#There is that sudden drop of self hatred when i near the end of a project

[freebooter4ever]

does anyone else have tropes in their own writing that would only make sense to them? if you've ever read multiple fics of mine and come across any background character named 'janet' or any character whose name starts with a 'j' or is similar to that - those are all the same character. Its this weird obsession of mine - to put real life people into my fanfic. And each 'janet' is a new version of my great aunt janet who was, to put it kindly, a holy terror. She was mean to everyone, she hated children (though she tolerated me because i silently did everything she told me to and would help her shell peas on the farm when we visited), and she died old and alone. But her life was pretty sad too - she grew up when women weren't educated much, and she never married and instead of living her own life was left by her older brothers as the caretaker of their mother, basically until the day she died. So in my stories all my 'janet's lead beautifully full and happy lives with lots of friends. None of the main plots are about janet, obviously, but if i need a side character i just plop her in there and invent a better life for her than the one she was stuck with.

I do this with grandma too. If there's a random little old lady in my fic it's probably based on grandma. The most popular being Eleanor from DOA. I even wrote a short story about an old woman who knits and spins her own yarn, and pricks her finger on the spinning wheel to become a superhero and save her suburbs from aliens, but instead of fighting the aliens ends up befriending them and adopts them as a sort of alien cat breed. It was entirely based on grandma jojo, who -if you think my insecurities are bad - is even worse when it comes to believing she can do anything. She doesn't think she can do anything right, so she never wants to do anything because she knows she won't do it well. This baffled grandpa jojo, who used to try to teach her about airplanes and rockets and wanted her to go to college. And this equally baffled me my whole life - when i was really little i apparently wouldnt let her just sit beside me, i made her draw too. So all my stories feature larger than life superhero grandma characters.

And lavender - this is one people have caught me on, lol. Because I use it every chance I get. Grandma callyerdogsoff was a poet and an artist herself, but writing her into stories as a character feels impossible. So instead i use her signature scent. She died in 2010 but sometimes if i think about her i can still smell lavender.

People belittle fangirls, fanfic, and fanartists and say this stuff isn't worth anything compared to 'real' creative work but. I dunno. There's so much more to it than people imagine. I know none of my writing will last beyond my lifetime, and that none of these little tropes will be teased out of it like in english lit class. So whats the harm in writing within already built communities that share an established passion? My 'original' work always feels lonelier than the stuff written with an audience in mind. Why is writing my original work so much better when it just sits there and is never seen by anybody other than me. Compared to the fanfic where im writing my stories about other people's characters and using my words and my particular quirks...and usually interacting with a whole community of friends and fellow writers.

[zalrb]

Claiming Pt. 2

 Link to pt. 1: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/714263270656180224/imagine-the-setup-pt-1

I’m not making any promises but last time there were complaints that Stefan wasn’t dark enough so this time I didn’t censor myself. I hope I’ve satisfied that requirement in this fic. And of course as always, comments are appreciated :)

Elena had asked Stefan to take the girl upstairs. Actually, she’d told him to. For a brief moment, he contemplated resisting her, but truthfully, he was curious to see what she had planned, to see how far she would go, how far she could go. He was intent on seeing it, which he found odd. He no longer had to care, had to feel the self-hatred that choked him, no longer loved, no longer felt shame. There was nothing within him. Except this curiosity.

When they made it to the second landing, Stefan heard the telltale whisper of speed, saw a blur, and then suddenly, the girl was knocked down on her front.

"What the hell was that?"

Stefan didn't answer.

Her tooth was chipped. "Shit! That really hurt, can you help me up?"

She reached out a hand. Stefan didn't move to take it.  Another whisper. The girl's hand was suddenly snapped backwards. She screamed.

Stefan made a quick movement so that he was at her eye level. "Stop screaming."

She did immediately.

He stood back up.

A sudden gash across the girl's cheek. She opened her mouth to scream but no noise came out. Stefan raised his eyebrows, intrigued. The blur came back around. Now a gash across the girl's throat.            

"Right for the kill," said Stefan. "So functional."

Elena slowed down, stopping in front of him, glaring. She didn't understand why but she wanted more than to impress him, she wanted him in awe of her. 

"She’s not dead yet.”

Quickly, she took the girl by the hair and started dragging her down the hall, her body twisting and undulating as she tried to escape. Stefan waited a beat and then followed them to Elena's room.  When he got there, Elena was already feeding from the girl's throat, grunting ravenously,

which admittedly evoked his own cravings for blood.

He’d known she didn't know how to prolong the hunt and had made up his mind to mock her predictability but found himself mesmerized by what he was seeing instead.

A vicious thrill coursed through him as he watched Elena feed in earnest, experiencing a sensation that was entirely new to him. He wanted to taste that girl's blood. His hunger, never ignored or forestalled for too long, roared within him, setting everything in him alight with an urgent craving, and yet his appetite was reigned in by his desire to see Elena revel in the bloodlust. Never before had he preferred watching over partaking but her voraciousness excited him. He yearned to see Elena feed to satiation. His body ached for it, tensed for it, an intense satisfaction building within him to be released when Elena got her fill.

She looked up from her feed to see his expression and when she saw that it wasn't just a hint of darkened veins or a bit of red in his eyes, but that his vampirism had completely bled through and his lip curled over his fangs in a base kind of hankering, she fed harder.

The girl was nearly dead. Just a little bit longer... just a little more to go... the anticipation made Stefan twitch -- Elena's breathing became heavier and heavier as she neared the end ---

And then she let the girl drop to the floor.

The deferred gratification made Stefan wince. "You didn't finish her off," he whispered desperately.

Elena sped to him, kissing him without preamble, sharing the taste of the girl's blood, moaning urgently into his mouth, pulling away only to say, "No, I want us together to be the last thing she sees" and then turning to the girl, "You'll wait and you'll watch until it's over."  She brought her mouth to Stefan's again, teasing him with a gentle nip on his lower lip, as they rid each other of their clothes, tearing off shirts and tank tops, bras, unbuckling belts, in a haste that betrayed a need.

Elena wanted to devour him, take his essence into hers. She bit into his neck, relishing the strangled cry that escaped him. She moved away slightly to see his slackened mouth and delirious smile, bringing about a darkly delighted smile of her own and then put her mouth to his neck, drinking from him,

She moaned loudly as he penetrated her with his fangs, biting just above her breast, euphoria overtaking her instantly. She was dizzy, she was high, and she wanted more. Wanted to do more. Wanted to have him ... more. She wanted to mark him everywhere she could. She kissed along his throat to his chest then bit, drinking with flourish as he took her hand and kissed her palm, her wrist, running his tongue along her arm before sinking his fangs into it then bending down to kiss then bite her stomach, as she knotted her hand in his hair, biting his shoulder, scratching his back, both of them claiming the other's body with their teeth and nails.

He lifted Elena onto him then brought her to the floor, halfway on top of the half-dead corpse, Elena's legs wrapped around him, trapping him within her, urging his intensity, and when he thrust, she bit down hard on his lip until he groaned, drinking him.

Their bare bodies were entwined and heaving and writhing together slicked in their sweat, in their blood, in each other's blood, as they bit and sucked and tasted one another in a combined effort to consume as much as they could of each other, burying themselves deeper in a hedonistic exultation that made them tense and shudder and finally erupt, Elena's head bowing back so that her gaze met the blank one of the dead girl's who, she was sure, saw enough of what Elena wanted her to before passing on.

*

"I've thought about it and I don't want you sleeping with anyone," said Elena dispassionately.

She and Stefan were lying next to each other on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and Stefan was absent-mindedly stroking her hair.

He laughed. "It's cute you think you have a say."

"I don't think you understand," she said slowly. "I don't like it and I don't want it happening anymore."

Stefan shrugged. "Elena, I don't care."

She sighed then propped herself up on her elbow so she could look down at him, her hand tracing patterns on his chest. Both of them were healed from their lovemaking but blood still spattered their skin.

"Stefan, I don't care if you don't care," she said flatly. "It's not about you. I'm not expressing a desire, I'm not flattering you, I am telling you a fact.  I don't want you with anyone else."

Stefan scoffed. "Do I really have to explain to you that just because you say you want something, it doesn't mean that you'll get it?"

"Yes, it does," she said simply. "My emotions are off, Stefan, which means I don't let anything stand in the way of my urges. If I like something I take it,

if I want something I get it."

"And what you want is me."

She shook her head. "I didn't say--"

"You said 'else'."

"'Else'?"

"'Anyone else'," Stefan clarified.

Elena rolled her eyes, lying back down but this time on her side so she could face him. Stefan turned to face her too, inching closer so that their noses touched, and then slipped a finger between her legs, making her grab onto him, her mouth hanging open in pleasure, her lips pressed against his as she sighed and gasped.

"Don't get sentimental," she said finally, continuing to hold onto him. "Sex is a basic, well not human, but a basic need, you're just going to be the one who fulfills it."

"Elena." Stefan kissed her ear. "My emotions are off too."  He kissed her just beneath her chin, making her sigh. "You getting what you want is no longer a concern of mine because you no longer concern me." He bared his teeth, grazing her jaw so that she erupted in chills, digging her nails into his skin.

"Find someone else to play with." 

He moved his hand away but she quickly moved it back.

"No," she said, grinding against the movement. "It has to be you," she panted, then muttered beneath her. "There's only you." She kissed him again, rolling over onto him.

Stefan lost himself in the feel of her body atop his before pulling himself out of the bliss and disentangling from her.

"Find someone else anyway," he said, getting up. He started putting on his clothes. "Now, how do you want to get rid of the guests downstairs?"

Elena glared at him.

*

Bonnie was in the kitchen doing a locator spell and Damon and Caroline were combing through the Salvatore Mansion, healing, compelling and escorting out what guests remained in the house.

“I guess it’s a little better that they’ve been left for dead instead of being outright killed.”

Caroline looked at him. “Your mental gymnastics are a sight to behold, Damon.”

“I’m just saying, there’s only been one body.”

“So far,” said Caroline.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t try to find them or get their humanity back, I’m just saying we might be overreacting.”

Bonnie shouted from the kitchen, “You know you underreact to things that require a strong reaction and overreact to things that need common sense?”

           He rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. His phone rang. 

Caroline looked at him “You have got to be kidding me.”

“It’s Elena and we have, like, three more people left. You can handle that on your own, just picture yourself as Compulsion Barbie.”

“Ass.”

Damon walked into the library and looked at his phone for a few seconds before answering.

"Hey, where are you? Where’s Stefan?"

"Damon?"      

"Yes, one and only."

"Damon..."

He rubbed his forehead. "What happened? Why did you turn it off?"

"I… I didn't..."  She sounded odd, distracted. "It just happened."

"What do you mean? Did Stefan make you turn it off?"

Her voice was urgent, different from the cool, dispassionate tone she usually had in this state. "Damon, are you going to figure out what happened to me?"

"What if I do? You're going to hurt people?"

She didn’t answer right away. "Do you care?"

"No,” he admitted. “But you will."

She made a noise but then agreed. "You're right."

"You know you could just," he sighed, "do the old switch-a-roo and flip it back on yourself."

He could barely get the words out, too distracted by whatever it was she doing on the other end. He could hear --- was she feeding as they were talking?

"You know it's not that easy. It feels ... oh God, this feels so good..." She sounded breathless. "It feels so good to not care, to not fear anything."

He nodded. "Yeah, no, you don't have to tell me. But..."

"I know.” Her voice was a whine. “That's why I want you to bring me back."

He paused. "You do?"

She sighed heavily. "I need you to, Damon. You're the only one who can do it."

Her words ignited something in him and he cleared his throat. "This doesn't make sense.” He had to think about this logically. “Why would you ask me to help you? If this is some kind of reverse psychology you learned in you Psych 101 class, I'm not gonna fall for it."

"Damon, I still remember everything, I still remember us, and I want to feel what I felt when I used to think of..." she breathed out a sigh. 

Damon was starting to sweat. "What are you doing?"

"Remembering." Her voice was full of feeling, turning into a moan. "Remembering things like those summer nights? Summer days." She let out a breathy, excited laugh. "Summer mornings..."

He tried to resist. "What about them?"

Her voice trembled as she recounted the summer they got together until he was imagining it with her, picturing the hours, days, weeks spent in his bed, on his couch, her quickening breathing quickening his pulse, making him long for the past, long for a future when they could spend a summer like that again, and then --- "Stefan."

Everything inside of him collapsed.

She whimpered that name again and again and when Damon tuned his hearing, he heard the heavy breathing of someone else.

Of him.

He slumped against the wall and clenched his phone, threatening to break it. “Really?”

Elena laughed. “You think I’ve ever sounded like this thinking about that?”

Stefan lay beneath Elena, holding the cell to her ear and when Damon hung up, she took the phone and tossed it to the side.

"I told you I was going to do it," she said, sucking Stefan’s finger.

She did but he never thought she would. When he'd refused for a second time to follow her directive, she'd explained she'd claim him, make it impossible for him to leave, to want to be with anyone else. He’d expected another display like the blondes but she told him she’d leave no one with any delusions instead.

           She was moving deliberately on top of him, ignoring the way he clenched her thigh, the way he bared his teeth, urging her, begging her to ride him into oblivion,

She continued her slow torture of bliss, a kind of retaliation for his first two refusals, his first two denials of her.

Drops of blood splattered on them. Stefan tore his eyes from Elena’s and looked up to see one of their victims suspended from the ceiling, the blood from the many gashes on his body, dripping down on them, igniting their hunger. Stefan licked the droplets off her skin and she smiled, leaning forward to do the same, the length of her body writhing atop his. "See? Only you."

 When Damon returned to the living room, Bonnie had joined Caroline and they were both quiet, carefully avoiding his gaze until finally Bonnie asked, "You good?"

Damon glared at her. "It’s rude to eavesdrop,” he snapped. “You got everyone out of here?”

“Yeah.”

Damon walked over to the bar to fix a drink. “I think I’m going to call a service to clean everything else up.”

“Let’s just stay on track. They’re together,” said Caroline. “Why does this whole thing make me feel on edge?”

“Because Stefan without his humanity is an artery away from becoming a ripper and Elena without her humanity is a stone-cold bitch. And now they’re together.”

“I want to know why this is happening. Nothing is going on that would make either of them switch it off,” said Bonnie.

“Honestly, who gives a shit?” said Damon, taking a sip of his drink.

“This is not the time for a temper tantrum, Damon, something is wrong,” said Bonnie.

“Well, everything about this is weird,” said Caroline. “Like even the party. Why did none of us hear about it until now? Damon, why weren’t you here, this is your house.”

           “I don’t know, I had something to do,” he said. “Something important.”

           “Like what?”

           He blinked, trying to recall.

“You don’t remember?” Bonnie furrowed her eyebrows. “Like you were compelled?”

"This feels like Katherine," said Caroline. "She's obsessed with destroying Stefan and Elena’s relationship.”  

Damon shook his head. “I’m not helping but Katherine wouldn’t turn off Stefan’s humanity. She likes him brooding and tortured.”

“Besides, there's something about this,” said Bonnie. “Something about the scale."

"I don’t believe it’s her either but you’re going on ‘scale’?” Damon scoffed. “She has literally started wars."

"Yeah, for her own survival.”

           “She hijacked Elena’s body and tried to seduce Stefan in it,” said Caroline.

“The first part was because she was dying,” said Bonnie. “The second part is…” She shrugged. “Because she’s Katherine. Besides she couldn't compel them to turn off their humanity, she's not an Original."

"So, it's Klaus or Rebekah,” said Damon.

"For what reason? 

"Well,” he said. “Rebekah does hate Elena.”

“Not enough for this,” said Bonnie. “Especially if she could just kill her and get it over with, and how does Stefan factor in?"

           “Maybe Klaus did Stefan.”

“Klaus wouldn’t come to town without seeing me first,” said Caroline.  

“He might if he was coming for Stefan,” said Damon. He shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

“No,” said Bonnie. “It’s not compulsion … it’s a spell.” She shook her head. “I know who did this.” She said, realization dawning on her. “It’s Rosetta.”

           Damon dropped his glass. Caroline looked at Bonnie with complete and utter dread. “No.”

           The front door flew open and redheaded woman in a white trench coat sauntered inside.

“I’m afraid she’s right. Those Bennett senses.”

Damon threw his head back. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Caroline glared at her. “Seriously? Why would you do this?”

Rosetta smiled. "It's like live action Sims."

“You know, for someone who complains about boredom, you really like going back to the same well,” said Damon.

“Damon, dear, you never had your favourite toys growing up?” she asked. “You never replay that one song again and again, because it’s just so good?” Rosetta smiled at everyone’s glaring faces. “Stefan is my favourite tune.”

“You’re pathetic,” said Damon.

Rosetta walked slowly toward him, smiling cruelly as she did. “You’re jealous,” she said. “I don’t have to Read you to see that, anybody can see that. And it’s not just the pedestrian sexual jealousy that’s driving you mad.” Her eyes were searching his. “It’s him. You have sired two vampires in your lifetime and still no one has been obsessed with claiming you like women have for Stefan.”

Damon clenched his jaw. “That last thing I need is a string of crazy exes hellbent on destroying me.”

Rosetta shrugged. “Maybe I’m off-base,” she said. “Maybe it’s really because you were the one who brought out her darkness or that’s what everyone said. And Stefan is beating you at that too.”

“Shut up,” said Damon.

Bonnie shook her head. "Can we please stay on track here? Rosetta, what is the point of all of this?"          

"Chaos!” she said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Those two together are going to be catastrophic. It’s, uh," she pinched her fingers together and kissed her fingertips. “It’s beautiful.”

“Did you literally just chef’s kiss?” said Damon.

"This goes to show how well you know them,” said Caroline. “You clearly don’t know what they are to each other. This isn’t their story. They pull each other through, they inspire each other."

"But that's just it, isn't it? Who says they're not inspiring each other like this? I never thought they wouldn’t connect without their emotions, I counted on it.  A love like that, a passion like that without humanity?” She laughed, excited. “I’ve created the perfect monster.”

*

 There was something off about the hotel but Nicole pulled into the parking lot anyway. She’d chalked up the vibe to the atmosphere; up on a hill, an hour or so out of town, but it was boutique and well-reviewed and she’d already paid for her room upfront, the front desk. She’d wanted a staycation and she was going to get it.

The lot was full of cars but there were no people outside, no sign of life at all, no bustle going in and out of the hotel, no valet. She wondered where everyone could be as she opened the door, stepping into the lobby, greeted by the sound of classical music, when ---

"Keep it open, keep it open!"

A man came out of nowhere, bolting toward her but it was too late, she had already let the door close. The man yelled in despair.

"No! No! N—"

He didn't finish. Something pounced on him, tearing at his throat, blood splattering everywhere. Nicole screamed, turning around to wrench open the door and run out the way she came but she was blocked by the figure that had just a second ago leapt onto the man like an animal.

"Not time to check out yet," said Stefan, his face reddened with fresh blood.

“Oh my God, it’s you!” said Nicole.

Stefan nodded.

Elena appeared at the other end of the lobby. "That guy, Room 3B, he was the closest anyone has gotten to escaping, no?"

"Thrilling, right?" 

She threw her hands up in playful exasperation. "I can admit when I'm wrong. When you suggested hide and seek, I didn’t think of the possibilities.”

Nicole started heaving, her entire body shaking.

"I don't know if you're going to scream or vomit but I wouldn't do either," said Stefan.

She glanced around, seeing bodies, some decapitated, some simply mutilated, scattered on the floor, the words “READY OR NOT, HERE I COME” painted in blood across the wall. Her eyes widened in horror.

"Now, I know what you're thinking. We have an unfair advantage because of our hearing," said Stefan seriously.

Elena was suddenly right behind Nicole, whispering in her ear, "Like, I can hear how fast your heart's beating right now." 

Nicole let out a quick, fearful noise.

"But that's the thing, we can hear everyone's hearts beating. We can hear them cowering in their hiding places, trying not to cry. And there's music playing!"

"Frankly, it gets a little overwhelming," said Elena.

"So, that actually gives them an edge, you know? Because someone can just," Stefan snapped, "slip by undetected, which is a loss for us because we play by the rules. What are the rules again, Elena?"               

"You get outside, you're home free, we won't kill you once, well, if, you make it out of the hotel.”

The squelching sound of footsteps in blood. A woman was running down the stairs but when she saw Stefan and Elena, she started to run back up. She barely got up two steps before Elena had descended on her, biting her neck.

 Stefan watched her, his mouth curled over a descending fang in a display of his arousal.

           “No one's succeeded,” said Elena, withdrawing from her victim, wiping her mouth, smiling at Stefan’s expression.

"That's not entirely true. That woman who jumped out the window? Impaled herself on the fence?"

Elena laughed, walking leisurely back down the stairs. "That's right. Her body is still out there."

Nicole did throw up. Stefan compelled her. “Relax,” he said. “Don’t be scared.”

"Why did you do that?" said Elena, annoyed. "I want her scared."

Stefan grinned. "OK." He looked back at Nicole. "Forget what I just said, feel whatever you were feeling before, be scared."

Nicole was crying. "Please just let me go. I won't say anything, I promise. I'll just go away."

Stefan furrowed his eyebrows at her. "But you're the reason why we're here. We’ve been waiting for you."

Nicole's teary eyes widened in fearful confusion. "W-why?”

"Because it’s what she wants.”

“I want to dance,” said Elena suddenly. “Ballroom.”

Stefan nodded. “OK.”

Elena sped away. 

He motioned for Nicole to start walking and they headed down the hallway to their destination. Nicole stumbled, tripping over one of the dozens of bodies piled on the floor.

"Oh my God, everyone's dead..."

"Not everyone," said Stefan. "Who do you think is playing the music?"

They walked into the ballroom where the tables around the dance floor still had dinner on them, the food beginning to rot. Some tables had dead patrons slumped over onto the linen. On stage, a piano quartet was playing their instruments. They would look almost like zombies with their drawn faces and pallid skin save for the fact that they were crying silently.

They'd been playing for two days straight -- Elena had compelled them never to stop, never to falter, even if they were scared or angry, even if they had to use the bathroom, to just keep the music never-ending. It had originally been a quintet until the day before when Stefan compelled the two violists to a musical duel, seeing who could play the fastest and the longest without breaking a string. When one inevitably did, Elena giggled.

“Who do you want to do it, you or me?”

Stefan had smirked. “The winner.” He pointed to her. “Kill him,” he pointed to the loser, “with his own viola.” She’d bashed his skull in. His body was still on the stage.

Stefan sat Nicole down at a table. “Don’t move.”

Nicole squirmed but did as she was compelled. “I think I feel something by my feet,” she whispered.

“Yeah, a body,” said Stefan. “He hid under the table, rookie mistake, you kind of have to die for that, right?”

“Please,” she whispered. “What are you going to do to me?”

“That’s not for me to decide. This is all about her.” He motioned toward Elena who was twirling on the dance floor, her arms wide. "I love live music!"

His eyes misted over as he watched spin. “I mean, how could I not do anything for her?”

“Stefan,” said Elena.

She didn’t like him away from her long.

He took her by the wrist, swinging her to him.

With their speed, they danced like they were skating, gliding across the floor like it was ice, Stefan picked her up, and tossed her above him so she could twirl and spin in the air, catching her, holding her, feeling her, and then she brought him to her, kissing him hard and long, losing herself in the sensation of him.

It was odd -- being frenzied and calm at the same time but that was how it'd been since the party. All the blood they'd gorge would leave them humming with delirium, the adrenaline from the kill energizing them with delectable violence, but in the middle of all that, when they would stand or lie together amidst the carnage they'd created, they'd do nothing but look at one another and create a universe between their gazes that only encompassed them, anchoring themselves to each other, and for hours, they'd drift on a peace they only found in one another. It was difficult for Elena to reconcile, but sometimes she thought that if she had to, she'd choose the second sensation over the first.

When they pulled away, they pressed their foreheads together, revelling in the closeness of one another.

“Elena--”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

She reached up to kiss him again but he sighed.

 “You’re going to ruin the moment aren’t you?”

“I’m totally going to ruin the moment,” he said. “But, she’s here now. We gotta go.”

Elena started to pout and Stefan grinned.

“We can’t keep compelling police, destroying phones, that’ll only last so long. You have to do what you want with her and it’s time to move on.”  

Elena sighed. “OK. But I want you to do it,” she said, handing him a lighter.

He tilted his head and kissed her forehead. “You know, it meant nothing,” he said. “She didn’t matter.”                        

“Your emotions are off,” said Elena dismissively. “Nothing matters.”        

Except, it seemed, for this.

Quickly, Stefan took a hold of the chair Nicole was sitting on and placed her in front of a window.        

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Please, please, just let me go home.”

Stefan ignored her and set the curtains behind her ablaze. It would only be a matter of seconds before the flames engulfed her.

He turned to Elena. “Screams or no screams?”

“What do you think?”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Me being with her bothers you this much?”

Elena didn’t answer but extended her hand so that he sped over and took it in his own. Nicole had begun screaming.

"Let's stay until we can't anymore."

“Fire is lethal to us, you know.”

“Part of the fun isn’t it?”

Stefan kissed her softly on the lips in agreement. Elena turned to the musicians who were still playing their instruments but eyeing how quickly the fire was spreading and cringing at the sounds Nicole was making.

"No matter what, keep playing,” she said. “Think of it like the Titanic."

"Yes," said Stefan. "Except instead of playing as a ship goes down, you'll keep playing until your truly horrific, painful death. Don’t forget to play well, you know? It’s your last show."

The quartet played with renewed vigour and Stefan and Elena held onto each other, swaying to the music, as the flames devoured everything around them.

[dykejasper]

Crooked Trajectory [SU fanfic]

Chapter Two - "Destabilized" - Lapis POV (link to chapter 1) AO3 Chapter 2 Link Jasper's sudden, unannounced arrival to Little Homeworld throws Lapis mentally off-balance, and she struggles with guilt, fear of abandonment, and self hatred. Amethyst gets her high to cope and Peridot finally hears the ugly truth. Rating: Mature CW: abuse, confinement, torture, choking, drowning, suicidal ideation, substance use (gem weed, lol), discussions surrounding trauma

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Wide yellow eyes with pupils narrow as pins stared, unblinking, between wet tendrils of white hair that snaked over clammy skin. The beast was motionless for the first time in weeks. The tense calm was unnerving, and Lapis knew better than to let her mind wander for even a moment.

Jasper's tired voice cracked when she asked, "Why don't you end this?"

Lapis ignored her, focused on maintaining their bond while shutting off access to her mind. She already leaked too much when she got distracted, and she couldn’t risk giving Jasper any more of herself.

When they first fused, Jasper tried to split away, but Lapis quickly figured out how to apply water chains within Malachite to match those on the outside, binding their light so she couldn’t leave. She thrashed, yanked, bit the chains, twisted, kicked, roared violent threats and obscene insults; none of it mattered. Lapis always made it worse for her, getting creative with water gags that wouldn’t allow enough air for her to speak or a fist of water around her throat, yanking her into the foul green pool below with a cruel snap of force and holding her there. It was exhausting, but Lapis endured with grim satisfaction. All that flashy muscle meant nothing against the power of a planet’s ocean in her hands.

After Steven infiltrated their space, rage choked all other emotion out of Malachite. Lapis was distracted, disoriented -- worried that Steven was still near, somehow. Jasper yanked their chains with enough force to throw her forward, slamming her face into the pool floor and knocking the wind from her lungs.

She knew Jasper was only a few short strides away from ripping her apart and she scrambled to get up. Her legs slipped and slid as she kicked herself away, coughing and spitting out water. Jasper was smiling and had a crazed look in her eyes. Her voice was hoarse and soft when she said, “You’re not protecting Rose, you lying, traitorous brat.”

In her panic to fly away as far as their chains would allow, narrowly avoiding a swipe of deadly claws, Lapis let her guard down. Her mental barrier dropped, and she couldn’t control the flow of her memories.

In that brief moment, Jasper watched her emerge from the mirror in front of Steven, cracked and panicked and significantly limited in ability, but still more than capable of building an ocean tower into the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. Still capable of destroying the Crystal Gems and multiple humans, had Steven not begged her to stop. She would have enjoyed destroying the gems that kept her prisoner and tried to stop Steven from releasing her and would have delighted in their shattering -- if Steven hadn’t cared about them so much. She owed him her freedom, and him alone.

Lapis shook her wet hair out of her eyes and glared up at Jasper with every bit of hate she could harness, allowing her shatter-lust to pulse through them both with every beat of their fused heart. Steadying the quiver in her voice and forcing it cold as ice, she said, “I’m protecting him from us. You deserve this just as much as I do.”

Something in Jasper changed after that. Lapis had no clue how many hours of quiet they’d had, but it was stressing her out more than fighting. It could all be an act to make her drop her defenses again, and Lapis wouldn’t be tricked. Though it was getting hard to ignore the prickling anxiety that made her stomach twist and the tiny voice in the back of her mind telling her she made the wrong choice.

"Shouldn't be hard for you to shatter me. I won't even fight back... unless you want me to."

Lapis felt hot venom flood her veins and she clenched her fists, tightening the chains that held Jasper. Their hearts raced like opposing war drums, out of sync and messy. It'd be very easy.

And then what? Go back to Homeworld? Run back to the Crystal Gems and beg for their forgiveness? This was her purpose now. This was where she belonged -- crushed under cold, dark, abrasive sea and locked to one of the few gems more pathetic than herself. The chains got even tighter as Lapis’ fingers involuntarily clenched.

"Just do it already, you pathetic coward.” Jasper stumbled forward, her eyes wide and a terrifying, manic smile on her face that turned her blood to ice. “You want to, I can feel it! I want you to—”

"Shut up!" Lapis shot a thick tendril of water down Jasper’s throat, coiling it down her neck and clenching her fist. Blind panic bubbled up in Malachite while Jasper thrashed against her chains, her lungs flooding.

She'd never lose consciousness like an organic life form from asphyxiation or drowning, of course. But a gem’s survival instincts were designed to suit colonizing predators likely to meet physical resistance. If you threatened a gem’s physical form, they could really feel it, and would react accordingly.

Lapis could feel it, too. She could feel every painful, oppressive, horrible thing she did to Jasper, but that was fine with her. She owed it to Steven to stay and atone for what she did. Jasper wouldn’t even be on Earth if wasn’t for Lapis running back to Homeworld, expecting it to be her home after all that time.

She felt a powerful pull to crush Jasper’s gem when she said “I want you to;” an impulse that came from Jasper herself. Was she really that desperate, that she could overpower Malachite for that...? No, just willing to do anything to make me lose focus. The gnawing anxiety in the pit of her stomach spiked.

She crouched next to Jasper, swallowing down an intense choking sensation and watching her thrash up close. Impressive how this one turned out, considering the careless job done with her Kindergarten. Lapis was the one who cut the canyon that became her kindergarten – a panicked order coming from the top demanding a canyon far from where the Crystal Gem home base was, ignoring all other structural factors. It was there that she was poofed during a raid by the Crystal Gems, the day the Beta Kindergartners began emerging. She knew that wasn’t Jasper’s fault, but… it sure felt like it was.

She released the coil and Jasper collapsed forward and heaved up water, gasping for air while Lapis gently swept the wet hair from her pained face. She was soft -- loving, almost -- as she said, "You could feel how much I loved doing that, couldn’t you? Don’t worry about your gem. I don’t make a habit of breaking my things.”

That memory made Lapis want to claw her own throat open. You're a fucking monster.

Jasper’s eventual arrival in Little Homeworld was something she tried to prepare herself for. She had a thousand conversations in her own mind, repeating scenarios on loop compulsively. It was exhausting how angry she’d get over imaginary confrontations and blowouts with a gem that only existed in her memory.

None of her obsessive rumination included Jasper getting shattered. Finding out about that horrified Lapis, forcing her back into foul memories that she’d managed to avoid for a long time. What’d she finally do that pushed Steven to shatter her?

They were totally different gems in a totally different timeline from when they were fused. She vividly remembered the urges to shatter her own gem that Jasper shoved down when they were Malachite. She usually had no reaction to the impulse, thanks to thousands of years of Homeworld conditioning. She was taught that her only value as a gem from a defective kindergarten was her overwhelming strength and tenacity in the face of extreme torture and isolation, and she believed it to the point of pride. She was very good at pretending it didn’t bother her.

But, sometimes, the crushing darkness of the ocean was too much for the both of them, and they dwelled on their worst desires and impulses. Jasper was interested in being shattered long before Malachite. Her agate often described how the other Betas were shattered, and Jasper was left wondering what it felt like, if it was freedom of any sort. She never seemed to consider her agate might have been lying – most of her Kindergarten was unshattered on the Zoo ship. It was ironic that she achieved her goal, just to be dragged back to deal with the life she objected to.

Did she feel differently, now that she’d experienced it? Overwhelmingly, repaired gems reported their time being shattered as utterly miserable, a state of painful disconnect. The light that holds a gem’s consciousness refracts all over with no ability to connect, unable to repair itself, and unable to split away from the shards themselves. Like the human myth of purgatory, or how some humans speak of distressed spirits unable to achieve peace after their body’s death.

As shitty as all of that was, Lapis wished she could deal with it somewhere far, far away from her. Another planet, maybe. Jersey, perhaps. She’d like it there.

But she wasn’t in Jersey, no. She was leaning up against the wall of Bismuth’s shop, for some reason – arms crossed, staring off at nothing. Where is Bismuth...?

Lapis had been watching her from behind a sign for a few minutes in a state of disbelieving dissociation. At first, she was worried maybe she was hallucinating, but she looked like an entirely different gem from when they were fused – certainly not the version of Jasper that haunted her nightmares. She looked broken. Her corruption scars reminded Lapis so much of Malachite in color. She gazed absently at the broken horn jutting from Jasper's wild mane and wondered if she ever thought the same. Lapis would never forget that sickly green hell they shared.

Maybe it wasn’t her place to wonder at all. But after Steven corrupted himself out of sheer despair, well… There was no reason to believe corruption was a physical contagion a gem could contract from fusion. Corruption was a manifestation of the deepest despair turned physical, and despite all Jasper had been through, all the centuries of Homeworld torture before they ever met, her corruption scars resembled Malachite more than anything.

Her stomach twisted and she was overcome with a sudden and confusing rage that threatened to boil over into something physical. Nobody even told Lapis she was supposed to show up that day, that she was there already, right outside of Bismuth’s shop! She tried shoving down the voice that screamed and Steven fucking shattered her!! It was too much too fast; she couldn’t even remember where she was headed or what she was doing. She formed wings and took to the sky, flying hard and fast for the warp pad with tears stinging her eyes.

Why couldn't Jasper have gone literally anywhere else?!

The precarious happiness and stability Lapis built after destroying the barn was crumbling, and she had nobody to blame but herself. They didn’t have to say it directly. She knew they all saw her as a victim deserving pity, and she hated that. More than that, though: she hated the thought of her friends learning to fear her true self and abandoning her. That would be so much worse. They’d struggle to accept that she enjoyed keeping Jasper fused to her, forced to endure torture for torture’s sake. Forced to atone for the sins of other gems while Lapis wallowed in her own self-serving guilt and misery, redirecting her hatred of them onto the first gem to get in her way.

She landed hard on the warp pad; stumbling, gritting her teeth and blinking away tears, she warped away without directional thought. Things are better now. I'm better now. But if that was true, why did seeing Jasper make her feel so unstable so fast? Maybe because she was fucking shattered! Her chest clenched and a sob slipped past her lips – she couldn’t inhale. Lapis just wanted to feel nothing about her, why couldn't she just feel nothing…?

The warp stream cleared, and she was in the beach house looking at the temple door. Her stomach dropped when she realized there was no Steven to talk her down – he went to the hospital with his humans after his corruption stabilized and would likely be there for a while.

Selfish of her to turn to him right then, anyway. What a horrible friend she was for trying to bother him about this during his time of need. She turned to collapse on the couch and nearly jumped out of her skin when she made unexpected eye contact with Amethyst. There were bags under her eyes as she lay with her neck bent badly; phone in one hand and lit blunt trailing smoke from the other; surrounded by a mess of snack trash with a tablet laying forgotten on her belly, looping the Stardew Valley menu music. She held out the blunt in offering, saying, “Dude. You need this more than me.”

“So, you knew? Why didn’t you fucking say something to me?” She hated how shaky her voice was. Pathetic. The rage that’d reared up in her slowly fizzled away and was replaced with festering shame and disgust. She moved forward and snatched the blunt from Amethyst’s outstretched fingers and took a long drag, savoring the grounding burn that tore at her throat. She hated this stuff – a hybrid of earth cannabis, altered with Blue Diamond’s essence to heavily impact gems – but she needed something. Her eyes slid closed as she resisted the need to exhale. The desperate impulse to take in clean air was deliciously familiar.

“Damn, Pearl said she was going to text-- you didn’t hear from her at all?” Amethyst snatched the blunt back and Lapis exhaled, watching the swirls of smoke trail away. Her insides felt like ice, and she had nobody to blame but herself.

“I blocked her two years ago,” she admitted, and Amethyst choked, coughing out the hit she just took until a laugh made it through the gagging.

“Bro! I’m sorry, that’s so funny!” Lapis smiled in spite of herself; she couldn’t be mad at Amethyst for her own inability to tolerate Pearl’s newsletter texts. Amethyst said, chuckling, “I wish I could block Pearl sometimes.”

She slipped the blunt from Amethyst and put it to her lips, standing up and pacing while vacuuming down the burning smoke, grateful for something physically distracting. She hated how sick she felt. The weed was kind of helping, but not enough. She kept smoking, hoping she’d level out eventually. Numb was ideal right now.

“I don’t think she’s going to, like, do anything stupid, you know?” Amethyst’s voice was suddenly tense -- serious. “I thought I had the past all sorted, and I know healing isn’t linear, or, whatever, but I can’t stop feeling like things are just as bad as they used to be. Y’know. Back then.”

Lapis passed back the blunt in stiff fingers, blowing out her own cloud of smoke and feeling her scalp begin to tingle, spreading a buzzing warmth down every nerve until her toes tingled. She slowly pieced together, “I think… I need Peridot.”

Amethyst mumbled, “You and me both,” and took a quick puff off the blunt, blowing the smoke out quickly and pulling out her phone, typing one-handed.

The smoke curling from the ashen tip was making Lapis’ eyes burn. I miss Peridot. She plucked the blunt back from Amethyst, nearly finishing it off in one long pull that burned her throat raw. The strain and ache and fire from holding it all in as long as she could tolerate was a beautiful distraction. She wished she had booze so she could add more types of burn to the mix. What if nothing terrible happens? What if something good happens?

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready for this,” Lapis said thickly, struggling to hold back tears now that she was high, inhaling deep and exhaling slowly.

“Listen… I feel you. Literally nobody in my life has come for me the way Jasper did, and I’m still fucked up about it. I don’t blame you for feeling messy right now,” Amethyst said, setting aside her phone and staring out the window.

Lapis didn’t know what to say. She was pretty sure she’d done far, far worse things to Jasper than Jasper did to Amethyst. Lapis hated that everyone saw her as a victim of Jasper’s and would likely assume that was the source of her distress. Jasper wasn’t anywhere close to the worst gem Lapis had encountered -- though she was one of the most pathetic. Aside from me.

She wiped her face, angry at herself. She felt like she was regressing into old thinking patterns, but she didn’t feel like she had the power to stop it. The warp exploded with light and Peridot tumbled towards her, panting; saying between heavy breaths, “I got here as fast as I could! Lapis, are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Lapis said, irritated, suddenly wishing she was completely alone. Why?

“I can’t believe she just. Showed up here! And now Bismuth is on gemsitting duty, and soon we’ll all have to deal with her,” Peridot said, rolling her eyes.

“Must be terrible for you. I’m sure you know exactly how I feel,” Lapis said, any hint of humor behind the sarcasm gone and replaced with pure venom. She could see herself unraveling in real-time, and she was horrified that she couldn’t stop it. Amethyst looked up from her phone, her eyebrows raised, and Peridot looked suddenly terrified.

“I didn’t say that! I have no idea how you feel about this specific topic,” Peridot said, twisting her hands together. “You’ve never talked about this! And you don’t have to right now, but… Lapis, I’m afraid of losing you again.”

It’s like everything inside her was screaming for her to lash out at Peridot harder. Give her a reason to want Lapis gone before she finds her own reasons.

Peridot would never do that. She’s begging for you to stay in her life, even after everything you’ve done to her. And then Lapis broke down, her guilt overflowing; sobbing into her hands helplessly, repeating again and again, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

And they were both comforting her, reassuring her, promising that they loved her; she believed them. She was still sorry to put them in this position at all -- of having to love a monster like her. She’d just hurt them again and again until they were worn down to a shell of who they once were. Isolation was the safest place for her, really.

In the deep dark of early morning, Lapis and Peridot sat together under the stars, listening to the soundtrack of some anime that Peridot kept begging Lapis to watch. They hadn’t spoken for some time, and Peridot was fiddling with an old Gameboy when Lapis finally spoke, her voice tight. “That was embarrassing. I haven’t lost control like that in… years. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Peridot put down the Gameboy immediately and said, “No, no, I’m sorry that I made it about me when it wasn’t. I just don’t know what’s okay to say about any of this, and that’s hard, because now we can’t just avoid the subject. The subject is too big and loud to avoid.”

“I feel insane that I can be in the same room as Blue Diamond and feel… nothing. Not bad, not mad, not sad -- not happy, either. But Jasper showing up throws me into a spiral worse than any I’ve had since... maybe the one where I took the barn? I can see why that messes you up,” Lapis said with a frown, misery churning in her belly like nausea.

Peridot shrugged and wove it off. “Can I ask questions? You can pass on any that are too hard.” She was nervous again – twisting the corner of the oversized T–shirt she was wearing today into a wrinkled mess. That made Lapis feel even shittier. Peridot, of all gems, was at least owed the ability to ask her any question she ever wanted.

“Shoot.”

“You’ve told me so much about the mirror, about your feelings for the Crystal Gems initially, especially Pearl. But almost nothing about this. Was this fusion really worse than the mirror?”

“Yes... and no,” Lapis said, staring at the shimmering stars, nearly blotted out by Earth’s light pollution. She’d thought about it a lot and was ready for that one. “The mirror is something that was done to me. Something I had no control over, just another casualty of insane Diamond drama. Another victim of the war. It was the worst – I was conscious the whole time, I – nothing compares to the mirror. But Malachite… was entirely in my control.”

“But you were just trying to stop Jasper from hurting the Crystal Gems. That’s what Steven told me, when you were still… with her,” Peridot said, seeming to doubt herself more with every word. Lapis’ heart raced; she felt sick.

“When he was still a kid? Garnet just beat her within an inch of poofing, and she begged me to fuse to save herself. She couldn’t have made me fuse against my will, which is why she used the Crystal Gems to try to persuade me. Take them down together, get revenge on the evils done to us both by them,” Lapis said, feeling it all pour out of her like Spinel’s injector poisoning the Earth. Talking about it felt good, but she knew the truth was terrible.

“I hated all of them, all of you -- everyone except Steven. And I couldn’t hurt the Crystal Gems if I didn’t want to hurt Steven, but I could take it all out on Jasper, easy. And she was stupid enough to bring up the mirror, and stupid enough to try to stop me from leaving. I wondered if she knew what being trapped so helplessly felt like.” Lapis paused, hating herself. “I could have poofed her, shattered her, punched her across the planet, flung her into space, any number of things -- but then what? Live with the gems who kept me in that mirror?”

She put her face in her hands, exhausted; afraid to see the horror in Peridot’s eyes whenever it clicked that she was an irredeemable monster. She felt like a shriveled-up husk and wondered, with a sense of irony, if throwing herself in the salty ocean would give back the energy that crying took out of her.

“And so, you feel… bad? That you did that?” Peridot sounded genuinely confused. Lapis nearly laughed but was too tired. At least she developed beyond her old habit of rattling off replies and advice fueled by assumptions. She looked her in the eyes, imploring; determined to make her understand. Still afraid to see her understand, but she needed to. Lapis needed her to.

“Peridot, if it had been you stopping me from leaving and begging me to fuse, it – yeah, I know you wouldn’t, shut up for a second and put yourself in these shoes – it would have been you, suddenly aware you can’t escape within seconds of us fusing and dragged to the deepest darkest trench of the Atlantic Ocean. I would have had access to your worst fears and memories while being too strong for you to shut me out, and I would have enjoyed using that to torture you.” There’s that flicker of fear in her eyes. Finally.

Lapis pressed on, steamrolling over the spark of panic that made her chest clench. “Every bit of suffering I put her through, I could feel as if I was doing to myself. I still get her war and Homeworld torture flashbacks as if they’re my own. It was only Jasper because she put herself in my way, and even at her strongest, she only had a fraction of my power! When we fought Alexandrite, it was because I wanted it! I wanted it so badly, and I knew Steven wasn’t there that time, and she called me on that weakness. She could never take control from me -- our fusion stabilized because we felt the same way in that moment. Bored, exhausted, and ready to shatter the Crystal Gems… whole, for the first time. Joined together without resistance or doubt, finally. And then we weren’t.”

Peridot’s shock slipped away, and she said, in all sincerity, “I’m glad I got the option to bond with you over Camp Pining Hearts instead of that option. Fusion sounds tedious.”

And Lapis laughed, feeling the hard stone shell that had formed around her heart that day burst, and she was flooded with affection for Peridot. She should have trusted the gem who called Yellow Diamond a clod to her face before Era Three to be relentlessly fearless.

Maybe her fearlessness stemmed from her youth and lack of exposure to true horrors. It was refreshing, regardless. Contagious, even. Smiling, Lapis said, “Me too, Pear. How would I understand the complexities of CPH without you?”

“Ugh, you wouldn’t! My expert analysis is fundamental to the experience,” Peridot said with an air of mock importance. Her voice slid back to her normal cadence as she said, “Thank you, also... for telling me about this. I’ve been misunderstanding your perspective for years. Understanding you is important to me.”

“Even if my perspective is really, really dark?” Who does she think I am, really?

“You’ve always been a little dark, I guess? The Lapis who did those things is the same Lapis that took the time to get to know me, even though she really didn’t want to. And sure, you took the barn and broke my heart, but you’re so important to me and I’d rather you remember that and always come back than leave forever out of fear or guilt.” Peridot had a warm little grin that made Lapis want to cry again. She didn’t deserve these gems. She crawled forward and kissed her gem, and then her mouth, and then her cheek.

“As long as you’re here, I won’t leave again,” Lapis promised, giving Peridot one more kiss on the gem. And she meant it, though her trust in herself was relatively low.

[beels-burger-babe]

A Little Voice Told Me - Pt.2

Poly! MC Summary: Words hurt and leave their scars. MC learns this the hard way after hearing some not-so-nice whispers about them while on a date with Beel. How are they supposed to be the partner of the seven lords of the Devildom when they just don't measure up? Part 1: HERE, Part 3: HERE ***Good Golly!! Y'all really like the angst, huh? Here you guys go. Cry your hearts out and enjoy! - B*** Beelzebub woke up the rest of his brothers early the next morning. While most of them attempted to flip him off or threaten him at the initial disturbance, all it took was him saying that they needed to talk about you for them to shoot out of bed. In a matter of minutes, all of them, except Levi, were seated around the breakfast table. "If we're talking about MC, why aren't they here?" Satan asked while poking at a piece of fruit. "I don't know about you, but I personally don't feel right talking about them behind their back." Belphie scoffed and laid his head in his arms. "It's not like we're gossiping about them or anything. They were acting off last night, and Beel thought we should discuss what we're gonna do about it." Beel nodded, "They pulled into themself halfway through the night, and was upset but kept brushing me off whenever I tried to talk to them about it." Mammon huffed and crossed his arms. "Maybe they just didn't feel like they could talk to ya about it," he rose to his feet and began to walk towards the door. "I'm the first! I'm sure I can get it out of them, easy peasy! I'll just head in there and-" "Mammon, sit down!" Lucifer hissed. Mammon grumbled under his breath but did as told. Lucifer sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We've talked about this. Stop bringing up the whole 'first man' thing. MC is in a relationship with all of us. Not just you." The second-born pouted and stabbed an egg with his fork.

Lucifer rolled his eyes at his brother's antics and looked back at Beel. "Something clearly happened during the date. Do you have any ideas at all at what it could've been?" Asmodeus stirred a swirly straw around in his drink. "I mean, I would be pretty upset if I spent three hours of my evening at a barbaric sporting event too," Asmo chuckled and smirked. "The only good thing about sports is that you get to see all those rippling muscles of the athletes in action." Beel scowled at his brother took a bite out of the omelet that was on his plate. "It wasn't because of the game. MC loves coming to my Fangol games and was having a blast with me until halftime. Something had to have happened while I was gone." Asmodeus opened his mouth to counter the statement when Leviathan came rushing into the room carrying his laptop. Lucifer raised an eyebrow at the sight, "What have I told you about devices at the table?" Leviathan shot him an annoyed look as he plopped down in one of the chairs. "This isn't about table etiquette. This is about MC," he looked over at Beel and Belphie. "I think I have an idea on what may have caused them to start distancing themselves." Everyone perked up in interest at the news; each one of them eager to know what was distressing their loved one so much that they felt like they couldn't talk to them. "Well are you going to tell us, or are you just going to sit there?" Satan quipped, his anger beginning to get the better of him as he sat on the edge of his seat. Levi gave him a flat look before he typed a few things on his keyboard. "I was doing a raid last night trying to keep my mind off of what might've happened with MC and decided to ask my party members about it," Leviathan's expression darkened as he began to explain. It was clear to everyone that whatever was said, wasn't taken lightly by the otaku. Rather than reading the conversation out loud, he turned his laptop screen for all his brothers to see. Leviachan: Gaaah! I just can't focus on the game tonight. My partner came back from a date tonight and has been acting kind of sus. There's definitely something bothering them, but they refuse to tell anyone. Ruri-Chans-Husbando: Dude, you're talking about that stupid human right? Why are you even with them? You shouldn't give a Normie like them the time of day. Waifu-Addict: Exactly! Listen, we've all been talking and you need to drop that whore. They're totally just using you and your brothers for your titles and power. The demons read in horror and rage as the chat room filled with messages from the members of Leviathan's party all saying similar garbage about you and degrading you in every way they could think of. Satan stood up and began to pace near the table as he used every inch of his self-control to keep himself from lashing out. "I want names, Levi. Who are they and why do they seem to think it's okay to talk about MC like- like that?!" Satan snarled as he curled his hands into fists. Levi tsked and crossed his arms, as Lucifer took the laptop to look more closely at the messages. "You say that as if I haven't already used my 'title and power' as Grand Admiral to have my men collect and imprison them. They're at the navy base waiting for us to get our hands on them as soon as we sort this whole mess out." Belphie growled, now sitting up and wide awake. "Get our hands on them is right. No one gets away with this shit," Asmodeus glared at the computer as though it had just dyed all of his clothing brown. "Rotten brats. They're all just jealous of stunning MC. Ugh, Diavolo, haters are the worst." Beel pushed his plate away from himself as he frowned deeply. "As disgusting and horrible as this is, what does it have to do with MC getting all quiet during our date?" A low rumble came from Lucifer as he handed the laptop back to Levi. A fiery hatred was burning brightly in his eyes as he gritted his teeth. "If a bunch of anti-social shut-ins are going around talking about our dearest MC like this, I believe Leviathan's point is that others probably are."

"Ouch. I wasn't going to say it l-like that, but yes," Levi winced and continued, "MC probably overheard people saying something about them. I mean, if people said that crap about me I'd probably hide in my room and not come out for months!" Mammon, who had been surprisingly quiet during all of this, had a very serious expression on his face. "Right, and we don't want MC to go through that. For Diavolo's sake, they've left alone to overthink this enough," Mammon stood up and headed towards the door again, Satan hot on his trail. "I'm going up to there to talk with them. Ya'll are welcome to come with, but you ain't stoppin' me." "Actually, Mammon, you're not. We should wait until MC comes to us," Lucifer interrupted. An animalistic snarl tore its way from Satan's throat as what little self-control he had snapped. Wrath incarnate lunged himself at Lucifer, grabbing his older brother by the collar of his cloak. "Are you serious, Lucifer?! You're seriously putting your stupid pride first, now?!? MC needs us!" Lucifer growled and pushed Satan off of him as he stood to size him up. "No. What they need is to not feel pressured to open up when they aren't ready! We can't make them feel like they can't come to us!" Mammon scoffed from where he stood in the back. "Oh, cause that's perfect logic! News flash, oh wise one, They ain't gonna come to us if they're thinkin' they're a burden! But you wouldn't know anything about that would you?!" Lucifer's eyes widen and he took a step back in shock at the statement. "What is that supposed to mean?" Mammon and Satan both opened their mouths to put Lucifer in his place when Beel all of sudden cleared his throat loudly. All three of the angry demons turned to snap at him but froze as they saw you standing in the room behind them. They instantly straightened themselves up gave you their full attention. The air seemed to lay still between you as everyone waited for the other to make the first move. As with almost every situation, it was Mammon who broke the silence. He took a step towards you. "MC, I was just coming to get you actually. There's somethin' we all wanna talk to you about." They could hear your breath catch in your throat as you took a step back. Panic filled your eyes the moment the words left his mouth. "O-Oh. I, um, I was actually just going to grab an apple and then head off to RAD for class. M-Maybe we can talk afterwards?" Satan frowned as you walked past him towards the fruit bowl. "MC, it's the weekend." You stopped mid-step. An uncomfortable tension filled the room as the obvious excuse was exposed. The brothers waited for you to move, to speak, to do something to give them any sort of sign for what you wanted them to do, but you just stood there, still like a statue except for the tremors in your hand. "Come on, Darling," Asmodeus spoke softly. His face clearly showed the hurt and concern that was coursing through him. "Everything's alright, I promise. We just need to talk about a few things." The brothers had thought of a number of ways you could've reacted to them confronting you. Lucifer thought that perhaps you would snap at them and distance yourself further. Mammon, Levi, and Asmo expected a few small tears followed by a cuddle session. Satan imagined a slightly more dramatic telling, like something from one of his novels, that ended him being your hero and massacring all those who dared speak ill about you. Beel thought perhaps you could talk over a bunch of comfort foods that allowed you to remain calm and feel safe. Belphie had hoped that perhaps you hadn't believed what you overheard, and the two of you could laugh at how idiotic even the idea of them not loving you was. But you, breaking down into tears, sobbing the words "I'm sorry" over and over again? None of them had expected, nor were prepared, for that. ***Apparently this is now going to be a three-part series. This part was interesting to write. I fully believe that if the brothers were in a poly relationship with the MC they would definitely bicker and argue about

who knows MC best and who had the better date whenever MC isn't around. Honestly, they probably have a score chart 😅 I hope you guys liked part 2! Keep an eye out for part 3, where MC finally opens up to the boys and we have some hurt/comfort times \uwu/ ***

[billiedeanhwrd]

mind is just as frail as it's frame, you know i'd leave it alone

billie dean howard x reader

summary: you're fighting a losing game with your disorder, let's hope it's not too late when your ex-girlfriend shows up in your apartment.

warnings: eating disorders (bulimia), depression, sad ending

word count: 1730

a/n: this is basically a vent i dumped into my notes app in one sitting after not being inspired to write for way too long, so, pls don't judge too harshly and pls DONT READ THIS IF IT COULD TRIGGER YOU

gif credits to @mildredratchds

You had fallen into the dark, deep blue again. Time and time again you fell and you fought your way out, you fell and you picked yourself up again. Not this time though, you were drowning and there was nothing you could do to get back to air. You were trapped in this pool of misery as if it was locked on the surface, and there was no way you were getting out of it by yourself.

The last time it got this bad you had Billie, sweet, sweet Billie, who would've sacrificed her life to help you in any shape or form, but she was gone. Her departure left a cavity in your heart, yet you couldn't be mad at her. She had tried. But you locked her out when you needed her the most. There really was no one else to blame for the decaying of your heart, but you.

Nothing particularly bad happened that would've caused you to spiral this extremely, it was simply the fact that everything was bad, everything is bad, and everything would always be bad. In reality, your problems weren't getting worse, but the continuous strain of having to deal with the same troubles every single day was eating away at your resistance. You could feel the energy and willpower to keep going creeping out of your body, leaving you with the empty shell of who you used to be.

You hadn't talked to Billie in months, after repeated tries to break down your walls and being pushed away every single time, she gave up. You did it, you pushed away the one person who truly cared for you. Your mind was clouded by self-hatred and anguish, it was as if your eyes were shielded by a grey layer, making it impossible for the world to look anything but cold and loveless.

There was not a single thing that could spark up the joyous flame inside you. Nothing was even remotely good anymore. Nothing.

You were here, but at the same time, you weren't. As if you had taken a step back from reality. The feeling of not being real blurring the lines between good and bad. At certain moments the light inside you would flicker, pulling you back and guiding you to the right thing. But it was only a flicker. It was weak and it was temporary. The disordered desire to completely destroy yourself was starting to consume you.

Everything was blurry, the line between good and bad, the one between acceptable and inappropriate and most dangerously the one between you and your illness.

Were these your authentic thoughts or were they caused by a disorder?, was a question you often asked yourself, but never actually answered.

You had long reached past the point of not caring, now you wanted it, actively wanted absolute destruction. You resumed all your old unhealthy coping mechanisms and made no effort to stop your current ones.

Who would really care if you died? no one, at least that's what you made yourself believe.

Total isolation from friends and family was necessary so you could spend all your time focusing on your eating disorder.

Instead of spending your nights in the arms of the woman you loved, you spent them hunched over the toilet, hurling your guts out.

You felt weak and disgusting at all times, nothing about what you were doing was anywhere near glamorous. Well... except if anyone finds choking on your own vomit or all kinds of gross digestive issues glamorous.

You couldn't recognize the girl starring back at you in the mirror, who the hell even was this red-eyed girl? Her puffy cheeks stood out to you immediately. Snot, vomit, and bile were running down her face, probably picking at her skin. And her eyes... well, except for tears and popped blood vessels there was nothing in them. Not a single glimpse of happiness or remains of a person.

It was a heartbreaking sight that left you cold.

Dizzily you walked to your bed, too tired to do anything. The tiny remains of energy you had left you with the content of your stomach.

It was 5 in the evening and you were laying in bed, staring at the spinning ceiling, until your eyes fell shut.

Your friends had contacted Billie, she was the only one who used to be able to help you at least a little bit. She was there for you, always, and she never judged. She stood by you in your darkest times, supportively holding your hand and not letting go even when the going got tough. You were constantly terrified of dragging her down with you, the last thing you wanted was to rob the world of her angelic presence.

She would hold you close when you were down, which was admittedly most days. She would clean your apartment and do your laundry, things you didn't feel like you could do in the state you were in.

She loved you and you loved her.

Of course, you returned the favors, you were there for her as well, but you knew it was different. It was a bigger challenge being with someone so deeply intertwined with their illness, but she still did it.

She was your everything, and you had lost her.

Not only was she your light in this pitch-black hole others called life, but she was also your soulmate. The one you laughed with most. The one who got you, everything about you. You shared a myriad of beautiful moments that outshined any bad time for her. She wanted to marry you one day, of course, you didn't know that until you kicked her out of your apartment and discovered a red, velvet box weeks later when you finally cleaned out her drawer.

You were moody, irritable, impulsive, and horribly depressed. It seemed as if your actions didn't have consequences, life was a game of numbers. Calories in. Calories out. Nothing else mattered.

You felt no remorse when things ended with Billie. The realization only really hit you when you found the 18 carat Tiffany diamond.

For a second your eyes opened wide and your lips curled into a smile, despite having ruined the surprise proposal. Then, boom, it hit you and your heart crumbled. There was no surprise to ruin, anymore. You two were done. She didn't need you, she had moved on, appearing with a new side-piece on the covers of tabloids weekly.

Why would you even care though? You ended things. you could hear a painful laugh erupting from you, you didn't need her, you didn't need anyone, not when you had your innermost nervosa.

Eyes wide and dead, smile big and stiff, you looked horrifying. But what did it matter? Sanity was a hoax anyways.

When your friends called Billie she dropped everything for you, like she always had and always would. The second she heard how you were behaving, her heart rate went sky high. It was happening again, and this time, she wasn't there to throw you a lifejacket, this time, you were drowning on your own.

It was 6 in the evening, and you were laying in your bed, facing the now still-standing ceiling.

Billie chuckled to herself as she used the spare key you hid in your not-so-secret-secret hiding spot to open your front door. The apartment was just how you had left it.

After you had practically inhaled the kitchen until you were painfully full and then, of course, ritualistically aggressively forced your hand down your throat to un-do what just happened. That's what appealed to you about bulimia. The control. Life didn't have an undo button, so you had to create one for yourself. You cheated in the dirtiest games of them all and your pride overthrew every bit of rationality that was left. Not once did the thought "I shouldn't be doing this" enter your mind, this was after all normal to you, blurry, but normal.

It doesn't work that way though, you can't undo anything or cheat your way through life just because you're unable to give up control. And a part of you knew that, a part of you wanted to listen to what your therapist had told you. She was right, you could drop dead at any second, the chances of having a sudden heart attack rising after every heave.

The smell of vomit invaded the medium's nose when the door creaked open, and her heart sunk. She wanted so badly to help you through this, stand by you, and overcome this with you, but you wouldn't let her. You made it impossible for her to be apart of your life. She had no energy to keep up the fight and so she left, like you wanted her to, like you said you wanted her to.

She called out your name. no response. you must be asleep somewhere, she thought. Your ex-girlfriend made her way through the food packages and dirty dishes on the floor to the bathroom, it wouldn't be the first time she'd find you passed out on the cold ceramic tiles. She flushed the toilet and wiped down the blood and vomit-covered toilet seat before stopping in the doorway to collect herself. Fiddling with her pearl necklace before taking a deep breath, she left the bathroom.

It was 6:10 in the evening when Billie switched off the light in the bathroom and headed to the kitchen, her red pumps echoing through your deadly silent apartment. She stopped in her tracks and seriously considered cleaning for a second, like she used to do for you when you were dating.

She missed you, a lot. She missed seeing the relief on your face when you entered your freshly cleaned kitchen after beating yourself up for nights for not being able to just. Do. IT. She missed the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at her, she missed your bear-hugs and cuddles, she missed everything about you. Billie shook her head, cleaning could wait, she needed to talk to you.

It was 10 past 6 in the evening and you were laying in your bed, which was how Billie found you a few seconds later.

Because everything was just how you had left it. Dirty dishes on the floor. Lights on. Vomit in the toilet. A lifeless body facing the ceiling.

[lady-z-writes]

Plaything (Heisenberg x fem!reader) Chapter 2

Summary: Reader works for BSAA and is scoping out the village until you get captured by none other than Heisenberg who doesn’t take well to trespassers. Once he learns of your hatred for your job, he wants the information you have and he doesn’t have to try hard to get it. You find yourself drinking, fireside, with him and can’t help but let him touch you. Angie said he’d needed a plaything and, well, you’re it.

Chapter 1

Smutty chapter 2 below the cut:

He doesn’t let you leave – ‘not yet’ – is what he’s told you, but you’re pretty sure he has no intention of letting you go…which…could be worse?

You think you’ve got a minor concussion, but that surely has nothing to do with your reaction to things, right? He’s…charming, oddly. A little socially awkward at times – with his quick speech once in a while.

As you sit in his makeshift kitchen, you ponder what he’s told you last night: that he was taken – ripped from his family at such a young age. No wonder he’s got a lack of social skills.

He’s currently shirtless despite the overall chill in this part of the factory. You’re wearing your knee-high boots and his shirt from last night, considering your tattered clothes are strewn about somewhere outside by the fire – which he let die. You can remember staring out the wall of windows at the black smoke billowing up into the morning sky; Heisenberg’s heavy gasping behind you.

You probably could have snuck out; he wasn’t sleeping but you maybe could have made a run for it. Though you didn’t want to go anywhere. Maybe it was self-preservation: he could be quick to attack if you tried to leave. Plus, you had no idea how to get out of this place, minus jumping from the roof. Maybe that had been his plan all along: make you feel trapped so you didn’t think to go anywhere.

You can’t help but think about your situation prior to coming here. After all the time dedicated to your career with BSAA, all the dates you turned down because your missions kept you away from home more often than not – you sold your fucking house because you never stayed there – this job has torn away so many dreams of yours. It was nice to…just…be still for a moment, even if it’s in the arms of some lord of this strange place.

Shaking off your thoughts, you focus on the present moment – on the shirtless back you’re staring at as he makes coffee; the muscles moving and beautiful under the scars on his back.

His shirt is soft and well-worn; it smells like him and you’re grateful that it takes away the chill in the air.

“When you…-” you interrupt the silence then sigh, shaking your head, thinking better than asking that question. “Never mind, I’m sorry.”

He raises an eyebrow as he half-turns toward you.

“No, speak. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

You nod, reminded that he preferred honesty last night.

“When you were growing up…here…was it just you or were there others?”

“You think we’re really siblings,” he huffs out a laugh. “No, kitten, we’re not. I had…other kids in my similar situation…all killed by that bitch.”

Your stomach drops at the thought of it – of growing up with other kids only to find out the person who claims to be your mother has murdered all of them. For what? For those experiments Heisenberg told you about last night?

“God, I…” you cross your arms over your chest, feeling a chill that comes from within.

“Don’t pity me,” he snaps, then collects himself. “Sorry-” when the coffee beeps, he turns away from you to pour some into those chipped glasses. You’re sure one still has the remnants of last night’s binge. “I just…need someone to understand.”

But how could you? This is way bigger than just you, a little BSAA agent. This is years of mental manipulation, of gaslighting to its fullest extent. This is trauma like you’ve never seen before. He needs help, not a fucktoy.

Of course, you don’t say any of this to him because the anger that has replaced the sadness in his eyes makes your stomach churn and a small bit of arousal to course through you. He must sense this because once he puts your coffee mug down, he brushes his fingers against yours, making a low growl in the back of his throat.

His mouth is almost on yours again when you press a hand to his bare chest. He halts, hums, quirks a brow at your restraint.

“I…could use a shower.”

“…Oh.”

“You’re welcome to join me…”

“Ohh,” he coos at you. “Naughty thing…” his hand cups under your chin. “Follow me.”

You bring your coffee, mostly because you’re still tired. There…wasn’t much sleeping last night.

The bathroom he leads you to isn’t too far from his quarters. There are four shower stalls that are cut out like little cubicles. It’s not as filthy as you’d expected so you’re sure this is where he showers normally. There are towels stacked up on a bench nearby and soaps are piled on shelves near the stalls. You’re going to walk out of here smelling like his soap which is surprisingly comforting to you.

You strip from his shirt, hang it on the hook outside the stall before stepping out of your boots. Heisenberg’s behind you in moments – stripping from his clothes to join you under the warm water.

His hands are roaming all over your body as you wash your hair – the soap trialing over your skin to drip down the drain. Heisenberg doesn’t let you get much further than rinsing your hair out before he’s got you against the wall, mouth on you, facial hair harsh against your skin. Rough hands roam down your body before he shoves a finger inside of you, swirling around, pumping into you just enough to get you mewling.

His hard cock is pressing against you belly and it’s so arousing knowing how needy he is for you. The newness surely has something to do with it. He doesn’t waste much time with foreplay before he spins you around and bends you at the hips. Your forearms press against the tile wall as you get on your tiptoes to help him angle you just right.

He lines up his cock and presses into you harshly – letting out a guttural moan once he bottoms out. The sudden stillness makes you wriggle against him in hopes of getting him to move, but he just grips your hips tighter.

“Uh uh, no. You’re not rushing things like last night. This could take hours and you’re gonna be grateful, kitten.”

You whine as he slowly starts moving in and out of you, the pace tantalizing. The moment you slam your body back against him, he halts completely and makes you count to thirty before continuing on.

“You’re gonna learn,” he grunts in your ear as he pinches your clit between his fingers. His hands grip your neck as you lean back into him. “I want you,” he kisses down your shoulder, “to wash up,” a bite to your back, “before you get to cum.”

“But-”

“No debate,” he snaps, fingers leaving your clit. “Finish up.” The moment you go to follow orders, he pulls your hair, growls, “don’t let my cock slip out.”

This proves difficult but it’s a challenge you’re willing to accept. Thankfully maneuvering in this odd position is distracting. Once Karl watches you washing your legs and front, he slowly thrusts in and out of you. You’re cussing at him and he’s laughing.

“Could you maybe not?” you whimper out.

“You have a job to do. Get it done.”

“You’re distracting.”

“So are you,” he retorts. You hum at him, push back against him to get some deeper stimulation. “That’s a thirty second count,” he reminds you, grabbing your hair, pressing a palm to the wall. “Brat.”

Thirty seconds go by before he allows you to move again – but you’re done washing what you can reach. Once you pass him the soap, he slides out of you and you whine at the loss. A large hand comes to your throat, pressing, forcing you upright as he drips soap down your back. Left hand still at your throat, his right scrubs in the soap. The moan that leaves you is humiliating but, fuck, this feels so good.

You finish washing completely and you’ve never been more eager to rinse off – practically rushing under the water which makes him chuckle. As you’re rinsing, he washes up too and you can’t help but stare at his body.

When towel-drying, you notice he’s under the shower spigot, hand pumping around his cock as he stares at you. Your stomach flips at the attention.

“Now,” you hear his voice barely there over the hum of the shower. “Get on my bed; ass in the air. Wait for me.”

You want to protest, but you know he’s got powers and that probably won’t end well for you. Instead, you slip on your boots and try to find your way back through the maze of hallways to his room.

You hadn’t been alone in a room since you got here. The noises of the factory are pretty alarming and you can’t help but let your mind wander to the zombie-like creature you’d seen on the bridge yesterday.

Shaking off the memory, you seat yourself on his bed, kick off your boots. The sheets are still messy from last night. Letting your naked body settle and relax, you feel a chill of arousal run through you at the thought of Heisenberg’s return.

Footsteps down the hallway startle you; you’re unsure if you should cover up in case it’s someone else or do as you’re told and put your ass in the air for him.

You do the latter because you’re worried about what metal pieces could go flying in this room if you don’t follow orders.

“Mmmm good girl,” he hums as he steps in the room, your ass on display for him.

Seven steps toward the bed and it’s shifting with his weight. Rough hands grip your hips as he positions and shoves his still-hard dick back inside you.

“Fuck, still hard for me?” you tease.

All you earn is a soft grunt. “Lay down.”

You follow orders, mentally preparing for something intense.

Instead, he lays too, pulling you against him in an almost-spooning position. And he just lays there. Impatiently, you start struggling against him but he’s too strong and merely holds you in place without much effort.

“Really?”

He chuckles against your hair as he presses a kiss to the back of your head.

“You’re gonna learn, kitten.” At his words, you whine and try to fight out of his grip. “So damn feisty…” He’s got you tight against him. “I’ve got all night, buttercup, keep moving…” at his tone, you halt. “That’s what I thought. Bad girl. Sixty second count…for now. Go.”

Your punishment. Sixty tantalizing seconds later, you’re sweeping your fingers across his forearm that he’s got draped over your body. His fingers twitch to life, dance across your flesh, meander between your legs.

Your head is thrown back against him as you moan when he relentlessly massages your clit.

“Aw, you like that? I’m not even moving my cock in and out of you and you’re purring just from my fingers? So good for me. So fucking good…”

Still, he refuses to move. You tense your pelvic floor just to see what he’ll do. He breaks for a moment, inadvertently rutting against you at the tension of your muscles around his cock.

“You bitch,” he growls. “240 count.”

“W-what!?” You’re breathless, so overwhelmed with this need he’s instilled.

“You heard me,” is his reply.

As you count, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your clit and the pressure is overwhelming. You’ve never felt this desperate in your life.

His mouth comes down to your neck; gently, careful. “You skipped 84,” he informs you. “Start again.”

Tears prickle in your eyes as you throw your head back, hitting against his chest in frustration.

“Listen. You’re gonna work for this orgasm. You got me?”

Nodding slowly, you begin your count again.

And he starts playing with your clit again around the 190 mark, your body involuntarily bucking against him.

He tuts at you, huffing a laugh out.

“Again, kid? Jesus.”

His hand leaves you momentarily and you feel him stir behind you. Not daring to look, you close your eyes and take a breath now that his fingers are off your clit.

He’s lit a cigar and with a flick the lighter gets tossed across the room.

“Why aren’t you counting?” he says in his next exhale.

You nod, starting at one again while he puffs on his cigar and stirs slightly, shifting his still-hard cock just enough to make you antsy. The hot ashes sting as you continue your count and before you’re done, he’s got his fingers barely grazing your clit again. Soft breaths between numbers, you hold back a moan when he tenses inside of you. He waits, but you keep counting.

He’s clearly trying to break your concentration now that you’ve hit the 200 mark. The open-mouthed kisses against your neck, the sounds he’s making, his hand roaming over your body, the burn mark he leaves from his cigar…

“Two hundred forty,” it’s huffed and breathless, but you manage it.

Heisenberg lets out a laugh against your neck. “Wow. You’re quite determined, huh?”

Without warning, he slips out of you, kneels, pulls your legs toward him so they rest on his shoulders. Cigar in his mouth, he slides his hands underneath your ass and lifts your hips so he can glide his cock back inside you.

Heisenberg groans with his head thrown back as you buck up toward him. The cigar goes toppling down onto your belly, burning where it lands. The sensation makes you seethe at first.

“Leave it,” he demands, watching the pain fade to pleasure as he starts rutting into you.

You’re lost in the ecstasy, totally incapable of any thought other than hoping he lets you cum soon. There’s nothing in this place but him and you, nothing to distract or undermine. He’s all hands, all open-mouthed kisses and tongue trailing across skin. He’s taking you in this time, enjoying your body, not just trying to get off like last night.

Your climax is abrupt, surprising the both of you and leaving you clawing and gasping. As your walls clench around his cock, he moans out a string of words, but your ears are ringing so loud.

You’re barely catching your breath when he pulls your hair, takes the cigar off your skin, ashes it on the ground, inhales.

Smoke billows from out of his nostrils as he says, “ride my cock” and you feel your cunt clench him tighter.

Heisenberg lays back then, focuses on his cigar, really wants you to work for him as you slide down onto his shaft. It’s the first time he’s let you on top and, honestly, you’re focused on getting him off (even though the angle he’s hitting you at is perfect.)

You press your chest to his, kiss at his neck as you raise your hips, pulling him from you – barely the tip inside at this point. With the faintest movements, you shift your hips to tease his tip.

“Ohhh, you little minx. Think you’re cute, just the tip?” he hums a laugh.

You slink down his cock slowly, rutting him deep for a while, listening to his manly growls. He’s putting out the cigar on the wall behind him before he grips your hips and shoves you down harder with every movement.

“Fuck, Karl, I want you to cum…”

He smirks, “Yeah? Want me to paint you like one of my French girls?” he laughs at his own joke. “Or should I fill up this nice cunt?”

You whine. “Whatever you want, Heisenberg.”

“You’re mine, kitten. Don’t forget it.”

Without a second thought, you shift from your knees to a crouch over him, giving you better leverage to bounce on his cock. The unexpected change makes him cuss. The power behind every thrust sends shockwaves through you.

Ears ringing, you hold your breath until you notice a loud clanging around you. When you look around, you see all of the metal in the room is shaking. One glance at Heisenberg beneath you, you realize he’s staring, pupils blown wide, lips parted as he pants. The sounds coming from him are making you even wetter…

Fingers bruising you, he grabs a handful of your ass and forces you to move at his pace. Face smashed against his chest, you hear his moaning and breaths before feeling him shoot his load into you again.

The noise from the metal in the room stops as the pieces shoot in all directions, clanging to the walls. You hadn’t expected to dodge sawblades and gears as you’re getting fucked but here you are.

Heisenberg is a panting, sweaty mess under you. His lips cup around your ear, nibbling a bit as he hums your name – breathy, exhausted.

You don’t want to get off him, don’t want this to end, but the way you two have been going since you met, you know it’s only a matter of time before he’s ready again.

It’s all you’ve done since you arrived, really, and a part of you wonders if this whole plaything is a cover. Does he really want companionship? Or is it a farce?

When you flop down beside him, he keeps a hand gripping at your hip. Protective, maybe, but you take it as controlling. And it’s sort of a comfort to you in this place. Memories of the church and those siblings of his – the monstrous things he’s told you they’d do to you…

You lucked out, so you imagine.

Heisenberg’s eyelids are heavy, his breathing even as you both lay there. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s slept. You’re pretty sure even when you dozed off last night, he’d gone to tinker with something on his desk.

He still hasn’t told you what his plans are for you and it’s starting to make you believe he doesn’t have any. Other than this.

There’s a version of you in this daydream that wants to stay here, with him. You don’t want to feel the way you did before you came here.

“So, what’s life like – where you’re from?” he ghosts a caress over your lower abdomen, watching your body tense from the tickling sensation.

“Empty.”

He blinks over at you, just stares.

“You’re-you’re joking,” he waves it off. “Surely being out of a village like this, you’d have things to fill your time.”

You shrug. “My career’s caused a lot of issues in my personal life. I’ve…missed out on so much.”

“Oh, pity to you,” he rolls his eyes, still not getting up.

It’s probably a defense mechanism, probably a way to keep his mind from going deeper into that hurt. Though his words are harsh, his eyes take you in again, examine you, as if in a new light.

“So, what you’re saying is, this place is a vacation for you.”

“Given the current circumstances,” you look at your bodies draped together, “I’d say yes.”

“Huh,” he laughs. “Mother always said the pretty ones are fucked up.”

You don’t know if you should be flattered or offended.

“This’s been real fun, kitten, but Daddy’s got work to do.” He goes to sit up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed, finally lets go of your hip.

“And what should I do?”

He raises a brow. “Oh, you? I’m not letting you out of my sight. You think I trust you in this place by yourself? Probably make some grand escape. And we can’t have that, now can we?”

“You can trust me,” you insist.

He barks out a laugh. “You would say that.”

“Heisenberg, I told you: I want out of BSAA. If that’s something you’re holding against me-”

“You act as if I’ve put much thought into that,” he pulls his pants on, shoves his feet in his boots. “Playthings don’t need a backstory,” he speaks pointedly. “Now get dressed.”

He leaves the room.

He’s so difficult to read. One minute he’s asking about life outside of the village, the next he’s pushing you away.

The only clothes you have are your torn up pants, your boots, and one of his shirts. Tentatively, you get dressed and meander into the hallway.

“Step back,” his voice calls from down the hall.

Your body responds too slow and in seconds, a beast is running at you; its left arm a drill. It’s like your body is in slow motion – barely letting you register what’s happening – until Heisenberg uses his power to pull the metal maniac backward.

Metal pieces go flying everywhere – clearly, he’s broken something.

With the thing on the ground, you don’t know whether to approach Heisenberg or revert deeper into the bedroom.

“Get your ass over here.” Though his words are menacing, his voice is soft, almost exhausted.

Like a frightened animal, you slowly approach him, keeping as much distance between you and the metal thing as possible.

“Do you always break everything you touch?” he hums close to your ear.

You think he must like the look of you in his shirt because he’s thumbing over the material, nipping at the skin on your neck, his facial hair scratching against you in the most arousing way.

“I’m sorry, Karl.”

He groans, almost a laugh punctuating it. “You’re not,” he whispers. “But you will be.”

You should be scared, should be experiencing whiplash from the change in demeanor from two minutes ago in the bedroom. Instead, you’re clinging to his jacket, moaning at the sound of his gloved hand smacking your ass.

The creature moves, but he shifts his hand and the thing stays down as if magnetized to the floor.

You’re completely worked up again, noting his half-hard cock pressing against your hip as you stand in the hall with him.

“Bad kitty,” he whispers beside your ear. “You any good with a screwdriver?”

[blossom-hwa]

[ too much and not enough - jangjun ]

from the golden child volleyball universe, based on this post by @thepixelelf ​so you should actually blame casey for this not me

triggers: choking, near death, mind control - this is NOT lighthearted.

Golden Child Masterlist

You collapse to the ground, body still and unmoving even as your eyes flicker wildly, your blast of air gone astray. 

Jangjun spins around at the sound of you hitting the floor. His feet begin stumbling forward - 

But he isn’t moving of his own accord. 

Laughter echoes by the door from the man Jangjun knows he will hate for the rest of his life. “Fight it, Jangjun! Try and fight it!”

Sweat beads on Jangjun’s forehead as he tries to force his body not to move, to stay where it is. He can’t do anything this man wants him to do - even if he needs to get close, needs to hold you close and comfort you, if this man wants him near you it can’t be anything good -

But his legs keep going, keep moving, stumbling forward and forward and then he’s taking your limp hand from the ground and pulling you up. You stare at him, limp, wide eyes full of fear directed at him, Jangjun, your too-strong boyfriend who’s hurt you so many times with his too-strong body and now -

His hands close around your throat. Lift you up. Begin to squeeze. 

Now he’s about to hurt you again.

You choke, eyes bulging as your hands reflexively rise to pry his fingers from your neck. The sound of your gurgling rips into Jangjun’s ears, overpowering the pain of your nails digging crescents into his skin as sweat pours from his forehead, stinging his vision - he can’t even look away as blood drains from your face and life begins to flicker out of your eyes -

But you don’t do anything. You don’t do anything except clutch at his straining hands, mouth moving slightly as you try to say something without breath, something Jangjun can’t hear beyond the roaring of blood in his ears and the constant hurt me, hurt me, what are you doing, shove me away or try to do something, ANYTHING -

A strong gust of wind swirls around him and Jangjun welcomes it to sweep him away from you even if he crashes against the opposite wall, but it only ruffles his shirt as it streaks towards the man standing by the door. He dodges easily. “This isn’t much of a fight,” he calls. “Are you even trying?”

Another gust, still not aimed at him, weaker this time. Jangjun screams. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? SHOVE ME AWAY, DO SOMETHING - YOU SAID YOU’VE DONE IT BEFORE -”

You choke and gurgle, shaking your head slightly even as Jangjun presses deeper into your throat. Your bulging eyes shine with tears and fear and something else - something familiar, love - your mouth moves and between his tears, Jangjun tries to understand what you’re trying to say. 

Won’t 

Won’t hurt

hurt

won’t

not you

Won’t hurt you

Jangjun sobs, tears streaking down his face as he tries to pull his hands away from your skin. Curse you and your stupid love, your stupid refusal to hurt him even though he’s killing you - “Please, Y/N,” he cries. “Stop it - just do something, anything, I don’t want this, I don’t want this, please end it -”

Your eyes close, screwed up in concentration. Jangjun doesn’t know what you’re going to do but he prays it’ll keep his hands, his traitorous too-strong hands away from you and your skin - he’ll never touch you again, never go near you again because he’ll just hurt you, that’s all he ever does, hurts you again and again even though you never hurt him -

A gust of wind tears the single lightbulb from the ceiling and dashes it to the ground, shattering the bulb on the floor. 

The man shouts. Stumbles back. And for a moment, one blessed moment, Jangjun finally has control of his hands and he stumbles back as you drop to the ground, choking and wheezing for horrible, strained breath. He keeps his fingers close to chest, as he backs away, anything to keep himself away, away, away from you before he hurts you again - 

Then his knees buckle and he collapses to the floor, crawling until his body looms over yours once more and traitorous fingers reach out, falling perfectly on the dark bruises already imprinted on your skin, and squeeze. 

“A good try,” the voice intones. “I admit, I was startled, but not enough.”

Not enough. Not enough not enough not enough - Jangjun always has too much strength or not enough - 

“Please,” Jangjun sobs as the door swings open, letting in light, too much light, so much light that he can see his reflection in your terrified eyes, watch your chest try to heave for breath as another weaker gust of wind swirls past, still aimed at the door and not at him, and Jangjun knows that even if it was meant for him it wouldn’t have done anything more than ruffle the shirt that’s sticking to his back with sweat, but your refusal to hurt him even if it means saving your own life cuts deep into his heart as he cries, screams, begs for this to stop, to please stop, please, please, PLEASE -

A loud crack sounds in his head and all of a sudden, his mind is his own. Jangjun’s fingers fly from your throat and he scrambles away on shaking legs before collapsing to the floor to stare at his hands that burn, burn like your skin was fire, charring his palms as punishment for everything he’s done to you. 

He hurt you. He hurt you. He choked you, strangled you, almost killed you with these hands because he was too strong and yet not strong enough, too strong to hold back and not strong enough to resist the power of the man standing in the doorway, eyes hooded, almost bored - 

Jangjun should feel hatred. He should hate this man with everything he has. But as he stares at his hands, his traitorous hands, your wheezing breaths echoing in his ears, all he can conjure is self-loathing when he thinks of how you refused to hurt him even though all he’s ever done is hurt you first with volleyballs and now with his own fingers, the very same fingers that you liked to press kisses on and tangle with your own -

“Well, that was enlightening.” He cocks his head slightly, scrutinizing your collapsed body with narrowed, coldly interested eyes, like observing a strange bug under a microscope. “Seems you aren’t as strong as we might have thought.”

Too strong. Not strong enough. Too strong. Not strong enough. Too strong not strong enough too strong not strong enough not strong enough to not hurt you -

Crashes downstairs cut through the haze of your continued wheezing. Yells, familiar yells sound, and vaguely Jangjun thinks he should feel happy or at least relieved that his friends have found you, are coming to get you out, but all he can process are your labored breaths that sound like death and his shaking, uninjured hands, the hands you left intact and whose strength he couldn’t keep from hurting you yet again - 

“That’s my cue!” The man grins, pushing himself off the wall. His gaze dances with manic glee as the shouts grow closer, footsteps beginning to pound up the stairs. “Try to stay alive, yes?” Suddenly, he’s in Jangjun’s face, dark, cruel eyes boring into his own. A cold hand lifts his chin. 

“I do hope someone finds you before you tear yourself apart.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for jangjun :///)

[savetheearthbros]

"why did you lie to me?" fiddlestan

this is a lot longer and a lot more angsty then i meant it to be but enjoy!!

Tw:

Blood, scars, abuse mention

It had been three months since Stan had arrived in Gravity Falls. Three months since he pushed Ford into the portal in the basement. Three months without being able to sleep. Two months since he started giving tours of Ford's house.  Three more months for self hatred to add to the ten years he had under his belt. 

    He spent all of his free time out in the town looking for the other two journals. In the forest, near the lake, he even got yelled at by the police for lurking around the elementary school. He’d looked all around the town and came home empty handed every single time. 

    The snow on the ground was finally melting as he was looking for spare parts in the junkyard. He pulled scraps of metal off one another looking for anything that could possibly help with the portal. 

    He opened the hood of one of the many cars that scattered the junkyard only to find a gnome starring him in the face. The gnome hissed at him before scampering off. Stan just rolled his eyes and continued looking for parts from the car. 

    “Stanford?” he heard a voice behind him say nervously. He turned around quickly putting on the persona he used for tours.

    “Yes?” he said, trying to put more confidence behind his words then he had. He turned to see a tall thin man who looked like he had been through hell and hadn’t slept for a week afterwards. His hair was a mess, he had bruises scattering his arms, and a glazed over look in his eyes. “Can I help you?” he asked the stranger who only chuckled in response. 

    “So that’s how it’s going to be. Just gonna pretend you don’t know exactly why I’m here.” The man threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “I don’t know how to deal with you anymore, Ford.”

    “Look man, I honestly don’t know what you want from me.” The man pushed him back a lot harder than Stan thought someone of his size could manage. Stan fell against the car behind him. 

    “You’re an asshole, you know that! You spend months working on that portal refusing to let anyone near the house and then all of sudden I leave and you open the place up?” He knew about the portal? “You ruined my life and that’s when I decided enough was enough? Not when I stayed up for three nights straight writing up the work we’ve done in gravity falls? Not when I begged you to shut down the portal?” The man was crying now, clinging onto the front of Stan's coat. 

    Stan stared at the man crying in front of him. He knew something about the portal and from the sounds of it he knew Ford pretty well. He needed his help. Stan racked his brain for something he could say to get the man to help him. 

    “Hey looks… I'm sorry , ok?” the man looked up at a wide eyed Stan. Stan paused for a second trying to come up with an excuse that Ford could have for doing whatever he did to apparently ruin this man's life. “I just got stuck in my research, you know?” the man chuckled dryly.

    “‘I got stuck in my research, I could taste the end result and i didn’t want to let it go’ isn’t that what you told me when i got attacked by the gremloblin?” Stan nodded wondering what a gremloblin is in the back of his head. “Come up with a better fucking excuse then that, you mother fucker!”

    I can’t let him leave. I need his help. Stan thought to himself before grabbing the man's arm. “Please… I need your help.” The man pulled his arm out of Stan's grasp.

    “Of course you do! Why else would you even be talking to me? Why the fuck would you be anywhere fucking near me! You only ever want me when you need my help!” the man screamed. His voice gives out every so often. What had happened to him?

    “You know that’s not true.” Stan assured him, against his own knowledge trying to fix the situation. 

    “No? Then name a fucking time Stanford. You only wanted me when you needed help with the portal or you wanted to pretend someone loved you! Guess what, Stanford? I did love you! I loved you more then anything and you just fucking used me! I left my wife and gave up my son for you! And you just threw me away!” Stan just stared at the man, unable to comprehend exactly what was happening.

    “You… loved me?” he ended up asking under his breath. The man ran a hand through his hair and chucked again softly. 

    “No, Stanford. I just gave up everything to be with you. And I've spent every night with you since I arrived here. I just chose to sleep in your bed rather than mine. I just kissed you ever possible opportunity I possibly could just fucking because.” Stan looked at the man shocked. 

     Stanford and this crazy guy standing in front of him had been dating? He always knew Ford was gay but really were his standards really this low? To go for some crazy lunatic that doesn’t look like he’s showered in weeks. 

    “But if you have to ask it just proves to me you were using me.” Think Stanley! he told himself ``you're losing him “It doesn’t matter, anyways. I’m done with you.” The man turned to walk away and before Stan could think he grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss.

 It was the only thing he could think to do. The man clearly loved Stanford and the best way to get his help is to use his feelings against him. He knew it was a shitty thing to do but it’s not like he hadn’t done it before.

The man froze for a second before melting into the kiss and threading his fingers in Stan's hair. Stan wrapped his arms around the man's waist to pull him in. the man made a content noise against Stan's lips before pulling back to catch his breath. He looked down sadly and dropped his hands to Stan's shoulders. 

“You know this doesn't prove anything right? This is just another way you decided to use me...” he trailed off at the end of new tears following the trails left by the past dried ones.

“Please.” Stan mumbled softly under his breath. “I need you.” It was true. He might not have needed him in the same way as Ford did but he did truly need him. He was the only he could possibly get help from. The man looked up into Stan's eyes before sighing softly.

“Fine. But you have to promise me that Bill is gone and ain’t coming back.”  Bill? Who was Bill? Was he another guy Ford knew? Did he cheat with him? Is that how Ford ruined this man's life? 

Stan thought for a second before answering “Bill is gone for good. I don't want anything to do with that monster after what happened.'' Stan saw hope flicker in the man's eyes only for a second before he leaned in and kissed Stan softly.

“It’s just us again.” the man confirmed. Stan nodded. This was going to be easier than he thought. This man was talking his word as gospel. Pretending to be Ford was gonna be a sinch even with this guy around. 

“Should we go back to the house then?” Stan asked and to his delight the man nodded. The man started walking in the direction of the shack and stood close behind him. 

There were still a few problems that Stan was going to have to figure out. For instance if this man was truly wanting to start a relationship with him he’d have to figure out the six fingers thing. And he was going to have to figure out how far he was willing to go for this project because the man was going to want to have sex eventually. What were his excuses for not doing it for long amounts of time or ever at all? But most importantly how was he going to figure out his name. 

Fidds had been living with him at the shack for 24 hours now and he’d been hiding his hands in every way possible while he tried to figure out what to do about them. He finally decided on what he was going to do but he dreaded it.

He sat at Ford's desk staring at the knife in front of him trying to work up the courage to slice the sides of his hands. 

“Come on Stan you can do this. You’ve had to go through worse stuff than this. This is just self inflicted.” He tried to force a laugh to convince himself he was fine but it just came out broken.

He pulled out his lighter from his pocket. The most convincing way to do this would be to cauterize the wound afterwards but god was it going to hurt. He picked up the knife and held it against the outside of his pinky and took a deep breath. 

Later in his life Dipper and Mabel would ask about the scars and he would make something up off of the top of his head about a bear fight.

The conversation with the man went well. He was heartbroken that Stanford would do that but apparently when Ford got drunk for the first time with Fidds he had taken a knife to this extra finger so it wasn’t hard for the man to swallow.

He was running out of nicknames he could call the man without sounding suspicious and he needed to find a way to figure out his name. He had been writing words on a page in random order pretending to work on something for almost an hour when he had a brilliant idea.

He looked up the man sitting across the table from him. “What’s your name again?” the man looked up in shock and for a second stan doubted his decision. 

“Fiddleford?” he paused as he watched stan write it down “How can you not remember my name? We’ve known each other since college and we’ve dated for three years.” The heartbreak in Fiddleford's voice was enough for Stan to scramble for an explanation.

“I meant your last name! I just figured I’d write it down anyways since I needed it too.” Fiddleford relaxed in his seat, but he still seemed on edge.

“You should know my last name too. '' he pondered. “Esspecically since you agreed to take it the second gay marriage becomes legalized.” he added jokingly. They both laughed at that idea for a second before Stan added 

“I was asking how to spell it.” Fiddleford laughed softly

“It’s like bucket but with ‘mc’ in front of it” he answered before returning to the computer he was tinkering with in front of him 

“McBucket?” Stan asked, writing it down as he said it out loud. Fiddlford laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Yes my name’s Fiddleford McBucket. Nice to meet you.” Stan looked up at him expectly “McGucket you nerd. You better learn it soon because even if we can’t get married you promised me you’d be Stanford McGucket by 1990.” Stan jerked his head up from where it had been while he was writing and Fiddleford seemed to get a good laugh out of it. “You did! You were drunk but you did.”

Ok so get the portal up and running before 1990 Stan thought to him shit the portal. I gotta ask about that “hey um” he trailed off thinking of the right words to say “how would you feel about helping me get the portal operational again?” 

Fiddleford looked up at Stan, fear coloring his features. All the blood had drained from his face and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “No.” he snapped, Stan's face fell as he realized this was going to be the hardest part of all of this.

“Why not?” he asked. He was sincerely hoping the man would say something easy to fix like ‘we don't have the right tools’ or ‘you have to secretly be your own twin brother posing as Stanford’ but the chances of that were slim. 

“Because I almost died trying to get that machine up and running and I don’t want to have to go through that again.” He looked down at the computer. No longer tinkering with it just staring at it. 

“I promise we’ll be safer with it. I won’t let it happen again. I just need to get it opened.” Fiddleford looked up at him and sighed.

“Fine but I'm out of here the second it stops working.” Stan had to hide his excitement. He didn’t want Fiddleford to think he was using him, despite the fact that he was. 

“You’ll come back when I shut it down, right?” he asked honestly, not caring about the answer.

 Fidds looked up at him and smiled lovingly at him. Stan didn’t want to admit it but it made his heart skip a bit with how loving he was. “Of course I will.” he grabbed Stan's hand from across the table “You’re stuck with me for good this time.” 

    Stan couldn’t help but smile at the comment. He stroked Fiddleford’s hand with his thumb and tried not to think about the fact that Fiddleford thought he was holding hands with Stanford and not him. 

    Stan had traveled around the country for ten years of his life. He thought himself to be a well cultured man. Someone who could deal with pretty much anything. But that was before he walked in on Fidds sitting on the ground with what looked like a funky gun to his head. 

    “Fidds. What’re you doing? What-” He stopped himself before asking what it was. He was sure Stanford would know and therefore he couldn’t ask. Fidds dropped the gun from his temple and looked up at Stan. His eyes were puffy and red and he was trembling. Before Stan knew it he was sitting on the ground next to him pulling him into a hug. 

    “I'm sorry for I know you told me to destroy this and I'm sorry I just couldn't. I just want to forget… the memories of that thing  you worked with… the memories of Bill… they just keep popping up. I just want to forget...“ he sobbed against Stan's shoulder. Stan didn’t understand any of it but if Ford thought it was dangerous it probably was. 

    He held out his hand silently asking for the gun. Fidds pulled it into his chest like it was a teddy bear. “Fidds, please.” Stan begged softly. Fiddleford reluctantly hands over the gun and stands, sets it down on the ground behind him and pulls Fidds into the hug again. 

    “Whatever happens, I'll protect you. I promise.” Stan assured.  He wanted so badly to have meant it. He wanted to be there if Fidds ever had to face Bill. Hell he wanted to rip Bill apart piece by piece, but he knew one day he was going to be one of the things Fidds wanted to forget so badly. 

    It had been a year since he had started working with Fidds. Everything had gone smoothly since the incident with the gun, which Stan now kept in the basement under lock and key. Fidds had started working shifts with Stan and the tours of the house. He complained about it at first but grew to love it over time. They spent everyday working together, every evening working on the portal, and every night curled up in their bed together.

    Stan was the closest he had been to happiness in years. He had everything he ever wanted. There were only two problems. His brother was still trapped on the other side of the portal and his boyfriend was only dating him because he thought he was his brother. Stan tried to ignore those facts unless he had too. 

    They haven't made much progress with the portal and everyday that Ford wasn’t on their side of the portal he got more scared that he wasn't coming back. He tried to push that thought from his mind whenever he could but it was hard to forget when that was the only reason he was doing what he was. 

    “Ford?” Fidds asked from behind him, tearing Stan from his thoughts. “I have bad news.'' Stan's heart skipped a beat and he turned around. “Your father passed away...” Stan tried not to sigh out of relief. Thank god it wasn’t something with the portal. 

    “Ok.” he said calmly. “Thank you for telling me” He turned back to his work unphased by the news. Fidds came up behind him and rested his hands on stnas shoulders. 

    “You’re allowed to be upset.” He assured as he started to rub his shoulders. Stan leaned back into the contact. It never really crossed his mind that Ford might have taken the news badly. He didn’t know Ford's relationship with their father. He decided this was going to be one of those times that we talked more as himself then as Ford. 

    “Good riddance honestly.” he huffed. Fidds took a step back and Stan sighed softly at the lack of contact “Hey, I was enjoying that '' he turned around to face Fidds who looked extremely upset. “What’s wrong F?”

    “What’s wrong is you should be more upset!” Oh, shit! Ford did have a good relationship with their father. “You and your dad talked constantly! What changed?” Stan didn’t have a good answer. He was trying to dig himself out of a pretty deep hole. So instead of talking he just shrugged.

    “Man’s always been an ass it just got worse when I started the tours.” Fidds didn’t seem satisfied with that answer but he dropped it anyways. He probably thought that Stan would come to his senses and admit to his feelings but honestly Stan couldn’t care less that the old guy was dead. He had beat him and Ford their whole lives and kicked him out over a stupid mistake. 

    He wondered why Ford had kept up to date his dad. He wondered if he had forgiven him for everything he did to them as children. Then again Ford didn't get beat nearly as often or as bad. Maybe it was easier for Ford to brush it off. Maybe he forgave his dad when Stan was kicked out. 

    That thought made Stan’s blood go cold. Stanford might have fixed his relationship with his father because he kicked him out. Maybe Ford just wanted Stan gone.

    He couldn't get himself to work on the portal that night. Instead he and Fidds just watched mindless tv until they fell asleep in each other's arms. 

    Stan has screwed up. He had screwed up big time. He didn’t think he would ever be able to dig himself out of this hole. 

    Fidds and his relationship had been going great for the last year and a half. They were comfortable with each other, So it was no wonder that Fiddleford wanted to be intimate. But Stan had issues with that idea. For starters, he’s not the person Fiddleford wanted to have sex with and the idea of having sex with someone who thought you were your brother wasn’t the most appealing thought.

    But when Fiddleford started kissing his neck and sliding his hands under his shirt while they were watching some random romcom Stan had a hard time holding back. He pulled Fidds into his lap and kissed him until they both were breathless. He pulled off Fidds’s shirt and kissed down his chest. He wanted nothing more than to worship Fidds and never let go of him. 

    Fidds threaded his fingers in Stan's hair and pulled him up by it, earning a moan from Stan. Fidds pulled him into a kiss and pulled his shirt over his head. If Stan would have been thinking he would have stopped him. He would have told him he wanted to stop. Anything to get him not to take his shirt off but he wasn’t thinking. He was drunk off Fidds's kiss.

    Fidds kissed his neck and ran his hands over Stan's chest before stopping abruptly and looking down at the myriad of scars scattering Stan's torso. Scars that Ford didn’t have. Fidds brow furrowed, trying to figure out what he was seeing. He looked up at Stan looking for the answer. Stan didn’t have one.

    “You didn’t have any of these last time.” he stated. “And there’s no way you could have gotten some of these without me knowing” he ran his fingers over a bullet wound scar on the side of Stan’s torso. “So what the hells going on Stanford?”

    Stan swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t a good enough lie  that could get him out of this. He was panicking. He tried to say something but he could only stutter out ‘um’s and ‘well’s. 

    Fiddleford stood up. Stan expected to find anger but all he saw on Fidds’s face was confusion. He wished more that he could lie himself out of this situation but he couldn’t see a way out. So he settled with honesty.

    “I’m not Ford. And I haven't been for awhile.” Fidds laughed softly. Clearly trying to convince himself this was a joke. 

    “You have to be Ford. I mean who else would you be? I mean look at you!” Stan looked at him sadly. Realization hit Fidds like a truck. “Stanley...” he said softly “Stanford used to mumble that in his sleep… I always figured it was the brother he used to talk about. I never thought it could be his twin.” Stan stood up, reaching for Fidds’s hand. Fidds pulled his hand away like he had been burned.

    “You lied to me!” he screamed. Stan only looked down and nodded at the ground in response. “Why?” Stan looked up unsure of how to answer “Why did you lie to me?” he yelled tears now streaming down his face.

    “There was an accident,” Stan tried to explain. “Ford ended up on the other side of the portal. I need your help to save him.” fidds only stared at him in shock.

    “You mean to tell me you’ve been Ford since the portal broke?” he snapped. Stan nodded again and Fidds laughed dryly, tears streaming down his face. “It’s been almost two years! You’ve been pretending to be Ford for almost two years!” he was sobbing in between his words. Stan wanted nothing more than to hug him and tell him everything was going to be ok. 

    “Fidds I’m sor- '' Stan was cut off but Fidds’s fist collided with his nose. He fell back onto the ground holding his nose. He looked up at Fiddleford whose expression had gone dark. 

    “Dont fucking apologize to me!” he screamed “You. Lied. To. Me. For. Two. Fucking. Years.” He kicked Stan in the stomach after every word. 

Stan took each blow. He deserved it. Fidds didn’t deserve to be lied to, let alone for two years. Stan looked up at Fidds, tears mixed with blood from his nose dripping down his face. 

Fidds kicked him in the jaw before leaning down and grabbing his shirt off the floor. “Stay the fuck away from me you hear? I don't want anything to do with you.” He stormed out of the house slamming the door behind him. 

Stan turned so he was on his back and staring at the ceiling. He made no move to get up for hours. He just stared into space and thought about everything that had happened in the past year and a half. He regretted all of it and yet he regretted none of it. He regretted hurting Fidds but he never wanted to give up the memories they had made together.

Stan sobbed as he realized he had fallen in love with Fidds over the year and a half they had known each other. The love of his life now wanted nothing to do with him and it was all his fault.

When he did get up he got a stack of napkins for the bleeding and headed down into the basement to bury his face in work and try to forget about the man he loved all but spitting in his face.

Dipper and Mabel had been living in Gravity Falls for over three months now. Ford had come out of the portal , Weirdmageddon had already come and gone, and their birthday was coming up soon. Dipper had solved all of the mysteries he had wanted to solve but one of the mysteries Mabel was trying to solve never came to be.

Why did Grunkle Stan seem so sad whenever he looked at Old Man McGucket?

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Fractured Ice - Ch. 5/7

Xue Yang whisks a nihilistic Lan Xichen off on a murder roadtrip to raise Xiao Xingchen and Meng Yao from the grave. Because that will solve all of their problems, right? AU where Wei Wuxian never came to Yi City and Xue Yang is still running around post-canon disguised as Xiao Xingchen.

Lan Xichen in an agony of suspense, hands shaking as he pulls Liebing from his qiankun pouch and puts it to his lips.

Xue Yang bites his finger and traces symbols on the sarcophagus in blood, breaking the seals.

Lan Xichen holds his breath.

Nothing happens.

XueXiao & XiYao - Rated M - Read on AO3! Tumblr: Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3  Ch. 4 Ch. 6

Ch. 5: damn right, you should be scared of me

Lan Xichen feels dull and heavy as they pass through the gates of the Unclean Realm.

“We were not expecting Zewu-jun!” babbles the Nie chamberlain as they arrive. “Please excuse the lack of reception; we received no notice of the Clan Leader’s arrival—”

Lan Xichen glances at him dispassionately, then dredges up a small smile and ducks his head at the chamberlain, almost overbalancing and falling forward thanks to the weight of his forehead ribbon.

A-Yao never would have been unprepared like this when he served in the same role. Never would have shown it, at the very least. Would have made the guests feel welcome, his quick mind adjusting to the new circumstances with alacrity and grace—

“My name is Xiao Xingchen,” says Xue Yang. He puts his hands together and bows deeply at the chamberlain. He’s fully back in his Xiao Xingchen role, all gentle refinement and forceful softness and slight _ otherness _, as if he’d learned social graces somewhere outside of normal society. “Zewu-jun and I have come to see Clan Leader Nie on matters of grave urgency. Our visit is to be kept secret.”

The man glances at Lan Xichen for confirmation. Lan Xichen nods.

Another bow. “Please follow me, then, Zewu-jun. This way. Thank you.”

Xue Yang winks at Lan Xichen as they follow the chamberlain through a series of side passages to the reception hall. Lan Xichen gets the idea that he’s hugely enjoying this farce. In another life, he feels, Xue Yang, might have been an actor.

Lan Xichen, on the other hand, feels his sense of dread growing as they near the hall.

Any hint of color in the Unclean Realm is swallowed by the overwhelming sense of grayness. Slate gray walls. Slate gray floors. Gray ornaments, gray ceilings, gray fixtures and furniture and sconces and statues and carvings.

Exactly like a tomb.

Lan Xichen keeps one hand out, just in case the stifling walls begin to move, to crush him, as he’s convinced they will at any second.

“One moment, please.” The chamberlain bows low at Lan Xichen and disappears through a door. Slate gray, with black accents, set in a dark gray frame.

He returns a few minutes later. “I regret to inform Zewu-jun that Clan Leader Nie is in an important conference, but he would be happy to meet with you tomorrow, or perhaps the day after tomorrow—”

Lan Xichen backhands him into the wall with his full Lan strength and pushes open the door, locking it behind him and Xue Yang.

Nie Huaisang hops to his feet, dropping his paint brush. “Zewu-jun! What a pleasant surprise—”

“Some conference,” says Xue Yang, glancing around at the empty chamber.

Nie Huaisang gulps visibly. Lan Xichen can almost hear the ropes and pulleys creaking in his head as he decides whether to fall back on his old Headshaker routine or acknowledge the fact that Lan Xichen is onto him.

He goes with the former.

“What can I do for Zewu-jun?” he asks, bowing deeply and seating himself on his throne-like seat. He seems to make himself smaller as he does so, as if well aware of how the seat dwarfs him and wanting to play up the impression of smallness, of helplessness, of innocence and vulnerability. “And, of course, our venerated cultivator friend.” He rises again, bows at Xue Yang with a flap of expensive silver sleeve. “It is a true privilege to meet Xiao Xingchen once again.”

That’s right; Nie Huaisang met Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen at the same time A-Yao and Wangji did. Lan Xichen hopes that Xue Yang, remembering this, will reign in the theatrics.

Xue Yang bows a bit too low. “The honor is all mine, Clan Leader.”

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Nie Huaisang is wearing one of his after-all-it’s-not-as-if-_ I- _ can-be-of-any-help-to- _ you _ looks, and Lan Xichen is seized by the sudden urge to rip his quivering little face off—

He blinks the thought away, a bit unnerved at the idea that Xue Yang might be having more of an influence on him than he’s thought.

Nie Huaisang, in turn, looks even more nervous than usual, as if he’s aware Lan Xichen is not quite himself.

_ Good. You should be afraid of me, you murderer— _

Lan Xichen looks away from Nie Huaisang, eyes roaming over the familiar room. He’d spent many hours here visiting with Nie Mingjue, and then, later, playing guqin opposite A-Yao—

Had A-Yao truly killed Nie Mingjue?

Nie Mingjue had tried to kill A-Yao more than once as his mind deteriorated, but Lan Xichen doubts A-Yao could have done such a terrible thing to their sworn brother in return. If there was one thing A-Yao had proven, it was that he could bear up under repeated slights. He can’t remember if A-Yao confessed to Nie Mingjue's murder at Guanyin Temple, but it doesn't matter. He’d confessed to killing Qin Su, and Lan Xichen himself had watched her commit suicide, witnessed A-Yao’s grief. A-Yao’s guilt and self-loathing, it seemed, was all-encompassing at the end, smothering him, choking all rational thought and pushing him to shoulder every impossible sin in the face of the united wall of hatred that faced him in Guanyin Temple.

_ Not me, _ Lan Xichen wants to say. Will be able to say, soon enough, if all went well. I _ never hated you— _

“Brother Xichen?”

Lan Xichen pulls himself out his thoughts. “We have come to pay our respects to Chifeng-zun,” he says.

Nie Huaisang looks alarmed. “Mingjue?”

“It has been a year since his entombment. I thought it only proper to pay my respects now that I am able to travel again.”

Nie Huaisang picks up the fan he’s painting, using it to hide the lower half of his face. “I’m—I’m afraid that’s not possible, Brother Xichen.”

Xue Yang bows low. “And why not, Clan Leader? Zewu-jun has traveled long to get here.”

“I—er—”

Lan Xichen wonders if Nie Huaisang received a message from Lan Qiren, something about keeping Lan Xichen in the Unclean Realm until the Lan cultivators could arrive. For all that he doubts his uncle would have taken Nie Huaisang into his confidence, the signal could have gone out the second he’d stepped inside the fortress’s gates. Or perhaps Nie Huaisang simply sensed something wrong on his own.

“It’s like this,” says Nie Huaisang, emitting a nervous little laugh from behind the silk fan. “Er—you see—Da-ge is resting in the eastern family tomb.”

“Meaning?”

“Er—well—that’s where we keep our more—how should I put it?—problematic dead.” His eyes dart over to Xue Yang, as if he’d rather not air clan laundry in front of a near-stranger, no matter how distinguished. “There are many seals on the tomb, many—er—dangerous areas—”

“The tomb is booby-trapped,” translates Xue Yang bluntly.

“It’s perhaps not as safe as one might have liked—”

“Like the sabers’ Stone Castles?” asks Lan Xichen. Even before Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s little adventure, he’d heard stories from Nie Mingjue.

Nie Huaisang blanches. “Nothing like that! These spirits aren’t dangerous—it’s simply a precaution—”

Lan Xichen can almost see the calculations in Xue Yang’s head—how fast the cultivator could pounce at the clan leader, snatch his stupid fan away, grab him, _ force _ him to help them—

Lan Xichen shakes his head at Xue Yang warningly. “Your brother was my friend, Huaisang. I have a right to pay my respects, as I was in no condition to do so when he was entombed.”

Nie Huaisang’s tone changes to one of pathetic flattery. “You won’t hold this against me, will you, Brother Xichen? Please understand, Brother Xichen. You know how I value our clans’ friendship, Brother Xichen; but I just simply cannot. Nobody in a hundred years has stepped foot inside the tomb unless it’s to bury a body; even I pay my respects from outside the tomb—but not _ too _ close—”

Xue Yang smiles as if about to make a comment about there being one more Nie body to bury if Nie Huaisang keeps this up, but for once his mouth remains shut.

Nie Huaisang hops off his oversized seat and scurries over to a side door in a funny little trot. “I’ll call the chamberlain; make sure you have comfortable rooms made up!” he says, and he darts out.

Xue Yang smirks. “He certainly lives up to his reputation.”

But Lan Xichen shakes his head. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

By request, Lan Xichen and Xue Yang eat alone together in Lan Xichen’s quarters, the same ones he used to stay in when he was a frequent guest here.

“This food is as bad as the Lan junk,” says Xue Yang in disgust. “What did they put in here? Haven’t they ever heard of salt? Meat? Chicken? Honey? Are these raw carrots and leaves stewed in fucking barley water?”

“They prepare it specially for me,” says Lan Xichen absently. He can’t bring himself to eat. He paces the room, trying to ground himself with the firmness of the hard gray stone beneath his feet, the solid smoothness of the walls under his palms, but he’s drifting and he knows it.

“So we can blame you for this inedible garbage? At least at the Cloud Recesses they know how to prepare the stewed leaves properly; this, however—” Xue Yang frowns suddenly. “You don’t look so good, my friend.”

Lan Xichen has sunk to the bed, leaning forward on his knees.

“Zewu-jun?”

“I’m fine.”

“Not worrying about the Lan popping in? I'd say we should get moving, but you don't look great. ”

Lan Xichen glances up. He'd forgotten about the Lan since leaving Nie Huaisang. “I thought we decided my uncle would never trust Nie Huaisang with the truth, and you told me you asked around and were told no Lan cultivators were seen heading here—”

Xue Yang shrugs. “I’ll admit, I half expected to be arrested the second we stepped foot in this metal box. Glad we got an opportunity to eat instead, if you can call this food. I'd figured you could fight us out, maybe take out the Headshaker in the confusion, do the Nie Clan a favor while getting a bit of your own back—”

“I wouldn’t hurt Nie Huisang, no matter how much I wanted to.”

Xue Yang raises an eyebrow. “Never?”

“I am not a murderer.”

“Murderer, killer, same thing.”

“We’ve been through this. It is not at all the same thing.”

Xue Yang makes a face and puts down his chopsticks. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll be right back.” He slips out of the room. Through the door Lan Xichen hears him sending the chamberlain out for different food, but he doesn’t pay attention to the actual words. He’s been here many times before, he knows this guest chamber like the back of his hand, but suddenly the room is unfamiliar. A flash of alarm, as if he can’t remember how he got here even though he can clearly remember the past two hours.

At least he thinks he does.

He lies down on the bed, taking deep, meditative breaths. Stares up at the ceiling. Familiar gray ceiling with familiar stone carvings, but the memory of when he last saw this ceiling is hazy. Hard thin mattress—was it always so hard?—“a warrior’s bed”—who had told him that?

A faint brush of memory: a shared meal—a war conference—a blade flashing beside his—but all that stands out is the sound of guqin music, played in duet.

A sensation of floating, of expanding, of being outside himself, reaching through the walls, feeling the wetness of the rain that has begun to fall—

He opens his eyes. He hadn’t realized they were closed. Xue Yang is just finishing up his meal, watching Lan Xichen with an almost worried expression he just manages to hide as Lan Xichen sits up.

“We leave in five minutes,” he tells him.

Xue Yang grins. “To the tomb?”

“To the tomb.”

* * * * * *

They fly out over the fortress walls.

“I counted a dozen sentries on the parapets,” says Xue Yang as they land. He returns Jiangzai to his qiankun sleeve. “They definitely saw us, despite the rain.”

“Your knocking out the chamberlain did not help matters.”

“He was in our way.”

“He was bringing the dessert you ordered.”

“He had it coming.” There’s a new bounce in Xue Yang’s step, as if he’s happy to be _ doing _ something, _ after _ something. If Lan Xichen didn’t know that there had been nothing but vinegar-water at supper, he’d think the delinquent cultivator had been bending the elbow too freely. “You should have seen the look on his face when I asked for extra honey for my dumplings. As if none of these musclebound Nie ever—”

“Xue Yang, we haven’t the time.”

They hadn’t flown very far, needing to preserve their spiritual energy for the booby-traps and ritual at the tomb. They hurry down the road, expecting guards to be following them at any moment, but the night is quiet save for the pattering rain.

“You do know the way, right?”

Lan Xichen nods. He knows where all the many Nie tombs are thanks to the many internments during and after the Sunshot Campaign, but he hadn’t known which one contained Nie Mingjue and A-Yao or he could have spared them the afternoon’s charade.

“The Headshaker, I feel, is someone I could get on with,” says Xue Yang, who seems to feel it his duty to fill any silence with conversation despite the fact that silence would serve them far better. “Squirrely little bastard, isn’t he? Never boring around him, I’d guess. Always something to laugh at.”

Lan Xichen ignores him. Barely even hears him. He’s outside himself again. He tries to bring himself back into his body, focusing on the drenching wetness chilling every inch of his skin and the muddy squelch beneath his feet as they cut through a hardscrabble little farm, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s bobbing above his body, watching a tall blue figure and smaller green-and-black figure slog side-by-side though the rain.

Without consciously deciding to, he embraces the feeling.

He’d spent the better part of a year like this. It’s familiar. Welcome. A cushioning cocoon of numbness.

And yet, still somehow sharp. Focused. Clear.

A part of him somehow knows that it’s a blessing, how a few hours in the Unclean Realm undid all of the changes of the past month. Knows that he needs the old version of himself to do the things that will need to be done to bring A-Yao back.

Besides, he’s happier this way, on some level.

It’s almost dawn when they arrive, drenched and shivering, at the tomb.

Outside the tomb are seven Nie guards, which explains why nobody has come after them.

“You!” Three of the guards converge at the sight of the intruders. “Oh, it is—begging your pardon, Zewu-jun—”

Lan Xichen reaches inside his qiankun pouch, removes his guqin, and blasts them into the tomb’s outer wall with a single arc of blue light that illuminates the falling rain like lightning.

Xue Yang nods approvingly at the three bodies lying prone at unsettling angles. “You tore through them like rice paper.”

“Captain! We heard—” Four more guards run up.

Four more guards flung into the wall with such force Lan Xichen has Xue Yang check to make sure none are dead.

Not that he cares. Nothing is real. Nothing matters.

But just in case.

“All breathing,” says Xue Yang. “Do you think you could teach me that technique? No?” He glances at the tomb door. “How about using it to open the door, then? Preferably without the blue light giving everyone and their great-aunt our location.”

Lan Xichen’s heart is pounding so hard it’s a miracle the countryside isn’t roused by its thunderous beat.

This is it. Inside is A-Yao.

His A-Yao.

Waiting for him to rescue him—

He summons the awful, wonderful energy swelling within him, focuses it, releases it through his guqin in an explosive blast of energy, rocking the thick stone door off its hinges.

Xue Yang grins delightedly. “I was wrong about you Lan,” he says. “What you lack in pizzazz you make up for in power.”

Lan Xichen strides in. Xue Yang follows, Jiangzai out and resting across both shoulders in a way that, if he’s not careful, might result in his severing the tendons in his shoulder.

Xue Yang takes a torch from a wrought-iron sconce on the wall and lights it with a touch of his finger, a trick he’d learned from the Wens. The light and warmth are welcome, but Lan Xichen is still soaking wet and chilled to the bone. The chill goes deeper than mere autumn coolness. It’s a chill he thought he’d gotten rid of but had in fact just burrowed deeper, to be excavated in the Unclean Realm.

That’s fine, though. He likes the cold. It keeps him awake. Keeps him on his toes, despite his detachment.

Sharp. Focused. Clear.

“No booby traps,” says Xue Yang as they step into a chamber a bit bigger than the Nie reception hall. “Do you think the little chipmunk lied to keep us out?”

“Undoubtedly. Lying is his specialty.”

“Same decorator as the Unclean Realm, I see. All gray stone and ugly monster carvings. At least the Unclean Realm doesn’t reek.”

Lan Xichen ignores the overwhelming musty smell. “There. This one.” He rests both hands on the lid of the sarcophagus. A faint hum can be felt through the thick stone. They had sealed off Nie Mingjue’s ghost, immobilized it, but he can still sense the power of the two spirits, locked in eternal battle. How metaphorical of a battle still remains to be seen. “What next?”

Xue Yang is pulling materials out of his qiankun sleeve. “First of all, we have to be prepared to fight a ghost once we open that coffin—”

“We are not fighting Nie Mingjue!”

“He’s not exactly going to want to sit down to tea, though if we had tea it might we worth a shot—”

“We immediately suppress him.”

“Not liberate? Xiao Xingchen was always keen on setting them at rest.” His tone is dismissive, but Lan Xichen senses the effort it takes to mention Xiao Xingchen so casually.

“His spirit is too far gone for that. The kindest thing would be to put it out of its misery.”

Xue Yang shrugs. “You’re the boss, Zewu-jun. Don’t mind me. I’ll work around you. Actually—” He bows, suddenly deferential “—I will need a drop or two of your blood.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t bother asking him what it’s for. Doesn’t matter at this point, as long as it can help.

With surprising delicacy, Xue Yang pricks Lan Xichen’s finger where it won’t interfere with using his flute, guqin, or sword.

“And now,” he says, removing something from his qiankun sleeve with a flourish, “we prepare the accommodations for our guest of honor.”

It’s the spirit-trapping pouch he’d given to Lan Xichen and long since taken back, its brown sides smooth and blank. As Lan Xichen watches, riveted, Xue Yang uses Lan Xichen’s blood to cover the bag in intricate, entirely foreign symbols.

Xue Yang hands it to Lan Xichen when he’s finished. “Just one moment; I need some...grass from outside. I’ll be back in a second.”

He lights another torch and leaves, returning soon with a handful of grass. He scatters it on the coffin and sets up the rest of the ritual, humming to himself, drawing an intricate array around the sarcophagus in red from a jar he has with him. Red paint, Lan Xichen would have assumed had he been paying even the slightest bit of attention to anything but the spirit-trapping pouch. After all, where would Xue Yang have found so much fresh blood?

“All right, then,” says Xue Yang, straightening up and rinsing his reddened hands off with water from his canteen. “Step away from the sarcophagus, Zewu-jun, if you please. We have work to do. I’ll need the pouch back, please. Thank you.” He waits until Lan Xichen is a safe distance away before putting his hands on the side of the sarcophagus lid. “Sword out,” he reminds Lan Xichen. “Or flute, or guqin, but don’t just stand there.”

Lan Xichen shakes himself out of his reverie. “Do you truly think he might attack?”

“I just know that that fan-waving little prick would rather torment your friend’s spirit than set his own brother’s spirit at rest. After a year of being confined in there like that—”

“It wasn’t that simple,” Lan Xichen has to admit. It had been explained to him once, the rationale for leaving both spirits like this, but he can’t remember the details right now.

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “I’m sure it isn’t. Now, places, everyone.”

Lan Xichen in an agony of suspense, hands shaking as he pulls Liebing from his qiankun pouch and puts it to his lips.

Xue Yang bites his finger and traces symbols on the sarcophagus in blood, breaking the seals.

Lan Xichen holds his breath.

Nothing happens.

Frowning, Xue Yang pushes the heavy stone lid off the sarcophagus.

Black smoke roars up from the sarcophagus, spinning furiously in a tight vortex. It rushes Xue Yang, flinging him into the wall before he can react.

Lan Xichen begins to play battle music.

Nie Mingjue is one of the angriest spirits he’s ever encountered. But though Lan Xichen is not the man he used to be, tonight he’s committed.

Sharp. Focused. Clear.

Xue Yang is back on his feet, Jiangzai drawn, but he’s smart enough to stay put as Lan Xichen plays.

He channels all of his remaining spiritual energy into Liebing, channels the affection he bears for the man the spirit had once been, channels his feelings for the man whose spirit this man is tormenting, and with the sense of something rupturing, Nie Mingjue’s spirit dissipates.

“I told you it was sheer spite, keeping him in there,” says Xue Yang, spitting blood. “If you could do it, anyone could.”

“Not everyone can do what I can.” Lan Xichen isn’t bragging; it’s simple fact. He glances over anxiously at Xue Yang, who stands looking down into the sarcophagus. “What now?”

Xue Yang turns away and draws unfamiliar symbols in the air.

The array glows red.

At the sight, Lan Xichen goes entirely numb. He’d swear he’s as faded as Nie Mingjue, as vague and amorphous as his birth name, Huan—“to dissipate”—a handful of vapor, a human-shaped patch of nothing so focused on Xue Yang’s next words that it’s lost all sense of self.

Xue Yang turns back to Lan Xichen. In his hand is the spirit pouch.

The symbols on the sides are glowing with a touch of the array’s eerie red light.

Grinning, he tosses it to Lan Xichen.

“He’s all yours,” he says.

* * * * *

Up Next: Xue Yang and Lan Xichen pay Chang Ping a friendly visit in a desperate bid to bring A-Yao back.

Or: Don’t try this at home, kids.

Chapter 6

[biscuitfam]

Identity Theft

Summary: You weren’t ready for change, but change came anyway in the most unimaginable way possible. You’ve seen him young, you’ve seen him old. However, him as a woman would be hardest to deal with now, especially when it comes to intimacy.

WC: 1,074

Warnings: none really, just some angst

A/N: it’s been a while since I’ve posted a fic. I’m finally done with HS and it feels so weird. I’m going to attempt to start writing more, hopefully. I have a few fics in the works right now! [5.16.20]

You stood nervously by the doorway leading to the winding halls, nails digging into the battered up wood and steel supports. The previously loose clothing on the once man seemed to slip and slide across the expanse of her shoulders and pant hems pool at her feet. This wasn’t something you saw coming, neither did he — well she saw coming.

It felt weird to say that she had become female at this point, however, the doctor had said before that it’s the genetic lottery. You don’t get to pick and choose what you get. If it was the Doctor’s way, her hair would be ginger. Slowly you moved towards her with hands grasping the metals bars and thick tears rolling down your cheeks in shock and anger. How could she? How could she take away the man you loved? Become someone you never thought? Of course, changing the face was normal..but this was sudden, too sudden.

Her hair framed her cheeks as she looked swiftly up with wild, fire-filled eyes, and for a second your heart stopped beating and face turner bright red. That look — it never failed to amaze.

She would never say it aloud. Never. Why should she say it aloud when you looked happy and as fine as ever? She watches from the sideline while taking on a leadership role, leading the team through never-ending adventures and misfortunes in “holidays”. Never would she say it aloud that she wished she was her younger self, her previous incarnations. Truth be told — she was envious. Is envious. Always has been envious of her younger selves. The confidence, charm, and hope that never seemed to die out in her previous pretty boy faces.

The Doctor let out a huff and swung her booted feet out the doors and into the expanse of space, leaning back on small palms. The one thing that did stay constant, however, was the colors of space. It’s the one constant that has been there as of late. Everything had been so—off. Every time you came near her, she backed away. Every time she came near you, you felt as though she was doing it from guilt. The looks you gave her radiated throughout her soul and crushed her from the inside out. Suffocating her like drowning.

The creek of metal made the Timelord jump slightly, and grasp the metal railing tightly for support as she turned. Her eyes met yours from across the room and her lips pressed tightly. She’s loved you for so long, her other constant. Truth be told — the changing of faces had been rough before, but never this bad. It was subtle changes at first, like lack of kisses, but she assumed you weren’t feeling well. Lack of hand-holding, possibly sweaty palms? She shook her head bitterly, and looked away from where you stood across the room. Her hands fold tightly back into her lap completely white-knuckled and shaking with fear. 

She feared you would leave her.

She wasn’t exactly the man she used to be, or a man at all.

“ I’m still him. I’m still me. I haven’t changed completely. Change is good, remember? Change. I-I love change,” She groaned and stood from the floor, closed the doors, and leaned against them now facing you. 

Her face was beet red, puffy, and lined with tear tracks. A sharp pang consumed your lungs and drowned you in a fiery sea of guilt as her eyes locked onto yours. Those eyes. Tired, longing, and full of wanderlust. The Doctor made her way up the ramp, towards you, and stood before you with an outstretched hand slowly inching towards your temple. Her deep eyes locked with yours for reassurance. The small gesture made you feel at home as her fingers connected and she projected herself into your mind. A familiar, sweet, sentimental touch.

—

" Goodnight, Tony! Don’t forget to lock up.” You called back as you slipped on your jacket and left the building, heading down the snow and ice-slicked sidewalks towards the complex. While not a far walk, it was enough to make you anxious. The street became increasingly darker the further you walked.

The street had become increasingly dark to the point of semi blindness when you ran into him. The tall man clad in pinstripes, perfectly shaped hair and 70s style converse to top it off. Your first Doctor. He picked up your drop keys and dropped them back into the placed them back into your hands.

—

Your second Doctor was all bowties and a smile that shined brightly despite the aging eyes. The face you had confessed your feelings for, and fell desperately in love with. At this point you had been traveling with the Doctor for quite some time, but this face had begun to fad too and was soon replaced with the “old bat” that you liked to refer him as and he would be as cocky as ever back at you.

It always hurt to see one of the Doctor’s faces go. It felt as if a part of him was disappearing forever. You opened your eyes slowly and looked at the woman who seemed to be searching for you for a response. Her eyes shined the same way though as they did in all her past faces. The same look. The same depth. The same history.

“ I’m sorry I left you alone when you needed me most, Doctor. I know I can’t ever make up for letting you feel abandoned, but-“ You were caught off guard as the woman pressed herself against you in an attempt for bodily contact. A flood of warmth and dread flooded your system. Your eyes burned from the self-hatred filled tears you’ve been holding back.

She needed you more than you thought.

It wasn’t fair to the Doctor at all with being upset over something she couldn’t control.

“ I love you, Doctor. I’m never going to leave you.”

She never stole the identity of the person you fell in love with. This just happened to be another face, just slightly different. However, her love and heart were completely the same — maybe even expanded some, too.

“ I love you too, you twat,” She smirked slightly before pulling away from you and running towards the console, fiddling with some searches before bouncing back to face you, “ So, where to next?”

[moonscarsandstars]

guess who’s starting a two (maybe three?) part fic on tumblr despite my multiple WIPs screaming at me from their graves? this gal! 

Prompt: “Hate me all you want. I know I’m right.”

tw; suicidal thoughts, self-hatred, depressing thoughts.

~~~

The moon was just a silver thread away from full, like a crystal orb hanging in the sky, waiting to unleash its power over him.

Remus hugged his knees tighter, trying to erase that sinking feeling that just kept worsening.

Something was prickling under Remus’s skin. Tiny blades were carving their way through streams of blood flowing through him so heavily that it made him sick. The sickness was pooling in his stomach, hitting him in waves.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. 

The guilt was eating him up from within. Sirius was peacefully sleeping on the other side of the dorm. Something inside Remus missed the warmth of Sirius’s body next to his. But if Sirius knew what was good for him, it’d be one of the last times they’d ever wake up in the same room. No matter what Sirius and James kept trying to convince him, he knew better.

Remus knew he wouldn’t survive this war.

Not as a half-blood werewolf.

But what Sirius didn’t understand was, there was a reason he wanted to end all they had the second they stepped out of the castle, the second the trace was broken, the second they were finally exposed to this war.

It wasn’t self pity, nowhere near it. It was being wise, and peacefully ending what Remus didn’t want to shatter into pieces one day.

Remus loved Sirius more than he loved himself. Sirius had been there to hold the shards of Remus when he was falling apart, crashing to the ground. Sirius had been there to keep away the ghosts that surrounded him, always gaining on him at the worst possible moments. Sirius had healed the wounds Remus carved unto himself, with just the soft touch of his fingers.

Remus would loathe himself if he dragged down an angel like Sirius to the depths he belonged to.

But an angel like Sirius refused to leave. Sirius didn’t know how dark this path would lead to be. 

Remus knew Sirius would never understand. 

But he wasn’t going to give him a chance to.

He reached for his wand, a quill, and tore a piece of parchment. The words came easily to him, flowing through like a river.

It was almost like cleansing himself of the thoughts, the feelings, almost like washing them away. Though there was still something he couldn’t name, still tugging at his heart. A voice he suppressed deep inside, screaming not to do it.

But as Remus left the note by his by the bedside opposite him, he was overcome with the sudden urge to run.

To run as far away from here as he could, because he didn’t want to see Sirius wake up. He didn’t want to see Sirius’s face fall, as his eyes skimmed over the words. He didn’t want to hear Sirius screaming that he’d had enough.

So Remus ran as far as he could, til he couldn’t breathe.

~~~

Sirius’s dreams were submerged by the sound of muffled footsteps. He wearily sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. And though every inch of him was being dragged back to a blissful state of sleep, his stomach twisted in a way that kept him awake.

He didn’t know what it was that made him so uncomfortable, but whatever it was, it twisted his insides and pulled at his heart in a way that made him sick.

Feeling his way around, Sirius climbed out of the bed, walking silently, only on tiptoes, towards Remus’s bed. 

Remus was really the only one, besides Euphemia, who knew how to cal Sirius down. Especially when flashbacks and panic attacks struck him, or he was drowning in one of his nightmares again. Remus had always been the light at the end of the tunnel.

He approached Remus’s bed, which was on the other side of the dorm, and a small wave of comfort fell over him.

But Sirius didn’t know why his heart dropped dead when he saw in the faded moonlight that Remus’s bed was empty. It was Sirius was being submerged in icy water, and he was struggling to reach the surface. He needed to know where Remus was. The overwhelming feeling that he could stop something bad from happening to him blurred everything else out.

Sirius struggled on his shoes, and grasped his wand from his bedside table, but felt a slip of paper under it.

He blindly reached for the paper that had fallen on the floor, and once he’d retrieved it, muttered a lumos, illuminating the hastily scrawled words in Remus’s messy cursive.

Sirius almost screamed.

Dear Sirius,

Trust me, this wasn’t easy to write. I swear, if there was another way, if there was another universe, you and I would be sailing through it together.

But it isn’t like that. 

You have no idea what’s going to happen to me when we leave Hogwarts. Yes, I know we’ve had this discussion countless times before, but you just don’t understand. I know you keep saying we’ll work through this war together, but I’d only be dragging you down from your chance to get out of this alive.

If anything happened to you from my side, I’d loathe myself forever. I can’t have that risk lingering over our relationship.

Dumbledore has talked to me about plans. Plans he had. Plans that are absolutely vital for our side to triumph. I’m not going to tell you, because I know you’d disagree. All I’m going to tell you is, I’m not going to make it out alive.

Sirius, I’m not going to make it out of this war alive.

I’m so sorry, but I’m going to spare you the pain. We’re over. You heard that? I’m breaking up with you. 

Please, for my sake, sleep with as many people as you’d like, go to every bar in the country, go meet someone who’ll fill your heart with as much love as I wish I could. Just don’t let your thoughts linger on me.

I can’t help it Sirius.

I know this may be way too forward, and many might say I’m too young to say this, but, you’d better know.

I love you.

It’s true. And I can’t hold on to that glimmer of hope that sometimes arises. So goodbye, I suppose.

Remus.

[danurso]

Taming a beast

Today was a good day, Weiss finally managed to unpack everything at her new home, placing all of her belongings on their new places. Winter was also coming to visit in just a few hours for dinner and Weiss had given herself the task of making Winter the best dinner she ever had. Weiss wasn't really a great cook but luckily for her, Jaune and Ren were, and they didn't hesitate to help her to hone her cooking skills.

So now she was standing in her new kitchen, checking the tray in the oven and hoping that what she was preparing for dinner could impress not only her sister, but her boyfriend as well.

Weiss: *sighs, taking off her kitchen gloves and wiping a few drops of sweat from her forehead* okay, i think a few more minutes is enough. Now all i have to do is wait. *takes off her apron and walks to the living room, sitting on the couch and pulling out her scroll.*

Weiss: *staring at her wallpaper, a picture of her in a light blue dress during yang and jaune's marriage, with her boyfriend on a suit holding her close* . . . *sighs* i wonder how long until you come home.

As if for a cue, she heard the door of her home opening and then being slammed shut, the sound was quickly followed by a few footsteps coming in the direction of the living room.

Weiss: *looks back at the doorway as a red haired man walks in* hi adam.

Adam: *ignores her with a scowl, walking to the table and putting down his bags*

Weiss: *gets up and walks to him* adam?

Adam: *finishes putting down his stuff, placing both hands on the table and taking a deep breath* hey.

Weiss: are you okay?

Adam: *rummaging through his stuff* yeah.

Weiss: what are you doing?

Adam: nothing. *pulls out his sword, walking to the door right after*

Weiss: *stands on his way with crossed arms*

Adam: get out of my way weiss.

Weiss: where are you going? And why do you need your sword?

Adam: it doesn't matter.

Weiss: i think it does, can you tell me?

Adam: *clenches jaw* you don't need to know, now get out of my way.

Weiss: yes i do need to now, now tell me or i'm not letting you through this door.

Adam: just get out of my way!!

Weiss: no.

Adam: and why not!? Do you think i'm gonna go after a group of innocent people too!? You think i'm gonna attack humans mindlessly!? You think i'm gonna go on a rampage like an wild angry animal like them!?

Weiss: *staring into his eyes* . . .you do know that's not what i'm thinking right?

Adam: *looks away, taking deep breaths*

Weiss: adam, what happened?

Adam: nothing, i just need to go out and hunt some grimm, that's all. Can you let me by now?

Weiss: only when you tell me what got you so angry.

Adam: im not angry.

Weiss: then why did you just shouted like that?

Adam: did someone already told you that you ask too many questions?

Weiss: try being ruby's partner for six years and you'll end up just like me. now, care to tell me what happened?

Adam: nothing, it's just been a rough week and i have a lot of steam to let out.

Weiss: does it has anything to do with the meeting?

Adam flinched as his jaw clenched, Weiss didn't needed an answer to know she was right.

It's been a tough road for adam since he turned to a new leaf, most humans hated him everything he did, as did most of the faunus. Nowadays he worked with blake, both to help Blake to archive equality and to show to the others that he isn't the same Adam from the past.

Unfortunately, most people didn't saw adam how weiss did, they didn't knew that he had changed since his killer days. Yes, most of his personality was the same and he sometimes gets as scary as his old self, but he doesn't kill anymore and now at least he's fighting on the good side, even if most people didn't wanted to see that.

Weiss: thought so. Care to tell me what happened there?

Adam: for the last time, nothing-

Weiss: if you don't tell me i'll call blake, or even better sun, you know how loose his tongue is, right?

Adam: . . .

Weiss: so, who's going to tell me what really happened?

Adam: . . . *sighs*

Weiss: so?

Adam: . . .they beat me. . .until i could barely hold myself on my feet.

Weiss: *eyes wide* what!? How!?

Adam: i went to the conference with blake, sun and ilia, it was the big day for us, all of our fighting finally gave results and on the next day we would sign the papers along with the council to make so every faunus had the exact same rights as humans, that was supposed to be a good thing but of course, to the humans it wasn't.

Weiss: . . .

Adam: *hands clenched into fists* from the moment we stepped out of the bullhead to the moment we got back to it, we were always surrounded by racist bastards who kept insulting us without a rest.

Weiss: i thought you didn't bothered with insults anymore.

Adam: and i don't, mostly, but apparently being me walking down that bullhead made things much worse, they kept throwing rocks at me, calling me a murderer, telling me to die and how they wanted to kill me. . .

Weiss: a-adam, i. . .

Adam: *jaw clenches* but that wasn't all of course, it would be too easy if it was.

Weiss: what happened?

Adam: at night, one day before signing the treaty, one of the council members called me for a private talk, but when i got there he along with other six people ambushed me. . .they kept beating me while throwing every insult they could think on.

Weiss: *shocked* a-and what did you do?

Adam: nothing, i just took the beating without fighting back.

Weiss: but why!?

Adam: because if i fought back and harmed not only humans but a member of the council, the treaty would probably be revoked and all we fought until now would be for nothing!!!

Weiss: . . .

Adam: *looking away with a scowl* i'm tired of these damn humans! All we're doing is fighting to be seen and treated as equals! But they insist that our place is under their damn boots! I try to change for the better and fight on the right side but the more i fight the more i see how pointless that is!! *grip tightens on his sword* in days like this all i can think about is to go after every single of those bastards and ki-

Weiss: adam!!

Adam: WHAT!?

Adam snapped back at weiss, staring directly her. He honestly expected her to be scared or disgusted with him, but all he could see in her eyes was worry and concern, she was giving him a serious look but her eyes still told him what she was really thinking.

Weiss: are you listening to what you're saying? You're not like that anymore adam.

Adam: how are you so sure of that!? I'm trying my best to change but by the end of the day i'll always be the same person everyone is afraid of! a murderer! a killer!! A DAMN MONSTER!!!

Weiss: you are not a monster.

Adam: why are you so sure!? Everyone sees me as a monster! For all i know i can wake up one day alone because you ran away from me! From this worthless monster everyone hates!!

Adam shouted once more, he was angry, after spending a whole week being target of hatred from humans weiss honestly could blame him, nor could she blame him for not being able to listen to her at the moment, yet, she needed to deliver her message, and if he wasn't going to listen her when she's talking, she would make him listen to her in a different way.

And so, weiss snatched adam's sword from his hand while ignoring his protests, he tried to take it back but she held his hand and dragged him to the couch.

Adam: what the hell are you doing!?

Weiss: just come with me and stop complaining.

Adam: weiss-

Weiss: if you don't wanna listen what i'm saying, at least try to listen to this. *sits down on the couch, pulling him along and resting his head on her lap.*

Adam: just what are you planning to do now? Just let me go already!

Weiss: . . . *slowly inhales and then exhales*

Adam: weiss?

Weiss: Hush your cries 🎶

Close your eyes

Stay with me

Let's just dream

Quietly

Of what might be

Calm your fear

I'll be near

To you, I'll cling

Rest, my friend

Time can mend

Many things 🎶

Adam: why are you singing all of a sudden?

Weiss: I don't know the answers 🎶

Tomorrow's still unknown

But I can make this promise

You won't be alone 🎶

Adam: weiss, what-

Weiss: *stroking his hair* I don't know where we should go 🎶

Just feeling farther from our goal

I don't know what path we will be shown

But I know that when I'm with you I'm at home

Yes, I know that when I'm with you I'm at home 🎶

Adam: *looks away* you're crazy.

Weiss: There's a quiet place 🎶

In my embrace

A haven of safety where

I'll dry your tears

Shelter here

In my care 🎶

Adam: *slowly looking back at her*

Weiss: But even when we stumble 🎶

And someday when we fall

What I will remember

That I had you through it all 🎶

Adam: . . . 

Weiss: I don't know where we should go 🎶

Just feeling farther from our goal

I don't know what path we will be shown

But I know that when I'm with you I'm at home

Yes, I know that when I'm with you I'm at home. . . 🎶

Adam: *silently staring at her angelic face*

Weiss: Yes, I know that when I'm with you I'm at home. 🎶

At the end of the song, adam was still silently staring at her face. He might not have realized but while she sang to him his expression slowly softened, and the precious scowl he was carrying was nowhere to be seen anymore, all there was left now was a calm expression, with admiring eyes locked on the white haired angel stroking his hair.

Weiss: so, feeling better?

Adam: . . .maybe.

Weiss: *with a small smile* i think that's good enough for me.

*plim*

Weiss: now if you excuse me, i need to go see the oven. *gets up, walking to the kitchen.*

Adam: . . . *staring as she leaves*

. . .

Weiss: *humming while taking the tray out of the oven*

Adam: *walks in* . . .

Weiss: *with her back turned to him and putting some spices on the tray*

Adam: weiss?

Weiss: yes?

Adam: how. . .how did you do that?

Weiss: how did i do what?

Adam: you know what i'm talking about. Five minutes ago all i wanted was to pounce at the throat of the first human i saw but now i don't care about that anymore, i'm a lot calmer actually. How did you do that?

Weiss: well, i just saw somewhere that music can help to calm down wild animals.

Adam: *narrowing his eyes* . . .did you just called me an animal.

Weiss: *chuckles shortly while placing the tray back in the oven* i called you wild you dork.

Adam: . . .can't say anything about that.

Weiss: yeah, you can't, because you're a wild dork. I know a lot people keep saying bad things about you because they still see the old adam instead of the new one, but i'm not one of the peoples *turns back to him* they might see you as a monster but i know better, and as long as you need me i'll be here for you, so stop thinking about yourself as a monster, you're clearly not one anymore.

Adam: i know. . . *sigh* thank you weiss. And sorry for screaming at you earlier.

Weiss: its okay, no need to thank me, I'm in a great mood since winter is coming to visit.

Adam: . . .

Weiss: Oh, but just so you know, if you ever shout like that to me again. *with a scary smile* i'll show you what a real monster looks like, understood?

Adam: *shivers* y-yeah, understood.

Weiss: good, now come here and give it a taste.

Adam: okay *tasting her food* . . .it's good, when did you learned how to cook?

Weiss: i've been getting classes from jaune and ren, i can't always rely on you to cook for us, specially now that you're always so busier than normal.

Adam: you know i don't mind cooking for us, right?

Weiss: i know, *facing him again* but what's wrong with a girl wanting to cook for her sister and her boyfriend?

Adam: nothing. *with a small grin* you never cease to surprise me snowball.

Weiss: good to know that i don't bore you.

Adam: you never did, life is never boring with you around.

Weiss: i could say the same, although i'm not very fond of the excitement you usually bring me.

Adam: really? Because i can't remember you complaining about it that much, specially when we invaded your father's office just to have se-

Weiss: and thaaaaat's enough! Why don't we forget about the past for now and focus on the present? *turns around and goes back to cooking*

Adam: agreed. *walks closer and hugs her waist from behind* why focus on the past when i have you here right now?

Weiss: *pink* a-adam, now is not the time for thIS!

Adam: *kissing her neck*

Weiss: w-wait *breaks free and turns around* winter is going to arrive in one hour and i still-mhmn.

Adam: *pulls her into a kiss*

Weiss: *melting on his arms*

Adam: *lifts weiss, placing her on the table and breaking the kiss* cooking can wait, i've been out for a week and all i can think right now is making up for the lost time.

Weiss: *red* . . .f-fine, but lets do it quickly, okay?

Adam: not making any promises. *pulls her into another kiss*

Weiss: *wraps her arms around his neck and starts making out heatedly with him*

Bônus:

*an hour later*

Winter: *knocks on the door*

Weiss: h-hey, wait! Stop!

Winter: weiss?

Weiss: let me go! Stop!

Winter: *pulls out her saber and kicks door open* weiss! Are you okay-

Weiss: *naked with a towel around her torso and giggling*

Adam: *naked with a towel around his waist and holding weiss from behind while nibbling her neck*

Winter: . . .can someone tell me what is happening?

Weiss: *freezes* o-oh my god, winter!?

Adam: . . .

Weiss: i can explain!

Winter: . . .i'm not sure if i want or even need an explanation.

Weiss: w-we're just-

Adam: about to go for round four, so if you excuse us. *goes back to bitting weiss' neck*

Weiss: *red* a-adam!!

Winter: i understand, i'll be back in half an hour. *leaves*

Weiss: winter, w-wait!

Adam: you heard her, we still have half an hour left. *goes back to kissing her neck.

Weiss: w-wait, mhmn, stop it already you dork!

Adam: *grinning* no.

*outside*

Winter: *sigh* out of every single man in the world it had to be him, why did it had to be him?

*plim*

Winter: *pulls out her scroll and reads a message*

'after you're done with your sister i'll be waiting at your ap'

-Q

Winter: *taps on the attachment, opening a image of a grinning shirtless qrow who likely just came out of her bath.*

Winter: *red* damn you bad boys! why are you so effective on schnees!? damn you all!!

[onepdumpsterfire]

Warning: The characters will mostly be ooc and for the most part will not have the same background as in the anime/manga. The reader’s age will be above consent; the exact number is up to you.

Disclaimer: These stories are based ‘loosely’ on the game Obey me shall we date. The major stuff will be the same, but here and there the story will be changed or embellished. It is just an AU and I do not own the game the characters, from both One Piece or Obey Me, nor do I own One Piece in general. It would be cool though…

Time is a Delicate Thing

Devildom!AU

(pt16/?)

Various Characters X Reader

When you first arrived to the past you stumbled out of Kid’s closet, quickly taking cover from the five demon brothers you’d seen in the room on your way down to the floor. They were talking about earlier this day when they decided to disappear into a fake game as a ploy to get you to have a one-on-one with Sabo. 

It felt weird being back in time. Not in a physical sense, it was more mentally. Knowing that you weren’t in your original time, crouching down behind an unfinished project as you listen in on a conversation you would have never heard if it wasn’t for what happened later on this day.

You ducked around the room from one place to another as they moved, attempting to avoid detection. Eventually, though, the owner of the room did find you, releasing a loud and ‘you will totally not mention this again’ screech. “What are you doing here, Y/n? You’re supposed to be with Sabo right now!” Shocked by your sudden appearance, they wondered how they could have been so careless. Maybe you had seen one of them slip away? Ace, probably? He was the last one to disappear before you were left alone with Sabo. 

You eagerly agreed with their theory, encouraging them to let you go through with their plan. “It’s the perfect opportunity to have a talk with Sabo.” You said, already rushing out of the room to go ‘find Sabo’.

Out in the hallway, you still couldn’t get away from the troublesome past. Two voices made their way down the hall. It was the past you and Sabo’s, both of you were discussing the brothers’ disappearances. Giving an exasperated sigh, you ran down the hall to get away from your past self and Sabo. 

Your thoughts bounced around as you tried to think of a room you two didn’t go near earlier that day. Practically flying up the stairs to the third floor until you made an abrupt stop in front of a door you couldn’t quite remember ever seeing. With no time to think, you rushed into the room as your past self walked up the stairs.

On the other side of the unknown door, there was a room you seemed to recognize faintly. It was an inkling of a memory only, though. You hadn’t been in here before but there was a sense of familiarity wrapping itself around you making you feel at home.

A knock on the door startled you from your serened state. The person from the other end didn’t even give you the chance to collect yourself before barging in. “I knew I’d find you here.” It was Law who’d come in, looking relieved to find you. “Isn’t Zoro with you? He said he was coming over. Maybe he got lost along the way?” That was weird. If this was the past, then why would Zoro be outside the attic? A pit was growing in your stomach, something feels off about this time. It’s like it wasn’t you he was speaking to, but he seemed to notice you just fine. There was no mistake in what he said. You’ve met Zoro in this time, but it wasn’t your memory. It didn’t even feel like you were in your own body; just a disembodied being floating right above where you should have been standing.

Law declared he’d help you find Zoro and left the room, not sparing your stunned, immobile body a second glance. 

You willed your out of body experience to end by moving your weighed down legs to take a step. It felt like trying to pull yourself out of quicksand. The seconds it took for you to reach the open door felt like hours, but alas you reached the entryway, quickly closing it behind you as you exited the out of body room and returned inside your own. You looked around the hall you stood in, cod sweat beading on your forehead. You had no other clues to find Zoro in this warped time; but if he was running loose around one of these memories the attic was the safest bet to the time you were trying to find.

An argument spilled down the staircase that leads to the attic, echoing in the vacant hall. Curiously, you eavesdropped into the argument, which sounded like Sabo and Zoro going back and forth about the former’s imprisonment. Zoro shouted at Sabo about how he'd changed. About how the old him would have never been as pathetic as to let someone control him like this. 

Sabo paid him no mid, throwing a comment about how he’d changed too over his shoulder as he came down the stairs. You dashed towards the spandrel to hide from him, sneaking up the stairs after you thought it safe to come out. 

Zoro called out from the room he was locked in, pleaded for sabo to reconsider what he was doing before falling silent. When you neared the door he was no longer right beside it, rather splayed out on the bed taking a nap. Was this a different time? The one you were looking for, you hoped.

You touched the bars that acted as a door, caging the room. The magic Sabo used on them wasn’t as strong as you remember, it just gave away with one small push...Was it you who opened the door when Zoro was released? That can’t be right, you only had five pacts. Had you missed the culprit you were looking for? Or was it really just a mistake Sabo had made?

You walked over to him, waking up a very confused Zoro. He asked how you got in here, but then he saw the opened door and stopped himself from further questioning you... He’s... free 

HE’S FREE!

“You did it! You actually did it,” Zoro shot up from the bed, barreling to meet you by the door with a plastered smile, “I didn’t think a weak human could pull it off, but you actually...” He suspired, making a spall pin in excitement.

 How ironic, to be saved by the one thing he wanted to destroy. “Sabo and Shanks could have never imagined THIS would happen. “I can now go and achieve what I set out to do, thank you for this.” Zoro opened his arms, a dark tint forming in his eyes. “Here, let me show you how grateful I am.” You backed away from him, not liking the way he was looking at you. It was maniacal, a stare full of hatred and elation. 

“It’s rude to not accept someone’s gratitude, Y/n.” He spat his words out like venom. Horns sprouted from his head as a ruthless air came round him, just like his hands did around your neck. Your face was painted in terror as you clawed at his hands, only succeeding in making his grip tighten on you. Your head buzzed from the dual force of his hold and the smothering pressure from his emanating power. 

“AhaHahAHa you should see your face right now! It’s so,” Zoro pulled you up to your tiptoes so you were leveled with him, “Pathetic.” Your neck strained as it tried to keep the weight of your body from snapping it in half. “Don’t blame me for tricking you, blame yourself for being so foolish.” Your hands went slack beside you. Your body didn’t have enough strength to keep resisting the cold, static-like feeling that was overtaking you, drowning out his voice. “But don’t worry, I won’t kill you. I want you to see the destruction of your world.” He squeezed your neck harder, eyes filled with glee that turned sour with his last words to you. “But if you get in my way, I’ll make sure to leave your body unrecognizable.” Zoro dropped you on the floor, not caring to stick back and see if he’d actually left you half-alive.

-

There it was again, the out of body feeling from before. Except this time you couldn’t see anything anywhere. You couldn’t even see yourself. You were just an out of body spirit that floated in complete nothingness. It would have been more comforting if where you were at had a discernible color; a pure black of death or a brilliant and blinding white of afterlife, but there was nothing. You couldn’t make out what it was supposed to be, it just WAS. It existed without existing. It was nothingness, but it enveloped you like it was everything. You couldn’t even say that it was blank or empty because the words entailed that there could be a something in this nothingness. You weren’t even here, yet your disembodied existence floated in and was what surrounded you. This place was a juxtaposition and a contradiction on its own.

Before you could give yourself a migraine by thinking about this, a voice called out to you. There was someone else here. But they weren’t here, there was no here. It was just the void, it was just you.

“Y/n,” the voice calls out again, “you have to wake up and help them, please.” You can’t even turn to try and look for the person; you already had an eagle’s eye view to the vastless nothing in all directions. “Who are you- where are we?” 

“Don’t worry about that. Just know that my name is Kuina, and I’m worried about my brothers, especially Zoro.” The voice was familiar, but in a way that you would never be able to guess. “After my death, I remembered who I was. I forgot my way back to the Celestial Realm, but luckily I was able to stay with them.” Her voice grew quiet and melancholic, “watched over them… but now Zoro is being hot-headed again. Y/n,” she pleaded, “help them, please.”

You must have really had a streak of stupidity because you could just agree. There was something that drew you to her; made her feel like an old trusted friend. Even after what Zoro did to you, what he is going to do to Earth… You still agreed, for her. “...Okay... but first, why me?” 

“That’s because you’re my-” she was getting cut off as you started to regain consciousness. “That’s why-” a sliver of color appeared and disappeared before you. “So please, if y-” Blurry light plagued your vision; finally cutting her off completely.

You laid on the floor, a headache threatening to make your head explode. Gathering yourself with a few deep breaths, you forced yourself to look for the danger that your body wanted to ignore.

You found it in the form of arguing. Walking closer, you saw a gory sight that you wished would have never been ingrained in your memories. Kid sat on the floor, a bloody mess in front of him and the others circling around him. 

“Y/n, stay with me!” Kid shouted over the others, holding on to your cracked skull that threatened to spill your brain. The hit past you had taken was too hard, there was no way you could have survived that, yet a trembling hand slowly came up just to fall back down 

Zoro laughed at the weak display, unaware that who he’d left battered and broken wasn’t the you he had talked to up in the attic. “Zoro, how could you do this?!” Luffy yelled at him with balled fists at his side, he didn’t know how to feel right now. Zoro was in the human realm and suddenly he’s just here and he’s hurt you. 

The real you still stood atop the stairs, watching in on their woe. You should leave, you needed to. Benn said that you shouldn’t be seen, and yet that’s all you’ve done since you got here… But you couldn’t just leave them to suffer like this. Kid and Luffy were freaking out, Law and Sanji were screaming at everything they could, and Ace and Sabo looked like they were gonna explode!

You carefully went down the stairs so as to not startle them in their ongoing clamor. On the last step, you could finally get the full view of your beaten and bruised body. A milky white bone protruding from your arm, dripping with your blood. Your skull bashed in on one side with only Kid’s hand as a bandage to hold it in place. A leg bent in too many different angles for it to be normal. Labored and gurgled breathing wheezed out of your blood filled throat. The gory sight had you stunned in place.

The brothers’ loud gasps were what brought you back from your disassociated state. “Huh?! What’s going on?” Law looked at you flabbergasted, “how can this be?” Everyone was just as confused, giving their own variations of surprise.

“You were supposed to be dead!” Zoro lunged at you.

“No, wait! Kuina, she-”

“Don’t you dare say her name, human! You don’t have the right!” He shoved you down. “She-” you spluttered out blood, “ li-ived happily as a human!” You put your hands up, bracing for his next blow but it never came. “What.. what do you mean?”

You explained to them all that you had heard from the other Sabo. Kuina’s death, his pledge of loyalty, why he had to lock Zoro in the attic until things blew over. Your ‘’far fetched story only seemed more real when the past you disappeared in Kid’s arms.

“They uh… they can’t…Sabo?” They all looked at their big brother for guidance. It was like watching little kids look at their parent, hoping they’d provide clarity for their uncertainty. “... It’s true, what they said,” Sabo hesitantly confirmed, “How do you know that?” 

“Kuina, she-”

“Don’t lie to me! There’s no way she could have,” His confusion was making his words bite, “Who are you really?”

“I can answer that.” You all turn to see Shanks entering the house with Benn in tow. “What they say isn’t a lie.” Shanks gestures at Benn, “I had his look into Y/n ancestry because something wasn’t adding up.”

“It appears that Y/n is a descendant of Kuina’s.”

That part did catch you off guard. Was that what she wanted to tell you when you asked why’d she picked you when you were passed out? A sharp pain made you grab at your head almost like Kid did with your dying body earlier. The throbbing increased until your eyes rolled back and you could see a vision. A time long passed, a memory that belonged to someone else. A promise etched itself into your brain. “No matter how far apart we may be, or how much time passes, even if you don’t remember who you are someday. I will never forget you. I hope you find happiness in your new life. I love you Kuina.” Aline of blood leaked out of your nose as you came back to your senses.

“Those words…. They were the last thing I told Kuina before she was taken away…. How do you know them?” Sabo was once again shocked into silence.

Shanks filled in the missing pieces. Kuina was an angel before being turned into a human, some of her powers must have stayed. A residue of them must have passed down from generation to generation until they got to you. With the limited power Kuina still had, she must have passed on some of her memories to you.

“... Kuina…” Sabo was taking in everything he’d heard. “Kuina...!” He rushed at you, enveloping you in a hug, the others soon doing the same.

Zoro stood back, not wanting to believe what he’d heard. It can’t be. It was too good to be true. He could believe that Kuina was reborn as a human but you, who so happens to be her descendant, manages to get chosen for the exchange program. It just…. 

“Kuina…” no matter how much he wanted to say it wasn’t true, deep down he wanted to believe too. That his sister lived as happily as they said she did. That she somehow managed to hold on until she made it back to them. “...Kuina” He lowered his heartbroken and guilt-ridden face. He didn’t want to look at you after what he’d done.

“Zoro, it’s okay,” you pulled yourself away from the embraces of the brothers. “It’s not. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been so interested in humans, Kuina would have never-” a knot caught itself in the back of his throat. 

“...Zoro… I didn’t know you felt that way…” Sabo neared him, “it wasn’t your fault. I wish I’d told you that sooner.” Those were the exact words Zoro needed to hear. After all these years, all the guilt that ate away at him. 

He raised his head, finally ready to look you both in the eye, a tired smile spreading on his face. He feels a little bit lighter than he did before. “Thank you.”

*MC gets told one rule to follow. Proceeds to break said rule.*

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 27/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Ben Solo struggled to suppress the trembling of his hands. He could feel himself cracking under the pressure, gripping onto a fragile equilibrium that inched closer to a meltdown with every passing second.

Syed Ren had already disappeared, nothing but radio silence on her end. No one knew when she would reappear but he already felt like the horsemen of the apocalypse were closing in.

He performed the concert with the certainty that it would be his last. At best, Snoke would assure he did nothing but paperwork for the rest of his days. Worse yet, he would be exiled, or terminated. For someone who had always been the wolf, it felt eerie to suddenly become the prey.

Finally, he spotted Rey in the hall. She was beautiful, all dressed up for the occasion.

He managed to gaze at her through the crowd. Was she here in response to his text message? He had promised her a backstage pass but in light of all they had transpired he wouldn’t dare put her in the eye of the storm. She was more secure where she stood, in the middle of the crowd, in the pit. Skylar had done his job perfectly.

Even from a distance, it was obvious that she was furious. Was Skylar too hard on her, or was it something else? She was clearly looking for a confrontation, if “we need to talk” was anything to go by.

Had she realized that he had stolen her phone and gone through her contacts? He knew that Syed Ren was capable of anything, and with someone like her on the loose, there was no telling what would happen. The uncertainly killed him inside. How could he possibly answer her when he didn’t even know what she wanted?

On stage, he used up every last drop of his being. He screamed his rage and his hatred for his tormentors, his resentment for his parents, and all of the self-loathing that he had felt inside. But above all... thanks to the steadfast support of five capable musicians who were able to improvise anything, he finally sang of his  longing for a young English woman with brilliant hazel eyes who had taken his life by storm.

This girl would be the death of him.

It was like she had unleashed the elements against him, first Syed, then Hux and Snoke. She had upended his life and made a pariah of him...but he didn’t regret crossing paths with her. It in was worth the trouble. The smell of her hair and the taste of her skin were worth all the sacrifice.

He was aware he was screwing up his life. He was aware of it, and he didn't regret anything...but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared to death.

After the show, he separated from the others. Shakti, Skylar, Kelsi, Tyra and Saul had put away their instruments, sharing a few beers before finally leaving the venue in two cars to rendezvous at the hotel.

He was alone in the empty concert hall when his phone vibrated.

He picked up.

“Kylo Ren.”

It was Syed.

“Congratulations on the concert, Ben Solo-Skywalker. Everything went well, I hope—or did I miss anything?”

It was the first time she had called him by his full name. That she dared to do so was beyond absolution. This meant war.

He took a deep breath to reign in his anger. “Everything went well. Having fun in Armitage Hux’s bed, aren’t you? You traitorous bitch.”  

“So it’s fine when you sleep around, but not me?”

“I don’t care who you fuck. But I do care that you’ve apparently forgotten who your boss is.”

“My boss is Snoke, and as I recall , he’s also yours, Ben.”

He gritted his teeth, on the verge of explosion.

“That’s not my name!”

He heard her laugh in response and felt a pang of hatred. He would kill her for that.

“I'll call you whatever I want, sweetheart,” she retorted. “Or I could scream at you all night. Come out and play, I'm just outside.”

Ben Solo had never been good at containing his emotions, good or bad. And Syed Ren knew it.

She knew exactly what she was doing, while he, as expected, acted on instinct. And by pure instinct, he rushed outside, ready to strangle her with his bare hands.

She wasn’t behind the door, and he took a moment to realize that he was alone. He still had his phone in his hand.

“Show yourself, coward!”

Another little laugh, crystal clear, unbearable, and utterly infuriating.

“Search, good doggie, keep looking!”

He would make her pay for her insolence. He hung up, fingers clenching around invisible prey. He would kill her. And if that wasn’t enough, he would burn her corpse in the fucking car.

The man stood a dozen of meters in front of him, looming against the metal façade of a warehouse. A cigarette glowed between his lips. Ben couldn’t make out his face against the street lamp, but the dim light illuminated his silhouette in the distance.

He drew a knife, the blade springing into his hand with a satisfying click. And then, Syed whistled. In the back of his mind, Ben registered that Syed had whistled to him like she was calling a dog.

He advanced, ready—but instead found himself slumping forward as a sudden blow knocked him off of his feet. His joints failed under the impact, and he fell to his knees on the concrete, suddenly winded.

Someone had just hit him from behind with a baseball bat.

He looked up to meet Syed's gaze, triumphant. She flicked the butt of her cigarette to the ground before slowly crushing it with the sole of her boot.

“Again.”

Skylar Ren came out of the shadows and struck him again, crushing his back with the baseball bat as he fell onto his elbows with a groan. Ben squared his jaw in defiance, fists clenching until his knuckles turned white. He lifted his head to look Syed in the eyes despite the fact that his vision was red and clouded with tears and pain.  

“Filthy traitors, I’ll kill you both!” he hissed, attempting to regain his breath.

Syed crouched down to grab his chin in his her hand, an almost tender gesture if it hadn’t been so lethal. In her right fist, the knife blade shone menacingly.

“Enough lip service, Ben Solo. What you’re going to do is call your girlfriend and ask her to join us.”

His expression shifted instantly,

the pure hatred that distorted his features disappeared, suddenly giving way to a fresh wave of horror.

“What do you want...with Rey?” He whispered breathlessly.

“I ask the questions here,” Syed spat. “Call her, now!”

He clenched his teeth and refused to obey, even as Syed slapped him across his face with the handle of her knife. A streak of blood smeared his eyebrow, and she raised her hand to strike again—

“Hey bitch, I’m already here!” Rey yelled from behind.

Syed straightened, ready to make good on her promise, but Rey was faster. In one swift move she aimed the canister and pressed down firmly, spraying her opponents with a cloud of bear spray.

Skylar and Syed fell to the ground, half-blind and gasping for air. They rubbed at their burning eyes in vain, their flailing limbs groping blindly as they gasped for painful lungfuls of air between a stream of breathless curses. By the end they were little more than a boneless heap on the concrete.

Syed made a futile attempt to grab her knife, which Rey kicked even further out of reach.

As Syed’s hand clawed around the empty air, she raised her bloodshot eyes from a pair of high heeled boots to see the young woman, who was watching her with pursed lips.

A metallic sound caught her attention, and she turned her trembling head just enough to realize that Rey was holding a bullet under her nose.

“This is the bullet that you used to save my life. By sparing you now, I consider us even. Don’t ever come near me again, bitch.”

Syed and Ben raised the heads at the same time, clearly surprised. Syed, despite being out of breath from the coughing, managed to croak a response.

“You...knew?”

“I’m not entirely stupid, Syed Ren. I saw your car when we went hiking. I put two and two together—I knew you were following me.”

Syed wanted to laugh. Maybe it was a nervous laugh, a laugh of hatred, or disgust...she should have used that bullet correctly when she had the chance. Missed opportunities, and all that. She could barely think as another fit of coughing overcame her.

Rey slipped her arm under Ben's shoulder and helped him to his feet.

“Come on, that looks like it hurts. Can you walk?”

He nodded with a grimace.

Dragging Ben more so than walking with him, she crossed the parking in the direction of the cars.

Ben made a gesture in the direction of his pickup.

“Let's take it. My car....it’s fa—faster,” he managed to whisper hoarsely.

“No, it's dead,” Rey replied, “Syed slashed your tires earlier—we need to take mine.”

Ben had no answer, and stumbled, leaning on Rey as his knees tried not to buckle under his own weight, until they reached the Millennium Falcon.

Ben stopped abruptly.

“No. No, no, no. I’m not going in there.”

Rey wasn't in the mood; she let go of him and unlocked the door.

“Don’t you dare start with your shit, Kylo fucking Ren, get in!”

But Ben, despite being bent over in pain, taking in trouble on his legs, took more weight on his own legs to stand up straight. His face darkened.

“I’m not getting in that car! I’d rather die out here!”

Rey seriously contemplated re-fracturing his knees.

“Okay, really? 'Cause we will die out here! I can leave you alone with your friends, who I just bear sprayed in the face, I’m sure they’d be happy to finish the job!”

She lowered her arms, suddenly tired.

“Bloody hell. Do whatever you want. But if you don’t get in this car now, don’t even attempt to call me back because we’re through. I’ve had enough of your tricks.”

She sat in the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and started the engine. Ben remained standing, in an effort to mask the true extent of his pain...finally, without a word, he opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat.

Rey drove off.

“Where are we going?” He asked eventually, his voice broken.

“I don’t know, my campsite? I have a first aid kit, I can patch you up a little...unless you prefer a hospital?”

“No—no hospital!”

“Okay, back to square one. Do you want to tell me what your problem is, exactly?”

Ben shrugged, preferring not to respond. With one hand, he touched his wound on the eyebrow, only to realize that he was bleeding.

“You don't have a tissues, do you?”

“In the glovebox.”

Rey was watching the road, the sharp curves illuminated only her headlights, but she glanced now and then at Ben. He was apparently crouched in front the open glovebox, in the search of the tissue box.

Instead he held in his had an envelope, with something scribbled on one side. Life is too short to spend wallowing in tears.

She blushed, and stared at the road before her; hoping that he wouldn’t ask her about it. Hoping that he wouldn’t find it funny. She was far too exhausted to explain what the words meant to her.

But he was blushing too, as much as he tried to hide it. She saw the red creeping up his ears, though his face remained impassive. He pushed the envelope to the side, searching once more, and suddenly he stilled.

Slowly withdrawing his hand, he looked incredulously at the little red toy.

He opened the mouth, moving his lips silently as though trying speak without words. His face was pallid.  

“Hey, are you okay? Do you want me to stop?” She asked worriedly.

“Where...” he stammered at last, “where did you find that?”

“In between the cushions of the back seat. You’ve...you’ve lost a lot of color, are you sure you're okay?”

Pale or not, his eyes were bloodshot red. Rey noticed him wiping a tear with the back of his hand. He was in a difficult place, that awful crevice between physical and emotional pain. Suddenly he looked frighteningly vulnerable.

In a moment of tenderness, she kept one hand on the steering wheel and reached out with the other to hold his hand.

“Hey,” she whispered. “We're almost here. I think you and I have a lot to share.”

He didn’t answer. She was asking for things he had never told anyone. Not to Hux, even when they still got along, neither to Syed, nor to anyone else in the band. Not even to Leia, his own mother.

The secrets between him and his father Han, before he was even Ben Solo. When he was just a small boy with a mop of curly hair that failed to hide his ears, high upon the Denver military base, miserably watching his family leave on deployment after deployment. And it was often. He had the impression of having spent his childhood on the look out, patiently awaiting their return, so the the feeling of abandonment would stop consuming him.

Rey slowed down as they arrived at the campsite. All was dark and silent, with the exception of a light illuminating the living quarters. She drove past the occupied units, some of which had the luxury of electricity, and sank deeper under the trees to reach the square lawn surrounded by pine trees where she had set up her tent earlier.

“Okay,” she said, placing her hands on her temples. “Let’s take care of you first.”

Ben climbed out of the car with a groan, while that Rey rummaged in the back with a lantern to find the first aid kit.

She put the lamp on the hood of the Falcon Millenium, and pulled a bottle of disinfectant out of a telltale red case.

“Sit here,” she said, motioning to the car.

“On the hood?”

“Yes, sadly I don’t have a hospital bed, so we’ll have to make do.”

He sat down wordlessly, stifling a groan. Rey, though her fingers were trembling, tried to keep her voice upbeat to encourage him.

“Okay, so we’ll start by disinfecting that.”

She poured a few drops of alcohol on a cotton ball and dabbed it gently on Ben’s eyebrow. He shuddered, probably due to the sting, but refrained from any comments. With soft movements, she used the same piece of cotton to clean the dried blood around the wound.

A bruise was already forming around his right eye, tinging his eyelid with purple.

[blossom-hwa]

Bloom - HAN JISUNG

did i purposely edit this fic so it had exactly 11111 words? you bet

if you read moonstruck remember what i said about a series of nature spirit stories? well HERE’S PART TWO

(i will add links later because my posts don’t show up in the tags if there are links so anyway screw tumblr ig)

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, nature spirit!au

Triggers: mild violence

Word Count: 11k

The trickster fae are known for destruction, not growth, but one repenting fae helps a mortal bloom.

Spinoffs: Perfect | Tiny Steps (I’ll Hold Your Hand)

SKZ Masterlist | Whispers of Nature

They say danger lies within the forest that marks the southern border of the village. But at this moment, you can’t really bring yourself to care.

If there is danger, let it come. You’re far too tired to think of the consequences of your actions and even if they result in death, you would rather die at the hands of Mother Nature than those of your fellow villagers.

But you forgot about the infamous screech owl. Just the thing that killed several foolish children who ventured into the forest several years ago.

It swoops down without a sound.

You wonder how an animal so large can move so quietly.

Then you see its eyes screaming rage and murder and your body finally moves.

Curses stream from your lips as you throw yourself to the side, landing hard on the pretty green grass. There’ll be a stain on your tunic after this that’ll be a pain to wash off.

If you get out of here alive.

It swoops down again and you veer left, pushing yourself to your feet. Wind whistles and the owl screeches and you scream.

This is how it ends, I guess.  

Then something shimmers into being and the owl stops sharply, an expression mimicking your fear rising into its eyes. You remain rooted in place, eyes fixed upon the being in front of you.

The boy looks around your age. He glows in the fading daylight, his bare feet floating above the forest floor. Blonde hair falls down to his neck, and when he turns around, you can see it brushes across the top of his forehead, nearly hanging into his eyes. Green tunic. Brown pants. His clothes are so simple and plain, but he wears them like a prince.

He smiles at you, a heart-shaped smile that leaves you wondering what kind of being he is.

He turns back around and you don’t know what he does, but with a last screech, the owl flies away. You rack your brain for any clues on what this beautiful boy could be, but he faces you again and your mind goes blank.

He’s really rather beautiful.

“Hello.” Even that one word sounds so warm and inviting. Sparkling eyes glimmer with mischief. “What does a beautiful lady like you in this dangerous forest?”

It takes a moment to get your voice back. “Nothing much,” you finally reply.

“Pretty humans don’t belong in forests like this, where danger may lurk in any corner.” He floats a little closer, his glow beginning to warm your skin. He drifts down until he’s standing (is he really standing? He looks a bit translucent) in front of you. If you leaned forward just a few inches, your lips would touch his. “Especially not those with eyes as beautiful as yours.”

Your breath hitches. He’s staring at you with an uncomfortable (yet somehow alluring) intensity that wipes half the thought from your mind. No one has ever stared you in the eye with anything more than malice, fear, or disgust.

And certainly no one has ever said your eyes are beautiful.

“I wanted to be alone,” you get out. “Solitude.”

His eyes sparkle. “Very dangerous,” he says, nodding gravely, but you can see understanding in the curl of his lips. “I don’t know if you’re brave or foolhardy to seek solitude in the forest, especially so close to dark.”

“Foolhardy, probably.” You shiver slightly as the cooling wind sweeps across your skin. “Thank you for your help with the…”

Oh.

Realization fills your mind. Only a few beings could frighten an owl with their mere presence, and only one happens to glow.

He is one of the fae.

“Are you from the faerie ring?”

He has to pick up on your sudden shift in mood. All mortals know that fae can be dangerous, even lethal, in their intentions and tricks. The first thing village children learn is if they ever happen to stray into the forest, they must avoid the faerie ring. The fae have kidnapped many children, and never do they bring them back.

You know the guarded look that must be upon your face – you wear it every time you walk into the village square. But despite your realization, nothing changes on the fae’s shimmering, translucent face – he keeps grinning that same heart-shaped grin. He dips into a deep bow. “At your service, my lady.”

“Oh,” you murmur, stepping back. It’s less of a murmur than an exhale of surprise, really. No one has ever shown you such respect before – even if it is teasing, as this bow seems to be. But when the fae rises, you sense no malice. Only gentle mischief.

Silence stretches between you two until you clear your throat. “Well, Lord fae, thank you for your help with the owl.”

“It was my pleasure.” If possible, his smile grows wider.

“If there was possibly something I could do in return…” you trail off, lost in thought.

“Actually, there is.” His face holds an expression of pure innocence, but glinting eyes tell you too late that you may have made a grave mistake. The fae holds out one hand. “May I have your name?”

You almost say it. After all, when someone asks for your name, it is only polite to give it.

But typically, those who ask for names are not fae, trickster beings of high power. For them, giving a name means giving control. And when names fall upon the wrong tongue…

You don’t want to know what will happen next.

Mouth clamped shut, you think quickly, staring at the outstretched hand. Finally, you speak, words slow and careful.

“Lord fae, I’m afraid I cannot give you my name for it belongs to me and only me,” you reply politely. “But if it so pleases you, you may call me Nae Ireum.”

It’s the oldest trick in the book, telling a fae to call them by “my own self.” You know he would never fall for it and the laughter bursting from his lips tells you that you were right. As he laughs, you school your expression into one of slight amusement, but you know you cannot quite hide your fear.

What if he does not take your refusal lightly?

“Very good,” the fae chokes out, laughter gone. “You are a smart one, my lady.” He drops his hand to his side and smiles widely. “You have been taught well.”

“I taught myself,” you reply in a moment of brazen confidence.

“Then you must be a wonderful scholar.” He winks. “If you will not give me my first request, then at least allow me to escort you to the village.”

What?

You blink. “Why?”

“It would only be proper for a lord to escort his lady safely home,” he teases.

Maybe you smile shyly, but no one but this fae is here to confirm it, so you ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m not your lady,” you mutter.

“Of course, my lady.” His tone turns cheeky and you realize winning against this fae will not be possible. So instead of releasing the retort upon your lips, you only sigh. He grins in victory. “Let’s go!”

He stays with you for the entire hour-long walk back to the village, keeping you occupied with flirty words and teasing grins that make you feel as though you are simply speaking to a handsome boy, rather than a millennia-old fae of the forest. For the first time in years, you feel light of heart. His gaze rarely strays from yours but he does not make you feel uncomfortable, not even with your strange green eyes. No, he speaks to you like a human being, like someone who has a life and a story and a soul.

The sky is nearly dark by the time you reach the edge of the forest. “Thank you, Lord fae,” you whisper, feeling suddenly shy. His glow and his gaze make you feel warmer in the sunset.

His heart-shaped grin grows gentler. “It was my pleasure. If I could, I would kiss your hand.” He winks. “Alas, this form will not allow me to do so. Be safe, my lady. And keep the tears out of your eyes – it will only make them more beautiful.”

With those last parting words, he disappears into a soft flash of light, and you are left to wonder if the last few hours were only a figment of your imagination.

. . . . .

Jisung dozes slightly one day in the warm light of the fae realm. The queen seems to be in a good mood, for the weather is pretty and picturesque, and even the pixies have ventured out of hiding to dance among the waving blades of grass.

In the past, Jisung may have toyed with them, played little pranks and sent them fleeing back into their gardens. He would have laughed at their hatred towards his kind and taken pleasure in heightening that hate. But today, he only keeps his eyes closed and lets the pixies flit around him. So long as they cause no harm, he won’t either.

Then a small disturbance triggers in the back of his mind and he sits up, a half-frown, half-smile upon his face. Someone is near his faerie ring.

Maybe it’s the person he hopes it will be.

Green eyes flash through his mind. Not the forest green of the dryads (who didn’t wake up the entire time you and Jisung were causing a ruckus, which is really a testament to how soundly they sleep), but paler, realer, more intense. Still, though, Jisung finds one thing in common between your eyes and theirs: your quiet strength. The strength of the earth.

Jisung wouldn’t mind seeing you again.

He summons himself to the ring, where a pleasant surprise greets him. At the sight of your shocked face, he grins. “Back so soon, my lady?”

Your bright green eyes look slightly dazed, which is to be expected – the ring has power, and it likes to pull unsuspecting mortals towards it. Thankfully, you have enough presence of mind to resist, though Jisung feels a little put out by your backing away.

“Yes,” you answer shortly. You shake your head slightly as though shaking off the pull of the ring, and when you look up again, your eyes are clearer.

“For solitude again, or for something else?” His smile grows wider as he comes to a realization. “Perhaps you just couldn’t wait to see me again? After all, you took the trouble to find my ring.”

He prays he doesn’t sound too hopeful.

You snort. “As if,” you sniff, though your eyes betray your amusement. “I came out of curiosity. To see if I could find the forbidden faerie ring.” Your legs wobble slightly, as though you’re tired. You very well might be – Jisung knows you must be a long way from your village. He lies down flat on his back, hoping you get the message. When you sit cross-legged next to the ring, he knows you have.

“You dare sit in the presence of your Lord fae?” Though his voice sounds affronted, your nonplussed look tells him you see the lightness in his eyes.

“I believe you are trapped within your ring, Lord fae,” you deadpan. “If the legends are true, it weakens your magic.”

“Perhaps.” The wind blows, and Jisung relishes the feeling of fresh air against his brow. “But I could still curse you and your family from within this ring.”

“If you wanted to curse me, you would have just let the owl have its way,” you point out.

Jisung laughs, truly laughs. It’s been a long time since he’s spoken to someone new, and he is very glad that you are the someone new. “Astute observation, my lady.” With a sigh, he pulls himself up and winks at you. “A lady with a mind as sharp as her eyes are beautiful.”

The same sparkle rises in your shy eyes and Jisung delights in the sight. Truthfully, you are not the most beautiful woman he has seen. Over his millennia in the fae realm and the mortal plane, he has seen many fae and humans who are more conventionally gorgeous than you. But your eyes are alluring, your smile is sweet, and even with your quick tongue, you exude a sort of elegance and tired kindness that Jisung hopes will never fade.

“You’re not translucent anymore,” you note. Jisung knows you’re trying to change the subject and kind of wants to keep teasing you, but he’s in a good mood today so he lets you keep going. “Does that mean you’re fully bound to the ring?”

You really do know your legends. Jisung is impressed. “You are correct, my lady.” His smile only wavers very slightly. “When I accompanied you back last time, I sent a fragment of my soul. It was not my physical being.”

He then waits for the inevitable next question – “Why are you bound to the ring?”

It was the first thing Changbin asked when the faerie ring appeared. It was what all the dryads asked when they sensed the presence of their new neighbor. In fact, the only ones who hadn’t asked Jisung what happened were Hyunjin the water nymph and Chan the guardian, and that was because they were the reason why Jisung had ended up bound to the ring in the first place.

But the question that comes from your mouth is not the one he expects. “How does that happen? How do you separate your soul into different parts?” Your eyes are wide with curiosity, but not for him. For fae in general. Somehow, that comforts Jisung much more than attention on him would.

So he struggles to explain the process, fumbling over his words in a way that no Lord fae should, but you only nod and listen and smile and frown with singular concentration. You listen to his words closely, asking more and more questions until Jisung can’t answer them anymore and is forced to admit his lack of knowledge on the topic.

“So the Lord fae is not all-knowing, I see,” you tease. The sun has just begun to set and you are standing up, brushing bits of grass and leaves from your clothing. The blue tunic may look faded, but against the backdrop of the forest, you look like you could be a gentle nymph. One who helps, not harms.

“Did I ever claim that I was?” Jisung shoots back. He won’t lie – he can’t lie, in fact – his pride is a little bruised. However, his pride is not worth as much to him as it used to be. He can’t help the laugh that escapes from his lips again – he likes you too much. “Will you need an escort home?”

“You would escort me anyway even if I said no.” But despite your resigned tone, you look at him with a smile on your face.

“You are not wrong in that statement.” He grins. “Shall we go, my lady?”

(The next time you see him, you ask for his name. “If it so pleases you,” he grins, repeating your words, “you may call me Han.”)

. . . . .

Several months pass and you are very proud to say you haven’t shown Han your crying face once since the first meeting. But comfort and solitude were what drove you to the fae in the first place, and it is hard to pull up such deep roots.

You arrive at the ring with your tears mostly gone, but eyes still puffy and rimmed with red. You don’t call for him this time – in fact, you’re half-hoping he doesn’t come, so you don’t have to reveal this weak side that disgusts and saddens you.

You wish you were born stronger. Strong enough to fight the villagers’ sharp words and disgusted looks, strong enough to at least run away. But you can barely feed and clothe and shelter yourself as it is, so there is little to no chance of either event happening.

“There’s my lady.” Han’s teasing voice sounds beside you and on reflex, you look around slightly. Quickly, though, you drop your head, staring straight at the grass in front of you.

“What’s this?” You hear the rustle of grass, indicating that he, too has sat down. “My lady won’t respond to me?” The mischief in his voice turns to concern. “What’s wrong, my lady? Why are there tears in your pretty eyes?”

Because my eyes are a blight upon my being.

Because they bring the hatred of the village upon me.

Because no matter what you say, I can’t think of them as truly beautiful.

Because you may be lying to me.

“Han.” Your voice is small but steady and you take comfort in that. Still, you do not look at him. “Do you truly believe my eyes are beautiful? Or are you only playing another fae trick upon a poor mortal like me?”

Silence.

“My lady.” His voice is serious, yet you can sense the small smile in his tone. “With all your knowledge of the legends of my kind, will you tell me that you don’t know that we cannot lie?”

Embarrassment crawls up your skin. You do know the legend, but truth is multifaceted. There are many loopholes that the fae dearly love to exploit. “I do know, Lord fae,” you say, “but when you say my eyes are beautiful, it does not mean that you find them beautiful. It only means that at least one being between our planes finds them beautiful. It does not mean that person is you.” You snort. “And it certainly is not a member of my village.”

A sigh escapes from the lips of the fae next to you. “You never cease to amaze me,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Your words are true. Yet I will promise you that I have only thought of myself when I tell you that your green eyes are some of the most beautiful I have ever seen.”

The tears start welling up again and you can’t bring yourself to look at the fae. Your mind knows his words must be true, for fae cannot break promises and they cannot tell lies, but your heart cannot believe it.

“Do you know what your eyes remind me of?” he asks.

You still don’t look up.

His tone turns a little pleading. “My lady, please look at me.”

You finally do, red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks and all.

“They remind me of freedom.” A small, different smile plays upon his lips. It isn’t sad, exactly – more nostalgic. Wistful.

“Freedom,” you echo.

“I was not always bound to this faerie ring, you know?” His tone is a little teasing, a little self-deprecating, a little angry, but also a little repentant. “When I was free, I used to travel the earth. It was green, green as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful.” He smiles at you. “Your eyes are the same green as my Mother Earth.”

You’ve never seen him this way – pensive, wistful, a far cry from the teasing sarcasm and snark you are used to. Your fingers itch to touch him, to comfort him, but sense still overrules your heart. To place a limb inside the ring could possibly be suicide. You will not risk that.

(Yet.)

The rest of your time together passes in silence. He doesn’t ask for an explanation of your state and you don’t offer him one, only taking comfort in the whispering quiet of the forest around you and Han’s warm presence beside you. As the sun begins to set, he asks if you would like an escort home. The smile on your face is more genuine as you stand up and nod.

The walk is also silent, though not uncomfortable or strange. But as you reach the edge of the forest, as he’s just about to disappear, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Han flashes you his heart-shaped grin – a little gentler, a little less teasing than usual. “Of course, my lady.”

. . . . .

One month. A full month passes before Jisung senses your presence near the faerie ring again. He reappears with a half-upset, half-overjoyed smile on his face, ready to teasingly berate you for not coming sooner and interrogate you on the reasons why. But the teasing words die upon his lips when he sees your state.

Because for all the sadness and strange words of your last meeting, he never expected that this was the reason behind your silence.

He’s never seen these bruises and cuts upon your skin before. A couple of faded scrapes are normal for anyone, and a few small bruises from when you fell, trying to get away from the owl. But this time, blotches of purple and green litter your arms while a small but fresh, healing cut slices your shoulder. A black bruise mars your right eye.

Jisung’s fingers itch to take your hand, to pull you close, to examine each and every cut and bruise upon your skin and exact revenge from those who caused them. For once, he wants to leave the ring for a reason other than to satisfy his selfish desire for freedom.

But he cannot. The invisible walls of the perfectly-shaped ring prevent him from touching you the way he wants.

“Who did this to you?” he murmurs instead, trying to hold back growing anger. “And why?”

You smile a little as you sit, though it’s cynical and sad and nothing like the genuine happiness you have shown him before. “Someone heard me speaking to you the last time you walked me back.”

“And?” Jisung pulls bits of grass from the ground out of frustration. “What of it?”

“They think I’m a witch.” Your clear, green eyes stare into Jisung’s, and suddenly, everything makes sense.

Why you wanted solitude.

Why you cried last time.

Why you asked him those strange questions about what he thought about your eyes.

He sits in silence as you explain. They think the devil took your soul when you were young, you tell him, and he cursed you with those horrible green eyes. The eyes are too different, too strange for the villagers to accept in their rural beliefs. They think of you as an abomination. The only reason they have not killed you yet is because they are afraid that watering the earth with devil blood will only make the Mother angry.

“Your parents?” he asks when you fall silent.

You laugh, but the sound holds no mirth. “They wish I were dead.”

Jisung stays quiet as he tries to wrap his mind around that. The closest thing to a mother he’s ever had is the Faerie Queen, and though she deals harsh punishments at times (he is exhibit number one), she has never wished death upon her subjects. She is mischievous, capricious, and a lying trickster, but to her subjects she is just and fair. She would give up her life for them.

Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “The other villagers pity them,” you continue, “so they get attention and pity and sorrow. I get nothing.” You pause. “Except you.”

He doesn’t know why that hits him so hard. You only spoke two short words. But those words give him such an indescribable warmth in his chest that he can barely control his intense desire to hold your face between his hands with the gentlest touch of the wind.

“So I couldn’t visit for a month,” you continue, oblivious to Jisung’s predicament. “They suspected I was going out to do witchy things, so I had to stay in the village so suspicions would fade away. I go out on my own a lot, anyway. They usually leave me alone unless something bad happens.”

“Why?” Jisung asks, recovering himself.

The cynical smirk on your face makes Jisung feel like his heart is breaking in half. “Because they blame it on me.”

To be fairly honest, Jisung doesn’t exactly know what to say to that. Sure, he’s been blamed for some small things he didn’t commit, but the faerie queen has her Sight and he’s always been acquitted. All his punishments have been justified, something he’s reflected on over the thousands of years he’s remained bound to this ring.

He can’t understand the injustice of your situation. Humans think fae are the tricksters and the manipulators, but how much better are they, with their aversion to strangeness and any sort of difference?

“Humans,” he huffs quietly, angrily pulling out another blade of grass. He does it with such force that he can hear the grass scream in pain. His eyes widen as he sees all the little piles of grass he’s pulled up around him and immediately he soothes a hand over them, attaching them back to their severed roots.

“I’m a human,” you point out with little venom. In fact, you’re staring at his hands with a hint of wonder and awe upon your face, nothing even close to annoyance or outrage. “But you’re not wrong.”

Jisung doesn’t know what to say in response.

“I don’t know, though.” You look up at him again and your eyes are impossibly clear. Minutes ago they were cloudy and upset and confused, but now they hold only clarity of thought. “What if I didn’t have green eyes?”

There’s another unspoken question that Jisung can hear as clear as day.

Would I have grown up exactly like them?

Jisung can’t deny that you probably would have. That had it not been for all of the misfortune caused by your strange green eyes, you would have been a happy, but clueless and far less accepting villager than you are today.

In all likelihood, you probably never would have met him.

“Your eyes have more benefits than simply making you beautiful,” is all he replies. He thinks for a moment. “I haven’t experienced all your sorrow so perhaps you will think the opposite, but I think your green eyes have given you more fortune than misfortune in creating your character.”

You don’t smile. You only nod. But the deep gray clouds that envelop your head clear, bit by bit, until the last tear has dried on your face and your lips rest in a neutral line, instead of turned down at the tips.

If Jisung weren’t bound to the ring, he would hold your scarred hand tight, as tight as he could without hurting you, to give you some sort of comfort to anchor you to your Mother Earth. But since he can’t, he contents himself with the fact that he can see the shining glimmer he yearns to see returning to your beautiful eyes.

. . . . .

Some villages call it May Day. Others call it Earrach. A traveler once told you, far away in Gaul, they call it le Jour de Printemps.

Your village just calls it the spring festival. Simple, formal, traditional, just like your village’s relationship with your Mother Nature. She gives you the fertile earth with which to grow the crops you celebrate in fall, during harvest season.

Well, not you. Them. You haven’t gone to a spring or harvest festival in years.

The air around your little shack is even more silent than usual, with all the villagers gone to the square to celebrate the new planting season. Girls in their white and pink dresses, boys in their buttoned shirts and nicest pants. Every family, no matter how poor, owns a set of clothing to wear for the spring and harvest festivals. If they are too poor to make one themselves, a neighbor will pass over a hand-me-down, or even sew a new one.

You weren’t an exception, at first. If you looked carefully, you could probably find an old white rag or two that used to be a spring festival dress. But as you grew older, fewer villagers wanted to take notice of you, so you have no traditional spring gown to wear for today.

There is one set of nice clothes you sewed for yourself a few years back, however. It isn’t pure white for spring, nor pastel pink for fall. It’s pale blue. But the village weaver charged a price sky-high for the nice cloth he makes specially for the festivals (even though he sold it to the next mother for half the price he gave you), so you ended up with this instead.

Not that you can really complain. The fabric is soft and clean, if a bit dusty – a result of not having worn it in over a year – but you’ve taken care of it. For what reason, you never really knew.

Maybe Mother Nature was quietly preparing you for today. Nudging you to make a dress and preserve it so that you could look presentable on the first spring festival day in years that you are no longer alone.

Still, though, you’re not quite sure why you slip on the flowy blue dress that feels so comfortable against your skin. You don’t understand why you don’t put on another one of your rougher tunics, slip on the trousers that have grown a little loose against your thinning waist. You’re not sure why you find yourself running the wooden comb through your hair not just until it’s untangled but until it’s smooth, and you’re not sure why you braid some of it back from your face in a style you have seen some of the merchant girls wear.

Black slippers, still worn but not as tattered as your everyday boots, go on your feet to finish the look. The dress doesn’t fit very well – you’ve only gotten skinnier since you made it – and the shoes are a little too tight, but no matter. You have no mirror so you couldn’t try to primp even if you wanted to, so you take a deep breath and head into the woods, ignoring the faint music and cries of laughter in the distance. And when you walk into the clearing where the faerie ring lies, you don’t have to wait a second before he appears.

He calls you “my lady,” again, with that same flirty grin he wore the first day you met. You don’t know why those two words mean so much to you. At first, they meant nothing, really – they only served to make you smile a little bit because, well, that was Han. Han the fae. That was what he was – flirty, grinning, a distraction. A glowing light in the middle of a village of gray.

For the last few times you visited, he didn’t call you by your nickname. Maybe it was just the look on your face because you know you didn’t feel the best on those last few trips. In fact, most of them were spent in comfortable silence or murmured conversations. You haven’t heard your nickname in a while.

Now, those words feel like they mean so much more than they used to. His tone is still flirty, his lips still smiling his heart-shaped smile, but he looks warmer. Feels warmer.

And though you should never feel this way around a fae and their ring, you feel safe.

“Why the fancy dress, my lady?” Han asks, jolting you out of your thoughts. His grin has only grown wider – is it trembling? No, it can’t be, there’s no reason for him to do so – and he’s looking at you with eyes that have never sparkled this brightly before.

You open your mouth to respond before realizing you don’t have an answer. Why did you dress up, really? What was the point?

You opt for a simple response that doesn’t really answer the question. “It’s the spring festival.” You sit down on the grass, careful not to wrinkle your dress. “I wanted to dress up a little for once.”

Even as you say it, though, you know that’s not the full reason.

“You don’t usually dress up, then?” he asks, sitting down as well.

How do you answer that question without giving the truth away through your expression?

The answer: you don’t. In fact, you haven’t even spoken a word before Jisung’s grin turns into one of mischief. “So you dressed up for me!” he sings.

“What – no –” you splutter, desperately trying to keep up a façade of calm as your cheeks heat up. You deny it, even as his eyes crinkle into slits of joy and mischief, as he laughs and teases your attempts at hiding your embarrassment. But in the end, you have to give up. He will drag this on forever if you don’t.

And the more you think about it, he was part of the reason you wanted to look nice. For once in your life, you wanted to look beautiful for someone whom you cared about. For someone who might care about you.

For someone whom you want to care for you.

“In all seriousness, my lady,” Han says when the two of you have calmed, “you look enchanting. Even more so than usual.”

The gentle, heart-shaped smile he imparts to you makes your heart jump, and you feel warmer inside than you have in years.

. . . . .

A lull in the conversation occurs just after noon, when the village is so loud and joyful that you and Jisung can hear music and laughter from all the way up on your forested hill. Jisung takes the silence as an opportunity to gauge your true feelings today.

He knows you must feel at least some happiness. Your laugh and smile and snark and sarcasm have all been quite natural. However, as your eyes wander over to where the music is coming from, he notices a soft, sad, wistfulness that overtakes your expression, leaving a shadow of your previous joy in its wake.

Jisung knows enough about human customs that on festivals like this, they dance. Girls dress up in flowy frocks while boys put on their starched shirts and they whirl about, smiles and laughter abounding.

Your dress is a dance frock. Your slippers are dancing shoes. With a pang, he realizes you shouldn’t be here. You should be with friends, kicking up grass as a handsome boy or two or three spin you around in celebration.

“You know, if you want to dance, you could dance with me,” he says softly. Truly, today, he means no deceit. He hasn’t in a long while, in centuries, really, but today he wants you to know it and be sure of it. He wants you to know that he means no harm to you.

That he will never mean any harm to you.

Your eyes snap to him, gaze guarded and unreadable. He swallows but continues. “Come into the ring,” he proposes. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“You know as well as I do that a fae does not make a promise without expecting something in return.”

Jisung can tell you don’t mean to hurt him with this statement. After all, his brethren are not known to be the kindest of Mother Earth’s creatures. He himself used to be less than friendly. So he doesn’t take offense at your words and only notes the longing gaze you give the ring that speaks far more than your cool words.

Your words are true. A promise for a promise – that has always been the way of the fae. But Jisung doesn’t know what he could ask from you in return.

But he does. It’s always been at the back of his mind, he thinks, but he hasn’t allowed himself to dwell on that until now. There is something he wants – one thing, something beyond even his own freedom. Because he feels like if he has this thing you could give him, he would feel free even in the confines of his ring.

Promise me your love.

But he doesn’t say it. Many of his fellow fae delight in ruining love, in causing mischief and strife between couples, in raining heartbreak upon those foolish enough to fall. But his punishment has taught him the consequences of meddling with affairs of the heart. Centuries of being bound to the faerie ring have given him enough time to think and ponder and discuss such subjects with Chan, the wise forest guardian, Changbin, the quiet moon child, and even Hyunjin, the water nymph who used to loathe him.

Jisung will not interfere with love. If his experience with Hyunjin has taught him anything, it is that true love is just that – true. It cannot be coerced or threatened in or out of existence.

He is sure he feels true love for you. But a heart must be given, not taken, so he does not ask for yours.

“Then promise me your happiness,” he finally bargains. “Promise me that for the rest of today, you will laugh, that you will smile, and that it will all be real.”

“You request something easier said than done,” is your quiet reply. “Why not ask for something tangible? Something stronger, more powerful?”

“Are you saying there is something more powerful to me than a simple smile upon your face, my lady?” His lips curl slightly. “If you are asking me to be more selfish, believe me, this is my most selfish desire – to always see happiness upon your face. For your happiness brings me mine.”

Sunlight dazzles on your blue-clad figure, sparkling on your shining hair and face. As Jisung waits for your response, he can’t help but think that the broad daylight only heightens your earthly beauty.

You are no willowy, graceful moon child, it’s true. But you are a true child of the earth. Rooted, solid, steady, nurturing, loving.

And Jisung could think of nothing more perfect.

It’s a very slow smile that spreads across your lips, but as it does, Jisung thinks that perhaps it is the most beautiful smile of all.

“Then, Lord fae,” you begin quietly, “make your promise, and I will make mine.”

“I promise that I will allow no harm to come to you here from the moment you enter this ring,” he whispers, his breath nearly catching in his throat.

“And I promise to smile with only true happiness for the rest of this spring day.” Your green eyes shine.

Jisung holds out a hand, feeling his fingertips touch the invisible barrier that keeps him trapped within the faerie ring. Then he feels a different sensation, one he hasn’t felt in centuries – warm skin against his own.

The same slow smile remains upon your lips as you look up at him, fingers loosely grasping his own. And with the simple grace of a fluttering leaf, you step into the ring.

. . . . .

The year’s summer is not a kind one. Warm, humid heat rests heavy upon the village, and bugs fly everywhere. You live rather out of the way, so when you’re at home, you don’t get the full force of the bugs and illness, but when you go to the marketplace, you see the effects on the rest of the village.

Red bites littering tanned skin. Clammy sweat dripping into dazed eyes. The absence of a single cool breeze makes the heat almost unbearable as you quietly make your rounds.

Many shopkeepers are absent that day.

You expect what’s coming next. They will bar you from the marketplace in the hopes that keeping away the witch will keep away the sweltering symptoms of a sweaty summer and the dreaded summer sickness.

So the day comes when you are forced to turn away from the market – not that the handful of coins in your pocket would have bought much anyway – and head back home. Only this time, you don’t have to go as hungry as previous years. In the shady forest, you tell Jisung of your predicament, and though he looks a bit like he wants to make the villagers suffer, he only shows you a few places where you can gather wild, edible plants, so long as you thank the Mother Earth for them and leave enough to grow.

“They really think you are a witch?” Jisung asks quietly one hot afternoon, when even the shade of the forest isn’t enough to keep away the overwhelming heat of the day. You’re back at the faerie ring, a basket of fruit next to your figure lying prone on the ground. Sweat drips down your face and onto the grass, but when you look over, Jisung doesn’t even look warm. He looks the same as usual.

Once upon a time you might have been unnerved by how otherworldly he is. Upon first glance, he is perfect, almost unimaginably so. You remember the first day you saw him in the forest. If you’d been in your right mind, you might have bowed to him as a god.

Yet after so many conversations and walks and lazy afternoons, to you, he is human. He stutters. His mouth can’t keep up with his mind sometimes. He has flaws. And he looks like a human boy, a boy with whom you could easily fall in love. Deep brown eyes that always hold a twinkle of mischief. Heart-shaped lips that look so kissable. Round cheeks that you could squish all day.

There is no use in fighting it, really. You are in love with your Lord fae, and you can do nothing about it. Every day you see him feels like another step into his dizzying embrace, another step into his full heart.

You think you’ve been falling for him this whole time, really. Perhaps on that first day, when he showed up and saved you from the screech owl and labelled your eyes as “beautiful,” it was not yet love. Maybe a simple crush. But on the afternoon you came to the ring with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks and he only teased and comforted you, you think your crush started turning into love.

He makes you feel safe. If he didn’t, why else would you keep coming to the ring? Why else would you have stepped into the ring, and danced with him with no music until sunset?

But he’s still a fae. Despite your love for him and everything he’s done for you, everything he’s promised you, you can’t help but still second-guess his true intentions. Fae are not known for their kindness – only their ability to exploit lies and their inability to break promises.

He’s never made a promise to you that he hasn’t kept, one half of your brain reminds you.

He’s only made a few promises to you, though, the other side reasons.

You nod to Han’s question, too hot and tired to do anything more.

“Do you want to know what a real witch is like?”

When you look up, his eyes are smiling with his lips, telling you that the grin is genuine. The knowledge of this only makes your lips curl until you’re smiling too, and the heat of the day falls away as you sit up to listen carefully.

Han tells you the lore behind witches, a race that rarely comes into the open. They do not fly on brooms or stir bubbling iron cauldrons filled with poisoned liquids, he says, but they do make potions and they do perform spells (in cauldrons of other metals, for iron burns magic). Just like humans, there are good witches and evil witches. The good ones often remain in hiding, posing as doctors and apothecarists, while the evil ones wreak their havoc. That, he tells you, is why humans have such twisted feelings about them.

“You are not a witch, my lady,” he concludes, looking over at you. The setting sun has tinted the sky pink and the light makes a pretty flush against Han’s skin. Your heart speeds up when you see the softness in his face. “Witches are born of at least one witch parent, and your parents are villagers. I sense no magic from you. So if they call you a witch again, know that they are the ignorant ones, not you.”

“You always know what to say to me, Han,” you murmur, ignoring the thumping in your chest. “Thank you.” The words rise to your lips before you can stop them. “I always feel safe with you.”

His hand lifts slightly as though to touch your face, but you are not inside the ring today – you haven’t entered since the day you danced with him. So his fingers lower, and even though you think it best for the two of you, you still ache for the feeling of his warm skin on yours. “Do you remember the promise I made you last spring festival?” he asks.

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt me when I entered your ring,” you reply, curious as to why he’s bringing that up now.

“Perhaps, but you do not remember my wording.” He smiles. “I promised you that I would allow no harm to come to you here from the moment you stepped into the ring.”

It takes your mind a few seconds to work through that. Then everything clicks. “You –”

“You will always be safe in the ring,” Han interrupts, his eyes shining with softness. “Always.”

You feel a tear bubble in your eye but you blink it away, hoping he doesn’t notice. “Thank you,” you whisper.

He smiles again. “Of course, my lady.”

. . . . .

As the days pass, as the heat gets worse, you finally tell him of the summer sickness. The sweats, the chills, the fevers that overtake the villagers in this hot, humid weather.

You don’t have the fever. Many times you have reassured Jisung that the sickness never touches you – you live too far away from the village to catch it from someone else. Anyway, they always kick you out of the marketplace at the beginning of summer, so you don’t have any chance to get it. Bugs don’t really touch your little hill either.

But the sickness still takes a toll on you. Perhaps you don’t grow ill, but Jisung can see the sick fear growing in your eyes, in your shortened visits to the forest. A new splotchy bruise appears on your leg and you tell him you tripped over a rock.

That’s a lie.

After he doesn’t see you for fourteen days straight, he sits you down when you finally return, voice trembling, and demands an explanation. He cares about you so much, he realizes, his heart can barely stand it. When you didn’t come day after day after day –

“My lady, I thought you were gone forever,” he chokes out, trying to keep the wobble out of his voice.

Your eyes immediately fill with guilt and sorrow and you bite your lip harshly, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, words wavering.

“Just…” Jisung swallows. “Just tell me why. Did I do something? Or was it the village again?”

So you tell him. The summer sickness is worse this year, worse than any other year you’ve been alive. Four children have already died, as have two adults and one of the village elders. And the villagers need someone to blame it on.

Jisung wants to personally set fire to the entire village when he hears that. He can’t imagine how anyone could have the heart to look you in your strange, sharp, green eyes and say that you are the cause for an entire village’s troubles. That your lovely green eyes are the mark of a devil.

How narrow-minded could a person be to not see the beauty that lies in your character?

But he used to be the same way, he realizes with a jolt. Humans, to him, used to be mere playthings with no emotions, no lives, no meaning. They existed for his entertainment and that was all. Perhaps he did not see them as the cause for every single one of his troubles, but isn’t the thought the same? He didn’t see humans as real, living beings, just as the villagers don’t see you as one either.

He is glad he has changed. He hates the Jisung he used to be, but at least he has grown from that terrible prankster fae. He truly is glad he has changed.

He is glad he met you after he changed.

“So I couldn’t come over for a while,” you say, breaking into his thoughts. “I… I didn’t want them to have more reasons for thinking I’m a witch. It’s bad enough that I’ve never come down with the sickness. If I had, maybe they wouldn’t think I was the reason.”

Jisung wants to take your hand. He misses the feeling of your fingers intertwining with his. It made him feel safe. Cared for. Loved.

He settles for letting his fingertips touch the edge of the ring, pressing against the invisible barrier that keeps him from leaving. And after a few seconds, you place your hand down to touch your fingertips against his.

It is enough for now.

“Remember, my lady,” he whispers, refusing to look away from your eyes that always drag him in. “You’ll always be safe in the ring. No matter what.”

Even though you duck your head to nod and Jisung can’t see your green eyes, he knows that there are tears in them. He can see it in your slightly-trembling shoulders, in your fingers that shake against the steady earth.

And his heart aches for your troubles, hoping they will end soon.

. . . . .

The worst is always yet to come and you realize this as you’re sprinting, barefoot, over the forest floor. Your time in the village was never going to last. Sometime or another, a fuse was going to light the bomb created by your existence.

The fuse comes in the form of the fifth child’s death from summer sickness.

They came to your shack with old pitchforks and kitchen knives and rusted swords. You heard the shouts, saw the torches, and there were only two words echoing through your mind.

Run away.

You might’ve gotten away without them seeing if you hadn’t made so much noise wrestling through the bushes. On a normal day, the noise doesn’t matter because no one comes around here and you can trample over whatever you want. But it is night, the villagers are screaming bloody murder, and you don’t have time to worry about stealth.

When they reach the edge of the forest, their torches simply burn the bushes to the ground. Your head start is dwindling fast and you waste more of it as you stand at the edge of the forest, all of the warnings you’ve been given about the forest racing through your head. It may be safer during the day, you think, but what horrors lie in the dark of night? 

Then Han’s words, soft and clear and kind, push them all away.

“You will always be safe in the ring.”

His smile.

“Always.”

You steel yourself and dart into the trees.

Pure instinct fuels your body. You can’t see anything except for the faint glow of fire behind you and the farther away that is, the better. Trees materialize out of nowhere and their branches catch in your flying hair. Rough stones slice your feet. A small animal races past your feet and you have to stifle a scream. More than once a sinister presence lingers in the shadows as you fly past, but you cannot take the time to give into your terror.

Torchlight burns. Voices shout. The forest fills with fear – the villagers’ fear of you, your fear of them, nature’s fear of you all. You stumble over hidden rocks and bumps and bushes and all the time you’re wondering where is the ring? Why am I not there yet? Is this the right way?

But then you see the sparkle of the pond nearby, a pond you have seen so many times on walks with your fae (in his transparent form, of course). He’s told you many stories of the water nymph there. But today you don’t care about Hwang Hyunjin. His pond only serves as a marker. As something to show you your path.

The race uphill is nearly torture. Without your shoes – even the tattered ones – the hill feels so much rougher and stonier than it normally does. Even the bed of grass can’t fully disguise the sharp bumps that dig into your feet.

He isn’t in the ring. You didn’t expect him to be, not now, but for a moment, your mind flails wildly.

What if your fae doesn’t come?

A glance behind tells you the villagers are still chasing. A few are climbing up the hill. You have no choice.

“HAN!”

You jump into the ring.

For a moment, the ring is empty save for only you. The first villagers trample nearer but their steps grow slower and their howls of rage and fear turn to frightened shouts and whispers as they realize where they are. You lie in a heap on the ground, all heaving gasps and shaking limbs and trembling lips.

Then warm arms embrace you, pulling you close to a chest with a steady heartbeat that calms your erratic mind and breath. Han’s thumbs stroke smoothly, sweetly, on your skin, and the pent-up tears begin to escape your cursed eyes.

“You are safe,” he whispers in your ear. “In my ring, you will always be safe.”

Some foolish shout rings through the night and a pitchfork sails through the air. You instinctively start to cry out no, Han, watch out! –

With a single flick of a finger, the pitchfork falls to the ground outside the faerie ring, harmless. Silence again takes over the clearing.

“What is the meaning of this?” he hisses.

His words are ice cold. You have never heard this tone before.

“L-Lord fae, she has infected our village with the summer sickness,” a trembling voice says. “Surely you see –”

“Your children are infected with the festering hatred you have for all things strange,” he spits. “Her eyes have no weight on her character. She is no witch. She bears no blame for your village’s summer sickness.”

Silence, except for your ragged breaths.

“Do not touch her.” His hand strokes your hair gently, coaxing out the last silent tears, a contrast to the blades of his tone. “A lord will always protect his lady, no?”

. . . . .

You make no effort to leave the ring that night but even if you did, Jisung wouldn’t have let you go. Not after the fear he saw in the villagers’ eyes.

Fear is often more dangerous than anger, after all.

He does not sleep the entire night, only holds you close, even when your shaking sobs stop and you slump, asleep, against his chest, tears still rolling down your face. His heart breaks a little more every time he looks down at you.

If this is how I feel, Jisung wonders, how did Hyunjin survive? When his love was snatched away from him, never to walk the earth again?

A new wave of shame and respect for the water nymph washes over him every time such a thought comes to mind. For if Jisung feels so strongly about you being merely hurt, he cannot imagine what pain Hyunjin endured when he lost his lover.

No wonder Hyunjin loathed him so much for so long.

You wake with the dawn. Had it not been for the slight fluttering of your eyelashes, he wouldn’t have realized at all. For a brief, terrified moment, Jisung wonders if you will break away from him.

But you don’t. You don’t move closer, but you don’t move away. You don’t protest his hands stroking your hair rhythmically, only close your eyes and sigh a little.

“Thank you for yesterday,” you finally murmur. “I’m sorry I cause you so much trouble.”

Your green eyes open and they look tired. So, so tired.

Jisung wants to bring the life back to them.

“It was no trouble,” he replies. “It is never trouble to care for those you love.”

When your eyes startle, Jisung realizes what he’s said. He’s just confessed his love for you. Though he’s known it for weeks, the words leaving his lips still make him feel a strange vulnerability in your presence. But he doesn’t regret it.

“Those you love,” you echo quietly. Though there is a tiny smile on your face, your voice is sad. “How could a fae as powerful as you love a –”

“Stop.” Jisung can’t listen anymore. “Stop it.”

“But –”

“If there is anyone unworthy of your love,” Jisung interrupts, “it is me. Not the other way around.”

You remain quiet this time.

Jisung sighs. “I think it’s time I told you how I was bound to this ring.”

He tells his tale with hot shame and sorrow creeping up his cheeks and choking his throat. He tries his hardest to keep his voice steady but fails as he speaks of Hyunjin’s first love with the cloud nymph, the wisp of a girl who made him smile in ways Jisung had never seen before. Now that he knows the love that Hyunjin felt, it is so much more difficult to speak of it. To know that he ruined it.

He tells of the pesky sprites who goaded him into meddling with that love. With a heavy heart and hanging head, he reveals the prideful, selfish, despicable faerie he once was, one who could not back away from a dare and treated all of those around him as toys.

“We all knew Hyunjin and his nymph were fated to fall in love,” Jisung says. “It was just something we could see, plain as day. So the sprites dared me to play with fate. To end their love.”

Jisung doesn’t want to look at you. He can’t stomach the fact that you might be looking at him with disgust and shame, all of your previous lightheartedness with him gone. If you did, he wouldn’t be surprised – he deserves it.

But your grip on him doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens. Jisung finds the strength to go on.

He never meant it to go so far, he explains, as though that makes it better. He only wanted to break their love apart. He found a jealous, spurned suitor of the nymph and talked him into goading her to leave Hyunjin.

Instead, the suitor killed her. And the waters that raged through the forest for weeks after her death would have killed all the life there had Chan, the guardian, not called on Mother Earth to placate the water nymph’s anger and sent for the faerie queen to punish Jisung.

“That’s why I am bound to this ring,” Jisung says. “I am bound here until two things happen.”

“What are they?” you ask.

A small, genuine smile spreads across Jisung’s lips. “I first had to help Hyunjin find love again.”

A willow seed from Jisung’s esteemed collection. One of the seeds of the first willow that ever grew from Mother Earth’s mantle. It did not matter that the nymph who grew from the weeping willow that now drapes across Hyunjin’s pond was mute, that she could not speak. Her strength won Hyunjin’s heart. And after seven centuries, Hyunjin has forgiven Jisung.

“The second condition?” you prompt when Jisung falls silent.

Ah. He doesn’t want to tell you this one. He doesn’t want you to think that all of his love for you has been faked, has been solely for the purpose of attaining his freedom. But he will not lie to you.

“I had to find someone who, in the words of my faerie queen, would be foolish enough to love me,” he says.

With this admission, Jisung can practically hear the thoughts rolling around in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull and manifesting in doubt, uncertainty, and fear. “I know what you must be thinking,” he says hurriedly. “Did I only keep you around to break my curse? Truth be told, I didn’t think of that until several months ago, the day of the spring festival.” He laughs a little.

“At the start, never in my wildest dreams did I think I would fall for a human. But you were interesting. Clever. Intelligent. Your beautiful eyes may have caught my attention, but it was your soul and your mind that caught my heart. I wanted to keep talking to you.” He smiles. “On the day of the spring festival, I realized I loved you, my lady.”

Your fingers tighten around his.

“But it was I who loved you, and truly, I couldn’t think of a reason why you would love me.” His smile turns sad. “I found myself thinking of the curse and wondering, what would I do if you loved me back?” He swallows. “Do you remember our promise that day?”

By now, you’re looking into his eyes. Your gaze is a little unnerving, but Jisung forces himself to stare at you. “Yes,” you answer.

“I almost asked you to promise me your love,” he says, somber. “But by then, I knew that love must be a gift. I could not take it from you. So I asked for the next best thing – my lady’s happiness for just that day.”

Silence.

“After you left that night, I thought about my feelings. It took quite some time to sort through them all.” He smiles tentatively and his heart lightens when you smile back. “I realized that I didn’t care about my freedom. I wanted you to love me just because I loved you, even though I didn’t deserve you. I didn’t care about breaking the curse. I only wanted you to love me back.”

He’s done. He’s told you everything. His heart pounds as he waits for your response.

Will you leave him?

“Do you still want that?” your quiet voice says. “Do you still want me to love you?”

His heart is threatening to burst. He nods jerkily. “A thousand times, yes,” he whispers.

“I think I’ve loved you since the day I came to you, crying, and you asked no questions, only comforted me.” Your voice is low, quiet, small, but soothing. “I realized it the day of the festival, the same day as you. But I could never quite trust you, it felt like. You are a fae. I am a human. In my mind, I thought this could never happen.”

Jisung wants to protest but holds his tongue. This is your time to speak. He will not interrupt.

“But I trust you now.” Your shining, teary eyes look up at him with an emotion he’s never seen directed at him. He’s seen it on Hyunjin, looking at his willow nymph. He’s seen it on Changbin, gazing at his moon girl.

It hits him that you love him too.

“You’ve told me much, and there would be many who say you still do not deserve love, Han.” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “But I think you have repented. I think you have learned. The fae I know is a far cry from the prideful one of centuries past. He has given me safety, comfort, hope, love.” A smile graces your lips. “I think I love him.” You shake your head. “No, I know I love him.”

You sit up with a wobbly smile on your lips and Jisung stares straight into your bright, lovely, green eyes, glowing with the rosy light of dawn. “May I?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

In return, you nod, and his lips fall onto yours.

Jisung has had many kisses over his millennia-long life, to the point where he once thought he couldn’t feel anything new anymore. But your lips are nothing like the ones he’s kissed before.

Chapped, dry, they shouldn’t give Jisung the bliss he feels. He’s kissed lips far smoother than yours. But it is not the lips he kisses, Jisung realizes, but the person to whom those lips belong.

A little sigh leaves your parted mouth and Jisung pulls you closer, holding you with the gentility of the morning breeze on his skin, pressing his lips to yours. An hour could have passed or even a day, and he would never know. He only knows the bliss he feels that moment.

Too soon, you both must break away for air. And even though tears still stain your cheeks and Jisung’s hair has been mussed by your hands, he has never felt so content in his life.

“Give me your name,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “Give me your name, my lady, and I promise I will do all there is in my power to keep you safe from harm. Give me your name, and I promise I will travel to the ends of the realms to keep you happy.”

Your thumbs stroke his cheeks and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering in bliss. “Give me yours and I’ll give you mine.” A hint of that long-lost mischief dances in your eyes even as tears threaten again to fall down your face and Jisung wants to cry. He’s waited to see that expression on your face for too long. “I want to know you, Han. All of you.”

Hyunjin once told him that when he loved someone, he would feel no fear giving them his name. When he loved someone, he would trust that they would use his name only out of care. They would not toy with it. It would sound different in their mouth. It would sound safe.

At the time, he just cackled and made some dumb joke about how he definitely wasn’t Hyunjin’s love, then. The two had proceeded to drown the forest with their bickering until Chan came over to separate them.

But now, as he hears you repeat his name once, quietly, whispering it on your tongue, he knows what Hyunjin meant. His name is safe between your lips and yours is safe between his.

Jisung’s heart bursts.

He stands, pulling you up on shaky legs. For the first time in over a millennium, he steps out of the faerie ring, ready to leave the perfect circle of flowers and grass forever.

“Where does my lady wish to go?” he asks. His grin couldn’t get any wider.

Your smile is more enchanting today than it ever was, and your green eyes sparkle in the rising light of the sun.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

[alder-reid]

Hot Ash Dead Match // Self Para

The interview was a blur.

He was muted, he knew, but the questions from Calix were muted too. Even his stylists seemed to have gotten the message- he’d been put in a dark, dull green suit and simple black button down. Quiet, humble, orderly. Hiding away the near fifteen pounds he’d dropped in two weeks, any relic of his traumas. Typically it would be full of prodding the Victor on the twists and turns of the Arena, but after his behavior his first time on-stage, they seemed to have set a very careful set of questions. Even if they had, Alder wasn’t going to yell again anyways- he was still tired, drugged, and lines of Peacekeepers were stationed at each side of the stage, at every entrance, ready to take him down again without abandon. He was tired. He’d already let people down. His thoughts were still fogged from the anesthesia from the days prior. He was escorted to a seat after Calix’s final call for applause, front and center, to watch the official Games recap. Though his time in the Arena was more prominently featured, all twenty-six tributes had moments, even the ones in the Bloodbath. It was painful seeing the people he cared about breathing and vibrant on the screen, despite the awful circumstances. Of course, all of Alder’s outbursts had been censored, too- it was like watching a completely different person that shared his face and voice walk through something that resembled his Games.

Alder did his best to keep his expression neutral as it played, but seeing Star smile, Memphis sing, and Marino show him magic tricks again made his chest ache with the emptiness of their loss and tears burn in his eyes. If he weren’t so drugged up, he certainly would have lost it in his seat, but he kept his jaw clenched and swallowed back tears for the cameras. It should be them. I should be dead.

What surprised him, though, was how much worse it was to see the people he did not know much about, the ones he’d killed, the ones he hadn’t bothered to get to know.  First, Isabela. Smart, dangerous, every ounce as terrifying in her violent moments on screen as she had been in person, but then came Star’s death. Alder had expected it was an act of mercy of anyone apart from a Career. A cold chill poured down his spine as Isa approached Star, then... sat beside her. Held her. Sang her to sleep, before making sure Star didn’t feel the worst of it.  Then the way she continued to hesitate. Continued to pity, continued to choose mercy over the torture she’d certainly been trained for since birth. Alder’s chest felt too tight, he’d seen her as nothing but a mindless, killing threat, but she’d been gentle, too. She’d done what he couldn’t for Star. Her pause over him on the final day had not been ineptitude, a lapse in judgement, as he’d assumed- it had to have been hesitation. Would she have shown him mercy if he’d given her the chance? Then Everett. He’d known about Delta, seen her flitting between stations at training and sulking in corners when the tributes were all forced to rally together. He hadn’t gotten to know her, hadn’t thought to. She was like him, didn’t stand a chance past the Bloodbath, he’d thought.  He’d seen Everett as Career. Death obsessed. Lethal. With the girl from Four, though, he’d been soft. He’d abandoned the only alliance that might keep him alive and risked his own life again and again and again for her safety. Alder paled at the girl’s sudden, horrible death not long from the end. Could that have possibly been an accident, he thought? If Gamemakers controlled every detail of the Arena, what the hell was that? Then Everett walked her down to the sea. Gave her a goodbye. Alder had killed someone capable of such goodness, what did that mean? Memphis. That complicated everything. All of Everett’s kindness seemed to evaporate, any gentleness he once exhibited forgotten when he found Memphis on the beach. A fresh rage coursed through him, one he hadn’t felt since waking up, but it was accompanied by nausea. His only reaction through the entire ordeal that peeked through was that he had to turn away as Memphis died. He couldn’t watch that. A few tears did fall then, slipping through his fingers and down his hands. When he finally came back up, he was sure his eyes were red, but his hand went to his pocket. His fingertips found the last matchstick from Memphis, the piece of twine from Marino, still knotted, though they’d had to cut it from his finger to keep Alder from losing it. It only helped a little, but it was enough to collect himself. From there, he drifted, staring toward the screen, but mind only checking back in here and there to remind himself to shift a little, maybe change his expression a bit. He did not like the person he saw on the screen, the tribute with the anger in his eyes on the final day, who had lost his way. This was not what Alder had intended. This was not the Alder Reid from the interviews, from the early days in the Games. This was not a rebel, this was a tribute who had bowed to Capitol rule, played their game in his own cowardice and failures. After the final minutes of the Games closed and there was a roar of applause (had they not seen what he’d just seen?), he was escorted back on stage.  Alder found himself eye to eye with Titaniara Battenberg, a golden circlet in her hands. Her eyes were coal-dark, calculating and cool. There was no joy in her expression, and Alder felt a lurch of contempt, of hatred so thick and ugly the world tilted for a split second. If he was a killer now, then he had no shame left in wanting her dead. If she did not want that, she should have never created him as Victor in her image. The circlet sank over Alder’s dark curls, too big for him, cold on his forehead. He’d burn the evil thing as soon as he was back in Seven. Then he’d plan to destroy her too.