confirms, his tone dancing on the edge of excitement.

You nod. “Later,”

Eddie turns away and finds his friends with expectant gazes plastered on their faces, awaiting the verdict of the exchange. His smile hasn’t fallen in the slightest, his dazzling white teeth and flushed cheeks don’t go unnoticed. Eddie’s enthusiasm is palpable, his words coming out in a hushed rush. “She said yes!” he exclaims, trying to shake the blood back into his fingers as the tingling sensation bites at him. “It’s a date,” He adds in triumph.

Sitting at the mini kitchen table in Wayne’s trailer, the rusty metal chair squeaks under his weight anytime he shifts. He can’t even sit still, despite there being plentiful hours between now and when he’ll see you again. Eddie finds himself flipping through the scrapbook you put so much time into making the summer before your senior year. That particular summer holds such significance to him, a time when the days were endless, and the bond between you felt unshakeable.

Each photograph feels as warm and breezy as the one before it. Sunbathing on the shore of Lover’s Lake, your toes dipping into the water as you prepared to leap off of the dock. The memory is vivid—your skin glistening and energy positively radiant with innocence and naivety. One of the snapshots of Eddie is far less flattering. He’s captured with sharp tan lines, the contrast in tones creating the illusion of him wearing a white shirt, despite being topless.

Eddie bites down on his lip as he studies the photograph of you riding your bike in cutoff shorts, your t-shirt having met an equal fate. The wind tangled through your hair in a way that he wished he could with his fingers.

The picture beside it features the two of you together. Obviously, Wayne had taken on the role of photographer. You’re both posed proudly beside a tower of playing cards that you spent 45 minutes building card by card, on the very table that Eddie is sitting at. Both of you held your breath and didn’t speak a word to avoid knocking it down. Taped across the same page are watermelon and grape-flavored blow pop wrappers, unredeemed arcade tickets, movie stubs, and receipts saved from snack runs made on days that you were craving specific treats.

With the turn of a page, Eddie melts a little as he comes across the photobooth strips. It was necessary for you to sit on his lap in order for both of you to fit within the frame. He was able to wrap his arms around your waist and hold you close as if there was anywhere for you to go inside the cramped box. Your arms encircled his neck and rested on his shoulders while you made silly faces at the camera, and even better, at each other.

Eddie recoils at the picture of him with red-stained popsicle sticks protruding from his mouth, immaturely imitating a walrus, of all things. You laughed so hard that you insisted on taking a photo, and as much as dislikes the image itself, he’s still eating up how delighted you were by his antics.

The moments that weren’t captured on film come flooding back just as vividly as if they’re pasted to the paper before him. Inhaling helium from balloons and laughing hysterically at one another is a night that comes to mind. He knew he’d never get sick of making you laugh. And that time when playfully tossing popcorn into each other's mouths evolved from being a fun game to a skill. Last but not least, Eddie reminisces about sitting in his van together with the windows down, sharing cigarettes and music as the cool evening air enveloped you both. The quieter memories are just as deafening as the amusing ones.

His life had its fair share of upheaval and dysfunction that seemed to pull him in all directions. Amidst the chaos, one constant remained. You. Eddie didn’t need more than that, you already made life worth living.

But, as life often goes, the sweet moments can become bitter in the blink of an eye. 

It was the night of your graduation party, a celebration meant to be an intimate gathering among close friends—you, Eddie, Robin, and Steve. But when Eddie pulled up to your parent’s house, a scene was unfolding before him that he hadn’t anticipated. The yard was dotted with clusters of students while the front door was revolving with people drunkenly coming and going. Inside the belly of the beast was even more lively.

Eddie hesitantly navigated the throngs of teens in the hallway, people he was sure that you weren’t even on a first-name basis with. He knew your house like the back of his hand but it felt foreign due to the sheer number of bodies dancing, running, and tumbling over. 

He was going to finally tell you how he felt, a declaration that had been building within him for some time. Eddie understood that you were out of his league, the unspoken boundaries dictating that best friends aren’t supposed to fall in love, yet he found himself helplessly ensnared by his adoration for you. For so long, Eddie was afraid of pressing his luck, and even more so, was in a state of constant disbelief that he was lucky enough to call you the most important person in his life.

Graduation marks a turning point in a young person’s life, a juncture where change is inevitable. Eddie was ready for change and he wanted his dreams to bleed into reality. He yearned to hold you without any limitations, to kiss you like he needed to in order to survive. It was time for a new chapter and Eddie hoped that when he turned the page, he’d get the girl he wanted more than anything in the world.

You were in the kitchen. Typically, he gets a kick out of the way you act when you’re that buzzed. Your joyful disposition under the influence of celebration and booze led to you being the most laid-back version of yourself. However, he was facing an unanticipated predicament. Eddie was trying to have a serious conversation with you at a rowdy party. His hands were trembling, and luckily, his leather jacket concealed the fact that he’d soaked the pits of his t-shirt.

“There you are,” Eddie hummed and stepped closer to make sure that you could hear him over the music and chatter.

“Here I am!” you giggled, your cheeks flushed and energy unreserved. “Isn’t this wild?” You motioned to the piles of assorted cups and bags of snacks scattered haphazardly.

“Yeah,” Eddie responded, glancing over his shoulder as he was jolted by a stranger bumping into him. “What happened to watching movies and ordering pizza?”

The trace of disappointment in Eddie’s tone might have been discernable to a sober individual, but in your inebriated state, it slipped under your radar. Your smile remained and you swayed. The movement was more so a result of your jelly legs than unenthusiastic dancing. “I know, but my parents went all out and invited our entire class! I guess they figured that throwing a rager was a good way to congratulate me,” You chuckled and took another burning sip from your cup.

Eddie leaned in, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he pleaded. “There’s something I need to tell you.” The weight of his unspoken feelings was on the verge of suffocating him and the heat of the room paled in comparison to the fire in his belly.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes ever so bright. “What is it?”

Given that you hadn’t budged an inch, that meant that the conversation was gonna happen right where you stood. Eddie tried to breathe steadily, knowing that he’d rehearsed this and he knew what he wanted to say. Unfortunately, the words had startled to scramble in his head. “You, uh- you know that you’re my favorite person in the whole world, right?”

“Of course, you’re mine too,” you agreed as you pawed at his shoulder before leaning back against the counter to make up for your lessening ability to stand up straight.

“I couldn’t ask for a better best friend-” Unfortunately for him, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The song that had been playing ended abruptly. “But I wanna be more than that.”

Eddie’s heart sank as his words hung in the air. The confession that was meant for your ears only was now released into the open, leaving Eddie exposed. A mocking laughter filled the air that the music once inhabited; Jack Carver, the asshole who’s had it out for Eddie since the fifth grade, was locked and loaded.

Eddie’s blood ran cold at the sound as it collided with his ears. His fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, his body tensing as he struggled to prepare himself for what was about to happen. 

Jack Carver’s taunting cut like a sharp blade, drawing a wave of laughter from the surrounding students with it. “Did everybody hear that?” he shouted with derision, “The freak wants himself a little girlfriend.”

Defenseless, Eddie clenched his knuckles as the walls began to close in on him. He knew it wasn’t over yet.

“There’s a reason you’re still a virgin, and you’ll die one, too.” Jack sneered.

Prior to that evening, Eddie had steeled himself for the possibility of rejection from you. He‘d surrender to the emotional blow to keep you as his best friend. But he wasn’t armed for the level of humiliation that Jack’s provocation brought down on him. It was the wounds of his childhood, the physical and emotional scars from years of being picked on, that were torn open. Jack always knew how to hit him where it hurt.

The tears that blurred Eddie’s vision shielded him from your pitying and startled expression. It all felt like a cruel twist of fate, a reminder that he was meant to be the outsider, forever on the fringes without someone to hold him close at night. As the laughter continued to echo around him, Eddie fled before the atmosphere could swallow him whole. Without a second thought, he shoved his way through the crowd and bolted out of your front door.

The night air hit him like a wall, cooling the hot tears that streamed down his scorched cheeks. Eddie stumbled to his van and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and let out a shuddering breath, feeling like everything inside of him was coming apart at the seams. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut to clear his vision by forcing the pooled tears to flow and he raised his head back up. He saw you stepping off of your front porch, a concerned look branded on your features while you called out to him, searching.

At that moment, he decided that he was gonna show every single person who thought so little of him that he could be somebody. Eddie was going to outdo all of them and kick the expectation that he was going to end up in prison like his father, that he was going to be dealing drugs for the rest of his life, and that he’d always be trailer trash.

If Eddie could go back in time, things would have gone differently. But after chasing the California sunrise, he’d mastered the world of glamorous parties, adoring fans, and beautiful women. They threw themselves at him. He didn’t have to worry about rejection because he could have his pick, he had whatever flavor he wanted for the night. But no one satiated the craving he continued to have for you. No one laughed the way you did, no one understood him the way you always had.

You’d never have another moment together, he accepted that. And it didn’t matter anymore because he became the man. He didn’t have time to sit around and sulk about a small-town girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. But despite putting his feelings in the rearview mirror, he daydreamed nonetheless. Eddie wondered what it would be like to show you the new and improved version of himself. He hoped that you’d be impressed. More importantly, did you listen to his music? Or read about his scandalous escapades in the gossip magazines that wove lies into the truth?

Even so, that night set him straight. It wasn’t going to happen for you and him. His only star had fallen, so he put all of his time and energy into making a name for himself. The songs on his albums are about living life in the fast lane and the thrill of the night. They’re about trashing hotel rooms and experiencing things he never dreamed he would because that’s what sells records.

But at home in his lyric notepad lays the songs of unpursued love, melodies about chances taken and lost. There’s one ballad in particular, its verses tell the story of him introducing you to his newfound confidence, something that you never knew him to have. It speaks of how he’s seen the world twice over, and yet, his favorite place to be is tucked away in the memories where things hadn’t changed yet.

Those heartfelt lyrics remain buried, never to be shared with the world. They’re a tribute to you, the unsung song in his life.

Eddie’s experience when it comes to the attention of women should, theoretically, render him immune to being nervous. Yet, he finds himself impossibly so. The source of his unease? You. This isn’t just anyone, you’re not just some chick. The late afternoon swings around and Eddie’s nerves are in full swing. He’s feeling just as anxious as he did the night of that party because second chances are rare for him. Eddie is acutely aware that this is very likely to be his last shot with you. This isn’t just any date—it’s your first date. The significance isn’t lost on him, and he’s determined to make it count.

Standing in front of Wayne’s bathroom mirror, Eddie attempts to wield the cheap razor to trim the edges of his beard. His curls, normally styled to perfection, look deflated and lackluster without his fancy shampoo and hair products to nourish them. The trailer park’s hard water isn’t doing his hair any favors when it comes to frizz either. As Eddie rinses away his beard trimmings from the basin, he exhales dramatically, watching his self-esteem swirling down the drain. He tries to remind himself of his good looks by reciting a silent pep talk. The thought of disappointing you, or not meeting your expectations, is something he can’t bear.

Eddie parks Wayne’s car outside of Benny’s Burgers and takes a moment to double-check his appearance in the visor mirror. He wants to make certain that he looks as decent as he can. This is the chance he’s been waiting for, this is for all the marbles. Unlike his usual casual encounters, where names and personalities go unlearned, this is different. Eddie has to earn your affection back.

He peers down at his fingernails, thankful that they’re still in good shape from his last manicure. Eddie mutters to himself, trying to get a feel for an appropriate greeting. “Hi, you look… pretty,” Lame. Frustrated, he twists the skull ring on his finger, adjusting it from its sideways position to face the right way up. “It’s so nice out tonight, but you look even nicer.” Eddie groans, banging his head back against the headrest. “Jesus Christ, Munson. Get your fucking shit together.”

With a thick swallow, Eddie steps out of the car and makes his way across the parking lot that crunches beneath his sneakers. As he enters the restaurant, he’s happy to see that this place hasn’t changed one bit. Eddie debates waiting by the door for you or to sit down for the time being. Anxiety wins, and he chooses the latter. As he strides across the room, he tries to keep his easily recognizable face relatively hidden. Eddie slides into the booth that the two of you always sat in. You spent innumerable Saturday nights sitting here, laughing and teasing, talking shit and venting about how high school felt so life or death at the time.

A soft chuckle slips out as he traces the initials that he carved into the table all those years ago. He grins, recalling how much you scolded him while he chipped EM into the wood with his pocket knife. Eddie absentmindedly fiddles with the lid on the ketchup bottle from the condiment caddy, lost in his own thoughts, until the restaurant’s door opens. His heart thumps madly as he watches you stroll in and scan the room until your gaze lands on him. Beyond his control, Eddie’s eyes are gleaming, overwhelmed with the privilege of being in the same room as you once more.

He stands from the booth as you approach, his legs acting with a mind of their own. Once you reach him, he’s not exactly sure what to do with his hands. He decides against offering a hug since you don’t initiate one. Eddie returns to his seat as you settle into the one opposite of him.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, placing your purse beside you on the seat.

“Hi, there,” he replies, the red of his cheeks deepening as his hands go right back to fidgeting. Eddie clears his throat. “How was the rest of your day?”

“It was okay, nothing special,” you reply vaguely, your voice dripping with fatigue.

Eddie takes note of and appreciates the slightest bit of makeup you’ve applied since he saw you this morning, simply because it accentuates your natural beauty. It’s a small detail, but it doesn’t go unnoticed, and it warms his heart to think that you might have put some effort into your appearance to meet up with him. Or maybe he’s getting ahead of himself and you just don’t like wearing makeup at work. Regardless, just as a complement is about to roll off of his tongue, the table is approached by an old woman.

“My goodness, I remember you too!” She beams, clutching her miniature notepad tightly. “You’re all grown up now.”

You nod respectfully, clearly remembering her. Eddie, on the other hand, does not recognize her as quickly. It’s like he’s buffering as he thinks, and then his eyes widen, suddenly remembering that the woman is the waitress who always served the two of you every weekend. Holy shit, he thought she looked old back then but now she looks ancient. “It’s nice to see you,” He performs, trying his best to be a gentleman and show you that he’s good-natured.

“I’ll be right back, I know just what to get you,” She says sing-songy manner and bounces away into the back kitchen. Even after all this time, she still knows your orders by heart.

Despite the breath that you release, the hurt isn’t evident on your face. “Why’d you disappear on me that night?”

Your straightforwardness catches Eddie off guard, and he struggles to find the right words to respond. “Doesn’t matter why,” he begins, trying to deflect from the topic. He’d much rather you ask him if he has any pets or if he’s read any good books lately. “That was ages ago, what matters is that I’m not a pathetic loser anymore.”

“You were never a loser, Eddie.” You say looking into his eyes, reminding every fiber of his being that you always liked him for who he was. But just as quickly, your gaze drops. You always hated when he talked about himself that way because you thought he was a total catch.

Eddie’s gaze lingers on you, studying the shift. Slowly, the realization dawns on him that your hurt runs deep, possibly deeper than his own. Coming to terms with his self-centered perspective makes his chest ache. He was so consumed by his own insecurities that he never spared a thought for how his sudden departure wounded you.

You change gears with an almost perfected ease, smoothly transitioning from the heaviness of the subject. “So, Mr. Super Star, what’s it like being you?”

A chill is sent up his spine, uneasiness caused by how swiftly you just rebuilt your walls before his eyes. He bites anyway, hoping that your interest in his stories is genuine. “From the outside, it looks like fun but it’s nothing short of chaos. When you’ve got a show every other night, and a band wants you on their new album, and then someone’s throwing a massive party...” Eddie trails off, afraid that his rambling is coming off as braggery. “Anyway, enough about all that. How ‘bout you? How’d you end up working at Morningside?”

There’s a flicker of joy on your face that shows your appreciation for his desire to hear you talk about yourself. “I needed something part-time, I’m actually studying to be a-”

EEK! You both startle at the ear-shattering squeals of three middle school-aged school girls. They’re gathered around Eddie, borderline frothing at the mouth to be looking at and breathing the same air as him. They’re all talking a mile a minute over one another, asking for autographs, wanting hugs, and gushing about his music.

Eddie looks at you and he can’t quite gauge your reaction, your expression is practically unreadable. “One second, I’m sorry,” he sincerely apologizes, scooting out of the booth to greet the rabid girls. He figures that if he handles this interaction skillfully, they’ll likely leave both of you alone afterward.

As you watch him engage, you’re beyond disappointed. It seems like he’s more interested in the attention and adoration of his fans than he is in spending time with you. He should’ve just told them to go away. Now you’re certain of where his priorities lie and you should’ve known from the moment you saw his face this morning. He isn’t here to mend things, Eddie has less than pure intentions and you’re not going to wait to find out what they are.

While Eddie is busy giving the girls his full attention with his back turned to you, you seize the moment to slip out of the booth and quietly exit the restaurant. One of the girls is clinging onto him after a hug and he has to pry her off of himself. In doing so, he sees your hurried movement out of the corner of his eye. He half-heartedly thanks his fans and rushes after you, his mouth going dry as reality hits him like a freight train; he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Wait up,” Eddie calls out to you, his chest heaving.

You stop in your tracks and turn to him with a hardened look on your face. “Why did you come here? Was it so you could show off how untouchable you are now?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open. “No,” he steps forward but you inch away. “Of course not.”

“Then what? Because I don’t even know why I agreed to come here. You’ve obviously outgrown Hawkins and everyone in it. I wasn’t good enough for you to stick around for, much less stay in touch with.”

Eddie’s heart breaks in two at the sunset reflecting in the glossy pools that have formed along your lower lash line. “You were always enough for me,” he says weakly.

You roll your eyes and your car keys jingle in your hand as you cross your arms over your chest. “Do you really expect me to believe that when it’s been nothing but radio silence for six years?”

“Yeah, kinda,” he snaps, suddenly feeling defensive. Memories of the night he left come flooding back and he’s transported to that place of feeling unworthy and inadequate. His chest puffs up and his shoulders tense. “At least I made something of myself. Can’t you at least be a little bit happy for me?

He immediately realizes that was a low blow, evident in the way the tears start pouring from your eyes. The hurt on your face cuts a deep pang in Eddie’s chest for his thoughtless comment. You’ve always been there for him, you were always in his corner for as long as you’d known each other.

You shrink into yourself, avoiding his intense stare as you crumble. “I am happy for you. It just sucks that I had to be forgotten about for you to get there. But I understand, I really do. You had to ditch this town to chase after what you wanted for your life, and that included leaving me behind too.” You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and sniffle.

Eddie’s tense posture relaxes and his expression turns sorrowful as he watches you fall apart from his wrongdoings. It hurts to watch you run a hand through your hair and wipe the mascara from below your eyes in an attempt to compose yourself. The sound of your fumbling car keys is like a thundering countdown in his ears, urging him that his time is running out before he’s lost you entirely. Eddie’s mind races as he fights the impulse to do something, anything, to make amends. “Don’t go,” he begs. “I’m sorry.”

You respond with your eyes fixed on inserting your key into the lock of the car door, your trembling hands making it difficult to do so. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do,” he insists, getting as physically close as possible without crossing any boundaries.

The piercing glare that was previously on his face has found its way onto yours. “I disagree. You got everything you could’ve ever wanted.”

When your eyes meet, he can feel it in his toes. “I didn’t, though.” Eddie notices the inflamed veins in your eyes, hating himself for being the reason you’re crying. It’s an odd feeling, but a small, sad smile tugs at his lips.

The scoff from you hits like a slap to his cheek. “Let’s see,” you hold out your hand and begin counting on your fingers. “Expensive clothes, a massive house, I’m sure you have multiple cars. You probably have a personal chef-” All true. “For fuck’s sake, you have a private jet. What more could you possibly want?”

Eddie is terrified of making a move that might push you further away, yet he musters the courage to try to ground you with his touch. His fingers gently wrap around your wrist and both of you watch as he brushes his thumb over your veins. “I never got to have you,” Eddie’s voice cracks ever so slightly as he lays all of his cards on the table. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

A tear dribbles off of your cheek and splashes onto the pavement as your hands begin to interact with his.

You contemplate pulling your hand away, the heartache inching back into the forefront of your mind. “If you wanted me you would’ve been here all along.”

Eddie holds his breath as your fingers intertwine and your palms press together. “I’m here now, and I want you just as badly as I did back then.” His lips press a soft kiss to the tops of your knuckles and his teary eyes meet yours. “I was just a stupid kid who turned heel and ran when things didn’t go the way I wanted them to.”

“Yeah, you were,” you agree with a bite of your lip. “You didn’t even give me the chance to tell you that I felt the same way.”

Eddie grins, giving your hand a squeeze and another kiss. “Is there any chance that you still feel that way? Because I’m still stupidly in love with you.”

“I do,” you breathe with relief, swallowing the pressure in your throat. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Wanna be stupid together?” Eddie tilts his head at you, continuing to hold your hand to his plush lips.

“Yeah,” you giggle wetly, “I’d really like that.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

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tags:@nj01@tlclick73

[90sbee]

I was dead, and then you came (back).

Leon S. Kennedy x Gn!reader. 0.7k words. Also on a03

There is no way you’re just human, though. No normal person would let him come back. No normal person would choose to act with such kindness, with this tremendous and fervent love.

Leon learned his lesson. You're willing to return to him. He can't help thinking about what a miracle that is.

So, I've been writing so much about this man it is about time I start posting all the delusions. You can blame @navstuffs for this mess since she was the one that encouraged me to keep on writing and start posting. Her fault, tbh.

Content: Fluff, basically him yearning under the excuse of a morning after. Mostly his pov. No use of y/n, some sprinkles of size kink I guess. It's just them being dumb for each other. I guess any older Leon works, though I had Vendetta Leon in mind (but you do you).

Warnings: Leon's mental struggles; some suggestive lines; rough sex mentioned but no smut. STILL, minors do not interact. +18 only. Also I'm not a native English speaker so, apologies for any mistakes.

Leon looks at you in awe. How could he look at you differently? With soft steps you traverse the distance between the bed and the kitchen moving calmly, delicate figure enchanting him.

He licks his lips, amused. He sits on the bed, stretching his arms as he keeps his gaze on you.

“What is it?” you ask once you return to his side, a cup of tea in your hands.

“… You’re breathtaking,” Leon muses, a smirk decorating his mouth.

The cup shakes slightly, obvious signal as to how you feel.

“Always the charmer, Kennedy.”

“No, I mean it,” he replies, piercing blue gaze as tender as a summer sky.

“If you say so,” you sip on your tea, sitting closer to him and he presses his face against your shoulder, eyes closed.

The agent is aware that this is a privilege: a man like him is not bound for the whole spectrum of pleasure, both the carnal dance of two bodies as well as the warm company that now brightens his morning.

You smell sweet still. Even after he spit in your mouth, even after he forced pretty tears from your eyes. No trace of the sweaty musk that should surround you both after such exhausting physical activities from the night before.

You’re magical. More than human, Leon thinks.

When he opens his eyes, he is greeted by the sight of a pinkish love bite on your neck. He fixes his eyes on it, on the oval shape it draws on your skin. Could he do it again? He wants to. Hell, he would beg to mark you like that again. Every mark, every bruise, every trace of tears as evidence that he was there. That he is still here, with you. You’re real. And most importantly, he is there to experience it. To reverence your existence and praise you as you deserve.

The affection in his thoughts must be too loud, as you look at him, a hint of comprehension in your tone.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Leon shakes his head, body moving forward, as if caught on the spot.

“I just… would like to do it again. I mean, like last night. But also maybe not just… sex. If you’re… okay with that,” he explains, trying to sound casual, as if his heart isn’t attempting to break free from his chest, destroying bones and lungs on its way out. As if he wouldn’t fight the biggest horrors in this world with just his bare fists for just the chance of a lifetime with you.

Leon pushed you away once. He won’t make that same mistake twice.

You smile at him, scrunched up nose and the gentlest glimmer in your eyes. No reply comes out of your mouth, but the kiss you offer him is more than enough of an answer for him.

He kisses you again then, trying to process this still. The notion that even after his fears had overcome his whole life, terrorizing his thoughts and destroying his most precious bonds, you’re still willing to try again. To forgive him, to help him build himself up from deep, deep into the ground.

If the soil had buried him and drilled pain deep into his skull, so be it. There was still hope now. He wasn’t a dead man. Not yet. Not as long as he had you.

You chuckle when you both pull apart after the kiss, your bubbly energy making his grey bedroom light up.

Leon wants to add something else. But when he looks into your eyes again, he senses that you understand. And when you cup his cheek, caressing his stubble with heavenly devotion, the teacup long abandoned on the night table, he is more than certain that you know.

There is no way you’re just human, though. No normal person would let him come back. No normal person would choose to act with such kindness, with this tremendous and fervent love.

You look at him in awe, chest burning with yearning. Gaze tasting his pink lips, savouring the pretty eyelashes and the early wrinkles around his eyes.  The display of your feelings must be too strong, since he chuckles, taking your wrist in his hand, kissing your palm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he teases you.

And when you laugh, his stomach jumping with happiness after so long without being greeted with that divine sound, Leon is finally convinced: there is an angel in front of him.

If you've made it to the end, thank you. You're now legally required to tell me your thoughts (or not, I'm not a cop) 💜

[yourlocaltreesimp]

A piece of home

more SR!Link content. Based on the drawing from @trippygalaxy

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Admittedly, Link was swooning. It was a poorly kept secret that anyone with a pair of eyes could see, even those who’d long since passed. All save for you. He’d look at you like you were the only good thing to grace this earth and wrote about you like the poets write of the sun. You gave him life, nourished him and brought him out of dark days. And even then, just as the sun’s light reflects off the moon to help travelers, you guide him through his dark days. He’d grown quite used to showering you with his small affections, knowing you had no idea there was more behind each intertwined finger. He’d grown used to your look of awe when he presented you with a gift, and the exact words you’d say when he completed a small favour for you. The hems of your clothes stitched and embroidered, your weapons sharpened and polished, restocking on medical supplies, the list went on. He’d grown so used to you —your habits— that he knew you better than most people knew their own spouses. But you subverted his expectations, by even taking this trip with him but you kept on doing it.

Earlier, while you were in battle, the chain holding on your cherished ring snapped. You were utterly heartbroken when you couldn’t find it amidst the bloody mud. With some dinner, extra blankets and gentle comforting, you managed to sleep. And so, he stood, rolled up his sleeves, and proceeded to spend the guts of two hours searching for the ring. It was muddy of course, the dirt caked into the grooves of the ring, covering its lustrous shine. But with a cleverly disguised trio to the jeweller to get a new, stronger chain and enough time polishing, the ring was in pristine condition. He made his way back to your small camp with a warmth in his heart that he’d long since decided was for you and you only.

“Hey Link- You look worn, are you alright?” Your eyebrows furrowed slightly in concern, lips pursing.

“I’m alright, Just a little tired, that’s all.” Of course he was tired, he’d spent hours on his hands and knees searching for a ring embedded in mud, ran around looking for a new chain and polished the two of them.

“Don’t worry, I've got some dinner cooking, you can go take a nap and I'll get you when it’s ready” Goddess high above, this is why he loved you. This is why he endured endless teasing by his predecessors. You were endlessly considerate and gentle in a world that felt so unfamiliar. He’d grown up in Hyrule all his life and yet it feels so foreign. He feels bad that you followed him headfirst into destiny, but the warmth of something he knows beats out any guilt.

“Actually, I have something for you” He could hardly contain the smile from working its way into his face.

“Oh?” He presented you with a tiny box, the ring perfectly polished and illuminated by the fire, looped through a sturdy chain of matching metal. You were left without words, cradling the gift as if he’d handed you a star out of the sky. “How did you?-“

“I went back to look for it” He knew what it meant to you, the small sliver of home you carried with you, and he knew what he meant to lose it. Your eyes were lined with silver tears, arms wrapping around his torso tightly. You pulled back and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, long and yearning. He thought he knew you well enough to guess your reaction, but you were throwing his heart for a loop. You touched your forehead to his and looked bashfully through your lashes. “Thank you, Link”

And suddenly, he was nowhere near as tired

[rukafais]

a solitary, singular thread

A piece of writing I've been kinda turning over for a while now. While I might expand on it or I might not, I like it as is, so the tag might as well have it.

SPOILERS FOR LOLTH'S WARRIOR

The endless song of the Astral Sea, the hivemind, the universe, is welcoming, overwhelming, tide and sky and space and stars spinning, spinning, spinning. You as a mote, a neuron, a bright-flickering conglomerate of thought, a nascent star rising to its constellation.

Still there is a thread that draws you back. 

Still there is a thread that stitches you into the well worn aching patterns of the material plane.

Still there is a thread that keeps you -- whole.

Still you cling to it.

Thus I am bound.

I do not abandon you...

Never that.

It has been a lifetime since you spoke those words to describe your place in the world as you saw it. You have passed to a place where in theory you should remember them only as one brief flickering note of knowledge among an endless library of it. A single book in an archive. A single star in its sky. In its rightful place, as all things are within the hivemind, but infinitesimal.

In practice, you remember only yourself. The words bind you to the shape of your soul, to the body you once were; the desires of the mind overwrote the limitations of the body and yet, and yet, your form in thought is a perfect copy of the form you have shed, have lost.

The singular form you considered lonely, once. That you considered lonely, for a long time.

You are not lonely now. Everything you yearned for in your solitude is here. You are here. A drop in the ocean, one mind among many, complete, whole, belonging.

(I remember the waves on the shore, the city so far north that the water ran cold - runs cold - in the height of summer. The city that he loves. The city that I fought for despite the odds. The cry of the seabirds, the salt water's chill, the bitter rasping touch of what they called Auril's breath. The winds that blew down from the mountains.

I remember these things still.

I remember what they mean to me -  I often complained, never fond of the cold weather.

I remember what they mean to him.

I remember that he laughed at me then...)

You are not lonely, not here - how can you be? but the thread binds you still. It knots around your nonexistent ribs, spine, throat, lungs, drawn out in the spinning-wheel depths of the heart you no longer need and yet still have. It is sewn into the very fabric of you, as if you were fabric yourself, a pattern that you did not make but in the absence of its giver recreate it yourself.

(I was not a weaver or a clothier or even particularly fond of clothes and all their tedious maintenance. I wore clothing, wore out my clothing, in a way that he often despaired of. He was, is, a great lover of them. He spends hours in front of a mirror when he can get away with it. I remember those long days, those long nights, in which I did the paperwork that so plagued him and he kept his hands busy.

He sewed, embroidered, furnished clothing for this person or that, endearing in his focus and in his strange, frustrating care.

No person of his acquaintance would come away underdressed.

It was a token of his love.)

The thread has existed for as long as you have been here, this star, this free-flying thought. A binding, a restriction, a cord to be cut. But you cannot bring yourself to, for all it weighs you down and tethers you to a place far away from this brilliant sky.

There is something

(someone)

on the other side

(that I left)

that you need.

[geniemillies]

Yearning For Spring | Ch. 6 | Tamlin x Oc

◇— Chapter 6 - A Glimpse of Living

A/n: Very very long chappy.. I enjoyed writing Autumn and Summer, favourite courts right next to Spring 😔🫶

✧ masterlist

<<Ch.1 <<Ch.5 ||◇|| Ch.7>>

     — —

I often feed a suggestion to the King, to send me back to Prythian to see to Amarantha's reign. And when he'd ask me why I'm so insistent on going I'd answer with; “I rather like tormenting her~” Which is no lie and definitely no secret. The entirety of the Father's court knows well mine and Amarantha's animosity towards each other. And it isn't just me. I cannot think of a single person in court who likes her. She is feared by many and loved by none save for the creatures that manage to find it in themselves to find her appealing.

Four decades have passed since the dawn of her reign and when I thought all hope was lost, Father called me into the throne room and suddenly approved of my next visit to Prythian. The Suriel fettered beneath the palace was yet again the source of his ire, but it seems to have provided some sort of answer to which my father was being deliberately vague when giving his commands. He needs me to seek out the missing pieces of the Cauldron after I see Amarantha. And I couldn't have been more excited when he gave me the task. In secret, of course. I did not get to see past Under the Mountain last time.. I'm hoping this time will be different.

Besides that visit, I haven't left Hybern since that time in Spring. More often than not, these golden cuffs around my wrists constantly itched, tempting me to scratch the skin raw.. I cannot even touch the beach waters without the cuffs tugging me back. It is a cage, this homeland of mine. And while I want to visit Prythian because I want to berate Amarantha and know about how Tamlin is doing I just want to see the sky and breathe the fresh air.

“May I come with?” Velaria asks as she follows me through the halls of the Lighthouse.

“The ring only allows leave for one body. I'm afraid I cannot take you with me.. Father will know if those bound to him leave and enter without the gem.”

Velaria frowns and before she speaks, some of the children playing caught sight of me and rushed towards my direction. “Mother!” They all called out as they came to me. Recent children who quickly became infected with calling me their mother. Not that I mind.

They told me of their day and wished for me to play with them. But I had places to be so I promised to spend time with them when I returned. I went to a drawing room where children, mostly the children I've rescued from Prythian, were huddled in one place. Each child hails from a different Court, with Marilla and Celyn originating from Winter, and Aurelia, Clem, and Rory from Autumn. Soleil and Tesni are from Summer, while Ahaan and Kiran belongs to the Dawn Court. And then there's the only child from Day, the youngest of Prythian children, Uri. 

Save for Uri, they all still call me Niamh or Miss Niamh. Understandable as they are not my children like Hybernian children were. They have their own mothers and fathers waiting for them most likely.

The Lighthouse has come to life since I brought the Prythian children here. Each room within the building has been adorned with their vibrant gifts and decorations, inspired by the diverse cultures and customs of their respective Courts. 

Because of them, our home now hosts various joyful celebrations like Summer and Winter Solstice where we decorate the house, dance and exchange gifts. Those are my personal favorites.. But we also celebrate All Souls Day, a custom from Autumn where people make offerings to shrines of the deceased in the forest. But we do not have a forest of shrines so we just.. create our own and set them out at the courtyard, in remembrance of loved ones who perished during Amarantha's rule. Because the majority, if not all the children, have endured losses during her reign. 

We also have Fete in the Clouds, a cheerful celebration from the Dawn Court where peregryns, hold festivities high in the air. While I possess wings like peregryns, none of the other children have the blessing of flight except for Kiran, a peregryn, and Tesni, a mothkin. So to make sure he celebrates and shares his custom with the house, I cast imaginative spells to create the illusion of us lounging on the clouds above the courtyard. A.. cute attempt to recreate the actual thing but we have fun. 

Another one is the Seeker's Gauntlet, a triennial tournament held in the Day Court where scholars from various esteemed institutions compete in a grand stadium, I've been told. During this time, we make up our own challenges and divide the house in teams until the smartest ones face each other in the final rounds. I, unfortunately.. have been kicked out of the games because the children do not trust me with my daemati powers. No matter, I'm content as the sole judge and arbiter. Velaria gets particularly competitive during the games. Seeing her losing to a bunch of children way younger than her is.. funny.

I happily welcome all festivities. It isn't the same as celebrating the actual thing, but it is the most I can do for them. I want the Prythian children to cling on to cherished memories of their homes even when distance separates them. They deserve to feel a sense of belonging and connection to their roots, to celebrate their heritage and keep their cultures alive, no matter where they may be. And.. it's a good thing for the children of Hybern too. And maybe for me.. After all, Hybernians deserve to experience such celebrations, given the lack of them within our own lands.

I should probably refrain from calling them children now as they’re all grown. It has been nearly fifty years since I’ve brought them here. Marilla is a great sister to everyone in the house, she even teaches the younger children with their writing and reading. Cousin to her is Celyn, the quieter one of the two. But in time, she grew to love the place and the other kids. She also makes the best puddings that not even I could replicate her cooking.. Aurelia is the more spirited one of the bunch, always cheering people up, always inspiring mischief, as expected from a faun. Soleil, a selkie, likes to join her in her little pranks. We have a pond now because of her as she needs to be in water every once in a while. Tesni is our sweet little mothkin, which makes her a target to group cuddles because of her furry scales. She has woven me many silk dresses ever since I’ve asked her for one. Kiran is the most well-mannered, often being the voice of reason along with Marilla. Then there is Ahaan who is a child of the arts, I lost count of the many paintings and ceramics he’s made for me. My room and study are so full of them that I'm beginning to run out of space. Always with him is Clem, a sweet child with a penchant for learning, forever curious about the Sidhe where I’ve not yet taken any of them.

Uri, the youngest, is the quietest one, always making gadgets with whatever she finds. Many of my kitchen supplies have been altered to work better because of her. Uri is the only one of them who has developed a habit of calling me mother. I’ve been told that her parents were long gone even before Amarantha took over. During the first months of their stay in Hybern, she had managed to run past the wards and nearly got herself killed if I hadn’t caught up to her. She’s a sensitive child, a bit jumpy and a victim to night terrors, more so than the others.. She may be quiet but she always seeks comfort with the other Prythian children, clinging to Aurelia’s arm or hiding behind Ahaan’s wings. Despite being the youngest, Uri’s intelligence is unwavering, earning her an undefeated record in our version of the Seeker's Gauntlet. It comes as no surprise from a child of Day.

Then there is Rory, a year younger than Marilla but the eldest of the Autumn-born, hails from nobility. Of all the children, he was the most hesitant to call the Lighthouse home. Of course, he warmed up to the place and the other children eventually but he still keeps to himself most of the time. Always reading in his lonesome and observing the fun rather than participating. But I could tell that.. it is just his nature. I imagine he was raised to look down on the lesser fae which.. must’ve been a strange thing to accept for him, considering most of the children in the Lighthouse are.. lesser fae. I mislike that term. Lesser. All my children are the same, no matter their upbringing or the lands they hail from.

While he may not overtly acknowledge it, I know Rory has developed a softer sentiment towards the others. He does not like admitting a lot of things, but he is not good at hiding them either. Not from me. But of course, there is the occasional fight here and there between him and the older children of the house. Squabble between boys that are ended by me all too quickly.

Nowadays, Clem, Rory, Kiran and Soleil are often outside, past the Lighthouse grounds but still within the wards, being trained to fight by Arin after they begged me to. Arin is one of the elder children of the Lighthouse that don't live here anymore. But he still frequently visits before returning back underground, to the Sidhe, where he's one of my three Lieutenants tending to the rebellion.

Many of my older children join him at the Sidhe. My brave children who.. wish to fight for me for a better tomorrow. Now some children of Prythian wish to join them. Velaria may or may not have let some of my Father's plans slip from her loose mouth, and the elder children have grown close to them that they tell the horrors of my Father's experiments on me. Because they do know. Children are not stupid. The Lighthouse is the one place where I could momentarily let go of my gloves. They see my blackened arms and they often.. wonder. So now some of them wish to fight and while their training is not serious… I can see their determination, fueled by a desire for vengeance against Amarantha. But there is a greater threat than her. And I'm not about to risk these children in an upcoming war when they have parents still waiting for them back in Prythian. 

They flock around me now, asking: “Can you see if my parents are still alive? Can you see if my siblings still live under the dungeons? Can you see if my High Lord still lives? Can you see if my Court has not been set to cinders? Can you kill Amarantha this time?” All questions overlap each other.

“Settle down. All of you..” I shook my head and willed them to call down. All of them ask for me to check on the wellbeing of their families while others ask for items to be brought back to them, items from their courts they hold dear. When one proposed the idea, everyone agreed and brought forth a scroll to write the things they wish for. Impatiently, they sit there on the floor, fighting for which one got to put on their requests first.

I look at Velaria. “And you? Anything you wish for?”

She put a hand on her hip. “I'd rather come with you.”

“I told you..”

“But I'm not bound to the King. I do not wear golden cuffs, I can leave without him knowing. Please.. Take me with you. I want to see Rhys.. If only for a moment.”

I look away to the children before looking back at her. “Alright. But I need to hide you. Into what.. is the question. Just until I'm done with my visit in the Middle.”

“You could glamour me. Alter my appearance as you've had before when you brought me to the palace.”

“I can't. Amarantha will suspect my relation to you and why I've brought you. I don’t just bring anyone, she knows it. I cannot risk it. And chances are, if you do see your brother while glamoured, he would suspect you're familiar to him..”

Velaria looked down. “The silver ravens..” 

“The what..?” 

“You could turn your feathers into full creatures, could you not?” 

“Yes?”

“Could you turn me into an animal?”

“I am flattered you think I could shapeshift much less shift someone else into an animal.”

“But you could turn your feathers into crows?”

“Yes but my feathers are inanimate. That magic has always been a part of me. Seraphim magic. And the creatures I create are an extension of myself. And do not even suggest using dark magic on you.” I sighed. “I only know curses and hexes that serve to discipline those who would disobey in court.” I trailed off and looked at her, a pout growing on her lips.

“Unless..” I sighed. “Do you really want to go?”

Velaria nods. “Really.”

“There is a curse I learned many years ago in my youth. Magic that will curse someone and turn them into an animal for life. But.. after years of studying, I've learned to undo many curses. And since the hex is a simple enough trick, I could very well undo it.”

She claps happily, tapping her chest excitedly. “Great. Do it. Curse me. But undo it after!” Velaria says a little too enthusiastically. Many would run when a witch suggest to bewitch them. Velaria seems to jump at every opportunity for me to show her weird spells, though. She is a strange one. 

“Alright.” I breathed. “What animal?”

“What?”

“What animal would you want to turn into?”

     — —

The Attor welcomes me again to the dreadful Under The Mountain and with its presence, the creature around my neck hissed. Amarantha greets me in her empty throne room and we exchange backhanded jabs at one another. The usual. It is clear that my visit is unwelcome, the place is once more void of any soul save for the Attor who keeps breathing down my neck. Amarantha thought to give me a tour around her little hive and wherever we went, dread and anguish followed.

This time she shows me the entirety of her horrid abode with all its rugged twists and turns. She showed me the dungeons where she kept prisoners and heathens who dared disobey her or make her unhappy. She showed me an even deeper dungeon where she kept fae, young and old, all kept in shackles as they cooked and served and.. slaved away, never to see the sun or breathe the air on the surface. 

She took me to a grim display, where the bodies of fae she claimed as rebels hung on the wall, their bodies bearing the evidence of dried blood and decay, with clouds of buzzing flies swarming around their putrid remains, feasting on the stench of death. Despite the gruesome sight, it barely made me flinch. I had grown accustomed to the same macabre spectacle back at Father's palace.

“Again with the choice of furniture, Amarantha..” I cover my nose and hear a chuckle from her beside me.

“Do you not like it? I thought you'd feel right at home..”

I hate it. I hate how she's turning into a smaller version of my Father. Even here I cannot escape him. They cannot enslave mortals and so they turn to enslaving their kin. 

Before we left from the dungeons she takes pride in, I paused, taking a final glance at the faces of the dead. I studied each pair of their horrifically opened eyes, every feature, searching diligently for any resemblance to the children I once brought here to the Lighthouse.

“What did this one do?” I approach a fae, her wide eyes stared vacantly, locked in an image of fear that remained even in death. Her once vibrant, auburn curls were crudely hacked off and burned, her arms stretched unnaturally towards another faun like herself. A male one.

Just like..

“Hm? Ah. Foolish little doe. Tried to stab me in the back during my entertainments. I wiped out her entire family, you see.” A cruel chuckle escapes her. “I hadn’t even noticed. Only she and her husband remained. And now they'll be together forever. A beautiful death I've bestowed upon them, wouldn't you agree..?"

“How frequent are these attempts?” I try turn my head away, but underneath the mask, my eyes were still glued to the pair, memorising their features, ingraining it into memory. The skin around my cuffs began to itch, aching to tear Amarantha to pieces.

I look at those bodies and see my children. I see Aurelia. I see her eyes in that female's face, pretty and blue and filled with joy.

They are her parents. There is no doubt.

“These bodies have been rotting for over a year now. I should really have them cleaned off the wall.. But I relish in the faces that pass by. Makes people remember their place. But I shouldn’t bore you with my executions. I'm sure you've had your fair share of that back at home already.”

“Father's rule is ever so peaceful. The people are behaved. Unlike yours. Hardly surprised that you have to result to such extremes just for a shrivel of respect.” I passed her, walking away from the dungeon I no longer wanted to see.

I felt the snake around my neck slither slowly, its hiss soft and and quiet beneath my chin. ‘I want to mount her on that wall.’ I hear her little mind say. ‘Niamh, those were..”

‘I know.’

‘Will you tell Aurelia?’

It’ll break her heart. Aside from Uri, every one of those Prythian children still hope that they could be reunited with their families, whomever remains still. They still hold on to that hope that someone, anyone, or just one in their family might still be alive. 

Knowing the horrors her parents were subjected to in her absence will break her. It’d break anyone but..

‘I'll have to.’

     — —

I was careful to put on gloves today. One touch on a servant or prisoner or even the walls then I might live their pain. After our tour, Amarantha kept me in her little receiving room, with the Attor beside me, watching my every move. We talked about Hybern and the troops she left behind, how I graciously became their beacon of leadership in her absence and how they like me better. All the things that I thought might prick a nerve. And I was right.

“How goes the ruling bit of your vacation?” I ask, my eyes to the balcony that revealed the sky void of clouds.

“If his Majesty is getting impatient he can suck it up and wait. I'm not done here yet.” She hissed, the eye in her ring twitching. 

“What of the lordling you're trying to court, hm? Any luck there?” Her eyes narrowed and before she could open her mouth I let out a slight laugh. 

“Thought so~”

“It is in progress. He is being.. difficult.” She inhales then smiles her usual wicked one. “But, it shouldn't take too long.. Forty-nine years is almost up. Sooner than late.. he will come to me.”

I raise a brow, “What does that mean?”

Amarantha plays with her silver goblet, admiring how the red swirls in the cup before taking a sip. “I took your advice to heart, Niamh, believe it or no. I sought the Spring Court and invited them to a ball to offer my sincerest apologies after I gauged some boy's eye out. A masquerade ball.” Her gaze flickered to my mask, a wicked fondness spread across her face. “And yet. with all my efforts to see peace between us he.. refused. And.. insulted me.”

A laugh escapes me, earning me a glare from the pretender. But she said nothing as a retort or made an attempt to reprimand me. She only seethed silently and rolled her eyes at me.

“And so I cursed him and the entirety of his foolish flock of hens. If he does not break the curse in seven times seven years.. He will bend the knee to me and become my consort. If he does not bend, I will break him, command his bones to sit on the chair beside me.”

I fight the urge to scoff as I leaned back in my seat. I fear that if I don’t soothe myself I might lunge at her. “And? You still think he'll submit to you then? When for five centuries he refused to do so?”

“He's at his wits end. His powers are dwindling, he cannot defy me any longer.”

The mask hides my growing glare. Any more and I might’ve broken the damn thing with my burning stare alone. This bitch. As soon as I left in my last visit, she cursed him.

She cursed Tamlin.

“And when did this curse begin?”

“A year remains. And I shall await my consort.. with due patience~”

I inhaled the air, slowly, taking in her words yet I still can’t believe what I’m hearing. I feel my hand grip the arms of my seat. I need to calm down. 

“And once it's over, then what? When he submits to you, will you finally fulfil your mission?”

“I will rule with my consort as I see fit.” She said simply, shrugging carelessly, as if it were the obvious answer.

I look away, a faint huff of laughter escapes me, harsh and bitter. If I let my gaze linger on her for a moment longer, with her red lipped grin and her horrid black eyes, I would have recreated our duel a century ago. Gods, do I crave to be coated with her blood once more…

“You're pathetic..”

“Excuse me?”

“Resulting in cursing an entire land to get what you want.”

“I will stop at nothing to achieve my goals. You have doubted my capabilities for long enough.”

“My doubts are never wrong.” I stand, marching towards her, each step of my heels like thunder, the room trembling as if responding to my every stride. I clawed at the back of her chair, meeting her dull eyes through the slits of my mask as she visibly froze.

“You are an ill-made, spiteful little devil.” With fingers clenching the back of her chair, I meet onyx through the slits of my mask. There is hatred boiling in those black eyes, hatred uniquely reserved for me. Yet, she doesn't dare move. Time has done little to quench the bitter memory of that duel, the one that left her humbled, broken, and humiliated. With fear now overshadowing any remaining hatred, she knows better than to challenge the one who had once drove a blade into her wretched heart. 

“You came from nothing and had to climb your way up to power. And even then you're weak and useless. You flaunt power that does not even belong to you. You think the King is impressed? He does not even spare you a thought. You are irrelevant. In Hybern. In Prythian. In any land you dare step on—you are nothing.”

I felt her fists clench around the arms of her chair that she almost broke it. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner? You think I care what your father thinks? Long have I stopped caring about what he thinks. I made myself Queen in a matter of years and yet you still belittle my achievements. While you, the insipid little princess that you are, still cower and follow every command he throws at you. Are you so jealous that I made something of myself while you still grovel for your father's attention?”

I huffed a quick laugh. “It is not I who grovels for a male’s attention.” I bite back. “I do not curse entire lands in hopes that he might look at me. I do not brutalise peasants in hopes that he might swoon over my cruelty. I do not force people to like me. And yet.. I won over Father. I won over his Court. You made yourself Queen and yet you're still unlikable.”

“You forget yourself. You are no more tool, a plaything to the King than I. You think he will commend you for tormenting me? You think you'll win his affections and tell you he's proud of you, his little girl? He will cast you aside as he did I.”

I let go of the chair, allowing her air to breathe as I stepped back. “He has already commended me. I am High Commander of all his forces. He's crowned me heir apparent in your absence. Father loves me. His court respects me.”

She lets out a mocking laugh, bitter and fake. “You fool yourself, Niamh. Pray tell, what do you hide under those gloved hands?”

“Power. Power he didn't think, not once, to give to you. Tool I may be. But I'm his favourite weapon to wield. I have worked hard and I have earned the love and respect of my court. Queen you are, but only in name. This is not your land. These are not your people. The power you wield isn't yours. You're a pretender through and through. Perhaps if you yield now Father and his court may be merciful. Save them from this embarrassment of a conquest—”

A loud thud echoed through the room as Amarantha unleashed her fury, her clenched fists slamming into the arm of her chair, splintering the bone.

“I. Do not. Want. His mercy. I do not want to be in his Court. I never want to be his tool ever again!! You of all people should know the horrors he inflicts upon people. He's truly broken you, hasn't he?” 

“Perhaps. And maybe I am stronger for it. I've never been more myself.” The lie felt like sand on my tongue as I uttered it.

She walks towards me now, daring to close the space between us. “What do you want? Why have you come here, Niamh, truly?”

A smirk fades into my face while I tilt my head. “Do I need a reason? Maybe I merely enjoy tormenting you. Everyone needs a tormenter. These people have you. I have the King.. And you have me~”

“You are awfully interested in Prythian affairs. What have you done to those children I gave you several decades back?”

I pause. “I brought them to a feast.”

“Did you?”

“Hm. Young ones are.. so full of fresh blood.” She narrows her eyes as if trying to figure me out. “Why? Any more gifts for me..~?” I asked which earned me a scoff.

Amarantha scoffed and crossed her arms. “You've overstayed your welcome. No more gifts.”

I clicked my teeth. “Pity.” I step towards the balcony.

“Any rebellion brewing beneath the caves these past decades?”

“If there were, I've put them down.” She leans back in her seat, curbing her fury that I could still very much feel even from a distance. “A few Courts tried years back. They failed. And so I took their young from them and wrought havoc to their Courts.”

I flinched. “How many?”

“Two dozen from the Winter Court. Pity, you were not here to.. take them with you.”

“A shame.” I look back to the grey skies of the a Middle. There's an ominous fog that enveloped this place. Though, I hoped that what lay beyond the mist would be the Prythian Velaria and the children always talked about.

“How do you keep the citizens in check outside the Mountain? Those who did not join their courts?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I cursed the land so they may not leave their borders. snuffing out any seeds of rebellion before they even take root. Clever little things they are though, managed to lure in mortals to serve as messengers. A pitiful attempt. One that I've crushed and continue to look over.”

I know. I saw them mounted to the walls with the butchered fae during our tour. A twisted form of trophy. I am no stranger to such displays, much of Father's palace decorations are from mortal remains. Another reason why I cannot stand to visit the dreadful place. It reeks. Even more than Under The Mountain.

I feel the snake– Velaria, slither around my neck. ‘He's not here.’ I speak to her little reptile mind. ‘I haven't seen him all day, not even during the tour. I do not know where he is.’ She hisses and hugs my neck tighter as if to say, ‘Find him.’ 

I sigh and turn to Amarantha. “And where are the High Lords now? Still hiding them from me? Too afraid I might belittle you in their presence?”

“I think they rather not see you. Not after your little display on your last visit, taking their children like that.” 

Right..

“And where is your.. errand boy?” I look to the door, as if a small part of me hoped that the male would interrupt us as he did during our last visit.

“Rhysand is off making errands, as you say.”

Velaria hisses quietly below my chin. “What dirty work does he do for you?”

“All good work for his Queen~ Out of all the wretched little things under us, all are worthless to me. But Rhysand.. he is a doll.”

I fight the urge to cringe. “Another bedwarmer?”

“He offered himself willingly.”

“And his Court?”

“Some of them live here away from their little Hewn City. A wonderful place really. I had Under The Mountain moulded in its image. You know? To make my Rhysand.. feel more at home?” She grinned and Velaria's snake body darted out as she hissed at her, which only earned her a scowl from the pretender Queen.

“Control your animal, Niamh.” Amarantha snapped at me, scowling at the creature wrapped around my neck.

I could only smile, putting a hand in front of the snake's head. “The little one does not like you~”

She snarled at the creature, “I mislike snakes.” She muttered.

“Really? What a surprise. Considering yourself..”

“If you do not have anything else to discuss with me you are free to leave and return to Hybern.”

“I shan't. I'm on.. vacation~”

“Vacation?”

“I'm to travel around the island. Fulfill errands of my own.” I said, which wasn't a lie. Father told me to scan the island and draw out any magic that will lead him to the missing parts of the Cauldron. And while I do that I shall also enjoy my time and treat it as a vacation.

“I hope you haven't ravaged the lands so much that I cannot enjoy its beauty?”

“Unfortunately I have not. I'm getting to it. I assure you Prythian is most beautiful when its lands are ravaged..”

I roll my eyes, fighting the groan in my throat. “Then I bid you goodbye. Till the next I torment you again, My Queen~”

     — —

I carry the snake around my neck only to find her sulking in my hands. “I revoke my curse.” I command in whispers and a dark aura envelops the snake before returning her back to her original form, with her slender figure and big Illyrian bat wings folded behind her. She stumbled a bit so I had to grab her wrist to ground her.

“He.. He wasn't there.”

“He wasn't.” I frown when I see her dejected face. “I'm sorry.”

She breathes the wretched air of the Middle then her features softened. “At least he is alive. Thank the Mother.. he is alive.”

“Gods, Niamh. It's even worse than I thought. That place.. is as dreadful as Hewn City. Even more.” She shook her head. “We need to help them.”

“I fear their is not much I can do. I can torment Amarantha all I like. But I cannot interfere with her reign. That is.. the one rule Father gave me.” I look down. “The experiment continues.”

“She’s turned the Middle into.. into..”

I inhaled, “A cheap copy of Hybern, I know..”

“What do we do now..? Will you actually search for those missing pieces?”

“I have no choice. I’ll have to. Returning the information I’ve found, however.. is another matter entirely.” I managed to smile. But not even that lasted.

“First.. I need to know more about the curse she put onto the High Lord of Spring.”

She tipped her chin upward, her eyes hinting silent surprise that quickly faded before she nodded.

"We’ll get to it. But first things first.." She trails of as she took my hands. "Let me show you around Prythian as I promised” She suggested instead and I felt my heart skip a bit, a my lips curling into a smile.

"Alright.."

Velaria links her arm with mine and we begin walking away from the dreadful Mountain. “Where do I even start? Autumn and Summer are close. Winter is right below but it's awfully cold there. I would rather not freeze to death on the start of our.. tour. And I’d do anything to be far, far away from this ghastly place.”

She stood behind me and covered my eyes before I heard the snap her fingers, winnowing us away from the Middle within seconds.

And immediately I felt the air shift.

Slowly she let go of my head, gently uncovering my eyes. Gradually, the world around me emerged—warm colors danced everywhere, the cold breeze swayed leaves in odd shapes and carried the crisp fragrance of soil mingled with the soothing scent of rain-kissed earth.

I can feel Velaria stifle a chuckle as my face betrays the look of wonder, my eyes showing yearning for the smallest of things. Even my heart began to race that I felt a twinge of embarassment for it. It is pathetic, I'm sure. And I ought to contain my childish excitement. 

Velaria lets out a heavy sigh after she inhales the fresh, autumn air. And I did the same. I breathed in the air that was so strange, unfamiliar, nice. And I kept sniffing the air like every breath was a need and I have suffocated for years and years on end. Because I have. 

“Ah.. That's the smell. Gods. It smells soo nice here. No offence but Hybern air could not compare.”

“I know. None taken.” The words came out of me without thought, my eyes focused only on the view below, a sea of warm coloured trees stretched before me. An ocean of red and orange and yellow leaves gently swayed by the wind. It was as if the Mother herself had used the Earth as her canvas, lavishly splashing brilliant, warm colors across the landscape. I have never seen anything so colourful. 

“The forest.. It's.. big.”

“Is it not?” She gushed as she smiled happily. “Autumn and Spring are very well covered with trees and forests. The High Lord of Autumn has his abode set at the heart of the Court, built not with stone but through trees called the Forest House!"

“But that is horrible. How would the place hold when enemy attacks with fire?” I asked. A genuine question. 

But Velaria laughs softly, thinking my question to be silly. “Magic, maybe? Fire is Autumn’s especially. But I can't believe that's your first question. Come, we'll explore together.” She holds my hand.

I smiled and I let her lead me wherever she pleased whether or not she knew where to go. And all the while we explored the lush forests, I kept admiring the canopy of leaves up above, and how the sun peeked through the cracks, mildly blinding me. And more often than not, Velaria had to remind me to watch my step, to look forward and not upward when I could trip on twigs and branches hidden under the pool of maple leaves that swallowed my ankles. 

Maple leaves. It is what they're called. 

“Aurelia asked me to bring her some big maple leaves. So she may preserve it and put it on her bedside table.”

“Ah, right. The list. We can grab a few. The biggest maple leaf for her to preserve.”

I summon the list before me, looking for the things the children back at the Lighthouse requested. “Clem wants knitted scarves. Rory did not list anything but.. I'm going to get him scarves too.” 

Velaria chuckled. “Then we better start looking for their things.”

     — —

Autumn is warm and vibrant, even as an endless canopy of leaves blankets the sky, veiling the sun. Yet, the people of this Court are visibly on edge. Expected, given the blight infecting the lands and their High Lord nowhere in sight. I learned that there are several princes, all of them stuck Under the Mountain save for one. The one in Spring just next door.

I feel my heart clench inside my chest. Not yet. I cannot go there yet.

Velaria had whisked me away to a territory south east of the mountains that border Winter and Autumn, leading me to a quaint village tucked deep within a forest, weakly warded with magic I easily walked into. Some sections of the place bore the faint signs of destruction, with children claiming that they had been attacked by forces loyal to Amarantha. It seemed that the damage was old enough that the villagers had made significant progress in rebuilding. But the trauma of such an attack, no matter how minor, no doubt still lingers on the people’s faces.

I had myself glamoured like the commonfolk as did Velaria, my mask long discarded since leaving Amarantha's abode and my silver strands turned to a dark amber color. We strolled through the town in silence, trying not to draw attention to ourselves before Velaria pointed to a market square at the center of the town. She turned into a walking encyclopedia for the many things that were foreign to me. Jams. Scented candles. Roasted nuts. The infamous pumpkin I keep hearing about.

Amazing. It’s like a whole new world of things in this humble little square.

And, and, while Velaria was off exploring more stalls, I have been introduced to the art of crochet. Knitted scarves line several vendor's lineup of products, many of them a variety of colourful scarves, the threads often representing repeated patterns and images of acorns and pumpkins. I’ve commissioned an artisan for several scarves, one for every Autumn-born child, and watched as she made them for me. Apparently, I’ve made her uncomfortable with my ogling her work and so I stopped staring and just sat there looking at something else.

When Velaria returned she came back to me now sitting beside the young crochet artisan with a thread of yarn and hook of my own, my eyes set on the artisan's skilled, furry little hands, imitating her every move.

In the end, I got my knitted scarves and managed to make.. a hat. Though.., too small for my head. I have neglected the measurements it seems. The artisan also gifted me the crochet hook along with a bundle of yarn for my extra payment. I thanked her kindly and erased everyone’s mind of me and Velaria's visit before setting off.

“Wow~ Quick learner, aren't you?” She bumped into my arm as she looked at my creation.

I couldn’t help but smile proudly. “Thank you. Do you like it?” I watched as she put on the small hat on her head. It did not fit her either. 

“It's pretty. In no time, you'll be a master knitter.”

“It is called crochet.”

“Crochet–er..”

“I want to taste pumpkin.” I suddenly blurted out. 

And Velaria wasted no time in leading me to a nearby inn, eager to treat my stomach to the delicacies of the Autumn Court. Velaria ordered me a bowl of pumpkin soup. She did not warn me of the spice part. And so when I ate my fill I did so with my face as red as the owner's beard. I didn't want to be rude so I finished it, every spoonful tasted sweet and warm and.. different. Despite the tears that began to form in the corner of my eyes, I was happy because I finally knew what pumpkin tasted like. Velaria on the other hand, had her head rolled back as she laughed at me and my reddened face.

I am used to her doing that. More often than not, my reaction to the smallest of things amuses the hell out of her. 

“Good?” The owner asked, his voice just as amused. 

I nod, unable to say anything as I gulp down the final drop of burning soup. “M-mhm.. A-amaziiing..” With my compliment, the owner smiled happily and nudged my shoulders.

We winnowed to the borders of Autumn soon after for the Summer Court. We walked in silence, the only sounds being the crunching of leaves beneath footsteps and Velaria's stifled giggles. 

My tongue still burns..

“Velaria. Enough.” I sigh. “It is not that funny.”

“It's a little funny..”

“I find you often laugh at my misery.” I pout. 

“Oh, I cannot help it, you are cute when you're utterly clueless.”

“I wouldn't have been clueless if you warned me of the soup's spice. I don't know if I tasted more spice than I did pumpkin. What if you ruined pumpkin for me forever?” I sigh.

“You overexaggerate.” I hear her snort. “High Commander of Hybern forces.. cannot handle spice..” She bursts into giggles again and I roll my eyes. Yet there is a smile on my face. 

“Any other spicy foods I should be wary of in Summer because I..” I was about to continue speaking when the sun's warm rays suddenly hit me, no longer shielded by the leafy canopy above. 

The heat was.. intense, the brightness nearly blinding. I shut my eyes instinctively, and when I opened them again, I was stunned by the sight that greeted me: a vast expanse of open skies painted with fluffy white clouds.

Never could I imagine Hybern with such scenery. In Hybern, the land is bleak, the skies perpetually covered in a haze of murky clouds and fog, barely allowing the faintest touch of sunlight.

“I never knew.. that clouds could arrange themselves to create a canvas of such beauty, or that the sun could shine with such fervor,.. that it's warm when it touches me.” My voice cracks as I whisper, my eyes narrowed and blinded by the sun and yet I could not tear my eyes off of it.

Velaria was silent behind me, still shielded by the shade of Autumn trees. But I sensed her turmoil within. Maybe she pitied me. For being imprisoned in the shadows for so long that even the most mundane of natural wonders felt foreign to me.. I would pity myself as well.

She gently touched my hand, her touch firm yet soft as she gently tugs at my fingers, silently beckoning me to follow her. “Come. I'll take you to Adriata..” 

I did not budge.

“Niamh?”

“Wait.” And I stare for a while more. Then more. Until I found myself under the shade casted by Velaria's large wing above my head.

“Can we.. go.. now?” She asks, and I gently swat her wing away.

“Wait.”

And so we wait for a few more minutes. Maybe an hour. Or two. Velaria is sitting in the ground now, her huge wings shielding her from the sun since I refused her.

“Can we go now?” I hear her muffled voice from inside her wing shelter.

“Wait..” My eyes are burning. I might be blind. A little woozy, even. But Mother above, does it look beautiful.

“Niamh, you will literally get a sunburn.” She stood up at last and covered my head with her wing once more.

“We're leaving now.” She grabbed my hand and winnowed us someplace else, under the shade of a peculiar looking tree.

“Gods above, you're red. It’s like the Cauldron have boiled you!” She was torn between horrified and close to bursting into a fit of laughter again. “You look like you've been cooked by the sun!”

I smiled wide and touched my face. Oh. It stings. “Really? Am I tan like you?”

“More like.. red.” She snorted and hesitated to touch my apparently burnt face. I was still smiling. And she was on the verge of cackling again.

“Does it look bad?”

“Heal yourself before we waltz inside Adriata looking like I have a fried chicken walking beside me.” She cackles. “If you show your wings you'd actually look like fried fowl. Raw, barely cooked.. fowl.”

“You are a very mean Illyrian..” I mocked a pout and did as she told and healed myself with a pat of the palms to my cheek.

Velaria took me to the main city of Summer called Adriata, near the beach, overlooking the harbor. Unlike the dense forests of Autumn, Summer's territory was largely composed of flat lands veiled in sparkling sand. And unlike Autumn, the people here seemed much more downtrodden. The golden castle once perched regally atop the water now lay in ruin, its once-brilliant walls scorched by flames. The docks that lined the harbor were torn asunder, with sections now sunk into the depths of the sea. The air was tinged with the scent of the sea and decaying fish as many fishers frantically came and went carrying baskets of fish they claimed to be dead. 

So it seems she poisoned their oceans too.

These poor people. What could they have possibly done to deserve this? And what could I do to help them? Before I could think, I was pulled away from the busy harbor and winnowed to empty shores.

“I will show you around first. You thinking of ways to help these people can come later.” She crossed her arms.

“It is.. beginning to become difficult to enjoy this.. ‘vacation’, given the circumstances.”

“I know. And I want to help them, too but.. I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

“Waiting for what?”

She let go of my shoulders and pointed at the ocean. “Showing you the beach, silly Niamh.”

“Oh..” A smile creeped onto my face. I can’t deny that I was feeling excited at the thought of dipping my feet into the water. “Of course.”

Before the water could touch me, I summoned the scroll of requests and read Soleil and Tesni’s writing. “What's a conch?” I looked at Velaria as she ran to the shore, then stopped immediately as I asked a question. 

“Are you serious?” She deadpanned, her voice tinged with disbelief. I responded with a shrug and a shake of my head, a small smile present on my face.

“Seashells, Niamh??” I shake my head again.

“I will bite your father's head off, I swear to the Mother above.” She muttered under her breathe before inhaling. “Come here. I'll show you.”

Hesitantly I followed her to the approaching waves. She took off her shoes and told me to do the same. When the waves came and swept under me, seemingly pulling me towards the ocean, I lost my balance and struggled to stand, the sand slowly sinking beneath my feet as Velaria reached for my gloved arm. She laughs and I couldn't help but do the same. Water splashes onto my clothes, droplets hitting my face and I taste salt in my tongue when I smile. 

Velaria looked down to the sandy floor, the water, despite being cursed by whatever Amarantha did to it, was still pristine blue and clear. Vel reaches out to the floor, occasionally being pushed forward by waves.

She then presented me with tiny stones. 

“This is a seashell.” She says, showing me the circular looking thing, pale blue and yellow colours twisted to the centre of its body. “And this is a conch.” She presents me a larger shell, one not so circular, spiral shaped with tiny spikes twisting into a small spire.

“Conches and seashells are alive actually. But these ones are dead, I think. Just shells. Makes for pretty decor. Maybe we can make a collection for Soleil and Tesni.” She hands them to me and keeps looking for more while I follow behind. 

We spent a good while looking for conches and seashells. I lost the first ones Vel found when I was pushed to the water by a big wave. The water was salty, truly. I had swallowed a good mouthful of it. Velaria, of course, found it funny, dropping her collection of shells to hold her tummy as she laughed at me and the seaweeds that newly adorned my head. How dare she. In retaliation, I flung water to her face. In which resulted in a battle that had us both drenched in sea water from head to toe.

She decided that the shell collecting could wait and before long she was dragging me to the deeper parts of the ocean that the water reached my collarbones. I whined and cried and begged her to bring me back to shore because I.. could not.. swim..

“Oh, you'll be fine. I'll fly you out if you drown.” She clicked her teeth and winked at me.

Velaria is many things. A good swim teacher is not one of them. I lost count on how many times she let me get swept by the waves. In the end, I gave up and just clung to her arm like a slug. We stuck to shell collecting on shallow waters soon after. And when we were satisfied with the amount Velaria suggested: sand castle building. And so while I watched her make a horrendous looking hovel made of sand, I looked through the list of requests again.

“Tesni wants a spider.” I said and Velaria looked at me weird.

“Why would she want a spider?” 

I shrugged and showed her the list. “Is this not a drawing of an arachnid?” I asked.

She looked at the paper for a moment and looked me dead in the eye. “Niamh. That's a crab.”

“What's a crab?”

     — —

Crabs. Crabs are wonderful creatures. I spent a good hour watching them head to sea in a beautiful line while Vel stood watch with her wings spread, protecting the crustaceans from prying seagulls. Crustaceans. That's what they are. Not arachnids. 

Vel gave up on her sand castle after the waves took over and left nothing but a lump of sand in its wake, which was no different from the structure she was working on anyway. Then we head to the city, glamoured like the common folk and still soaking wet because Vel wanted me to try ice cream. And I am proud to say that ice cream has completely altered my brain and that I will have to recreate the dessert back in Hybern. 

I also learned what a coconut was and drank from it and ate its insides. Very nice. Very refreshing. Not spicy at all.

“Do you live under a rock?” The little water wraith child pointed at me. I hear Velaria’s chuckle behind me. ‘She does.’ She murmured.

I asked the child about Amarantha’s curse upon Spring and he thought I’d been playing dumb. Apparently, everyone knows what happened. 

“There was a ball before the first year of Amarantha's reign came to a close. A.. what’s it called? Masquerade ball? She invited the people of Spring to make amends. She offered a seat beside her for the High Lord, to serve as her consort! He refused, of course. Insulted her to her face and faced her wrath for it!”

I hear Velaria suck a breath beside me. “What did she do?” I asked.

“She glued the masks to their faces. Everyone in Spring apparently has them now. She turned the High Lord's heart into stone, putting him in a curse that entails.. that if he doesn't break it in forty-nine years, he will have to surrender and uhm.. ‘bend the knee’, as my brother said..”

“And the curse.. What was it?”

“He had to find himself a human who has hatred for Fae in her heart. He had to bring her to Prythian and make her fall for him. Fall for him truly. Only then.. the curse will be broken and the people of Spring will be freed”

“Only the people of Spring?”

She nods. “If he breaks it, his powers will return to him. He can kill her!”

“And.. has he.. begun the search?”

The girl frowned. “We do not know. We do not know what's happening in Spring anymore. We used to have people.. informants. Human mortals. My brother suspected.. they've been found and killed. There's no way to know now. Less than a year remains.. We're at the mercy of The Unfading one now.”

I was silent for a while as I processed her words.

The weight of not just the Spring Court weighed on his shoulders now. It’s the entirety of Prythian. All the while his powers have been weakened. I felt my heart sink in my chest that it might’ve stopped beating. 

He has to break the curse. He has to..

I felt Velaria’s hand on my shoulders before she knelt before the child in front of us. “Don’t lose hope.” She said. 

The child smiles faintly. “Most of us already have.” She said before running off to catch up to other wraiths who returned to the water to search for more dead fish.

“Niamh.” Velaria calls to me, her hand soft on my arm.

Yet I couldn't hear her..

Masks. Glued onto their faces. I’ve had a mask on my face for as long as I could remember. Amarantha struck me during that one visit. My mask fell. She held it. She held it and the gears in the horrid head began turning. My mask inspired her. I inspired the wretched curse.

And now..

“Niamh..?"

I felt like throwing up.

“I want to go fishing.” I said instead.

     — —

I didn’t want to dwell on it. It’s not my fault. It’s not.. Yet when I do, the guilt gnaws in my chest like a damn parasite. I could only turn to something else to distract myself, distract Velaria because I know well she’s noticed that I’ve been acting strange since the revelation of that curse.

So when the opportunity presented itself, I had volunteered myself to fish near the.. ‘coral reefs’, whatever that was. The fishers needed all the help they could get, after all. Only.. I did not know how to fish. Velaria pretended she could, only to sit there on the raft for hours without anything catching her bait. I stood and watched them, a bit embarrassed to admit I spend a good amount of time just gawking at the colorful reef below the water. A perfect momentary distraction. Only then I knew what corals were. And they were.. so very pretty.

And while I sat there on the edge of the fishers’ raft, I let my left glove disintegrate for a moment, allowing my bare fingers to dip and swirl in the water. I focused my magic, altering the curse that Amarantha had placed on it to.. ease their work. I would only aim to reverse the blight in a small area, hoping to alleviate the fishers' plight without drawing too suspicion. Because Amarantha will find out and the people will surely suffer her wrath for something they once again didn’t do.

The few fishers that were on the raft freaked out when they felt their line tugged beneath the water, thanking the Mother above for such a miracle. Velaria looked at me, knowing well that the miracle was me, and patted me on the head.

The people of Summer couldn't hide their euphoria, now that their bellies were full with the fish. They held a spontaneous celebration by the docks, with some fishermen too impatient to cook their catch at home, instead indulging right there and then. They shared whatever they could do those in need. I needed no fish to fill me, but I was happily shared some either way. 

The people of Summer proved to be as warm and welcoming as the land they lived in.., which is why I regretted deeply that I had to wipe myself and Velaria from their memories before we left.

I do not know what the future holds.. But may there be many more fishes to come to keep those smiles on their faces.

     — —

It's dark when our adventures in Summer ended. Velaria, too tired to enter another Court, suggested we stay on the shores and wait for daylight. So we did. We lay on the sand with the waves still singing in the background and the birds flying overhead and into the sun that sank below, meeting its reflection in the horizon.

I’m not obligated to return to Hybern even if the sun came down as the King instructed me to seek out the three legs of the Cauldron anyway. And so far I have not found nor sensed the priestesses who possess them so.. I dub my vacation extended.

I do not see Hybern in the distance. A good thing. And while Father is out of sight and out of reach, the golden cuffs around my wrist itches still, reminding me that even if he isn't here I am still bound to him and my cage doesn't depend on where I am.. My cage is always with me.

And I am never truly free.

I let the gloves covering my arms disintegrate, letting the cool air brush past the cursed skin of my blackened hands. I fidgeted with the green handkerchief securing the end of my braid, tugging at it until it came undone, freeing the glamour-woven strands. Now revealed was my true hair - a striking silver cascade, shimmering in the sunlight as it fell onto the sand.. 

Slowly, I tie the cloth to my wrist, above the golden cuff, hiding it. Replacing it.

Velaria seems to notice. She lays beside me, her big wings spread freely after a whole day of hiding it.

“Where do you wish to go tomorrow?” She asks, her hand touching mine. 

“Anywhere is fine.. Anywhere is beautiful, surely..” I did not tear my eyes off the clouds as the first tiny silvery specks of stars began to appear, paving way to dusk’s fleeting moment of splendor before night.

“Winter is right up north. Spring to the south.” She says, looking at me as she did.

“Winter.” I say quickly. “Let's go to Winter first. Then Dawn. Day. Then, Night.” I look at her. “To Velaris, if you wish.”

“Do you not want to go to Spring?”

“Do you?”

She said nothing. 

“We can go to Spring last.” I said, turning my gaze back to the changing hues of the skies.

And for a moment, there was peaceful silence between us as we let our eyes rest with the view of the coming of twilight. 

“Why did you snap at Amarantha when she told you of her curse to the Spring Lord?” Her voice was a mere whisper and I fought myself to remain unflinching at her question. Of course she noticed.

Because he is mine..

“Because it was a horrible thing. What she did. I.. The common folk are easy enough to fool. If we wander about Spring with a High Lord present, I doubt we would be so lucky.” I lied. A weak attempt. I know she sees through the lie. Because there is no place and no person I couldn't fool. Not when I could just erase their memories after meeting them. 

Yet she let it slide this time, never prying, always patient.

In truth, it is the High Lord of Spring that I am avoiding. The fear of meeting him and running the risk of the bond snapping for him at last and ruining his efforts of breaking whatever curse Amarantha has brought upon him. I could laugh. That I am here, avoiding my mate when some would commit atrocities to find theirs. Avoiding my mate so that he may find himself a human mortal to make his lover lest he's faced with a worse alternative.

Either way I lose him to another. 

Perhaps I am scared that the bond will snap and I will be unable to control myself. I will ruin him, I will ruin myself and the plans I've well crafted throughout the centuries. The plot against the King, to free my people and myself from our golden shackles.

And so I will sacrifice myself again. And pray.. that in the future I may find him again. And if he's happy with another I will accept the outcome with a stiff lip. 

I close my eyes. My thoughts have not found respite. I have not seen him in what feels like an eternity, his face is all but fading in my mind. And when I close my eyes like this it is gold that I see. Not the gold of my cuffs, or gold of coins. I see golden locks reflecting the shine of the fiery sun. I see green and eternal fields of roses. When we wandered about Autumn, it is to his Court my gaze wanders to and I imagine– I yearn to run to the border and feel the bond tickle at the pulse in my wrist, tugging at it, pulling at it. When we wandered about Summer, the shimmering sand below my feet reminded me of his hair and I wondered if his locks would flow so softly between my fingers as did the sand when it fell through the cracks of my hands.

“Then we will go to Winter.” She held my hand tighter. “I warn you though, it's cold.”

“I got that from the name, Vel.”

The two seasonal courts have embraced me so kindly, with Autumn's warmth and Summer's fresh ocean air, I have no doubt that the others will too. I have no doubt that snow will be as captivating as the children say, nor do the libraries tempt me to stay in Day. I have no doubt that the skies are most beautiful when it's dimly lit like a candle's flame in the quiet of Dawn. I have no doubt that Velaris is as beautiful as Velaria described, adorned with a thousand falling crystals that light up its dark skies.

Yet deep down, I find myself yearning for what lies to the south. Spring consumes my thoughts, beckoning me with its lush plains and colourful blooms. Sights that I could only conjure in my mind. 

It is Spring that I long to experience above all else.

     — —     — —

<<Ch.1 <<Ch.5 ___ Ch.7>>

A/n: She's going through it 😭 Such a yearner, she wants him so bad 😔😔 girl me too. Getting attached with the Lighthouse children ngl. They are important to me and the plot 😔♥ I want more lesser fae that are not literally just humans with pointed ears. I want Holly Black kind of fae people, that's what most of the children Niamh keeps are, not entirely humanlike, but a good balance between humanoid and creature. Myb I'll draw them aaa

Vel showing her around or just her getting to know Prythian reminded me of this song. Niamh is so Ariel-coded ngl 🥹

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 13: The Record Player Song

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter

Summary of chapter: Who are you? Who do you want me to be? Am I good at playing pretend?

Author's Note: I've had this song in mind for Tobi/Obito for about as long as I imagined him being in the fic. The song is The Record Player Song by Daisy the Great. Record Player with AJR? I don't know her. I'm using the OG iteration.

Minor content warning, perhaps, for disassociation.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I've got a record player that was made in 2014

Dyed my hair blue, it came out a seasick sort of green

I like vintage dresses when they fall just below my knees

I pretend I scraped them climbing in the trees

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The hands return tonight. She’s weightless with their touch, and yet she is reluctant. There’s such vast difference between them and herself, and it both awes and frights her, like witnessing God. Release me, she prays. Let us, they answer. But how?

The amber ring approaches from her left, laying beside her on the infinite beach of her dreams. His shadowed, undetailed body presses, and though gentle he is yearning. The figure’s sharp teeth hide until their mouth opens. Lips create shapes meant just for the dreamer, but to her ears she hears nothing. Just the waves. Just the breath of the sea.

In…

…

Out...

A body…? There were no bodies last time.

Another head rests against her shoulder in a small, affectionate rub much like that of a cat. Long bangs are not needed to hide a face with no features, and an arm crooks in the chest of his cloak like a sling, red gem slipped over a finger that dangles. He’s so relaxed, like he’s nearly ready to die in peace by her right side.

Ghostly vocals drift above the sea, phantoms that speak from behind, saying something that is supposed to be her name but is not. They’re distant but getting closer. They sound urgent, they sound lost.

In the depths of siren calls and caresses, a movement of her own is finally forced. Her head is tilted back by the skull, one hand cupping each cheek. It keeps her still, a thumb trailing down her skin from temple to chin, pulling it underneath its print, making her lips part to feel the mouth that weeps her melodies. The stranger doesn’t see the man himself, much as the others, but she does see his form: large, jagged spikes against the sky so pale and wispy. Though it wasn’t felt in the dream before, it is known that he was standing behind her the whole time.

Her eyes squint, the weight of a bright world so blinding. The water draws closer.

In…

“Takara-chan!”

Out the dreamer screams, an orange swirl filling her vision. Against her nest of blankets the woman writhes but only traps herself in deeper among the pillows and fabric. In her panic, there’s no choice but to shove off whatever is on top of her. The intruder flies across the room, far further than her strength could have caused, and she has a second to get her bearings with each heavy breath she catches back.

Against the attic wall, her house guest is still. What? There’s no way she knocked him out...right?! She feels a furrow in her brow until he sits straight up like a puppet on strings.

“Oh, goodness me! Takara-chan is easy to scare when she’s asleep, huh?”

Oh.

Right.

It’s this guy.

With no other choice, she blinks away her pride until her lids hurt and she can manage to apologize. “I— geez, I’m sorry!” Concern hits as she sits up herself, adjusting her frilled pajama collar so it no longer twists. “Is everything okay?!”

“Okay?!” he repeats, sounding like the end of the world, throwing his head forward. “How can it be okay when you’re missing BREAKFAST?!”

The last word repeats dumbly back at him.

“Yes! I made you breakfast! You’re gonna love it!” A pointed pause. “...You will have it...right?”

The one thing she can’t get over— beyond the bells and whistles of his loud personality— is how hard he is to read. Is that a threat or puppy dog eyes that eyehole hides?

“I…” The ritual of breakfast hasn’t really been one. Itachi prepared food and they went and ate it. That’s it. Kisame was pretty private about chowing down and the chef himself didn’t eat very much, so everyone said thank you and went their own ways. But she decides to play ball: “What did you make?”

“Your favorite!”

She frowns. There is no memory of her saying she has a favorite breakfast. “I’m sorry, I—” A finger wag interrupts a foolish girl.

“It WILL be your favorite!” The finger draws back into a hand that solutes. “Or my name isn’t Tobi!”

Something in her gut is a bit uncomfortable, a bit like a tummy ache the first morning of school, but, well...how can she say no to that? Since day one—yesterday, to be precise— he’s been nothing but eager to please, trailing in her shadow and jumping ahead in her vision, full of nothing but questions and interruptions. It’s overwhelming, yes, but its intent does flatter. She flickers a smile of gratitude. “I’ll hold you to it.”

What a strange man, thinks the strange girl as he takes her down the stairs.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wipe my eyes and cut me off

(Wipe my eyes, I'm crying)

I'm just crying for attention

(For attention)

Wish I'd been a teenage rebel

(A teenage rebel)

Never even got detention

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Zetsu must have thought it awfully funny to tease the arrival of two and only give one, not even one of which promised. A remarkable occasion happens again, everyone present in the home gathered at the dinner table. Or at least, about to be—

“Ah, here they are.”

Itachi follows Kisame’s acknowledgment with his eyes only, the traveler nearly tripping over her feet as Tobi pulls her by the arm.

“Hey, slow down, please—!” Her plea is answered, unfortunately, immediately. She bumps into the back of him as the masked man reaches an empty chair.

“Oop?” He freezes in dramatic horror as she begins to stumble. A hand grabs her wrist and the other catches her by the back. The black-clad man couldn’t have done a better dip of a dance partner even if he tried. Her eyes go wide.

“...Oh,” she whispers, having never been held like this before. Tobi chimes down at her.

“You can’t be so reckless! You’re much too fragile for that!” Her brow furrows.

“Tobi, that goes for you too, you know,” Kisame butts in before she can question. “Your excitement is appreciated but it is also a lot—” The shark glances at her, still dangling in Tobi’s grasp. “—For starting out with.”

On a dime and her brief shriek, she’s nearly flipped upright in half a second flat. The gloved hand still holds her by the back while the other interweaves its fingers into hers, raising it beside their heads. Though frantic at first, the pause that follows allows her to study him. It’s a carved mask, almost like a vortex; it curls and caves until it reaches a black hole. Can she see his eyes—?

A thought interrupted as he spins them around in this tango in finale, pulling back her throne and making her sit between the two other Akatsuki. Kisame chuckles.

As a breakfast of messy, runny eggs is served, Itachi says not a thing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I don't really love you

I just said that for a change of pace

I'm sorry

Sometimes I don't recognize my face

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Well, if Kisame trusts him, then it’s worth a shot, the stranger reasons.

The next week-so is spent being dragged about from “adventure” to “adventure”. It’s nearly like a summer haze daydream, the sort of thing you remember doing when you’re little, playing around with the neighbor boy.

“Come on the swing, Takara-chan!” Tobi urges, putting her on the toy and pushing her without waiting for consent. There’s no ramping up, no questions of how high: the answers are fast and up to forever.

“Tobi, that’s—” a plea interrupted and punctuated by a shriek. At first, it seems that he mistakes her screams for those of joy.

“Oh my gosh, look how high up you are! I’m so jealous!”

“Eeeeughhhhhhh!!!”

Knees pin together and hands grip for dear life as she flies through the sky. There are too many branches overhead; if she gets any higher, she will simply get concussed. The playmate has no choice but to shout down:

“Tobi, please stop!”

“I—oh?” he peeps, and for a second that mask and silence leave him totally unreadable. Is he angry? Is he upset? There’s no way to know, especially this far away, until he screams himself: “TAKARA-CHAN!”

The noble prince commits the ultimate sacrifice. As the woman swings back down from a height so grand it makes the rope slack in its bounce, he jumps into her path. “I’ll catch you!!!”

He kind of does. It mostly smacks her square into him.

The two kids rock backwards like a tumbleweed with an engine, rolling over and over and over. It’s a lifetime and a couple of scrapes and bruises later, but they do eventually fall still. Reflexively, the woman attempts to remove herself, but bizarrely finds she is stuck. A heavy breath tries to catch itself in her ear, and she finally feels ten fingertips pressed into her back.

“...Tobi?” It is undeniable now. He is holding her in place. Why? She squirms, but not hard enough as he doesn’t seem to be alerted to her soreness.

“...Hew,” the swirled face exhales. “That was a close one!” Before her mouth can open again, she feels a chin on top of her head. “At least you’re safe now.” The sincerity of this statement, as they lay curled together in the grass...is baffling, and yet...

And yet…

The thought drifts away as another day comes to pass.

“Takara-chan!”

He says her name with such affection and poise, a bouquet of roses held in both gloved hands and swung upward like an ax. Her own palms are held next to her head, having been approached abruptly and to her surprise, and the tops of her fingers bend as she begins to analyze the object shoved into her personal space.

“...Huh?”

Tobi slinks. “Wait, you don’t like flowers?! Kisame-senpai! Did you lie to me?!” A carving knife in the blue man’s grasp stills and fish eyes walk over to where the orange stands.

“No, I didn’t,” he huffs, the slightest annoyance on the back of his throat. “It’s probably that you cut those straight out of her garden.”

It’s with this statement that Tobi’s body speaks before his voice, head cocking at a sharp angle and even more of him limping lower to the ground. The traveler is silent, but not for the assumed reasons; she’s thinking again.

His gestures—...it’s like he’s a mime.

And yet more days pass.

Thump thump thump thump.

With no proper door for the makeshift bedroom of the attic, a wrist peeks above the crawlspace door and knocks its knuckles against the floor. The woman opens one eye, glancing out her single window. It is night. The panic at first dampers as the seconds go by, as she recognizes the moonlight slicking fiery color in the dark, as she moves over to lay on the old wood and lower her face towards his. Fingertips holding the edge of the “door,” this hole in her upstairs room.

“T-takara-chan…” The voice behind the mask quivers. “I-I-I can’t sleep. Can I be up here? With you?” Even at night, not one bit of his attire is retired; he is fully dressed, scarf and mask and all. He’s met with a confused hum, half asleep.

“Tobi, I—...it’s going to be darker and noisier up here,” she tries to rationalize to the man. And if anyone knows how much scarier sound gets at night when you’re in a pitch-black abandoned attic, it’s her. But he shakes his head.

“But you’re up here.”

...So she is. Can’t deny that.

“...Tobi, I…”

His hands are held to his chest, much like how she has done before when she is afraid. His face is not visible, but the emotion— the expression— he wants her to see is obvious. An inhale comes slow through her nose before she speaks her decision:

“Okay.”

He scrambles into the storage space no sooner than her permission is given, and the traveler is grateful she sat up and backed out as now arms are thrown around her. The trembling from him is...rhythmic. It reminds her of a cicada.

“I’m safe now...I’m okay with Takara-chan…”

Who is he speaking to? It’s like he’s a narrator…

“I love you, Takara-chan.”

He says it by the seventh day, whispered and airy like sweet cotton candy. She’s done nothing to deserve it. Guilt and beguilement alike wrack her heart. He has a dandelion clutched in two hands instead of a stolen bouquet.

“Tobi...I…” The two words have repeated, over and over again but never lead to anything. Two brows above the same number of worried eyes curl. He bends at the knees and tilts his chin up. The message is clear:

Say it back.

But she cannot. This is so much— too much— and none of it makes sense. “Tobi…” What can she say to this? All week he’s been attached at the hip, like she’s the first person that’s given him the time of day, the only one that has ever said so much as hello, you deserve my attention. Not only is it not good for him, but she can’t discern the origin. Why is he so childish? Desperate? Pressuring?

It’s like he’s—

It hits her, and just as it does, that’s when Tobi presses forward with his script:

“...You don’t know what it’s like to be loved...do you?” The last two words have such a tinge to them, and it confirms her suspicions. “That’s okay.” He is so still, her stare locked on that one black hole.

“I can show you.”

Instinctively, she swallows and her eyes go wide. Too close, Tobi realizes. It’s time to back off. A few steps backwards, stumbling and tripping over his own feet on purpose. “Sorry! I— oh, sorry! I’ll just—” Don’t say too much. Weed in tow, he walks without looking until he can squeeze around the corner and out of her sight.

From one performer to another, she notes how well he plays the boy next door.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I need a dictionary

Someone look me up and define me

Please remind me

Who I'm supposed to be around you

So you will do what I want you to

I'm always winning the wrong game

I don't remember my real name

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The day has finally come, perhaps for real this time, and she is nowhere to be found. As soon as the traveler saw the cloaks on the edge of her horizon, she turned tail and ran.

“Takaraaaa-chaaaaan?” the saccharine call sing-songs. The others haven’t caught on yet, more wrapped up in the zombies’ arrival than they are the sound of the back door knocking shut. “Oh?”

A hand grabs the end of a green scarf as he passes a thick bramble of berries, the woman’s knees to her chest. He almost walked past. Maybe she should have let him. Her gut said no.

If someone can save her, it’s him.

“Takara-chan!” Tobi has repeated her name over and over and over again, and each time before she has at least shifted expression, gifted her recognition of his excitement. Now, however, almost like his disguise, her face doesn’t change at all, not even as he lowers himself to her level, holding his knees and getting right in her space. “Takara-chan, you gotta come back with me! Hidan and Kakuzu just came to see you!”

Hollow eyes, unblinking, stare up at him. How interesting. He cocks his head.

“Aren’t...you...excited?” After all, she was when the woman assumed Tobi was her old friends. Those eyes bore into him, and slowly, lips part. It is only now, perhaps, that it is clear that she is so tense she is afraid to move.

“Aren’t you tired?”

A question returned from the depths of her soul. The concealment of his tilts the other direction. “Huh?” But he heard what she said, and she knows it. Tobi is, after all, a caricature of herself.

“I’m afraid,” she explains, under her breath. It sounds calm but it is merely frozen. “That I’m losing myself.”

Tobi says nothing. The black hole gapes at her. She repeats herself, if only for emphasis:

“Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you tired of performing?”

…

…

…

An accusation of this caliber warrants a response. He must speak back.

“...I don’t know what you mean, Takara-chan,” he lies in a calculated cadence.

But the performer understands how hard it is to just stop, so she talks under a correct assumption: that he knows very well. “I can’t always tell what face I’m wearing, you know?” A confession, deeper and uglier than any love she could deserve. “How I’m supposed to act.”

Her words tumble one after the other, invisible masks slipping through palms she raises, staring so intensely at. If she stares at them hard enough, will her hands bleed? Will they show the real face they’re hiding from her?

“Who likes what. Who hates who. If-...if I take time to think, people get mad,” she confesses her greatest weakness. It is one that has existed long before the Akatsuki, since the moment the curse of consciousness entered her brain and told her she is bad, bad, bad.

“If I respond before thinking, I say the wrong thing, and people still get mad!” There are going to be so many balls to juggle now, one person to throw up in the air just to catch another. The more people there are, the less time she has to think. The less time she has to think, the more she will fuck up. If you miss one ball, the others will fall.

From one clown to another, how do you do it?

Existing is exhausting, especially when stakes are so high. Her head throws up to look at him, eyes nearly blinded with gobs of tears. They still do not blink, as if they deserve to sting.

“And it’s just so goddamn PATHETIC that I can’t figure out which one to wear for you!”

She’s not a liar, no. Just a people pleaser. That’s most certainly a worse thing to be. She needs advice and she needs it NOW.

“Everyone is so different...and they’re all counting on me to be happy. For me to keep the peace. Tobi...I…” As her throat chokes, she tries to gesture much like he does, much like Tobi needs to when he can’t express with his face. Her arms fling like the fool is trying to guide him into her heart. Help me. Help me. “How can I manage all that?!”

A desperate plea has no easy answer. Slowly, the man drops from his kneel until he joins her on the dirty forest floor. So curious he has been about the newcomer, about her spell. Each prod, each step in this dance, they’ve both just been circling around each other, trying to find the right pace, the right words, the right time. Are they waiting for the other to stumble in this ballet, or has he been enjoying a worthy partner? Who is she…? How did she get here, how can she bring the worst of men under her thumb? She claims she has failed to allude him, and yet, perhaps, the woman is more of a master of the masquerade than he.

If she can lie to herself so well, too.

He should have known all along. He should have recognized the traits he sees in himself. Perhaps it does not matter how on purpose her charm is. In the end, she is just a lost stranger with a bleeding heart, and others around her are starved of love. That’s a lot of responsibility for one girl, regardless of how keenly aware she is of the precarious sword she balances across the tip of. Maybe even more so.

It’s harder to keep going forward if someone tells you don’t look down.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, so quietly as to not betray his real voice. “I’m sorry.”

The masked man wants to speak stronger, so painfully much about a chord struck so loudly that it echoes in his empty soul, but his words must be reserved. If he does it now, they will arrive deep and hollow, and it is not yet the time for him to change his face for her. Perhaps in time, but not now. Even if there is knowledge his is fake, the other performer in their theater of two does not know what is real.

So only in secret, behind the swirl, is he actually another human being, reaching his hand for hers to take.

She doesn’t know the partner in her duet. Not at all. But she knows who he wants her to think he is, and that’s so much they already have in common, so much that can be relied upon.

An audience can only suspend their belief for so long; she cannot hide here forever. The situation will still exist, the dynamics will still need appeasing, failure and success alike will always come, hand in hand. Their fingers interlock as two neighbor kids end playtime, their secret real lives, going back home to names that are not their own. The prince can pretend he rescued the princess, twigs still stuck in their hair to prove it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sometimes, I think all I'm ever doing is

Trying to convince myself I'm alive

Sometimes, I think all I'm ever doing is

Trying to convince myself I'm alive

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───