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punedrr · 2 years

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The Thesis and the Doctorate

**A/N: Happy new year! (Oh dear.) Please accept this chapter and my apologies for taking so long. I just finished my first term of actual college and it was hectic there for a while, but I’m on winter break now and I finally have some downtime (and motivation) to write. This chapter is very exposition- and dialogue-heavy (one of my writing weak points) so if you have any helpful suggestions or critiques I’d love to hear them! As my first serious fanfic this is a learning experience for me.

I hope it doesn’t read like I’m flying by the seat of my pants because that’s exactly what I’m doing! My outline is no longer current nor has it been for the past three chapters. It’s also a little shorter than I wanted but I wasn’t quite sure where to end and I really just wanted to get it out there. Y’all have NO IDEA how awesome I feel reading your comments and seeing kudos. Please enjoy!**

Link to the story: The Thesis and the Doctorate

Chapter 9: Show and Tell

You hurry down the front steps of the library. Thankfully Powers and Trigger don’t seem to be chasing you. You weren’t sure how much legal power they’d have (assuming they’re actually F.B.I.) but your gamble seems to have paid off. You slide into your car and throw your bag in the back before pulling out into the road. You don’t care if you have to break down their door, you’re going to talk to the Pines. They need to hear about this and you have more than a few questions you need answers to.

In the quiet of the car the agents’ words come back to you. “They’re master manipulators.” “Stanford and Stanley Pines are involved in numerous criminal activities, including the creation of a so-called ‘doomsday device.’” “You can’t trust anything they say.” You shake your head. None of that’s true... Right? It can’t be. But despite yourself you can’t help but look back on the summer and wonder if maybe the Pines are hiding something.

Stan definitely has a colorful past, you’ve heard enough of his campfire stories to guess at what he might have been doing in the eighties, but he’s not a dangerous criminal. He likes historical dramas, fishing, and creative taxidermy. He used to run a tourist trap and sails around the world during the off season. What illegal activities could he possibly get up to? (Besides some light tax fraud.)

Ford, however, is more of a mystery. He never told you much about his past but you know he’s very well educated with doctorates in multiple scientific fields. Now that you think about it, you realize that Ford never talked about a career or family besides his brother. His only interests seem to be cryptozoology, DDMD, and whatever he’s building with McGucket. But there must be more to him. You recall the many scars you saw last time you were at the shack, how sometimes you’d catch him tapping out ‘trust no one’ in Morse code, how he never seemed to sleep.

What if Mabel and Dipper are a part of this, too? The thought is chilling but before you can pursue it you’re coming up on the shack.

You turn off the ignition and sit for a second, gathering your thoughts. The Pines aren’t dangerous, and they’re not criminals. The agents are lying. They have to be. You step out of the car. It’s not even noon yet. The idyllic surroundings are at odds with the serious events so far. You knock on the back door, shattering the quiet. You can hear floorboards creaking but no one comes to the door.

“Ford? Stan?” You shout. “Dipper? Mabel? It’s me!” You knock again. “I know Ford’s pissed off at me over the statue but I said I’m sorry!”

Silence.

“We really need to discuss some things! I just got talked to by some guys at the library, they said they were F.B.I.? Agent Powers and-”

The door opens.

“Will ya pipe down?” Stan grumbles. “Come inside already.” You follow him into the living room, where he points you to the card table. He’s still in his pajamas. “Pointdexter! Stop sulking and c’mere!” He shouts down the hallway, then sits down across from you. “The kids are at the arcade with Soos.” He explains. “And sorry about my brother. He’s been a real sourpuss ever since you showed him those pictures.”

You start to apologize again but Stan holds up a hand. “You said the F.B.I. was sniffing around?”

“Yeah, Agent Powers-”

“-and Agent Trigger. I might’ve met ‘em once or twice.”

Your eyes go wide, then narrow. “So what they said is true?”

“What did they say? I’ve done a lot of things.” Stan shrugs, nonplussed.

“They said that you-” Ford walks in, looking everywhere except the table. “That both of you were dangerous criminals who are trying to build a ‘doomsday device.’ Apparently, they’ve been watching you for a while. They told me you’ve escaped arrest before.” At this, the brothers share a significant glance. What aren’t they saying?

“Look-” Stan starts, resting his hand on the table.

“No,” you cut him off. “You don’t get to dismiss this. I’m tired of not knowing what’s going on. First it was you-” your finger points accusingly at the Ford, “-acting all weird around me. And then I find the statue and you freak out. Which, by the way? It’s considered rude to slam a door in someone’s face. And then the F.B.I. shows up at the place I’m known to frequent, asking about my ‘perspective’ on the town and offering me money to sell you out.”

Stan jerks back, brow furrowed in suspicion. “An offer which I firmly declined.” You shake your head. “Jesus, did you really think I’d say yes to them? I don’t even know what you’re doing yet!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “Which brings me to my next point: what the hell have you two been doing to get the F.B.I. asking around?”

Ford looks at Stan and raises his eyebrows. Stan sighs. You cross your arms over your chest and wait them out.

Stan looks somewhere over your left shoulder and finally begins, “Kid, in the interest of mending fences I’ll give it to you straight. I’ve been involved in some pretty seedy stuff over the years, enough to get the F.B.I. interested. But-”

“What kind of ‘seedy stuff’?” You ask, catching his eye. “I need to know.”

Stan heaves another sigh and rolls his shoulders back as if reluctant. “All kinds, kid. Every type of fraud or traffic violation you could name. Smuggling, heists, crime rings, fighting rings. I stole my brother’s identity and faked my own death. Did I ever tell you I’m banned in 32 states? How’s that for seedy?” Stan cracks a smile, some of his old bravado resurfacing.

“You stole your brother’s identity?!” You turn accusingly on Ford. “And where were you during all of this?”

He won’t meet your eyes. “Traveling.”

“‘Traveling.’” You mock. You’re starting to feel like a parrot, but what they’re saying is ridiculous. “Traveling where? Did you know he was impersonating you at the time?”

“No.” Ford glances at Stan. “But he had his reasons.”

You clench your fists. “Will both of you stop being so goddamned cryptic?!” You shout. “I don’t know what you’re hiding, but I need answers!” You take a breath. “I come here at the start of this summer to study some trees. I get kidnapped by gnomes, find out magic is real, meet the Pines. I’d say I’m handling it all pretty well for an out-of-towner. But then the literal F.B.I. tracks me down and makes you guys out to be dangerous criminals, and tells me that they need my help to protect the world from whatever it is you’re building.

“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute. Imagine how I’m feeling. Now look at how I’m reacting. I’d say I’m entitled to a bit of a freak out at this point. I don’t want to believe what the agents told me; that’s why I told them to fuck off. You’re both my friends and it’s unthinkable to me that you’re a pair of evil masterminds. But you guys aren’t answering my questions and I know you’re hiding something. Probably something big based on your reactions. So could you please just tell me so that I know what to believe?” You plead.

The twins share a look. Abruptly, Ford stands and folds his hands behind his back. “It’s a long, convoluted story. I’m not sure what you’ll think of us once you know it,” he warns. “But it might be easier if we show you.”

“Show me what?”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

You’re led to the gift shop vending machine. Stepping in front of you, Ford inputs a code on the keypad and you watch as the vending machine hinges open to reveal a dimly-lit passageway. You gasp in surprise but don’t say anything. You follow and hear Stan pull the vending machine back into place with an echoing clang!

You descend a steep stairway at the bottom of which is an elevator. Ford opens a panel on the wall next to it and inputs another code, this one a series of alchemical symbols. The elevator doors shudder and slide slowly open.

“After you,” Ford says.

The ride down is short and bumpy. Neither of the twins say anything until the doors slide open once again, opening directly into a cavernous space lit only by dozens of tiny blinking lights.

“This is the bunker.” Ford says, reaching over to turn on the lights. These ones are brighter than those in the hallway and you can clearly see panels of switches and screens lining the walls, all of them either dark or filled with static.

You sneeze. The bunker is dusty, though not from disuse. Loose papers are scattered across any available surface and forgotten projects clutter the counters. “What- Why-” you start. You’re not sure where to start. It’s definitely interesting, but you can’t see what this place has to do with anything.

Ford stalks deeper into the space, flicking switches as he goes. You nearly walk into a periscope sticking down from the ceiling as you follow. He stops at a dark window and reaches over to press a button on the wall next to it. Suddenly the window brightens, casting Ford’s shadow tall behind him.

“Behold,” he sweeps out a six-fingered hand, bitterness in his voice. “The doomsday device.” Behind a thick pane of warped glass is a large room carved into the bedrock. It’s bigger than the bunker and extends high enough that the ceiling and back wall vanish into darkness. Taking up most of the space is the destroyed husk of a giant machine. Debris litters the floor around it. There are unfamiliar sigils carved into the face of it which emit a faint glow.

You turn to Ford. “You built this?” You search his face, unsure of what you’re looking for.

“Yes.” He admits. “But I didn’t build it to destroy the world. Not consciously, at least. It was intended to be an interdimensional portal.”

Never once taking his eyes from the derelict machine, he tells you the story behind the construction of the portal. He starts at the beginning, back when he was a fresh-faced graduate of Backupsmore University with too much grant money and not enough sense.

“One day I discovered cave paintings detailing an ancient ritual. The Native Americans who used to populate the valley had kept it secret for good reason, but I was young and too curious for my own good.” He laughs bitterly. “I didn’t think he was dangerous at first.” You can hear the self-deprecation in Ford’s voice.

“He tricked me into building this for him. Fiddleford was my assistant at the time but he was unaware of my inspiration. During our first trial run he was pulled through. I managed to get him back, but he...” Ford pauses and puts one hand on the glass. “Never fully regained his sanity.” Ford learned of Bill Cipher’s true plans soon after. Desperate for help, he called his by-then estranged brother.

“When Stanley arrived he didn’t want to take the journal like I told him to do. We fought. We were too close to the portal. I was trying to destroy it but-”

“I pushed him in.” Stan speaks up, startling you. Between the machine and Ford, you’d forgotten he was there.

“Stanley–”

“And I didn’t see my brother again for thirty years. That’s when I stole his identity. I needed a clean record and money to rebuild the portal, but I guess it turned out alright in the end.” Stan gets up to stand next to Ford at the window and picks up where his brother left off. He tells you about Lil’ Gideon, how he tormented Mabel and Dipper and eventually allowed Bill to cross into Gravity Falls. You learn about Weirdmageddon and about how the town came together to defeat Bill, how it all came down to Stan in the end.

Both of the brothers are nearly hoarse by the end of their explanation. Stan soon excuses himself to go back upstairs. The quiet hum of the bunker is the only sound. What do you say to that kind of story? Your first feeling is relief, and then shame for doubting them. Anger follows, both at the Pines for not telling you sooner and at yourself for not figuring it out.

You bump Ford with your shoulder, startling him into looking at you. From this angle his face is swathed in shadows. “Thank you. For telling me.” You say haltingly, not quite sure how to proceed. “And for showing me all of this. I know it must to be a lot for you. Hell, it’s a lot for me and I’m hearing about it secondhand.” You crack a smile. You don’t get one in return, but some of the tension seems to ebb from the room. “I can’t even imagine... Thirty years in the multiverse. What was that like?” You say the last part to yourself but Ford hears you and answers.

“Terrifying.” Shoulders up, hands in his pockets, facing forward again. Old trauma. “Surrounded by an ever-changing alien landscape, constantly either running for my life or hunting down Bill. Never sure if I would live to see the next day.” His voice is quiet, a razor’s edge of bad memories. He pauses and turns back to look at you. Behind the shadow flits the ghost of a smile.

“But sometimes,” he speaks softer now, and with a trace of wistfulness. “It was beautiful.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Back upstairs Mabel and Dipper are back and watching T.V. with Stan, who has mercifully decided to get dressed. (It was too serious to register at the time, but after your first meeting you had hoped never to see Stan in his pyjamas ever again.) Mabel is the first to notice you walk in, Ford on your heels.

“Hi!” She chirps.

“Hey guys, how was the arcade?” You ask, taking a seat at the card table. A glance at the screen tells you they’re watching Ducktective reruns. From your previous visits you’ve learned that Mabel, Soos, and Stan all have a passion for it and that Dipper will put up with it only because his favorite paranormal show usually airs right after. You don’t think Ford even watches television.

“It was fun! Soos got a new high score on Ghost Maze, which I didn’t even think was possible,” Mabel recounts. “Grunkle Stan told us that you know about all the stuff that happened with Bill now. Which is great, because I hate keeping secrets!”

And what a secret to keep, you think. The mention of Bill brings up another question. “So... That statue I found in the woods- that was Bill?”

You expect Ford to answer, but it’s Dipper that speaks up. “Yes.” His tone is serious, and suddenly you understand why he reacted the way he did when you showed him the picture. Like he’d seen a ghost, because he had. “But after I saw it I talked to Grunkle Ford and he says we don’t have any reason to worry.”

“That’s right, Dipper. It’s impossible for Bill to have survived. The statue is nothing but an empty shell. But just in case, I have plans to rig up a monitoring system so that we’ll know if anything changes.”

The issue settled, you lean back and glance at the wall clock. It’s early afternoon. That means you were only down in the bunker for a little over an hour, but it feels like so much longer.

Truth be told, you still can’t believe that Stan and Ford told you everything. They had no reason to trust you, but they still let you in. You’re glad though. Over the summer you’ve grown close to this weird family and the weird town they live in, and now that you know about Bill it feels like you’ve grown impossibly closer.

“What about the agents?” You ask suddenly. “I mean, I know now that they’re full of-” you remember just in time that the kids are in the room, “-it, but just because I’m not helping them doesn’t mean they’ll give up.”

Ford frowns and opens his mouth, but Mabel beats him to the punch. “We’ll kick their butts! We did it last time, didn’t we?”

“We did,” he confirms.

“All I’m saying is, it’s probably best for everybody to watch their backs,” you say. “They didn’t tell me their plans, or if they even have one. But from the way they were talking they seemed pretty desperate.” You wonder if they’ll try to grab you again. You don’t have any weapons besides a small pocket knife, and it’s not like you’re trained in self-defense.

“Perhaps you should stay here for a bit,” Ford suggests, seeing the look on your face. “Just until we know the situation better.”

You stare at him. He flushes and looks down at the table. “Not that you can’t defend yourself, I’m sure you’re quite capable-”

“Sixer,” Stan cuts in. “Give the lady a chance to speak for herself.”

“Right. Yes. Sorry.”

Stan pauses, but you’re silent. “Now,” Stan continues, “what my idiot brother means to say is: you’re welcome to stay here until this blows over, and all things considered, we could probably use the help. If you don’t feel like it though, I’d be happy to give you the family and friends discount on any weapons you may happen to find in the gift shop.” At this, Mabel reaches between the couch cushions and helpfully brandishes a grappling gun.

“Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it,” Stan shrugs.

On one hand, you’re itching to get back to your cabin and think everything through. The last couple of days have been a lot. On the other hand, you would definitely feel safer at the Shack, even if that would be putting you closer to the action. You’d be in good company. Plus, it’s not like staying a night (or two, or three) is out of the ordinary for you anymore.

In the end, the choice is easy.

#the thesis and the doctorate #chapter 9 #guys i'm so sorry for the late update #i can't promise sooner future updates #but i can promise that no matter how long it takes #i will not abandon this story #gravity falls #gf fanfiction #self insert #my fic

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ckret2 · 2 months

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we're officially on Ao3 y'all

Bill escapes his postmortem imprisonment via an unauthorized reincarnation—but half his powers are sealed off and the Pines family immediately captures him. But even Bill doesn't know whether killing his human body will unleash a feeble human ghost or a powerful energy being. That's not a risk the Pines are willing to take. He has until the Pines can obtain a god-executing weapon to escape the Mystery Shack, his body, or death row. No prob! He can befriend his captors; but THEY'LL never befriend HIM— —enter Mabel Pines, with Ford watching closely. And by the end of summer, all of Gravity Falls is befriending Bill Cipher. A story about a soul trapped in a body it doesn't fit; the psychic scars left on children whose parents ask them to be adults; giving a monster a second chance he doesn't deserve but needs; and Bill getting cursed to forget how doorknobs work.

Fingers crossed I hope to update every other day for the first couple weeks. Then we'll switch to weekly updates.

If you've been enjoying the fic here on tumblr, it would mean a lot to me if you'd give it a kudos & maybe a comment over on Ao3! Thank you!

#gravity falls #the book of bill #(<- actual spoilers are mild so far but the ao3 version IS fully TBOB-compatible!)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls fic #my writing #my art #bill goldilocks cipher

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spider-stark · 6 months

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INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this…

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her.

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.

And it still made you angry.

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”

Understand.

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.

You weren’t used to this.

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…

This was different, somehow.

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.

But Peter wasn’t like other people.

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.

You knew better than to think he meant it.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.

You were good at expressing anger, though.

You were very good at expressing anger.

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.

“I will,” you promised.

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.

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a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

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f-imaginings · 25 days

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If you've just discovered Billford from the Book of Bill you'll enjoy:

Knowing Me Knowing You on ao3!

If you're looking for fanfic to read that hits on the key dynamics from the Book of Bill, (despite the bulk of the fic existing before the books release) look no further! In the interest of tooting my own horn, to celebrate the new chapter I'd like to recommend a fic inspired by ABBA BABBA's musical back catalogue!

If you read the book of bill and wanted to see more of:

toxic old man yaoi billford

pre-betrayal worshipful billford (plus canon typical gravity falls anomaly research and hijinks)

post betrayal angsty possession billford (with bonus BORD!)

interdimensional cat and mouse portal billford (catch me if you can!)

Stanford getting it on with a triangle (and a human bill pre-betrayal) in many weird and wonderful ways

complex relationship dynamics between Ford, Fiddleford and Bill

Institute of Oddology toxic fidd/author/bill side story

Heist after heist with the henchmaniacs

Ford's portal adventures!

Terrible jokes that will make you laugh anyway!

A power dynamic that levels the playing field (Ford in control) and then decimates the field altogether!

Ford fell first, Bill fell harder!

Fleshed out backstories for the wider cast in Gravity Falls and a story that respects everyone's agency!

A Billford fic that takes a break from the toxic ship to spend a chapter with Stanley pug smuggling in New Mexico

Morally ambiguous Jheselbraum with past connections to Bill

Lottocron 9 and the infinity sided dice (including Ford's trip to the M dimension! Hate that place!!!)

Then you might enjoy this fic! It's just updated, with more chapters on the way, so if you're ready for a journey into mystery, mayhem and mischief, strap yourself in!

*author's disclaimer - Book of Bill DID align exactly with my fanfic and I was not disappointed!

#billford #knowing me knowing you #bill cipher #gravity falls #stanford pines #billford fanfic #the book of bill #book of bill #fanfic rec #tooting my own horn is very impressive considering i've never played an instrument well #i once got paid to STOP playing the clarinet #true story #anyway i have been on cloud nine with all these new readers #i hope you all enjoy reading the story so far #i was tempted to include people's reviews but i thought that was tilting too far into the egotism running rampant lmao #too much like ford #not enough like Bill #who can say

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all-0f-the-above · 22 days

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Fiddleford goes to physical therapy for his posture when Ford and Stan head out on the sea for the first time. months pass. Tate nags at him to do his exercises, and Stan drags his twin away from the deck to get some rest every 16 hours.

by the time the Stans get back to Gravity Falls, it's winter and the ocean is no longer a pleasant place to adventure; their bones are old and don't handle the cold too well. Soos drives out to pick them up from the port.

Stan notes an unfamiliar form standing at the shack when they arrive, "Hey Soos, what's with the new guy?"

"He's not new, Stanley-" Ford is plastered to his window in the backseat and opens the door before the car's in park.

"Sixer! What's the deal?!"

Stan swings the car door wide open, about to give his idiot brother a piece of his mind on how to behave in front of little, impressionable, kids. When he rounds the hood of the car, he's greeted with an image he hasn't seen for a long while: Ford hugging someone. Not just any someone- judging by Tate's proximity and the notable absence of a small, bearded figure- it's McGucket.

Except the old man's now tall. Taller than Ford. As if his height wasn't enough, he also looks completely different: the beard's cut short and there's no hat covering his bald head. Now he resembles the roommate in the photos Ford brought onto the Stan O'War.

Tate's completely changed, too. Not physically, but you can tell from the way he stands close to McGucket and has a small smile on his face. He finally has his dad back.

Ford, he supposes, got someone back, too.

///

will make sequels to this from Tate, Fidds, and Ford's POVs. not the exact same story, but different snapshots of the same transformations. follow the FiddlefordGetsPT tag if you want to get updates

this was originally just supposed to be a post about how Fiddleford was taller pre-Portal!Ford so like with physical therapy and better posture would he be taller again? how would Ford take it? yeah whoops it became this

#FiddlefordGetsPT #fiddauthor #they inhabit my brain permanently #also Tate getting his Dad back?!? holy fuck guys how have we not expanded on this #gravity falls #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #old man mcgucket #stanford pines #ford and fiddleford #this story is from Stanley's POV though #stanley pines #soos ramirez #<<<we love a man with a driver's license and a car

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yoonia · 4 days

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Ever A Never After: Act 2 (1)

⟶ Chapter Summary | Some say fate can be a cruel thing. Yet you never knew how true it was until fate played a hand in your bad luck. Merely moments before your happily ever after, you are suddenly sent out to a weird place. A different world. You wonder if this is a test from fate to see if you are truly deserving of your happy ending, or if perhaps fate wants to show you something else. Something that fate wishes you to learn before you can finally move on to take the next step towards your happiness.

⟶ Title | Ever a Never After (adaptation from Enchanted movie) ⟶ Pairings | Jungkook x female reader; Seokjin x female reader ⟶ Genre | Strangers to lovers!au, Fairy tale retelling!au, Rom-com ⟶ Word count | 15,410 words ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; slow burn, mentions of curses, black magic, theft, law terms. ⟶ Author’s note | Gosh, this took so long to update, and I’m so sorry for that. Act 2 has expanded way beyond planned, so I had to split this into two (shorter) chapters to make it easier to read and for me to edit. Still, this was roughly edited because I’m currently dealing with a lot of stuff (sick cat, health issues, mental block, etc), but I hope you’ll still enjoy reading this.

⟶ Story Masterlist: Ever A Never After | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢

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𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1. 𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔄𝔩𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡

Is this a dream?

Am I dreaming?

You have to be dreaming. You are sure of it. Because there could be no other way to explain what is happening now.

But what exactly happened?

Just moments ago, you were standing in front of the most exquisite fountain you have ever seen, marvelling at its beauty—the artistic carvings around the pool, the crystal-like water flowing in slow ripples, and the waterfall that seemed to have manifested from the palace’s walls. You had gotten completely enchanted by the sight of the fountain that you were already drowning in it even before you fell straight into it.

That’s right. I fell into the fountain. But how did I fall?

Your memory is a bit fuzzy, most likely due to shock. All you can remember is that at one moment, you were standing there, watching the cascading water that appeared like a crystal veil falling into a pool of clear, silvery water, and then the next, you felt like gravity became stilted and you started falling.

You remember the sound of the water splashing and crashing all around you. And then came the cold. The water felt like ice as it engulfed you, adding weight to your dress as it soaked all over the fabric which was dragging you deeper, bringing you down, and down, with not a sign of you reaching the end of this fall anytime soon.

Is there really no end to this pool? Where is the bottom?

It seems odd to think that the pool you have fallen into could be this deep. You are quite sure you could see the bright white marble stone at the bottom of the pool when you were marvelling at the fountain earlier, and it didn’t seem to be this deep.

But even weirder is the fact that your dress. Despite having been soaked with water earlier, the dress is no longer drenched. Neither is your hair. Your body is dry, even when you still feel cold. Real cold. As if you are being embraced entirely with ice.

All while you are continuously falling. Still falling. With nothing embracing your fall no matter how much time seems to have passed since.

Turning to look down below, you can only see nothingness. The sight of endless darkness surrounds you from all sides and corners. All except one. Darkness is not the only thing that you see as you fall, as the part of the waterfall you saw at the fountain is here with you; a veil made up of crystal-like water cascading right beside you, an extension of the falling water you saw right before your fall.

How odd, you wonder, as you try to reach out to it as you continue falling. The waterfall seems to magically continue into the darkness beyond. As if there is no end to it.

Just like how there seems to be no end to your descent.

This is it, isn’t it? This is the end. You cannot help but wonder, finding no other way except to give in to fate. Instead of panicking and feeling terrified, for some reason, you find calmness. Calm enough to choose to touch the endless waterfall, feeling its icy stream with the tips of your fingers, instead of looking into the dark to embrace your final moment.

“So beautiful,” you whisper as rainbow colours magically appear in the water at the touch of your fingers. Sparks seem to spread into your skin as the water sprinkles out of the waterfall, splashing gently around your hand. “How lovely, it—oh!”

All of a sudden, everything comes to a sudden halt. Pain spreads through the side of your body—from your shoulders and down to your hip—as you fall onto a hard surface. Groaning in pain, you make no effort to move. Not until the throbbing ache begins to ebb.

Pressing your palm down, you nearly flinch instead of finding steadiness. The ground beneath you feels as cold as ice. It feels beyond uncomfortable, yet you try to hold the displeasure and push yourself up to sit.

The first thing you notice as you look around is the way your skirt is splayed widely on the ground. A stark white that glows like moonlight against the dark void that forms the solid ground beneath you which seemed to have manifested out of the darkness.

The wall of incandescent water is now gone. Only the darkness remains, blending into the midnight-coloured ground going as far as your eyes can see.

Confusion plagues you. Instead of feeling any hint of fear, you feel somewhat serene. As if the shadow around you has not only swallowed down all the lights, but also your frazzled thoughts.

And yet your senses are clear. Enough to allow you to see it when the light suddenly appears amongst the endless layer of shadow around you.

Just like the wall of water which accompanies your fall, this light is filled with tiny sparks, floating in the air like little stars you see in the night sky. Slowly, you begin crawling towards it, worrying that your legs would fail you should you dare to try and rise on your feet.

From up close, you can see clearly that the sparkle of lights is, in fact, not actual stars. They are simply fractures of light filtering through small apertures formed between and around an iron plate that seems to have manifested on the center of the midnight-coloured ground.

Leaning down, you try to take a peek into where the lights are coming from. Except that the opening is too small for you to see anything clearly. Still, you can hear sounds—steady murmurs with sometimes a few indiscernible shouts echoing through the unseen space beneath you, rapid footsteps and rustles of hard materials crossing the opposite side of the ground, an irregular current of rumbling and wheels that sound larger and heavier than the wheels of horse carriages that you are most accustomed to hearing, and loud horns blaring from every corner.

Feeling hope clawing in your chest that you may find your exit beyond this iron plate, you sit back up and begin tracing the edges, looking for something to hold. A touch of a small gap on the outer rim of the plate tells you where to place a grip. With the tips of your fingers, you gently press and slip them into the gap, hoping that you can pry it open.

It takes some effort, but you finally manage to slide the heavy iron plate aside. A strong breeze immediately filters through the opening. A breeze that feels nothing like what you remember back home.

It feels warm, but with barely a hint of the fresh air filled with the scent of pine and clear water that you are accustomed to. Instead, the air feels dry, mixed in with smoke and dust and a tad smell of must which makes your throat grow tight and you find it hard to breathe. Coughing up, you suddenly feel as if the ground beneath you is tilting over, your body being pulled into the opening by invisible threads. The force is so strong that you cannot fight it, unable to stop your body from submerging into the hole.

Or, in this case, emerge.

Because the moment you open your eyes again, you are pulling yourself out of the opening. The world on the other side of the hole seems to be inverted, everything held upside down with gravity pulling you down in the wrong direction. What you had thought to be the bottom turns out to be a bright sky, the sunlight shining so brightly that it hurts your eyes.

Your legs are trembling when you step out of the hole, your heels almost slipping on the hard ground that is lighter than the ground where you had landed on from your fall, the surface uneven and rugged.

Your body feels stilted as it defies gravity, and it takes some time before you can finally regain your bearings. A struggle made by being instantly overwhelmed with a myriad of sensations coming over you—the air that feels too warm and the sunlight that seems too bright after being stuck in the dark for a long while, the loud noises reverberating in the space around you, and the rush that seems to be happening everywhere you look.

Where—where am I? What is this place?

Shaking your head, you wonder if you are simply imagining things or perhaps you are dreaming. Because this place looks nothing like Andalasia.

The road where you are standing isn’t made of cobblestones and gravel. Instead of trees, you see buildings in various shapes, sizes, and colours. Buildings that seem taller than Castle Andalasia and its towers or even the enigmatic witch tower you had once seen during your trip across the woodlands.

Some of these buildings are even sparkling under the sunlight, as if they are enchanted with spells and light magic in various colours. With crystals that are covering half of their bodies and lights illuminating even under the bright sun. Lights that appear like stars and rainbows glitter onto the streets below, flashing luminous colours onto the people passing by as if they are blessed with magic.

And there are so many people around you—walking up and down the road, across the street. Some are rushing in quick footsteps, while others are walking leisurely as they admire the buildings and the bright, colourful lights glimmering from around them. Many are dressed funnily, with only a few wearing dresses and suits like the townspeople of Andalasia who you often met when you were with your grandmother tending her shop downtown.

But most baffling is the sight of numerous carriages appearing in odd shapes and various flashy colours, all seeming to have been crafted with metal, driving up and down the main road without a single sight of horses pulling them. You watch as some of those metal carriages are stuck before turning to a different road, and the sound of the horns you heard earlier starts blaring all around you.

What are those things? What kind of magic exists here?

“Excuse me, Ma’am? You’re not allowed to be here.”

A deep voice startles you, drawing a squeal out of your lips. Turning around, you see four men coming towards you. Four large men, all of them wearing similar clothing. Chest coverings in the shade of tangerine and sunflowers which look like those vests that knights would wear under their armours, only thinner and frail, barely a protection against threats. And just like some knights you once saw patrolling across the rise around Castle Andalasia, the men are wearing helmets that reflect the sunlight. Except they don’t protect the men’s faces the way they should have, making you wonder if they might be a different type of knights which you had never met before.

“Ma’am?” One of the men calls out when you fail to answer. But it isn’t his voice that snaps you out of your stunned silence. It is how the man is leaning close to you, looking at you with an odd look on his face—as if you are some kind of a wild creature coming from the forest.

“I beg your pardon?” Your voice comes out thin. Nearly indiscernible among the loud noises coming from all around you.

This seems to surprise the strange man as his gaze softens. So does his voice when he points at what appears to be a line of makeshift fence bordering all around you from the busy road. “This spot is closed. See? We’re doing some work in here and you’re in our way.”

You frantically gaze around, scrutinizing the small things you have failed to take notice of before. Everything is still so confusing and you only end up feeling more lost than ever. Seems like you had emerged in the middle of the road. The metal carriages are driving around you, avoiding the area bordered by the fences circling the spot where you and these men are standing. And it seems that you have garnered some attention, as you watch some people passing by turning to look.

Another man steps closer while looking wary. “Is there a problem, Miss? Why are you in the middle of the road?”

“Oh, um—” Taking a deep breath, you muster calmness before looking back at the men again. “Forgive me, Sir. It appears that I have gotten myself lost. Can you please show me the way to return to Andalasia? I must go back before it’s too late. The ceremony should’ve already started by now but here I am, still—”

“Are you lost, Miss? Are you talking about the ceremony that’s happening today?” A different man takes over this time. Unlike the others, he seems to be more even-tempered, calmer as he speaks, and he isn’t treating you as if you a wild thing to be wary of.

A sigh of relief escapes you as you turn to the third man, finding solace in his presence. “Yes, there’s a ceremony that I must attend, and it’s—”

You suddenly find it hard to continue, unable to openly share your concerns.

How ridiculous does it sound? The bride, losing her way to her own wedding?

You clear your throat and force a smile. “You see, I wasn’t sure where to go with no one to guide me and I suppose I took too many turns to get to the venue that I lost my way.” The words come out of you rapidly in a rush before you can stop them, while the men start looking at each other.

“What ceremony are you talking about?” The first man whispers to the friendly one that you are talking to.

“There’s a party thing going on the block over. Saw guests coming in dressed up in designer dresses and suits earlier like one of those award things. Much fancier than what she’s wearing,” the third man answers as he points at your wedding dress.

Joy bursts through your chest at his words. Elegant dresses and suits fancier than your handmade dress can only mean one thing. Surely, he is talking about the nobbles who were invited by the Queen to attend your wedding with the Prince.

The nicer man of the three looks at you again with a rueful smile. “It isn’t far from here. Do you see those black vans over there? The ones heading down that street?” He points out across the street, where the congested road of metal carriages appears. “Just follow them and you’ll find the venue around the corner. You won’t miss it with all the crowd and paparazzi lining up at the front.”

You have no idea what some of the words he is telling you mean, yet you barely waste any time considering it when your gaze lands on a group of dark-coloured metal carriages driving past the blockage, drawing attention from the crowd surrounding them.

Clasping your hands together, you turn to the man and thank him with a bow. “Then I must not waste more time and make haste. Thank you for your help. It’s so kind of you.”

“Uh, yeah—anytime,” the kind man murmurs absently as he watches you gather your flowy skirt and gracefully turn away to start trudging across the street, following his guide. Barely acknowledging his response when you have your mind busy wondering about those dark carriages and the crowd of people who are watching them go.

Are those some sort of magic carriages coming for the guests?

You find this peculiar, yet pleasantly surprising, as the last time you spoke to the Prince, he spoke about not feeling sure about having many guests attending the wedding ceremony.

“Queen Mother might get anxious about the wedding being so rushed. You wouldn’t mind keeping it small, do you? Mother would be able to use magic to announce the wedding to our neighbouring kingdoms and send out invitations, yet who knows how many would be able to travel to Andalasia on such short notice.”

You still remember that moment—the gentle sway of the horse that the Prince led to walk slower towards your home, the strands of his hair that kept flickering with the breeze, and the flutter rising inside your chest.

You sighed into his embrace, still finding it hard to believe that it wasn’t a dream. That you were talking with the Prince about your wedding. “I don’t mind. As long as we’re together.”

Prince Jungkook laughed softly then. “You make me want to rush the wedding further, Princess.”

The warmth that you felt that day returns just as you remember his smile. So does the flutter in your chest as you think about returning to the Prince so you can marry him. Just as planned. You are lost in the depth of your thoughts as you turn away from the burly men, reminiscing the past that had just ended a day ago—more or less.

A day that feels like forever as you tread carefully down the road, avoiding the carriages that are speeding across and around you, horns and shouts blowing in the air as they drive past by.

Everything seems like a white noise, regardless of how foreign the sounds are to you. They all drown even the loud voices of the burly men that you are leaving behind as they are calling out to you from behind.

“Wait, is she walking? In that dress?” One of the construction workers who had first approached you at the site shouts behind you, baffled as he realises that you are going on foot towards the venue for the movie premier mentioned by his colleague. “Hey, you might want to get an Uber, Miss!”

“Let her be. She’ll probably get there faster than riding a car with all this traffic,” the only oldest one from the group who didn’t make an effort to speak to you comments from the side, already busy continuing the work that he left behind to grab a bit for lunch earlier.

The worker who felt sorry enough to help you ponders over his friend’s comment for a moment as he watches you disappearing among the crowd. “Yeah, you're probably right.” he finally says after pushing down the unease boiling inside him. “Did anyone see where she came from?”

“She was already standing there when I got here,” says the first worker who came back to the renovation site to find you first. He is just about to say something when he suddenly stumbles, barely catching himself from falling when one of his feet slips down into an opening that he failed to notice when he first came in.

“What the fuck—” he curses under his breath once he realises what had almost made him fall over. “Hey, who opened the goddamn sewer? I could’ve broken my neck!”

How long has it been?

How far have I been walking?

Speech has long left you. Your thoughts are barely coherent as time continues to pass by without fail, and you are still out here, stranded in the middle of a city that you cannot recognise as a part of your home.

Home feels so far away.

Especially now that you are starting to believe that you are no longer in Andalasia. Nowhere near enough, that is quite for sure, as there is nothing about this place that comes close to anything that you would normally find back home.

Hours must have passed since you’ve fallen through the fountain and then emerged in this strange place. Wherever this place is. Hours of walking and getting lost in a giant maze that was way more complex and bewildering than the maze of hedges back in the castle.

Hours have definitely passed since you looked up to the sky to see the bright sunlight. Warm as it was after having drowned in the cold shadow that brought you here.

Was it really hours ago when you spoke to those burly men on the road? You wonder to yourself as you look up at the sky, the colours are slowly changing, the white and stark blue in the sky turning warmer as the sun continues to glide lower into the horizon, under the tall buildings that look larger than guard towers.

The place that the kind man had informed you about hadn’t been a part of the castle. Not at all a part of a royal wedding. But your wishful thinking made you believe that you may have gotten through a different entrance gate leading back to the castle when you saw the glorious sight of noblewomen and noblemen walking down a red carpet into what seemed to be some sort of a ball.

The dresses you saw were captivating, more stunning than the dresses you saw worn by the ladies of Andalasia. The men wore breathtaking suits, with colours brighter than what you had ever seen before. Some were even adorned with rare jewels that glowed under the lights as the men walked down the same path covered in red carpet.

You were so enthralled by the sight of them that you didn’t realise being lured to follow them. Stepping closer only led you to be pulled in, drawn into the line of nobbles walking into the venue.

There were also the forces around you which kept pushing you to them—the crowd of people outside of the venue that seemed to be admiring the stunning nobles entering the venue, the flashing lights coming from every corner, blinding your eyes that you couldn’t see where you were being pulled into, and the guards in suits who kept yelling at you to “Keep moving!”

It wasn’t until you were at the door that it was finally made clear to you that you were at the wrong place.

“An—invitation?” You stood by one of the guards who eventually stopped you from going further, baffled when you were suddenly asked for an invitation.

An invitation, to your own wedding?

“Yes, you’re here for the premiere, aren’t you? We need to see your invitation.”

“I’m not—” you looked around, panicked. Your voice weakened when you murmured defeatedly, “I’m supposed to be at the wedding.”

There was something in the guard’s eyes that made your chest clench. A look of pity that you had only once seen from your grandmother when you came home late at night after playing out in the forest too long.

“This is an invitation-only event, so I’m afraid you’re at the wrong place, Miss.” The man turned to another guard then and said something about helping you find an exit without having to go back through the crowd. Yet you barely paid attention to any of it, too distraught about getting stuck at the wrong place when you were running out of time.

“Excuse me, Sir. Can you please show me the direction to Castle Andalasia?”

You tried to ask the guard as he was pushing you out of the exit, who no longer had his attention on you as commotion suddenly started rising from where you first came in. “Keep moving, Miss. You shouldn’t be the way,” he only said before rushing away, leaving you lost and clueless at the exit.

Shaking your head, you try to shut down your thoughts, pushing away the uneasiness that is haunting you and start paying more attention to your surroundings.

You cannot remember half of the journey that took you here after leaving that place. Nothing but a blur of faces and movements, being pushed around amongst the crowd of people and getting too close to danger when you had to dodge the metal carriages rushing through the streets.

The only thing reminding you of how far you have travelled through the city to find your way home is the soreness growing on your legs, the blisters you feel forming on your skin from wearing your heels for too long, and there is no doubt your updo is falling apart, held up merely by the pins from the tiara on your head.

Thinking about your tiara makes you think about your forest friends. You lift your hand to brush against the jewels, reminiscing the sweet moment when your friends helped pin the tiara on top of your head before sending you off for the wedding.

“Oh, my precious angels. I hope you’re all safe,” you whisper, choking with a sob. You wonder where they are, and wonder if they ever got to the wedding spot safely and met the Prince. They must be worried, once they realised you weren’t at the venue when they got there.

Picturing their voices saddens you. You miss their cheerful chitters and squeaks, the little teases they often throw at you just to make you smile. You wrap your arms around yourself as you think about them, wishing that they were here with you instead. How different this would have been if you had them around. Their presence would have been wonderful. Even if they would be just as lot as you are now, at least they could have cheered you up so you wouldn’t lose hope.

Any sliver of hope you had to find your way home was fairly lost some time ago. Even so, you refuse to give up. You cannot give up. It would have been silly for you to simply give up and stop looking for your way home. You are merely lost. The only thing you need is to find the right road to take, and perhaps the right person who would be willing to help you.

Sighing, you feel your hope dwindling even more as you think about finding help.

The people here—they aren’t kind.

Apart from the burly men dressed in bright-coloured vests and oddly shaped knight helmets you met when you first arrived in this strange place, you have yet to find anyone else willing to help, much less to look your way.

Well, some did. Though not all were interested enough to help, quite a few seemed to make a mockery of your wedding dress or were curious about why you were wearing such a dress in the middle of the city. At least, there were a rare few that tried to help you. At least, you want to believe that they meant well, even when they seemed confused.

“Excuse me, could you please show me the direction to Castle Andalasia, please?”

“Excuse me—”

You remember asking, questioning the people you passed by until your voice nearly grew hoarse. And you remember how often you were met with suspicious glances, and wary gazes, before some of the worn doubts faded and they all tried to point you in various directions to go.

“A wedding? I heard wedding bells from the chapel across that garden. That must be where you’re heading?” said one lady with streaks of grey in her hair and a hint of caution in her eyes.

You nearly ran across the garden that she pointed towards, not even sparing a glance to admire its beauty until you reached a chapel. A place where an actual wedding was happening, only that it wasn’t yours, and you had only stayed for a minute to watch the bride and groom walking down the staircase after sharing their true love’s kiss.

And then there were those other people who seemed awfully confused with your question when you asked for directions that they spoke with words that had no meaning for you.

“Castle? What castle you said? This isn’t England, lady.”

“Is that a new ride in Universal Studio?”

“No, I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Is she talking about a movie set? Just point her to the studio. Seems to be wearing the wrong period dress, though.”

You have lost count of how many places you’ve been to in the day, none of which turned out to be anything close to the castle. How many times you were turned away from buildings and gated properties after following the directions that you were given? How it had only led you to become even more lost, not knowing which way to go?

And then when you were not being turned away from one direction to the next through those vain instructions, you kept finding yourself being thrust and propelled to a myriad of courses without having any control or sense way to go. It kept going on for a while, until you finally managed to escape, leaving the crowded streets and the busy part of the city behind.

The road you took to leave the bustling place you’ve been to still bears no sign of it leading towards Andalasia. But at least it is quieter here than the roads you travelled across before.

The bright and flashy buildings you saw earlier have grown less and less the more you go. Some still look as menacing as the towers of the evil witches of Andalasia, others are standing strong like fortresses with giant luminous paintings attached to their walls. But they grow more scarce as you continue walking, finding more gates and long, unending walls, and trees which stand like massive pillars pointing up to the sky.

The roads that you have seen so far are wider, longer, all filled with those carriages—most of them in similar sizes, some bigger than most, and there was one which appeared like a giant animal strolling down the road—without horses pulling them forward. The surface is smoother than the gravel-coloured roads winding down between the towns and villages of Andalasia, all painted in a darker shade of colour than the cobblestone roads you saw around the castle.

As you continue walking, you keep hoping that the roads will suddenly change. To grow smaller in size and change shapes so you can follow them to find your way back to Andalasia.

And yet, just like how fate hasn’t been on your side today, there is no such luck.

Your head is pounding. You cannot remember when was the last time you ate or drank anything. You had been so nervous about your wedding that you could barely swallow anything at breakfast.

Now it seems that the day is growing darker. Time seems to flow faster here than how you remember it back home. The temperature has also dropped. It happened so suddenly that it almost felt like you were once again transported to another place in time. Without having to fall into a fountain this time.

Hugging yourself isn’t doing much to eliminate the cold, and you begin to regret not listening to your grandmother about covering your dress with a coat when you left home this morning. And your dress is getting heavier the more exhausted you feel. The skirt is dragging by your feet and the hems have gotten soiled after walking so long.

Rounding the corner, you see a line of benches on the side of the road. Before you realise it, you quicken your pace, desperate to rest even for a moment.

“Oh, this is great,” you whisper with a sigh of relief once you are rested on the bench. Leaning back, you rest your sore back and shoulders, before stretching out your sore legs. You can feel your muscles growing lax. Even if you are still feeling down in the dumps, drowsiness easily sets in.

But right before you can allow sleep to take over, you blink your eyes open to the creaking sound of wheels and look up across the street. And then you see her. Covered from head to toe in a dark-coloured cloak, the familiar figure that you saw just hours ago is walking on the other side of the road. Hunched down, the hood of her cloak covers the top of her head but not enough to hide her from sight, and she is focusing more on pushing the metal cart that she has with her to notice you watching.

The old hag.

“You—! Wait a moment!” You push yourself up. Getting your legs to start working again is a struggle that you nearly slip on the pavement before you manage to run across the street, catching up to the cloaked figure right before she disappears around the corner. “Please, I have no idea what happened, but you need to bring me back to the castle before—”

Desperate, you reach out to grab her, to get her to listen, and the cloaked old had abruptly turns to snap at you. “Hey, don’t touch me! What’s your fucking problem?”

You step back, flinching at the hostility and the stench. “I—” Your words die down when her hood falls back, revealing her true features. Immediately, you can see that you have made a mistake.

The person before you has a tangled mass of darker hair in the colour of chestnut, with only a few strands of grey and silver appearing from the top of her head, unlike the elder woman you met at the royal garden with silver-moon hair framing her face. From up close, it clears that her cloak is tattered and stained in various places, unlike the old hag’s velvety cloak which appeared slightly fancier despite looking worn out and old. And while this person’s face seems to have been roughened with time, with lines and scars appearing around her eyes and lips, she still looks much younger than the person you have been seeking since you met her last.

Disappointed, you can feel the strains of hope you felt leaving your body. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

The person scowls, giving you a look that reminds you too much of the troll who attacked you the previous day that you wince back. “I should sue you,” she says, her voice lowering to a snarl.

“What—?”

The hooded woman sneers, showing you her stained, crooked teeth when she chuckles. “Yeah, I’m suing for harassment. I was just walking and minding my own business when you’re trying to mug me.”

You watch in horror as she points at the pile of things filling up her metal cart, accusing you of thievery. “No, I wasn’t! I told you that I’m sorry—”

The peculiar woman scoffs, yet her eyes still narrow with suspicions. “All right, fine. Then pay up and I ain’t calling the cops.”

“I’m—sorry?”

Once again, the woman snarls at you. She pushes her hand at you, palms facing up. “Pay up, hon. Give me some cash. I know you have some with you.”

The woman, looking awfully wicked as she smiles at you, scares you so much that you cannot stop yourself from stepping back to avoid her calloused and cracked hand. “But I don’t have any money. No coins. Anything,” you nearly beg her as you grab a hold of your flowy skirt, clenching it tightly to stop your hands from trembling.

The wicked smile on the woman’s face immediately turns to a frown. “What? You’re telling me you’re dressed all fancy and you got no cash with you?”

The sharpness in her voice terrifies you. So much so that your hands are no longer the only ones trembling in fear. Your whole body freezes, and your legs start to grow weak as you take another step away from her. Another move and the woman’s gaze moves upward, stopping at your tiara.

Her sneer returns. “Guess this will do.”

Her eyes, which appeared pale and dim blue when you first saw her, now begin to glint with a new light. Piercing blue eyes glow under the streetlights as if she is using some kind of magic, distracting you for a brief moment as she suddenly raises her hands to grab your tiara.

“Wait! No!” You flinch backwards, trying to escape. You let go of your grip on your dress to stop her, but it’s too late. Her grip strengthens on your tiara and she begins to pull. “Don’t do that! Stop!”

For someone who seems so weathered, the woman is strong. Much stronger compared to your weary self who can barely fight back. With a strong tug, she manages to pull your tiara off of your head, pulling a few strands of your hair with it, while the force she uses pushes you backwards until you fall into a heap of mess—your bottom hitting hard onto the pavement that you can feel your skin bruising underneath, your skirt spreading all around you, catching dirt and soil, while your frail legs are bent beneath your weight.

“Now this looks nice. I bet I can trade this for some cash,” the woman muses with a wicked chuckle as she turns the tiara back and forth in her hand, giving it a closer look. The glint in her eyes seems to glow brighter, drawing an eerie shudder through your body. She looks at you with the same sneer that she’s been wearing when she says, “Thanks, doll.”

You feel powerless. Too shocked and afraid to move, yet you make another effort to beg her as she turns to leave.

“No, please don’t take it away! That’s from my—”

Yet your plea falls on unhearing ears. Before you can muster any strength to push yourself up, she quickly disappears around the corner where it seems to be darker than the streets around you, moving too quickly for your muddled brain to process.

Your final resolve crumples, sending you back to the ground as you fall on your knees once again. Speechless, you can only look on towards the shadows where the wicked woman had disappeared to with your thoughts running wild.

A witch.

There is no doubt about it. That woman was an evil witch. Cold shivers run down your body as fear engulfs you. Wherever this place is, you need to get away as soon as possible. Get away from danger. A place where witches reside cannot be safe. Not for you.

With trembling hands, you reach up to touch your hair, now left as nothing more but a tangled mess after the witch pulled your tiara off of your head. Your eyes feel hot, and you wonder if it has something to do with a spell that the witch has left you with in her escape.

But you cannot even dwell on it or think too deeply about it. The heartbreak that you feel in your chest has become too much. Your heart breaks thinking about your forest friends, how disappointed they would be once they find out that you have lost the wedding gift that they had prepared for you.

But what breaks your heart the most is realising that you can no longer go to your dream wedding looking as pristine as you had initially intended. To be the perfect bride deserving to be standing on the Prince’s side as you finally share your true love’s kiss.

As your dream shatters to dust, everything you have inside you begins to wane into nothing. Not even your dwindling hope can spark your heart and spirit back alight without any sign of things going back to the way it was supposed to.

“Oh, dear me. What am I going to do now?”

The pitter-patter sound of raindrops falling on the moving car has never felt so soothing.

But perhaps this is something that Seokjin needs at the moment, even if it is only to help calm his mind.

Normally, he wouldn’t have any problem finding calmness once the day has ended. But the day hasn’t been going well for Seokjin.

The mediation meet-up which had kept him in a bind all afternoon is still stuck in his mind, still weighing him down even as hours have passed. He feels like he can still hear his clients’ voices echoing in his head whenever there is silence or when he closes his eyes, always arguing about the same old thing—over and over again.

Always going in circles without fail, with no solution made, and with no party involved ever willing to back down. And every time the memory comes, he can hear his boss’ voice—one of the partners leading the law firm where he works at—advising him to quickly solve the issue and move on to the next case.

He feels drained and spent just thinking about it again, and he is already dreading the thought of having to deal with them again tomorrow, their last meeting was left with some unfinished business that still needs to be resolved. But it wasn’t like he had any other choice about how he left things behind. He did have to cut the meeting short, lest he wanted to stay all night at the office, being confined in the same room with those same clients.

And he did have something more urgent to get to.

His daughter’s dance recital.

Looking up from his phone, Seokjin turns to his baby girl. A smile voluntarily makes its way to his face as he watches her humming to herself, replacing the scowl that he has been wearing almost all evening.

“You look scary, Daddy,” Ah-ri had said to him the first time he came to pick her up this late afternoon to help her get ready for her recital, wearing that same scowl on his face. Those simple words had worked like a charm, reminding him to leave all the stress and troubles behind whenever he was spending his time with his little girl.

“Sorry, Princess. Just a little tired from work, but I’m excited to see you dance,” Seokjin had said in return, showing a smile instead of a frown, drawing Ah-ri’s own smile and her excitement back on.

Seokjin is quite relieved that he made it to the event on time, and had even made it to stick with her before so he could calm her nerves before she got on stage. Being there for Ah-ri for her performance had become the perfect reprieve that Seokjin had needed the most. It was the perfect escape from the troubles that had been haunting him, and watching her shine on the stage had helped him forget about the noises and the dreadful thoughts over the case that he was dealing with all day.

And his daughter was magnificent. He might be biased, but Seokjin believes his little girl was the best dancer to perform tonight. He was so proud of her that he was beaming with pride by the time he walked out of the venue with Ah-ri by his side.

The only thing stopping him from carrying his little princess and parading him among the other parents there had come to the show was her fancy tutu dress. The girl had been so proud of her dancing costume that he knew she wouldn’t have allowed him to do anything to ruin the delicate ruffles that she spent hours making sure would flare prettily when she was dancing.

If only the night’s event hadn’t highlighted another problem that was lying in wait for Seokjin to take notice of.

Once again, his eyes return to the phone in his hand.

At the screen that has gone unchanging over the past few hours. The texts that were left unanswered, ignored, and most undeniably, unread.

‘Where are you?’

‘Why are you not picking up the phone?’

‘I thought you said you wanted to come to Ari’s recital? The show’s about to start in 10 minutes.’

‘I’m not going to wait for you. I’m going in. It’s starting and I have the ticket with me.’

Reading through the messages makes him cringe. He never thought that he would turn out to be that kind of person. The kind of partner that would bombard their other half with texts when there had been no news from them.

But this was Ah-ri’s big day. And when it comes to his daughter’s happiness and joy, Seokjin will always be willing to put aside his ego. Even at the risk of fracturing the fragile relationship that he has built with Kira for the past few years.

Seokjin exhales a deep, resigned sigh as he recalls seeing Ah-ri’s hollow gaze the moment she first realised that he had come alone. A part of him was convinced that she was just as disappointed as he was for his girlfriend’s absence, but there was a small voice in his head telling him that the little girl had never harboured any hope that Kira was ever going to come.

And that only makes him feel even worse.

“Are you still busy with work, Daddy?” Ah-ri asks him with a small voice. When Seokjin turns to look a this little girl and sees the pout forming on her lips, he knows he’s messing up the mood.

Forcing his frown away, he smiles at his baby girl and ruffles her hair teasingly. “No, honey. Daddy’s just reading some texts that came in while you were dancing. I was so happy to see you up on the stage and was so busy taking videos of you that there were some messages I missed.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, nodding, and Seokjin has to bite back a smile. Sometimes, she can look like she’s trying to act like a big girl when she does this. At least she’s no longer pouting. “But you’re not working again tonight, are you?”

He shakes his head. “No, of course, not. No more work tonight. Didn’t we promise to read some storybook tonight?”

Reminded of his promise, and perhaps already thinking about her Daddy sticking around to read her favourite stories before bedtime, her smile grows so wide that Seokjin’s chest expands with warmth. “That’s right. We did,” she says, a bit more cheerfully this time.

“Let Daddy read some of the missed texts while there’s a chance to, okay? You should rest until we’re home,” he says, to which the little girl nods her head again.

“Okay,” she muses, and her attention is quickly drawn towards the car window. “The rain is stopping.”

Seokjin looks up and nods. “Oh, you’re right. Good thing that we’re almost home so we don’t have to be wet,” he murmurs with a grim smile.

Funny weather today, he wonders, as he thinks about the rain.

The sudden drizzle that came right when they were leaving the venue only added today’s peculiarity. It was a relief that Seokjin—who was too exhausted after work to drive his own car—had the mind of ordering an Uber for them before they got all wet. And now there is nothing that he wants more than to get home, get warm and comfy, and rest for the night.

As Ah-ri begins singing the song that she was dancing to in her performance, Seokjin finds himself drawn back to his damn phone. For a brief moment, he starts debating whether he should send another message, before realising that he might sound desperate, or perhaps seen like an obsessed stalker.

I’m too tired to deal with this, he wonders with a sigh as he locks his phone and then puts the thing away as he leans back in the seat. He takes this moment to close his eyes and stop himself from overthinking so he can relax.

A moment passes, when the Uber turns into the usual route heading towards his home—one that he has gone through so many times he can recognise it even without looking—and Ah-ri’s soft humming suddenly fades. The car pulls to a halt at a stop sign, allowing another vehicle through, as Ah-ri starts nudging at her Dad.

“Daddy, there’s a princess on the billboard.”

Seokjin hums. “A what?”

“A princess!” Ah-ri excitedly cheers.

“There’s no princess, sweetheart. They make realistic advertisements nowadays that make pictures look more real. You know, like those 3D billboards I showed you once with the characters jumping out into the crowd, remember?”

“No, Daddy. It’s a real princess!” Ah-ri stubbornly starts shouting as the car shifts to move again, “No, mister! Stop! Don’t go!”

Seokjin opens his eyes when the car jerks, the driver hitting the brakes out of shock. He still has his eyes on the front of the car that he isn’t ready when Ah-ri suddenly unlocks her side of the door and jumps out.

“What the—”

“Sir, your daughter—”

“Yes, I know. I’m so sorry about this. Can you please wait for a minute?”

Seokjin already has one foot out the door when the driver swiftly responds, “Sure, I’ll park the car and get out of the road first.”

“Thank you!” Shutting the door behind him, Seokjin looks across the road, his heart nearly dropping when he sees Ah-ri already halfway there. Breathless and mind-filled with fear, he chases his daughter, calling her out and quickly grabbing her shoulders once he catches up with her. “Ari, what are you doing? Get back in the car!”

“No, Daddy. Look, there’s a princess up there!” she stubbornly fights against him while pointing up above.

“That’s not real, honey. Look, see? It’s nothing but—holy shit!”

Seokjin didn’t know what to expect when he looked up, following where Ah-ri was pointing at. Maybe a part of him did expect to see those modern types of billboards with the 3D effects where the characters were made to reach out of the screen—which was what he had in mind when he mentioned it to his daughter earlier—even though he has no clue why anyone would put such a modernised advertisement on a quiet road like this one, where there are only old, low-level apartments in the neighbourhood.

But the moment he looks up, all he sees is a billboard in the form of a 3D castle promoting a new live-action movie based on a children's fairytale story releasing on an online streaming channel this month. He has seen it a few times whenever he was driving down this road on his way to work, and he knows for sure that it never had any additional feature put up with it.

And somehow, he sees a woman wearing a white dress standing in front of the replica of the castle from the movie. Doing God knows what. With heels that cannot possibly steady enough to help her balance on the small ledge she is standing on.

Is she actually knocking at the castle’s door right now?

“See, Daddy? It’s a real princess!” Ah-ri starts shouting excitedly, pointing at the woman on the billboard before she realises, “Daddy, you said a bad word.”

Clearing his throat, Seokjin gently presses his hand on his daughter’s back to guide her back to the car. “Sweetheart, go back in the car. Let me deal with this and get back to you, okay?”

He can feel that Ah-ri is holding back, refusing to leave. The girl has always loved her princess stories and this situation isn’t helping. Seokjin takes one look over his shoulder, noticing that the Uber driver has moved the car to this side of the road, so his daughter wouldn’t have to run across.

The driver steps out of the car, gently calling out, “You want me to call the cops, sir?”

Ah-ri’s eyes immediately grow wide in panic, so Seokjin quickly waves his hand. “I don’t think that’s necessary for now. Please help my kid back to the car, will you?”

Seeing the driver stepping up to help watch his daughter, keeping her at a safe distance, Seokjin cautiously approaches the billboard to try and talk the odd woman—whom his daughter keeps calling ‘a princess’—down from that slippery ledge.

“Excuse me!” he calls out, though he is doing his best to keep calm, not wanting to startle or frighten her with his voice, when all he wants is to make sure that he can help before things get awry. “Hello? Miss? What are you doing? Is everything okay?”

Despite his effort, the woman—you—is still startled at the sound of his voice. Seokjin only realises that the white dress is a wedding dress when you turn—too sharply, which causes Seokjin to flinch—and start glancing around before finding him below. Your eyes widen with relief when you see him.

“Oh, oh! Thank goodness. I was wondering if you could—oh!”

Seokjin’s heart drops when he sees you inching forward on the ledge, your eyes looking straight at him instead of paying attention to where you are stepping on, not realising that you have reached the edge.

“Hey, watch it—”

Seokjin tries to warn you, only that he is too late. He doesn’t even think or realise what he is doing. As if on instinct, his body simply moves on its own, drawn towards you just as one of your feet slips over the edge and your body tilts forward before you fall from the staggering height.

Straight into the Seokjin’s waiting arms.

A deep, resounding grunt vibrates from around you. Yet your mind is spinning, still reeling over the series of events that have happened in the course of—a minute? Hour? No, not an hour. Oh, why does it matter?

You close your eyes when your head starts spinning even faster. Thinking hard does not seem to be advisable to do at the moment. Oddly enough, closing your eyes makes you feel slightly better. And it helps that you are surrounded by warmth. The kind of warmth that feels comforting, like a warm hug, accompanied by a delicate yet fresh scent of wood and musk and a hint of something sweet.

Wait. A hug?

Your eyes snap open when you realise that you are, in fact, engulfed by a strong pair of strong arms wrapping themselves around you to keep you from falling to the ground. Confused, you are lost to what is happening. And when you try to look up, your saviour’s face is shrouded by shadows. The light coming from above is too bright, and all you can see is the lines of his face. The short strands of hair falling from his face look like a curtain as he looks down, keeping his eyes on your face, yet it frames his face perfectly.

For a hazy moment, your mind makes you believe that you were once again saved by Prince Jungkook. That he had somehow found you and caught up to get you.

But then you blink, clearing your mind with it, just as your eyes start to adjust to the play of lights. The lines on his face becomes clearer, and then his eyes—the pair of beautiful eyes that are looking at you with fear, concern, and wonder—become visible to yours. And then you quickly realise that the person, your saviour, no matter how good-looking he is, is not the Prince.

The moment everything truly registers through your muddled mind, your eyes grow wide and your body grows rigid, before you start apologising.

“Oh, heavens! I am so sorry,” you gasp aloud, your cheeks burning with shame as you try to push away from the man and stand on your own two legs.

Yet the man’s hold around you is sturdy, and instead of releasing you and letting you fall, he gently lowers you back on your feet. His hands remain on your upper arms for a brief moment to keep you steady before he finally lets go and takes a step back.

“Are you all right? Is everything good?” the stranger begins questioning you, his eyes going down the skirt of your dress as he speaks and then lingers. A crease forms between his eyebrows when he notices the tattered hem of your skirt, and how badly soiled the fabric has gotten. His gaze rises back to your face again as he asks, “Are you hurt somewhere?”

Clutching at your skirt, feeling like you want to hide inside it, you try to recall what had happened. You had gotten quite lost in your confusion and exhaustion and were trying to find any sign that might show you the way home when suddenly, this small castle appeared before your eyes, perched atop some kind of a tower. Thinking that it might have been some piece of a totem, a magical item that might be able to take you home, you climbed on top of the tower to open the gate, only to find that it was locked. Desperate, you began banging on the door, hoping that someone on the other side would hear your call for help and open the door for you so you could come home.

Then you heard a voice. Your prayers were heard. Until you quickly realised that the voice had been coming from under the tower instead of from within the castle.

You were so surprised and so excited to finally see someone again after a long, quiet walk through this darker part of the city that you tried to get closer to him without realising it. When the man began to speak with you, you didn’t realise that you were beginning to inch forward as you responded to him, not noticing that you were stepping towards the end of the ledge until you began tilting and falling over.

You really need to stop falling.

“Are you lost, Miss?” the kind stranger asks you, full of concern, while helping to keep you steady on your feet with his gentle hold on your elbow before you start to fall back. Again.

And the help is completely welcome, as your legs keep failing you. Your exhaustion is giving you a hard time to hold the weight of your wedding dress that has grown soiled and torn in some places. But you cannot find it in you to focus on your tattered dress right now, as the stranger in front of you seems like the light shining bright in the darkness.

A beacon of hope, whose presence alone is enough to eliminate every angst and distress that you have been feeling all day long. And it is enough to bring back your faith in all goodness.

The kind of goodness which reminds you of home.

“Yes! Yes, I am,” you answer him kindly with a smile on your face. You breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, there is someone willing to listen and care enough to help you. “I need to find my way back to the castle.”

He stills. Glancing back and forth between you and the small-sized castle standing behind you, he carefully asks, “What castle? And what were you doing up there, endangering yourself? You could’ve hurt someone. You could’ve gotten hurt!”

“What do you mean ‘what castle’? Why, of course, I’m talking about Andalasia.” A bubbling laughter leaves your lips. “I tried to knock on the front gate, but nobody answered. Maybe because it’s late? But I also have no clue if the totem only answers to a certain spell.” You stop with a deep exhale of breath when you realise that you wouldn’t know of any spell cast on the castle since you are not a royal born.

Shaking your head, you turn to the man again. “Would you please kindly show me the way to get back to the castle, I’ll be more than grateful—”

“Huh, right,” he gently cuts you off with an odd expression on his face. "Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” His eyes flicker briefly to the top of your head, where your tiara used to be. “Do you have your phone? Is there someone you can call, maybe?"

"A phone? What is that?" you ask, and his eyes grow wide, as if you had just said something so staggering it leaves him nearly speechless. "And I don't think anyone will hear me from all the way here if I call them, don't you think?"

"Ookay—" The stranger reaches into his suit jacket as if trying to pull something out of it. “Where is the address? Why don’t I just call you an Uber?”

“Uber?” You tilt your head, confused. You have never heard of the name before. “Is that the name of your horse?” you ask with a soft gasp, recalling that the gentlemen that you have met back in Andalasia tend to name their horses with peculiar names and titles to differentiate them from one another.

Just like how Prince Jungkook named his white steed Onyx—which reminds you of the gemstone similar to the one your grandmother kept in her drawers back home.

A slight pinch of sadness arises inside your chest at the thought of home—of your grandmother, the Prince, and the quaint wooden cabin taking lone residence at the heart of Amaranth Forest. Oh, how wonderful it would have been to be on your comfortable bed, tucked beneath the fuzzy blanket that your grandmother had made for you, and wearing a simpler slip of a dress that would not be pulling down your weight each time you move around.

“But, Daddy—we have an Uber!” A small voice suddenly speaks. You turn to look over behind the stranger to see a little girl popping out of the shadow. Wearing a tutu dress in pink that matches her tiny shoes and feather headpiece, she looks like a little pixie with her cheeks blushing in the cold, almost to the same colours as her fluffy skirt.

“Ari, I told you not to leave the car,” the man gently scolds the little girl while pushing her back.

“Oh, hello sweetheart. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” you greet her with a smile, which seems to make her happy. Because both her eyes and her smile light up almost as bright as the lights flashing from the castle behind you.

“Hello,” the girl shyly greets you back. Her voice is soft when she suddenly asks you, “Are—are you a princess?”

Laughing softly, you bend down a little to get to her height. “Oh, no. I’m not a princess. My name is _______,” you offer your hand as you introduce yourself. “What’s yours?”

The girl glances at the man briefly before taking your hand and gingerly shaking it. “I’m Ah-ri, but I also go by Ari so that my friends won’t have trouble saying my name.”

Smiling, your friends come to mind. You miss listening to them singing your name as they play around with you back home. “My friends also have a special name for me. It’s Blossom.” Your throat feels tight just thinking about them, but you try to push it down. “Which name do you feel comfortable the most with?”

The little girl’s smile widens. “I love it when my close friends, Daddy, and Grandma call me Ari,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear with a shy smile. “You look like a princess.”

Eyes growing wide, it takes you a moment to understand what she means. “Oh, it must be the dress. I mean, it would’ve been even better if I still had my tiara.”

Ah-ri gasps. “You have a tiara?”

Immediately, your heart is filled with sadness as you recall the unfortunate incident with the wicked witch. “Not anymore, I’m afraid. Someone took it from me while I was looking for my way home,” you answer with a sad sigh, your eyes tearing up for the loss of your precious tiara.

Hearing this, your kind saviour’s eyes grow wide. He seems startled and wary, and begins glancing around, pulling the little girl back so he can hold her safely by his side. “You were robbed? Here?” he asks, sounding alarmed.

“Well—” Frowning, you look around as you begin to explain that it had happened a while ago. And not exactly here, wherever here is.

“Fucking hell—” you hear him say with a low tone of voice before you can say anything. You have no idea what he means, but it sounds really bad, as Ah-ri immediately turns to chide him.

“Daddy, you said a bad word.”

At the sound of her voice, the man closes his eyes and murmurs a quick apology. “I’m so sorry. Listen, Honey, you need to get back to the car. I’m going to try and call an Uber for, uh—the nice lady,” he says, pointing at you, while the girl furrows her brows, looking confused.

“With your phone? But we ordered our Uber with that earlier,” she says to her father.

“Damn it, you’re right,” he says in return, quickly stopping to mutter, “Oh, fuck.” The little girl crosses her arms as she glares at her father, who later bends down to kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry, baby. Fine, let me just find a way to call for help.”

You watch as the man reaches into the inside of his suit—an odd looking suit which seems so simple but quite elegant, without any jewels or golden embroideries or intricately made lining, yet still nice to look at—and pulls out a small black box in his hand which lights up at the touch of his fingers.

“What is that?” You gasp, “Oh, is that a magic talisman?”

The man looks at you with a million questions in his eyes. “A magic—what?”

Seeing that the man carries with him a magic item, no matter how small and simple it seems, you begin to feel hopeful. Finally, you will be able to go home. His magic talisman will be able to lead you back to Andalasia, as long as he says the right spell.

But why does it seem like he doesn’t understand what you are saying, even when he is holding the magic talisman in his hand?

Do they call their magic items with a different names?

“A talisman,” you try to explain the best you can, “It’s a type of magic items that sorcerers and mages would use to conjure their spells. I must admit, I’ve rarely seen them my whole life. Almost never. But I’ve heard stories of witches who use mirrors to communicate with others or see visions from other places to help them predict the future.” You look up at him with hope blooming inside you. “Are you perhaps a mage, or a warlock?”

The man, who has been looking confused the entire time he was listening to you ramble, only seems even more confused. But then he looks down, following your gaze, before asking, “Are you talking about”—the man lifts his hand to show you the square item that he is holding—”this?”

You clap your hands together. “Yes, it’s just like that one. So is it a magic mirror? Did you create a small one to carry with you everywhere you go?”

Ah-ri suddenly gasps. “Oh, I know! Magic mirrors! Just like the evil Queen in Snow White!”

Pressing your palm over your heart, you are overcome with joy as you finally hear a familiar name being mentioned here in the strange land. “You know Snow White too?”

“Yes, I do!” Ah-ri says with a voice filled with joy. She turns to her father, looking as if she wants to share that joy when she says, “Daddy, she knows Snow White!”

The man grimly nods. “Everyone knows Snow White, honey. There are a ton of movies made for the story.”

You tilt your head. “What’s a movie?”

The man seems surprised when he hears you. As if he wasn’t prepared to hear such an odd question. “I’m sorry. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight? Are you staying anywhere nearby?”

Being reminded that you are still lost, the pain inside your chest grows back to its full size. “I, uh—”

Before you can even think of what to say, Ah-ri slips between the two of you and begins tugging and her father’s hand.

“Daddy, the princess needs our help, and the Uber is waiting,” she says, to which her father looks between you, his daughter, and a figure that you only now notice standing on the side of the road, where lights cannot fully reach him, with a black metal carriage parked right beside him.

“Please, Daddy?” Ah-ri asks again, while her father looks conflicted and stunned into a complete silence.

Seokjin closes his eyes and groans, wondering to himself how on earth he managed to get into this situation.

But there really is no escape from it now. The look that his daughter is giving him says so.

“Daddy?” Ah-ri calls out again, pouting, and Seokjin feels powerless against it.

“Okay, baby,” he sighs. “We’ll get the Princess some help. Let me see if we can find a way to get her home. Maybe if we—”

Seokjin looks down on his phone to find a way to get help, maybe call someone from his office, and curses under his breath when the blasted thing beeps, twice, before the screen shuts down. Having to rush from the office gave him no chance to charge his phone before going to Ah-ri’s event, and all the texting he did and checking where the hell his girlfriend was had probably drained its battery.

“Fuck—” he snaps, quickly reeling back when he realises and glancing at Ah-ri. “Sorry, baby.”

Pouting, the little girl crosses her arms over her chest and scolds him gently. “No more bad words, Daddy. It’s not polite to do it in front of the Princess.”

“I know, honey—”

While he is trying his best to keep himself together against the inner battle he is having, everything starts to fall apart at once. Right the moment his cell phone blips its last life, the rain suddenly starts again. No longer the simple drizzle wetting the road around him but a light shower that will no doubt start to pick up within seconds. Drenching them all if they stay here even a minute longer.

“Daddy…it’s raining again!”

Ah-ri’s panicked voice snaps his mind back into gear. Regaining his focus back allows Seokjin to see his daughter trying to cover her head from the rain, but the stubborn girl refuses to run back to the car. He has no doubt that it’s because she is worrying about this odd woman standing in front of them.

Glancing over his shoulder, he sees the Uber driver rushing into his car. Within seconds, the driver begins reversing the car to get closer, as if making sure that they won’t have to run through the rain—again—to get back in the car.

Seokjin looks at you again, still wary about your presence. In his eyes, you are a stranger lost in the big city, with a dress that has been completely ruined and tattered that he cannot imagine you going around on the streets like this when the sun is out. Especially not here in this part of the city.

He had first thought that you might have been drunk, which would explain why you seemed confused and were doing something so dumb. Like knocking at a miniature of a castle that is a part of a billboard ad promoting a movie. But then you kept looking confused and lost to everything that he said.

With no sign of being drunk or delusional, and a reaction that looked almost genuine each time you questioned him about the things you didn’t seem to understand, his heart feels heavy about leaving you be.

The rain picks up, and you seem to be wrapping your arms around yourself tighter. Your body shivers under your soaking dress, and yet your smile doesn’t seem to waver—something that Seokjin isn’t used to seeing from the people that he has ever met before. And he can clearly see how pale you have gotten. The way you are slightly swaying on your feet also worries him. As if you are about to collapse on the street any second now if he doesn’t do something to help.

“Why don’t you come with us,” he says under the rain, surprising both himself and Ah-ri with the offer.

He isn’t the kind of person who would easily offer this kind of help to a random stranger he meets on the street. And yet the moment the words slip out of his lips, he has a feeling that he is doing the right thing.

“It’ll take around ten to fifteen minutes to get to our house, but it will be a lot better than staying out in the rain like this,” he says, mustering a smile even when he still feels hesitant. The thought of taking you—a complete stranger with a situation that is lost on him—back to his home seems unnerving.

But what other choice does he have at the moment?

“Once we’re there, I can lend you some fresh clothes and get you warmed up, and then I’ll try to order another Uber for you. Maybe I can pay the Uber driver taking us home some extra cash to take you to where you want to go. What do you say?”

As it turns out, the driver refuses to accept any money from Seokjin to send you away once he is done with his previous order.

However, that doesn’t mean that the driver simply chooses to immediately leave and not get involved.

“This place isn’t safe for that poor girl when it’s nighttime. If you have enough sense and goodness in you, you best open up your door for the night, at least. I know bad people, and she doesn’t have the looks for it,” the driver says, right after he blatantly said no to Seokjin’s request even when he was offered double the payment he was charged with for his trip home.

“Though I can be wrong, so you keep your baby girl away from her until you’re sure she’s safe to be around,” the driver adds, as he glances over Seokjin’s shoulder. Seokjin turns to do the same, watching as your back disappears into the side patio, following his little girl who is still chattering about princesses and pretty dresses while guiding you towards the entrance door of your home.

When Seokjin turns back to the driver, he sees the man—who he only realises now to be somewhat older, with greying hair and a wise look in his eyes that helps calm Seokjin—rummaging through the dashboard compartment before handing him a card. “A friend of mine runs a shelter that houses people like her. You can call them up in the morning and get her to stay there if you still can’t find where she lives. They might be able to contact her family.”

Circumstances being as they are, Seokjin decides not to argue with the man and let him drive away, though not before he expresses his gratitude for the advice he was given and the business card in his hand. Seokjin stands at the driveway of his home for a moment longer instead of rushing in, watching the Uber drive away until the taillights fade at the end of the road. He embraces the silence, finding solitude in the lack of sound against the voices inside his head.

Nothing but the sound of the rushing waves hitting the beachside coming from a distance away.

He breathes in the cool night air, wishing that he is somewhere far from this place instead. A different place where the air isn’t so polluted and where he wouldn’t have to worry about stressful client meetings, missing girlfriends, and saving damsels.

Thinking about this makes him want to laugh. It was the same thought that he had years ago which made him decide to buy a property here in the first place; in a neighbourhood closer to the Venice beach instead of at the heart of downtown Los Angeles like many others working in his field would to get closer to work.

He wanted something different, away from the bustling city lifestyle and the traffic, and other things that would have made him feel miserable while still experiencing the best of things from the city. He expected that it would allow him to have some peaceful moments like this whenever he needed it. It was everything that he wished to have when he was cramped up in the studio loft back when he was still living in downtown LA while finishing law school.

And now, he is suddenly looking for something different. Something more. Something that might help silence the chaos happening inside his head.

“Daddy…! You need to open the door!” Ah-ri’s voice echoes from the side patio, and Seokjin quickly brushes his thoughts away.

With a deep inhale of breath, he regains calmness and turns. The business card for the shelter—said to be safe and open for the homeless and women in need of assistance—is now safely secured in his pocket as he walks into his home, joining his chatty girl and the unexpected guest he is welcoming home.

After connecting his phone to its charger in his home office and leaving his daughter in his bedroom, Seokjin makes his way back downstairs to the living room to find you.

He sees you sitting on the settee by the window, looking far out into the night. With your dress spread across the side of the seat and your hair falling loose from the twisted bun, you do look like someone who had just come out of one of his daughter’s storybooks.

Instead of letting you know that he is there, Seokjin stops on the final steps of the staircase, watching you. Mesmerised, he is lost for words.

Because right here, sitting with your eyes looking out the night sky and the lights sparkling across the canal, you seem—peaceful. Unlike before, when you were in complete distress and exhaustion was written all over your face. And for some reason, Seokjin wants to savour this moment. Not knowing the reason why.

But then a soft sound of a sigh, followed by the rise and fall of your chest, breaks the moment, snapping him out of his daze.

Clearing his throat, he makes the rest of his way down and slowly walks up to you. “Hey, there,” he gently says, trying his best not to startle you. A smile comes to his face when you look over with a small, tired smile. “I’m sorry for making you wait. Ari kept trying to talk to me before I could leave her.”

You nod. “It’s fine.” Once again, you glance out the window. From up close, your face seems to light up. The bright lights coming from outside are reflecting on your face. “The view here is lovely.”

“It is,” Seokjin muses, following your gaze, realising only now how rare it has been lately for him to enjoy a serene moment such as this one—the way you are able to find solitude in your darkest hours. “So, um,” he says, shaking his head. “______, was it? Or should I call you Blossom?”

You turn to smile at him again. “Just ______ will be just fine.”

“I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself earlier with all the frenzies,” he says while mustering a smile. To his relief, he can see your shoulders slumping, growing slightly more relaxed in his presence now compared to earlier, and it’s surprisingly making him feel calmer at the same time.

”My name is Seokjin, but feel free to call me Jin. And as my daughter has cleverly introduced herself earlier, her name is Ah-ri,” he adds, with a deeper smile on his face as he talks about his baby girl. “Or Ari. That’s the nickname that she uses since her mother always calls her that way. Perhaps you can ask her again next time which name she’ll be comfortable for you to call her with.”

“I’ll be sure to ask,” you answer with a warm smile, and it thaws his frozen heart a little bit more when your voice softens at the thought of his daughter.

“Listen. My phone is charging right now,” Seokjin begins to explain as he sits on the ottoman right across from you. Keeping both of his arms resting on his knees, he bends forward, putting on the same mask that he usually wears when he has to sit at the center of a mediation during the toughest cases that he ever had to deal with. “I tried to search on the internet about this place you mentioned earlier, Andalasia, but I can’t seem to find it anywhere. Are you sure you can’t remember where you came from, or how you got here?”

Your brows are furrowed deeply as you slowly shake your head. “Everything seems so fuzzy.”

Seokjin nods his head. “And you have no one to call.”

A wry smile appears on your face as you shrug a little at him. “I told you, it’ll be too far for anyone to hear me.”

Once again, he grimaces, knowing that this is going nowhere. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Seokjin counts to three before speaking again, hoping that he can swallow down his frustration so he can find a way to solve your problem.

Hopefully, before it becomes his.

“Look, my daughter is worried and you looked lost, so I’m not sure if I can let you go out like”—Seokjin releases a sigh—”this.”

He tries hard to hold back his grimace and fails. Yet the smile on your face remains, which only makes him feel more guilty as he watches you, looking like a lost little dove, engulfed in a fancy wedding dress that looks like the ones painted in his daughter’s storybooks.

“We need to work to find a way back to your home. Isn’t that what you want?” he asks, and you eagerly nod your head. “About tonight, do you really have nowhere to stay?”

“No, I—” you begin to answer, “I don’t even know where I am.” Swallowing hard, you look out the window again to look far in the distance. Across the walkway that lines up starting from Seokjin’s house towards the spread of white that is barely visible from this part of the neighbourhood. “That is a beach, right? And beyond is the ocean?”

Seokjin furrows his brows. “Yes, that’s right.”

Nodding, you give him a somber smile. “Our small house is far from the coastline. It would have taken days, maybe weeks to get to the ocean. Perhaps it would have been different if we owned a carriage,” you stop with a soft chuckle before adding, “Or a horse.”

Seokjin raises his brows, realising that you are sharing a little bit of details about your home and where you came from, answering his questions. Only hearing it doesn’t seem to solve anything. Even knowing that you are not from anywhere near the beach shows what a slim chance it would be for you to come from somewhere close to the neighbourhood.

He doubts that you are even from the same city.

“There’s a hotel nearby. It’s good and clean, and not too expensive,” he starts, hoping that he can avoid letting you stay here, regardless of how badly Ah-ri had wanted to let you stay just to make sure you would be safe for the night. But it only takes a moment for him to get a closer look at you and quickly notice that you have no other belongings with you aside from the clothes on your skin. “I don’t suppose you have any money with you?”

“Money?” You ask as your hands reach down, nervously clutching at the skirt of your dress, “Well, uh—” A grim smile comes to your face as you continue, “You see, I was supposed to get married today, and this dress doesn’t really have pockets in it. I also didn’t think about taking a purse with me since I was, you know—my hand would’ve had to hold a bouquet of flowers when I walked down the aisle.”

You suck a deep breath at the implication that your situation had involved a wedding, and Seokjin has no idea why the sound you make pierces straight deeply into his chest. Then you make it worse when you speak with an innocent, helpless voice of yours, “Anyway, you are right, Sir. I don’t have anything with me. I left all my gold coins back home, since I thought I wouldn’t be needing it today with the wedding ceremony and all.”

Again, dread fills his chest. “Gold coins,” he groans under his breath with a grimace. He closes his eyes, trying to find that sense of calmness deep inside him once again before it slips away. “All right. Breathe.”

Seokjin takes a deep breath as he begins thinking, trying to decide what would be the right thing for him to do. Right at that moment, the words given to him by the Uber driver return to him, removing any doubt that he still has about letting you stay. Looking at you, he realises that the man had been right about one thing.

Seokjin may not know or understand what kind of situation you are in, and all the things that you have been saying sound too ludicrous to be true. But each time, you seem genuine. Nothing that you said and done feels like an act to make a fool out of him or filled with nefarious intent.

And he genuinely doesn’t think he has it in his heart to let you go anywhere when you seem so helpless.

“I guess since it’s late anyway and, well—” He grins. “My daughter might get upset if I let you be on your own when you’re, um—confused.” Rising to his feet, he offers you a hand to help you up and says, “We don’t have a lot of guests, so we only have one guest bedroom. It’s small, but I hope it’ll be adequate for you to have some good rest for the night. What do you say?”

Smiling with relief, you nod and take his hand. “That would be lovely.”

Seokjin feels awkward holding your hand as he guides you upstairs to the guest bedroom. Yet he is glad that he even thought about offering because you keep swaying on your feet as you walk by his side, as if your body is ready to give up anytime soon. By the time he reaches the bedroom, he almost finds it hard to let go of your hand just to be able to open the door for you.

“Here it is. Ah-ri, my daughter, loves to hang out here when I’m not home since it has a good view, so we change the sheets regularly. It’s also clean, and you have easy access to the guest bathroom. It’s also small, but—” He gently explains as he is showing you the room, yet you are too distracted to listen.

Your eyes are no longer on him, but you are looking out the window across the room instead, distracted by the view of the ocean that is more visible from up here. In the night, there is nothing much to see. But the lights coming from the beachside and from the resorts and venues overlooking the ocean are helping you see the rushing waves, even if it is still too far away.

With your attention on the sight before you, you gingerly takes a seat on the small daybed placed by the window, once again getting lost in the view and forgetting Seokjin’s presence.

Shaking his head, Seokjin can only sigh. “Well then, I should, um—” He clears his throat, feeling even more awkward now when you barely pay attention to him, yet pleased that you are able to somehow find some peace here. “I’ll let you rest. Let me check if Ari has found something for you to change into.”

You still have your eyes looking out the window when Seokjin makes a move to leave the room, ready to close the door gently behind him. But before he can escape, you suddenly turn to look at him with a smile. “Thank you, kind Sir. For you and the little princess. This day has been—”

A resigned sigh escapes you. The sound once again pulls at Seokjin’s heartstring that he finds himself completely speechless. But whatever anguish that you have wanes as you lift your gaze at him and smile. “You were the first people to be kind to me. Everyone I met had been—rude, dismissive, and that was before I got my tiara taken away.”

Swallowing his guilt, Seokjin can only nod, feeling solemn. “Welcome to LA,” he says with a bitter chuckle, while you merely tilt your head, looking even more confused that Seokjin can only exhale a deep breath. “I’ll go check on your change of clothes. We can talk more in the morning, once you get some sleep.”

Seokjin’s heart and legs are heavy when he closes the door and walks away. He walks past Ah-ri’s bedroom and walks up another flight of stairs to get to his bedroom, where his daughter is waiting for him to return. Entering the main bedroom, he finds Ah-ri setting up his clean white T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the bed.

“Will this be okay for the Princess, Daddy?” she asks once she notices him entering the room.

Nodding, Seokjin reaches out to ruffle the girl’s hair. “Those will be fine. Thank you for getting them for me while I set our guest to her room.”

Beaming at the praise that she has earned from her dad, Ah-ri begins picking up the clothes. “Then let me take them to her—”

Seokjin quickly stops her. “No, sweetheart. You can see her in the morning. I’m sure the lady—I mean, the Princess is tired, and you’ll only ask her too many questions.”

“But, Dad—”

“Let me take it to her while you get ready for bed.”

Ah-ri pouts. “Fine. But be nice to the Princess. Okay, Daddy?”

“Okay, I promise. You sit tight. You’re sleeping here tonight. You said you wanted me to read you before bed, didn’t you?” Seokjin asks, and he feels guilty when Ah-ri beams at him, looking pleased with his promise without knowing that he only wants to keep her away from you. At least for the night.

You may not be suspicious in his eyes after having that last conversation, but that doesn’t mean he is willing to risk his daughter’s safety around a complete stranger that he is hosting in his own home.

It takes a while for Seokjin to help his daughter to get ready for bed. The girl will not stop talking, jumping from one topic to another so quickly that he can barely keep up—from complimenting your dress, regardless of how tattered it looked, and comparing it with her tutu dress, to how adorable her new pyjamas look.

She is in the middle of choosing which storybook she wants him to read by the time Seokjin finally gets the chance to slip away, carrying with him the change of clothes that he had promised you and a fresh towel for you to clean up. He makes a quick stop to the snack bar downstairs to grab a bottle of mineral water and some snacks for you.

But once he finally returns to the guest bedroom, you have already fallen asleep. Taken over by your exhaustion, no doubt, as he finds you lying asleep on the daybed where you were sitting on when he left you, watching the night view of the ocean and the beachside from afar.

Smiling to himself, he takes a moment to admire the way your dress glitter under the dim lighting before deciding that he would just let you be. With careful footsteps, he enters the room, leaving the clothes on the bed that you had taken no notice of and setting the drink and snacks on the bedside table for you to find when you wake up.

Picking up the blanket from the bed, he covers you with it and gently draws the curtains close, fearing that the sunlight will burn you in the morning. He steps away once he is done, closing the door behind him gently as he walks away, letting you drift off to wherever your dream may take you.

⟶ Author’s Note | Originally commissioned by @pinkbtsarmy | Thank you for reading!

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ot3 · 2 months

Note

Hey! The link to your FAQ wasn't working for me so I don't know if this question has been asked before. I really appreciate your perspectives on AI art. Do you happen to have any resources that you read/listened to on intellectual property rights and the issues with it? I just don't really know where to start with it.

[heres where i cut out a big paragraph of me, once again, bitching about how blog pages don't work on the tumblr app and i think that's fucking stupid]

anyway i dont have any generalized sources on the subject but the tl;dr of it is: intellectual property rights exclusively benefit people who have the resources to pursue sustained litigation. 99% of the time, what IP law is being used for is to reinforce corporate ownership of work that was done by their employees.

the whole disco elysium debacle is a great case study.

The shareholders of ZA/UM accused the trio of, among other things, intending to steal intellectual property (IP) from the company — a curious accusation, considering that the world of the game is based off of a novel written by Kurvitz himself. The case of Disco Elysium illustrates the shortcomings of IP rights as protection for artists. Consequently, it contains a lot of lessons for the labor movement when it comes to the arts, and serves as a reminder that creative workers are, at the end of the day, workers. But this is not just an academic exercise. It’s a human story about the intimate consequences of capitalist exploitation. “I got my soul ripped out of me,” Kurvitz told me over Zoom in April of 2023. “I got my skull cracked open and my brain lifted out of it by a fifty-five-year-old financial criminal.”

another example: alex norris of webcomic name, which you will probably recognize when you see it, has been raising hundreds of thousands of dollars over the past several years to try and keep up with the protracted legal battle over maintaining ownership of his own work.

I have been fighting this case since 2019. It arose out of an agreement to make a boardgame based on my webcomic in 2017 but the publishing company has used this as an opportunity to take all of my intellectual property, and has even claimed ownership of Webcomic Name as a whole. I can't go into more detail here, but the details of the case are publicly available to read online.

Then, in a 2024 update:

I have essentially won the main case based on the decisions made last summer. The Judge has clearly stated that I own my comics, and that the other party has infringed on my copyright. It is not over yet, as there are still a few things that need to happen. Hopefully things will all be wrapped up this year. After 6 years of legal battling, I can’t wait to be free of all of this. Hopefully, this second case will backfire, and they will be sanctioned for filing it. But to get to that point requires a frustratingly large amount of work, time and money.

An interesting thing about both of these two specific instances is that they involve creators who had entire bodies of work produced around the specific IPs that were stolen from them before they even began partnering with corporate entities to produce works. which is insane! you can spend years writing novels, drawing comics, and if a company comes in with enough lawyers they can own those ideas.

this is pretty distinctly different to me than instances of work you do while being employed by a corporate entity being owned by that corporate entity, because at least you know what you're getting into there to some degree, but i still think that's bad too. consider stuff like the owl house and gravity falls, two disney shows made by people who very very clearly did not like working for disney. disney owns their ideas, their characters, their worlds, because that's the price you pay for having an animated show produced.

essentially it's very very clear upon even the slightest examination that intellectual property in no way exists to codify who the creator responsible for specific creative concepts or works is. it exists to turn nebulous things like 'ideas' into market commodities, and to funnel the profits made by the labor of individual artists and writers into corporate bank accounts.

the only person who has ever really benefited from IP law as an individual trying to lay claim to their own work is ken penders, who notoriously won his suit to have ownership of characters and storylines he created. heartbreaking: Worst Person You Know Gets An Unequivocally Deserved Legal W.

The comics continued under Flynn’s direction as if nothing happened, but things started looking grim in late 2012, when Archie suddenly fired its entire legal team. The company had been unable to produce Penders’ work-for-hire contract, which would have given control of his creations to Sega. Penders claimed the contract had never existed. A heavily circulated Tumblr post outlining the case (which has been corroborated as a reliable source by Penders) explains that while Archie did provide a photocopy of a contract allegedly signed by Penders in 1996, Penders claimed that the document was a forgery. That it was neither an original copy nor a contract from the beginning of the writer’s tenure at Archie meant that its validity was questionable. Making things worse, Archie couldn’t produce an original copy of any previous contributor’s contract, meaning that any writer or artist who had worked on the Archie Sonic line could potentially follow in Penders’s footsteps and reclaim their work. “So are you saying prior counsel blew it?” the presiding judge asked Archie counsel Joshua Paul in a May 2013 court session. His reply was unequivocal: “Absolutely, your Honor.”

So yeah. Owning the work you do as an artist is only something that happens when the people trying to profit off of it show unprecedented and staggering level of incompetence in their legal teams.

Then, alongside not owning the concepts and ideas you produce while working with corporate entities, there's the issue of NDA regarding specific pieces you've produced. This causes a LOT of trouble for freelance illustrators/character designers/concept artists, etc. Looking for work is very hard when the past three years of pieces you've drawn can't be added to your portfolio. Some people have password protected pages on their portfolios that they use for NDA work, but I believe the right to do this varies depending on your contract. I'm not 100% sure. In cases where the project you worked on eventually comes out, that's one thing, but there will be instances where the entire project gets canned after all the work is done, but is still under NDA so essentially all of your work has been taken from you, crumpled up into a ball by a studio executive, thrown in the trash can, and legally you are not allowed to go pick it out of the bin and try and flatten it out again.

This has all been pretty art-focused because that's the kind of circles I run in and where a lot of my interests lie but the truth is none of this is even remotely close to as evil IP law gets. I've saved the most egregious for last: The Lakota Language Consortium

The Lakota Language Consortium had promised to preserve the tribe’s native language and had spent years gathering recordings of elders, including Taken Alive’s grandmother, to create a new, standardized Lakota dictionary and textbooks. But when Taken Alive, 35, asked for copies, he was shocked to learn that the consortium, run by a white man, had copyrighted the language materials, which were based on generations of Lakota tradition. The traditional knowledge gathered from the tribe was now being sold back to it in the form of textbooks.

When you're in defense of IP law, this is what you're siding with. This is the rational endpoint of IP and it is neither a fluke nor an example of the concept being twisted against its original design. Art, culture, language, it belongs to whoever is most capable of turning it into a product. The economic incentives of producing and distributing arts and culture demand this is how things be.

Meya says his work is a vital tool in preserving the Lakota language, which did not previously have a standardized written form. He estimated that there are fewer than 1,500 fluent Lakota speakers left and that over the last decade and a half, the organization has helped add 50 to 100 more. “Just because money is involved in it does not inherently make it an evil thing,” Meya said in a recent interview with NBC News. Most of the products his organizations make are free, he said, but the cost of printing textbooks has to come from somewhere. “That tends to be sometimes part of the rhetoric, ‘Oh, there’s money involved. It must be, you know, part of the overall colonization effort.’ Well, you know, that’s just not realistic.”

Artists looking to force their way into the class of people who gets protected by these laws are not looking out for their community. They are not protecting anything but their own perceived financial interests. Intellectual property will never, ever benefit the most marginalized members of creative communities and anyone who tries to convince you otherwise is huffing some serious copium.

Frankly, I don't believe anyone can or should 'own' things like Ideas or Specific Aesthetic Flairs. But even if you do believe in that, IP law isn't the framework for handling it.

#long post #i guess i should tag this so i can find it again if i ever get asked something else like this #ip law #intellectual property

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moooclipse · 14 days

Text

Update!

So um it's been a while- my bad. I'm not too sure if/when I'll continue my story with Hex and Snapdragon. I think I ended up getting burn out from artfight and getting way in over my head with Hex and Snap's story ^^' I actually didn't even start drawing again until a couple of days ago. So for now Hex and Snap's story won't be getting an update, though I could very soon change my mind, but I don't want to make any promises that it'll continue when I'm not certain it will. As much as I'd love to continue their story I'm still working on getting back to drawing again, and I've got other things I need to work on.

On a different note however, one of my friends recently got me to watch Gravity Falls (I somehow and for whatever reason avoided till recently) When I said I only started drawing again a few days ago, the thing I started drawing was some Scalene and Euclid headcanons I saw from other people. Admittedly I don't remember where I first saw each headcanon, and I apologize that I can't credit those people, but I do still hope it's ok that I share the art I drew.

#gravity falls #scalene cipher #euclid cipher #scalene and euclid #bill cipher #book of bill

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jenneyquinn · 16 days

Text

𝐢𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐞𝐮 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭

three universes. two people. one love story.

the long-lasting concept of soulmates has been commonly defined as a strong connection between two individuals, regardless of the nature of relationship; platonic or romantic.

dipper pines and pacifica northwest have been a very popular pairing amongt the fandom of gravity falls, even spanning across alternate universes beyond the canon. i, as your storyteller, cannot begin to fathom how this pairing had manifested, nor how the strength of this duo has spanned throughout different universes…

perhaps the spectacle that is dipper and pacifica isn’t rooted in the reason why they work, but rather the fact that it manages to work anyways. someway, somehow, the pine tree and the llama always find their way to each other—be it in good or bad.

featuring the universes of gravity falls, reverse falls, and relativity falls, respectively:

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

right image contains art by turquoisespace35! her gf fanart has been a huge inspiration to me in making this fic <3 so please go support her as well!!

table of contents

560.111 i love you in every universe

560.112 i still love you in every universe

560.113 i'll always love you in every universe

taglist: @wwwritererm @a-messy-flower @stormcloudsarepretty @marii-iana @whosbex @seukymin @vegas96 @caro2004 @ghostlyvisiting @frozzuwuwu @cyanside @mcmymuffin @poorlittlerichgirll @invisible-vampire13 @tielmamon @optimussy @hoatzin2 @janis01127 @platonicallyalone @raccoonchild333 @kagura15 @suckerfordylansstuff @cosmic-peonies @ashisuniverse @automaticpandaoperatorpizza

teglist is now closed, follow #jw: i love you in every universe for updates!

#gravity falls #dipcifica #jw: i love you in every universe #jenney writes #dipper pines #pacifica northwest #dipper x pacifica #pacifica x dipper #gf dipper #gf pacifica #gravity falls pacifica #dipper gravity falls #gravity falls dipper #gravity falls au #reverse falls #reverse falls au #relativity falls #relativity falls au

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planesky · 1 month

Text

Every Outcome I Got Out Of The Website

(thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com)

-I keep updating this-

1. The Gun / Gun - “Oh Yes Oh Yes Oh Yes They Both”.

2. Dorito - Bill Cipher Jump Scare.

3. Matpat / Theory - Matpat Video.

4. Blanchin - https://youtu.be/iW29Peruj-0?si=tJCbMXskZ2PE_2PK

5. Alex / Alex Hirsch - Google Search “Flannel”.

6. Blind Eye - Eye Exam Code.

7. Giffany - “Input Deleted. AI Antiviral. Activated.”

8. T J Eckleburg - “Never Mention That Name Again”

9. Adastraperaspera / Ad Astra Per Aspera - Journal Pages About Bill’s Corpse.

10. Dipper - Note From Bill To Dipper.

11. Mabel - “Lab Now Fully Mabelized” after a few clicks.

12. Stanford - Lab Report.

13. Stanley / Stanley Pines - Ebuy Stanley Related Items, After Six Clicks “The Wheel Of Shame”, A Poem After You Click On “How He Beat Me” Many Times.

14. Wendy - Note To Wendy From Unknown.

15. Soos - Letter From Soos.

16. CIA / FBI - “Your Webcam Is On. We Are Watching”.

17. Nothing - “Something”.

18. Something - “Nothing”.

19. McGucket - https://youtu.be/mOYZaiDZ7BM?si=SpB78zp3ZO5BZyRv

20. Gravity Falls - “Never Heard Of It”.

21. Skibidi / Gyatt - “Life Privilege Provoked. Now Releasing Poision Gas.”

22. Fuck / Shit / Bitch - Note “Not S&P Approved”.

23. Triangle - “)”.

24. Pacifica - A Letter From Pacifica.

25. Gideon - Google Search “Sweet Resistant Bolo Ties”.

26. Mystery- “?”.

27. Journal 1 - “The Journal For Fun”.

28. Journal 2 - “The Journal For You”.

29. Journal 3 - “The Journal For Me”.

30. Axolotl - “You Ask Alotl Questions”.

31. Bill - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eye_of_Providence

32. Bill Cipher - https://youtu.be/cZdiFNhu31c?si=-_-vBtwmRtunKcAr

33. Cipher - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triangle

34. Death - “Life’s Goth Cousin”.

35. Life - “Life: 72% Complete. Now Loading: Death”.

36. Book Of Bill: “Hide It Under Shirt During Pledge Of Allegiance”.

37. Scary - Book Named “Spookemups” By B. Cipher.

38. Ducktective - “Ducktective Stars In “Love, Quacktually” Coming To: “Oi, It’s The Cockney Chunnel Innit?” This Fall”.

39. Card - Bill Cipher Business Card.

40. Geometry / Plato / Greek / Greece - Page About Plato And The Pythagorean Theorem In Ancient Greece.

41. Mystery Shack - Google Search “Confusion Hill”.

42. Babba / Disco Girl - Dipper Singing.

43. Lies - Lies Board Game And Explanation about Truth.

44. Answer - “Question”.

45. Question - “Answer”.

46. Season 1 / Season -1 - “Season -1: Antigravity Falls”.

47. Season 2 / Season -2 - “Season 1”.

48. Season 3 / Season -3 - “Season 2”.

49. Sorry - A Picture Of Fiddleford And Stanford.

50. Lalala / Daddy / Baby - Bill Ultrasound.

51. Disney - “Rat.gif Censored For Your Protection”.

52. Rat - “Thurburts’ Number?”

53. Reality - “Is An Illusion”.

54. Universe - “Hologram”.

55. R34lity - Polaroids Of The Henchmaniacs.

56. Love / Romance - Book Named “The Love Triangle” By Tabitha Lustheart.

57. Waddles - https://pigplacementnetwork.org/

58. God - A video of an Axolotl swimming next to a bill statue.

59. Meow - https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS2dBpWYf/

60. Naitsuaf - A Page About Selling Your Soul.

61. Weird - A Video Of A Man Stuck Inside The Computer.

62. Fixinit - https://youtu.be/zgKSrJ_hmNY?feature=shared

63. Mason - Note From Dipper About Anagrams.

64. Who Are You - “I Could Ask You The Same Question”.

65. Monster - Google Search “THERES A MONSTER AT THE END OF THIS BOOK”.

66. Platinum Paz - A Story About Pacifica.

67. Robbie - Messages Between Robbie And Thompson.

68. Love Ya Bro - A Doodle Of The Grunkle With A Code On The Back.

69. Vallis Cineris - A Video Of Little Bill.

70. Pines - “A Good Family Tree”.

71. Blendin - “Time Agent Lost And Presumed Incompetent”.

72. Imstillonyourmind - A Video Of The Ocean With Unknown Voice.

73. Tantrum - A Transcript Of A Conversation Between Bill And The Time Baby.

74. Hectoring - A Song About Bill.

75. Irregular - Bill Mugshot With A Code.

76. Paperjam - A Picture Of Messed Up Print Dipper.

77. Shave Your Grandma - Textbook Page About The Human Life Cycle.

78. Hotxolotl - Bill Cyper Wanted Report.

79. One Eyed King - Bill Hypnosis.

80. Titans Blood - “Hoot Hoot. Password Please!”.

81. Kings Of New Jersey - Downloaded A Zip File On My Computer, The Zip Contains The Font Of The Code Behind The Love You Bro Doodle.

82. Just Fit In - A Board Game Commercial With Sad Background Music.

83. Music - It Doesn’t Response To The Word, Nothing Changes Including The Background Music And It Doesn’t Show An X.

84. Cryptogram Codex - Fonts Of Several Codes.

85. Divorce / Breakup - Gives you “O’ Sadleys” Logo.

86. XGQRTHX - “Where Do Tri Angles Come From?”

87. When Will I Die - Says A Random Number Each Time.

88. Abuelita - https://youtu.be/1sdZazjDq-4?si=YAwvWQdWJVHE3_QS

89. Portal - “Portal.exe has been deleted. I bet you could build one”.

90. Cray Cray - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mental_health

91. Multilevel Mark - “Who Defeated Silas Birchtree—?”

92. I see - “Is Seeing Believing?”

93. Pinata - Someone Hitting A Bill Cipher Pinãta.

94. Euclid / Scalene - “Life Form Not Found”.

95. Horror / Urban Legend - The “Always Garden”.

96. Forget The Past - Color Techincal Error.

97. Dippy Fresh - Reddit - https://i.redd.it/4p4142atrf381.jpg

98. Morality - Fun Game.

99. Oroborous - Journal Pages About Axolotl And Bill.

100. Xyler - https://youtu.be/lkQE5wuBFeY?feature=shared

101. Well Well Well Being - “Paitent File: Bill Cipher. Greatest Love: Himself. Greatest Fear: Himself.”

102. Theraprism - Brochure With A Code.

103. Deer Teeth - “For You, Kid!”

104. Weirdmageddon - The Gravity Falls Gossiper News Paper Artical.

105. Glass Shard Beach - Wildwoods-Sportland-Pier-2-1024x667.jpg 1,024×667 pixels

106. Curse Wittebane - Bill Seance Board.

107. Tad Strange - Bread Cutting Montage.

108. Burned Inside - A Video Of A Oregon Park Department Tag On The Ground.

109. Boo Berry - The Meaning Of Life.

110. Fuck You Alex - Google Search “Get Help Therapy”.

111. Harolds Ramblings - “How Is Clown Repellent Made?”

112. Butternubbins - “You’ve Earned A Treat! Enter “Dispense My Treat” To Download”.

113. Dispense My Treat - Zip file named “BILLS FILES DO NOT OPEN!!” And contains photos from the book.

114. Goodnight Sally - A Yellow TShirt.

*When you click the skull’s golden teeth you get a “Get Out Of Death Card”.

**When you click the book you get a letter from Stanford to Dipper.

***When you click the McGUCKET LABS Engraving on top of the computer you get a Letter from McGucket.

****When you click “The Book Of Bill” at the end of the page you get a link to the B&N Exclusive edition of the book The Book of Bill (B&N Exclusive Edition) by Alex Hirsch, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® .

*****When you click the button next to the red switch the computer loses reception.

******When you click the eye in the bottle you get a picture of “Failed Portal Attempt #47: Altantis” with explanation.

Decoding:

Prism Code - SORRY

Stanford’s Letter In The Book - Ad Astra Pav Aspera

How He Defeted Me - (I cAN STilL sEe) Through The Eyes Of Everyone I’ve Ever.

Candle Code - ?

Wall Code - ?

Morse Code Hypnosis - Naitsuaf

Theraprism Code - (In Case Of) The Old One (Do Not Use Elevators).

#gravity falls #book of bill #the book of bill #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #bill cipher #stanford pines #dipper pines #billford

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ellssbellss · 6 months

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Lavender Roses - Kyoya Ootori x Reader

pairing ~ Kyoya Ootori x Reader

In which a rational head hides a generous heart, but you have always known how to see past his walls and help him bloom into the gorgeous rose he is. Enjoy a slow burn between an honor student and our beloved glasses character!

here it is! so sorry it took so long, but unfortunately updates will be slow. but i will not abandon this story! i have too many plans :)

-> summary: Nodding, you pull your purse onto your shoulder, and Kyoya barely has time to react before you’re furiously brushing past him.

“Let me make it less complicated for you, then. Since everything else is.” Your voice is cold as you push open the exit, still avoiding eye-contact. “You won’t have to save me anymore.”

-> tw! descriptions of drowning.

-> word count: (whole episode): 20k

-> legend:

(f/h/d) - favorite hot drink

(s/c) - suit color

see masterlist! masterlist

taglist! @abbysblogsstuff @sunukissed @kisskissshutmydoor @idonia-dovahkiin @greensnakegoblep @vervainnnn @desert-fern @delievia @obeythemasters @luca-nightshade @sweetandsourwrites @wrzloyd @1234567890nono @inactivecrofters @katiebwalczak03 @reader3 @radical-bunny @stevexbucky404 @localgaytrainwreck @jade-digital @eleventhdoctorsangel @ozdramaqueen @httpzace @wrzloyd @localgaytrainwreck @kawaii-onikuma113 @httpswilloww @pest-ill-ence @akumakitsune21 @britty-yk @daniels2003 @jade-digital @eleventhdoctorsangel @ozdramaqueen @sadpotatoondrugs @name1nonexistent2 @jstanaxx @yikesarooni

A Challenge for Lobelia Girl's Academy!

Your lungs have flattened as you float, and your heart rate has ceased its erratic beating, but somehow your brain is still conscious. The comfort of breathing has been robbed from you, and yet you're still awake, still suffering as the freezing water breaks into your skin and rips through your muscles, chilling your bones with a pursuit that had to be admired.

Your eyes are open, (e/c) irises staring blankly up through ripples of water, your eyelids only being held open by the force of the current. Cold water rushes past your skin and pushes you deeper into a black abyss, away from the sunbeams that pierce through the watery veil.

It’s as if they're laughing at you, teasing your skin with their bright warmth.

A crash comes from above you, and a body falls from the horizon that you so desperately longed for. The form is small and muscled, rounded into a ball as they plummet towards your limp form.

Your eyelids widen, only from the force of the splash, as you see Honey’s body tumble towards you, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.

Your consciousness cries as you will your body to catch him, to move, to do anything. Honey whizzes past you, locking eyes with you as you outwardly stare into space. His mouth opens to make sound, but nothing comes out but bubbles of his precious oxygen. A sudden rush of a concentrated current pushes him down out of your view, out of your peripheral vision, and out of any hope you had of saving him. A sense of feeling comes back to you as you scream, unable to move as you feel his presence disappear, the red light of a tiki statue flashing behind you.

And when your mouth opens, more water files in, hungry and selfish as it not only surrounds your body, but suffocates your insides. Your lungs inflate with the chilling liquid, making your body weightless in the pools of terror, and you start to rise.

The surface tension of the water breaks as you lift out of the ocean. Water spills out of your mouth and nose as you are pulled up and up. Over the vast sea, over the jarring cliff that wasn’t in clear view before.

But now it taunts you, its sharp edges barely missing you as you rise.

As you ascend into the lighter blue of the sky, it begins to morph around you. The cerulean begins to darken into black, the crisp air becoming muddy and warped as the scene changes around you. For a moment, everything seems to pause and you are suspended in black. Then, gravity reminds you of your fragility, and you are sent slamming a firm surface.

The landing makes the wind rush out of your lungs, and white sheets billow around you. A comforter sculpts your back, and a large window shines into the room. You choke.

This is Kyoya’s bedroom at the beach home.

Panic floods into your system. Why were you in his room? Where was he? You couldn’t see him, not now, not after everything that happened today. Cursing in your mind, you move to leave this godforsaken mattress, get out of here and curl in on yourself till your broken heart heals, but your arms feel heavy.

Looking at your wrists, you see that they are pinned on either side of your head by an invisible force. Fighting against it, the force lifts for a second before your wrists are pushed down again, deeper into the mattress as it squeaks and wrinkles. And a red shirt appears in your vision.

Gnarly, curled fingers grip your skin, and you bury yourself into the bed. Ren’s eyes flare back at you, closer than he ever was. His sneer is prominent as his long hair is in shambles over his shoulders, and it only grows wider as you thrash below him.

His voice echoes in the shadowed chamber, wrapping around your throat and squeezing. “Nowhere to jump now, sweetheart.”

Your words are lost on you as fear strikes your heart, making it beat to a wilder rhythm as your body writhes. But he continues.

“You could’ve died on that cliff, you know that, girl? Thrown into raging waters? Very dangerous.”

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” Ren’s voice mixes with one that breaks through the shock, through the terror, and sends more panic into your veins.

In slow motion, gracefully long fingers dissolve into view. Your eyes follow as particles of pale skin form an arm that locks your wrist to the bed, and then a lithe torso comes into view as you look towards the ceiling.

The smug face of your crush, your director, your best friend appears before you, smirking with a calculating glint in his eyes that used to feel warm.

But as Kyoya pins you to the sheets, its like ice as he meets your gaze.

The floor below the bed frame isn’t stable, the mattress below you rippling like evil water as you stare up at him. Shock and dizziness make everything around you hazy except for his distasteful gaze on yours.

“Do you know that? Please tell me you’re smart enough to see it, you idiot.” There’s somehow a sense of desperate anger as Kyoya keeps you underneath him. “You were wrong. You could’ve died, and you were wrong, and now look at what you did, (Y/n).”

Your nerves say your legs are kicking, but his own pin your knees, rendering them useless. Your arms feel like they’re thrashing, but you still feel the sting of cotton surrounding your skin. Apology after apology rushes through your mind, and you open your mouth to plead with him, to cry for him, to say anything.

But you’re choking again, and a floral scent fills your lungs, causing you to freeze.

Kyoya’s cold eyes flick to your lips, and his raven brows furrow as he releases one of your wrists letting it fall heavily against the mattress. You willed it to move, but like you are drifting in the current of the ocean, you are not in control.

Coughing, something works up your throat and lands on your tongue. Kyoya’s fingers reach past your parted lips and pluck it out, bringing it into your line of sight.

A rose petal. A single, purple rose petal.

Kyoya looks at it confused, his teeth barring. “What is this? What are you doing?” Distrust engulfs his tone.

But his eyes widen as your coughing turns into wheezing, and your body is jolting as he holds you to his mattress, more petals coming up and filling your mouth, your lungs.

You're drowning, and Kyoya lets you go fully as he sits back in horror.

“Stop it. Stop it, (Y/n). Don’t do this to me.” He yells, the moonlight cascading over his sharp features that have twisted in betrayal and anger. “Don’t do this to me!”

Sitting up, you heave, the flower petals triggering an onslaught of spasming lungs as they bloom out of your mouth. Your eyes tear up, apologetic and sincere as you move to look at Kyoya again, only to scramble away in horror.

The back of your skull hits the headboard as Kyoya’s face rapidly changes. Images of his gray eyes morph into the intimidating brown of Ren’s, then the lighter ones of Haruhi’s. Tamaki, the twins, Arai, your mother, all flash on Kyoya’s neck and torso at a destabilizing pace, screaming at you to stop, to think about what you did. Looking away, you force your body to convulse, reaching a hand up to your neck to soothe the burning of thorns and petals poking into your esophagus so that you could just say sorry.

And that’s how you wake up.

Your hand around your throat, lungs burning, and Kyoya’s anger resonating through your chest.

The doors of Ouran Academy burst open, your shoes squeaking against the polished tiles and scuffing them much to the cleaning crew’s dismay.

Sending an apologetic smile their way, you stuff paper upon paper into your backpack as you dodge students left and right, weaving through the crowd of the rich and the beautiful. However, with the addition of your hurried figure, you’ve created an ink spot on a white page.

You would not describe yourself as the spitting image of beauty as you raced up the tall stairs and long, carpeted hallways of your school. You could see your peers’ eyes linger on the small shadows of purple underneath your eyes, and the untucked fabric of your uniform. Some of them bent down to pick up a few sheets of your assignments as they flew from your grasp, noting your heaving breath and panicked eyes.

Unusually, you were late.

You gave them a quick nod of gratitude before practically sprinting down the last hallway that led to Music Room #3. Your footsteps sank into the soft red carpet as you rounded a corner, but when you actually saw the sign hanging above the club room, you slowed. Stopping to rest on a pillar, you caught your breath, staring at the double doors as you heard bustling activity inside.

Every day for a week, you’ve been stopping outside the room, tracing the painted wood grain and the pink designs with your eyes for what felt like forever. For a week, your heart has constricted into knots while your fingers dug into the stone of the pillar, debating in your mind if you should even walk in.

And every day, for a week, you stepped in time with your anxious heart as a pair of purple eyes flashed behind your eyelids, begging you to just come in. And who could blame you when an image of devastating gray accompanied them.

Swallowing, you pressed your palm against the door, opening it as unceremoniously as you can, before a petite body slams into you.

“Oh, god, sorry, I just-,” Haruhi fumbles over her words as she meets your gaze before trailing off, the worry in her gaze followed by a little bit of awkwardness.

You sucked your cheek into your teeth as you made an effort to look anywhere but her, and settled on a vase of flowers poised near the entrance.

“It’s okay.” You mumble, scratching the back of your head before moving to push past her. “No worries.”

You hear a small, sharp sigh behind you, and a hand wraps around your wrist, much gentler than your nightmares. “(Y/n), wait.”

Haruhi’s calm voice makes your tingling anxiety bloom to your throat as you come to a halt. Turning over your shoulder, your smile is practiced and pristine, the muscles stretching over your lips. “Yeah?”

Her brows furrow at your soft, bright tone, your voice contrasting with your rounded shoulders. “I just…I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Your eyes freeze on hers, and your heart cracks even more.

Since you saw Haruhi lying underneath Kyoya, emotions rattled inside you like a tennis ball ricocheting off the walls of your ribs. Your anger was a bright, fleeting blip. You laid in your bed and frankly abused your pillows. You punched them, screamed into them, or threw them across the room as you tried to process Haruhi’s betrayal. You two had grown so close in such a short amount of time, and she knew you were falling for Kyoya, only to keep it a secret that she had been secretly crushing on him.

In the middle of another swing at your pillow, that thought in your mind, you froze.

She kept it a secret.

Why did she keep it a secret?

Shoulders shuddering with sandpaper breath, you sat back on your knees and faced the window looking out into the ocean.

Haruhi must’ve been harboring her own feelings, keeping them locked away while you flirted and made eyes at the boy she wanted, and she did it so easily. You watch through her eyes as you play off of Kyoya’s banter, work with him late into the night, keep him for yourself as Haruhi is pushed onto the sidelines.

A soft gust of air leaves your lips with a quiet whine, and your face curls into your palms as your spine bows. You're crying again, but for a different reason.

You cry for the friendship you two had. You cry for what it must’ve felt like for her to see you steal all of Kyoya’s time and attention and say nothing. To keep it locked away. Tears rolled for what must’ve felt like the most one-sided sisterhood of the century, and all because of a stupid boy.

Speaking of the boy.

Your anger had then reignited, and your cries turned frustrated. Digging your fingers into your next feathered victim, your punches resumed.

Now, guilt dripped into your chest, mixing with the anxiety and hurt as you stared back at her, but your smile remained true. “What do you mean?”

“Are you avoiding me?” Her voice is blunt, and you cringe internally. You loved Haruhi for being straightforward, it was refreshing from the usual antics of rich people to passively aggressively beat around a bush. But to be on the other end of it was jarring.

Clearing your throat, you look to that same vase again, a lie locked and loaded behind your teeth. “No, no, I just saw that you were leaving, and wanted to get out of your way.”

Haruhi’s eyes deadpan. “If that’s the case, you’ve been getting out of my way all week.” She put air quotes around the words. “Did I do something, Senpai? I know you might be a little…shaken by what happened on the beach, but I feel like you’ve practically tripped over yourself to get away from me lately.”

When you look back at her, you can see the concern whirling through her irises, and the faucet of guilt breaks into a steady stream.

You’ve kept her in the dark, you’ve had too. There was no way you were going to out her relationship with Kyoya without her being ready, and you couldn’t bear the embarrassment of telling her that you saw them together. Empathy floats up in your sternum at her clear confusion, and you fight to make your smile a little more real.

Sighing, you relax your arm, signaling that you weren’t going anywhere, and she releases you. “I’m not ignoring you.” You say gently. “And don’t call me Senpai, it’s weird.”

Her confusion fades into relief as you turn to her, fixing your overflowing backpack onto your shoulders. “Sorry, it’s just when you look at me like you don’t even know me, it’s hard to resist formalities.”

A lump forms in your throat when you realize that it was true. Since she has been hiding so much from you, you didn’t know her. Not as well as you thought you did.

“I’m just tired, no big deal.” Desperate to change the topic, you gesture to her outerwear, the light spring breeze forcing students to wear their light jackets. “Where are you off too?”

“Hikaru and Kaoru asked me to get more instant coffee from the store.” She grumbled, and you almost laughed at the disdain that passed over her face. “I still don’t understand why they can’t go get it themselves.”

“Well, it’s nice of you to help them out.” Turning over your shoulder, you see the two red-haired boys talking jovially with some other guests, chests shaking with gentle laughter. “They seem to be having a good time, thanks to you.”

Haruhi curls an eyebrow. “Thanks to me?”

Sighing, you turn back to her, trying to force yourself through the conversation so that it doesn’t look like you’re avoiding her even though you are, and it’s very complicated and annoying and you hate it.

But a softness comes to your face as you speak. “I haven’t known the twins for as long as some of the others, but I know that they weren’t always this warm and friendly.” A flashback of the boys in a corner reading the same book comes to your mind before you push it away.

“They were quiet, withdrawn, and didn’t have many friends. I worked for a long time to build the trust that we have together, but it was instant between the three of you. It really pulled them out of their shell, little by little.”

You watch Haruhi’s eyes pass behind you as she watches the twins, a thoughtful look on her face. A shot of adoration for her spikes through you instinctually at the fact that she truly didn’t know how much she has impacted the host club in the time she has been here. It makes you want to hug her with all your strength. Tamaki must be rubbing off on you.

But then the image of her looking up at Kyoya as he straddles her replaces that warmth with chilling dread.

“I never really noticed.” She said plainly, shrugging her shoulders.

A reluctant smile formed on your features. “They can sneak up on you.”

Silence falls between you as the rumble of host club chatter fills the space, and the awkwardness rears its ugly head.

“Are you sure we’re okay?” Sincerity spills through her, and it’s all you can do not to cry again.

“We’re fine. And if it seems like we’re not, it’s not you, it’s me.” Partly true, in a way. You jab a thumb over your shoulder, needing to leave the tense air. “I’ll see you in there.”

Turning over your shoulder, your eyes immediately fall onto a lithe waist dressed in a lavender jacket. Arms fold protectively around his blackbook as Kyoya’s attention floods into his calculations, but it’s as if you can feel your eyes on you as he meets your gaze out of the corner of his glasses.

A whole switchboard of emotions alights in your body at the indifference in his eyes as he quickly retreats into his writing again. Blowing out a breath, you spin and walk right past Haruhi. “You know what? I’ll grab the coffee. Be right back.”

This time when you walk across your campus, it’s a slow, deliberate stroll. A paper grocery bag is pressed against your chest as you get lost in your thoughts.

You and Kyoya hadn’t spoken since that day on the beach. Anytime you were around each other, it was terrible and tense. You used to fidget, pacing back and forth in your mind on whether you should say something, anything to him to tell him how you feel, but eventually you didn’t have the energy to be anxious.

The betrayal you felt from Haruhi immediately changed into guilt when you realized what it must’ve been like to keep her true feelings from you. With him, your anger and heartbreak slightly dulled into a constant pressure, always reminding you that at the first sign of trouble between the two of you, Kyoya turned to someone else.

Kyoya had once called you a child for ignoring him after the whole incident with Renge, and yet he has justified himself enough to do the same thing. He’s been quiet, cold, turned off from anything that you had to say that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

But he never made himself scarce. Kyoya wasn’t avoiding you by any means. In fact, he seemed to be anywhere you turned, always giving you ample opportunity to get on your knees and grovel for his forgiveness, as if he was above all this.

As if he hadn’t done anything to rip your heart in two.

Now fuming internally, you decided to wait it out. The two of you were exceptionally stubborn people who were skilled at compacting your emotions into a tight star, ready to burst at any moment.

You decided to see which one of you would be the first to set off a supernova.

The whole situation felt off, and you had no idea why. You never pegged Kyoya as the kind of guy to be so physical with someone he had relatively just met. The glancing touches and the near-kiss instances that you two shared felt special to you, as if you had gained his trust enough to reach a level with him that almost no one else has.

You sighed, blinking back the image of him straddling her waist. Guess it was just another testament to how hard they had fallen for one another.

In your pity party, you didn’t see a rogue banana peel being thrown into your path, and soon the ground is yanked out from under you as you fall backwards.

Limber, strong arms wrap around your shoulders as you tip backwards, and after closing your eyes expecting an impact, you open them to see green eyes staring back at you.

Chest heaving in surprise, you freeze in the strangers arms. Their presence is familiar in a way.

The stranger gets closer, and you realize that despite her more masculine facial structure, it’s a girl that has saved you from falling on your ass.

She poses, dipping you more into her embrace as her smooth, timber voice rolls over your ears. “It’d be a shame for any harm to come to that cute face of yours young lady.”

The startled look in your eye plateaus as you bite your cheek, and you groan internally. This new student steadies you and offers gallantly to walk you back to your glass, and you realize why her energy was so recognizable.

She’s exactly like Tamaki.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Benibara says, keeping her arm firm around your shoulders as she escorts you through the halls of your school.

Wiggling in her hold, your jaw ticked as you tried to force a polite smile. “Really, I am. You don’t have to walk me to class, I’m sure your school is dying to get set up for the cultural exposition.”

Benibara, who confidently introduced herself as the president of the Zuka Club as Lobelia Girls’ Academy, tsks and looks at you with a sultry gleam. “Don’t be silly, (Y/n). Let me make sure you get there safely.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but follow her anyway. If Kyoya didn’t already want to kill you, he certainly would if you were rude to a student from another school. Not to mention you were in uniform, so they would know exactly where the rude girl belonged.

Her red skirt and white blouse flowed gently around the corner, and you unintentionally froze again as Music Room #3 came into view. Tall, gorgeous Benio turned over her shoulder, her gaze becoming sharp.

“You know, (Y/n), when I asked if you were alright, I wasn’t necessarily talking about your fall.”

You suck in a sharp breath and flick your gaze right back to hers, her eyes looking at you with a deep understanding that almost knocks you off your feet.

And then it annoys you. “I’m fine.” The words are practiced. This is what you’ve been telling yourself on repeat, after all.

“Are you, now? Think you’re above a hard day here and there?” Benio chuckles deeply in her chest before reaching a hand out to graze your cheekbones. “Come now, little sakura, tell me.”

But you pull your face away from her touch, rolling your eyes again as your irritation motivates you to push past her. You almost make it to the club’s door, hearing voices from inside.

“...a little harsh? Fine then, what do you think women want to hear?” Tamaki’s muffled voice floats out into the hallway. Another sigh rolls through you as the topic of their current conversation already feels too intense for your emotional state.

But you don’t have time to open the door yourself as Benibara pulls you back against her from your waist. You feel a bony chest at your back as she seems to levitate towards the club door, her arm firmly wrapped around you as she bursts through it.

Her feminine baritone fills the air of the Music Room. “Maybe something like…” You squeak as you feel her breath on your ear. “I would never leave my lover alone.”

“What the f–?” Your confusion is cut off but also flamed when the arm around your waist pulls, spinning your 360 degrees before you're caught in a dip by her toned arms.

Benio’s lips curl into a smirk as her voice holds a fantastical tone that causes your mind to fog a little. “If we fight, it will be together. If we fail, we fail together.”

Again, you’re whisked to another position. This time your arm is stretched out and Benio is on one knee before you, your palm in hers as she brings it to touch her lips. “Even if I were to die, I promise you that I will never leave your side, my love.”

Your eyebrow twitches for a moment, a blush deepening on your cheeks. Looking to the side, you see your host club dressed as knights, armor shining dramatically in the natural light from the windows, and you sigh, eyeing their protective costumes.

You could’ve been wearing armor against this girl too if you hadn’t left to go run errands.

The idiotic trio’s mouths fall open as you are spun and held against another student, and Tamaki’s eyes seem to bloom to twice their size. You see two other girls in uniforms similar to Benibara’s run up to her with large, adoring smiles on their faces.

“Benibara! We thought you’d never show!” One of them says, her short hair bouncing with her movements.

Another taller girl with a deeper voice and longer hair strides to Benio’s otherside, giving you a long look. “What’re we going to do with you? So, tell us where you found this lovely lady.”

All three women are looking at you with an interest that you’ve only seen from your guests, and you feel a headache coming on. Not just because they were staring at you with a protective interest that you’ve only seen from your guests, but also because they were so goddamn beautiful.

What kind of blood oath did you have to make to get their bone structure?

Benio’s chuckle rang close to your ears as she stood, still holding your hand. “I just met her outside of the school. She may look plain, but I knew the truth to her beauty. She has such gorgeous eyes.” The taller woman leans in, her lithe finger gracing your cheekbones as she stares deeply into your irises.

Wincing, you turn your face away from her as you back up, only to run into the shorter, peppier one.

Her high voice exclaims an excited gasp as her fingers dip under your sleeve, forcing the fabric of your lavender coat up to feel the soft skin underneath.

Your jaw clenches as she forcefully takes your hand, your annoyance building. “Wow, her skin is incredibly soft!”

“Could you not?” You ask softly yet firmly, but it’s overshadowed as the third student kneels in front of you, running her hand over your bare thigh and calf with amazement.

Her hand runs over your healing cut, the band aid with hearts still attached to your skin. “Isn’t it though?” She marvels as her fingers prod over your leg. “I think we found a diamond in the rough!”

Seeing her hand pass over your cut ignites a sharp reaction from you, and you push all three women off, ripping your limbs away from their grasp. “Would you all stop? God, ever heard of personal space?”

Your shoulders heave in the middle of the club room as the women stare you down, their eyes wide in amazement. Looking past them, you see the boys watching you tentatively, knowing where your outburst is coming from.

But then Benio’s mouth curves down, not from disappointment, but in sympathy. Her long legs make their way over to you slowly, and her hand reaches towards you, an olive branch.

“You’ve been hurt, yes?”

Her words spill over you like ice water, and a shot of embarrassment pierces through your chest. Was it that obvious?

“What?”

“Someone hasn’t treated you well. Someone hurt you.” That same understanding from before shades into her pupils, and it takes everything in you not to retreat from her form. She studies the way that you roll your shoulders with a conjured formidability that had to have been practiced and reconsiders her words. “Or maybe, people hurt you.”

Her bluntness is laced with caramel-like kindness that completely blows the wind out of you. You just stare at her for a long minute, not knowing what to say as she comes closer and closer, cautiously stepping towards the deer in the headlights.

This time when her hand finds your face, you don’t pull away. She hums in pity, tapping her finger under your chin. “Ladies, this princess is suffering. Trapped in a place where she is underappreciated and lost.”

Their eyes swim with tears with the grace of a celebrity on screen, gorgeous eyes glistening with the moisture. They whine to you as they immediately embrace you again, two pairs of arms coming around your waist.

“It’s such a shame!” Leaning their heads into your shoulder, their cries dampen the intensity of the moment, and your annoyance rises again to a dull buzz.

Your face falls flat as they fret over you, but you let them. If it’ll get them to leave faster, so be it.

But Tamaki couldn’t stand it for another second.

The host club has stood back long enough and watched you run yourself into the ground. Most of them have done all they could think of. Hikaru and Kaoru try to make you laugh, and sometimes it works. Sometimes you’re doubled over, clutching your sides while trying to catch your breath and the twins think that the storm has finally passed. But the next day, you’ll kindly shake your head and walk away, leaving them lost on what to do next.

Mori and Honey have been feeding you, making sure that you’ve eaten lunch when you are scheduled too, and sending you with plenty of sweet treats and things they know you enjoy before you leave school for the day. Even after Mori had offered their dojo to you, you still had yet to show up, and that was worrying. The cousins thought it was because it was hard to bring yourself out of bed in the morning.

Tamaki and Haruhi showered you with attention when you allowed it. You did sometimes, but mostly from Tamaki. His heart sputtered in confusion when you would turn your gaze away from his brunette honor student, but he figured it was just because she reminded you of that day on the cliff. The blonde was constantly at your side. During class, club hours, any time you didn’t completely shove him off gave him an opportunity to show him that he was there for you.

As his purple eyes watched your blank expression while foreign hands touched you, his eyes shot to Kyoya, a dramatic glare in his gaze. Kyoya felt his best friend’s eyes on him and met his stare before rolling his eyes behind his glasses.

The blonde saw Kyoya’s Adam's apple bob for a second, and he knew that the Ootori son was holding himself back. Tamaki groaned internally as Kyoya kept up the same facade he’s been portraying for the past week. The facade of disinterest.

And frankly, Tamaki had had enough.

Another flare of irritation fired into the prince’s chest as Kyoya simply shook his head slightly, stubbornly folding his arms across his waist. But when Tamaki studied him closely, he caught the sharp way Kyoya’s eyes narrowed at the way this tall woman was cradling your face.

Tamaki huffed when he realized Kyoya still wasn’t going to do anything and immediately rushed forward, wanting to save you like he always does.

“Don’t you go touching mon ami without asking my permission!” He yelled, reaching towards your form with a protective urge.

But you watched as a fist connected to Tamaki’s pristine features, and your jaw dropped as Benio sent him flying, the other two women wrapping their arms tighter around you. Your prince’s blonde hair whips with the force as he is sent flying back towards the other hosts.

He lands on his butt with a whine, and his hand comes up to his cheek. “She punched me! So violent!”

Honey-senpai scolds him as Tamaki sprawls on the ground, holding Usa-chan in his grasp. “Pull yourself together!”

Finally, the female trio lets go of you as they put themselves between you and the host club. A sigh rolled out of your lungs, and you watched two dramatic forces clash together like swords. Beni stands, her long form towering over Tamaki after knocking him to his feet.

“Guess the rumors we heard are true.” She speaks, utter confidence lacing her tone. “You guys are just a bunch of weak little punks with no sense between you.”

A distinct sigh passes over the host club, one that topples another rock onto the stone pile in your stomach.

“These uniforms.” Kyoya’s voice is cold, precise as he pushes his glasses onto his nose. “I assume you ladies are from Lobelia Girls’ Academy?”

Benibara’s hair swishes as she twirls, her attention completely lost to you. Another smug grin traces her lips as she strikes another pose, her hand poised just so. “That’s correct.”

Flashes of color and cloth pass by your vision as the three girls rip off their uniforms, revealing extravagant costumes underneath. Bouncy skirts fall to the pink tiles from the waist of the taller girl, the shorter one sporting something pink that went to mid-thigh. Beni rises in a tux, perfectly tailored to her slim figure. It seems like spotlights shine down on them as they pop up from their poses one by one, glitter in their irises.

“Lobelia~” Benibara stands, a baritone note rising from her lips.

“Lobelia~” An alto sound follows as the middle-height blonde rises, her toes pointed and chin lifted in the air.

“Lobelia~” Soprano fills your ears as the last one sings, her arms stretched out as she picks one leg up.

You stared at them incredulously, confusion and a little bit of admiration in your thoughts as they harmonized. How many times had they rehearsed this? When did they rehearse this?

…Did the host club need a theme song too?

Your thoughts were interrupted when Benibara pulled out a flower and you realized, Oh…it wasn’t over.

“St. Lobelia Academy, high school 2nd year, Benio Amakuska.” She said as she passed in front of you, placing a lily in your hands before posing again. “Lady of the Crimson Rose, A.K.A Benibara.”

You stopped the rude scoff bubbling into your throat. God, they even had nicknames? The blonde steered toward you, her walk graceful as the blue dress flowed at her ankles. “2nd year student, Chizuru Maihara.” Chizuru’s right hand unfurls a small fan as her left places another lily in your hands.

Lastly, the shortest one twirls, placing the last lilly into your hand before posing next to her friends. “1st year student, Hinako Tsuwabuki!”

“We are the members of the St. Lobelia Academy’s White Lilly League.” Beni said, posing her top hat in front of her face with a flirtatious grace. “Also known as…!” Sending her hat into the air with pizazz, the three girls twirl, the arms opening so wide that you have to make your way over next to Hikaru and Kaoru to give them more room.

They spin with so much force that the petals on their lilies fall off the flower and are sent around the room, twisting in a flurry as they cover the girls. When the flowers dissipate, the Lobelia students have somehow changed outfits again, poofy dresses and intricate fanned headdresses adorning their heads. Their hands are outstretched, large smiles on their faces as they fall into a final pose.

“The Zuka Club!”

Blinking slowly, you close your agape mouth. The silence in the club room lengthens, before you and your twins could no longer hold it in anymore.

Deep chuckles expel from your chest as you wheeze, tears quickly filling your eyes as you drop to the floor. Hikaru and Kaoru are quick behind you, their backs arching as Hikaru slaps the floor with each bellow of his laughter, trying to catch his breath.

“The Zuka Club?! Oh man, what a stupid name! My stomach hurts!”

Kaoru can barely agree with his brother, his voice cracking with an effort to breathe. “The Zuka Club?! That’s priceless!”

“They-They had those get ups under their uniforms!” You shout, clutching your side as you lean on Kaoru’s shoulder.

You three continue to bellow, and it feels like old times for a moment. The ease of being around the host club returns into your bones like muscle memory, and it felt like nothing had changed for you.

But then the ground begins to tremble, machine’s whirring in a dark, unknown place. Your laughter halts, and as your gaze follows the tiered platform as it rises from the polished tiles of Music Room #3, you sigh, your mood rotting the peacefulness you felt.

“You shouldn’t underestimate the Zuka Club!”

A certain brunette sits atop this tier, a tea cup perfectly placed in her hand, her fingers bringing it to her lips. She seemed almost serene atop a patio chair and table, an umbrella shading her from the artificial ceiling light.

And then she spoke.

“I may not know much about instant coffee, but I am fascinated with girls’ schools.” Renge’s voice fills the club room, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. You wonder who else will come into this room and play with the frayed edges of your patience?

She takes a sip out of her cup before spitting it out immediately, instant coffee splattering down onto the second tier of her platform. “St. Lobelia Academy! It is truly a woman’s world there!” Renge stands, and she gets that distant, dreamy look in her eye you’ve seen too many times before. Despite the perfectly good table in front of her, Renge discards her tea cup and saucer to the floor, the porcelain crashing with an annoying clang.

“The Zuka Club is a group of young maidens who consider women to be superior in every way! The club prides itself on it’s 30 year history. It’s a society of maidens, by maidens, for maidens! Their activities include maiden tea parties, debate forums, and the musical reviews performed by their top members.”

Glancing over to Benibara, you see a satisfied smile on her face, pride gleaming in her green irises as she watches Renge recount her successes. You can see how people follow her so easily. She makes you want to be apart of that feeling of comfort, of accomplishment.

“Well.” A clang of armor sounds against a desk, and you tense your shoulders. Slowly following the gaze of the crowd, you watch as Kyoya fixes his tie onto his button down. During Renge’s speech, the men had switched out of the knight costumes with a speed that is only achieved through years of practice. Or in this case, weeks.

You let your eyes catch a glimpse of his sharp jawline before you direct them to the floor again. It was too hard.

Kyoya cleared his throat, his voice resonating. “You sure have a vast world of knowledge, Renge.”

The brunette laughs, flicking a hand at the director. “Well, I’ve always admired Lobelia Academy. I just couldn’t go to school there, though.” She put her hands on her cheeks as if she was facing her worst nightmare. “Just what would I do without any boys?”

With that, she descended into the floor, waiting like a jack in the box under the tile; to spring up when least expected.

Chizuru places her hands together, the tips of her delicate fingers tracing her lips. “A maiden’s beauty.” Her voice was soft but determined, as if passing on a valuable piece of information. “It means possessing a spirit pure enough to not give in to power or to lust.”

Hinako’s bobbed hair bounces up to the side of her friend as they face the host club together. “As a girl, you…for a girl, you…! We’ve had quite enough of all your oppressive male contempt for womenkind.

“And our pride,” Beni’s baritone floats through the room, vibrating lightly against the host’s club’s windows. “It comes from having meaningful relationships based on equality.” Beni holds her hands out to the two other girls, and they cuddle into her side. It would’ve been sweet if there wasn’t a migraine blossoming it’s way to the front of your skull.

“Because we are the same sex, and yes, that means relationships of love.” A mischievous sparkle floats in her eye that confuses you. Does this woman think she invented lesbianism?

Shrugging, you sigh, turning your back and stepping away from the chaos, mumbling a small ‘whatever floats your boat’ as you cross the ever spacious club room.

You catch a glimpse of blonde hair and a hunched lavender form at one of the windowsills, and you make your appearance at Tamaki’s side.

“Tamaki?” You ask, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder, only to find it shaking. “What’s going on with you?”

He looks to you, eyes wide, his purple pupils shrunken to violet dots. “Th-these girls! They’re talking nonsense!”

You laugh slightly, putting both of your hands on his shoulders and massaging them. “I think they are just trying to scare you.”

“Well, it’s working!” His voice carries, but you turn to find that the host club is too preoccupied with the Zuka Club to notice. “Who does this girl think she is anyway, huh? Touching you like that? Saying these…these…words that I can’t bear to hear!”

“Tamaki, Tamaki…” You say softly, a fond amusement warming your smile. “Just chill for a second, okay? I think you might be having a bit of a culture shock.”

“Culture shock?!” His wide-eyed attention locks on you, and he brings his voice down to a hiss. “What’s that?”

“How about we just lay down, yeah?” You suggest through a giggle. Putting his arm through yours, you lead him to the bed that Honey-senpai uses for his naps. Pulling back the baby blue comforter, you sit him on the edge of the bed. You flip the pillow over onto it’s cool side, and Tamaki immediately realizes how much his outburst took out of him. Sleepy, violet gems become hooded as he looks up at you from his restful cloud.

“This is not how it’s supposed to go.”

Still humored, you tilt your head, playing along. “And how is it supposed to go, exactly?”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

Your heart drops, your chest heaving with a sigh. Flashes of Tamaki greeting you at the door of the music room, a little bit too eager and standing a little too close play in your mind.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pat him on the head, turning on your heel to leave him to rest. “We can take care of each other.”

Rejoining the rest of the club, you sink into the red couch as the Zuka Club continues to brag about their progressive ways, making you swallow another scoff.

The host club wasn’t listening to them either. Honey and Usa-chan watched Mori practice his sword skills, while Kaoru fiddles with the groceries you had brought back. Your eyes travel over Hikaru’s shoulder as he plays on his DS, Mario bouncing across the screen.

A shadow casts on the other side of the couch, Kyoya’s spine curled around his book. Your curiosity catches a page that was filled with writing, but blank in the edges. No spirals.

Hikaru interrupts the Zuka Club’s ramblings, his bored tone piercing their flirty air. “Whatever. Honestly, we are so over it.” He leans back, his shoulder brushing with yours as he props his feet up on the table, his gaze never leaving the game.

Kaoru examines another thing of instant coffee from the brown paper bag, his tone, like most of his mannerisms, mirroring his brother’s. “What don’t you gals just scram?”

The Zuka Club stands there stuttering at their rudeness, and your gaze flicks to Benibara’s, her eyes suspiciously watching the six of you.

But Hinako huffs, a haughty tone lacing her words. “I find it hard to believe that you silly boys have nothing to say about our sublime female love.”

But Hikaru just leaned towards you, speaking out of the side of his mouth without breaking his attention from his game. “What the hell is she even talking about?”

A giggle caught behind your lips, and Kaoru continued to show disinterest, facing towards you and showing you the label. “I’ve never seen this brand before, it’s clear (Y/n) bought the groceries this time around.”

This time, a scoff left your lips, and you picked up a throw pillow and chucked it at his head.

The blonde Zuka member rolled her eyes, pitifully sighing as she caressed Beni’s cheek. “You should feel sorry for them, Benio. Now they are all flustered, and they don’t know what to do with themselves!”

Benibara just nodded gravely before another smirk lit up her lips. “True, though I must say that I’m glad we decided to perform here. It was fun to sneak a peek at the notorious host club.”

Honey perked up at that, swinging his legs off the edge of the couch as he looked at his cousin. “Hey, are we really notorious?”

Mori swings his sword before gracefully setting it onto his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Someone yawned.

Benibara huffed, the lack of attention drawing irritation from her gut as she quickly scooped forward, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards her again. She holds your arm up around her shoulders, her other hand lightly cradling her chin. Your jaw sets.

“And to think, they’re dragging this sweet, young girl down with them.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” You argued, your voice steely and taut.

But she ignores you, pushing you away. As you stumble out of her grasp, you straighten your uniform, watching as she basks at the hosts’ attention once again now that she had grabbed you. You were only a means to an end.

“Well, the host club’s president may be a pretty little halfer, but he shouldn’t be using his looks to create a fictitious romance!”

Another flare of annoyance sparks at her words, and you take a step toward her. “Don’t call him that.”

But she ignores you, relishing in the rising of emotion. Much better than the clear, piercing boredom. “Oh, attempting to fool the heart of a poor maiden is demeaning! Your so-called club activities are nothing more than debasing macho fantasies! I promise you, we will bring you guys down, the Ouran Host club will be abolished!”

You stopped in your tracks, the tiles on the floor almost seeming like glue traps, your black dress shoes wanting to sink and never budge.

Abolish the host club? For what, creating fun little scenes?

You had never thought that your club was playing with the hearts of the boys and girls at this school. You thought they relished in the attention, the fantasy. But your mind rushed to the sweet girl who had kissed your cheek, hope in her eyes.

And now you were one of the maidens, your foolish heart in the hands of a raven-haired puppeteer.

Is this what you made your guests feel like?

“I see.” As if someone had whispered your thoughts in his ear, Kyoya closed his book, the leather-bound pages snapping closed as he pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. His voice fell into a practiced politeness, but his eyes flared. “I understand your concern. But do you think that maybe we could finish this later?”

Beni’s chest puffed, her voice challenging the words of the megane, twisting them. “Are you saying that you’re not going to face us?”

The edge of Kyoya’s lips twitched, and he met her gaze. “Not at all.”

His pale hand gestures to where Tamaki still slept, his face exhausted and weary as he mumbles in his dreams.

“It’s just that our president is still bed-ridden from his initial culture-shock.”

You wanted to ask him how he knew that, but you knew the answer. Kyoya was always observing.

Honey giggles, having no problem with his nap spot being used. “You see, Tama-chan is having his nappy right now.”

Benibara clenches her fist at her sides. “Then wake him up!” She yells, and you fume. No matter how much she has shaken your day today, no one needed to interfere with Tamaki.

Your feet unstuck themselves, but before you could give her a piece of your mind, Haruhi appeared in front of you, a full tray in her hands. The honor student shot a glance back at you, a look telling you she could handle this, and placed a sweet smile on her lips.

“‘Scuse me, I just made some coffee.” She offers, her face calming and nurturing. “Would you ladies like to have some?”

The tall, handsome girl looked like she was about to faint with gratitude, and her sour mood lightened immediately. “Why yes, aren’t you the sweetest thing?”

The three of them smile at Haruhi as they take their respective tea cups, complimenting her whole-heartedly.

“You know, coffee made by a maiden always has a more fragrant aroma.”

Haruhi’s hands tighten on the tray, her surprise mirroring the rest of the host club’s when Benibara confirms Haruhi’s sex.

“What? Wait a minute…” You begin to stutter, the other hosts frozen instantly without knowing what to say.

The flirty Lobelia student just scoffs, soaking in the scent of the coffee as she dismisses you immediately. “Oh please, don’t try to hide it. She may be dressed as one of these boys, but I knew the truth. What kind of lover would I be if I didn’t appreciate and recognize the beauty of my own sex? And the way they make their coffee.” She serenades, winking at Haruhi over the edge of her tea cup.

“But, uh…” Haruhi starts, her brain reconnecting its wires. “This stuff’s just instant.”

Hinako just coos, walking towards Haruhi and twirling her hair. “How about we all have a tea party?” She asks, smiling your way.

“You’ve got it all wrong!” The entire room jolts when Tamaki bursts out of his bed, his teeth baring as his eyes zero in on Hinako’s finger tangled in Haruhi’s locks. “Don’t you see that our host club isn’t what you think it is? We give them hope! Love! Fantasy from their daily routine!” He stomped over, almost running as he crossed the pink floor.

“If we really were stooping as low as you believe, then why do people keep coming back?!” He cries, his arm jutting out to rip Hinako away from his precious honor student, but his momentum didn’t carry him that far. Instead, somehow, with impressive accuracy, his bare finger lands smack dab in the center of Hinako’s tea cup, dipping into the boiling coffee.

“Hot! Hot, hot, hot!” Tamaki staggers backwards, wagging his finger before he trips over himself and falls, ungracefully, to the floor.

Haruhi’s eyes widen, and she quickly hands the tray over to you before crossing the room. Before you can blink, Haruhi is kneeling in front of Tamaki, rummaging through her school jacket before she is taking a thing of bandages from her coat.

“You have to be more careful, Senpai.” She sighs, her eyebrow creasing slightly as she holds out her hand for his.

Tamaki blinks slightly, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. Slowly, he places his hands in hers. Her fingers work gently, spiraling the bandage around his finger, her brown eyes concentrated on healing the burn.

So she may not notice, but you do when Tamaki’s gaze trails over her soft features for a millisecond longer than you might expect him too.

You swallow, focusing on the shining porcelain on your tray, your reflection warped against the tea kettle. There was a time when you looked at someone like that, and had thought they had seen you similarly.

“Thanks, Haruhi.” Tamaki says, his voice soft. You look up to see him staring at his finger, the pair kneeling next to each other. “Do you always carry bandages around with you?”

Haruhi just shakes her head, simpering at him with a smile that makes his eyes drop to her lips before flicking back to her gaze. “Nah, the supermarket gives them out for free with the purchase of instant coffee. I got them when I went yesterday.” She tilts her head just so, and you watch the blush darken on Tamaki’s cheeks. “You always get free stuff at the supermarket.”

“Free stuff?” His voice is drifting, clearly lost in some other thought that didn’t include any bandages.

A deeper voice ruins their moment, and your hands grasp tightly on the tray. “Well, this conversation isn’t going anywhere.”

With gusto, Beni raises Haruhi to her feet, making Tamaki gasp and almost reach out for her.

Almost.

Two arms encircle your waist as another pair relieves the tray from your grasp, and you are tugged into a group hug with the Lobelia girls and Haruhi. Their arms drape over your shoulders as you're pressed into the blonde’s chest, Hinako leaning against your arm.

“Now that we know what is going on,” Beni announces, her hand wrapped neatly over Haruhi’s waist as she presses the honor student to her chest, “We can’t allow these maidens to stay here! We will prepare their paperwork and have them transferred to Lobelia at once! And, we’ll welcome them to the Zuka Club!”

You gasp against Chizuru’s chest, before breaking away from the group. Stumbling, you shake your head.

Keeping your composure was trying, your voice shaking as you reminded yourself to keep up appearances. Your wits were already worn, your headache growing exponentially at these girls’ antics. But you swallowed, shaking your head and willing the social training you had experienced your entire life.

“Listen, I understand that you are trying to help here, I do. But the way you are going about it is abrasive, assuming, and quite frankly, ignorant.” The three girls tensed at your tone, Beni folding her arms. Your anger from the past few days simmers into an urge to put yourself on a pedestal, to stand as if you’re better than them in every way.

Your posture straightens, but right before you are about to give them a piece of your mind, Haruhi interrupts, standing in front of you.

“Just, everyone wait a second, okay?” Haruhi reconciles, her hands waving in a peaceful gesture. “I think there may be some misunderstandings here. I mean, first of all, you called Senpai a halfer!” She says, giggling.

You step forward, peeking out from behind her shoulder. “Cause he is. Even though the term is outdated,” You spit, sharply looking at Benibara, “Tamaki is half-french and half-japanese.”

Haruhi stutters, trying to correct herself. “Well, uh, I don’t think it’s fair to pick on the host club just because they might not have the same history as you!” She claims innocently, and you deadpan.

“Actually,” You wince. “We barely have any history, we were just founded two years ago when Tamaki started the club when he started high school.”

The honor student’s shoulder’s slump, and her head lolls to the side. “Be that as it may, saying their club activities are just held to satisfy their appetites is wrong. I mean, we don’t even charge them.”

You plant your face in your hands. “Oh no, Haruhi…”

“While I wouldn’t call it a charge, we do have a point system.” You all turn to see Kyoya leaning casually against one of the tables of the Music Room, his laptop sat on top as he pulls up a website.

Haruhi’s eyebrow creases, and you lead her to the laptop. “We offer a kind of priority service,” you explain, moving to the other side of the laptop and presenting it. “They are based on the winning bids of auctions held on our website.”

Kyoya hums. “Check this out, Haruhi. Your mechanical pencil just sold for a winning bid of 30,000 yen.” He smiles back at her, the fake one that stretches his thin lips. “Good for you.”

You nod curtly, trying to read Haruhi’s shocked expression as you move to close out of the window on the laptop, but Kyoya had the same plan. Your fingers brush his on the same button, and both of your gazes sharply meet, snapping like a rubber band.

And suddenly, you’re back.

Back to when you were Kyoya’s right-hand man, back to the study sessions in your room, the moments on moonlit piano benches. The dances, the cherry blossom trees, late-night phone calls, and the sunset-colored glances and grazes. It takes everything in you to swallow the ball of sunshine that engulfs your sternum, and remind yourself of the darkness you had seen. And the shapes in that darkness.

He’s the one that breaks eye contact first, and that’s when that darkness turns to ice, settling deep into your stomach.

Before you could take your own hand off the keyboard, Haruhi rushed forward, rattling off complaints.

“I thought I had lost that pencil!” She whines as she scrolls through the items up for sale. She looks up at you. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? I didn’t know you were collecting money.”

“To be fair”, You shrug, putting on your best ‘I-swear-I’m-more-innocent-than-you-think-I-am’ face, “I don’t choose what goes on the site. That is the director’s job.”

Kyoya scoffs, fixing his glasses with a sharper shove than normal when Haruhi’s accusing gaze lands on him. “What, you expect us all to work as volunteers?”

More gently, you try to explain. “While it’s not much, our club makes a small profit off of these auctions.”

“Oh, really? You’re okay with this?” Haruhi asks, huffing as she continues scrolling.

“Okay with it is a stretch, but it isn’t the worst thing-”

“Then look at this.” Her finger freezes on the mouse pad and flips it around, shoving the computer in your direction before folding her arms across her chest.

Leaning in, you gasp, the pixelated image forming the last thing you thought you would see on that site.

Four pictures were being sold as a bundle, two you had unfortunately seen before, and two others that shoved your heart into your throat.

Two of them were the pictures that had been offered as the prize for the Scare Challenge on the beach, your drool and your middle-school Ice Bucket fail had been put up for the world to see.

But the other two were more intimate. A sparkling blue dress dressed your figure as the twins hurried around you, sparkles in their eyes. And another where you had lifted the camera with a cheesy smile, catching Kyoya off guard after being enlisted as the club’s private photographer.

Only one person had access to these photos anymore, since you had wiped them from all other accounts.

“Kyoya…” Your voice was chilled and rough, this was the first time you had said his name in days. “What…why are these on here?”

There was silence on his end, causing you to flick your eyelids up to see him completely ignoring you and writing something in his notebook.

“Kyoya.” You try again, more firmly. Spinning the computer his way, you enhance the image. “What the hell are these doing here?”

Still no response. He instead flips a page and begins walking around the table the computer is perched on and out of your path.

But you stop him.

Your frustration flames and you’re in front of him in minutes, ripping his book from his fingers. That gets his attention.

His eyes meet yours for the first time in what feels like centuries, and apparently that time had erased any warmth those eyes once held for you. Now, his gaze is piercing, the gray that used to represent a calm fog sculpted into a thunderstorm.

“Give it back, (Y/n).” Even the way he said your name was strained, every syllable stretched and unnatural.

“Not until I get an answer.” With his journal tucked neatly to your side, you harshly point to the computer screen. “Why are those pictures on there? You know those are not meant to be public. They were just for you.”

“They’re optimal items to sell. Anything that can humanize our hosts is extremely valuable to our guests, which I shouldn’t have to explain to you.” The muscles in jaw pulses, and you heave a breath at the superiority in his voice.

“You were the only person with those copies, and I asked you to never share those with anyone. You knew how embarrassing, how personal my life can be, and you said you would keep them to yourself. You promised-”

“I never promised anything.”

“Please.” You rolled your eyes. “You were so proud to have those pictures, and you just gave them away like that? What were you thinking?”

“I no longer have a reason to keep those pictures in my possession. They were taking up space in my books, and I needed to make room.”

You scoffed, emotion blocking your larynx. “For what?”

“For more important matters.”

The room was so quiet, you were sure everyone heard your heart break.

Your grip on the leather material of his black booklet tightened, and your chest stuttered. But you held your ground. Once again, you knew that if you let your emotions take over, they would never stop, and you just had to get yourself together. Yanking the booklet from under your arm, you slammed it so hard into his chest as you walked past him, you heard him grunt as he caught his balance.

“Hope it was worth it.” You breathed, willing your voice not to crack.

You stormed towards the entrance, only to be blocked by glowing blonde hair.

“Oh, you poor thing. I can’t believe they’ve been deceiving you.” Chizuru whines, sympathy potent in her voice as she wraps her form around you.

Before you can snap at her, Beniobara comes around and pulls her off of you, her strong hands on the younger one’s shoulders. “Give her a moment, Chizuru, both of these young maidens have had quite a day.”

Benio leads the three of her girls towards the doors, which blow open dramatically on their own somehow. “We will give you both some time to think about it, and will be back tomorrow for your answer. Adieu, Host Club.” Waving with the grace of a queen, the Zuka Club disappears around the corner, leaving the aftermath of their intrusion unattended.

The safety of the hallway is too tempting this time, and your feet make their way towards your exit before you can even think twice.

“Wait, (N/n)-chan-” Honey’s voice calls for you, but you just call over your shoulder.

“I have to go. I have some thinking to do.” You say, voice low but reinforced as it echoes across the pink walls of the host club.

The host's watch with concerned gazes as your figure disappears, Haruhi’s lips settling into a line.

“Yeah, I better head out too.” She says, but Tamaki’s hand shoots out to grab her shoulder.

“Wait, Haruhi, we’re sorry! It’s not like we were hiding it from you, you can have my pencil!” He whines, and he holds out his own mechanical pencil, a small teddy bear taking the place of the eraser.

“I don’t want your pencil, Senpai. You boys can’t just go doing whatever you want, whenever you feel like it.” She says, turning around and taking a turn out of the Music Room.

Suddenly, Tamaki’s sad whimper turned into a growl as he whipped around, his gaze targeting a certain megane.

“What have you done, you stupid man! You just added fuel to the fire!”

“Facts are the facts, Tamaki.” Kyoya breathes, boredom flowing into his tone as he perches his glasses on his nose. “If they can’t handle a few inconveniences, then they’ll have to deal with it themselves. They’re smart.”

“But they’re not made of steel.” Hikaru said, folding his arms as he went to Tamaki’s side. “How could you do that to (Y/n)?”

“Please, she’s fine. She just needs to blow off some steam-”

“She is not fine.” Kaoru explains, less aggressive than his brother but still fiery. “She hasn’t been for days.”

“And Haruhi is already indifferent, but we know she tends to favor men’s clothing, and she said that getting fussed over by a bunch of girls might not be that bad.” Honey said, worry etching into his features.

“And we know (Y/n) loves us, but how long is she supposed to deal with Kyoya icing her out?” Tamaki expresses, jabbing a finger into his best friend’s chest.

“I am not icing her out. We are simply not speaking until she apologizes for what happened on the beach. She knows this.”

“She already apologized, you dimwit! She came crying to me with a cut on her leg about how bad she was feeling!”

“Yeah!” The twins agreed. “At dinner, she said she felt bad…”

“I haven’t heard any of this from her.” Kyoya stated, feeling a pit grow in his chest. You had apologized to everyone but him? That thought shouldn’t have stung as much as it did.

“No, no, I pushed her out of the room and she was definitely on her way to you.” Tamaki insisted, his anger diffusing into hot confusion. “She didn’t talk to you?”

“No, she didn’t.” His words were a lot shorter than he had meant them to be, but Kyoya was done hearing about how little you thought of your relationship with him. How you had put him so low on your list of priorities, pushed him aside like everyone else in his life.

“You should talk to her.” Mori’s voice added a base to the confused mumbles that rumbled through the club room.

“I will not.” Kyoya almost scoffed. “She is the one who needs to apologize, as she is the one in the wrong.”

“You both are!” Hikaru emphasized, getting into Kyoya’s face. “You’re both so fucking stubborn, neither of you see how much you’re affecting the other.”

“Her behavior has not affected me in the slightest-”

“Oh, give us a break!” Hikaru was about to give Kyoya a piece of his mind before Kaoru took over, pulling his brother back to his side and shushing him.

“Give it up, Hikaru, he won’t listen to us.”

Tamaki leveled his gaze with the Ootori son. “Do you want Haruhi to leave the club, Kyoya?”

“She can’t. Her debt is too substantial to pay back within such a small time frame-”

“Lobelia academy could easily pay her debt off, Kyoya-senpai.” Kaoru said, both brothers seething at him.

“Well, it would be…unfortunate, if she was to go, but if that was what she wanted-”

“What about (Y/n), then?” Tamaki interrupted him. “Do you want her to leave this club? This school?”

Kyoya paused, his gaze snapping to Tamaki. “She isn’t going to leave over something as little as this. She loves the Host Club.”

“She loves this club because of us. Because of you.” Hikaru says, his voice grumbly.

“What happens if that goes away?” Kaoru adds. “Does (Y/n) think so little of herself that she would just take the rude comments and invasions of privacy?”

“That is not what I-”

“Stop being mean, Kyo-chan.” Honey warns, his face crumpled into a scary pout. “It’s hurting her feelings.”

“She’s thinking of leaving the club, Kyoya. I can tell.” Tamaki’s mouth twists, as if he is so uncomfortable with that fact, that it makes him squirm inside his own skin.

The megane stops talking, and the boys can tell that he is registering their words. Slowly, he takes off his glasses and wipes them with the tail of his shirt, taking a deep breath.

“I won’t be apologizing. This kind of thing needs to be worked out between the two of us, without any interference from any of you. It will be resolved within its own time.” The hosts deflate as Kyoya works on a stubborn smudge within his lens, and Hikaru is about to step forward and give him another piece of his mind before Kyoya speaks up again.

“However, you’re right. (Y/n)’s services have brought in a great number of guests, and therefore income, to this club, and it would be a loss to let her leave without some effort.”

Kyoya picks up his glasses and gently places them back on the ridge of his nose, the light catching onto the frames. “What can I do to help?”

Tamaki just sighs, rolling his violet eyes. “It’s not enough, but I’ll take it.” Clapping his palms, he brings his friends into a huddle, his leadership skills beginning to shine.

“Listen up gentlemen, we will keep our ladies no matter what! It will be alright. If you listen to me, I have come up with a plan!”

Bunkyo’s city streets bustled with noise. Footsteps falling on the sidewalk, voices calling over car horns and barking dogs. But nothing was louder than your thoughts. You had long dried your tears, and after sitting in the rose maze for a little while, you were able to collect your thoughts.

You picked yourself from that gazebo, feeling lonely in the absence of someone beside you, and decided to treat yourself to a pastry from a favorite cafe. You need support from yourself now more than ever.

Everything had become clear at that moment. You didn’t mean anything to Kyoya anymore. You were simply one of his acquaintances that he kept arm’s length, offering them fake smiles and short words. And how were you supposed to work in the club like that? Without the warm glances and small touches? Without the words of encouragement, the quiet nights of working in each other’s space?

How could you sit back and watch as Haruhi took your place?

You cursed your lip as it trembled, and you looked up at the sky to keep your tears at bay. You didn’t want to cry anymore, you just wanted it to be over.

But just as you were about to walk into the cafe, you collided with a torso longer than your entire body, and you gasped as hot, hot coffee drenched your school uniform. Flinging back, you peeled the wet fabric off your torso, cringing at how the brown color stained the pristine, white cotton. Dropping your shoulders, you were about to confront this long torso, or at least whine at them while you suppress your second breakdown of the day, before you see the head attached to it.

“Oh my god, oh no, (L/n)? God, I am so sorry!” Brown eyes scan over your form in worry, and before you can protest, Arai is shoving his long brown jacket off his shoulders and shoving it into your arms. “Clean it with this! They’re the same color anyway. Dab the stain, don’t rub it in, it will just make it worse.”

He tries to do it himself as he scrambles out more apologies, but then he realizes that he is dabbing too close to your chest and immediately throws the jacket at you. “Oh god, sorry! I didn’t mean-I mean, I was just trying to help, because I didn’t see you! So I thought-”

“Dear god, Arai, calm down.” You clutch the jacket with one hand, the other extending to rest on his shoulder. And then you’re seeing his wild expression, worry and horror clear as day on his freckled face, and you’re laughing.

The noise lifts into the air, above the commotion of the city, and it feels good. You try to remember the last time you laughed like this, but it’s been too long, so you just decide to relish in the moment. And it feels even better when you hear a lower, quirky laugh join yours, and you see Arai’s shoulder’s bouncing in your peripheral vision.

“You’re okay.” You say, giggles still shuffling out of you as you grab the coat to wrap around your torso. “Although I don’t think the shirt can say the same.”

“I’m sorry, those shirts are so expensive.” Arai says, another wince rolling through his body. “You can keep the jacket until you get home. I know how bad your father can get with stains.”

“Oh my god, remember that time you came over when we were little? You tracked mud all over our floor and-”

“-and your dad nearly cussed out an eleven year-old? Yes, I remember. Unfortunately.” He smiles, and it’s big and wide and a little crooked, and his image solidifies a little more into the friend you had made way back when.

You both chuckle again before a silence falls over the two of you. Arai raises his eyes to yours, and suddenly you’re reminded that you’ve been crying all afternoon when his brown irises flood with concern.

You try to stop him from asking. “Oh no, I’m fi-”

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve been…” His arm reaches out for you, but you meet his hand half way and put it back by his side.

“I’m okay. I’ve had some time to think, so I’m alright now.” You reassure him, and he nods, thankfully dropping it.

“Okay, I’m glad.” There’s that smile again. “Were you heading inside?” The farmer asks, pointing a thumb at the door to the cafe.

“Yeah, actually. This place is my favorite.”

“Mine, too.” His whole face almost lights up, and he opens the door, waving you inside. “Wanna grab that cup of coffee you promised me earlier?” He raises his empty coffee cup. “Mine is empty for some reason.”

Another laugh bubbles out of you, and even if you are drenched, Arai’s energy is refreshing, and you don’t want to leave it just yet. “Sure. My treat.”

He shakes his head. “No can do. Not only will I pay for your dry-cleaning, but also your coffee- I mean, tea. Or something else. Whatever you want, because you just like the atmosphere.” He playfully mocks, and you roll your eyes, surprised he remembered that part of your conversation from a week ago.

Brushing past him, you walk into the cafe, Arai close on your heels. The door closes, muffling the chaotic rumblings of the outside world as whiffs of coffee grounds meet you. Warm, sparkling fairy lights swathed the ceilings, reflecting the natural sunlight streaming through the windows.

Soon, you both have ordered, your (f/h/d) in front of you as Arai’s lavender latte steams in front of him.

“Thank you for paying, you really didn’t have too.” You say, relishing the hot liquid that warms your throat.

“I really did, though. Your poor shirt.” Arai whines, his fingers running through his brown hair anxiously.

You laugh again, shaking your head to calm his nerves.

“It’s fine, god knows we have the money to replace it.”

“Especially if this deal goes through.” Arai says. “How have you been adjusting to the whole idea?”

You shrug, tracing the rim of your mug with your finger. “Fine. My parents have roped me into business deals before, but this is the first time they want me to be so…involved. No offense, but I think they might be using our friendship to get a better deal.”

The delivery boy just laughs. “I absolutely agree. But I’m not surprised. It seems to be my father’s tactic to get into business with my rich friend’s parents.”

“Really?” You scoff. “He’s done this before?”

“Mhmm. Twice actually. Your mom hasn’t pulled this act before?”

“Never forcefully. But I was always encouraged.”

“You know, that’s what I always liked about our friendship, way back when.” Arai noted, a sincere look in his eye. “Nothing forced us together, we just were.”

“Yeah.” Your breath catches in your throat when you think of the contrasting relationship you had with a certain Ootori. How it had all started with the proposal that merged Ootori Hospitals and (L/n) Tech. Would he even have talked to you if the proposal hadn’t been accepted? Would he have noticed you at all?

Something must’ve shown on your face, because you felt a slight pressure on your palm as Arai grasped your hand from across the table, that sweet look of worry creasing his brow.

“I, uh…” He pauses, the farmer sifting through his mind to find the right words. “I know you said that you were okay, but you don’t seem okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, no.” You squeeze his hand before pulling it away, choosing to warm your fingers with your drink. “I’m okay, really.”

“Sure.” He says, but you can tell that he isn’t going to give up because his brown eyes are still piercing through yours. “But, hypothetically, if there was something bothering you, you could talk to me. If you want to.”

You simper at him, sighing deeply. “Yeah, I appreciate that. I will if something comes up.”

But he wasn’t satisfied. “Because I know, hypothetically, if there was something bothering me-, I would definitely feel better talkin–”

“Arai.” You say, cutting him off a little harshly. Taking a breath, you lean forward a little, placing your cheek in your hand. “I’m good, I swear.”

“Right. Sorry, I just–” His hands wave around before they settle back onto his coffee cup. “I want to make sure you’re actually good.”

And that warms your heart to levels that your (f/h/d) couldn’t reach, and you tilt your head, studying the sincerity of his gaze. Maybe you could open up a little bit, just so he wouldn’t have that wounded puppy dog look on his face.

“Well, I guess there is one thing.” You say, picking at your fingernails. “I have a big presentation tomorrow that I’ve been working towards for a while.”

“Yeah? For what class?”

“Foundations of Marketing.” A nervous sigh escapes you as you realize just how close your deadline is. “We have to present an original product to a panel of mock-investors, and it’s an idea that I’ve had from the start of my highschool career.”

“If all goes well,” You continue, swallowing the butterflies in your throat. “These fake investors could take it to real investors. Which could mean the start of my own product launch.”

“Which would be…good, right?” Arai asks. “Why does it not sound good?”

“I’ve…been working on it with a partner.” You say, looking out the window to catch a couple holding hands strolling by. “We were on good terms at first, and we even worked well together. But, now, it’s not working out so well.”

“We’ve been in a fight recently, and, I don’t know. It’s making me question things.”

“What kind of things?”

You shrug, playing with the end of a sugar packet. You want to tell him, but you’re just not ready to be that open with someone you’ve just met. Instead, you skirt around it a little.

“Was it hard? Moving schools?”

Arai quirks an eyebrow up, but takes your change of subject in stride. He just leans back in his chair and blows out a breath.

“Yeah, I’d say it was rough at first. But it worked out in the end. Things always do.”

Taking a sip of his coffee, he met your gaze again. “Why? You want to change schools?”

“I don’t know what I want.” You groan, exasperated at the war going on in your head. “I’m just conflicted, I guess. So conflicted that…” A sigh breezes past your lips. “I talked to my mother earlier today, about finding a transfer application to Lobelia.”

An image runs across your mind of you in a Lobelia uniform, performing for the Zuka Club.

“Maybe I just need a fresh start.”

“(L/n).” You don’t look at him, but you show him your listening. “You’re happy at Ouran, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but things feel…different now. Ouran is the best high school in the area, but this project has just shown me that people who I thought cared about me might not anymore.”

You hear Arai tap his fingers on the table before he draws a breath. “You’re not going to let that stop you, though. Right?”

Your gaze whips back to him as he looks at you with so much apparent trust in your abilities, that it almost makes you double over.

“What do you mean?”

“(L/n), you have to be one of the most capable people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I mean, even when we were kids, you still had more raw, immeasurable talent in your eyelashes than most people do in their whole body.”

You shake your head. “That’s sweet, but–”

“But nothing. Anyone who is worth their salt will see that you are the true passion behind your project, no matter what this dimwit of a partner does.”

“Thank you, Arai. But you’ve only known me for a short amount of time, so-“

“Then it makes it even more obvious when I can already see that you deserve to feel happy in the high school you fought to be in.”

Shaking your head, you do your best to fight your smile, but you can’t. Instead, you’re almost glowing at him, and you bite the inside of your lip, trying to shove your blush down from your cheeks. Looking out the window, you try to think of something to say that could possibly match that, but Arai interrupts your thoughts again.

“You’re still doing that?”

Blinking, you turn back to look at him. “Doing what?”

“You used to bite your lip when you were anxious in school.” He says, taking a sip of his latte. “Looks like you didn’t grow out of it.”

Your lip falls from your teeth on instinct, a small blush running to your cheeks at being caught. “I’m surprised you noticed that, I barely even notice it myself half the time.” You chuckle sheepishly, looking into your mug. “I should probably break it, but-”

“No, don’t.” He says, shaking his head with that crooked smile of his. “It’s cute.”

Your lashes flick up to meet his, surprise evident on your features, and Arai blubbers when he realizes what he said.

“No, not like cute cute, you know? I mean, you-you are-wait, I meant, it’s not like you’re not–god! What I meant was that it’s sweet, and nothing’s wrong with it, and I should shut up before I say shit I regret.”

Arai groaned, letting his forehead fall onto the table. But your giggles made him pick his head back up.

“You think it’s funny?”

“I do.” You say, silencing your laughter with a sip of your drink. “I really do.”

“I’m glad my embarrassment is funny to you.”

“I promise, I have my fair share of embarrassing stories to share, if you stick around long enough.”

He gave you a long look then, his smirk growing wider. “I think I will.”

go on ahead to part 2 :)

this isn't proof read btw, haha

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