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svt-luna · 21 hours

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hi! i really adore each member’s dynamic with luna 🫶 can i request for a chapter where the group’s over protectiveness comes to action when it comes to luna? it can be any member you prefer. thank you!

(pls keep on writing i really love ur blog 🤗)

ᡴꪫ ⋆ All EYES ON HER: SEVENTEEN’S ULTIMATE PROTECTIVE MOMENTS ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── now playing…

synopsis: A compilation on the countless times the members have fiercely protected Luna, proving that anyone who messes with her has an entire team to answer to.

hello!! I apologize for taking so long with this request, it took a long time for me to get to it but finally, it’s here now. you didn’t specify what kind I should do, so I decided on a youtube compilation instead, I hope you don’t mind! happy reading, my loves 🤍💛

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ youtube compilations

[added captions are in brackets] ᡣ𐭩

bold dialogues are spoken in english ᡣ𐭩

indented italics are additional voice overs ᡣ𐭩

Ah yes, folks, welcome to this episode of ‘How SEVENTEEN is Basically Luna’s Private Army at This Point.’

I mean, if you didn’t already know, our girl Luna isn’t just the 14th member of SEVENTEEN— no, no, she’s also the epitome of princess treatment.

Miss thing, is protected by her 13 bodyguards… I mean, bandmates.

I cannot stress this enough… the amount of times these guys circle around her like she’s made of glass is honestly a whole genre of content at this point.

You’d think they signed a secret contract that says, ‘Thou shalt not let Luna so much as trip on a pebble or breathe near a stalker without at least five of us nose-diving in front of her.’

I’m starting to think they all have a group chat where their one goal is: ‘Keep Luna safe. At all costs.’ I mean, the devotion is real, people.

Anyway, buckle up because we’re diving into SEVENTEEN’s ultimate protective moments over the years. From stage accidents to creepy fan encounters— these boys do it all. *swoons*

So grab your popcorn, maybe a tissue, and get ready to witness Luna being treated like the literal K-pop princess that she is.

LUNA’S AIRPORT SASAENG INCIDENT

I feel like this video itself just shows you how much the members are super protective of Luna.

On a side note, y’all weirdos really need to leave them the fuck alone

The airport was abuzz with the usual energy that seemed to follow SEVENTEEN everywhere they went. Fans had gathered on the other side of the barricades, screaming, phones flashing, as they tried to capture every moment of the members’ journey to the gate.

It was early— too early for most of the members to be anything but a little groggy. They had a long flight ahead to Seattle for their ‘Be the Sun’ tour concert, and it showed in the occasional yawn, tired smiles, and slow movements as they waited in line to enter their gate.

Luna stood in the middle of the line, nestled between Wonwoo, who was in front of her, and Seungcheol, who lingered protectively behind.

[In just a few seconds you guys would see how Choi Seungcheol became my bias]

[on a side note… look how hot he looks 😩 DADDY!]

Luna was chatting quietly with Wonwoo about the new show she was watching late last night, her voice calm as she ran through the reason why she got zero sleep.

Everything felt routine.

The members bowed and waved occasionally to the fans and cameras across the barricades, but it was all in the usual ebb and flow of their lives on tour. There was nothing unusual about the morning, just the soft hum of their conversations and the distant screams of their loyal Carats.

[I love how they still try their best to greet Carats despite being so tired 🥹]

And then it happened.

In the middle of her sentence, Luna was cut off by the sound of a man’s voice— a deep, rough yell from somewhere beyond the barricade. He was shouting her name, which wasn’t entirely strange. Fans often called out to her, but there was something different in the way this man shouted. It wasn’t the excited, breathless tone of a fan. It was urgent, desperate, and far too aggressive.

[guys I’m being so fr rn, this clip till this day pisses me the fuck off]

Before Luna or anyone else could process what was happening, there was a sudden movement from their side.

Out of nowhere, the man broke past security and somehow made it too close, far closer than any fan should’ve been allowed. He wasn’t behind the barricades anymore— he was there, within arm’s reach of the members.

[LOOK AT THIS FUCKING BUM]

[If I see him istg it’s on sight]

[I didn’t bother blurring his face cause… why should I?!]

The air around them shifted, the fans behind the barricades screaming in shock, but it was too late. Luna didn’t have time to turn and see him before she felt it.

A tight grip suddenly clamped down on her right arm.

It was jarring, a harsh pull that yanked her back, shocking her out of the moment. The man— eyes wild and frantic— was tugging her towards him, shouting about how much he loved her. “Luna, Jiyeon-ah! You don’t understand, I love you! I’m in love with you! I need you to know! I’m obsessed with you!”

[yeah we can tell, loser]

Luna’s breath hitched in her throat. The world around her blurred as the fans screamed louder, their voices tinged with panic. For a split second, her brain froze, and she couldn’t fully process what was happening. The man’s hand was too tight, too rough, and before she could pull away, she felt herself being dragged towards him.

[look at her face, motherfucker! look at how scared she looks]

[TWICE HER SIZE AND HE FUCKING YANKS HER]

But then, in an instant, everything shifted again.

Before Luna could even react, she felt a firm grip around her waist— a strong, grounding force pulling her back from the man’s grasp.

[IT’S THE SPEED!! IT WAS THE WAY HE REACTED!!]

[CHEOLIE’S REFLEXES ARE NEXT LEVEL]

[🫠🫠🫠]

Seungcheol, who had been just behind her, moved like a flash, his expression steely as his arm looped securely around her. His fingers pressed tightly against her waist, holding her in place, but his other hand wasn’t idle. With a swift, practiced motion, Seungcheol reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, yanking it away from Luna with more strength than the man had anticipated.

“Let go.” Seungcheol’s voice was firm, sharp with authority but calm, almost dangerously calm, as he shoved the man’s hand off her with little effort.

[GOODBYE WORLD]

[I– no words… there are no words]

[Honestly, if I were that sasaeng, I’d just tell my heart to stop right then and there]

[Choi Seungcheol is scary wbk]

At the same time, Wonwoo had spun around, his eyes dark with alarm. His hand immediately found Luna’s, grasping her left hand firmly as he pulled her back to safety, away from the chaos. The sudden switch from casual conversation to this whirlwind of confusion sent a surge of adrenaline through him. His usually stoic face was a mixture of concern and anger as he held Luna’s hand tighter, making sure she wasn’t being pulled any further.

[brb I’m gonna cry]

[Wonwoo was holding onto her for dear life]

The sasaeng stumbled backward as Seungcheol released him, but it wasn’t over yet.

The moment Seungcheol tore the man’s hand off Luna’s arm, the rest of the members immediately closed in, surrounding her like a protective shield.

[They look so worried 🥺]

[Jiyeon is so loved]

Security finally rushed in, grabbing the man and pulling him away from the members, the fans still screaming in horror and disbelief at what had just unfolded.

[Also what took y’all so fucking long 😠]

Seungcheol barely had time to check her well-being before he was pushed back into action, taking control of the situation as the leader.

As the fans continued to scream in both shock and confusion, Jeonghan was by Luna’s side in an instant, his face painted with worry. His hand hovered near her shoulder as he looked her over, asking softly, “Are you okay?” before Mingyu stepped up beside him, eyes scanning her for any sign of distress.

“I’m okay,” Luna nodded as she shook caressed the now red flesh of her right arm.

[MY PRONOUNS ARE J.E.O.N.G.N.A RAHHHH]

The members formed a tight circle around her, creating a barrier between Luna and the crowd as they took turns asking her if she was alright. Jeonghan, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Dino, Wonwoo, and Dokyeom stood close, their faces unusually serious, while Minghao, Joshua, and Vernon kept a vigilant eye on the situation, making sure no one else could get close. Even Woozi, Jun, and Hoshi, who had been half-asleep just moments ago, were now alert and focused, standing protectively near her.

[they baracaded her real fast]

[THIS IS HOW THE SECRET SERVICE REACTS WHEN THERE IS A THREAT TO THE FUCKING PRESIDENT]

[WE LOVE TO SEE IT]

Luna, is still in shock. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind still trying to catch up with what had just happened. The touch of the man’s rough hand still lingered on her skin, but the warmth and safety of her members anchored her in the present, pulling her out of the chaos and fear.

Meanwhile, off to the side, fans caught a glimpse of Seungcheol in full leader mode, visibly angry as he appeared to scold their security team.

[HE IS SO FUCKING HOT FOR THIS 🥵]

[THIS👏 MAN 👏 DOESN’T 👏 PLAY 👏 WHEN 👏 IT 👏 COMES 👏 TO 👏 HIS 👏 MEMBERS]

Seungcheol’s body language was sharp and commanding, hands gesturing firmly as he instructed them on how to handle the situation. No one could hear exactly what he was saying, but it was clear from his tone and expression that he was furious. His jaw clenched, his eyes steely, he pointed toward the barricades and the area where the man had broken through, making sure there would be no more mistakes.

[blah, blah, blah, proper name, place name…]

[What I’d give to hear what he’s saying rn]

Fans watching from the other side couldn’t help but be struck by how protective and authoritative he was, silently appreciating the way SEVENTEEN took care of their own.

Once all that was taken care of, Seungcheol finally turned back and glanced down at Luna, his voice now softer but still firm. “You okay?” His eyes scanned her for any signs of distress or injury as he gently caressed her arm, his brows furrowed with concern.

[WHERE DO YOU GET A MAN LIKE THIS?!]

[I’m in love with him it’s not funny anymore 😔]

Luna nodded slowly, though her heart was still racing. “I’m okay, Cheolie… thank you,” she managed to whisper, her voice shaky but steadying.

“Thank you, Wonwoo oppa,” Luna turned to the man next to her who gave her a silent not, clearly still disturbed.

But Seungcheol wasn’t fully convinced she was fine… none of the members did. They could tell from how she twisted the rings on her fingers.

Seungcheol placed his arm around her shoulders, keeping her close as they moved forward, ensuring she was safe and that the man was well out of reach. Meanwhile, the rest of the members hovered around her. Jeonghan was beside her, now holding her hand, his grip tight and his presence still solid and reassuring.

[HAVE I MENTIONED I LOVE JEONGNA]

[the way Cheol and Han kept holding her till they entered their gate 🥹]

The fans, who had just witnessed the entire event, were still in a state of shock, but now their screams had shifted. Instead of panic, there were chants of Luna’s name, filled with concern and admiration for how the members especially Seungcheol and Wonwoo had handled the situation.

It was only then, as the adrenaline began to fade, that Luna realized just how much she had been relying on them. Without them, without their quick thinking and protective instincts, she didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened.

‘FEAR’ WARDROBE MALFUNCTION IN JAPAN

The concert in Japan was in full swing, the arena lights flashing to the heavy beat of SEVENTEEN’s ‘Fear’ as they performed for thousands of cheering fans.

[Another one of my favorite clips, ladies and gentlemen]

The energy in the air was electric, the members synchronized perfectly with their intense choreography and sharp vocals. Luna was in the center of the stage, dressed in a sleek black attire that matched the rest of the members— black leather pants that accentuated her legs accompanied by a black sleeveless top with a zipper running down the back.

[MOM LOOKS HOT BTW 🥵]

The moment was flawless— until it wasn’t.

In the midst of a spin, as she did the choreography with the rest of the members, Luna felt the distinct sensation of her zipper giving way.

A chill ran down her spine as the entire back of her top unzipped, fully exposing her skin. Her black top was now hanging loose, barely held together by the fabric at the front.

But Luna, ever the professional, didn’t miss a beat. Her face remained fierce and intense, completely matching the dark, brooding mood of the song. Not a flicker of panic crossed her expression as she continued to sing, her voice steady, her movements sharp. Her body flowed with the choreography as if nothing was wrong, even though her mind was racing.

[her top was literally hanging by a thread]

[I don’t know how she does it. I would have panicked]

[It’s a good thing the zipper was at her back 🫥]

Some of the members noticed almost immediately. Being behind her in the formation, they had a clear view of her exposed back. Hoshi, who was a few steps to the side, caught a glimpse of her loose top during a turn, his eyes widening slightly in realization— however, he was a few steps too far to do anything about it.

Just as they transitioned to another part of the routine, Luna shifted her glance to the side and locked eyes with Dokyeom, who was right behind her. His eyes were filled with concern, his expression subtle but clear— her back was fully exposed, and they needed to fix it.

Luna, ever so composed, gave him a single, almost imperceptible nod. The kind of nod only someone who knew her well could catch. It was all she needed to convey her understanding.

[Again, it amazes me how fast they pulled this off]

[it took me like five times to understand how DK did it]

[Watch Dokyeomie closely]

Dokyeom, without hesitation, stepped into action while maintaining the choreography flawlessly. As they moved through the next steps, their bodies swayed and spun in perfect sync with the music, but every move was calculated.

Luna, still dancing and keeping her facial expression strong, swept her long hair from the back to the front in one fluid motion, letting it cascade over her shoulder. She exposed her bare back fully to Dokyeom, who was quick to react.

[HOT 🥵 HOT 🥵 HOT 🥵]

[maybe that’s why it’s so hard to catch DK zipping her up… Jiyeonie is too distracting]

With the precision and speed that only a professional dancer could pull off, Dokyeom zipped up the back of her top as if it were part of the routine. His fingers worked fast, pulling the zipper up in one smooth, swift motion while simultaneously stepping to the side, his feet moving in perfect time with the beat.

To any fan watching from the crowd, it would have looked like just another part of the choreography, so seamless was their execution. Luna barely flinched, continuing to sing with full power, her movements never faltering as she danced across the stage. The members around them barely blinked; they had seen what happened and knew the situation was under control.

[LIKE— WHAT?!]

[one minute her back was fully exposed and the next no skin at all!!?]

[THAT’S TALENT RIGHT THERE 👏👏👏]

The arena was still filled with flashing lights and screaming fans, but among them, some of the more eagle-eyed fans caught the moment on their phones. Every angle of the stage showed Dokyeom's swift actions and Luna's incredible poise. Twitter was already lighting up with comments about how professional they were.

As the final chorus hit, Luna and Dokyeom made eye contact once more. Luna, still keeping in character, mouthed a soft, “Thank you,” barely visible to the cameras, but enough for Dokyeom to see. He gave her a quick wink and a nod, his lips curling up into a small, reassuring smile before they both turned their attention back to the performance, moving seamlessly into the final formation.

[I want to be so good at something that I am this casual on stage]

From that point forward, no one would have guessed anything had gone wrong. The performance continued flawlessly, but fans watching from the crowd and at home couldn't help but be amazed at how fast and professional they both were. It was a moment of pure teamwork, a quiet display of trust and coordination between members that reminded everyone just how close SEVENTEEN really was—onstage and off.

THE BLANKET BLOCK ™

Now, let me introduce to you ‘The Infamous Blocks’. There are three in total— ‘The Blanket’, ‘The Body’, and ‘The Bear’. I might sound like I am joking but I’m being so serious…

Lets start with the ‘Blanket Block’

The night was electric with excitement, the air buzzing with anticipation as fans lined the barricades of the red carpet at MAMA 2017 in Japan. The event was one of the most awaited of the year, and the energy surrounding the venue was palpable. Cameras flashed wildly, fans screamed with glee, and a sea of lightsticks waved as the SEVENTEEN van rolled to a slow stop at the edge of the carpet. The sleek black vehicle gleamed under the lights as if announcing the arrival of something grand. One by one, the members began to step out.

First came S.Coups, stepping confidently onto the red carpet, his sharp black suit catching the light just right. The fans erupted in cheers, phones already out and recording as each member made their way down the line. Mingyu followed, waving briefly to the crowd, and then Seungkwan, whose grin brightened as he acknowledged the fans’ excitement. Each member received their share of attention, but it wasn’t just for the boys the crowd was waiting.

[they looked too good to be true this night]

Inside the van, Luna sat, fixing her dress, her hands smoothing over the soft fabric nervously. She knew the moment she stepped out, all eyes would be on her. But more than the eyes, it was the cameras. The predatory gleam of lenses ready to snap her from every angle made her feel vulnerable, and exposed. Tonight, she was wearing an elegant, sleek black dress— classy but form-fitting— and she knew the moment she stepped out, the cameras wouldn’t be kind if they caught anything inappropriate.

Jeonghan, who had just stepped out of the van, paused at the door and leaned back inside. His pink hair gleamed under the overhead lights, but his gaze was focused entirely on Luna, not the crowd.

He noticed her slight hesitation and saw the way her hands twitched with uncertainty as she adjusted her dress. He leaned in closer, his voice soft and comforting, though the words were lost to the flashing lights and the fans’ endless chants. Whatever he said, it calmed her enough for her to take a deep breath and prepare to step out.

[I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HE SAID TO HER]

[I’m desperate, please]

But before she could fully exit the van, Jeonghan reached inside and swiftly grabbed a dark blanket that had been folded near the seats. With a smooth, practiced motion, he unfolded it and held it open in front of the door, shielding Luna from the prying eyes and flashing cameras that would’ve otherwise had a clear view of her legs and dress as she maneuvered out of the car.

[GOODBYE WORLD PT. 2]

[YOON JEONGHAN IS THE STANDARD]

He didn’t rush her, didn’t make a big deal of it; his movements were calm, unbothered as if this were second nature to him. The blanket draped in his hands, blocking the lower part of her from view.

[I WANT HIM]

[LORD HE’S PERFECT IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE]

Luna, catching the gesture, couldn’t help but feel a wave of warmth and gratitude. Her face softened as she adjusted her dress under the cover of the blanket. She took a moment to gather herself, making sure every inch of fabric was in place, every crease smoothed out.

She met Jeonghan’s eyes for a brief second, and the silent exchange between them said more than words could have. A nod of reassurance. A small, grateful smile.

[she just swooned… don’t at me]

Jeonghan, still holding the blanket like a shield, waited for her signal. Only when Luna gave him the okay— a subtle but confident nod— did he let the blanket drop.

[HE– I– can’t. I need him in my life]

In a smooth motion, he tossed it back inside the van and extended his hand to her. Luna stepped out gracefully, her confidence restored as her feet touched the ground. The cameras immediately went into overdrive, capturing every inch of her, but Jeonghan remained beside her, his hand still on hers, helping her as they moved forward together.

[MOM AND DAD ARE SO FUCKING HOT]

[CAN I BE THE THIRD IN THIS RELATIONSHIP?!]

[please, I’m begging… I can be a pet… I can bark]

The cheers from the crowd doubled as Luna appeared. The fans, who had been screaming the members’ names, now turned their attention to the only female member of SEVENTEEN, and the energy shifted.

But Jeonghan never let go of her hand, guiding her with a quiet but firm presence. He knew how these events worked, how easily one wrong angle could lead to unnecessary scrutiny. And so, even as they posed together on the red carpet, his body was angled ever so slightly in her favor, offering her the subtle kind of protection that no one would notice but her.

[😩😩😩😩]

[look at them]

The fans closest to the barricades noticed it, though. They had seen the entire interaction, from the way Jeonghan covered her with the blanket to the way he never once let her fend for herself. And it didn’t go unnoticed how he tossed the blanket away only once he was certain she was completely comfortable. Luna's smile was as radiant as ever, but beneath it was the comfort of knowing that, even in a sea of flashing lights and camera lenses, someone always had her back.

[ICONIC. SIMPLY ICONIC.]

[one of the most iconic Jeongna moments]

THE BODY BLOCK ™

Next is my favorite out of the three… the ‘Body Block’

The night sky over Seoul was illuminated by the flashing lights of countless cameras, the red carpet stretching out like a sea of glamour and anticipation. It was the Cartier event of 2022, an evening that promised to bring together the city's most elegant and well-known figures.

Among them were Luna and Mingyu, two of Cartier’s most prominent models and brand ambassadors. Their presence alone was enough to send a ripple of excitement through the crowd, but the fact that they both wore red, in perfectly coordinated outfits, had the press buzzing.

[RED IS THEIR COLOR]

[I’m sorry– they looks so hot and intimidating]

Luna stepped out first, her heels clicking softly against the smooth surface of the red carpet. She was the embodiment of grace, her tall, slender frame draped in a stunning, floor-length red dress.

The dress was an exquisite piece— a bold, deep crimson that shimmered under the camera lights. It was strapless on one side, while the other featured a delicate, thin strap that wrapped over her shoulder, highlighting the gentle curve of her collarbone. The material clung to her figure in all the right ways, its fabric flowing down to her feet like liquid silk, pooling elegantly around her ankles. A daring slit along one side revealed a hint of her leg as she moved, but it was done tastefully, maintaining an air of sophistication and class.

[I WAS DROOLING WHEN I SAW HER]

[she doesn’t look real 😭]

[like– I’m convinced she’s a hologram]

Mingyu followed closely behind her, equally striking in his tailored red suit. The suit jacket was perfectly fitted to his broad shoulders, the crimson fabric complementing the sharp black of his shirt underneath.

[DOUBLE KILL]

[I AM SORRY— sir?!]

[I am loyal to Seungcheol… am I?]

Together, they made a captivating pair, their outfits harmonizing in a way that felt almost intentional, like they were meant to stand side by side on this particular night.

As they posed for the cameras, the flashes were relentless, a barrage of light capturing their every move. Luna stood tall, her chin slightly raised, one hand placed elegantly on her hip while her other arm hung loosely at her side. Beside her, Mingyu struck his own pose, the definition of cool confidence, his dark eyes locking with the cameras as they both stood center stage, an image of luxury and refinement.

[They’d be so hot together… I didn’t say that 😀]

And then it happened— so quickly that it could have been missed by anyone not paying attention. As Luna shifted her weight, turning her body slightly to change her angle, one of the thin straps of her dress slipped from her shoulder. The movement was subtle, barely noticeable at first, but as the strap fell, it revealed the bare skin of her shoulder.

[EVEN HER SHOULDER LOOKS PRETTIER THAN ME]

[DOES THAT MAKE SENSE!??]

Luna’s eyes flickered downward for a moment, a small crease of surprise appearing on her otherwise composed face.

Without missing a beat, she calmly reached up and tugged the strap back into place, her fingers grazing the cool fabric as she pulled it back over her shoulder. Her expression remained neutral, her movements composed— professional, as always. But Mingyu had seen it. The moment the strap fell, his attention snapped to her, eyes narrowing with concern for a fraction of a second.

[I’m convince every single member has spidey senses when it comes to her]

In a split-second decision, Mingyu moved. He stepped directly in front of Luna, his tall frame blocking her from the cameras with an easy, natural movement. His back was now facing the cameras, shielding her from their view as she adjusted the strap. His broad shoulders and the crimson jacket became a makeshift curtain, offering her privacy in an instant.

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

[LORD IT’S ME AGAIN]

[JEHUENDUWGYWGEJIWUDGUWBWKAIYWGUWB]

Luna looked up at him, her fingers still smoothing over the strap of her dress as she finished fixing it. Their eyes met, and for a moment, no words were needed. A small, appreciative smile touched her lips, her eyes softening as she gave him a simple nod of thanks.

Mingyu, always effortlessly cool, returned the gesture with a brief smile of his own, his eyes flickering with a silent understanding. Then, just as smoothly as he had positioned himself in front of her, he moved back to his original spot, turning to face the cameras once more, as if nothing had happened.

[THEY ALWAYS MAKE SURE SHE’S READY BEFORE THEY FUCKING STOP 🥹]

[they are so obedient too]

The photographers continued their frenzy, completely unaware of the quiet, protective exchange that had just taken place between the two. To them, it had been a seamless transition— nothing out of the ordinary. But to those paying close attention, the subtle moment of protection from Mingyu was not only graceful but instinctual, a sign of the quiet care he had for Luna, his fellow ambassador, and friend.

Together, they resumed their poses, their red outfits glowing under the lights, and once again, they became the perfect image of poise and elegance. But those who knew— who saw the quick flash of concern in Mingyu’s eyes and the gratitude in Luna’s smile— recognized the deeper connection between them, one that went beyond their roles on the red carpet.

The event continued, but that brief moment lingered, caught by the lucky fans who were watching closely enough to see the exchange, a testament to the unspoken bond shared by the two.

THE BEAR BLOCK ™

And finally, the ‘Bear Block’

The soft glow of the hotel room’s ambient lighting bathed the cozy space in a warm hue as Minghao and Luna sat side by side on the edge of her bed, engaging with fans in their casual Weverse live. Luna’s hotel room was comfortably minimalistic—soft cream-colored walls, sleek furniture, and the faint scent of lavender wafting through the air from a diffuser on the nightstand. Behind them, a plush teddy bear sat tucked into the pillows, a gift Luna had received from a fan earlier that day, its little beady eyes gleaming under the camera's light.

[IT’S THE OTHER SET OF TWINS OF SEVENTEEN]

[the 97 line twins]

It was a typical live stream for the two— comfortable and relaxed. Luna, in her soft oversized hoodie, was leaning back against the bedpost while Minghao, dressed in his usual stylish yet casual attire, lounged next to her. Their conversation flowed naturally as they laughed and answered fans’ questions. Minghao would occasionally break into Chinese, his voice smooth as he spoke in his mother tongue, and Luna, always eager to learn, would repeat his phrases with childlike excitement, though her pronunciation was less polished.

[they are so cute 🥺]

[I love this duo so much]

Minghao chuckled each time she got it wrong, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “No, no, like this,” he’d say, gently correcting her, the fondness in his tone unmistakable. He would then patiently translate the meaning into Korean for her and their fans, smiling as Luna exaggeratedly repeated the words again, determined to get it right.

[I am so soft for them]

The chat was buzzing with messages, and the number of viewers kept rising steadily as more fans joined in, thrilled by the duo’s easy-going dynamic. Luna, always full of energy, glanced at the screen, her sharp eyes catching one of the rapid comments. She leaned forward to get a better look, her long hair cascading down one side of her face as she brought her face closer to her phone.

"Wait, what does this say—" Luna began, her voice trailing off mid-sentence. Just as she was about to read the comment aloud, Minghao, who had been fiddling with the teddy bear on the bed, made a swift movement. In a fraction of a second, without a word, he gently but firmly pressed the soft bear against her chest, covering her entirely from view.

[this cracked me up 😂]

[the fact the Hao just shoved the bear in front of her was just hilarious]

Luna froze for a heartbeat, her eyes widening in surprise as she realized what had just happened. Her body had leaned forward just a little too far, and in her oversized hoodie, there had been a chance she might have inadvertently revealed something on camera that wasn’t meant to be seen. Minghao, with his ever-watchful eye and sharp instincts, had noticed it instantly.

[Hao really said: “not on my watch.” 🧸]

Her breath hitched for a moment as she glanced at him, her face a mix of shock and silent gratitude. Minghao, his expression calm and collected, simply nodded at her in a way that conveyed everything without words. He didn’t make a big deal of it; his actions were smooth and almost invisible to the casual observer. His nod was one of quiet understanding, a signal that she didn’t need to worry— he had her back.

[He’s also so fucking hot, lawd]

Luna’s heart swelled with appreciation, but she played it cool. With a soft exhale, she shot him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she muttered under her breath, barely audible but enough for Minghao to hear.

He gave a subtle smile in return, his eyes crinkling slightly as he continued to idly hold the bear in place, casually moving it as though it were part of their lighthearted banter.

Luna straightened back up, her posture relaxed once more, and resumed the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Luna’s smile returned as she read through more comments, her face as calm and composed as ever, a professional through and through.

[CUTIESSSSSS 💕💕💕]

They continued answering fan questions as the live stretched on, but the silent gesture lingered in the air like an unspoken promise— proof that, no matter what, Minghao was always watching out for her, and Luna was never truly alone.

LUNA’S TRAINEE STORY IN GAME CATERERS 1-2

“It says here that you are known to cause fights.” PD Na said.

[THIS ENTIRE STORY RIGHT HERE]

The sudden statement caught everyone off guard. The members burst into laughter while Luna sat there, shocked and confused, unsure of how to respond.

“Me?” she asked, pointing to herself, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Fights? Where did you hear that?” She laughed, still trying to process the unexpected accusation.

[She’s just that bitch. She didn’t even know]

PD Na pointed at his paper, a teasing grin on his face. “We did our research. It says here that you caused a lot of fights when you were a trainee.”

A chorus of agreements erupted from the members, with many of them pointing at her and Jeonghan, nodding vigorously.

“That’s right!”

“He’s right!” they echoed, their voices overlapping as they teased her.

"This is amazing," Dokyeom laughed harder.

“What?” Luna turned to look at her members, her confusion deepening as she tried to piece together what they were talking about. "Huh? What are you guys talking about?"

Then her eyes landed on Jeonghan who was already watching her, and it all clicked. The realization dawned on her face, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding, and then to amusement. “Ah,” she laughed, finally catching on.

[SHE TOOK ONE LOOK AT JEONGHAN AND KNEW EXACTLY WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT]

Jeonghan, always the instigator, just grinned back at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

[he’s proud too]

As the memory clicked into place, Luna laughed harder, her laughter bubbling over as she covered her mouth with her hands. “This is amazing,” she marveled, still giggling. “How did you guys find out about that? I had completely forgotten about it.”

PD Na watched her with amusement, leaning forward slightly. “Can you tell us about it?” he asked, clearly intrigued.

Luna glanced at Jeonghan, who nodded in agreement, his smile knowing. She turned back to the group, preparing to recount the story. “It was when I was a trainee, and I was new at ‘PLEDIS’. This happened about five months after I joined,” Luna began, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. “This one time, I just had the hardest day. The training was intense, I was sick at that time as well, and I remember stressing over my exams because I was still in school.”

Everyone listened carefully, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amusement. Her members, who knew the story well, giggled quietly, already anticipating where it was headed.

Luna continued, “I hadn’t eaten the entire day. I came to the practice room, and I had an apple. Then, one of the trainees came over, and he was teasing me.”

She paused, mimicking the boy’s actions by raising her hand as if holding something up high. “He took my apple, raised it up, and teased me to take it. He kept doing it and wouldn't give it to me up to the point that I just started crying,” Luna admitted, laughing at the memory of her younger, more vulnerable self.

“Aww,” the members and producers chorused, a mixture of sympathy and amusement in their voices.

[THEY ARE SO SOFT FOR HER WTF 🥺]

Luna pressed on, “Then, all of a sudden, Jeonghannie oppa came in.” She placed her hand on Jeonghan’s leg, and though he made no move, he continued listening to her, his smirk growing as he anticipated the end of the story. “He saw me crying, took one look at the apple, and then he went…”

Luna mimicked Jeonghan’s deep, angry voice and stern expression, saying, “‘Give it back'.”

The room exploded into shrieks. The members erupted in howls and laughter, some leaping out of their seats, while others covered their mouths in teasing disbelief. The laughter was contagious, filling the room. Luna and Jeonghan remained seated next to each other, smiling as the room buzzed with the chaotic energy of their shared memories.

[only same reaction]

As the laughter in the room finally began to die down, Luna continued the story, still smiling. “The trainee still wouldn’t give it back and thought Hannie oppa was joking with him,” she said, recalling the moment. “Then he went, ‘I said give it back,’ but the trainee just laughed at him. Oppa was one of the oldest, so it was a bit disrespectful…”

PD Na, fully invested in the story, leaned in slightly. “Then… what did he do?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Jeonghan, his voice calm and deep, answered this time, his eyes still carrying that signature droopy look as he smirked lazily. “I cursed him out.”

The casual delivery of his words contrasted with the intensity of the moment, making the members erupt into a chorus of teasing.

"Ooh, he cursed!"

"He really cursed him out!"

"He cursed!" they repeated, pointing at Jeonghan and laughing even harder.

Luna nodded, trying to keep a straight face, before wrapping up the story. "Then after that, we left, and he bought me food."

[out of all the things PLEDIS could’ve fucking released in that training room it could have been this!]

Before PD Na could reply, Seungkwan jumped in with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There was also this one time. Maybe a year after that incident."

PD Na raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "There's another one?"

Luna, confused, turned to look at Seungkwan, who was seated behind her. "What else is there?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

[SHE’S LOST]

"It happened a year before we debuted," Seungkwan leaned forward, his voice carrying a nostalgic tone. "Noona is beautiful. She's really beautiful. Even back then when she was younger, she hasn't changed at all. Not once. She looks the exact same. The only thing that changed is her height." He emphasized each word to PD Na, while Luna listened quietly, her members nodding in agreement.

[I AGREE]

"She was an extremely popular trainee," Seungkwan continued. "A lot of boys liked her."

[SAME]

With that, a chorus of agreements spilled from the mouths of the members. "That's true," Mingyu said, nodding along with the others.

[GOOD. SO WE ALL AGREE.]

"There was a time when two trainees were literally arguing about her because they both liked her, and they decided to talk to her about it and make her decide," Seungkwan added, glancing over at Luna with a grin.

"I remember this," S.Coups chuckled, his eyes lighting up with the memory.

Luna’s eyes widened as she finally recalled the story. "Oh, right! Once they saw me, they started arguing in front of me," she nodded, using her hands to illustrate the scene.

[She explained that as if it’s the most normal thing in the world]

"Right. They were literally fighting in front of her," Seungkwan affirmed. "The members present tried to make them stop, but one thing led to another, and they both grabbed Luna by each hand," Seungkwan demonstrated the movement, grabbing Wonwoo’s arm to illustrate the point.

[WHAT I WOULD DO TO SEE THIS]

"Jeonghan… He was the angriest I've ever seen him in my life," Seungkwan said, raising his hand as if swearing to the truth.

[WHAT I WOULD DO TO SEE THIS PT. 2]

Seungkwan then stood up, pulling Wonwoo to his feet to act out the scene. "Jeonghan went up to them and just…" He mimicked Jeonghan’s aggressive stance, facing Wonwoo head-on, his expression fierce.

"Jeonghan had really long hair back then, so it was swaying like this," Seungkwan added, shaking his head from side to side, imitating the way Jeonghan’s hair had moved during the confrontation. "'Let go,'" he said in a deep, angry voice, perfectly mimicking Jeonghan.

[ANGRY JEONGHAN + LONG-HAIRED JEONGHAN = 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

Another chorus of amused, teasing "Oohs" erupted from the members, while Luna sat laughing, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

S.Coups, still seated, shook his head with a grin. "I had to get him off. It was the first time I saw Jeonghan angry as well," he confessed, looking at Jeonghan with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

[good lord. PLEDIS RELEASE THE FOOTAGE NOW. I KNOW YOU HAVE IT THERE SOMEWHERE]

PD Na directed his attention to Jeonghan, raising an eyebrow with an amused smile. "It seems like you're involved in a lot of these stories."

[He knows what’s up]

Before Jeonghan could respond, Dokyeom cut in with a knowing grin. "Jeonghan is the most protective of Luna."

[I BEG TO DIFFER BUT ACCURATE]

Luna quickly interjected, shaking her head with a smile. "No, it’s because he was the first person I became friends with when I joined. He was the person I was most comfortable with."

[🥹🥹🥹]

Jeonghan finally spoke up, his tone nonchalant as if the answer was obvious. "How else am I supposed to react during that situation?"

[right. right. right.]

Hoshi chimed in, nodding in agreement. "He’s cool."

"Very cool," Minghao said.

[He’s hot too]

Seungkwan, ever the dramatic one, couldn’t resist adding his flair. "I swear it was like a drama," he said, his voice filled with exaggerated emotion. "It was like you could hear the song play… 'Almost Paradise'…'" He sang the familiar tune, sending the room into another round of laughter.

[YESSSSSSSSSS]

PD Na, still chuckling, looked back at Jeonghan and Luna. "It’s because she’s your best friend. You two are the closest."

Both Luna and Jeonghan nodded, confirming the bond they shared.

"She's like your younger sister," PD Na added thoughtfully.

[sure]

Jeonghan, who had been nodding in agreement, suddenly faltered. "N– y–yes," he stuttered, quickly changing his answer.

[HE AINT SLICK AT ALL]

The subtle exchange of looks between Jeonghan and Luna that followed didn’t go unnoticed. Jeonghan's eyes lingered on her for just a moment, while Luna remained composed, though there was a fleeting glint of something unspoken in her eyes. It was a small, almost imperceptible moment, but the hesitation in Jeonghan’s response added a strange tension to the room that only the members noticed and understood as if there was more to the story than they were letting on.

[CALL ME INSANE BUT THERE WAS SOMETHING THERE]

[THE MEMBERS KNOW TOO]

PD Na, oblivious to the undercurrent, chuckled again. "I never thought you would be the type of person to fight," he remarked to Jeonghan, amused by the contrast between his usual calm demeanor and the stories being told.

The room burst into laughter again, and in perfect sync, both Luna and Jeonghan replied, "You’d think."

[GOD I LOVE THEM]

LUNA’S ALMOST FACE-PLANTING OFF THE STAGE

It was the encore stage of SEVENTEEN’s ‘Be The Sun’ concert in Los Angeles, the never-ending loop of ‘Very Nice’ ringing through the arena as the crowd screamed and chanted along. The energy was electric, and all fourteen members were spread across the stage, bouncing with uncontainable excitement.

[it’s always this song btw]

[shit always happens during this never-ending song]

They’d already run through what seemed like a dozen rounds of the song, yet the adrenaline kept them going, fueled by the roars of the fans.

Luna, like the rest, was in high spirits, hopping from side to side, her voice blending with the sea of cheers as she waved down to the fans in the pit.

[SPIT ON ME– w-what?!]

She had found herself at the very edge of the stage, close enough that she could see the eager faces reaching up toward her, arms outstretched and phones recording every moment. Luna smiled and waved, her fingers making heart signs as she interacted with the fans who screamed her name in delight.

[She’s adorable and hot at the same time]

[like– how does one achieve that skill]

Her hair was slightly damp from all the jumping, and she pushed it out of her face, not noticing the sheen of water accumulating by her feet. The other members had been throwing water bottles into the crowd moments earlier, and the puddles left behind were nearly invisible under the bright concert lights.

In the heat of the moment, Luna took a step forward, her foot catching the slick surface beneath her. Her sneakers slid out from under her, and for a brief, terrifying second, her body lurched forward, dangerously close to toppling off the stage. Her balance was gone, the crowd gasping in unison as they watched her stumble.

[SHE LITERALLY WAS THIS 🤏 CLOSE TO SEEING JESUS]

But before gravity could pull her down, two pairs of hands shot out— firm and fast. Dino, who had been dancing nearby, immediately grabbed her left arm with a firm grip, his reflexes kicking in as he sensed her falling. At the same moment, Vernon, who had been casually walking past on her right, caught her other arm, his hands locking around her elbow with precision. Together, the two maknaes stabilized her, each holding on tightly as she regained her footing.

[THEY BOTH LOOKED EQUALLY TERRIFIED]

[Someone bubble wrap Jiyeonie I’m so serious]

For a moment, everything seemed to pause. The three of them stood frozen, catching their breaths as the arena’s lights flashed around them.

[the way the three of them just froze]

Luna’s heart raced as she realized how close she had been to a disastrous fall, right in front of thousands of fans. She turned to look at Dino and Vernon, their hands still gripping her arms firmly. Their faces mirrored a mixture of concern and relief, and they exchanged a silent understanding in that brief, weighty second.

Luna, her chest heaving, mouthed the words, “Thank you… I almost died,” her eyes wide with mock dramatization.

Her words, though lost in the chaos of the concert, were picked up by eagle-eyed fans close enough to lip-read the exchange. Dino let out a relieved laugh, his lips quirking into a smile, while Vernon gave a subtle nod, eyes flicking toward her with a smirk, as if to say, “Yup, you almost died.”

In the span of a heartbeat, the moment passed. Dino and Vernon released their hold as she straightened herself, shaking off the near-incident. Luna turned back to the audience with a bright grin, as if nothing had happened, raising her arms and encouraging the crowd to scream even louder.

[SHE’S SO UNSERIOUS 😂]

The fans, unaware of just how close she’d been to falling, cheered even harder, oblivious to the small protective moment that had unfolded before their eyes.

As the three continued dancing, the members spread back out across the stage, the concert’s rhythm never missing a beat.

THIS LIVE THAT MAKES MY BLOOD BOIL

Hoshi’s live had started like any other, full of laughter, easy conversation, and the familiar warmth of interacting with fans. As he sat in front of the camera, casually talking about everything from the group’s upcoming schedules to his favorite food that day, the comments section filled with excitement, fans from all over the world typing out their love and admiration for SEVENTEEN's energetic tiger.

[AH YES, ANOTHER CLIP THAT PISSES ME THE FUCK OFF]

But then, the live took an unexpected turn as both Joshua and Luna suddenly appeared on screen. Joshua casually strolled into the room, his ever-present smile lighting up his face as he greeted the viewers. “Hey, everyone!” he said, settling down beside Hoshi.

Luna followed quietly, a soft, polite wave to the camera as she sat next to Joshua. Her presence, while usually met with joy from fans, always came with its fair share of negativity as well, something she’d long since come to terms with as the only female member of SEVENTEEN.

At first, the chat exploded with excitement.

“OMG Joshua!!”

“YAY, Jiyeonie is here too!!”

“Look at these visuals!!!”

But quickly, as always, the tide began to shift. Hidden between the floods of hearts and cheers, darker comments started appearing.

They always did.

“Why is she even here?”

“We only wanted Joshua and Hoshi, not her.”

“She ruins it as always.”

“Please leave, no one wants to see you.”

Luna sat quietly, her eyes flickering over the comments, her usual smile frozen on her face. She had grown used to this, a side effect of being the only girl in a thirteen-member male-dominated group.

[YOU MOTHERFUCKERS BETTER ROT IN HELL]

[look at her face!]

No matter how much love she received, there were always those who couldn't accept her presence.

Over the years, she had developed a thick skin.

She knew she didn’t need to prove herself to anyone, that she was just as much a part of SEVENTEEN as any of the others, but that didn’t make it any less uncomfortable to read such words over and over again. It was as though the hate was a dark cloud that hovered just beyond the warmth of the stage lights, waiting to seep in whenever she let her guard down.

Joshua, sitting next to her, immediately sensed the shift in her demeanor. His sharp eyes noticed how her usual bubbly chatter had quieted down, how she glanced at the screen but didn’t engage as much as she normally would.

[I am just happy she has them 🥺]

[she doesn’t deserve the hate]

Without a word, he gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his touch comforting and protective. His gaze met hers in a brief exchange, asking the question without saying a word: Are you okay?

[🥹🥹🥹]

Luna looked up at him and gave a small nod, her lips curving into a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It wasn’t the hate that bothered her, not anymore— it was how people could hold so much anger and vitriol for someone they didn’t even know. Still, she remained quiet, determined not to let the negative comments ruin the mood of the live.

[BAE JIYEON WE LOVE YOU ALWAYS AND FOREVER 💖💖💖]

But Hoshi, ever the observant one, wasn’t about to let it slide. His bright, playful expression faded as he leaned closer to the camera, his eyes scanning the comments section intently.

[ngl his shift in attitude gave me fucking chills]

[Hoshi really went from 🐹 to🐯]

Luna watched out of the corner of her eye as his fingers moved across the screen, quietly and deliberately reporting the hateful messages one by one. Only she and Joshua could see what he was doing, but fans started speculating in the chat as well, noticing the change in his expression and how his focus shifted from conversation to something else entirely.

[HE REALLY SAID “TRY ME BITCH”]

[he was mass reporting the shit out of them hoes]

Then, after a few moments of silence, Hoshi sat back, his face serious, his usually playful tone replaced with something much firmer, more resolute. His voice carried an edge that left no room for argument, yet he wasn’t aggressive— just calm, measured, and unwavering. He addressed the chat directly, his eyes staring straight into the camera.

[HELP— HE IS GENUINELY TERRIFYING ANGRY]

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, then you should just leave,” Hoshi said, his words clear and firm. “This live is for all of us to have fun and spend time together. I won’t tolerate disrespect toward any of my members. If you don’t like it, that’s fine— but I won’t have people being rude. That’s not what SEVENTEEN is about, and that’s not the kind of fans we want. So if you’re here to spread hate, you’re not welcome.”

[SHIT– I… 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

[RAWR! THAT’S THE TIGER IN HIM]

He paused, his expression softening just slightly, but his message was unmistakable. “Let’s all just be kind to each other, okay? That’s the kind of energy we need.”

[AMEN TO THAT!]

[YOU LOSERS HEAR HIM?!]

The chat exploded with a mix of reactions. Supportive fans immediately flooded the comments with love for Luna, agreeing with Hoshi’s words and calling out the haters who had been leaving negative comments. But there were still others who continued to protest, claiming they had a right to their opinions, or that they hadn’t said anything wrong.

Through it all, Luna stayed quiet. She occasionally responded to a few positive comments, forcing a smile here and there, but her heart wasn’t in it. Joshua and Hoshi tried their best to lighten the mood, playfully nudging her to join the conversation, but the damage had already been done— not because she was hurt by the hate, but because it confused her.

How could people carry so much anger, so much spite, for someone they didn’t even know? It was a question she couldn’t answer and one that weighed on her more than the comments themselves.

[she looked sad the entire time]

[I’m so sorry, baby 🥺]

As the live continued, the mood eventually lightened again, thanks to Hoshi’s relentless energy and Joshua’s calm, steady presence. But for Luna, the evening felt a little heavier, her mind drifting back to the reality of her position as SEVENTEEN's only female member. She would never let the hate break her, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t exhausting.

“BAE JIYEON MARRY ME!”

The air was buzzing with excitement inside the venue as fans eagerly waited for the fan sign event to begin. The members of SEVENTEEN sat in a line, comfortably seated behind a long table on the stage, each with their markers in hand, ready to greet their Carats up close. The stage lights cast a soft glow over the group as they casually chatted amongst themselves, waving occasionally to the fans in the audience, who were waiting for their turn.

Luna, seated between Joshua and Minghao, was twirling her marker absentmindedly, her attention drifting between the other members' conversations and the distant murmur of the crowd. The relaxed energy around her was something she always cherished at fan signs— a rare chance to connect with the fans on a more personal level.

[I HAVE SAID IT ONCE AND I’LL SAY IT AGAIN… SHE IS BEAUTIFUL… AND SMOKING HOT 😍🥵]

But just as Luna was about to engage in a conversation with Minghao, a loud, booming voice from the audience broke through the steady hum of the crowd.

“BAE JIYEON, MARRY ME!”

[Honestly… valid]

The sudden, bold declaration reverberated across the room, sending ripples of surprise and laughter through the fans. Luna, completely caught off guard, froze mid-spin, her eyes widening as she looked up toward the sea of fans. Her heart jumped in her chest, not from the proposal itself, but from the unexpected shock of it all.

[She’s adorable]

[She’s also concerned]

A chorus of laughter and amused giggles rose from the audience. Luna, still recovering from the jolt of surprise, reached for the mic in front of her, her lips curving into an amused smile.

She was about to reply, maybe tease the fan back, but before she could even bring the mic to her lips, the response came— not from her, but from the thirteen members seated beside her.

[And there they go…]

A resounding, collective, and very loud “NO!” erupted from her bandmates. The word shot across the room in unison, like a protective shield around her, each member adding their own flair to the rejection.

[THEY CRACK ME TF UP 😂]

Seungcheol was the first to react, playfully crossing his arms over his chest and giving a mock glare toward the fan as he leaned back in his seat. “Absolutely not,” he added, shaking his head as if to cement the point.

Dino and Jun, sitting a few seats down, followed suit, their arms shooting up into the air in exaggerated protest. “No, no, no!” They chanted, shaking their fingers dramatically, their expression both comical and stern.

Hoshi, always one to escalate things, leaned forward in his chair, his voice loud and booming as he pointed into the audience. “You’ve got some nerve!” he said playfully, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Jiyeon’s not going anywhere, you hear me?”

The fans roared with laughter, thoroughly entertained by the group’s immediate and united defense. Even Woozi, known for his quieter reactions, shook his head silently, his lips forming a firm, resolute “no” as he glanced down the line at Luna, his protective instincts subtly showing.

Mingyu, seated at the far end, leaned into his mic. “Good try, though,” he deadpanned, earning another round of chuckles from the audience.

[MENACES]

Luna couldn’t help but laugh, her shoulders shaking as the members continued their playful scolding. It was a chaotic chorus of no’s, some loud and exaggerated, others quiet but firm. The overwhelming display of protection from her members warmed her heart, and she could see the amusement spreading among the fans as well.

[JIYEON JUST SAT THERE LIKE: “YUP 😇”]

Even the fan who had shouted the proposal was laughing along, clearly enjoying the playful banter his boldness had sparked.

As the ruckus continued, Luna finally leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with a grin. The mic still rested in her hand, but there wasn’t much for her to say— her bandmates had already spoken loud and clear.

Then, amidst the fading echoes of laughter, Jeonghan, who had remained relatively quiet during the exchange, finally spoke up. His voice was calm and smooth as he brought his mic to his lips, his usual playful smirk replaced with something more composed.

“Sorry, but that question is sensitive for us,” he said nonchalantly, though there was a glint in his eyes that made it clear there was more truth to his words than his tone let on.

[Translation: “Only I get to ask her to marry me.”]

The laughter in the room softened, and for a split second, a quiet fell over the stage as Luna and the rest of the members registered the weight behind Jeonghan’s words. It was a joke, of course, but Luna knew Jeonghan better than most— and she could tell he was serious.

He always was when it came to her.

Luna’s laughter faded into a softer smile, a silent understanding passing between her and Jeonghan as their eyes briefly met across the table. He gave her a small, reassuring nod, and she returned it, appreciating the subtle way he always looked out for her. Even in moments like this, where the line between playfulness and sincerity blurred, Jeonghan’s protectiveness always shone through.

[STOP FLIRTING WITH MOM, DAD!]

The fans, blissfully unaware of the deeper meaning behind his words, erupted into laughter once again, the lighthearted atmosphere quickly returning. Luna, feeling the warmth of her members’ care, picked up the mic at last and shook her head, addressing the original fan who had proposed.

“I think you got your answer,” she said with a teasing smile, the laughter in her voice unmistakable.

[Translation: “Only Yoon Jeonghan gets to marry me.”]

The fans cheered, and the rest of the members continued to playfully banter as the fan sign officially began. But throughout the rest of the event, Luna couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the family she had in SEVENTEEN— their protectiveness, their loyalty, and their unwavering support. It wasn’t always easy being the only female member, but in moments like this, she knew she wasn’t alone.

And there you have it, folks! Just a small glimpse into SEVENTEEN’s ultimate protective instincts when it comes to their one and only Luna. I mean, if you ever had any doubts about how loved this girl is, well… think again.

Thirteen men— yes, thirteen— willing to risk it all, fight the world, and probably even dive into traffic if it meant keeping her safe. So, a quick reminder to all: Never— and I mean NEVER— mess with Bae Jiyeon unless you want these maniacs after you.

But hey, can you really blame them? Luna’s got their backs, and they’ve got hers. It’s a whole family thing at this point.

Thanks for watching! Don’t forget to comment on more wholesome SEVENTEEN content you want to see next! See you next time— unless you’re out there trying to propose to Luna… in which case… good luck with that!”

comments…

@/lunababybae • 10 months ago ╰ Luna’s sasaeng attack pisses me off but angry and protective Cheol makes up for it 🥵

@/mimilyemily • 10 months ago ╰ DID YOU SEE HOW FAST CHOI SEUNGCHEOL AND JEON WONWOO REACTED AT 1:00 GOOD LORD

@/gyusshadow • 10 months ago ╰ OUR LEADER SCOLDING SECURITY FOR LUNA 🥺 MY MAN RIGHT THERE!!!

@/moonlight_1997 • 10 months ago ╰ Jeonghan caressing Luna’s red arm 1:25 idk if I am to feel soft over him touching her like that or pissed off that her arm is red because of that sasaeng 🙃

@/saythename • 8 months ago ╰ Seokminie zipping Jiyeonie up that quick during Fear is a skill and a hot skill at that!

@/jeonwoowonwoo • 7 months ago ╰ They are all so protective of her, it’s super endearing 💖🥺

@/mrsbaebae • 7 months ago ╰ THE THREE BLOCKS ARE ICONIC!!!

@/jeongnanana • 7 months ago ╰ THESE MEN ARE THE STANDARD WTF!? JUST THE WAY THEY TREAT LUNA IS PROOF ENOUGH 💕🤭

@/gyuuuuudaily • 6 months ago

╰ YOON JEONGHAN DEFENDING LUNA DURING THEIR TRAINEE DAYS IS STILL ONE OF THE BEST STORIES I HAVE EVER HEARD TILL THIS DAY!!!

@/bbbiiibbiii • 5 months ago ╰ That exchange of looks from Luna and Hannie at 19:57 😍😍😍

@/missbitchhhh • 3 months ago ╰ note to self: “How to get Svt to notice you = ask Luna to marry you.”

@/shadowmyshadow• 2 months ago ╰ I have completely erased that Hoshi live from my mind. Seeing Luna sad and quiet like that breaks me 🥺

@/kpppopieaddict • 1 week ago ╰ They are all down bad for her wbk (I am too).

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

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Taglist: @yeoberryx @minminghao @angie-x3 @jennwonwoo @k13endall @heeseungthel0ml @chisskaa @megumi2020 @yoonzzziino @lllucere @smh-anon @yveclipse @randomworker @bunnystrm @iamawkwardandshy @gratefulbunny1 @bmo-bri @syren-ash @megseungmin @multiplums @unlikelysublimekryptonite @night-storm7 @cookiearmy @seokqt @btskzfav

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nandolonso · 3 days

Text

UNDISCLOSED DESIRES (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

TITLE: Undisclosed Desires – aka who is the biggest fan of whom? (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

I got inspired after Baku. P6 BABY, LET’S GOOOOOOOOOO!

FYI: English is not my main language nor is Spanish. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Word count: 4K

Warnings: self-doubt, self-image issues, kind of shy reader, reassuring and slightly dominant Nando (who worships the shit out of you), happiness, positive social media presence, Spanish, dirty talking and fingering, smuttish – I hope you enjoy it. 😉

Recommended song: Undisclosed Desires by Muse

Explanation: Y/N – your name, Y/H/C – your hair color

Also, this GIF is chef's kiss, his gaze is so intense. GOSH!!! 🔥 I hope you'll like it. Let me know what you think! ❤️‍🔥

It was race day in Baku.

You were sitting in the paddock waiting for Fernando Alonso to show up. Your boyfriend. It was hard to comprehend that he was your man, your partner. It was an unbelievable title – but it was true, he really was yours.

However, the last period has been challenging for both of you. On the one hand, Alonso has spent several periods away from you, as Aston Martin has struggled to get a good position in recent months. Of course, Fernando took his job very seriously, so he helped the engineers where he could. They did a lot of test laps, planning, thinking.

As for you: you were an average person. You were not a reporter or a supermodel. You were completely different from Alonso's previous partners. You were ordinary – in the best possible way. But it was a very difficult situation for you. You often questioned yourself: were you good enough? Were you good enough not only for yourself but for him? Where did you belong in this world? Especially seeing the other WAGs, and how pretty and thin they were… And you could go on. So, all that time you spent apart didn't help your already fragile mental state.

It was tough for you not to project your self-doubt onto him. And you hated yourself for it. Because there was nothing you wanted more than to be there to support him in every race. To be there for him, always. But a lot of times your state of mind, the media presence, and all the hustle and bustle didn't help you at all. That's why you stayed mostly in the background, as you didn't want Fernando to worry any more than he had been worrying lately.

Fortunately, Aston Martin recently managed to sign Adrian Newey to the team, and you could almost see the "life" returning to Fernando's eyes. The love of your life was shining as he entered the paddock: his stance was firm and confident, that mischievous smile at the corner of his mouth was back, and his gaze was sparkling with fire which you hadn't seen for a long time now.

You couldn't help thinking how good he looked. How he deserves to be world champion again. Your world champion. The thought made your chest tighten. You loved him so much it almost hurt. You wanted him to be happy and succeed so much – it was sometimes physically impossible to bear.

You have never felt this way about anyone, and you didn't want to lose him. You had been together for almost a year now, but you noticed your feelings for him growing every day. So, you thought this weekend was the perfect time to surprise him and actually show that. To be there for him not just mentally, but physically.

You pulled yourself together: you wore a custom Kimoa x Aston Martin shirt that fit your body perfectly. While you didn't have a supermodel figure, you were definitely gorgeous. You had a lot of heads turning in the paddock.

Your Y/H/C hair glistened in the sunshine, your fingernails painted the typical "Aston Martin green". You counterbalanced the shirt with a black skort that showed off your body perfectly but wasn't too much. To top off everything, you were wearing a sneaker to keep it casual. But the way you wore Fernando's name on your body – front and back, sparkled in his colors, and carried his brand proudly, you were anything but "casual".

As soon as Fernando entered the garage, he noticed you. But he had to look twice just to make sure you were really there because he was not used to seeing you around. Although he made no secret of you, he was very aware of how much you tried to avoid the public. He could understand that you were suffering with your own demons, and he knew exactly how harsh the media could be on F1 drivers and their loved ones.

But at that moment, he didn't care about anything or anyone. Just you. And all he felt was pride. You were a perfect fit. His perfect fit. And the fact that you were wearing Aston Martin colors, and his brand made his heart beat faster. Suddenly he didn't know what he was feeling.

The way he looked at you took your breath away for a moment. You felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room (even though it was half in the open air). The fire that flared up in Fernando's eyes was so intense, that you feared he would burn everyone alive. But mostly you.

Your feet rooted to the ground; you gulped as he strode confidently towards you.

"Mi vida," Fernando began, and leaving you no time to think, he pulled you close to him, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips.

In that moment you forgot that other people were standing around you. There were probably a few photos taken of you, but you didn't care. At that moment, it was just the two of you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you to deepen the kiss.

Not only his eyes were fiery, but so was the passion he kissed with. There was almost no space left between the two of you as he pulled you shut to him, his hand holding your waist tightly.

Your tongues brushed against each other to have a taste. You almost moaned out loud at the sensation, and you knew you had to stop now, or you wouldn't be able to contain yourself. This man brought out emotions that you never had before. With him... Well, you were always horny, so to speak.

Your cheeks heated up at the thought of him taking you there and then, so you broke the kiss. You tilted your forehead to his.

"Nando," you said breathlessly. "People are watching."

"I don’t care, mi amor," he replied, his Spanish accent getting heavier, which tends to come out when he's very passionate or angry. You hoped it was the former. "Estoy tan contenta de verte," he murmured into your lips in Spanish. It meant he was very happy to see you. You have spent the last year trying to learn as much of the language as possible, which he of course appreciated. You were of a different nationality as well and English was your common language.

You learned a lot from him in bed. He was quite vocal – to say the least. Calling you pet names and talking through it… Enough, you thought to yourself, snapping out of your trans.

Fernando laughed at your expression and how easy it was to make you riled up just with a simple sentence. It was as if he could see inside your head. It was easy for him to read you. And he enjoyed teasing the hell out of you.

He pulled you closer to him for a hug and pressed a short kiss to your forehead.

"I'm really glad that you're here," he said once again, this time in English, squeezing you gently to mark his words. "And you look beautiful too," You hugged him around the waist, burying your face in his chest and taking in his intoxicating scent. The smell that always kept you going: something leathery and woody. It was very masculine, but somehow still comforting and reassuring. Thanks to Boss. They were doing God's work with this man.

"Here to support the best," you muttered into his shirt. You pulled away from him for a moment to look him in the eye. "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that." He loved the way you were looking up at him: the way you were glowing with love and desire. How your lips were swelled up after the kiss, how you stood there in the garage, proud to belong to him.

Alonso was like you. He hasn't felt that way about anyone for a very long time. And although he did everything he could for you, somehow it was very difficult for him to talk about his feelings. And not because he was ashamed of them or because he wasn't sure of himself – he was too sure of what he felt. And it frightened him. He was afraid to open up and might lose you. He was old enough to know what he wanted, and he didn't want to start over again with anyone else. All he wanted was you. In the end, somehow, he was still afraid. You had been together for about a year, but he was afraid to say those particular three words, even though he kept calling you "my love" and its synonyms in Spanish.

And at the moment as he looked at you… He was sure. He was sure he wanted you for the rest of his life and that you weren't his biggest fan, but more like vice versa. And he wanted to prove it to you.

He pulled you into his embrace once more.

"I know, mi amor," he mumbled into your hair and pressed another kiss to the top of your head. "I'll put myself out there, just for you," he added with a gentle chuckle. You squeezed him and then let him go, knowing how much he had to do before the race. You took a few steps back just to take him in, now there was even more determination in his eyes than before. Fernando was almost vibrating with excitement, knowing you were there to cheer and support him. And there was something in his eyes as well that made the butterflies in your stomach revive.

"I…" you wanted to say something, but how his eyes softened with tenderness made you speechless. He slowly reached for your hands, his fingertips gently caressing the soft skin of your palm.

"Can I take some photos of you guys?" suddenly one of the team members of Aston Martin popped between the two of you. He was clearly making some content for the team's social media channel and even though you were nervous, you somehow felt put together and wanted to support Fernando all the way. "You look so good together," he added with a soft smile. You tried to find lies in his eyes, but he seemed sincere. Maybe it's time to really believe that you're GOOD and that you looked great together. Fernando Alonso wasn't with you for nothing.

Fernando looked at you and waited for your approval. You nodded slightly and Alonso immediately pulled you to him by the waist.

"The best girl on the grid," Alonso said loudly and proudly, pushing a soft kiss to your temple. You couldn't help but smile at his affection and you pulled him closer to you as well, while the social media guy snapped a few pics.

After that, he showed you all the pictures. As Fernando looked at you in the photos, all his emotions were clear: his eyes radiated with love and respect. And you were definitely glowing next to him. The guy went on to show you some of the photos, eventually stopped when he had taken the two of you kissing. You indeed looked very good together.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," he mumbled to himself. Fernando tensed for a moment next to you, waiting for any protest. But you didn't. You really did look good together and wanted nothing more than to show the two of you to the world.

"It’s okay," you started. "The pictures are really great," you reassured the guy and Fernando next to you loosened up. He pressed another kiss to your temple then took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry, mi amor, but I have to go now," he said. "Enjoy the race," Fernando added with a wink. That damn wink. And that damn smirk. Gosh, that will be the end of you. Pendejo.

You turned back towards the social media guy, and at that moment you realized that because of his interference, you didn't say out loud what you wanted to a few moments ago. You wanted to declare your love to Fernando for the very first time, out loud, but now you missed your chance…

"Can I take a few more of you, especially the shirt and nails?" he asked shyly, snapping you out of your thoughts. "You seem like a truly great soul who supports and respects Alonso, and I want to show that to the world," you were almost touched by his words. You were definitely genuine with Fernando and didn't want to use him for anything. You were just there because you were his greatest fan. And that was the best thing for you.

You nodded softly and you guys managed to make a full-on photoshoot in the end. You were surprised at how liberated you felt at the end, and you even chuckled and did some "model-poses."

"You're a natural," he chuckled but you soon stopped as the race began.

The race was very exciting. Full of overtaking and adrenaline. At the end of the race, Alonso managed to score P6, which is a very big word from Aston Martin these days. You couldn't help but be excited all the way through, expressing emotion and knowing you were going to be all over social media, but you didn't care. Because Fernando Alonso won. In your eyes that P6 was P1.

After the race, you ran up to him and hugged him. He still had his mask on, but you pressed a kiss to the plexiglass. Of course, the cameras were clicking around you, but you didn't care. Because you were incredibly happy, and you were glad for Alonso. And at that moment, that was all that mattered. If it didn't bother him that you were in every picture (and it probably didn't, because he'd asked you to come with him to the paddock countless times), why would it have bothered you?

In that moment you realized that even though you never said those three words, it was clear how you felt about each other. Alonso lifted you up as he celebrated.

"Yes, baby," he said then laughed. You loved it when he was so excited. And you couldn't wait to see what the new season would bring him under Newey's aegis.

A few hours after the race, you were sitting in your hotel room looking at your phone.

Social media, especially Aston Martin's official Instagram page, was full of you and Fernando. You couldn't stop smiling as you saw the hashtag #couplegoals and the many, many supportive comments from fans. What were you afraid of in the first place?

Sure, there will always be some people who don't like certain things, but the majority of commenters were supportive. At least, most of them. You locked your phone and looked out the window. You were thinking about everything that happened that day and you couldn't help but admire the wonderful view of the old town of Baku. You tried to take in every little detail, but your mind kept wandering back to how truly happy you looked at those pictures. And how you guys looked good together.

You let a soft sight as you snapped back to reality. You were waiting for Alonso and he was always on time. You were more the late type, but now you're well ahead of schedule. You wanted everything to be perfect. Not just for the night but for you as well. After the race, you took a thorough bath, did the typical "girly routine", used lotion, did your hair, your make-up... You wore his favorite perfume that made you both sweet and seductive – just to make sure he loses his mind. Then you put on an Aston Martin green evening dress that perfectly accentuated your figure and hid what you were less than happy with. That's how you were waiting for him as the two of you arranged to have dinner tonight to celebrate his placing. Just the two of you. You took your eyes off the city and slowly stood up and went to the full-length mirror in the corner of your bedroom to examine yourself.

You've smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on your dress, but you've looked quite nice – even you were satisfied, which is a big thing. You nodded to yourself, just when you heard a knock on your door.

Slowly you walked over and opened it. There stood Alonso, in all his glory. He was wearing a black shirt and a black suit. For some reason, the color combination looked very good on his skin. His stubble was short and thick, the hair was all set. You were instantly struck by the typical "Alonso scent", the leathery, woody, Boss-y fragrance. Gosh, he looked delightful. Your mouth almost watered at the sight.

But as he looked at you, he was the one taken aback. You looked like an angel in that green dress. And he was ready to be your demon in that black attire of his, to lead you into the dark mysteries of the night as his eyes locked with yours. You were like the perfect match for him: black and white, Ying and Yang to each other.

"Y/N," he basically growled, as he stepped closer to you, his accent heavy. He tried crossing the distance between the two of you. The emotions of the whole day were stirring inside him. As he stepped closer, you stepped back. He looked at you as if he were the hunter and you were his prey.

His eyes burned with a fire you'd probably never seen from him before. You were almost afraid that as soon as he got close to you, it would burn. And you weren't sure you didn't want to burn all the way.

As you stepped back, he stepped forward one more step, closing the door behind him.

The back-and-forth game continued until you got to the bed. As soon as your knee hit the thing, a truly devilish smile spread across Fernando's face. His eyes almost darkened, with only one thing in his mind: you. Oh, he wanted to explore every inch of you like he'd never done before.

Suddenly you didn’t know why, maybe because of the intensity of his gaze, you felt very shy. You felt almost naked even though you were fully dressed up. You were almost certain that he saw right through you and he could see your flaws and mistakes. At least, that's how you were with yourself. Because when it always came to "that", it was very hard to switch off and let go.

"Mi amor," he started. "Look at me!" he ordered, and you obeyed. Not that you could argue with that: he stepped closer to you to lift your chin, so you had to look him in the eye. He could read you like an open book. He knew your past, your traumas, your hurts. "I know you've suffered, but I don't want you to hide."

That sentence meant more to you than you knew. The knowledge that he saw you, like really saw you, that you didn't have to hide yourself from him, and that he accepted you as you are, said more than anything. You tried not to get emotional, but you couldn't help it as a single tear rolled out of your eye. Fernando slowly wiped it away with his finger.

His gaze became a touch gentler, his hand slid down your face, down your arm, all the way to your fingers. There he intertwined his with yours and slowly guided you to the mirror.

"What are you doing?" you asked quietly.

"Trust me," he said confidently, as you stood in front of the mirror. The mirror was tilted a little so you could see both of your figures quite well. "You are the one," he whispered softly to your ear from behind.

You shivered a little, then let go and leaned against his chest. You closed your eyes for a moment, enjoying the way Fernando stroked your arm again, from the bottom all the way up to your neck.

"What do you mean?" you asked softly, leaning your head back to his shoulder.

"As I said, mi amor," the words rolled out of his tongue. "You're the one for me." You opened your eyes and again met that burning look in the mirror as he held your gaze. "I love you, Y/N, just the way you are," he admitted. "Completely and utterly."

The air caught in your throat at the confession. You looked at him with eyes full of emotion, then turned in his arms so that you were face to face with him.

You tried to analyze every little movement of his. Was it true? All the alarm bells went off in your head, but you wanted to believe it. And he seemed sincere. You deserve to be happy too, so it's time to give yourself to it.

"I love you so much, it almost hurts," you confessed as well. Fernando grabbed the fabric of your dress, it was really hard for him to contain himself. His lips hovered just a few inches above yours.

His chest tightened at the sound of your words, and he could barely restrain himself from taking you at that moment. But he wanted to make sure you felt worshipped and loved – just how you deserved it.

He brushed his lips against yours, looking at your reaction. Your breath hitched in your throat, and he loved the sight of it. He wanted you to see it as well. He wanted you to see how he makes you react. And how he makes you feel good.

He firmly but gently started to turn your hips between his hands. He encouraged you to turn back, so his chest could face your back and you could see yourself in the mirror once again.

"I'm only going to say this once, mi amor," he began, running his hand down your arm again. His voice was firm and dominant. You just loved it when he was like that with you. You knew deep down he was devoted and wanted only good things for you. "Keep your eyes on me," he said in the mirror. "I know it's hard," he added. "But can you do it for me, princess?"

You swallowed hard and nodded.

"Así amor," he murmured into your neck.

He placed a slow kiss on the back of your neck, then moved his hand lower, now on your hip. There he firmly grabbed the dress and almost ripped it off you so that now you were standing in front of the mirror in just your underwear. As he saw the black lace piece, another growl erupted from his throat.

"Mierda," he cussed at the sight of you. You would have preferred to hide. You didn't want to tear yourself away from his gaze, but you didn't want to look at yourself either.

Just like he could read your mind he said: "You're beautiful," sliding his hand from your waist to your stomach, so that he could slowly slip his hand inside your panties. "What did I say, mi amor?" he asked in a dominant voice, suddenly stopping in his movements.

You knew exactly what he meant: you swallowed hard. Once again.

"To look at you," you answered, searching for his eyes again. As your gazes interlaced, he began to move his hands once again.

"Así es," he whispered softly into your neck, then left a hot trail of kisses behind. At the same time, he started to move his fingers skillfully, reaching for the perfect spot: where he could feel your aching desire for him. The need started to pool between your legs larger and larger.

You wanted to close your eyes and lean back to him, to lose fully to the sensation but you knew him just well enough that if you would do that he would stop. He kept eye contact while his fingers were deep inside you. The demon in black, your demon who wanted nothing but to make his angel come undone at his touch and mercy.

"Nando," you whispered, as you looked at the two of you in the mirror.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked, looking into your eyes while he kept his steady rhythm, collecting your wetness on his fingers, now pressing the end of his palm to your core. You bite down at your lower lips at the sensation, letting out a soft moan. "Use your words, princess," he smirked, knowing how hard it was to concentrate right now. He loved seeing you like this, and you loved the effect you had on him, as you could feel his hardness pressing against your behind. His intense gaze, his body, his touch, and his words almost sent you over the edge. Almost.

Then he suddenly stopped. You let out a frustrated breath and you get a chuckle in return.

"I…" you gasped and then shut up.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked once again, tilting his head to the side as he was looking at you in the mirror. You desperately craved some friction, you even tried to rub together your thighs, but nothing helped.

"I…" you started once again, and he looked at you with encouraging eyes. "I want to…" your cheeks heated up at your words and you didn't even know why. "I want to cum." you finally managed to blurt out.

He let out a chuckle, grabbing your hips with one of his hands and he slid back his other under your panties.

"Was it so hard, princessa?" he asked, and he started using his fingers again. This time more passionately and faster. With one hand you grabbed Fernando's forearm while still trying to keep your eyes on him. "That’s it," he told you as he tried to help you finally push over the line. He knew how much you loved him when he talked you through it. "I want you to see how beautiful you are when you come undone for me," he whispered into your ear and that's what it took. You shook in his arms as you finally reached the highest highs, fireworks playing before your eyes and at this point, you couldn't help but close your eyes. Your feelings for him, his voice, his touch – it was just too much. You suddenly stumbled, but he was there to catch you. And he always will be.

"That's it, mi amor," he whispered, holding you close to him, while he pressed soft kisses to your neck as he guided you through your high.

For a few moments, you stayed in silence. Then he spoke: "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that," he repeated your words from earlier. Your chest tightened at his confession, and you turned in his embrace, now facing him. A soft and loving smile played on your lips as you pulled yourself closer to him.

“But you’re the one who won, we should celebrate you,” you said mischievously. You started to push him back towards the bed where he sat down, so you could straddle him. Fernando groaned as he felt you move against him. His whole body was becoming hard.

“Oh, we will celebrate, mi vida,” he chuckled darkly. “All. Night. Long.” he said and kissed you with so much passion that it consumed the two of you. Each one was like a promise, a seal, a mark for your happiness and a long, prosperous future together.

#fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x y/n #fernando alonso oneshit #fernando alonso fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso fic #fernando alonso imagine

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kaleldobrev · 2 days

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Aren't You a Little Young? (4) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 1.8k

Chapter Warnings: Cursing (2x), Age Gap (15 years), Sexual tension, Asshole Cop & Sassy!Reader

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | A little bit of a shorter part | As always, thoughts are in italics and the "POV's" switch between Dean & Reader | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⬸ Go Back & Read Chapter 3

The first night (well, night was a strong word, as when the pair of you ended up finally going to bed, it was close to sunrise) sharing a bed with the older Winchester brother wasn't as awkward as you expected it to be, but the entire time you were afraid to move a muscle, as you didn't want to accidentally roll over and spoon him. But you couldn't help but wonder what he would have done if you did that. What kind of excuse would you have come up with? Would he have believed you?

You kept your back toward him, and from your peripheral, you noticed that he also kept his back toward you. You wondered if he usually slept on his side, or just stuck to that way of sleep in order to give you as much sleeping space as possible.

When you woke, it was almost 9 in the morning; a lot later than when you usually woke when on a case, but you figured you must of needed the sleep because you got four hours instead of your usual two.

You reached out your hand at the empty spot next to you, and it was still slightly warm. You felt a slight sadness, hoping that Dean hadn't left you alone in the motel room. You hoped that he would have waited for you to get up before doing anything. Then again, you didn't completely know how the man operated.

The sound of shower going on made your heart skip a beat, and you felt weirdly giddy knowing that Dean hadn't left you alone in the motel. But as you heard the shower running, you could hear something else coming from the bathroom. Is he...humming? You questioned, and then you smiled, thinking how adorable it was that someone like Dean sung or hummed in the shower.

Rolling onto your back, you looked up at the ceiling for a moment, smiling at the situation. For the first time in a long time, you felt at peace; you were happy. But that happiness and smile quickly faded when reality started to sink in. Dean was not your boyfriend, and he was never going to be. Once this case was done and over with, you'd have to go back to your apartment to your actual boyfriend. A boyfriend who you were planning on breaking up with the moment you stepped past the threshold.

Dean was barely able to get any sleep because of you. Not because you were tossing and turning, but because of how close you were to him and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. You were barely a foot away from him, and all he wanted to do was reach out and touch you; bringing you close to his chest and feel your skin against his. He wanted more than anything to just stroke your cheek and give you a forehead kiss. Maybe when the case was done and over with, he could somehow find an excuse to hug you at least.

He needed to stop with the fantasies of you and him together. It was never going to happen. You were never going to actively choose to be with him, or someone like him. Maybe if he wasn't a hunter, then maybe he would of had a chance with you. Then again, if he wasn't a hunter, maybe he would have never met you in the first place. That's when he started debating with himself about whether or not meeting you was the best thing to happen to him in a while or the worst thing to happen to him in a while.

Dean sighed, shutting off the water as he prepared himself to face you this morning. He was lucky when he woke up, because you were still sound asleep next to him. You were completely curled up, and you looked so peaceful.

The ride to the police station was quick, yet painful, as he was in another confined space with you. Your perfume or whatever you wore that smelt citrusy and woodsy at the same time kept hitting his nose throughout the drive. At one point, he held his breath so he couldn't smell you, because you smelt absolutely intoxicating to him. The urge to pull over and kiss you kept hitting him.

But that was not the only part of the drive that was torture for him. During the drive, you sang along to whatever music he had playing: Zeppelin, AC/DC, Johnny Cash, you name it. You knew every single word to every single song that he played. Did Sam put you up to this somehow to make him feel better after months and months of being a demon? He shook that thought quickly out of his head, as you being a siren made the most sense to him. Then again, Sam did like to fuck with him sometimes...

Out of nowhere, you turned to him, a soft smile on your lips. "So, I was thinking, after we go talk to some of the cops and hopefully get some files at the station, we go back to that diner and actually have a sit down meal together?" You asked. The question you asked him was so innocent, but yet, he sensed a slight romantic intention behind it. Were you flirting with him? No, you couldn't have. You were dating someone and you were 15 years younger than him; there was no chance that you were. But in order to survive, he needed to say no, as much as he wanted to say yes.

"Sure," he said, and mentally cursed at himself.

"Awesome," you said, keeping that same soft smile on your lips. You turned back to the window and looked out, resting your chin on your hand as you continued to quietly hum to Deep Purple.

"Hi, I'm Special Agent Shaw, and this is my partner Special Agent Hanniger. We're here in regard to the three murder victims you've had in the last month," you stated, both you and Dean flashing your respective badges.

The officer looked at you and Dean a few times, before a confused look formed on his face. "Aren't you a little young looking to be a federal agent ma'am? You look to be jailbait to me," he said, half chuckling to himself.

All you wanted to do was roll your eyes at this jailbait comment, and reprimand him to making such a comment, but you had to keep your composure. Unfortunately, this was not the first time you had heard such a comment, and it probably wouldn't be your last.

Out of your peripheral, you noticed that Dean was about to speak, but you quickly started talking, as you felt defending yourself would sound better coming from you, than him. "Why thank you Officer. I really appreciate that comment, because I can tell that my skin care routine is really doing wonders. But, just so you're aware, the minimum age to be a Special Agent is 23, and since I first applied when I was 23, and have been a Special Agent for the past five years, I am not what you call jailbait by any means. You can even ask my partner here, as he's been my partner all five of these years."

You flashed the officer a smile, the kind of smile you gave people to let them know that you were not going to be dealing with their bullshit. Silence fell between the three of you, and out of your peripheral, you could see Dean smirking, like he was impressed by you. "Whenever you're ready, we'd like to see those case files," you said.

"Um, right, right. Uh, this way Miss...I mean, Agent. Agent," the officer said, stumbling over his words, embarrassed by the confrontation that he probably wasn't expecting from someone like you.

Dean couldn't help but experience such an intense amount of joy in the way you spoke to the officer; as he couldn't have been more proud. There was a part of him that wanted to give you a pat on the back or give a thumbs up, followed by a 'that's my girl,' but he knew he couldn't do that. You weren't his girl; you weren't his anything.

“This is Special Agents Shaw and Hanniger,” the officer said, introducing you and Dean to the coroner. The officer looked at the two of you again. “Jones here can answer any questions you have,” he said, directing his comment to you and smiling.

“Thank you,” you said nodding, as the officer headed back up the stairs, leaving you, Dean, and the coroner alone in the basement.

“Special Agents?” Jones questioned, placing his pen down on his desk. “Why does the FBI have an interest in these cases? They’re pretty cut and dry.”

“If they’re so cut and dry, why haven’t you released a cause of death yet to the public?” You questioned.

The coroner sighed. “We’re trying not to worry the public by releasing the causes,” he explained. But you weren’t taking that as an answer, as you felt that there was a deeper reasoning behind it.

“Meaning?” Dean asked, joining the conversation.

“I’m assuming the both of you read my reports,” Jones said, eyeing the two of you. You did, but you weren’t sure if Dean had the chance to glance at them at all before he switched places with Sammy.

“Yes, but your files didn’t have a whole lot of detail to them,” you stated.

“Not much I can write when the cause of death is something that’s completely unnatural for the body to do,” Jones said. “How do you explain to three separate families, that their loved ones had all of their blood drained from their bodies with no forced entry, no signs of a struggle, and no markings to indicate where the blood was drained from? If you know, I’d love to hear it.”

“Can we see the bodies?” You asked, and the coroner shook his head. “No?”

“They’ve already been cremated,” he said, almost sounding disappointed.

“Already? It’s an open serial murder investigation and the last murder happened not even three days ago.” You found it strange that there was not even one body that you and Dean could examine for yourselves.

“Although we have no leads, we wanted to give the families closure,” Jones explained. “Or do you not believe in closure Agent Shaw?”

“I do. But I’m not sure how you expect us to help you, when we don’t even have a single body to look at to see if you missed anything.” You were starting to become frustrated, annoyed at the coroner, even though you knew he was just trying to do his job — even if it was a lousy one.

You took a deep breath, and Dean took that as his cue to continue the conversation. “Can you give us copies of the autopsies you performed?”

“Yes, I can make copies for you,” Jones said, getting up from his desk. “The witness statements as well?”

“We’ll take anything that’ll be useful in finding a possible lead,” Dean said, and Jones nodded, leaving the room so he could retrieve copies of the reports.

Once the coroner left, you turned to Dean, slightly sighing. “I could really go for a beer right about now. How about you?”

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 5 (Not yet available)

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#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #dean x you #dean x reader #female reader #reader insert #the 15 year problem

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glade-constellation · 22 hours

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On the topic of Eclipse, I also would love to talk about how he works best off of a reward based system.

After the stern conversation he had with Puppet, Eclipse did go ask Moonlight in a nicer manner about reviewing his killcode. It wasn’t until after Moonlight continued to push the situation that Eclipse almost turned and left.

Moonlight wasn’t in the wrong for trying to push for more polite manners from Eclipse. Asking for things like “please” is literally asking for baseline kindness and respect. The problem is, even doing that is a huge thing for Eclipse. And instead of getting a reward out of what he just did, Moonlight asked even more out of it.

Eclipse is very reward-driven. If he does something, he must get something out of it. If he does something and feels he has gained nothing, then there is no point in doing said thing in the first place. Saying “please” did earn him the right to look at Moonlight’s coding, but that reward felt smothered by the fact that, to Moonlight, please wasn’t enough.

It circles right back to Eclipse feeling like he is enough.

It’s kind of like when you do something you feel is a big achievement, something you were finally able to do after a long time of not being able to, and everyone just saying “cool” and moving on. Eclipse feels like he is putting in the effort and no one is seeing it. Even though what he is doing seem like normal everyday things other people just do, they’re huge strides for Eclipse.

Eclipse is getting better, but his progress is being slowed by the people around him. Funnily enough, even by the same people trying to help him. Part of helping someone through their trauma is learning their reward system. Figure out what they view as praise for their efforts, so you can reward them when they have made progress. It’s part of the process currently being overlooked by the others like Puppet. They want him to get better without showing him how proud they are of his effort.

“Puppet tells Eclipse she’s proud of him all the time!” Yes, but that’s not what Eclipse views as a reward. Words are very easily twisted, they have never been something Eclipse can rely on. He also can’t trust people who say they’re going to stick by his side. People have said that several times and betrayed him anyways. He won’t trust it at this point. He needs something solid.

(This is part of the reason why I think he got so easily attached to Earth. Earth is very big on rewarding people for seemingly small things. She makes the effort to actually understand how he feels about something instead of just calling him “difficult” or “stubborn”. He tells her about things he’s achieved and she is genuinely happy for him and interested in learning more. It’s where most other people fail. They invite Eclipse to do things, but it’s never what Eclipse wants. Moonlight was probably the only other one who tired to show interest in what Eclipse wanted to do before that whole relationship fell apart.)

#🌟 Ten Talks #tsams #sams #eaps #the sun and moon show #sun and moon show #eclipse and puppet show #tsams eclipse

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dalessandra01 · 24 hours

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I will throw rocks at your window

By @dalessandra01

Summary:

“Kate goes to visit Sophie’s room the night before her wedding, officially welcoming her as a sister. The two share an heartfelt conversation before they hear someone throwing rocks at Sophie’s window.”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

She hadn't slept in such a comfortable bed for years. Or simply retired for the night without feeling pain from head to toe.

Sophie let herself fall onto the mattress with the same excitement as a small child, giggling for no reason other than just being happy.

She still couldn’t believe that by this time tomorrow, she would be married.

To Benedict Bridgerton, no less.

The man she had dreamed of every night since that unforgettable evening.

Was she really this lucky?

It felt like living in a fairytale.

Or perhaps a dream.

Would she now wake up and discover it had all been a figment of her imagination?

She turned over on the mattress, resting her head on the pillow.

It felt natural to touch her cheeks, and she realised how warm they were.

She felt a little shameless thinking about what would happen the next day when the celebrations would be over, and she and Benedict would leave for their honeymoon. Alone.

And this time, without worrying about anything.

She was free to be with him and no longer fear the arrival of children—in fact, at that moment, it was all she desired most.

She bit her lower lip at that thought.

She had agonised over the idea of a child so many times, even more so when she and Benedict had given in to passion, but now she could think calmly about their arrival. Was she perhaps rushing things?

She wasn’t even married yet, and she was already imagining what their children would look like.

And above all, how much she would love them.

This made her remember how much she longed to see her fiancé at that moment.

When they had returned from his apartment, Lady Bridgerton had not been particularly pleased that her request to be home by seven had been ignored.

But judging by her expression, she must have expected it.

Especially since Sophie hadn’t been scolded at all—Benedict had taken all the blame.

It had made her smile, even though she knew she had wanted it as much as he did.

But she certainly hadn’t expected Violet to be a vengeful person.

Not in a truly malicious way, but it was clear that she had done everything she could to ensure that the two of them were never alone in the same room.

And apparently, she had also involved the young Viscountess in the process.

It was actually a very sensible decision; Benedict might have been able to get around his mother, but never his sister-in-law.

Sophie had noticed from the start how tenacious the young Lady Bridgerton could be, but she hadn’t thought it would go this far.

She would almost swear that she found it amusing.

She lifted her head when she heard a knock on her door. For a moment, she almost fooled herself into thinking that Benedict had managed to sneak into Bridgerton House to visit her.

She held her breath, waiting for her visitor to reveal their identity:

“Sophie? May I come in?” Her smile faltered when she heard Kate’s voice from the other side of the door.

She took just a moment to recover from her disappointment and sat properly on the bed.

“Of course, come in,” she replied, not wanting to appear ungrateful for her visit.

Even when she was only a maid, Kate had always been extremely kind to her. If Sophie refused one of Violet’s invitations to join her and her daughters for tea, especially when she had visitors herself, Kate would insist she come.

Sometimes she even offered to make her chai, in case she didn’t feel like having English tea.

Besides, seeing how quickly little Edmund had become attached to Sophie must have made the Viscountess even more protective towards her.

And, very likely, Kate had been one of the first to notice Benedict’s feelings for her.

It was a universal rule—after the servants, the high-society ladies always knew everything, and Sophie considered Kate one of them.

The title suited her as if it were a custom-made dress; she moved and acted with such elegance that even if she had married a simple wealthy gentleman, it would have been a shame not to grant her husband a title so that Kate could continue being the noblewoman she was meant to be.

A role Sophie never saw herself in, to be honest.

Even if her father had recognised her as his daughter, giving her noble status, she could never have endured the pressure that came with it.

Of course, her life would have been easier, and perhaps she and Benedict could have courted properly, but… would he have courted her if she had been the daughter of an earl?

She and Benedict would never have faced financial problems, that was certain, but it was also true, at least from what she had gathered from reading Whistledown, that firstborn sons were always the most sought after on the marriage market.

And only once they were married did attention shift to the second sons.

Belonging to a family like the Bridgertons had certainly made Benedict a desirable match, but if Anthony had still been single, he would have taken second place.

And in this fantasy world where Sophie was a legitimate daughter, would he still have tried to approach her? Or would he have felt unworthy?

Her life had been horrible, yes.

But at least… it had brought her to this point: to that night, just a step away from saying the big “yes” and marrying the love of her life.

At that point, titles and social conventions no longer mattered.

From tomorrow on… it would be just her and Benedict.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Kate asked her with a teasing smile. Sophie raised a hand to her face, feeling it flush again.

“Is it that obvious?” she squeaked, unable to meet the other woman’s eyes.

“A little,” Kate laughed. “I’m sorry for keeping you two apart these days, but I won’t deny that I’ve enjoyed teasing my brother-in-law.”

“I imagine… I admit it’s satisfying to see him suffer a bit,” Sophie joked in return. After all, Benedict had spent much of the time she had worked for his mother tormenting her, trying to convince her to become his mistress.

He had apologised, true. But it was only fair he suffered a little for what he had put her through.

The only downside was that now, having him completely, being apart from him was torture for her as well.

“But I miss him terribly…” she ended up admitting.

“It’s only a few more hours,” Kate reassured her, gently stroking her arm. “And, in the meantime, I’ll take this moment to officially welcome you.”

Sophie’s eyes widened in surprise at those words.

“Welcome?” she asked.

“Yes, from tomorrow, you and I will be sisters,” Kate said, taking her hands. “You know… Anthony and Benedict are very close, being the eldest, and I’m glad he’s found a good match in you, Sophie. I’m sure we’ll spend a lot of time together.”

Sophie gave her a wide smile. All the Bridgertons had been incredibly warm once Benedict had announced their engagement.

In truth, she had felt like part of the family even before that.

But being welcomed by someone other than Violet warmed her heart, especially because Kate, more than anyone, knew what it was like to marry a Bridgerton.

“Thank you, Kate, really. That means a lot to me,” she said, smiling at her the whole time.

The Viscountess looked at her with an almost motherly expression before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” she asked gently. It was obvious that, for all the family might have discussed it, only Benedict knew her full past. What Kate could know was limited.

“You have no idea,” Sophie replied.

“If you ever feel like talking to someone, I’m here.” And it took all her willpower not to break down in tears.

Yes, Posy was her sister.

Now that she was away from Araminta, she was free to call her that, but Posy would always remain more of a little sister to Sophie, being the youngest.

What Kate was offering her, though, was what Rosamund should have been, but her vanity had always prevented her from being anything else: an older sister.

Without realising it, a tear had slipped down Sophie’s face, and her new sister promptly wiped it away, reassuring her.

“You’ll be a magnificent bride,” she said, and Sophie didn’t know whether to cry or not.

She wasn’t used to having such a figure in her life. For the first time, she felt truly loved and appreciated.

But the thought of where Benedict was kept tormenting her. She so longed to see him, even if just for a minute.

From what she understood, gentlemen prepared for their wedding day differently than brides did.

This was also because not all unions were as wanted as hers.

But from what she had gathered, while she had been pampered with beauty treatments, Benedict had gone somewhere with his two brothers. When it had been Anthony’s turn, they had simply stayed in his study, but since they were just a few doors away, the chance that Benedict would find a way to escape Anthony and Colin’s clutches was too plausible for them to remain at home.

Although Sophie had to admit that she would have liked that.

“Do you know where they are?” she ventured, lowering her gaze, wondering if she sounded too forward.

“At Mondrich’s. Anthony told me they were going to spend some time there and then bring him back home.”

The idea that his brothers trusted Benedict so little that they even volunteered to escort him back to his own house just to make sure he didn’t try to see Sophie the night before the wedding was almost laughable.

By now, it must have amused everyone, seeing how determined they were to ensure the two didn’t come together before tomorrow.

Suddenly, she blushed.

The thought crossed her mind that perhaps all that frustration could have some specific effects once the ceremony was over. Certainly, it would be enjoyable, and perhaps she should thank her new family for—no.

That was too much.

“Is everything alright?” Kate asked, with a knowing look.

“I think I’m just a bit warm,” she replied—strange to say, since it was autumn.

And indeed, it was clear that the Viscountess didn’t believe her one bit. Without saying another word, she got up and left.

For a moment, Sophie thought she was retiring for the night, but a few seconds later, she was back by her side, with the same composure that characterised her.

“What’s going on?” Sophie asked, confused.

“I’ve sent for a bottle of whisky from Anthony’s study,” Kate replied matter-of-factly.

Sophie’s eyes widened.

“But I’ve never had whisky.”

“Neither have I,” Kate replied. “But I have a feeling it’ll be one of the first experiences we share together.”

Meanwhile, the bottle had been brought on a tray with two glasses. The butler offered them his respects with a bow and then disappeared.

“Won’t Anthony mind that we’re drinking his whisky?” Sophie asked as Kate poured the liquor into her glass.

“Perhaps, but it’s a problem I’ll deal with when he finds out,” she replied.

“Welcome to the world of married women, Sophie Baek.” She couldn’t help but laugh at Kate’s satisfied expression.

After all, it was highly likely that Benedict was in a similar situation right now, so what was wrong with indulging in a bit of alcohol?

“I’m not sure if Benedict and Anthony will be happy to know we’re getting along or…”

“Afraid that we might team up against them?”

At that point, Sophie burst out laughing.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

"I must do it."

Benedict declared, stepping forward with determination. Anthony quickly grabbed him by the sleeve.

"Hold on," he reprimanded, "You've waited this long; you can wait until tomorrow to see her."

Benedict looked at his brother in frustration.

They had just come from Mondrich’s, and perhaps it was the whiskey clouding his judgment, but he felt an overwhelming need to see his bride-to-be. Just for a minute. He was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep unless she gave him one of her radiant smiles. One of those smiles that could rival the brilliance of the stars.

"Please, brother, just for a minute," he pleaded, realizing how desperate he sounded for begging Anthony of all people. "I swear, I have no ill intentions."

"I highly doubt that," his older brother replied, rolling his eyes.

"Please, I just want to do something foolish," cursed whiskey, making him talk like an idiot, but if it meant seeing Sophie, he didn’t care.

"I never got to court Sophie properly, and to make up for it, I want to go stand under her window."

At that moment, Colin had joined them, clearly holding back laughter.

"Are you planning to recite her a sonnet, brother?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"I might," Benedict was seriously considering it for a moment. He wasn’t sure what exactly he would do once he got under her balcony,

"Something—anything, I don’t know, but I just want to see her."

Anthony sighed,

"Alright, but don’t make too much noise."

Before he could continue, Benedict had already thrown his arms around his neck.

"Thank you, thank you!"

"Dear God, I swear this is the last time I drink with you."

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Maybe Sophie should have realized that since it was her first time tasting alcohol, she would start feeling strange after just the second glass. Even Kate seemed to have let loose a bit, and they ended up talking about everything, the inhibition from the liquor making them laugh at every silly thing they said.

"Wait, wait—! What do you mean he bought her a horse?"

"I swear, he showed up outside our house with a horse."

"And this was just to convince your sister to marry him?"

"He's very competitive."

"I can see that."

They both burst into laughter like two little girls, and when Sophie finally caught her breath, she naturally blurted out:

"And did he ever buy you a horse?"

"No, and I keep holding it against him," Kate replied with a smirk.

"Then I need to find something to hold against Benedict," Sophie joked.

"Great idea," Kate replied. "Maybe the fact that he didn’t recognize you?"

"Isn’t that a bit too cruel?"

"It’s useful when you need to negotiate," Kate shrugged. "You’ll need it when you have children."

Sophie felt her face flush again, but before she could respond, a tapping sound on the window made her turn.

"Did you hear that?" she asked, hoping the alcohol hadn’t made her imagine things.

Kate nodded, and Sophie moved to check.

When she pulled back the curtain, a small stone hit the window, making her jump.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

"Have you gone mad?!"

Anthony half-yelled at Benedict.

"How else am I supposed to get her to look out without shouting?" he retorted.

"Stop that, you’ll break the glass," his brother ordered, trying to stop him, probably cursing the fact that Colin had decided to head home, leaving them alone. You had to wonder if he did it on purpose.

"They're pebbles, not rocks," Benedict protested.

"It’s still my house!" But before Anthony could argue further, Sophie peeked out from the window.

Benedict grinned like a fool, forgetting whatever quarrel he had with his brother. She was stunning, and how he wished he could climb that damn wall just to steal a little kiss from her.

"Sophie!" he exclaimed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her expression happy, though he noticed a slight flush on her cheeks, but paid it no mind.

"I wanted to see you."

She let out a small laugh. What a melodious sound.

"You would have seen me tomorrow."

"I couldn’t wait any longer," he said brightly, "I wouldn’t have been able to sleep without seeing you, even for just a second."

He saw her place a hand on her chest, her smile growing wider. It made him proud that his words touched her, but he knew he could do better.

"You are more beautiful than the moon and stars, Sophie. I can’t wait to be your husband."

"Oh, Benedict," she murmured.

"I want a kiss from you. Please, just one," he begged, completely forgetting Anthony was right there.

And, unbeknownst to him, not alone.

"Benedict! Don’t you dare!" Anthony shouted.

But before Benedict could take even one step toward the wall, they both found themselves soaked.

Kate had appeared next to Sophie, holding an empty pitcher—the one usually kept on the nightstand for water—in her hands.

"Go to bed, Benedict. You’re getting married tomorrow!" his sister-in-law said in an authoritative tone before shutting the window.

Benedict looked at Anthony, and if looks could kill, he’d be dead by now.

"Remind me never to cross your wife."

"And you remind me never to drink with you again."

#bridgerton #benophie #benedict bridgerton #benedict x sophie #benophie fanfiction #sophie baek #sophie beckett #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kanthony #bridgerton season 4 #an offer from a gentleman #bridgerton fanfiction #colin bridgerton

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sadstrever · 14 hours

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i’m still 114lbs. i feel sick. yesterday was an awful day, i came home and had an out of body chew and spit session. i wish there was more research on this part of ed’s, or just more people who talked about it because i can’t be alone in this. i refuse to believe i’m the only sick person who does disgusting shit like this. anyways the reason why i call it an out of body experience is because it’s almost like binging-just without all the swallowing of food. i came home and immediately started doing it and filled up 1 and 1/2 2 liter bottles with food. i spent 5 hours doing this without even realizing and pretty much emptied out my whole families fridge. the guilt i felt afterwards was worse than a binge in my opinion. not only did i totally waste SO MUCH food, make a huge mess, ended up with disgusting bottles of mush in my room, i also have to face the consequences of my family coming home to an empty fridge. but when they got home they were happy that i “ate.” god i’m such a fucking piece of shit.

anyways after all that i took 4 laxatives to try and get the guilt of wasting the food out of me. i woke up in the morning today in terrible pain but still had to go to class, cuz what am i supposed to tell my parents? “yeah i haven’t eaten in almost a month and basically just threw all the food we have out in the trash and i also took 4 laxatives, can i please stay home tehe?” so i went to 1 class and ended up leaving because the pain was so excruciating. straight from class i went to the gym and somehow burnt 900 calories because i guess that’s what guilt does to me. i had to take the bus 2 hours home afterwards(bus delays and i went to a new further gym location this time), high out of my mind. i’m home now and my stomach hurts but the laxatives finally did their job. i don’t want to keep doing this. 4 years ago i said i’d recover and then i didn’t. since then i’ve forgotten about recovery (with the exception of a few random moments here and there that i block out immediately), i am so used to living in this fucking misery that i didn’t realize how abnormal my reality is. i don’t want to be a bad person anymore. but i can’t stop lol.

this is what bothers me about the girls who romanticize this disorder SO MUCH, when much of the time they haven’t realized how difficult it can become. i know i’ve done this, even now sometimes as a coping mechanism. but man, i’m sick of it.

i have a friend who writes poetry and she wrote a poem about eating disorders that make me so fucking angry. the thing is, i’ve known her for years and she’s always had the best relationship with food out of most of the people i know. she’s naturally pretty thin(not too thin but normal) and she’s very open about her struggles. i know every single one of her stories, i know she’s diagnosed with adhd. that’s HER disorder, that i don’t understand so i DONT write fucking POETRY about it. a few months ago she kind of forced me into opening up about my eating disorder. after i did, suddenly she started writing these stories about her eating disorder-very very very suspiciously similar to mine. i obviously didn’t tell her everything but i told her about how long this has been going on and just my emotions about it. seeing her start to adapt my fucking disorder into her poetry disgusted me. she glamorized the fuck out of it and made me feel so stupid for ever opening up about it. she’s naturally skinny so she got a bunch of support from our friend group from it and i’m just upset man. i’m sick of living in misery while other people can use the idea of living in pain for attention.

i promised my best friend that in 3 weeks i’ll go back to therapy and try my best to recover. it’s not true. man it’s never fucking true. it’s never fucking over. unlike ms.deep-poetry-girl i can’t just fucking write this and log off and then eat a good warm meal and talk to my parents without them mentioning my body. i can’t wake up tomorrow morning and hug them without worrying that they’re gonna feel my bones. i can’t wear shorts anymore without people noticing the bruises. i can’t go to school and keep my focus because i have nothing to feed my brain. i can’t let anyone get close because soon enough they’ll be just like YOU. OR they’ll hate me for not wanting to get better. i can’t love myself like you do because of the disgusting things i do each day. i can’t wake up thinner and suddenly stop hating myself. FUCK YOUUUUUUUU GOD IM SO SICK OF IT GOD. whatever im done. just sick and tired.

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mbat · 1 day

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i literally read the book of bill days ago but its only now kinda hitting me how fucked ford and bills whole thing was though cause ford literally talks about being so unable to sleep (to try to keep bill away), and when sleep inevitably caught up to him, he would wake up to his body abused and things messed with and he just couldnt seem to find an escape (and he literally didnt get to truly escape until 30 years later)

(also keeping people awake for unhealthily long periods of time is another tactic used to mess with and control people because of how it impairs brain function)

listing off the things we see in those few pages in the book of bill:

i mean, punching and scratching at a steel door for hours would be so damaging to your hands and probably hurt like hell for at least 2 days after. then bill says he was hitting fords head against a wall, though its said in a post-it as if its a joke, but he also isnt exactly above doing that, and honestly he says most things like its a joke.

i also dont need to say 'bill really doesnt know how to take no for an answer' because he makes that very clear in literally any interaction we see with him.

bill literally puts a venomous snake near ford while fords asleep, which could have killed him if he wasnt lucky+skilled enough to deal with it.

he nearly gives ford hypothermia, and in the same action actively threatens ford with the idea of making him jump off of a high spot, and like ford says, doesnt do it just so he can send a message to ford about how hes the one in control.

he gets ford in trouble with not only the law, but also with other people that are probably not very happy with him after. he mutilates fords body in several ways, and i dont think i need to go into detail on them because theyre... so ew. and he even exposes part of fords body to the world. like, its just taking his shirt off, but thats still showing off his body in a way that he didnt agree to or want

and then he attempts to (or purposefully fails to) call stan, using fords voice to threaten suicide and tell stan that ford never loved him.

and he punctuates it with a final power move, in a hallucination that he creates, hes messing with stans memories and making him feel like his body was basically about to implode

and like. okay, we all joke about toxic old man yaoi, and its a good joke and toxic old man yaoi is great and its an interesting ship, but holy fuck.

like. to say the absolute least, that had to be so, so deeply violating. its no wonder that when we see ford in the past, when he finally contacts stan, he looks like hes on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. he just went through, and still wasnt yet out of, some deeply abusive shit.

like... everything coming out lately both in this book and what ive heard is on the website, mixed with what we already knew from the show itself... the stans are both so, so fucking tragic dude. their whole lives were thrown away over things that really didnt even need to be the way they were, and then they both get into situations that are pretty damn screwed, and those situations follow them for the rest of their lives. its basically a miracle that things worked out in the end for them.

i dont really have a point, i just had to talk about all that. i read almost all of the book of bill in one sitting, and while i was really enjoying it, i was also getting kind of tired of sitting in one spot only doing this one thing for several hours straight. i still felt a lot of the emotional bits of it of course, but man this part specifically just really didnt hit me until now.

i mean, to say the absolute least, i know what its like to feel violated in a similar way, though not anywhere near to the extent of what he went through at all. someone get that man some therapy got damn

#my post #gravity falls #billford #// abuse ment #abuse tw #<- i dont really know the tags to use so if anyone sees this and feels that i didnt do enough. i can add more #long post #BY THE WAY THIS IS NOT A BILL HATE POST IF THAT EVEN MAKES SENSE #like fuck that dude for being so fucked up but also hes still such a fascinating and honestly fun character.#hes not a real person so its not like im being like 'oh but hes so charming so idc that he did all that'#like i very much care that he did all that but hes also. still just a fictional character #and yet again i repeat the sentiment: holy fuck i cant believe disney approved this book #they really said. 'this is one of our most beloved non-movie franchises #the creator wants to write another book in the series but this time its for mature audiences #and hes going to write out how the beloved villain of the show and one of the most important and beloved characters are in a deeply abusive #relationship. this is now an approved part of the disney brand!'#again i dont disapprove. i think this is a great addition.#but im so shocked that this was approved by 'the owl house doesnt fit our brand' disney.#i still refuse to stop believing that disney was just being homophobic about the owl house btw idc what anyone says #also no i wont go into detail on how i relate. but the connections are there and its.. wow.

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jasminetwil · 11 days

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EDIT: ✨️STICKERS HAVE BEEN ORDERED✨️ Lemme know if y'all would actually buy stickers of her in the commentsss

✨️Scrunkly baby✨️

I think Dogpool (AKA Mary Puppins, AKA Peggy!) stole everyone's hearts in the cinema. She definitely ran away with mine so I had to draw her! 🐶

Deadpool and Wolverine was such a fun movie. Genuinely have not had such a serotonin boost like that in a very long time. 💖

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dragon-tamer-1 · 2 months

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Aftermare Week 2024

Day2(6): Destroy(ed)/(Re)Building

Geno was hanging upside-down from the Tree of Feelings, just above where Nightmare was. Nightmare was reading a book he got from the library. Nightmare's thoughts wandered, he couldn't help but think on how the last year went. The villagers, particularly the ones who were very hostile to him, were starting to actually give him a chance. He can't help but to believe that Geno arriving here was the cause of it, though it took a while for this to happen. They still bullied and hurt him after Geno showed up, but Geno had started protecting him. Something that Dream never-... No, it wasn't Dream's fault. Dream didn't know it was happening, or at least didn't know the extent of it. He wished he said something before, now, as things were getting better with both Geno and Dream advocating for the villagers to stop abusing him(he wasn't sure if that's what he'd call it, but Geno insisted that's what they were doing to him). He's incredibly grateful for Geno, even if he went and told Dream after the last time the bad villagers attacked him when he didn't want him to. He couldn't deny that it felt better to have his brother know about it now, though, not after the results that came afterwards.

The villagers no longer unofficially banned him from entering the village with or without his brother(they never said he wasn't allowed but the way they treated him pretty much implied it), some of them were still wary of him, but they were starting to warm up to him it seems. Some of them even apologized for not helping him sooner, they were some of the ones who weren't mean to him, though they never helped much before, if they knew at all. He certainly didn't want to dwell on how many people might not have known what was happening to him, or who knew what was happening and didn't care.

Overall, it's only been good ever since Geno arrived, they even started dating a month ago. Geno still misses his brother, but he's been happy here.

Noticing the position of the sun as being roughly noon, Nightmare was about to ask if Geno wanted to grab a bite to eat for lunch. But before he did, there seemed to be a sudden flash of light. And as soon as the light faded and he could see again, there was what he could only describe as a tear in the air beside Geno. He immediately dropped the book as he jumped up, and Geno, still partially blinded, falls off the branch trying to right himself. Just as Nightmare was about to catch him, the tear started to drag Geno in. He grabs Geno's scarf in one hand and tries to reach for his hand or something to try to keep him from going through the tear. Neither of them know what's on the other side, and they don't want to find out.

Unfortunately, it was not enough. Geno was pulled through, but not before his scarf was pulled from his neck, leaving Nightmare with only his scarf. Nightmare and Geno had one last look at each other, tears in their eyes as they realized this was the last time they'd see each other and horror at what was happening, then the tear in space closed.

Nightmare clutched the scarf as he broke down, and soon after rain clouds have gathered. Dream returned after it started pouring and as soon as he saw how distraught his brother was he ran to him. He nearly slipped on the grass, but caught himself. He noticed Geno was nowhere in sight but his priority is his brother right now.

"Brother, what's wrong? Are you ok? Are you hurt? Where's Geno, I don't see him? Wait, is that his-"

"He- he's gone, he's gone and I-I couldn't- I couldn't *hic* save him. He- I-..."

"Brother, Night, please, slow down. You have to breath, okay? What happened? Geno's gone?"

He took a few deep breaths, and tried to explain what happened, having to pause between sobs. Dream started crying along with him as what happened sank in. Geno, his brother's partner, his friend, the one who ultimately helped both of them in different ways, was gone. He protected his brother when he was unable to, even when he wanted to so bad, but didn't want to pressure his brother when he didn't want to talk to him about what was happening with the villagers. He helped him set firmer boundaries with the villagers, not letting them overwork him like they were, and in the end he and Nightmare were feeling closer than before now that they weren't keeping things from each other. All they could do in this moment was mourn Geno, as they hugged each other in the pouring rain.

~meanwhile~

Geno landed on the other side of the tear very disoriented. Upon trying to stand he noticed that everything was dark, an almost unfamiliar type of dark. He also noticed the familiar glitching over his right eye socket. Then a small presence ran up to him on his blind side and almost knocked him over.

"Agh! What the- Frisk!?"

"You were gone for so long, where were you!?"

"I-"

"Wait, you're crying, are you okay? What happened?"

"Woa-"

"You're not hurt, are you? Where's your scarf?"

"Stop!! What do you care, anyway!?"

"... I'm sorry. I was just... I'll go."

Frisk left to the only patch of grass in the Save Screen, though they were still worried about him. He was gone for so long, and they had no idea what happened to him. They wanted so bad to comfort him right now, as much as they knew that they probably weren't who he wanted near him. They did a lot to him, so they knew he wouldn't trust them. But he's clearly going through something right now.

Some time later, Geno had gotten up, but still felt defeated. So he was back in the Save Screen, huh? Was this what he deserves? Is this the karma he deserves for not protecting Papyrus that first Genocide route? Doomed to be stuck here with the kid who started it all? To do nothing but watch as Chara continues to Reset and do whatever they want? Is he really not allowed to be happy? Even once?

He shakes these thoughts out of his head for now, he can have another mental/emotional breakdown later. He looks over to Frisk, and regrets what he said earlier. As much as he wants to stay mad at them, his year with Nightmare and his brother Dream has given him a lot of time to process and think over what he's been through, and also think about Frisk and their ability to Reset. He can't help but think how the power could have made it too easy to want to do things again and again. He doesn't think he can forgive them yet, but he can certainly be a bit kinder to them.

He walks over to them and moves to sit beside them.

"Hey, I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. You didn't deserve that."

Frisk, surprised, just stared at him for a moment. "What?"

"You didn't deserve to be yelled at for worrying about me. I shouldn't have said that. I was, am still dealing with another loss I just had. To answer your earlier questions, I had been transported to some other world very different than ours. One that seemed to have humans and monsters getting along, well, for the most part. And there were two brothers I met there, they were called Dream and Nightmare. They helped to take care of me, even when I was... stubborn. The reason for me crying was because I had been forcibly taken from there when I had been there for a year and had grown pretty close with the two, especially one of the brothers, Nightmare. I helped them as well, Nightmare was being abused by the villagers there because of a stupid assumption or rumor that they thought was fact. Put a stop to that nonsense, and also got the two brothers to start telling each other these things."

Frisk let him talk about all that happened, and couldn't help but feel both happy and sad for Geno. It seemed like he was able to be happy where he ended up, but the fact he had been dragged back here..., it was so unfair.

Eventually, they both started talking about how they could maybe fix their situation without actually destroying the timeline like Geno was initially planning to do. His time with Dream and Nightmare had given him time to think about what he would've even accomplished by doing so, and how unfair it was to everyone else that he decided their fate for them. So he had decided that he would figure something else out if he was able to come back on his own. Except that was when he was kinda wanting to go back to Papyrus more than hanging out with the brothers.

"Okay, so what can we do about Chara? I think we both can agree they can't be allowed to keep killing everyone."

"Yeah, what about still bringing them here? But I don't know what we could do after that."

"That's a start, at least. Let's see what Sans is up to."

As he says this, he opens up a window to where Sans is, after a moment to remember how he did it in the first place. The window shows Sans in the Judgement Hall, and observing for a while longer reveals that Chara is back to killing the entire Underground. 'Seriously? How many times has this gone on since he was gone? Don't they get bored of doing this over and over?'

There's nothing left to do but wait, Geno remembers that it's easiest to get Sans here while he's unconscious or a Reset happens. And soon enough, Sans gets hit, dies, and then the Reset happens. Geno snaps his fingers, and Sans is in the Save Screen.

Sans was confused, where was he? As he turns around, he remembers where this is. It's been a long time since he was here, and he was starting to worry about Geno with how long it's been without him summoning him into the Save Screen. And, wait, where is his scarf? And last he remembers, he wasn't fond of Frisk, yet he seems to be rather chill with them.

"Heya, been a long time, huh?"

"Yeah, it has been a while, sorry for disapperin' on ya, there was apparently an unplanned vacation I was sent on."

"What? I thought you couldn't leave this place?"

"I thought so too, but whatever it was that transported me there also made it so I was fine. I don't really know how that worked. But then after I had been comfortable there, I was transported back here, and for all I know, I'm still not able to leave here without dying. But, enough about that for now. I wanted to talk to you about how we can stop Chara."

Sans let out a disappointed sigh, "if this is about destroying our timeline, it's still a no."

"Oh, no, no it's not that, actually. Though I guess it can still be a backup if we really can't solve this a different way-"

Frisk decided to speak up, "We're not destroying our timeline, Geno."

"So then, what was this new plan?"

"There isn't much of a fully thought out plan, but first step is to bring Chara here. But we don't know what step two would be because I don't know how we can stop them completely."

"Ah, so we're just brainstorming things, then?"

"Pretty much."

"Hm, well, what if..."

~Timeskip to after the events of Aftertale happen and Geno is on the Surface with everyone(I'm lazy and have to progress to the rest of the story without this basically retelling all of the climax of Aftertale. Just pretend that the end of Aftertale had this kind of background with Geno not attacking Sans after getting Chara and Papyrus into the Save Screen. Also I'm just leaving this in here cause why not XD)~

Geno looked out at the sunset atop Papyrus' shoulders. He can't say that he regrets anything he's done, aside from making things harder on Sans. It's all worth it to see Papyrus again, and knowing that there won't be anymore Resets is very reassuring to him. And this view, as much as he's seen it before, is probably one of the most beautiful sights he's seen of the Surface. It's no view from that hill of the large flower field in the moonlight in the other world he spent a year in, though.

... He misses Nightmare and Dream. He can't help but wonder what they'd think of this. Surely they miss him, too.

"WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT, NEW BROTHER? YOU LOOK A LITTLE SAD."

"Oh, it's nothing. I just miss a couple of people is all. You remember the story I told you about the two brothers in the other world I was in?"

"OH, YES. I MAY NOT KNOW WHO THEY ARE, BUT I KNOW THEY ARE VERY IMPORTANT TO YOU. I'M SURE YOU'LL SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN SOMEDAY, I JUST KNOW IT!"

"Heh, I'm not sure about that, but I sure hope so."

"NYEHEH!"

As time went by, Geno grew accustomed to life on the Surface alongside his two brothers, Sans and Papyrus. But even as he was happy to finally be by Papyrus' side, he couldn't deny that he missed Nightmare terribly, sometimes to the point he refused to leave his room. He was starting to wonder how he could visit that world. To go back there. The urge to see Nightmare and Dream again only grew as time went on.

So, after a year and a half on the Surface, he starts testing out the limits of his Determination. After all, Determination had kept him from dying and also got him into the Save Screen, so why wouldn't it be able to transport him to a different world? He had to try it or he would never know. So he's in the basement experimenting with Determination, and he mixes an unstable sample of Determination with a stable sample. It has the unfortunate reaction of destabilizing completely and explodes in a blast of piercing white light.

When he next gains consciousness, the only thing he sees is white, blindingly white nothing. He immediately squeezes his eyes shut, trying to adjust his eyelights to his new and unfamiliar surroundings. "Where am I? How...?" Squinting his eyes open a bit, he slowly realizes he isn't having aftereffects from the blast earlier, but that this is indeed a white void. Completely different than the Save Screen, and yet somehow just as lonely.

"Hello? Is anyone out there!?" He listened as his voice echoed in the space, how big was it? The echoes kept bouncing between invisible walls and only faded about a minute later, was it a minute? It must have been, surely. He tests the "floor," and finds that he's definitely on something solid. And starts wandering in what he thinks is a straight line, hoping to find some kind of, well, anything really.

~Timeskip, Geno is now Error, and doesn't remember anything prior to becoming Error~

It's been four years since Geno had disappeared, and while he still misses him, things are alright. Nightmare and his brother, Dream, now had a proper house near their Tree. Some of the villagers even helped build it with them. It has three bedrooms, one for Dream, one for Nightmare, and a guest bedroom. Though both of them knew the real reason they insisted it had three bedrooms, it was for Geno should he by some miracle come back to them. They knew that, by now, it was less and less likely to happen. Dream had been trying to be positive about the possibility, but even he had doubts, and Nightmare knew that. Nightmare was inconsolable for nearly a month after Geno's disappearance. He also started avoiding the villagers again for a while, too, anxious that they would start going back to how they treated him before Geno was there.

Thankfully, the villagers understood that he was going through a very hard time, and gave him space. Some had also gifted him little treats and notes to try to help comfort him, most were given through Dream though, but there were a few occasions that someone was able to give their gift to him in person. It took a while for Nightmare to get used to the idea that the villagers wouldn't hurt him and put his anxieties to rest on that. He's always seen wearing Geno's scarf, too, it brings him some comfort.

Today was a nice day, the sun was out and it was warm, but not unbearably so. Dream was out entertaining the village children while he was taking a walk and hearing out a villager's issues and trying to help them to solve/deal with them. It was going well before a portal opened up a few feet behind them. Nightmare turned to it and froze. It was like the tear that took Geno away.

Turning back to the villager, he said, "I think we're going to have to talk later, I have to deal with this." The villager nodded and ran off.

The portal was blocky and didn't hold a solid shape, shifting and also had a strange sound coming from it. As he was studying this portal's strangeness, someone came through it! It closed behind them, and the strange sound faded, but didn'tstop. It seemed to also come from the stranger. Looking at the new stranger, they looked so odd, even for a monster. Their bones were black, oh- wait, their fingers were yellow and red, and so was what he could see of their spine. And the legs are also red it seems- Wait, stop staring, it's rude. And they were wearing a red sweater with a midnight blue jacket and black shorts and... black slippers? Actually, no, that's not the weirdest thing someone can wear, and even then, it's not really a problem. The weirdest thing was that their entire figure looked like they were... not fully together?? Their figure had square chunks of them jumping in and out of their body, and the word 'Error' was randomly placed along their body.

He was going to ask them their name and what they wanted when he noticed that they were looking frantically around them, visibly distressed and on the verge of a panic attack. He saw the signs, and having had panic attacks before, knows how to deal with it. He was just going to have to hope that what helped him out of those panic attacks would help this person.

"Hey, it's okay, here, breathe in, two, three, four, hold it in for five seconds, and breathe out for six. Ready?"

He helped the stranger through the panic attack, and thankfully they're now calm. Both of them are now sitting in the grass, Nightmare had guided the other down so that if they were to pass out they wouldn't fall from standing up. They were currently looking at the grass like they had never seen grass before, so that concerned him a bit. The sound seems quieter.

He cleared his throat before speaking, "Uh, hey, how are you doing? Feeling any better?"

They looked up at him, "Y-Yeah, I'm feelin-ng better now, tha-thank you-u. You look v-very ni-ice. Very colorfu-ful."

Nightmare, caught off guard, felt his face heat up. "U-uh, thanks? You're pretty colorful yourself."

"You look kinda-a familiar for some re-reason, but you're the f-first person I've me-met. So I don't kn-ow why I would recogn-nize you."

"I do? That does sound odd, huh? Ah! I had forgotten about introductions. I'm Nightmare, what's your name?"

"Oh, I'm, uhh-uh..." He squinted his eyes in thought as he tried to remember his name. "... Error, that'ssss it. Yeah, my na-name is Err-ror."

"It's nice to meet you, Error. Where did you come from? You were pretty freaked out when you got here."

"I'm n-not too sure? I don't know w-what the place is-s-s, but there's ju-ust, nothing in there? Hold-d-d on I think I can open a port-tal back there? I'm pretty new t-to this though..."

Error concentrates before waving a hand through the air in front of them, and the strange noise that's been there gets stronger again. The portal opens, and Nightmare can only see white. He can't see anything else in there, and looking for a while is starting to hurt his eyelights.

"Is that really what it looks like? It's just white. How long have you been in there?"

"Yeah, it's pre-retty barren, b-but it's kinda al-l I know? I thi-ink? I don't rememb-er anything else bef-fore I woke up there. And I-I don't know how long-ng I've been there, it just felt li-i-ike a very long time? Or was it a short tim-me? I'm not sure..." He closed the portal again.

"Would you like to stay here? We have a spare guest room you can stay in. My brother wouldn't mind you staying as you get used to this place if you do stick around. It's better than white nothing, right?"

"Hmm-mm, I guess I cou-ld. There's s-s-so many colors her-ere, it's... nice, I thin-nk."

Nightmare thought that last statement was a bit odd, but then again, the guy was in an empty white void, for lack of better terms, for however long he was in there. Colors would be a bit of an adjustment to someone who was devoid of most colors.

"Alright, let me guide you there, then. I'm going to have to tell Dream about this. I think you'll like him."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he's good at making friends. I'm getting the hang of it, but still like to not be around too many people at once. It's this way."

Nightmare waved him over, leading him back to his and Dream's home. On the way back Nightmare couldn't help but think about how Geno first appeared. It's rather odd how two different people managed to arrive in this place from somewhere completely foreign to him. It couldn't be related, right? No, it's just a coincidence.

Soon enough, they arrived. 'Oh, looks like Dream returned from the village early. Better for us, I can tell him everything now than wait until he gets home later.' Nightmare waved at Dream, who waved back.

Dream had fun with the villagers' children, but had decided to head back for the day. Once getting back, he realized his brother hadn't returned yet, so he went to get some food ready. He was still learning to cook from Saphire, the village's tavern cook, so it was going to be sandwiches for today. She was nice, and had offered to teach both of the brothers as a way to help them have their own means of providing food for themselves. It was so that neither Dream nor Nightmare had to rely on the villagers' generosity to avoid any possible future issues that came from any of the villagers taking advantage of them.

After making a couple sandwiches, he went outside to wait for Nightmare. He decided to busy himself with tending the flowers in their front garden. A few minutes later, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and knew instantly it was Nightmare. Looking over to the forest, he saw Nightmare with a new person. He waved back at Nightmare after he waved, but was intrigued by the new person following him.

As they approached, Dream noticed more details about the new guy, including his strange appearance. He seemed rather relaxed before he saw him, but now seemed nervous. He also kept looking around at everything, almost like seeing the world for the first time.

"Hi, brother! Who might this be? Make a new friend?"

"Hi, Dream, this is Error. Error, this is my brother, Dream. He just appeared out of a portal a little while ago. He came from some kind of white void? And I offered for him to stay here instead of wherever that place was. I don't know much about the place, but I can't help but feel like that isn't a good place to live long-term. It's okay if he stays, right?"

Dream blinked in surprise, that was not what he expected, but quickly agreed. "Of course he can stay! Oh, I made some sandwiches, I should make a few more, I hope you like them!" And he ran into the house to make a few more sandwiches, leaving Nightmare and Error outside.

"Is he a-always that energeti-tic?"

"Most times, yeah. Is it too much for you? I can let him know to calm down a bit. He's just excited to meet someone new, is all."

"N-No, I think it's alri-right. Reminds me of-f...." Error pauses, trying to think of what Dream reminded him of.

"... You alright?" Nightmare asked, concerned.

"Hm? Oh, yea-ah, just thought that y-your brother reminded m-e-e of someone, but I don't r-remem-mber who. It's fine, though. Wh-What are these 'sandw-wiches' that he was talking abou-out?"

"Oh, it's a kind of food that consists of different ingredients that is put between two slices of bread, or sandwiched."

"Oh, that's kin-n-nd of cool. I'll try-y them, then."

Nightmare and Error entered the house, and while Dream was making more sandwiches, Nightmare showed their new guest the spare bedroom and pointed out his and Dream's rooms and let him know that if he needs anything at night, he's welcome to let either of them know. Nightmare just hoped that if Geno does show up again somehow, by whatever miracle, he wouldn't mind him giving Error the room he hoped would be Geno's.

He fidgeted with Geno's scarf later, after they had all eaten their fill of sandwiches. Though he will admit Error's method of eating was... unexpected(why did he have five tongues??). But it was a nice early dinner. It had surprised him just how late it was when he brought Error back, though, it didn't seem like it took that long. And there's still the question of what that strange sound that seems to be ever-present around Error. Something he'll have to ask another time.

So this is it! It is done! Ok, there are a couple of ideas I played around with in this. First, Dream and Nightmare have a very slight effect on the weather, if Nightmare and/or Dream are very distraught, it will be cloudy and possibly start raining. If either or both of them are very happy, it will be more sunny, but not hot. The other idea is that the Multiverse is not on a universal timer. A lot of AUs go at different speeds, and it's kinda rare to find any two AUs that are both the same speed and are at the same time of day as each other. And the Anti-Void is already known to be outside of any of that and fluctuates in time.

@bluepallilworld @shinechermont

The only thing I couldn't decide at first was if Error was already able to leave the Anti-Void before coming to Dreamtale, or if it's the first time he's left the Anti-Void. Ultimately, I decided to go the route of him first leaving the Anti-Void into Dreamtale. He will go back every now and then and explore the Multiverse from here, but he will always come back here. He won't realize that the reason is that he subconsciously knows this place was a home to him before he became Error, but that will happen in time.

Also this would have been posted on day 2 if I finished everything on time, but it's now in a kinda limbo where it's both on time but also late XD

#my writing #aftermare #Aftermare Week 2024 #geno!sans #nightmare!sans #passive!nightmare #uncorrupted!nightmare #dream!sans #aftertale!frisk #< they actually make an appearance in here! they were not forgotten this time!#papyrus #cause he's also here #hope that the all-caps doesn't bother anyone #but that's also just how he talks #this one i felt needed to go under a cut it's so long #also yeah i could have made it so that the villagers never changed but i was already thinking that they could change #cause it feels a bit unrealistic that every single villager was cruel to nightmare or tried to take advantage of dream's kind nature #there had to be a few that thought how the others were treating the brothers were unreasonable #but maybe were too scared cause some of the others might have been in positions of authority?#but maybe tried to show kindness in their own way #maybe tried to give Dream more food for Nightmare or tried to give Dream a break #and i could see others asking for help from dream with things that were not intentionally taking advantage but still had that effect #idk i honestly think this also gives a slight positive note on the outcome with the villagers that has in the last few days been sad #not bashing the bad outcome with the villagers and the idea that even with Geno there it wasn't enough. it's very cool #but I'm bringing a more hopeful approach to it #doesn't change the fact that Glitched Apples doesn't have a happy ending for tge villagers tho #you all will eventually get that from me #whenever i continue that #for now you get this #enjoy! :)

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galacticlamps · 3 months

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in the club bathroom straightup pondering it. and by "it" haha well let's just say, 'whether or not i should attempt to finish & share a fic i've been working on for nearly a year now'

#happy june everybody #life's weird #so many many unexpected things happen and then you just have to make decisions about them like damn #to be clear i am not in a club bathroom right now #i just cant believe THAT's where i felt the most clarity about this thing that's been bothering me for almost 12 months #like yes the main reason i havent been posting or even reading is time #so many life/work/money/health insurance things have distracted me from all kinds of hobby type stuff #but also. that's been the case for long enough now that the scraps of time i do find surely could have amounted to something already #IF i was really certain that i wanted them to #and that kind of certainty is precisely what i haven't been able to hold onto long enough to make anything happen #bc the sad truth is i have been writing! i even think some of it's very good! but commit to posting it? that's another story entirely #and i HATE being so conflicted/anxious over a thing i do for fun #what the fuck is that about!#but still i have been #ugh i dont know what to do #club bathroom clarity come back #the worst part is i wasnt even drunk yet i must've just been enjoying myself enough that i was relaxed for the first time in a long time #tho clearly not as much as i could have been enjoying myself if i still had time to think about goddamn fanfic at the club

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bsaka7 · 3 months

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HELLO??????

#this does explain why i was so fucking winded like the last mile and a half... It's because I was running fucking 9:40s #And my heart rate was like sitting at 180!!!#This was an INSANELY flat run tho like 200ft total elevation change over 16 miles #But at the same time.... Damn I still have it????#I was feeling kinda bleh the first couple of miles and then i was feeling good and then I checked my watch for the first time @8 #And then i was like. Hello???? Sub 10???? And then I guess i felt good and just kept doing that. Like?????#I thought about doing like another 4mi when I was like. Crossing the bridge I was like oh I could just go to the next one #And tbh i think my legs have it in me??#But would be a bizzare choice to go from a 12mi long run to like a TWENTY mile long run in like two weeks. I don't wanna get injured...#I really did have kind of a crappy running week (Killed my legs w/ 8 days on + hard frisbee game on horrid field Tues)#And i woke up with some ankle pain... But the run itself was amazinggggg #Exactly what I needed :)#I do need to actually register for my race and also. Make a training plan #Bc ive been fairly into my stats lately so... If i have one I might actually follow it....#ANYWAY!! /#BEAUTIFUL DAY!!! BEAUTIFUL RUN!!! HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!!!!!#MARATHON NO3 I'M COMING FOR U!!!!!!!!#Tetrapod runs #Jfjfjfj my other concern was fueling bc all I had was a cliff bar but it was tbh totally fine #I'm thinking of trying to reconsider how I've done long run fuel thus far but idk... We'll see!#Jfjfjfj this is the summer of fucking with my diet because I want to try new things I guess!!! But not TOO crazy obviously

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autumnalwalker · 5 months

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Empty Names - 24 - Nostalgia

Author's Note: In which Ashan tests out some new types of magic, remembers childhood trauma, revisits his hometown, and learns a bit more about Carnette Bridgewood from Road and Sullivan. See the tags for additional commentary. Word Count: 17,474 Content Warnings: "Genre-typical violence" in the form of a fight between a wizard and a monster. Dead animals (died offscreen). Anxiety over past trauma.

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost “Get away from him!”

“Teacher, what is going on?”

“Did you really think you could hide what you did? What he is?”

“Ashan, just look at me. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“What is he talking about?”

“Put down your staff Glassgaze. Even you can’t stop all of us at once.”

“Watch me.”

*******

Ashan lies in bed on the hazy verge between sleep and waking, trying to sort newly unblocked memories from dreams. He realizes his eyes are wet and he sits up, breath hitching and body shuddering as he clasps silken bedsheets to his bare chest. The forgotten experience from a decade ago is now as fresh in his mind as if it had just happened yesterday, and it is difficult not to fall back into the mindset of the frightened child who went through it.

He attempts to still himself the way he always does but his mind jumps to the one who taught him that technique and the image of her lying bloody and burnt from a failed attempt to protect him. The child he was back then had not yet mastered that stillness to keep his spells precise. He had not yet had to perfect that stillness to keep himself sane while unable to comprehend the language of his own thoughts.

A more external grounding then. Something anchored in the here and now. The smoothness of the sheets between his fingers. The gentle weight of the blankets on his legs. The barest blue glow of morning light leaking through the window blinds to lend a suggestion of shape to the patterns embroidered on the gauzy bed curtains.

He had not expected to get so used to sleeping in a bed. Not after so many years simply suspending himself in midair with magic overnight in order to conveniently sleep anywhere. It is the blankets, he thinks. There is something strangely comforting about their layered weight.

He waves a hand and the curtains around the bed and over the window slide open to let in the sun. There is the desk beneath the window with its pile of tomes borrowed from the Manor’s library. There is his neatly folded robe within easy reach atop the bedside table. There is the white laptop gifted to him by Eris where he left it on the vanity across the room from him. Despite having so little, he has still marked this decadent guest room room as his own.

It is a strange thought, having a room to call his own. It feels presumptuous and nostalgic all at once. He and Aliana had always been on the road. The longest the two of them ever stayed in one place was a single season, and even that had a deadline from the start after which he knew they would move on again. This current arrangement, as far as he has been able to tell from talking to Road, appears to be indefinite as long as he wants it.

The last time he had his own room to live in rather than to stay in was when his parents still thought he was alive.

He catches sight of himself in the vanity’s mirror and stares down his reflection until its expression is as calm as it should be. He squeezes the bedsheets to himself one last time before letting them fall, getting up, and dressing himself.

Properly attired he is no longer Ashan, the scared child who just watched his mentor fall and had his potential sealed away. He is the wizard Glassheart, traveling adventurer and protector of those in need.

Yet still the preserved memory throbs like a reopened wound seeking acknowledgement.

He looks from the stack of tomes with their arcane lore of a dozen worlds’ spells to the sleeping laptop with its queued videos of this world’s contemporary makeup styles and techniques. On any other day he could easily lose himself in either for hours, but right now he needs something more solid to distract himself with.

Climbing out the window and testing his reflexes with a spell to slow his fall makes for a decent start.

Making a morning ritual of exercise helps, and by now he has almost memorized the winding trails of the Bridgewood Estate’s extensive gardens. Focusing on one footstep after another during a brisk jog is its own form of meditation, and should that not prove enough to occupy his mind, identifying the rare flowers and herbs as he passes by is an engaging challenge.

A maintenance golem pauses its gardening to wave a spindly leg at him and Ashan nods back to it in acknowledgement. It is always the same one that waves to him on these morning jogs. While they all might look like identical shiny black orbs on spidery legs, he has learned to pick out variations in their animating auras in his time here. He wonders if the sorceress Bridgewood explicitly designed her creations with distinct personalities from the start or constructed a malleable template that would naturally produce emergent behavior over time. Either one would be an impressive feat in its own right, especially considering the sheer quantity of the constructs keeping the manor and estate grounds clean and orderly in their maker’s absence.

The minutes pass by in a pleasant strain of muscles and lungs. The paving stones beneath his feet. The floral scents upon the breeze. The sunlight on his face. Anchors to the here and now. The dark, sound-proofed tent and the enchanted shackles around a child’s wrists were years ago, not last night.

He rounds the bend in the path to the gazebo where he has made his habit of performing his more stationary morning exercises and finds Road already there. They are holding a cloth-wrapped bundle in one hand and staring up at the star-painted inner dome of the gazebo’s ceiling.

“It used to shift in real time to reflect the sky on the opposite side of the earth,” Road says when Ashan joins them in admiring the mural. “I wonder if it froze the moment Carnette was gone or slowly wound down. I bet Sullivan would know.” They blink and turn their head to greet Ashan with a warm smile. “But it’s too beautiful a morning for thoughts like that. Join me for breakfast?”

They punctuate the offer with a raise of their carried bundle.

“I appreciate the offer,” Ashan replies. His mind leaps back to the images that plagued him during the night and he cuts off the second half of that sentence.

“Wonderful,” Road laughs. “Well, come one, I was just on my way to a perfect spot.”

“I take it you have recovered,” Ashan observes as he follows Road deeper into the gardens. “Bridgewood said you were feeling unwell.”

“Oh, nothing that a good night’s sleep or two couldn’t fix. As Sullivan so likes to remind me, even heroes need to sleep. The worrywort.”

They round another bend in the garden trail and arrive at a patinated copper gate beneath an arch of ivy. It creaks as Road pushes it open without slowing their gait. Only when they realize Ashan has stopped to stare do they pause to turn around.

“This is the entrance to the hedge maze,” Ashan says. Thus far he has limited his exploration of the interior of Bridgewood Manor out of respect as a guest. He has avoided exploring the maze out of wariness. While he has explicitly been granted free reign to explore the Estate’s grounds, labyrinths are potentially dangerous conceptual archetypes at the best of times, and all the moreso when created by mages. To attempt to navigate one crafted by the sorceress Bridgewood herself…

“It would be quite the adventure to explore, wouldn’t it?” Road invites. “Even the maintenance golems barely come in here anymore and Sullivan’s focused all his attention on the Manor, so there’s probably things in here Carnette never got around to showing anyone.”

A thrill of exploration trickles down Ashan’s spine, the likes of which he has not felt since the last time Aliana took him into an ancient, monster-infested ruin years ago.

“Not that we’ll be going very far in for now,” Road amends. “But even a little taste of adventure makes wonderful spice for a meal.”

Ashan follows them past the gate and down the overgrown marble staircase beyond. Vines and fallen leaves from the overhead trellises crunch underfoot as they make their descent. The only view of the maze below is through stained glass windows more interested in displaying their images than allowing a view from above by which to plan a route. Dryads dancing in a ring. A carnivorous plant surrounded by bones. An arachnoid flower whose web drips with nectar. A waterfall spilling into a pool full of treasure. The scenes go on.

“Are these all vistas to be found within the maze?” Ashan asks.

“Hard to say,” Road replies, “but knowing Carnette, she probably at least planned to include them all at some point. Who knows which ones she ever got around to and which ones she changed her mind about or got bored with. The one time she threw me in here and told me to try to solve the maze, it was still in the early design phase and I know she expanded it after that and took at least some of my feedback into account.”

They reach the bottom of the stairs and the stone walls give way to towering unkempt hedges. Road pushes on through the leafy branches stretching out into the path and Ashan conjures a marker beacon to follow back, just in case.

“I am not sure where to begin unpacking that,” Ashan says.

Road laughs and turns a corner, their voice making it easy for Ashan to follow them even when out of sight. “It was my first time meeting her. Sullivan claimed that the two of them were past the ‘trying to kill each other’ stage of their courtship and wanted to introduce us. Turns out he’d been talking up my skills as an adventurer and she thought it’d be entertaining to test those claims so she rearranged the layout of the Estate to make us traverse the hedge maze in order to reach the Manor. Between you and me, I think she was a little bit jealous and wanted to see how Sullivan and I held up under pressure together.”

“And the offering of feedback?” Ashan asks, choosing not to pursue the questions raised by the jealousy part.

“I don’t know that she ever went through with it, but she’d been toying with the idea of plucking adventurers from worlds like Orthon and Dorbreith - and maybe even people from other worlds like this that don’t acknowledge ‘adventurer’ as a profession - and offering them boons if they could successfully make their way through. I told her that if that’s what she wanted then she needed to make the traps and puzzles less deadly and put in more safe areas where challengers could stop to catch their breath.”

“But… why?”

“Well, not to brag too much, but if Sullivan and I were making it through by the skin of our teeth then most anyone else she was likely to chuck in here at random was going to wind up dead and I wanted to prevent that if I could. Even we had to cheat towards the end by baiting the invincible minotaur golem she had stalking us into mowing down the walls for us so we could skip straight to the exit.”

“While that raises a number of other questions, what I meant was why would she go through the trouble? What did she hope to get out of such a convoluted and colossal undertaking?”

Road shrugs. “Entertainment? Another way to spread her reputation? Subjects to test experimental hypotheses on? An audience to show off the fruits of her hobby to? Carnette was never someone who did anything for just one reason and she enjoyed keeping those reasons obscured. She and Sullivan had that in common.” Road pushes down an overgrown hedge patch, stops, and gestures for Ashan to squeeze past them. “We’re here.”

The maze opens up into a hexagonal courtyard. Flagstone pathways meander from the corridors at the corners to converge on a shaded bower next to a fountain that spills into a pond. Beneath the bower’s flowering canopy sit a mosaic-topped table surrounded by wicker chairs and a marble pedestal. Atop the pedestal is an orb the color and texture of tanned flesh, half as wide as Ashan is tall. Ruddy tendrils flow down from the base of the orb and into the grass. Roots, Ashan takes them for at first.

Ashan approaches the bower and the orb within with less caution than he normally might. Surely Road would not plan to share a meal next to something dangerous. Pondering the orb, he can tell that it is both alive and magical, although he cannot identify the type or origin of either aspect. He steps into the bower’s shade and the orb’s surface begins to ripple in an undulating, swirling pattern. Its top half contracts, becoming pear-shaped, and then curves to one side, evocative of an animal cocking its head in curiosity.

Ashan flicks his wand into his hand by reflex at the unexpected movement. The no-longer-orb rears back, stretching and flattening into a fan reminiscent of a cobra’s hood. What are probably bones become apparent beneath what is now obviously taut skin.

A hand alights on Ashan’s shoulder. It feels just like Aliana’s whenever she was about to either calm, encourage, or praise him.

“It’s a psychically reactive art piece,” Road says. “Most Culescun flesh sculptures are shaped to resonate with and emanate an emotion, but this one copies and syncretizes the feelings of the viewers. I’d been wondering where it ended up ever since Jero visited a while back.”

Ashan’s wand slides back into his sleeve. The sculpture becomes a swirling orb of ponderous curiosity once more. The hand lifts from his shoulder.

“So this was xyr gift to the sorceress Bridgewood for assisting xem in xyr exile?”

“The very same,” Road confirms while unwrapping their bundle on top of the mosaic table. It is a simple spread. A loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and an apple. “It seemed like a shame for it to be stuck down here alone for so long without stimulation. Given that this maze doesn’t rearrange itself anymore, I imagine you could bring the others down here sometime if you felt like it. I’m sure Lacuna at least would get a kick out of it.”

Bones press against the sculpture’s skin from the inside in alarm.

“Stimulation?” Ashan asks. “It is not sapient, is it?”

“Of course not. Jero’s got too many ethical standards for that, even if Carnette didn’t always.” Road plucks a pair of crystal goblets dangling from vines that let go with a tug and walks over to the fountain.

“What do you mean by that?” Ashan follows Road.

In the nearby pool, several of the sculpture’s red tendrils have grown feathery fronds that wave in the current created by the fountain’s overflow. Ashan recognizes them to be gills, of a sort. A gill-less red tendril snatches a water-striding insect from the pool’s surface, dragging it under and enveloping it.

“Carnette and I often didn’t see eye to eye on matters,” Road says while rinsing the goblets in the fountain. “I’d hesitate to call her outright malicious - most of the time anyway - but she had a tendency to overlook the fact that whatever she was doing might affect real people. And when she did go out of her way to do something good, well, like I said, she never did anything for just one reason.”

“I see,” Ashan says. “I had always heard conflicting stories about her, but on Orthon at least the tales singing her praise always outweighed any warnings of wickedness.”

“She always could be talked down from her worst impulses so long as there was someone willing to try, I’ll give her that. And she’d usually answer an earnest plea for help, even if she did dress it up in a speech to justify how she was just using the opportunity to further her own unfathomable agenda. She and Sullivan are alike in that way too.”

Road passes Ashan a crystal goblet filled with cool, clear fountain water. The stem is still wet from the rinsing.

“Cheers,” Road says and clinks their vessel to Ashan’s.

Ashan touches the glass to his lips and catches the faintest whiff of sweetness over rotten eggs. Road has already drained theirs in one long drink and is moving to refill it, so he takes a sip. It tastes of sugar and sulfur.

Road takes a seat at the table and the sleeve of their purple jacket trimmed with green extends into a clawed gauntlet that they use to divide the cheese and cut the apple in half.

“For all that those two fed on each other’s chaos at times,” Road continues, “they actually mellowed one another out in the grand scheme of things.” The gauntlet retracts and Road breaks the bread by hand. They hand half the loaf across the table to where Ashan has seated himself. “He misses her, you know. He hides it, but I’ve known him longer than I can remember and this is the first time I’ve ever known him to grieve.”

Ashan’s gaze snaps up from the fruits and nuts filling the bread. “Why are you telling me this?”

“A couple of reasons.”

“Much like the sorceress Bridgewod herself?”

Road laughs. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I? But really, I’m just looking out for my friends. I’ve found that people function best when they have more than one confidant they can talk to, and while he’ll never admit it, something’s been eating at Sullivan lately and he could use another friend.” A smile, more mischievous than Road’s usual, but no less warm. “And besides, I think he’s taken a rare liking to you, not that he’ll admit that either.”

“I have no interest in courtship,” Ashan says flatly.

“Not at all what I meant,” Road chuckles. “And don’t worry, neither does he. Those days are well behind him. As I said, friendship. Merely something to consider at any rate. The abrasiveness is mostly a mask, I promise.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” Ashan concedes. “And your other reason?”

“I figured you could use a diverting conversation and it seemed like a potentially engaging topic.”

The sculpture twists itself into a knot.

“You did not encounter me by chance this morning.” It is a statement, not a question.

“Not exactly,” Road admits, “but not exactly not either. I guess you could say I’ve got a knack for showing up where and when I’m needed, even if I don’t fully understand the why of it. The info gathering that Sullivan - and now Lacuna - do simply speeds up the process and makes it more efficient. I can tell when it’s happening though, and when you showed up I made some educated guesses.”

“Such as?”

“No offense, but speaking from experience, you strike me as the kind of person who holds things in until they get to be too much and spill over, and given that there was mention of you and Lacuna possibly attempting to remove your seal yesterday it seemed likely enough that something from that might be bothering you. So, if you want to talk about it, we’re in a safe place and you have my word no one else will hear about it, and if you’d rather have a distraction, we’re in a place built by the most famous mage of the last few centuries and I’ve got stories to tell. Or I can shut up and we can enjoy a beautiful morning in silence.”

Ashan nods and chews his bread in silence, pondering the orb, the one it was gifted to, the one so willing to talk about her, and the offer they made.

The silence of a peaceful morning where decisions can be put off for at least a little while.

Ashan takes a sip of the strange water and conjures a set of razor thin barriers to further slice his half of the apple and cheese.

The sorceress Bridgewood…

Unlike wizard, witch, or enchanter, the term sorcerer is not so much a description of how one’s magic works, but an accusation. Broader than titles such as pyromancer, warder, or cleric that refer to the types of magic one specializes in, “sorcerer” is a term reserved for mages who practice magic that is considered taboo, whether because it is morally abhorrent or just too dangerous for anyone to safely or responsibly control. Stealing or binding souls. Communion with the eldritch. Mind control. True resurrection of the dead. City-leveling evocations. Not always a mark of evil, but always one of danger. Someone might delve into forbidden sorcerous arts with the best of intentions meaning to use them for good; or simply be overconfident enough that they really think they can control what generations of mages before them have failed.

And then there were the so-called “true sorcerers.” Every couple centuries or so someone usually shows up with the talent and skill to actually command that kind of power without destroying themselves and everyone around them. Maybe once a millennium there would be such an individual who refrains from abusing their power to the point that they become threats to entire countries, if not entire worlds.

Or so Aliana had taught Ashan long ago. According to her, the only “true sorcerer” like that alive right now in this world cluster is - or now rather was - the sorceress Bridgewood. It was a name he had latched onto ever since he first heard it. In his early teens he had occasionally fancied himself as aspiring to the title himself one day. The day he mentioned that to Aliana was one of the few times she ever snapped at him. That conversation makes more sense now.

“The counterseal ritual worked,” Ashan says, breaking the silence, “but the blocked memories of the seal’s application have come back unexpectedly vividly.”

“As if no time has passed at all since the memories were locked away, perfectly preserved and ready to throw you right back into who you were at the time,” Road whispers.

The sculpture grows spines in surprise.

“How did you know?” Ashan asks.

“Personal experience. There’s a reason I’ve come to prefer amnestics and wipes over blocks. They’re not as precise or complete, but even if the memories do come back for whatever reason, they tend to be blurred and as dulled by time as memories normally would be. Less risk of dropping you into the deep end of unprocessed trauma out of the blue that way.”

“I see. You do have a great deal of experience with aiding those who inadvertently fell through the Masquerade.”

Amnesticization for the sake of Masquerade preservation is the one exception to the proscription on mind-altering magic. Of course even non-mages that work with potential Masquerade breaches would be well-versed in the different methods of allowing people to return to their mundane lives.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Road says. “But as for your current situation, you’ve got options. Amnestics to dull the pain are technically an option, albeit not one that I would recommend for a variety of reasons. Then there’s the old standby of ‘cope, drown it out, and live your life until it fades like any other bad memory,’ which has its ups and downs. Or there’s the hard but effective route of trying to work through and process it, but that’s not going to happen in a single morning and from the look of that sculpture over there, you’re not up to doing much more talking about it right now anyway.”

“Not so much, I fear.”

“Nothing wrong with that. And if you like, remind me later and I can get you in touch with some therapists I usually recommend to first timers Backstage. But for now, any requests for a story? Sullivan’s the real teller between the two of us, but I’ve been told I can be distracting when I want to be.”

“Thank you, truly,” Ashan says. “Although one thing I feel I must share lest I leave her reputation unnecessarily tarnished is that I know for sure now that my ment- that Aliana was against the application of the seal on me and only conceded to play her role in binding my magic after she had exhausted her other options for protecting me at great cost to herself.”

“I’m glad to hear you weren’t betrayed in that way too.”

“It does not change the fact that she ultimately kidnapped me without any intent of bringing me back home. It is a solace that I am still deciding what to make of.”

“I know the feeling.”

“But as for story requests, perhaps a tale involving the sorceress Bridgewood? We are in her home afterall, and, after her consort, I imagine you knew her best.”

Road grins and leans in close over the table. “Oh, I’ve got a few I could tell. Remember our fair lady of the green? The minor goddess who helped us out with the Logos quest? So, a while back some produce corporation was imprisoning and exploiting her to increase crop yields and was blatant enough to feature her as a mascot in their advertising…”

*******

“Please, just don’t hurt him!”

“You’re in no position to make demands Glassgaze. Count yourself lucky that none of the elder mages you felled before we put a stop to your outburst died.”

“He’s just a child. He hasn’t hurt anyone.”

“He just cut maestro Silverthorn’s arm off to protect you. He’s an anchor world mage whose magic is unbound by logic or rules and with more potential for power than I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve taught him control. Restraint. Honor. Do you really think it’s luck that no one died today?”

“Honor? That’s a joke coming from you. You’ve taught him enough to be dangerous by giving him a taste of combining magic systems from outside his homeworld. Or did you really think you had the next sorceress Bridgewood on your hands?”

“That’s still no reason to kill him. You’re talking about executing a child for being a potential threat. Bind him if you have to, but please, don’t hurt him.”

*******

Ashan raises his arm that isn’t temporarily paralyzed and accepts Road’s offer to lift him off the floor of the gym’s sparring ring.

“Good match,” Road says. “If you’d had more room to maneuver you might have had me.”

Eris and Lacuna had already been at the office when Ashan and Road arrived after breakfast. They got to talking about the nullification of the seal on his magic and one thing led to another and soon enough Eris proposed a sparring match to see what he could do. To Ashan’s surprise, Lacuna demurred from watching a display of the magic she had helped unlock in favor of staying in her lab to catch up on work. Ashan won fairly handily against Eris and then Road asked if he was up for another round.

It ended much as any match against Road does, save for the fact that he got them to draw that energy sword of theirs against him for the first time.

“A good match indeed,” Ashan says while Road pulls him to his feet. He sways, off balance from one arm limply dangling as dead weight, and Road waits until he steadies before letting go and handing him back his wand that he had dropped when their blade of orange light disrupted his motor control.

Yes, a good match, or at least an educational one. A reminder that theoretical study of varied forms of magic and the sudden ability to access them does not automatically equate to mastery. And loss does ever carry its own opportunities.

Ashan touches his wand to his numb hand and focuses on a spell he has been wanting to try for some time now, ever since encountering that first tome borrowed from Bridgewood’s library. That tome, Whispers of the Sun, had an entire chapter dedicated to spells of healing flame as a prime example both of how pyromancy can be more than the pure destruction commonly associated with it and of how varied the approaches of traditions originating from different worlds can be when arriving at the same end state for a spell. Some of those spells were crude acts of cauterization. Others grew out of the concept of fire as a cleansing agent burning out impurities, sometimes symbolically and sometimes literally.

This spell is rooted in the conceptualization of the sun as the ultimate source of all life and fire as an extension of the sun.

Some spells require incantations, be they poetic verse to manifest a concept or nonsense syllables meant to resonate on esoteric frequencies with the universe’s vibrating threads. Other spells require gestures, be they precise hand signs and dances drawn from a deep canon of tradition or simple focusing motions bridging the gap between visualized will and manifested physicality.

This spell requires a prayer.

It is a wordless prayer, as all the deepest prayers are. It is a praise of the sun. It is a cry for the comfort of warmth. It is a recognition of connection and promise of care. It is more witchcraft than wizardry. It is not a technique of precise formulae and methodology. It is a gift that asks only for a reverent heart.

Reverence has never come easily to Ashan, but he hopes that wonder will make an adequate substitute to the recipe as he casts his mind back.

The warmth of a roadside campfire and the end of a day’s travel and the countless stars overhead. His first time seeing a farm in person and the rows and rows of green leaves turned to face the sun. The sight of the sky after weeks of exploring underground ruins and the tears the light brought to his eyes. The hearthfire at a bustling inn and the realization that he was living a scene out of a fantasy. A dragon’s blazing breath and the eggs it incubated while he and Aliana watched from hiding. The smell of his parents’ cooking wafting across the yard and the knowledge that it was time to come inside from his play. A towering white tree whose bark glitters more like crystal than wood while its mother-of-pearl leaves make a shifting rainbow above.

Three times Ashan sat beneath that tree and each time was the closest he has ever felt to reverence. The first was as a child, roughly a year after his abduction, and it was a surprise gift from Aliana in an attempt to share someplace special to her. The second was at the end of his training, waiting for seven days for a branch to fall so he could carve it into a wand as his mentor had done with her staff, and afterwards Aliana bestowed upon him the epithet of Glassheart to anoint him as a peer rather than a student. The third was on his last day on Orthon, after he learned there had never been an intent to bring him home, and it had been at Aliana’s request for one last detour before taking him home so that she might say goodbye.

He understands that goodbye better now.

White flames spread from the tip of his wand to envelop his hand and crawl up his arm, illuminating the sleeve of his robe from within. His fingers twitch involuntarily as sensation returns, first as warmth, then as a pins-and-needles tingling. The sensation and the twitching moves up to his elbow; to his shoulder. He feels the air grow cold around him. He feels himself start to sweat. He feels a pang of hunger. The flames grow brighter and spread to his neck.

Ashan Glassheart clears his mind and the flames flicker and go out.

His arm feels feverishly hot and the tingling sensation persists, but there is no pain and he has full motor function once again.

The full process took seven seconds, but it feels like much longer.

He is holding up his hand and flexing his fingers, about to comment on the spell working better than anticipated for a first try when an unexpected voice interrupts him.

“I see we’re doing self-immolations today,” Bridgewood - the current Bridgewood - lilts. “Someone should have told me, I would have brought marshmallows.”

“Ashan has healing magic now,” Road says. “He just cured the paralysis from my sword.”

“No offense,” Eris says, “but if that’s healing I think I’ll take my chances with my own regen. I’ve had my fill of mages lighting me on fire.”

“Is that surliness I hear?” Bridgewood croons. “Sounds like someone lost her match.”

“Gonna have to try harder than that to bait me,” Eris says nonchalantly. “Yeah, I lost this round, but that just means our score is tied again. Besides I’ve figured out his tells with glow color and magic type so I’m feeling pretty good about next time.”

His tells? What is she talking about?

“Okay, why’s everyone staring?” Eris asks.

“There is no color-coded glowing to my utilizing different magic systems,” Ashan says. “Not to the mundane eye anyway.”

Eris closes her eyes and massages her temples with one hand. “Oh goddammit…” she mutters.

Bridgewood’s smirk beams wide. “Well now, as positively delicious as those implications might be to unpack, we do have work to be doing.” He turns to Road. “My friend, I’ve finished the sorting of which of those cursed trinkets to hold back as bait, so you and muscles over there are free to finish your wrapup deliveries from that job. Excuse me, that ‘mission’. Wizard boy, you’re with me. There’s a crossover point I want to assess as a staging ground for our ersatz smuggling route and a monster that’s wandered out of it to harass the locals so we’ll be making with the proverbial bird stoning.”

Eris stares Bridgewood down, swallows whatever words has in mind, and turns to Road to say “I’ll get the vans ready.”

It occurs to Ashan to wonder just what she and Bridgewood spoke of in private before and on their long way back from assisting the changeling siblings yesterday. He would have expected more pushback from her against Bridgewood’s apparent giving of orders, especially given the friction between them up until now.

He considers questioning the directives himself (is not Road the one who should be issuing such commands?) but decides against it for now. If there is good work to be done then what does the organizational structure matter? Better instead to focus on the most relevant information.

“So, where is this crossover point?”

*******

“There, there. None of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But… but… hi-his arm! And your head! And everyone is… and they are saying-”

“Shhh… You did nothing wrong. All that can be healed. I’m going to make everything alright and in the morning this will all just be a bad dream.”

“Glassgaze, the elders are ready for you. And your… charge. They said to remind you this is your last chance to back out and let them do a full sealing. Otherwise any future transgressions of his are on your head.”

“Tell them they can wait another few godsdamn minutes!”

“They also said to remind you that if he ever leaves this world then you can consider yourself exiled along with him.”

“Fine. It’s not like I ever planned to take him back home. Now let us have a moment.”

*******

Ashan looks out the window of the armored van at the greens and browns of the rocky hill country as the vehicle bounces and jolts its way down an offroad trail. That boulder. That gulley. That stand of mesquite and mountain cedar trees. The more he sees the more the suspicion that has been growing since passing through one of the Bridgewood Estate’s tree portals becomes a certainty.

“I know this place,” Ashan observes.

“Good,” Bridgewood replies from the driver’s seat, “that means I was on the money about which crossover point you absconded through as a kid.”

“Why are we here?”

“My friend and I believe the unknown group that caused that nasty business with the dead dragon getting a ship stuck in its skull back on our first outing has been targeting smuggling operations passing through crossover points in order to acquire various illicit magics and technologies while leaving no witnesses. Our backup plan if other avenues of inquiry fail us is to leak a rumor through certain channels which I know are being monitored that a certain sorceress’s private collection has been burgled and moved off world in order to lure this group into a confrontation. We’re here to assess the nearby crossover point to make sure it’s a suitable staging ground.”

“That is not what I meant. Why this crossover point specifically?”

One last bounce and a swerve to keep the armored van from barreling into an arroyo and the suggestion of a trail turns into an unpaved road through the hilly backwoods. The trees here are short and srcubby, but they are thick enough to block any good view of the surroundings.

“A few days ago the techie flagged a series of cryptid sightings in the area as a potential job to follow up on,” Bridgewood offers. “No direct human contact yet, but a mild correlation to a suspected drop in local wildlife populations. Not too unusual with the nearby crossover point. It seemed minor enough that I normally would have set it as something for my friend to occupy themself with in between bigger jobs with the rest of you lot, but I figured we may as well make this outing the stone to kill both of these birds with.”

“Are you being evasive or simply obtuse? I doubt my personal connection with the area is a coincidence.”

“You’ve got that right,” Bridgewood chimes. “Say, you never learned to drive, did you?”

“What?” Ashan blinks at the sudden non sequitur. “No. Why?”

“Would you like to? This is a pretty easy stretch of road and there’s no one around to try to pull you over, as hilarious as that would be.”

“I shall pass.”

Bridgewood shrugs, taking both hands off the wheel in the process. “Suit yourself. According to television, it’s supposed to be an effective bonding and trust building activity.”

“That may well be,” Ashan begins slowly, “the most blatant attempt to change the subject I have ever witnessed.”

“Oh if that had only been a conversational redirection you never would have noticed,” Bridgewood chortles. “How about this then? Answer a question of mine and I’ll answer the question you seem to think I’m avoiding.”

Through a break in the trees, Ashan sports a familiar creek out the window. They are moving away from the crossover point and towards town. Searching for the cryptid first then. That would make sense if the goal is to do a catch and release back through the crossover point to whatever world it slipped in from. He thinks back to how long it took him and Aliana to make this trek. Far slower having been on foot but the route was more direct.

“Go ahead and ask your question,” Ashan says. “We have plenty of time and I have few secrets.”

“Excellent,” Bridgewood purrs. “Now tell me, what do you think of my wife?”

“Excuse me?” Ashan stutters.

“Carnette. The sorceress Bridgewood. My dearly departed wife. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you going all wide-eyed fanboy every time you encounter one of her creations. I’d like to know why. Around these parts her name gets spoken in frightful whispers more than open adulation.”

“On Orthon,” Ashan says after a moment of consideration, “she is considered a living legend. Some would even go so far as to call her a heroic figure, although there are some popular stories that would dispute that.”

“It’d hardly be the first time someone made that mistake,” Sullivan laughs, “but do go on.”

“To begin with, it is said that almost two centuries ago, as a mere teenager, she arrived on Orthon out of the blue and within the span of three years mastered seven different Orthonian magic styles - four of them considered forbidden arts - and averted a calamity brought on by a megalomaniacal cabal. Even without those feats, her very presence revolutionized what we knew about interworld travel and branching anchor theories of cosmology. The sporadicness of her presence over the next century arguably taught us about that field as much as she did herself.”

“But who was she to you?”

“By the time I arrived on Orthon she had not been to that world in over half a century so by then she was more like a historic folk hero that few other than elder mages had ever met in person. They say that the continental Convocation of Mages that sets the regulations on magic in the region my mentor and I spent most our time in was originally formed by her old adventuring party and that on her final visit she contributed directly to laying the foundations for the modern academy system of teaching wizardry that my mentor learned from.”

Ashan feels his cheeks grow warm with the realization that he is stalling.

“On the most personal level,” he continues, “she was someone to aspire to. The bards all had at least one story of the sorceress Bridgewood in their repertoire, the mysterious mage from another world who mastered the forbidden arts without being corrupted by them, saved the world, and went on to invent whole new fields of theory. Even if more than half of the stories were nonsense, that still left enough truth to make the very concept of a ‘true sorcerer’ synonymous with her name. For a time, I thought that if I could be great like her I could prove that I was also an exception to the trend of anchor world mages being dangerously unpredictable, power hungry, and literally fueled by their own ego. I dreamed that if I could do that I would not have to hide what I was anymore.”

“You thought that even with the darker stories floating around about her?” Sullivan asks. “I don’t have nearly as many ears on Orthon as I would like, but I know at least a few of those made it over there. Void Without, I’m sure a few even originated from there.”

Ashan’s gaze drifts back out to the dirt road in front of them.

“I was a child at the time, projecting onto an icon. Even the best stories about her portrayed her as a hard-to-work-with eccentric, so I rationalized that between that and her more sorcerous arts she was bound to have a few enemies that spread lies over the years. That rationalization stopped after I told Aliana about my dream and she grew truly angry with me for the first and only time. Or so I thought. Knowing now what I had been made to forget, I wonder if it was fear that she was feeling. Fear of losing me or fear that she was wrong about me, I know not. All the same, I took that as a sign that those darker tales must be somehow true and began focusing on being good, possibly great, in my own way instead. Or at least in Aliana’s way.”

The van’s interior falls into the near silence of bumpy roads and long-restrained confessions floating unexpectedly free to breathe.

Ashan turns back to face this Bridgewood. At last the desire to know gets the better of him.

“What was she like?” he asks of the other Bridgewood.

Sullivan’s ever-present smirk softens into a genuine smile. It is as disconcerting as a cat suddenly sparing its prey.

“Carnette is… the most absurd woman I have ever met. She’s a brilliant scholar with a wicked sense of humor capable of vacillating between childish whimsy and ruthless practicality on a moment’s notice. Any so-called heroic act she ever took was motivated by amusement, utility, or spite. She has more power than most could ever dream of and her favorite thing to use it for is interior decorating. At least one secret door in the Bridgewood Manor is opened by the theme song of a children’s cartoon. She delighted in making a show of academically eviscerating anyone espousing theories of magic she thought were hogwash and then literally eviscerating the fools that fell back on insults and challenges to duels in lieu of sound defenses. I know of at least four different instances where she all but abducted random people off the street, ran experiments on them, called it a gift or blessing, set them loose, and then spent years observing them in secret to gather datapoints for whatever hypothesis she was testing.” Bridgewood takes his eyes off the road and locks them with Ashan’s. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No,” Ashan says. He wishes it were otherwise. It almost is.

Bridgewood softly shakes his head and returns to watching the road in time to steer around a pothole trying to become a sinkhole. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “You never met her. Stick around long enough and one day you will.”

“You speak as if she is still around.”

“And you use ‘we’ when referring to the people of Orthon.”

The silence of a linguistic habit considered and questioned.

“If I may,” Ashan asks, “how did you meet her?”

Bridgewood cackles and turns out of the brush onto a paved road.

“I take it that is an off limits question then,” Ashan says.

“Oh, no, I’m a veritable open book when it comes to that tale,” Sullivan lilts. “I tried to kill her several times and she found it endearing. Eventually we landed ourselves in a business arrangement of a marriage contract where I would get the money and status that goes with the Bridgewood name, and she would get a conversation partner who wasn’t terrified of her and a willing test subject for her more outlandish experiments. I’m laughing because now you know what it looks like when I redirect a conversation.”

“Oh.”

“Got so excited to learn more about the great sorceress Bridgewood that you forgot why you were even answering that question, didn’t you?”

“It was rare knowledge from a rare source with a rare opportunity. The other answer could wait,” Ashan says. It is as true a statement as saying yes would have been, if marginally more dignified.

“Ha! You really are a wizard through and through. I even got you monologing earlier.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Oh, then I suppose that was the normal sort of gushing at length about your childhood idol and spilling all your complicated personal feelings with barely any prompting because you’ve been alone so long you don’t know how to regulate sharing to any rate between all or nothing.”

“I do not gush,” Ashan says after a moment of recovery. “Now, you have a question to stop avoiding and an answer to give.”

“Struck a nerve there did I? You’ll have to forgive me, it’s like a reflex when I see them exposed.”

Ashan stares Bridewood down coolly. The smile has regressed back to a smirk. Outside, the forest has thinned out into unkempt fields separated from the road by fencing wire strung between wooden posts. There were horses in those empty fields when he was a child.

“Fine, fine,” Bridgewood relents. “I chose this specific locale and your company in particular because I wanted to see how you would react. Yesterday with muscles was wonderfully informative and productive, both in observing how she handled seeing off that changeling pair and in the little chat we had on the way back. I hoped to do the same with you.”

“But why?”

The smirk grows wider. They pass by a once-whitewashed house with a corrugated metal roof. More are coming up.

“Let me answer that question with a question,” Bridgewood trills. “And it will be part of the answer, even if it doesn’t sound like it at first.”

“Very well, but this had better be the last such evasion.”

The van slows as it comes into town. Single-story houses and trailer homes line either side of the road. Most have modest sized yards surrounding and separating them. Some of those yards are strewn with cheap plastic lawn furniture and children’s toys. Some sport kitschy ornaments. Some (usually but not always the fenced-in ones) have animals; goats, dogs, pigs, a few chickens. Some have all of the above at once or nothing but overgrown weeds.

Bridgewood leaves Ashan hanging in silence to take in the familiar milieu before finally asking his question.

“If you could go back to your family, pain free, with everyone’s memories modified as if you never left, erasing even the pain your leaving had caused, would you?”

The van slows to a stop at an achingly familiar intersection without traffic light or stop sign. Ashan’s breath hitches. Mercifully, Bridgewood continues on through instead of turning left.

“That is not a hypothetical worth engaging in.”

“Whoever said it was hypothetical? All manner of people owe me favors and Carnette left me with many a useful trinket. I could make it happen. Say the word and you could live a peaceful life with your family as Adr-”

“That name is not for you to say!” Ashan snaps before Bridgewood can finish the utterance. More calmly, he continues, “The Count of Curses and Dust made me a similar offer. They would have bought that Name and bequeathed it to a changeling to return in my place and live that life so that I might live this one without guilt. What you propose would be the opposite but the same. I would no longer be Ashan Glassheart. Either deal would mean losing a part of myself.”

The van turn takes the next right turn to continue meandering through the tiny town’s only real neighborhood. A white pickup truck without tires lays rusting in front of a mobile home with a collapsed roof. Once, there was an old woman who paid a young boy in cookies to weed her garden and showed carrying a pot of soup up at the door of anyone with a sick child.

“Then why not bring your family Backstage? The Bridgewood name is useful for getting people to turn a blind eye toward such a minor Masquerade breach.”

“Even if they forgave me and accepted me back, the work I do is dangerous. I do not know that I could bear to put them through the new pain of worrying about me every time I go out.”

“Why not settle down with them then? There’s no shortage of jobs in Crossherd for a mage willing to work on utilities. There’s not a direct bridge to the pocket dimension around here, but the conditions are ripe for someone of your talent to make one. You could be a wizard and have your family without worrying their pretty little heads.”

“I have the ability to do good in a way that others cannot. It would be wrong for me not to.”

“How selfless of you,” Bridgewood condescends.

They pass by a house recognizable by its plastic lawn flamingos. The house on either side is boarded up. Back when the sun had not yet bleached the flamingos white or rendered them brittle and full of holes, two children that went to elementary school together fought with sticks they said were swords until they put aside their differences and turned their attention to the terrible pink dragons threatening the kingdom. Today, those no-longer-children glance at one another through tinted glass without recognition.

“Only mostly,” Ashan admits. “I cannot deny that I enjoy what I do. Felling monsters. Bringing villains to justice. Protecting those who cannot protect themselves. There is a… joy… to playing the role of hero. No, more than that. It is a part of me as much as either Name.”

“Congratulations,” Bridgewood chirps. “That is exactly the set of answers I hoped you’d give.”

“So this was a test.”

“Think of it as,” Bridgewood drawls, “an assessment of compatibility.”

“For how you and I will work together?”

“Quiet Void, perish the thought. Compatibility with my friend.”

“You mean Road.”

“I’ve never had another.”

“They mentioned something about that this morning.”

The smirk flickers to a grimace.

The van turns back onto the closest thing the town has to a main street. There’s a church on the corner for a god the boy who would be Ashan never understood. Nor did he (nor does he) understand why there were three churches in town all to the same god. Nor why he always had to wear his most uncomfortable clothes and wake up early just to hear an old man drone on in a voice that put him to sleep whenever it was not a story about lion dens or fighting giants with slingshots. The sign for the country barbeque across the street is gone. There are more churches than restaurants in town now.

“Look wizard boy, I’ll tell you what I told muscles yesterday. My friend is about as close to perfect as humanly possible, but at the end of the day they are still human, which means one day they will slip up, and when they do it will be bad. You need to watch out for that.”

“That seems like perfectly obvious advice about anyone working on a team doing what we do.”

“You still haven’t noticed, have you? The way they make everything feel like it’s going to be alright just by being there? How easy it is to trust them and go along with whatever course of action they suggest? That voice saying that even when a job goes badly surely they’ll find a way to get you out? Not that they can help it. It’s just the way they are now.”

“It almost sounds like you are telling me to be wary of Road.” The very notion feels wrong.

“I’m telling you to be wary of yourself for my friend’s sake. The worst they’ve ever been hurt was always because the people around them put them on a pedestal. I’m hoping that you and muscles have enough in common with them that you won’t be so blind. The techie’s a lost cause, but as long as she’s content to stay in her lab playing with her toys she shouldn’t be too much of a liability.”

“I see.”

“No you don’t. Not yet, and if there’s a drop of Fortune’s heart that doesn’t hate me yet you never will.”

The silence of uncomprehended warnings, outgrown smallness, and withered remembrance. Ashan looked up his hometown once after Eris gifted him his laptop. It confirmed the impression he got when he first returned to this place alongside Aliana. He was not the only one that left this place for good. The population today truly is but a fraction of what he remembered.

“What if I had not given the answers you hoped for?” Ashan asks.

“Ah, classic wizard,” Sullivan chuckles. “Asking questions you’re better off not knowing.”

“A question I am better off knowing then: What manner of creature are we searching for? ‘Cryptid’ is a designation vague as it is broad.”

“I don’t rightly know. The reported sightings were all contradictory when they described it as anything more than a shadow moving in the night. It could just as well be multiple creatures or a shapeshifter. If I hadn’t had access to first hand confirmation that this place has a history of monsters crossing over –” Bridgewood glances pointedly at Ashan “– then I might well have written the whole business off.”

“You sound far too amused by your own ignorance,” Ashan says.

“Mystery is one of life’s greatest spices.”

“Let us get on with the solving then. I assume you have already gathered the names and addresses of those who witnessed this alleged cryptid.”

“Obviously, but as long as I have convenient bait and a local expert on hand I see no reason to involve middlemen when I can skip straight to luring our quarry out.”

Ashan silently chides himself for not having seen this coming. Magic is spread thin and weakened on anchor worlds by their nature and monsters whose very biology relies on magic instinctively find themselves drawn towards those whose presence warps reality’s rules to their will so that they might sustain themselves. That was the very reason he needed rescuing by Aliana all those years ago. For similar reasons, wild and predatory monsters on other worlds will often target young and inexperienced mages as their favored prey. More powerful mages however, are treated as greater predators that all but the mightiest monsters will give a wide berth.

“Suppressing my presence to avoid attracting monsters was one of the first things I was taught,” Ashan says, “and even if doing so were not a subconscious reflex for me by now I suspect that my aura would function more as repellent than as bait.”

“What, your mentor never taught you aura flaring?”

“I am aware of the technique, but it is a pointless one. It takes little practice to control how much one passively warps the ambient flow of magic, so it is useless as a tool for gauging a mage’s power when they may just as easily be hiding their potential as bluffing about their strength. Moreover, it is crass.”

“Crass? That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Vulgar as a contest of urination.”

“Huh, must be an Orthonian thing. Anywhy, I’m going to kindly request that you do that to make yourself look as appetizing as possible.”

“What part of it being a crass and useless technique did you not understand?”

“In that case I’ll just need to find some other poor unwitting schmuck. If there’s a monster hanging around for as long as this one apparently has been, then odds are decent that there’s a potential mage in town.”

Ashan follows the nod of Bridgewood’s head out the window and realizes that their van has slowed its cruising around town to a crawl in front of the high school he never got to attend. Ashan waits for the pang of loss for a part of growing up he missed out on, but it never comes. That realization brings a loss of its own. How disconnected from one’s own culture must one be to not even feel a desire for the milestones that were denied? He tries and fails to imagine what it would have been like, sitting in classes and studying all day, making friends his own age, joining a club or band or sports team. All he has for context to build the fantasy off of is a handful of blurry memories of elementary school and television shows. It all feels so alien to him now.

What would he even have been doing at that age? High school spans four years, does it not? So the year spent sailing the western archipelago up through the infiltration of the gala at the oasis palace a year before his falling out with Aliana, with the catastrophic failure of his old translation charm roughly halfway in between. No wonder he cannot relate.

“If you’re looking for your baby brother,” Bridgewood says to the staring Ashan, “classes don’t start for another two weeks and he won’t be attending here for another couple years yet anyway.”

The question of why he would be looking for his brother dies on Ashan’s lips and his stomach drops alongside the crumbling barrier between compartmentalized knowledge. He is in the town where he grew up and his family lives. He is in a town that is being stalked by an unknown monster. His family is in a town with a monster. He was attacked by monsters and saved by mages seven times as a child although he was only allowed to remember the last time. He has a brother who has never met him and is only slightly older than he was when he was taken.

“We are not using my brother as monster bait,” Ashan says coldly.

“Of course not,” Bridgewood replies, unperturbed by the condensation gathering on the van’s windows from the sudden drop in temperature. “You know as well as I do that magic has nothing to do with bloodlines. Your parents might have let you run wild in the woods to live in whimsy and believe in impossible things, but him they shower with so much protective affection that the possibility of playing in the backyard unsupervised or visiting friends without a chaperone could never even occur to him. No fairy tales in that household anymore to inspire another child to go wandering off. If he ever develops any potential for magic, it won’t be until he’s out on his own, burned out from the med school path your parents already decided for him and wondering what else he could have been.”

“What.”

Bridgewood grins wide, showing too many teeth for a proper smile.

“Why, my dear fellow, it’s my job to know these things. I dare say that I know more about you and your compatriots than you do yourselves. I know why muscles never got to meet her grandparents or even learn their names and why her parents were so dead set on assimilation. I know that the techie’s great grandparents were a pair of witches and why they kept their kids in the dark about it.” He leans across the van’s center console as close to Ashan’s face as his seatbelt will let him and tilts his head sideways. “And I know that Aliana Glassgaze is currently on this iteration of Earth.”

There is hunger in those dark eyes, and for the first time in years Ashan’s instinct is for flight rather than fight as he reflexively shrinks back into his seat.

Bridgewood snaps back upright and the seatbelt whirs to catch up with him.

“But that’s beside the point,” Bridgewood chirps. He stares at the seemingly empty school and blinks several times in rapid succession. “Pity. Nothing appetizing amongst the summer school kids taking makeup classes. Always a tossup whether groups like that are going to be against the grain enough to be prime candidates or too beaten down in their self-worth to have any chance at all.”

The van lurches back into motion once more and Ashan recovers enough to say “We are not kidnapping children to use as monster bait.”

Legs burning from strain long after losing the strength for another step. Each breath like knives in his lungs long after he’s covered his mouth to muffle the sound. Crying in the dark long after tears have run dry. The sight of eyes shining in the dark. The smell of rancid breath. The sound of heavy footsteps drawing closer.

“There is a cave in the woods on the far side of town from whence we arrived,” Ashan says. “I played there often as a child and if there is a monster, cryptid, or other fiend in the area, it will likely be making its lair there, and even if not it is a secluded enough spot that when I make myself into a lure there should be no risk of a Masquerade breach.”

“Excellent,” Bridgewood replies. “Let’s be off then, shall we?”

For all Bridgewood’s earlier chattiness on the way in, the drive out of town is mercifully quiet with no words exchanged beyond the occasional instruction from Ashan to take a turn. This lasts until they pass the small cemetery at the edge of town.

“Do you want to stop and pay your respects?” Bridgewood asks in the softest voice Ashan has ever heard from him. “I find it helps.”

“I would rather you not joke about that.”

“I’ve left four different graves with four different names on three different worlds. Saying goodbye always helped me move on.”

“I have already seen it once and that was more than enough for a tombstone with a name that is not dead.”

“I see.”

The only other words spoken for the next quarter hour are a single “Turn off here” from Ashan, followed by a “We shall walk the rest of the way” five minutes of unproductive off-road driving later.

These woods and hills are more familiar than the town. Less changed. Less diminished. Maybe the trees feel shorter now that he has grown and maybe their distance from his old home no longer feels so great now that his world is bigger, but they are still dense enough that it does not take Ashan long to lose sight of the van. As he comes to the rocky ledge he once scrambled to climb up and over, he finds himself, for a moment, back in those long summer days of trekking out from the house at dawn and exploring uncharted lands full of creatures he still is unsure if they were imagined or not. And then he casually waves a hand and ascends a ramp of glass to the top of the ledge within a forest that was charted long before he was born. He hesitates to focus his senses on the mystical just yet. He has not made up his mind how he might feel if he were not to find his childhood playmates.

The sight of the cave freezes Ashan in his tracks once he locates the opening at the end of an unassuming shallow gulch.

Darkness. Wedged back into a crevice to hide. Curled up on top of a thin mattress and chained to a tentpole. Waiting for the not-a-dog to either give up or find and gobble him up. Waiting for the frightful old men to decide his fate. A light in the dark, a screech, silence, and a voice telling him he is safe now. The light of a tent flap opening, silence, a hug, and a voice telling him that she has a plan to keep him safe.

Faded memories from long ago swirl with the preserved fears of a child who had not yet processed and overcome his fear of the close dark spaces he gained two years prior.

Focus on the here and now. The late summer breeze on his skin. The buzzing of insects in his ears. The sight of a metal grate over the mouth of the cave.

That last one had not been here before. Ashan goes to investigate, concerns of lurking cryptids forgotten for the moment. The metal is rusted where the black paint has worn away and a grimy padlock holds the hinged segment closed. An orange and white sign bolted to the bars warns of danger and a second plaque affixed atop that one says a child died here.

On that fateful day, all those years ago, Aliana told the child she would later name Ashan not to look while she cast the glamor to disguise the remains of the strange hound that tried to eat him. To further distract him, she had assigned him the task of setting up a trail for others to find the cave. In that energized state of having just gone from terror of impending death to the promise of being a real wizard doing real magic, it had seemed like a game. Did she cast something on him to stifle his fear at the time? All the same, he still snuck a peak at what his soon-to-be-mentor was doing.

The sight of her dragging his own dead body into the darkness of the cave became a recurring feature in his nightmares over the following weeks. They continued until the night that he confessed what he saw to Aliana. That was the first time she hugged him. It was also the first time he caught her quietly crying when she thought he was not looking. The former became frequent and regular. The latter would not occur again for several years.

“Now that’s curious,” Bridgewood’s voice brings Ashan’s voice back to the present as he kneels down next to the young wizard. “It looks like water’s flowed through here lately but there’s no branches or other debris stuck on the grate, and everything else around here is dry as a bone. Hmmm… Terrible idiom, that. Bones are wet and full of marrow when you first pull them out.”

As he says that last part, Bridgewood runs a finger along the condensation gathered at the bottom bars of the grate, revealing it to be more viscous than water. To Ashan’s disgust, he licks his finger clean afterward.

“Was that truly necessary?” Ashan asks.

“No, but it was informative,” Bridgewood answers as he stands back up. “I do believe we have an ooze on our hands. Or maybe a slime. I never could remember the difference.”

“An ooze is an undifferentiated mass whereas a slime has a central core,” Ashan says.

“I’ll take your wizard’s word on that.” Bridgewood taps the grate with a knife Ashan did not see him draw. “Anywhat, shall I open this up for a spot of spelunking?”

Just another summer day of adventure. Just another afternoon with friends he was not ready to call imaginary just yet. Just another fun game. A new creature he had never seen before and a hungry growl that set him on edge. A brave stride forward and a sandwich offered in friendship. A bitten hand and a flight to a favorite secret place that was not as safe as he thought.

“No need,” Ashan says. “Better to draw it out into the open than to potentially fight in tight quarters.”

“In that case I’ll make myself scarce while you make yourself bait,” Bridgewood proposes as he follows Ashan out of the gulch and onto the hill above the cave entrance. “I’ll be watching for the moment to make my move.”

“Shall we agree upon a signal for when to make that move?”

“No need. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to make myself unpresentable.”

With that, Bridgewood unbuttons his yellow vest and slides it off. With a flick of his wrists he inverts the garment and Ashan catches a glimpse of the inner lining as it flips around to become the outer pattern. There is an impression of a color almost but not quite violet; an extra-spectral blend between stygian blue and self-luminous red. And then Bridgewood is gone with a record skip hitch in the sounds of the woods.

Curiosity regarding how Bridgewood disappeared right before his eyes loses the battle with Ashan’s relief at not having eyes on him for this next part. Even if a part of him knows that Bridgewood is technically watching from hiding, the lack of a visible witness eases the embarrassment of what he is about to do.

It is said that each mage perceives the way magic flows through and intertwines with the background of reality differently. To Ashan, it has always appeared as something like floating threads, colored shapes, and heat haze refractions in the air; nearly imperceptible whenever he is not actively focusing on them but always there and ever moving on arcane currents. Anything living or possessing a mind causes an interruption in this flow, whether as a slow spot to gather in and concentrate like most people, an obstacle to divert the current around like Eris, or as a bubbling spring adding its own chaos of colors and threads to the stream like the average mage.

Most mages learn early on to suppress their own aura of distortion to just-noticeable levels. Too quiet and it is as if one has something to hide. Too loud and it is a terrible rudeness to every other magically-sensitive individual around that has to put up with such noise. To flare one’s aura to make more noise than necessary is the domain of untrained children and hot-blooded youths thinking with organs other than their brain as they try to show off. And even without considerations of etiquette, there are the practical concerns of overactive auras attracting monsters or spontaneously manifesting unintended effects on one’s surroundings.

Thus are the ingrained best practices that Ashan shoves to the side in order to mimic the telltale signature of a mage accidentally coming into their powers for the first time. At first he attempts to relax to loosen up that self-restraint, but the exercise is self-defeating. Restraint is his resting default and too much of his training has inextricably intertwined the concepts of calmness and control.

Agitation then. Ashan opens the mental compartment he has tried to sequester his younger self’s regained memories in all day, reaches in, and grabs ahold of those feelings. The excitement over arriving at the Convocation of Mages after a week of thinking they would not make it in time, which led to his running off on his own. The confusion at the strange things one of the elder mages he recognized from the previous year started saying to him. The fear when he heard his mentor shout at the elder to get away from him and the things the elder said in return as six more elders filed in to surround her. The desperation that caused him to lash out at the mage that finally managed to land a hit on his mentor. The guilt over his conjured barrier slicing the elder’s arm clean off. The despair at the sight of Aliana falling beaten, bloodied, and restrained when she had been so close to saving him

The anger.

At her for being reduced to begging.

At her for proposing that they seal away his potential.

At her for taking those memories away from him.

At her for taking him away.

At her for making it all seem like a game.

At her for failing him.

At himself for being angry when he knows she only ever did the best she could for him.

Ashan wraps his arms around himself. He closes his eyes. He curls in on himself. He falls to his knees. He shudders. He throws his head back. He opens his mouth wide to scream.

No sound escapes his lips. No tear escapes his eyes. No catharsis finds him.

The air ripples and shimmers around him. Glassy conjurations flicker in and out of existence. Frost coats the ground.

It all stops even more abruptly than it began. With an abashed effort, Ashan reins himself and his aura back in, cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the unseemly display. Even apparently alone in the woods, he cannot help but feel much as he would as if he had just caused a scene by screaming at the top of his lungs for no reason in the middle of a crowded street.

He distracts himself with the more delicate task of keeping his mage’s aura of reality distortion just slightly more noticeable than normal while also intermittently flickering it in and out. If that initial flare had been a piercing cry of pain, this is the weakened flailing that follows it. The tired wiggling of the worm on the hook. Not something that would fool anyone intelligent and trained, but enough for a beast or the insatiably curious.

Enough time passes in the eerie silence of woods gone quiet that Ashan begins to worry he overdid the initial flare and scared off his quarry instead of luring it in. Then he catches sight of something moving between the trees, obscured by the tangle of low-hanging branches that nearly touch the ground. The silhouette is that of a deer, but the gait is all wrong. Once it finally emerges from the tree line into the clearing of the hill Ashan stands atop of the reason for the wrongness becomes apparent.

It has the shape of a deer, yes. It even has the skeleton of a deer arranged in mostly the correct configuration. Yet it lacks the flesh of a deer, save perhaps for a few mostly-digested scraps hanging suspended alongside dirt, leaves, and twigs within the translucent cyan goo that has wrapped itself around those bones. It half shambles, half undulates closer in a loose imitation of quadrupedal locomotion.

A slime then, not an ooze if it is capable of this level of mimicry. But then why is there no central nucleus in sight for him to extract and incapacitate it?

Ashan’s contemplation of the apparent contradiction in esoteric biology is cut off by the sound of movement behind him. He turns his head, keeping the slime deer in his peripheral vision, and spies a dog. Then a coyote. A second deer. All reduced to skeletons lending shape to cyan slime and still not a core in sight. A smaller bone-filled blob drops out of the second deer’s abdomen and assembles itself into a rat, or maybe a squirrel.

Ashan stays still, allowing the slime animals to get closer, surrounding him. The first deer stops just outside of arm’s reach, then collapses into a blob, contracts, and launches itself at him. A quick rotation on his heel and Ashan propels himself into the air atop a conjured spiral. He lets the spiral fade, cups his hands as he falls, thrusts his arms downward, and slides down the side of a glass dome as it appears between him and the now trapped slime animals.

Ashan steps back from his conjuration and draws his wand. The creatures begin pressing themselves against the inside of the dome and he can feel the barrier grow thinner as they absorb its magic. No matter, a few quick lashing motions with the wand is all it takes to reinforce the conjuration. So long as the slime animals trapped inside do not concentrate their efforts all in one spot he can easily keep up such a simple spell for more than long enough to convert the dome to a sphere to transport to the van and from there to the crossover point.

He raises his wand and the dome stretches to raise with it. He makes a scooping motion with his free hand and the dome reshapes to reach under as well as around. He makes a fist and the great floating glass egg full of slime and bones and dirt contracts, merging the slime animals into one another. Or ooze animals. Still no sign of a core, strange as that strikes him.

A tingling sensation around Ashan’s ankle draws his attention downward to see a tendril coming up from the soil. The buried gelatinous mass shoots out of the ground, climbs up his leg, and keeps ascending until it bursts out from the high collar of Ashan’s robes. He has barely enough presence of mind to take a deep breath and close his eyes before it envelops his face. It tries and fails to push between his tightly shut lips and eyelids while he tries to slide his hands between it and his cheeks.

He forces himself to stay calm. Focus on what he needs to do, not on what will happen if he fails. A precise-yet-simple forcefield that moves outward with his hands is all it should take. He does not even need to get all of the ooze off in one go, only the majority so that it lacks the force to keep pushing. An easy feat.

The ooze works its way up his nostrils and into his ears. His sinuses ache from the pressure. The tingling intensifies into a burning. Serenity is lost. The conjuration flickers out. Ashan’s hands start frantically tearing at the thing trying to digest his face. His eyes shoot open from shock and pain.

On the other side of the blurry cyan haze there is a flicker of chimerical violet.

The ooze, slime, or whatever it was is gone and Ashan is gasping for air. His vision is clear save for the tears of irritated eyes. The burning is now a rapidly-fading tingling and the pain inside his head has reduced to a dull throbbing.

“You’re welcome,” Bridgewood whispers from behind him, close enough for Ashan to feel his breath on his ear. “Now look sharp, your new friends have gotten out of their playpen and want to say hello.”

Ashan wipes his vision clear and looks up to see that the slime animals are indeed upon him now that he dropped his conjuration in his moment of fear. He attempts to say something and falls into a coughing fit.

“Still need a moment?” Bridgewood purrs. “Then allow me.”

Ashan feels a hand on his shoulder as Bridgewood pushes past him. The back of his head and his shoulder come into view. And then the not-purple of his inverted vest.

Bridgewood is gone again. Ashan is breathing easier and his eyes have stopped watering. The slime animals have all been beheaded.

Being headless only stops them for a moment before the blobs around their skulls extrude pseudopods to reconnect to their bodies and lift them back into place.

“I do so detest oozes,” Bridgewood’s voice echoes from somewhere amongst the trees. “Utterly unsatisfying and unproductive to stab. I’ll leave the rest of this in your capable hands.”

“You would abandon me?” Ashan calls out while tossing up a quick barrier between himself and the slime animals.

“No, but this is one of the rare problems that can’t be solved well with knives, so there’s not much else for me to do here unless you want me to try eating the rest of them and that doesn’t work well with live capture.”

“Surely there must be something you can do.”

“How about moral support? I have full faith that you won’t make the same mistake twice and can handle the rest on your own. Go team.”

Irritating though his delivery may be, Ashan has long held enough faith in his own skill to agree with Bridgewood’s assessment. Now to prove them both correct.

A conjured ramp that retracts behind him as he ascends suffices for getting Ashan off the ground to forestall any additional subterranean surprises arising from momentary overconfidence. Curling the edges of this new platform into a bowl around him prevents the bone-wearing mimic slimes from reaching him by launching themselves up or combining their masses to extend a single long pseudopod. Adding lotus-like layers to the protective bowl gives him time to analyze the situation uninterrupted when the creatures try to eat through the conjuration.

Standing nearly level with the treetops (not that they are much more than twice Ashan’s height and he has never been called a tall man) Ashan gazes down at the slime animals below as they mill about and start to haphazardly merge with one another in an attempt to reach him. He still maintains that the prey mimicry is too complex for an ooze, so where are the cores necessary for processing that behavior? Within the animal skulls, taking the place of the digested brains like a hermit crab repurposing a mollusc shell perhaps? Partial merging or absorption of those brains – whether physically or psychically – would aid with the mimicry as well.

An interesting theory, but how to keep the ooze still enough to safely perform the delicate operation of opening the skull to confirm without damaging the potential core within? Freezing has proven effective in the past when facing such monsters alongside Aliana, but that has never been Ashan’s speciality and he is far enough out from the crossover point right now that he is still relying on thermodynamic redirection to power his spells so too much lowering of the ambient temperature could cause complications down the line.

Ashan cocks his head in consideration of the conundrum for a moment and then lets out a hum of realization. His ability to access other magic systems is no longer sealed, and he is passing familiar with a foreign style lauded for its efficiency in energy draw.

Ashan focuses on the gelatinous mimics below and intones the words that caused him no small amount of grief a month ago.

Winter's lash falls harsh. Wind bites, snow cuts, frostbite gnaws, Scouring flesh and soul.

The storm drowns voices Blinds the eye, and steals all warmth Nothing left but white.

BLIZZARD!

The Dorbreithan Long Chant spell completes and a bitter chill wind swirls about the slimes below. Their movements slow as frost forms on the surface of their cyan bodies. Once that ice spreads inwards in crystaline formations toward the suspended skeletons within, the mimics have come to nearly a complete stop. That is enough to work with, although it takes Ashan several seconds to mentally wrestle with the unfamiliar spell to get it to cease its effects lest it do permanent damage to the slime cores he hopes to extract for relocation.

Once the blizzard wind stops, it is a simple matter to conjure a barrier thin enough to act as a guillotine above the neck of the devoured coyote and let it fall. Then it is a mere flick of his wand to draw a wire into existence and reel the falling goo-covered skull up to him.

Fishing with only conjurations as tools had doubled as both training and a means of keeping himself and Aliaina fed on the road since the early days of his time on Orthon. She started him off with nets before moving on to hooks and lines conjured directly into the fishes’ open mouths once he learned finer control. Later still came the creation and manipulation of razor-thin barriers in the place of knives for preparing and fileting the catch. Or at least on the days when Aliana was not feeling lazy enough to simply drop the catch and a portion of river water into her own complex conjuration combining autoclave, centrifuge, and blender. In retrospect, getting used to the alleged stew of superheated fish slurry might explain Ashan’s general ambivalence towards the taste of food.

At any rate, it is the experience in dissection and bone removal that is relevant now as Ashan peels back the wriggling semisolid layers of slime from the coyote skull hovering in front of him. The glass scalpel that appears at the tip of his wand is sharp enough to glide through the minimally digested bone like bread crust and he does so with a steady hand. He cuts out a square from the top of the skull and pulls it out to reveal… nothing. Only more undifferentiated teal jelly fills the skull’s inner cavities.

Ashan takes a step back as the slime surrounding and permeating the skull begins to flail pseudopods once more with full motive ability despite still harboring an unabated outer layer of frost. Ashan flings it outside of his observation perch, back to the ground with the rest of its mass, and takes another look at the scene below him, trying to figure out what he is missing.

More of the slime animals have arrived and more amorphous tendrils like the one that grabbed him earlier are beginning to extrude from the ground. Strangely, the new arrivals that were not present to be hit by the Blizzard spell also carry a layer of frost cold enough to cause the ambient humidity to condense into a thin mist around them. None of the creatures seem to be hindered by the cold any longer. Stranger still, now that Ashan thinks about it, the soil layer here should not be thick enough for a slime or ooze to hide within. But if there are cracks in the limestone beneath the soil leading to the cave below…

Ashan’s eyes skip over one particular point between the trees, and his train of thought is disrupted as everything shifts slightly, from the movements of the slimes below to the positions of the clouds above. He tries to find and focus on that spot again, and once more there’s a skip as if a fraction of a second was lost.

Concerning, but he can confirm what that is once he tests the other hypothesis he was building up to. Ashan picks out the straggler furthest from the growing mass of prey mimics and begins another chant that was once used against him.

Storm's wrath gathering, Glistening blades fall and scourge Earth lies bare, burnt clean.

LIGHTNING!

With the final word Ashan points his wand at his chosen target. The air takes on the scent of ozone. His hair rises from the static. A bolt streaks from the tip of his wand and splatters the slime furthest from the main group, scattering the bones of the hopefully wild pig it had consumed.

As expected, over the course of the next minute, the slime pig pulls itself back together, albeit sans half its bones. More importantly, sparks between arcing between other slimes that he knows he did not hit with that spell. That supports one hypothesis, but best not to rely solely on sight.

Ashan closes his eyes and opens his less physical senses as much as he can. It is no substitute for vision when navigating, but much like smell or touch, that is not its primary purpose, even if it can augment. “Looking” down he confirms that the slimes, while barely disturbing the flow of magic otherwise, have become reservoirs and conduits for the energy comprising the spells he threw at them. Though that reservoir thins in the empty space between the slime animals, “seen” like this it is all one continuous manifestation. A continuous manifestation that, though dulled and made hazy by the intervening stone, extends underground into the cave below where it flows down into a distinct central nexus.

Ashan returns his focus above ground to the point his eyes refused to see and finds what he can only conceptualize as a gaping hole in the fabric of everything. In all his time as a wizard, Bridgewood is the only individual he has ever encountered with such an overdone metaphysical cloak. Watching and waiting from the sidelines, just like he said he would be.

Ashan is about to open his eyes and act on his confirmed suspicions when another set of presences further out in the woods catches his attention. They feel familiarly green to him, with hints of orange, and purple, and gray. Fae, he now knows to classify it as, albeit vastly different in power and temperament from the Count of Curses and Dust. He thinks once upon a time he simply called them friends.

For just a moment, Ashan allows his expression to twitch into a smile. Resolve redoubled, he opens his eyes but continues to stare at nothing. Eyes fixed forward, single-minded and unfocused he holds his wand upright in front of him. His glass gaze stares through the candle flame that ignites above the wand’s tip and pours his will into it, fuel for the fire. The glass lotus descends to the ground, unfurls, and fades, leaving him exposed.

The slime animals… no, the singular slime with multiple remote segments mimicking devoured prey does not approach him. It is too enraptured by that. Through the flame Ashan can feel its simple mind relaxing just as well as he can see the skeletons surrounding him go limp as the slime nodes containing them begin melting down into shapeless blobs.

It is surprisingly hard not to let himself mirror that feeling and sink with it.

But a motionless, enraptured slime with its core hidden away is hardly progress towards capture and relocation, so Ashan calls to mind the more advanced applications of this spell he studied in Whispers of the Sun, and puts them into practice. “The Flame of Yearning” that tome from the sorceress Bridgewood’s very own library called this spell, and it is now that emotion which Ashan feeds to the flame. Yearning for two different homes he cannot return to, one just down the road and the other hardly further yet literally a world away. Yearning for three different parents he did not choose, two he ran from and one he drove away. Yearning for four friendships that have already been extended to him, all of which feel varying degrees of confusing and unearned. Yearning poured into one candle flame that becomes a torch, a beacon.

There is more fuel for this flame than he realized he had. Once they have been dredged up, it is a relief to feel the flame consume them. Not that they are truly gone. The flame is a part of him and it does not extinguish when the spell ends, it returns. The healing flame came from without as a praise to the sun for providing the warmth of life. The flame of yearning hails from another world that saw pyromancy as life’s warmth originating from within, and how can one not yearn to connect in the face of a soul bared?

From without or from within, so long as an anchor world mage can hold both as being true both can be called upon.

The yearning becomes the flame that draws the moth and Ashan shapes the feeling into a desire. A desire to approach, to reveal oneself, source to source and heart to heart.

Frankly, such an application treads dangerously close to the sorcerous taboo of mind alteration for Ashan’s comfort. He tells himself that it is just a nearly-mindless slime that he is influencing. What is more, one might even say that he learned this spell, however indirectly, from the true sorceress Bridgewood herself and now he is casting it with her chosen consort and keeper of her legacy for an audience. The old childhood dream rekindles and then becomes further kindling itself.

It is hard to worry about much with such a pretty fire.

The flame fills his vision and his mind.

He has spent nearly half his life with trained serenity.

Calmness and control intertwined.

It is how he keeps his spellcasting precise and powerful.

It was how he kept from going mad when his own mind became incomprehensible.

Falling into the flame feels like such a natural extension of that.

A polite cough from right behind Ashan snaps him back to full awareness. Awareness of the flame sputtering out. Awareness of a quivering cyan blob towering over him. Awareness of a sphere of bones hovering in the center of the slime that is pulling itself closed over a nucleus that had exposed itself to the now-extinguished flame’s light.

Ashan’s stomach drops at the realization that the ball of bones contains at least one skeleton that is human shaped but far too small even for an infant. While no sign of such remains, Ashan is certain it once sported a pair of gossamer wings. He refuses to wonder if it ever played with children in these woods.

The slime shudders, contacts, and stretches to fall on top of the tantalizing young wizard overflowing with magic before it.

Springing backwards out of the way is hardly a challenge for Ashan. Nor is slamming a hollow cylinder through the center of the slime to extract the core like a post hole digger. Nor is stripping away the shell of bones giving a wall to the nucleus.

Wrapping the slime’s core in a floating sphere and then having that sphere grow a series of inward-facing needles to just barely pierce the core’s outer membrane and send it into a paralyzed state is a somewhat more delicate procedure. But it is a procedure he has carried out before, albeit not on so large, dispersed, or magic-absorbing a specimen. Nonetheless, the rest of the slime’s body loses cohesion, dropping the skeletons that had not yet been absorbed into the central mass unceremoniously to the ground.

Ashan lets himself breathe and shiver in the chill that his magic has brought to the late summer afternoon.

“Well done I say. An expectedly excellent performance.”

Ashan turns around to find Bridgewood approaching him, buttoning his vest back into place, yellow side out once more.

“Thank you,” Ashan says with a nod, “and all due credit to you for the role you deigned to play.”

Bridgewood takes an exaggerated bow. “But of course. What is the star without the stagehand? Or the hero without unseen Fortune plucking the strings? As I said when we first met, the spotlight is not for me.”

“I imagine whatever enchantment you have on that vest makes that easier for you.”

“Not an enchantment, but a color,” Bridgewood tuts. “I can never seem to recall the name, but Carnette called it the color of forgetting.” He pouts. “She never would tell me where she found a tailor capable of working with xenochromatic threads.”

Ashan’s stomach drops with the realization of why the world seemed to lurch every time he caught a glimpse of Bridgewood.

“In the future, please provide warning before exposing your allies to amnestic elements,” he states. “Or better yet, refrain altogether. I have had more than enough of my memory being stolen, even if it is only for a second at a time.”

Had Ashan not been staring him down with a glare, he might have missed the split second of Bridgewood’s mask slipping; of the man in yellow going wide-eyed and stiff as if physically struck. When the lazily elegant posture returns, the smirk maintains its absence.

“I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again,” Bridgewood says. The lack of over-acted affect in his voice is as off-putting as his genuine affection when speaking of his dearly departed wife.

“Good,” Ashan replies, wondering what old wound he just touched upon, but still bothered enough to be curt.

The moment passes, the smirk returns.

“Anywhom,” Bridgewood croons, “you go on ahead and get that thing loaded up for transport –” he gestures at the paralyzed slime core floating next to Ashan “– and I’ll be right along after I clean up the leftovers.” He sweeps an arm to indicate the now-inert piles of goo and bones covering the clearing.

Ashan nods in assent and turns to leave. A scooping motion of his hand brings along a portion of the slime’s cyan body mass in a separate bubble. It should be enough to healthily sustain the core for a time, but not enough for it to cause trouble with in the short term.

The walk back to the armored van feels shorter than the trek from it to the cave, even with maintaining a pair of mobile containment conjurations. Is it that the weight of memory is lighter after having faced the place he left his life behind? Or is it the ease of navigating from a recollection whose age is measured in minutes rather than years? Maybe it is simply the benefit of traveling downhill.

Ashan finds the van unlocked. He opens the rear doors, floats the slime in its two parts into the back, speaks the activation syllables to light up the warding glyphs painted on the inner surfaces of the vehicle, closes the doors, and lets his glass bubbles holding the slime vanish. If the captured creature is making any futile attempts to escape its new confines, the wards are keeping it muted and preventing the van from rocking.

A soft rustle of tree branches draws Ashan’s attention and he turns around, expecting Bridgewood or another threat that they missed. His posture relaxes and his wand slips back up his sleeve at the sight of three tiny figures hiding within the boughs of the nearest tree. A brown-and-white-furred bullfrog with nubbly horns. A twelve-legged weasel draped across the branch like tinsel. A humanoid figure barely taller than his hand bearing a moth’s bark camouflage wings. Beings that Ashan now knows to be Nameless fairies without a court or master. In hindsight, it is a wonder none of them ever took his old Name for their own. Or maybe they tried and failed (or were thwarted) and that was one of the six times his memory of the world Backstage was erased before even Aliana found him.

All the same, Ashan smiles and waves to his onetime playmates. They low and chitter and giggle and disappear back into the woods, safe in the knowledge that the latest monster to threaten this place has been locked away.

He wonders if they remember him. Probably not truly. A sense of familiarity may remain, but with how closely Names, memory, and identity are intertwined it is difficult for the Nameless to hold onto experiences which they are not regularly reminded of.

Ashan tears his gaze away from the direction the fairies fled just in time to catch Bridgewood returning.

“Everything’s secure and ready to go I see. Delightful.” Bridgewood leans a hand on the side of the van and blinks at it several times in rapid succession before turning back to Ashan. “As for my end, thanks to one of Carnette’s gifts, I can assure you there’s no longer a trace of our new delicious friend here to be found.” He pats the side of the van and then pushes himself off with a twirl that set him walking towards the driver seat door. “Let’s be off shall we? We still have a crossover point to examine.”

“Indeed,” Ashan says while returning to the passenger seat. “I presume you have some inkling of which world we will need to attune the crossover to in order to return this slime. It is not from Orthon – not unless something has changed drastically on that side of the crossover – but beyond that I am less certain.”

Two doors open and close.

“Right on both counts,” Bridgewood answers. “Yes I do, and no it isn’t. But…”

Two seatbelts whir, stretch, and click into place.

“We don’t technically have to return it to its homeworld.”

A diminished slime silently surges against the wards, unable to reach the front seats.

“What are you implying?” Ashan asks.

A key slides into an ignition lock and waits to be turned.

“There’s a room in the Manor positively packed with stasis chambers for the sort of delectable specimens Carnette liked to collect for study and preservation. We could let our passenger hang out in the back a little bit longer while we survey the crossover point, skip the trip offworld, bring it home, and toss it into storage. Maybe I’d even give you a tour of some parts of the house you haven’t seen yet.”

“That hardly sounds like what we set out to do.”

“Doesn’t it? What are you implying?” Bridgewood’s tone hovers between bemused and mocking.

“First you stride into the room and begin handing out assignments for the day without consultation and now you propose keeping a creature you said was meant to be relocated. Is this organization truly Road’s or do you pull the strings?”

“I assure you, this is my friend’s venture, through and through and everything I do is to support them. This morning was merely me reporting back with the status of tasks that had been delegated to me. We’ve been together long enough that we’ve long since reached an understanding about leeway and how I do things so long as certain lines aren’t crossed, and the important thing in this case is that we keep the creature from hurting anyone without killing it. Storing it in stasis accomplishes that while saving us the headache of interworld transit and ensuring that it won’t ever wander back across the crossover and cause a mess all over again.”

“And Road is okay with this?”

“My friend trusts me enough to not ask questions. But I’ll leave this one up to you.”

“Why?”

“I’m curious. What will you do with the options on the table and what will you tell my friend afterward?”

The key turns. The engine rumbles to life.

“No need to answer now,” Bridgewood continues. “We’ve got a whole drive back ahead of us for you to take your time contemplating.”

The drive passes back through Ashan’s hometown in silence. For all that Bridgewood must surely know why Ashan pointedly looks away from the window when they reach an intersection that they pass straight through, the expected remark never comes. The exposed nerve remains untouched. In that moment, there is no smirk.

Ashan tells himself he managed not to glimpse the couple taking a walk down their neighborhood street with their young son watching the strange, unmarked black van pass through their tired little town.

He suspects that Sullivan Bridgewood saw them clearly.

*******

“Ashan… If you ever remember this, please know that I’m sorry. For everything.”

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