#but know we’ll never attain

[michanvalentine]

Since I joined the fandom, I’ve been told, repeatedly, that Astarion was evil in the past, evil when you meet him, and will be evil at the end of the game—whether he remains a vampire spawn or not. No good ending, no redemption for him; because it’s not like he suddenly becomes a saint!

Essentially, he’s talked about as if he were a monolith. Static. Unmoving. Frozen in place.

Well, at this point, I feel the need to say how I see it.

First of all, the concept of the corrupt magistrate is outdated—it doesn’t exist in the game. Maybe it was an early draft of his background that was later scrapped. But in the actual game, there’s no mention of it—no character, no note, no book, not a single thing that references this.

And given how important that detail would be for his characterization, I don’t see why Larian wouldn’t have included it, even as an offhand remark.

What we do know about Astarion before becoming Cazador’s vampire spawn is that he was a magistrate, and that the Gur beat him to death over a law he had passed against them. That’s it.

Personally, I think this ties into his previous position of privilege, prejudice, and the fact that he was likely a tedious, meticulous, and inflexible magistrate—but ultimately, that’s just my own inference based on scattered dialogues.

The truth is, the Gur could have been wrong.

We’ll never know!

Just like we’ll never know what color his gorgeous eyes were before they turned red.

Now, I’m going to shift to a slightly more technical perspective—but I promise I won’t go overboard!

The Astarion from Act 1 cannot be the same Astarion at the end of the game, regardless of whether he ascends or not.

And here’s why.

In basic screenwriting, we talk about a character’s transformation arc. If there is no change, there is simply no story—because the character would be nothing more than a rubber figure on whom events, decisions, and other characters bounce off without leaving a trace. It wouldn’t be engaging, nor would the character have any real drive to act.

This is a vast topic that I won’t go into in detail, but if you’re interested, just type character arc into a search engine, and you’ll find a whole world of information.

Do you think stories and characters are written purely by feeling? There are countless manuals that explain the rules of good storytelling. (Dara Marks, considered the best American story editor, formulated the rules outlined in her renowned manual, Inside Story: The Power of the Transformational Arc.)

And characters follow writing principles—Astarion included. And creating a believable character while following these rules is really complicated—so every time someone says that Astarion is a monolith, somewhere, a screenwriter dies.

It’s just not possible, folks—there’s no chance that Astarion stays exactly the same throughout the entire story. He has to grow. Or regress.

Either way, he cannot remain unchanged; otherwise, The Pale Elf narrative arc wouldn’t exist.

It’s the fundamental rule of storytelling—straight from the rulebook.

Now, let’s clarify the concept of redemption a bit.

In religion, redemption is the forgiveness or absolution of sins and protection from damnation and misfortune, whether eternal or temporary. The Catholic Act of Contrition is a profound and meaningful prayer, considered the first step toward redemption. It allows believers to express their repentance and willingness to change after committing a sin.

From here, the term has come to be used in a more general sense to refer to the attainment of physical or moral freedom through liberation from guilt and sources of unhappiness.

In a literal sense, however, redemption means salvation, remedy, or escape.

So, yes, the vampire spawn ending is a redemption arc—not because Astarion suddenly becomes a saint, for god’s sake, but because he faces his past, everything he has done up until that moment and the people he has harmed, and does so as a hero, sacrificing himself for the greater good.

(Yes, one could debate whether releasing 7,000 starving vampire spawn into the world is truly the greater good, but within the context of the game, its setting, and Astarion’s narrative arc, it is.

Wyll—the group's hero and a monster hunter—explicitly says, "They are victims just like you, Astarion. They deserve freedom too."

Many of the good-aligned companions also disapprove of their extermination, and depending on their oath, even a Paladin Tav/Durge can break their vow and become an oathbreaker if they choose to kill them all.

So, the game itself strongly suggests that freeing them is the most humane and morally right choice—especially for Astarion.)

So, to summarize, it is a redemption arc because Astarion takes responsibility and atones for his actions, for his sins. He acknowledges the harm he has caused and repents, embraces the pain of others beyond his own, and gives them the freedom that he himself had once taken from them.

That’s what redemption means, not that he becomes a saint by the end of the game.

Not only that, but Astarion also makes peace with the Gur, who will stop hunting him—not out of laziness, but because he has proven that he has changed, that he has grown, and that he is no longer a threat to innocent people. (And they also accept the release of the spawn, despite being monster hunters—take note!)

It’s no coincidence that Astarion tells his brothers and sisters that they can choose between being parasites hiding in the shadows or something more than what Cazador created them to be.

But either way, the consequences will be on their heads—because actions and choices have weight.

And you reap what you sow.

And here, I’ll take a small detour, because the first person to bring up the concept of redemption is actually Ulma, with her words: "But it would be a start—you could still be redeemed."

She later reinforces this idea in one of the most powerful scenes in the game, when—after the ritual and Astarion’s absolutely heart-wrenching explanation of why he took the decision away from them regarding their own children—she tells him: "I never thought a vampire spawn could find redemption… but yes, you will no longer be hunted."

Of course, Astarion is still a vampire. He still has instincts and needs. He likes hunting, killing, and yes, instilling fear. A little, as he puts it.

The difference is that instead of doing it indiscriminately, he directs his attention toward criminals, toward those who harm others. Just like the Emperor.

Even Karlach Mind Flayer redirects her hunger toward a specific category of people—ones who might even appreciate her intervention.

It’s called killing two birds with one stone.

And here I return to the technical side of storytelling—Astarion’s transformational arc is complete, and at this point, he falls into the archetype of the anti-hero: a protagonist in a story who may lack some of the traditional hero’s qualities, such as idealism, courage, and morality.

Typically, an antihero is a rebellious or tormented character with clearly negative traits who often employs questionable methods. However, they should not be mistaken for a villain, as they do not fully descend into evil or possess enough heroic qualities to earn the audience’s sympathy.

However, considering the general setting—where even heroes kill as if there’s no tomorrow and punish villains with brutality—just look at Selûne’s demigoddess daughter, Lady Aylin—I don’t see anything strange or horrific about feeding on criminals.

Quite the opposite.

To conclude, the concepts I’ve mentioned are not something I made up from scratch—they’ve existed for ages.

Astarion’s evil ending is clearly ascension, which, following the rules of good storytelling, still adheres to a transformational arc compared to Act 1 Astarion.

By extension, Act 1 Astarion is different from both the Ascendant Vampire and the Vampire Spawn in the final outcome. The monolithic character does not exist in any story worthy of being called one. And Baldur's Gate 3 is a masterpiece of writing.

[mmogurl]

In The Shadow of Dragons Chapter 8: Betrothal

18+ | 6.9k | Daemon Targaryen X Female OC | possessive, protective, objectifying, simping, raunchy Daemon | Uncle / niece incest, Targcest, Courtship, Mega smut, Don't read the rest of these tags if you don't want spoilers: Dubious consent, sleep groping, first time blow job, rough oral sex, forceful, dirty talk, deep throat. Probably missed some tags, but you get the idea, it's some filth.

The time has finally come for things to move forward! Have Daemon and Ryna actually managed to make it through their courtship without getting caught for all their improprieties? And how is the family going to react to the news? Find out in this thrilling installment of... IN THE SHADOW OF DRAGONS :) Told from Ryna's POV.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9 Also on AO3

A fortnight had passed since the first time Daemon came to visit Ryna in her chambers and he had come several more times since. They had participated in every manner of foreplay imaginable and somehow the infamous Rogue Prince had managed to restrain himself from deflowering her. There had been times it had come close, where he had groaned so loudly in frustration that she worried someone might hear, but thankfully, they had managed to abstain without getting caught.

Ryna was still vexed by the tease of never being able to consummate their relationship. It was a nice relief to peak at his hands or for her to help alleviate his own torment in much the same way, but it always left her wanting more. She was desperate to know what it would feel like to have him inside of her and considering she’d remained a virgin well into sexual maturity, the curiosity was a powerful lure as well as the intense attraction she felt for Daemon.

So, it was a welcome release when one evening at dinner with the entire family gathered, her father finally spoke on the progress of their courtship. She was seated beside Daemon at the table as was typical, his hand rested on her lap possessively as they looked towards Viserys expectantly.

"Brother..." the king said authoritatively. "I did not think you capable of restraint, of comporting yourself with decency for even a short courtship, but I am most impressed with your efforts and it seems my daughter is quite satisfied as well." His gaze shifted to Ryna, regarding her with a soft smile before returning his attention to Daemon.

“I will admit that she has been an incredible temptation,” the prince replied with a smug countenance, preening with the recognition of his endeavors. “But the princess is worth waiting for, even if the delay has been excruciating.”

Ryna glanced at Daemon, his eyes meeting hers for a moment as his hand gripped her thigh with a mutually understood anticipation. This was what they had been waiting so urgently for, the sweet deliverance from imposed wooing into wedded bliss.

“That being said,” her father continued, his silent judgment flickering back and forth between Ryna and Daemon before finally settling into a good-natured grin. “I have deemed your courtship a success. You two are clearly fond of each other and your union will solidify our bloodline. My congratulations.”

Daemon’s fingers were practically digging into the soft flesh of her thigh even through the thick fabric of her dress. He was obviously excited by the king’s announcement, in knowing that they would finally be allowed to be together in a legally binding way, attaining access to all the physical intimacy that came with it.

“Thank you so much, Father,” Ryna offered with a pleased smile, beaming with delight.

He nodded as he took a draw from his wine, “And I will make a point to announce the betrothal tomorrow at council,” Viserys added, finally putting a timetable to their plans. “We’ll make arrangements for the wedding immediately. A sennight long celebration will do nicely. I wish for the entire realm to take notice… To participate in our family’s good fortune.”

There was a warble of discussion around the table as everyone reacted to the news. Ryna was sure most of her relatives hadn’t expected them to make it through their courtship without scandal, did not think Daemon capable of behaving himself. While he had not been a total gentleman when they were alone together, he’d made every effort to appear upstanding in public.

She couldn’t help but notice how disturbed Rhaenyra appeared, wearing an expression of confused scorn. Ryna wondered if her sister would cause another outburst as she had the first time her betrothal to Daemon had been discussed. She was surprised when it was Alicent who spoke up first.

“Why not hold a tourny, Your Grace?” she suggested with a level of enthusiasm that sounded unnatural. “Let the lords and knights of the realm congregate for the wedding.”

The king nodded slightly, mulling over the idea before replying. “A tourny… That is an excellent idea, my love. A week of games, drinking and carousing! What better way to bring the realm together to celebrate my daughter’s wedding?”

Rhaenyra appeared completely affronted, likely wondering how Ryna, the poorly second daughter had somehow afforded the same lavish celebration she and Laenor had been given. Ryna tried to repress the grin tugging at the corners of her lips, imagining how her eldest sister would be forced to endure an entire seven days of Daemon and she being the center of attention. It would be insufferable for the heir and Ryna would enjoy every moment of it.

She looked to her newly betrothed and could see the excitement dancing in his features. “Perhaps I’ll have to show everyone that I am still the greatest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, hm?” Daemon smirked, unable to keep from gloating about his combat prowess.

“Yes, I thought Daemon might enjoy participating,” Alicent replied with an all too sweet smile. It was not a genuine notion, but laced with ill intent. Ryna found she didn’t like the possible implications of it.

Viserys happily nodded along, his excitement palpable. “Yes! We’ll have a royal tournament,” he said decidedly. “And I’ll invite the most famed warriors in the realm to make it a proper challenge for you, Brother.”

Daemon chuckled softly in response, “In truth, I would relish the chance to demonstrate my superior skills once more. It has been too long since I’ve had a good joust.” He turned to gaze at Ryna, his eyes sparkling with mischief and his tone low and flirtatious. “What say you, sweetling? Will you be my little princess cheering me on from the stands?”

Ryna felt her cheeks get heated at the smooth intonation of his voice. It was ridiculous what an effect he still had on her after all of this time. “Y-yes,” she finally managed to utter, trying to ignore the sting of embarrassment. “I shall be your staunchest supporter, Uncle.”

“What an obedient wife you’ll make, riñitsos,” his countenance became more predatory in nature, his hand firmly traveling up her thigh as he spoke. “Imagine having such a charming girl cheering for me. I have no doubt that your encouragement will carry me to victory.” He flashed a cocky smile at her, his arrogance plain for all to see.

Viserys let out a deep bellow of laughter, shaking his head as Daemon fawned over Ryna. “Your wife will no doubt have her work cut out for her in trying to keep you humble.”

“I don’t think I shall try, Father,” Ryna offered up playfully with a small laugh. “I rather like that about him.”

“No doubt you’ll spoil him, Daughter,” he said almost regretfully as he took another swig of his chalice. “And make him all the more intolerable for the rest of us.”

Alicent chimed in next, taking the opportunity to make a well-aimed jab at the prince. “I don’t know if it’s even feasibly possible for Daemon to become any more insufferable than he already is.” She smiled brightly when she was done, but let it be said that the queen always made her feelings known in one way or another. Aegon snickered to himself in amusement at his mother’s comment, but did not add anything to the discussion.

“Please, Good-mother,” Ryna interjected before Daemon could snap back at her. She could already see the sneer twisting his features at Alicent’s nasty little quip. “The prince can most assuredly back up his claims, being one of the few men to know war during Father’s historic reign of peace.”

“Oh yes, one of the few,” the queen replied smugly, clearly unimpressed by Daemon’s achievements in the Stepstones.

Daemon’s eyes rolled before he schooled his expression to one of of stoicism. He was just about to open his mouth when Viserys interrupted him, no doubt sensing the growing tension.

“Now, now,” the king attempted to placate the two of them. “This is no time for arguing. We should be celebrating. I’ll have no more of these petty japes.”

“I agree with Father,” Ryna insisted in an upbeat manner. “After all, we shall be wed soon and have all that we had hoped for. Right, Daemon?” she looked to him, the message written in between the lines to not fall for such baited tactics.

The prince gave her a half-smile, reaching to take her hand in his. “Yes, sweetling,” he agreed with a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “No need to spoil the mood with needless bickering.”

“Very well,” Viserys declared as he stood, signaling the end of supper. “I’m off to my chambers now. I have much to consider for the preparations,” he mumbled more to himself than to anyone else.

Daemon joined him in standing, pulling out Ryna’s chair and helping her to her feet. “We shall take our leave as well, Brother. Good night.”

Viserys nodded cheerfully and then added with a note of surprise, as if just remembering something. “Oh, and Ryna, my dear, tomorrow you will be fitted for your dress. I want to make sure it’s prepared in time for the wedding, so we must get an early start.”

“As you wish, Father. Thank you,” Ryna bowed graciously in appreciation. She watched on as the queen joined him in retiring from the dining hall and the rest of the family began to stroll out at a leisurely pace from the table. All was orderly, aside from the children who shuffled this way and that, some chasing each other on their way out.

As the last of the stragglers cleared the room, Daemon wrapped his arm around Ryna’s waist and pulled her roughly against him. His lips lingered closely to her own as his eyes roved over her face. The prince’s other hand lifted to her chin, tilting it up so her eyes were fixed on his. “Alone at least, sweetling,” he murmured, his gaze hungry and full of promise.

Ryna’s cheeks flushed pink at the feel of his hot breath against her lips, tempting her will to resist him in such an open space. She wondered if anyone would even mind a mild impropriety now that they were officially engaged to wed. Would a stolen kiss be that horrible?

She looked around briefly, noticing only two of the serving staff busy at clearing the table. “Kiss me then,” she whispered coquettishly as she looked into his amethyst eyes.

Daemon smirked as he leaned in, “As you wish, Princess.” He moved to cover her lips, kissing her firmly. Parting her lips with his tongue, he delved into her mouth quickly turning up the heat of their embrace. He held her close to him, his grasp on her greedy and protective all at once.

When they finally parted for air, he gazed down at Ryna, his tone huskier than usual, “You taste so bloody good…” His nose grazed the soft skin of her neck as he began to press kisses down the column of her throat. “I can’t believe you will soon be mine. Finally. It has been such a fucking tortuously long wait.”

“We’ve made due,” she said almost teasingly as her hand slid around his waist and they began to walk from the dining hall, out through the side doors.

“Hardly,” the prince countered with a huff, his hand still fastened to her hip. “But that will all change once we are finally wed. I will have you all to myself whenever the mood strikes me. I fear I won’t let you out of my bed for a fortnight.”

“I will hold you to that,” Ryna giggled, imagining what it might be like to retire to their newly shared chambers and make all the noise they wished. How wonderful it would be to not have to sneak around, always worrying that they might be caught and their wedding called off.

It would be a pleasant change, but something was still bothering her about Alicent. She kept thinking of that maliciously, happy smile and how she even went as far as to insult the her affianced at the very announcement of his wedding. She made it no secret that she loathed Daemon, but the queen usually presented herself with more decorum, especially in the presence of Ryna’s father.

“I don’t trust Alicent,” she voiced her concerns out loud. “Why would she suggest a tourny, something you’d so obviously enjoy, when she despises you and the thought of us being wed? I feel as though she’s up to something, but I’m not sure what.”

Daemon gave a snort of derisive laugher as the queen’s name fell from Ryna’s lips. “She is a snake, my sweet. One who hides her fangs quite well, but when it comes to me, she has always made her distaste known openly.”

“What if she plans to have you harmed at the tourny?” It suddenly made sense. Alicent would never do the dirty work herself, but she might hire someone else to do it for her. What better way to get rid of Daemon than at a tourny where violence and strife already ran amok. “Would she really be willing to go that far?” she mused anxiously.

“Perhaps,” Daemon considered it for a moment, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “I wouldn’t put it past her, but I can handle myself. It would not be the first time someone has tried to take my life.” He pulled Ryna to a halt mid-step, peering at her with his keen violet eyes.

“Are you worried for me, riñītsos?” he teased with an arched eyebrow. “Or is there something else on your mind? Why the sudden concern on my behalf?”

“I just… I know Alicent had hoped I might wed Aegon instead,” she bit at the nail of her index finger nervously. “What if she plans to kill you so that she might see her son’s claim to the throne solidified.”

The prince gave an amused smirk, his hand lifting to caress her cheek. “Why sweetling,” he whispered, his voice dripping with affectionate mockery. “You truly care for me, hm? I’m touched.”

He leaned in closely, his lips brushing down the curve of her ear. “But don’t worry your pretty little head,” he reassured her softly, before pausing to nip at her lobe. “I’ve survived much worse than that green bitch’s scheming.”

A shiver ran down her neck, causing her skin to erupt into fresh goosebumps. It was true that Daemon had likely been through much worse, but had anyone actually tried to kill him in an underhanded way before? Or had it always been a direct bout of brutality and violence?

She sighed, knowing she must relent the fear lest it absorb her completely. Ryna had to have faith in what she knew to be true. She’d seen it in her mind’s eye so many years ago, that she and Daemon would end up together no matter what. And what if her very fretting somehow caused harm to befall him.

“You’re right,” she finally acquiesced, leaning against him affectionately.

Daemon hummed against her skin, his hand pushing her long silvery gold curls aside to expose her neck. “Of course I am,” he said, sounding pleased with himself for allaying her fears. He pulled back, observing her as if to make sure she had no second guesses about it.

“I have to retire to my chambers soon,” she sighed, running her fingers along the scratchy fabric of his doublet. My handmaid will be waiting to start my bath. But perhaps we can meet up tomorrow since it is already so late?”

“Nonsense,” he rebuffed her immediately. “I would spend this night with you. I can come to your room again,” his voice low and seductive once more. “Or you can meet me in the Godswood in our usual spot.”

She smiled, recalling the many times they’d settled on the backside of the heart tree, milling away the hours just kissing. “I wouldn’t mind getting a look at the stars tonight.”

He laughed darkly, twisting a ringlet of her hair around his fingers. “You just want to see the stars?” he teased, the lust already stirring in his eyes. “Or are you using it as an excuse to get your hands on me, sweetling?”

Ryna rolled her eyes, but could not control the blush in her cheeks that seemed to always rear up whenever he toyed with her like this. “I will slip away if possible. Ser Erryk has not been at watch beside my door come nightfall as of late. I think maybe Father has given up the ghost.”

“If you aren’t in my arms by the hour of the bat, then I will come and fetch you myself,” he tilted down, pressing his lips against her forehead as his hand raked up the nape of her neck. “Don’t tarry,” he added for good measure as he relinquished his hold on Ryna.

“I’ll be with you as soon as I can be, Uncle,” she smiled sweetly as she turned to head back to her room.

The worry of her Good-mother’s plottings was already fading as she considered a reprieve from prying eyes, alone with her husband-to-be. She couldn’t help but squeal a happy sound of delight as she made for the stairs. Everything was going so perfectly and within a time frame quicker than she had imagined possible. Ryna grinned from ear to ear thinking of the coming celebration and how everyone in the realms would gather to wish her and Daemon well on their wedding. It was a dream come true.

She entered her room in a lovesick haze, her feet light as though in step to a dance and not merely to move from one place to another. Her handmaid struggled to untie the laces on her gown as she swayed from side to side, humming a merry tune she remembered her wet nurse singing to her when she was just a child.

Even as she settled into the warm water of the bath, the divinity of love and untasted passions welled in her chest, heavy like the very meaning of life itself.

Read Chapter 9

[georgewashingtonsnudes]

~ Tainted Love ~ Dio Brando ~ PT. I ~

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 (I may post the full version on AO3, but we’ll see)

a/n: this has been in my drafts collecting dust for some time now; so I thought I’d share. I’ve never posted a fic before so please be patient w/ me and let me know how I can improve. It’s quite drawn out so I’m gonna be splitting it up into three parts, but hot vampire man is an asshole, so I’m just going for realism. Somewhat of a reader insert but without use of y/n or ___.

Likes, comments, shares, and reblogs are welcome and much appreciated. Again, please let me know how I can improve from here. <3

DO NOT COPY MY WORK ANYWHERE

WC: 4,645

Summary: DIO saves reader from captivity and is now training them to use their Stand to endure torture/pain; but such a power can have many creative applications. They’re rewarded in the end for being a fast learner.

(If you care to read into the specs of the intended stand or for quick reference;it’s at the very end. If not, the brief description in the story should hopefully do.)

CW: 18+ NSFW warning minors/ageless accounts DNI, sort of a song fic, not proof read, GN reader/Gender not specified (they/them/their pronouns used), fem reader (sorta?), reader is a stand user, prior to stardust crusaders, begging, Lots of teasing, edging if you squint, no direct smut at first but very heavy nsfw (they hold hands lol), blood play, punishment, heavy biting, (scratching sorta), acts of violence/mention of d34d bodi3s, pain/endurance play, maybe a little bit of Stockholm syndrome/yandre (idk if it qualifies but just to be safe), inappropriate use of stands, mention of mental institution?, use of pet names (dear one, my lord, master, maybe others), clothes ripping, I’m bad at tags lmk if I missed any

Please don’t do these things in real life unless you are a consenting adult with another consenting adult. Please be wise and safe <3

Darkness engulfed them; suffocating and cold. Incense clouding around, filling the room with a misleading warmth, the scent comforting and familiar. Chills ran up their spine as their feet touched down onto the marble floor, reminding them of the ever-consuming chill.

The hair on their arms stood on end as they suddenly felt a stifling aura emanating from behind. A fast, hushed chuckle reverberated in their ears, making them turn quickly to search the room for intrusion. But they found nothing, aside from the empty room they’d been in before.

Living with DIO Brando was nothing short of disquieting. The constant sensation of his fixed gaze, whether in sight or not, kept them on edge. DIO had discovered them in a ward for violent patients suffering delusions after he heard tell of someone there who had a strange effect on their environment and people around them.

Doctors could not understand why the patient had hallucinations of a humanoid figure following them whenever their emotions became heightened. It loomed behind them in a possessive, almost protective way, only visible to their eyes. They were admitted based on severe hallucinations and what hospital staff described as “fits of terrifying violence,” but it was much more indescribable than that.

Buildings shook, windows shattered, and explosive-like blasts would destroy walls and floors. Strangest though, the feelings others experienced around them seemed to be elevated by the strange vibrations and frequencies that emanated from their body. Happiness turned to madness, sadness to utter despair, and anger to pure, unadulterated rage. Every occurrence further drove fear into anyone they encountered, so for the protection of others, they were placed in a comatose state.

When DIO heard of such a being, it was immediately apparent they were a stand user. A stand user whom he was determined to have under his leadership before they dared to fight against him. The power they held was erratic and unpredictable, but that made it something to be feared. If such an ability was attainable and trainable, it could prove invaluable to him. An ability so strong, yet uncontrolled by its user—for now—he thought.

Their body filled with a dull ache—a deep heaviness sat in their chest as their mind was brought out of its fog. Had their eyes been closed for weeks? Months? Forcing them open, akin to willing paralyzed legs to run—bright fluorescent lights assaulted their eyes as their sight began to return. The shape of a cramped room forming in front of them.

Wall-to-wall white padding; an unframed mattress and medical equipment are its only excuses for furniture. Slowly, splotches of deep crimson came into view, decorating the walls and floor. It was an added ornament to the motionless figures scattered along the floor, lying lifeless and mutilated. Dead—they’re all dead.

Unable to move, they searched frantically for any trace of the living. Machines and tools started to shake around them as their thoughts became more frantic. Until—they saw something they wouldn’t soon forget. Finally coming into blurred view, a lone figure standing amongst the carnage, splattered with dark vermillion. Beaming like a heavenly entity, he drew closer to the mattress where they lay, their arms, chest, and legs bound by bed straps.

Standing at the edge of the bed, their binds suddenly came undone, making time itself seem unreal. In the blink of an eye, the stranger disappeared from the foot of the bed to reappear again at their side. They turned their head to meet the man, the fog finally clearing from their sight, and what stood before them was something of dreams—or perhaps a nightmare. Cautiously, he leaned forward and spoke softly.

“Do not be afraid,” as if quoting angels from scripture. “I’m not here to harm you; I only wish to ask you a question.”

Slowly, and shakily, they rose to sit upright, hoping to look closer at this mysterious creature. They could feel the room resume its soft quaking as his full form became apparent. He was overwhelmingly tall, towering over them even while bending down, built large and strapping. His body was carved like a Roman statue, shining porcelain that put David to shame. The words he spoke were like silk, flowing off of his tongue as naturally as cerulean waves kissing the seashore.

Suddenly, they felt weightless, like gravity ceased to exist. Strong arms engulfed them from behind, arms that didn’t belong to the man, lifting them above the mattress. He reached to softly grab them from the arms that held them up and pulled them to his broad chest. Bringing them closer to his hulking form, they gazed into his eyes, breath catching in their throat.

Their body hung featherweight in his gentle grip, enticing them to draw closer to his cold skin. His voice tickled their ears; the warm contrast to his icy touch sent shivers running down their spine. They let their held breath finally escape, still rendered speechless by the scene in front of them. It seemed to all melt into nothing when he brought his face close to whisper in their ear.

“I would be delighted if you would leave this wretched place with me so that we might become friends,” his deep voice enticing and rich. “I’ve heard rumors you have special gifts that could help in my never-ending struggle for peace. You see, I’m in pain and require your assistance to make my life’s goal a reality."

Bringing the back of his hand to stroke their reddening cheek, he spoke tenderly, "I beg of you, end my suffering."

Their heart stopped; the stranger's voice was so welcoming and kind, yet a disquieting feeling they knew all too well crept into their chest. The distrust in others after constant imprisonment, discrimination, hate, and abuse was inescapable. As the stranger pulled away to look at their face again, their mind began to spin. They wondered how he wasn’t affected by their presence like others—could he really be that strong?

“The choice is yours.”

Still—the world stood still. His words slipped through the cracks of the walls they had built, like water through cracks of a dam; it flooded their senses with joy. Gracefully, they were placed on shaky feet, a large hand supporting them from around their waist. Nearly forgetting how to speak, they managed,

“Who—“

Their voice was painful and hoarse, the time spent asleep weakening their vocal cords. The man’s large finger came to press against their parted lips.

“There’s no use in hurting yourself; you need only nod or shake your head. I’m but a simple man with simple wishes, none of which are to force your hand. So think deeply; don’t decide in haste, dear one."

The pet name was so simply bestowed upon them, yet it remained, ringing in their ears whenever he called. They tried to recall that day—the beautiful man, the stark cold of his hands, the honey in his voice—but it was caught in a fog, as if fading like a dream upon waking.

“Dear one—“

The endearment brought them back to the darkness, the scent of frankincense and musk replacing the sterile antiseptic and brassy red; a welcome difference. Goosebumps ran over their skin as a cold breeze swept over their back, a lurking aura standing dangerously close behind them. The heat in their chest slowly beginning to rise. Frigid hands slipped around their waist, brushing under the hem of their shirt, grazing their delicate skin.

“Your body is trembling, yet the room is still. It seems you’ve gained much more control.”

His praise mixed with the feeling of his fingers sliding over the contours of their figure made the heat in their chest begin to spread. DIO’s hand danced against their skin, every inch of his touch lingering like a silent plea, an unspoken and burning need. The deep sound that echoed through their ears pulled the memory of his delicate words from that faraway moment.

“My Lord has taught me how; I would not have control without you. Your overwhelming power makes me feel weak in comparison, yet strong in your presence.”

They were left alone, a dark chortle bouncing off the walls of the marble-plated room, his presence lost in the vast expanse of the burgundy boudoir. Fragrant smoke was all that held them as, as quickly as he had vanished, his large stature stood mere inches before them.

“And where do you suppose you would be had it not been for such a power?” Knowing the answer—he wished to be humored—a king to be entertained.

“Perhaps I’d be rotting along with those other corpses, my body serving no greater purpose than for maggot’s food.” The quick response fueling his exalted ego, reminding him of his heroic rhetoric. “Eating flies on the floor; collecting dust like a mantle ornament.”

As their grim list of examples became more graphic, a devilish smirk grew across his face, his imagination playing with their words. Whether it made him feel like an omnipotent god or a messiah mattered very little. Just a slight glint of his smile was enough to make warmth seep into their stomach.

“You would make a splendid centerpiece on any fireplace mantle, dear one.” The sobriquet was like soft worship as it fell upon their ears. “Or maybe you could have use as a centerpiece on a table; it would surely make for worthy dinner entertainment.”

Gone. His form vanishing as they heard a heavy sigh from behind. One large hand slipped around the front of their neck, the other haphazardly moving along the edges and grooves of their side.

“Although—that would be terribly boring.” His hand nudging their head to rest against his chest, melting into his frosty skin. “You’d be nothing but something handsome to look at. What a shame, it would be much more enjoyable to be able to play with you.” His hand fell upon their hip and held a firm yet loving grip.

“Yet, handsome nonetheless, dear one.”

They were on fire, their imagination starting to run wild as he pressed his body closer to theirs. DIO’s arms engulfing them in an inescapable hold, face burrowing in the crevice of their neck. A small sigh fell from them as his lips ever so lightly grazed a tender place on their collar, not enough to be called a kiss, but to tickle their skin. Their heart began beating faster as his attention shifted to the other side of their neck, only providing delicate brushes. Until his lips met their neck in a sloppy manner before sinking his fangs in, just enough to draw blood.

Burning pain ran through them, blending into sheer ecstasy as they felt his lips connect with the wound. They moaned as he began to suck at the blots of crimson seeping from his intrusion. Licking at whatever remained, he began to plant firm kisses on their neck and collar. Leaving behind splotches of red, as if wearing ruby lipstick for a romantic date. He bit and sucked love marks wherever he could reach.

It felt like their clothes were suffocating, restricting tightly under the steam their body gave off. DIO began to fiddle again with their shirt before time broke once more, along with their blouse. Gravity pulled shreds of fabric to the floor as he stood in front of them again. Taking in his bare form, only covered by unforgivingly tight pants restraining an equally unforgiving tool, heat exploded in their stomach.

He stared devilishly at their exposed chest, savoring his time stripping them bare. Watching as they became bashful, painted in a sinful blush, was a sickly sweet pleasure of his. The more they recoiled in shyness, the more he exaggerated his ministrations, turning them into a whining mess. Breaking down their cool exterior became his favorite pastime.

All the while, they tried to keep their composure, failing miserably as his hands moved to explore their body further. His predatory stare wrecked their nerves, making them feel like prey waiting to be pounced upon. The heat inside them followed his hands tracing along their flushed skin, eventually grazing along their clothed center for a fleeting second. It was so easy for their self-control to be broken down, and they didn’t seem to have much of a problem with that.

They wanted more—more—more—of him, his touch, his kiss, his body, his love. Rebelliously moving their hands towards his chest, they were stopped before making it far. One strong hand held both of their wrists in place behind their back, pulling them inches from his face.

“You know better than that, dear one. You know whom this is for.” A sigh of feigned disappointment left his lips, his voice rendering them speechless.

“Say it.” He bit gruffly, pulling away from their ear.

“You, Master DIO.” They answered quickly, knowing their actions and responses would determine the importance of their time compared to his.

“And whose pleasure is this for? Your own?” With his free hand he grabbed their chin, bringing them closer to inspect their reaction. “How selfish.”

They roughly shook their head, wishing to avoid being left unsatisfied. His face looked riddled with doubt, an expression usually reserved for a disobedient child saying they would behave better in the future.

“Yours, Lord DIO, I promise.” They spat out quickly, anxiously awaiting his next move.

Seconds felt like minutes as he gazed down at their face, looking as if making an executive decision. Lust and mischief danced in his eyes when they quickly flashed with a glint of malice, coming to a conclusion.

“Hmm—yes, I’m aware of that. Though, it appears you need to be reminded.” Holding them painfully tight, he pulled them close. “Don’t touch me, please—not without my express permission. How foolish can you be to have forgotten?”

“I’m sorry, Master DIO, I let my passion cloud my memory.” They were becoming frantic; the thought of him leaving them with warmth still swirling under their skin drove them to near madness. “I promise, I only want to please you. I promise, Lord DIO.”

Suddenly, the hand that held a bruising grip on their chin fled to silence them with a finger to their lips. Dark, amber eyes met theirs as he nearly recited his words from that day. “There’s no use in harming yourself, dear one.” Their heart skipped; trembling legs halted as his hand began to brush against their face, replacing his painful grip with sincere touches.

Silence.

A guttural groan was pulled from them as they were left alone in the darkness to bask in their desire, neck bleeding, half bare, and utterly exposed.

“How pitiful; I’ve barely touched you.” His voice called from an undisclosed location. Gone from sight, he let out a deep baritone laugh, booming like a roar through the silent boudoir.

Their heart pounded in their ears as the room went silent once again, making them whine out in disappointment. As quickly as they had left, cold fingertips resumed their search for purchase along their naked torso, goosebumps riddling their skin as they stopped at the hem of their pants. Standing behind them, DIO’s hands stood painfully still as he leaned into the crook of their neck.

“What a dreadfully paltry thing you are. I wonder how much strength it would take for me to snap your feeble body in two." Almost as if speaking to himself, he posed the question with no intention of waiting for an answer.

Their body lurched back, slamming roughly into his chest as he held their hips with a brutal clasp. A quick yelp escaped their lips before he moved to cover their entire mouth, consequently covering most of their face, with his enormous hand. Try as he might to hold it back, the moan that fell from his lips was one of pure filth as he firmly held them. His height itself was overwhelming, let alone his inhuman strength, but what made their legs begin to shake again was the size they felt growing between them. Pushing its shape firmly into their back, it took what little self-control they had left not to bravely knit their fingers through the golden hair tickling their neck.

Whatever sinful noises they made were negligible by them but memorized by DIO. He wished to make them come undone in every way possible before letting them come close to sweet release. Teasing wasn’t simply a game to him; it had surpassed a hobby even; it was a particular torture method that only DIO had mastery over. Torture that never seemed to end; always under his complete control. Their noises cueing him to every single point he could use, the louder the sound, the more advantageous the action.

Avoiding patterns—never remaining predictable, he kept a brief mental catalog of what he’d done before. Never repeating, but sampling from their previous excursions to get the right kick out of finally cutting them loose. He craved the sounds of ecstasy that poured from their lips every time they were permitted to fall into their own pleasure. Never letting his exterior crack, his greatest pleasure was to see theirs shatter.

Holding firmly on the waist of their pants, he took his time breathing in their seductive scent, pheromones playing in his senses. Their patience was wearing thin, but it made DIO all the more persistent in waiting. Trying not to squirm under him, they pressed further into his body, enticing a small scoff at the desperate action. Mind spinning, their facade began to fade as the surrounding furniture began to lowly rumble against the marble floor. Large chandelier quaking as if the earth began to shake.

“The longer you take to compose yourself, the longer you’ll have to wait, dear one.” The nickname returning to his lips in a curious gesture of consolation. His words sounded sweet, but the sick tone in his voice alluded to such dark intentions that they couldn’t anticipate.

“Yes, my Lord.” Their eyes screwed shut as they tried to still their heart.

It was all for naught when he began to brush his lips against their bruised and bloodied neck. Never stopping, simply hinting painfully slow. Anticipating when his soft lips would press onto their flushed skin, a profane gasp left them as they danced against the bleeding surface. The searing pain burning into pleasant tingles made their head spin as he began to move down their collar.

Sickly sweet sounds surrounded them, heaving and panting like depraved animals. Hands gripped with white knuckles were held in place by their navel by sheer force of will, a choice that didn’t go unnoticed to him. Gradually, his movements slowed and were brought to a halt when he plunged his teeth into their shoulder, just above the collar. Sinking them in further, he waited for their reaction. A high-pitched gasp was purged from deep in their lungs as they fought their urge to hold him tightly.

Their hands, still clasped together like a prayer, were brought up to their face with flaring fingers in their best effort to remain obedient. A God fearing servant, desperate to sate their Lord’s every desire. Trembling hands quickly found themselves, fingers interlocked, behind their head, giving him full access to their chest. Passionately cleaning up the new blood with his tongue, their pain seemed to never be there to begin with. Dropping their arms with a pleasured moan, DIO continued to lap at their seeping wounds until he was satisfied with their performance. Finally, he released their neck from his attack to admire the carnage he’d dealt.

Heart palpitating; their breath was unsteady and broken. Physically and mentally becoming a mess under his touch, they whined out when he’d vanished again. A torturous game of patience—one they knew wouldn’t be over soon.

“You’ll grow stronger the more you undergo,” seduction seeping through his voice, carrying itself through the incense.

Glacial fingers found themselves caressing their hips, one finding purchase, the other continuing to wander aimlessly—at least they thought. DIO was meticulous, never letting an advantage go to waste, always remaining two steps ahead. He had a plan from the start, and divergence from it would surely be justification for a prolonged exercise. Sure enough, rough fingers began to retreat upwards, nothing to protect their bare chest from his icy hands.

Obedience held at the forefront of their mind—composer—endurance; they allowed their arms to hang by their side. All that was required was to remain patient and calm; thus, reward would follow in the simplest of circumstances. DIO was anything but simplistic, though. His hands traversing their stomach reached towards their chest, littering their skin in goosebumps and hardening their nipples.

Frigid fingers danced against their searing skin, bringing chills along in their wake. Stifling a reaction, they let out a sharp breath when they felt his enormous body press against their back. Their legs were on the verge of folding, nails pressing firm crescents into their palms, but they held steadfast in their conviction to satisfy their Lord’s desires.

“You have learned a considerable amount and gained much strength,” hands resting just below their sternum, “but I wonder if you may be ready for a new challenge.”

The proposal sparked a flurry of excitement within them, promptly accompanied by a feeling of something more sinister at play under the surface. Transparently, they didn’t seem to mind all the same. DIO took note of their resolve, wanting to test how much further it could stretch.

“How do you suppose you would fare during a test of endurance?” His query posed more towards himself—his insatiable curiosity.

Tantalizingly close, he halted all movement, tilting his face into the crook of their neck.

“Consider this: you’re aware that pain and pleasure can be one and the same, if so desired.” Hovering his face to just barely brush against their sensitive skin. “Conversely, one’s desire to turn suffering to delight counts for naught if their endurance is unpracticed. Those too weak to endure such suffering will simply succumb to pointless emotion.”

Slightly grazing along his previous markings sent an involuntary shiver throughout their body, shuddering against him. He tested, licking the wounds once again, the stinging sending chills down their spine at each lap. Biting back any sound, they didn’t notice the pain in their mouth until the unforgiving taste of copper became apparent. A small gash in their plump lip seeped a line of blood, sliding down their quivering chin.

DIO’s left hand glided across their sternum, landing open-palmed in the center, his right moving to grab their jaw, gently tilting it upwards to gaze upon his heavenly face. Quickly diving in to lap up the stream that continued to travel after it surfaced.

“Well,” leaning back to stare into their glassy eyes, “can you bare it—my dearest one?”

Words were lost to them; all of their focus centered around undergoing his so-called test to his liking.

Dearest one.

“I would endure hellfire, crying my lord's praises amongst a wailing chorus of tortured souls.” Heart threatening to burst from their chest, they nearly screamed, “My master’s face would guide my mind to peace in the depths of Dante’s inferno; his voice a lullaby in a cacophony of pain.”

My dearest one.

“And whom would that be?” Feigning innocence, his hand moved behind their neck.

“You, of course, my Lord DIO.” Their lack of hesitation fed his desire to possess them. “I will pass any test you would have me take with great pleasure, DIO.”

Searing pain burned through their neck as he broke the skin effortlessly, bringing a sharp breath from their throat. Their mistake became glaringly obvious far too late.

“Hmm, how strange.” He lifted them from the ground almost how a child would carelessly jostle a toy. “I must have misheard you.” Looking up, as if to inspect them.

“Lord DIO—master—almighty DIO—“ They struggled; their prattling correction fell upon deaf ears as he turned them completely to face him. His large hand only allowing enough air passage to grovel, not to breathe.

“Lord?“ eyes dark, unrelenting “Master?” Inches from the ground, “Almighty?” He let out a breathy chuckle. Stars began to glide across their vision as gravity drew them to the ground.

“No.”

Silence.

Falling to their hands and knees on the cold floor, their heartbeat the only sound as they sat alone, once again, anticipating his return. Before they could bring themself to stand, his powerful aura returned, overcoming their half-naked frame. His form kneeled behind them, radiating danger and lust as he leaned over their back. One hand gripped their chin, the other rested on their stomach, tucking his head in the crook of their neck to speak directly in their ear.

“What, pray tell, did you call me?”

Time dragged, hovering in the air, as if the world held its breath. Their heartbeat echoed in their ears while they searched for a saving answer. Knowing only one to be correct, they submitted to their fate. Voice hesitant and broken, they spoke—

“DIO.”

Arms tightening to draw their bodies closer, he shifted his weight backward on his knees to push them flush against his sturdy body. The cold of his skin matched the frigid marble as he tilted their head back to rest on his shoulder. His brawny frame enveloping them like the final puzzle piece slotting seamlessly into its place, the contours of their bodies aligning with quiet certainty. Calves straddling his waist, they hovered above his lap, held up against his chest with a simply placed hand.

“How’s that again, dear one?” Sugary words laced with venom poured into their ears, the need for repetition impertinent. “Such a quiet little church mouse—I can’t seem to hear you.”

Every movement methodical and precise; DIO’s touch was misleading, his embrace almost delicate. All action opposed reason; his disposition unnervingly gentle despite their obvious trespass.

“DIO.” They repeated louder, throat searing inside and out despite their hunt for air beginning to settle. Dread, ever-consuming, overtook them as they frantically tried to avoid retribution.

"Please, Master DIO, forgive me." They searched desperately for words, "I will do anything you wish, take any test, endure any torture; I submit my will to you fully. Please, I beg your forgiveness, my Lord."

A quiet fell upon the room, the only sound labored panting, their head pounding. His icy digits danced across their neck, teasing their collarbone as he basked in the feeling of their body in his embrace. Anxiety wrecked their nerves as they awaited their inevitable reprisal, restitution that never came.

"My, how defiant you can be," fingertips lightly brushing against the open wounds on their neck. "But how delicious you always are—it seems I’ve become insatiable; I can hardly stop myself." Gingerly, he collected a stray trail of blood running down their sternum.

Drawing a line up their chest back to their broken skin, he brought his hand back, satisfied with the amount. Bringing the crimson digit to slip between their parted jaws, they instinctively closed their lips to surround the bitter taste.

"Sweet wine, dear one," retreating from their mouth with a sickly pop, he brought it back to play with the tender skin he had already torn. "Shall I finally take my glass?" His intention finally clear as he pressed his index into the crevice of their shoulder, blood beginning to pour down their body, staining what little clothes remained.

His head tilted forward to hover above the fresh puncture, admiring how the traveling scarlet complemented the color of their soft skin. Finally satiating his need, he leaned in to suck at their gashed collar, letting out a deep moan muffled into their skin. One arm wrapped around their waist; the other splayed across their shoulders, he desperately tried to control his wanton hands. Remaining in a bruising grip, he finally freed their neck with a delighted sigh, resisting the temptation to finish his meal quickly.

"My cup runneth over," he cooed into their ear, they became lightheaded as a sinful groan escaped from their throat.

Thank you for reading this far, you dirty thing, you. Please like, share, and reblog <3

Stand Specs

(TLDR: anything important to the plot or for quick reference is highlighted in pink.)

Stand Name: Soft Cell

Power: B | Speed: C | Range: B | Durability: C | Precision: B | Potential: A | Overall: A

Appearance:

A multicolored, unsettling humanoid figure with a metallic body featuring glowing cracks and circular ripple patterns. It has only a jagged glowing scar across its face and semi-liquid chains around its wrists and ankles that fade into a dark mist.

Stand Ability: "Pulse of Dissonance"

Soft Cell manipulates vibrations and frequencies, influencing physical and emotional states.

Primary Effects:

1. Emotional Manipulation:

Opponent: Uses low-frequency vibrations to alter emotions, turning happiness into mania, fear into panic, and anger into rage.

Self-inflicted: Can affect the users mental state by inducing euphoria, anxiety, or rage.

2. Physical Manipulation:

Opponent: Vibrates objects or opponents to cause structural damage or disorientation. (Ie. shattering materials or inducing vertigo)

Self-inflicted: Can cause internal shuddering, disorienting vertigo, or chronic pain by focusing vibrations on specific body parts.

3. Harmonic Collapse:

Opponent: Creates destructive resonance waves, damaging anything within a 5-meter radius of the Stand.

Self-inflicted: Can result in self-destructive resonance or explosive disruptions within the user's body.

4. Combat Applications:

- Ripple Propagation: Attacks enemies by sending vibrations through solid surfaces.

- Tuning Shift: Affects specific targets while avoiding allies/vulnerable areas.

- Chamber Lock: Traps targets in a feedback loop of sound or vibration, immobilizing them.

Self-inflicted application:

- Enhances speed and strength through vibrations but risks self-imprisonment or internal strain.

Pleasure Applications:

1. Amplified Euphoria: Intensifies pleasure during intimate moments.

2. Sensory Misdirection: Shifts sensations to different body parts, enhancing excitement.

3. Pain Channeling: Transforms pain into pleasure, adding thrill to experiences.

4. Harmonic Resonance: Builds waves of pleasure leading to intense climaxes.

5. Nerve Distortion: Alters perception of pleasure, creating unique sensory experiences.

6. Ripple Propagation: Channels pleasure through surfaces, enhancing intimacy.

7. Emotional Manipulation: Deepens emotional connection during romantic moments.

8. Self-Induced Vertigo: Adds excitement through mild disorientation.

9. Pain Suppression: Ensures enjoyment by suppressing discomfort.

10. Feedback Loop: Intensifies and prolongs sensations of pleasure.

Weaknesses:

Opponent: Less effective against chaotic opponents, reduced impact in open spaces, and strong-willed individuals can resist emotional effects.

Self-inflicted: Requires precise control to avoid self-harm, and emotional resistance demands intense mental discipline. User must use careful precision as to not hurt allies alongside enemies during combat operations.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure and its characters belong to Hirohiko Araki, I do not claim to own this work.

[seven4asecret]

.⋆•. ๋𖥔. Yours, Eventually Pt. 10 .𖥔 ๋ .•⋆.

Viktor x Gn! Reader

Content & Warnings: No pronouns, no Y/N, no Smut, & badly written flirting.

Letters 46 - 50

My dearest Viktor, Your letters always find their mark— each leaves me a bit lighter than the last. I can only imagine Jayce’s smug grin and the way he’d tease you over our letters. Still, I’m grateful that you keep our words between us. They feel like something meant only for your eyes and mine. As for my heart, I believe you’ve taken up permanent residence. You linger in quiet moments and half-formed thoughts, in the way I catch myself smiling for no good reason. I think of you more often than I care to admit, and always with more affection than I probably should. You make it sound as if forgetting you was even possible. It’s not. I’ll bring you some sweets when I arrive. — Your friend

My dear friend,

You always know how to catch me off guard. I read your last letter more times than I care to admit.

I don’t think I deserve the place I’ve taken in your thoughts, but I cherish it all the same. The idea that you smile because of me, even when I’m not there, does things to my heart.

Bring what sweets you like. I’ll pretend they’re the reason I’m eager to see you, but we both know better.

I’ve talked with Jayce, and we’ve managed to pull a few strings to allow you to stay in Piltover for a week. What luck! We’ll be there at the end of the bridge to welcome you. Don’t mind the enforcer accompanying us. She’s a good friend of Jayce’s who will oversee your arrival. I’ll see you at the end of the week.

Until then,

— Vik

Viktor, You are more than deserving of any and all good things, in my belief. I’ve said before that in my eyes, you deserve the world, and that still holds true in my opinion. I hope your heart is faring well. I’m counting the days until I’m able to see your face to face again. I promise to bring you the best sweets I am able. — Your friend

My dear friend,

You have a strange effect on me. My heart does strange things when I read your letters. It’s all your fault for stirring up so many feelings with your words.

To hear such things from you— well, it’s enough to make me believe in all the good I sometimes struggle to see in myself. If I am to believe I deserve the world, it will be because you’ve said so— and I’ve never known you to speak falsely. If nothing else, you’ve made me selfish enough to want only one thing.

My heart fares better with each letter. And with the thought that soon I’ll have the privilege of seeing your face again, it’s impossible for me not to count the days right alongside you.

I trust your taste.

— Vik

My blameful friend, My apologies for reminding you that you, unfortunately, are human. I do hope it's a feeling of excitement, rather than the signs of an early heart attack. I would hate to be responsible for such a tragedy. You have me curious now. You had quite a few goals you were set on attaining when you left for the Academy. Have you really narrowed them down to a singular want? I’m finding it hard to rest as the days draw closer.   — Your friend

Letters 1-5 | Letters 6-10 | Letters 11-15 | Letters 16 - 20 | Letters 21-25 | Letters 26-30 | Letters 31-35 | Letters 36 - 40 | Letters 41-45 | Letters 46-50 | Letters 51- 55 | Letters 56- 60 | Letters 61- 65 | Letters 66- 70 | Letter 71 |

Masterlist!

[letterstoear]

For you from me

Notes: A letter from Leona in which he's concerned about you, Leona x reader, can be read as either platonic or romantic, mentions of Ruggie and Jack, reader is from Savanaclaw,

Check out my shop here: Shop — Letters to Ear (squarespace.com)

Little herbivore,

There was a boy who long ago chased a world where he could rule on even land. Now that very boy has eyes full of dust yet is clinging onto that hope of even land. Tell me could you find that child for me? Although it would be nearly impossible, he doesn’t exist anymore. That boy punched his way through the world till it spat him back out. Still, he chose hope. The hope that he could be the one to create that even land, so why hope? Tell me what is the use of hope? What drives one to believe in it?

To me it’s nothing better than a double edge sword. Hope. Can’t say I haven’t believed in it before. Do you want me to go on and on about myself now or should I get straight to the point. No, I think I’ll torture you with a little more about myself. You’ll have to listen to my selfish thoughts for longer than you would like.

When you screamed into my face after I overblotted, I wasn’t expecting you to start crying at the end. You said I made you miserable, you proceed to blame me and cry. Tears ran down your face as you told me to keep going. Despite knowing my flaws, you wanted me to keep going even if I couldn’t attain what I wanted. Never quite understood your foolish actions at that point. Hate to say that I understand your feelings well now. Miss the days where I could blindly ignore the problem. _________, I’m going to push you in the same way you pushed me. No, I’m going to give you hope. Latch onto that slimmer of hope and get better you goddamn herbivore.

Everyone knows you’ve been sobbing around the whole dorm with every chance you get. Did you forget I’m your dorm leader? It’s a job of mine to be aware of what goes on around Savanaclaw. Right now, there’s no telling what’s been going on in that thick head of yours. Only thing I do know is that you need a little push to move forward. I get it, moving forward feels impossible when even the slightest movement is tough. I get it, really, I do. However, who was it that told me I needed to move forward? _______, show me or was all that just some bark?

Listen, I’m not going to demand you to cough everything up, at least not for now. We can work at your pace or if you prefer, we can move right along to Ruggie’s plan. Can’t say, I truly mind which one you pick. Even got poor Jack worried. He might not admit it, but it’s painfully obvious with the way his tail is tucked. At the end of the day, all I want is for your improvement. _______, do you understand? This is no laughing matter; the whole dorm is worried. We need you back on your feet. I need you back on your feet. I hope this was enough for you, if not, we’ll really have to move onto Ruggie’s plan.

Your Dorm Leader,

Leona Kingscholar

[beacarrot]

London is waiting for me.

Everything feels okay,

My life seems too good to be true,

I feel like I'm caught in a dream,

A whisper tells me there's still more to pursue.

How did I not see?

The lights blind an entire nation,

Few disappointments,

A heart with little emotions,

Or perhaps I’m just forgetting.

But my lungs shout along to my own creations,

Life is a trick, built on lessons to learn,

I’m invincible,

Young, wild, and free,

No one can catch me now; it's my turn,

The players stayed behind in the gym, you see,

The endgame’s here, it always comes,

The scoreboard relentless, it spares no one.

I’ve learned, the cuts burned inside my skin,

But scars faded, lessons sank in,

Sorry, but you’ve lost this time.

And the leaves fall as I trip on that same old fence,

The one that broke my foot at age six,

Yet tomorrow the sun will rise again,

And I’ll rebuild myself brick by brick,

One day at a time, growing stronger and sane,

Being who I am today once felt like a dream,

But I know I’m only halfway to what I’ll attain.

I’m never alone as I tread this path,

Boys and girls,

We all march toward the aftermath.

Grab my hand,

I’ll grab my passport tight,

I’ve always believed in luck’s bright light,

This time it’s my turn to be chosen,

It makes me want to run faster, unbroken,

But then, to turn back around…

Europe and its silent promises call,

London shouts, though I still can’t hear it all,

The wind rushes fast, it’s a battle unwinnable,

Miles tread beneath my Saint Laurent soles,

A new soundtrack plays, it's something about the traffic lights glow bold,

This is my era, this is my age,

Camera flashes will follow me on my own stage,

And I won’t lie,

I’ve always know London is waiting for me.

Not always everything feels okay,

Isn’t always that life seems too good to be true,

I used to fear of being in front of an audience, that damn kind of crowd’s gaze,

Now I move forward,

Caught in my own web, I had to try again,

Stabbed in the back, wounds that remain,

They repeat and repeat until they’re a must,

Reminders to guard myself from misplaced trust,

The bullet grazed past,

It’s strange to blame the heart so fast.

I can’t stand how my creativity soars,

Fueled by sadness that knocks on my door,

Where is this story heading?

I can’t say,

Perhaps chaos ends at a hopeful new day,

If you’re in this boat, at least grab an oar,

And dive into life, explore its core,

I’m ready to live, to go back and forth,

But I’ll never leave my flock of thoughts alone.

I knew frat boys spelled trouble, of course,

But I needed to fight, and this time trying to be fully grown,

I can be my worst,

But now I want to be my best,

I’ve seen myself, just a bag full of bones and stolen plans,

I still have time to conquer the land,

The only thing that could ever kill me,

Is burying my talents before they’ve run free,

Not old enough,

Young, but not bold enough,

Yet there’s nothing to lose.

I’m in the right mood to sit by a piano,

Playing a song that my mind just composed,

Alone with the hum of a dark room’s tone,

Summer heat wraps me in its throes,

But I never learned to deal with instruments, just like change,

It was supposed to sound natural,

Yet it didn’t work.

Now I have no ground to keep me steady,

Because dreams feel great when there’s time to be ready,

I remember how life allowed a slower pace,

But now I won’t settle for second place,

I’m melancholic, it’s my belief,

We trust we’ll be ready by twenty at least,

But the eighteen is just two steps away,

The dice roll, no more time to delay,

It’s not just the moment to dream,

“There’s still time,” I once thought, serene,

Now it’s time to act, and in the middle of the night I knelt down,

“Lord, what will become of me?".

They told me to grab my passport tight,

I’ve always believed in luck’s bright light,

This time it’s my turn to be chosen,

It makes me want to turn back around, emotions unspoken,

But then, makes me want to run faster, unbroken,

Europe and its silent promises call,

London shouts, something I almost can hear it all,

The wind rushes fast, unstoppable, clear.

The wind rushes fast, it’s a battle unwinnable,

Miles tread beneath my Saint Laurent soles,

A new soundtrack plays, it's something about the traffic lights glow bold,

This is my era, this is my age,

Camera flashes will follow me on my own stage,

And I won’t lie,

I’ve always know London is waiting for me.

My eyes are no longer closed,

The blanket's no longer wrapped around me, protecting me from the fire,

Nor my feet gently swaying, knees composed,

Now I face the ceiling, my eyes burning bright,

Exposed and unguarded,

My knees give way,

I hold them close, as if that might change something maybe someday,

I laugh through the tears I shed,

Never so sad, but excited at the same time,

I blink repeatedly, my blurred vision fights,

I never thought I'd also stop right at the curve of life.

And I think it’s fine to not be ready,

To be the woman they want, I am still unsteady,

I’m still just a girl, learning my little way,

Streamers fell as confetti met the ground,

My friends praised my navy dress all around,

And I replied with warmth in return

It was a night of pride, of youthful acclaim,

Yet we couldn’t foresee how farewells would burn,

“Long live high school!” we lovingly cried,

Swapping our uniforms for crowns with pride,

But all I feel is the weight of time,

And all I think is how now I’m on my own climb.

I’m ready for the fight,

Unloading my luggage, reclaiming my might,

"Escape" is tattooed on my ribs, my creed,

Paired with my dreams, my driving need,

Is this an illusion or my fate?

I run the road, something waits beyond the gate,

This is my moment,

I think about home,

I think about the feeling,

I see my feet, they move without my own will,

I’ll wait for the night,

For this dream to come still,

No, I must try,

I must fail,

I must succeed,

For life won’t stop derail,

Never thought I’d feel so lost,

When finally I was finding my self in my way,

Never thought I’d fear the cost,

When I stood so near to the day,

I’ll remember I have a choice,

And I won't fall for anything,

When boldness fills my voice.

I’ll grab my passport tight,

I believe in luck’s bright light,

It’s my turn to be chosen,

It makes me want to run faster, my emotions frozen,

But no! I've already turned back around,

Europe and its silent promises call,

London screams, and now I can hear,

The wind rushes fast, it’s a battle unwinnable,

Miles is treading beneath my Saint Laurent soles,

A new soundtrack plays, it's something about the traffic lights glow bold,

This is my era, this is my age,

Camera flashes is following me on my own stage,

I’m not ready for London,

But London is ready for me,

'Cause London is waiting for me,

London is waiting for me.

(This was perhaps the longest poem I have ever written. I started writing this poem in June of this year, but it was in a completely different format, there were many changes. From the beginning to the middle of this year I had a vision of my dreams, a more aggressive and determined vision, then time passed and this poem was still a draft, now in the last month of the year, my vision has changed, I finished school and this is the first step of a conflicting and exciting road to my dreams. And now, I find myself afraid, and that's okay. I think in this poem, I show my dreams in a human way, with the joy, fear, sadness and determination, it's scary when the deadline you set for your dreams to come true is getting closer and closer, when it's time to fight. London is a dream for me, I know I'll be ready, and I don't think there's a better poem to close my collection of poems than this one.)

Signed: Beatriz Ranzonni 🩵.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Chaos Is Among Us

Pairings: Eclipse/Polar, Kill Code/Glamrock Freddy, Lunar/Mini Music Man, Sun/Foxy (pre-relationship)

Word Cound: 1,155 Words

Summary: Unintentional bonding and the unholy act.

Warnings: Innuendo (mentioned) Sex (mentioned only), Creep (mentioned), Caps, Cursing, Death (mentioned only), Vomitting (mentioned only), let me know if I should add anything else.

Chapter 3: The Horrors

3:40am

Why Is This My Family?

Blood Moon: Why are both Mama and Dad and Peepaw’s rooms making loud noises?

Harvest Moon: Hey, @Moon, can we come over and visit? Maybe help with Plex patrol even?

Moon: Yeah, sure come on little ducklings.

Solar Flare: Thank you, my god that was awkward.

Moon: Why not just bang on the walls and tell them to keep it down?

Harvest Moon: Because that might involve telling Blood Moon what they’re doing.

Solar Flare: Yeah, and Blood Moon is the only one left with some kinda innocence and we don’t want to get rid of what’s left of it.

Moon: Makes sense. Just don’t go in Lunar’s room. He has Mini over. Mini is getting the railing of a lifetime.

Harvest Moon: Are all of you adults just sinners?

Moon: No, I’m asexual.

Solar Flare: No, you just commit crimes instead.

Moon: You got me there. But still. Sunny literally went out for ice cream and hasn’t come back for three hours now since I started my patrol. It’s quite funny, honestly.

Lunar: We’ve been done for a half hour, idiots.

Blood Moon: Done with what?

Lunar: Making loud noises. Yeah, it’s a game to see how loud you can be and Mini was winning. We played for two and a half hours and Mini still won.

Blood Moon: Ooh, is that the game Mama and Dad and Peepaw and Freddy are playing?

Moon: …Yes.

Sun: Wait, I can come home now without hearing the sound of the unholy?

Lunar: Yes, Sun.

Sun: Finally, I can stop hiding in Gator Golf.

Moon: Why are you bugging Monty? Are you two dating in secret or something?

Sun: What? No! Never! Monty and I are friends and he let me crash here to avoid Lunar and Mini Music Man’s unholiness. If anyone, I’m interested in Foxy.

Moon: You mean the guy who hit on me? That ancient little fleabag?

Sun: The very same.

Moon: Okay, who replaced Sun with a copy that’s completely lost its mind?

Lunar: Not it, I was busy.

Sun: Come on, his memory got reset, he doesn’t even remember hitting on you. And the new suit he got makes him much less of an ‘ancient little fleabag’.

Moon: I hate this family and I hate existing.

Harvest Moon: At least you’ve got your three ducklings free of sin, Uncle Moon.

Moon: Yeah fine, I’ll live for the ducklings.

Blood Moon: Can I be the cute duckling with a pink bow on my head?

Moon: Yeah, kid, we’ll get you a pink bow for your hair.

Sun: I have a box full of bows, c’mere kid.

Moon: Sun, that is the most creepy sentence you have ever written and I was there when you said ‘who wants candy until your parents come for pickup’. Please rethink your grammar choices.

Sun: LISTEN

Moon: NO

Sun: I’m allowed to spoil my grand-niece!

Moon: Not at the cost of sounding like a creepy uncle at a barbecue!

Blood Moon: Uncle Sunny, I’m here. Can I have my bow?

Sun: Yes, Blood Moon. I have a pretty pink one.

Sun: bloodmoonwithabowinherhair.jpg

Sun: Sending her back to you, Mama Duck Moon.

Moon: Hate that. Thanks.

Blood Moon: I GOT A BOW!

Solar Flare: It’s very pretty, sister.

Harvest Moon: You look adorable, twin.

Lunar: Ya look cute.

6:48am

Why Is This My Family?

Moon: @Eclipse @Polar I kidnapped your kids. This is a random note. I require coffee and bagels in exchange for the safe return of your kids that are all sleeping on me.

Eclipse: Oh shit.

Polar: Yeah, yeah, we’ll be over in an hour to collect the kids.

Kill Code: Oh my god, we scared the kids out of the house!

Lunar: Yeaaaaaah hearing your Mom and Grandpa getting railed does that. They’re safe, I’m currently taking pictures of Moon being trapped under your kids.

Eclipse: My god, they’re gonna need therapy.

Polar: We have attained coffee and bagels. We’re on our way up.

Kill Code: I’m on my way too.

Moon: Good, I’m getting lethargic you being out of my body so long.

Kill Code: I’m sorry!

Moon: Finally, hate you.

Kill Code: Listen, I forgot I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep! I was tired! I had my back blown out!

Moon: I don’t want to know this information.

Sun: Y’all are cursed. Your whole family is cursed. The adults at least.

Polar: I have acquired my daughter and sons, that’s all I care about.

2:25pm

Why Is This My Family?

Lunar: mynamespeteandilikejugsimmentallyillandimondrugs.gif

Moon: Lunar, that is so random, what?

Lunar: My therapist said I have something called ‘hd tv’.

Moon: …

Moon: You mean ‘adhd’?

Lunar: Yes, that’s the word! See, I wasn’t listening to Dr. Sheph again, I was zoning out thinking about the Saw movies again.

Moon: Lunar?

Lunar: Yes?

Moon: Listen to Dr. Sheph.

Lunar: Aw. Fine. But I’m still gonna talk about Saw during my therapy sessions and he can’t do nothing about it!

Moon: *long deep sigh*

Sun: Did you just really type out ‘long deep sigh’?

Moon: Yes, Sun, yes I did.

Sun: Alrighty then.

Eclipse: Hey samesies on the ADHD.

Lunar: I am now denouncing having ADHD.

Eclipse: Oh, come on!

Lunar: Nu-uh, don’t wanna bond with you over ANYTHING be happy I’m talking in a chatroom where you are.

Eclipse: Not even if I wanted to watch the Saw movies with you?

Lunar: …

Lunar: I’m bringing over my disk set of all ten movies, you better set up fast, you discount soggy Dorito chip. This will take 16 hours and 11 minutes minimum with no pauses.

Eclipse: Getting everything ready. Polar, GET OUT!

Polar: I’ve been evicted in favor of gore movies.

Lunar: You can join if you want.

Polar: Nah. I don’t handle gore well.

Lunar: Then yeah, stay the fuck out.

Polar: Guess I’m stealing the guest room tonight then.

Moon: You’re weird, Polar.

Lunar: Don’t make it sound like you didn’t puke watching them the first time.

Moon: Listen! Some of them got me yeah. Especially Valentina. And Joyce.

Lunar: You better shut up about Valentina and Joyce before I shut you up. No spoiling Eclipse!

Eclipse: I have no clue who those people are, I’m just happy to spend time and bond with you over ADHD.

Lunar: …I’ve been bamboozled by my hyperfixation into *gag* spending time with you.

Eclipse: We’ll you can’t leave now, the first movie’s already playing and you said you’d show me the movies.

Lunar: Alas.

6:41am

Why Is This My Family?

Moon: Sooooooo

Moon: How did bonding goooooo?

Eclipse: New hyperfixation! New hyperfixation!

Lunar: It was nice watching the movies again with someone who doesn’t throw up watching them.

Moon: Listen, I’ve apologized seven times now for throwing up on you during the Valentina scene. I’m sorry! At least we weren’t in a theater and I cleaned it up!

[psychic-refugee]

I do Tarot for fun, and I did a little reading for Percy. Obviously I do not know Percy and it’s not a personal reading for him, this was to entertain myself.

Upright King of Swords: This card appearing in a reading suggests that you should remain objective in your current situation - you must establish truth by sticking to the facts. The King of Swords and his intellectual power implies that you will need to use your intellect to make your point known and attain your goals. Besides your experience and education, you should be sharp and observant, to see deeply into problems that come your way.

I think Percy has shown a calm and collected head through the past several years. I read this as him being steadfast in the truth and always kept a rational mind when people let emotion and ignorance dictate their actions. He has never lost his temper, he has never deviated from his own statements, and he moved on when people wanted chaos and anger.

Ace of Pentacles: In this card, there is a single mysterious hand that comes out of the clouds. In the hand is what looks like a gold coin with a pentagram engraved on its surface. This pentacle is associated with the element of earth, and seen as a sign of wealth and all things material and earthly. Below the hand is a garden which appears to be flourishing with flowers and other kinds of vegetation - giving off the aura of fertility, growth and prosperity. The mountain represents the ambition required to drive one's search for the pentacle. The flowing creek seem to indicate that emotions are flowing towards this ambition.

This is the present and I think Percy has more than shown he is flourishing. He lives his life and has not stumbled or let anything deter him from his goals. He travels and he’s been working. I think we’ll continue to see the same for him.

Because of his past steadfastness with the King of Swords, I think people see his work ethic and his true self. Internet noise has not broken him, and he’ll be rewarded in kind.

Two of Pentacles: This card depicts a man who is dancing as he is juggling two large coins. The pentacles are surrounded by the infinity sign that denotes that the person can handle all the issues the come his way and he can manage his life with grace. In the background, you will notice that there are two ships that are riding the giant waves, and they reinforce the balancing act that the man has to face - he is in rough and choppy waters, but manages to stay afloat. The Two of Pentacles depicts the usual ups and downs that occur in one’s life. Despite all the chaos that surrounds him, the man lives a very carefree life as he dances, and handles all that comes to him with joy.

This is Percy’s future. I think he will see abundance for his hard work and talent, so much that he’ll need to keep balance and not over-commit himself.  

Again while there is internet noise in the background, he can't hear it over living his best life.

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 8 Matsuribayashi pt. 66

I guess we’ll see if this is the second part of my prolonged essay about how I feel characters get done dirty in the finale.

But the thing about the idea that she’s ruining the work of Hifumi Takano is the fact that that is blatantly untrue. There was a letter, note, journal entry in Minagoroshi where Hifumi basically begs Takano to make something of herself, to attain godhood by her own hands. To achieve some level of influence or fame because of the fact that he failed so completely in his own life.

I have to say, I like it when the console art has unique screens like this. Sure it’s not a great event, the abuse of Miyoko Tanashi, but I think it conveys her fraying mental state really effectively.

I do believe that this confirms it, Miyo Takano is indeed on the higher end of the Hinamizawa Syndrome. It doesn’t say it outright, but if you’ll recall one of the symptoms of the syndrome is a sense of persecution. I would like to point to the above and ask what is that if not confirmation and an example of Takano’s own persecution complex?

I don’t wish to appear wishy-washy but you could certainly use Hinamizawa Syndrome as a justification for why Takano seems to be acting so wildly out of sorts. In a way it’s the only explanation that makes sense, there are even parallels to Rena’s extreme symptoms from when her parents divorced. Ever since she received the news that the government was shutting down the Irie Institute Takano has acted more and more frantic about her dreams falling to pieces.

This dialogue towards the end of the screenshots make me wonder what exactly is communicating with Takano. Initially I presumed it was an entity similar to Hanyuu, some other cosmic being that is in opposition to Hanyuu and Rika’s struggles. There were vague implications earlier in the chapter, and towards to the end of Minagoroshi that there was something that was opposing them. There is one person who it could be, and that’s the Rika from the Fragments, the one who identifies themselves as Frederica Bernkastel. I have some theories as to why I think that its her, but I won’t get into them for now. The primary reason I think that it’s her is because of the fact that in the flashbacks an otherworldly voice saved Takano from dying when she made her escape from the orphanage. Then she led her to the phone booth that allowed her to call Hifumi and set all of this in motion. The only other option is that there is another of Hanyuu’s “demonic” kin that has survived and is secretly aiding Takano in her plans against Hanyuu. But the series has to this point never alluded to the idea of any of these other demons being alive so take it with a grain of salt, and also don’t look at the box art for Higurashi Hou +.

You gotta commit yourself Takano, can’t do things by halves.

It’s just the worst being stuck in a room with no fans or anything during the hot summer months. I get headaches from the heat so it’s sheer agony being stuck in a slightly above room temperature room, head pounding while time just seems to crawl. I can only imagine it’s worse doing exercises of any sort in a room with no means to cool off, or ventilation.

It struck me just now that for everything that’s about to happen in the story it all is going to be happening within a relatively small amount of time. Altogether, maybe about twelve hours. That’s something that’s always a bit difficult for me to reconcile with, the sense of time in a given narrative work. For all of its faults 24 had the decency to let you know pretty precisely when, and how long an event is in the narrative.

[aeliesa]

IN THE MIDST OF TRAGEDY

Synopsis: Your existence has never been put to question; everyone knows you're a traveler. No one pays much attention to the answers you give on trivial and common queries. However, there are those who are skeptical of your presence. To the Conqueror of Demons, you are something to be wary of— a bringer of chaos? Calamity? Perhaps a miracle? He himself can’t figure out a thing or two about you. You may appear as a harmless traveler, but there is still something about you that keeps his senses on guard.

Through the illuminating moonlight across the seven countries of Teyvat, in the country that lies in the east, you step foot, and it causes an uproar to the calm and collected Adeptus who does everything to honor the contract he made with the Geo Archon. By means of protecting the nation, the Vigilant Yaksha will deduce the walking enigma, but how? If he himself cannot put an end to his suffering?

• Relationship: Xiao x female reader • Content: Angst • previous chapter

five.

“Lady Traveler, stay back!”

Right before you can summon your sword, a man taller than you appears along with his hammer, which you are sure, if an average traveler were to be hit, death would be unimaginable, let alone that they would be lucky to remain whole.

“But–”

“Please let us handle this matter or we’ll suffer the consequences from Master – himself.” A man holds your arm before you can run into the battlefield.

You look sideways only to see a man who doesn’t even show any kind of remorse at the sight before him. As a matter of fact, you are quite astonished at how he seems so determined to see the group of Treasure Hoarders meet their death. All of a sudden, the twist in the situation leads you to a much-troubled mind on how messed up everything in Teyvat is, let alone in Liyue.

“But–”

The man who has shown so much authority turns his gaze at you; there is no hint of kidding regarding your situation, but the respect he has for you is indescribable, in a way you know that it’s because of how he must have enough grasp on your connection.

“I beg of you, Ma’am… I know that you prefer to fight these low lives, but I cannot allow a worse wreckage than we are causing right now.”

You frown but sigh in defeat. How torn am I that I cannot decide fairly? This is a headache, and they were able to put me in such a pressured situation.

You just remain silent, but the man continues to speak, “Your safety is the priority, since it was what Master avowed. Hence, we must do everything we can to secure your arrival in Liyue Harbor,” he says as if it’s clear that your arrival is expected by the likes of them.

“I appreciate the concern and the hospitality; however, I cannot let you risk your lives for a mere traveler,” you reply as you return your gaze to the Electrohammer Vanguard, who does not even sweat while smashing his hammer on the ground, causing quite a rumble and electric effect. He easily sways it in the air, making his opponents dodge it cautiously.

It would be a lie if you didn’t wish for the Hoarders to at least survive the attack.

The man beside you does not let you go, making it difficult for you to intervene. You cannot swiftly command, as they are also tasked with your safety—another factor for you to consider. They are also risking their lives for the mission being given to them. On the other hand, you cannot let another death happen, as it reminds you of a nightmare you longed to forget.

In these moments, you are quite impressed by how the Fatui works themselves; submitting their will to survive, and the loyalty they impose is highly remarkable. A trait that is rare to attain for everyone, even in ancient times, and is considered priceless.

The battle is not really intense; you know who will win, and you are sure that injuries might happen if you do not do your part. The Electrohammer Vanguard seems to be so serious with his mission, and there are no hints of him sparing the lives of the enemies.

You turn to the man beside you, “I am now in knowledge regarding your interceding with my situation, but given how they have not been able to lay a finger on me, it appears to be a success on your pretension...” You pause as the man beside you lets go of your arm while his attention is on the battle, but his focus is on you. “So I hope you give me the right to intervene, as it seems that this battle already has its result, but your ally out there…” You glance at the Vanguard, who is indeed showing abhorrence toward the enemies. “…Does not have a plan on leaving the battlefield without causing enough mess…”

Upon hearing that, he looks at you with wide eyes, and agitation is written all over his face, “However, Lady–”

You cut him off with a smile that you are sure could have the same effect—not to mention, by the likes of him. “I’ll be fine. I also do not want to compromise your lives, hence I would not do something daredevil,” you assure, which calms him a little.

“Forgive me for restricting you a while ago, but please, do as you please…” He takes a step back and bows his head a little to show a sign of respect and acknowledgment to your superiority.

In a blink of an eye, everything is different, and the man behind you knows how the mood quickly changes. He watches as you slowly walk into the middle of the fight as if you are wielding a force that can end the battle in a snap. No—it is farther than what he thought—it is as if you are holding their lives in your palm, and by that, you can control them.

It is also odd how the situation seems more dangerous, but the smile and assurance you gave him prevent his urge from stopping whatever you are doing. Notwithstanding the danger he senses, the man remains and is so sure how he feels secure and believes that what you just stated is not a lie. Was he compelled? He can’t tell, but he just chooses to stay and wait for the verdict of the one who holds the authority.

On the other hand, the Hoarders are scattered on the ground, defeated and weary when you walk straight to the battle. The Electrohammer Vanguard rushes bravely to the last Hoarder, who is trying to catch his own breath. When he senses the upcoming danger, he turns to you and pretty much crawls all over to your feet and holds onto it.

“Please, do have mercy and spare our lives,” he begs out of desperation. “Please, take everything you want from us, and we will vanish from here.”

Desperation is too visible that you refuse to look at him. You just cannot digest another sickening trait that you regard with extreme repugnance.

For a moment, you are lost in thought and have to control yourself, but everything is quite in order for another Hoarder to rise to his feet and prepare himself to land a counter-attack for the upcoming Vanguard. Needless to say, you are still in control of the situation.

“Please, save us Traveler!” the Hoarder, who almost held onto your foot, beseeches.

You wait for the two sides to rush into each other and land blows, and that is when the Hoarder’s grasp on your feet tightens, and he screams in fear to the point of losing his consciousness. And by that, you easily take your foot from his hands and walk straight into the center of the war. As both of them charge and end up on your sides, you make your move.

“Can both parties spare some of their time?” At that statement, they stop and almost look like they submit themselves to your authority. Your tone does not show threat nor danger, but somehow they feel fear and caution in your demeanor.

Who wouldn't? Someone who walks in the middle of the war and almost proclaims it as over without exerting a little amount of force is something dangerous—best not to cause recklessness that might lead to the worst.

“You better learn who you try to attack, or you may suffer way worse than now,” the Electrohammer Vanguard snarls at the Hoarder.

“Everything was perfect right before you showed your face. You were not even part of this in the first place!” The Hoarder says in defense.

“I have hope that everything has been put to an end,” you speak with an authority and calming voice that screams softness and warmth but is fearful enough for them to stop battling there. “There,” you chuckle with amusement, hoping to lighten the tension that had caused both sides to tremble in fear.

It is the Electrohammer Vanguard who speaks first, “Forgive me for going against your wishes, Lady Traveler, but I am just following orders.”

You chuckle, which is pleasing to those who can hear, and their rage disappears in a span of seconds. “I know, and I thank you for showing such determination in making me safe,” it is a sincere one that indeed gives the Fatui a sense of pride in his victory. “But I cannot digest too much violence—”

You are cut off when the Treasure Hoarder decides to land an attack, causing you to move your hand easily and catch his hand, twisting it, causing his weapon to drop on the ground. In response, he screams in pain, and you glance at him.

“I do not desire to be interrupted, especially when I am implementing peace.”

Right before the Treasure Hoarder can digest the sight before him, you use your spare hand and land a soft blow on his neck—just enough for him to pass out. He falls to the ground, and you turn to the Vanguard, who is quite surprised at what he just saw.

You smile, “I think it was not counted as violence, right? I just let him sleep rather than inflict worse injuries,” you laugh at the ironic action you just did. “Anyway, it seems useless for me to continue the statement, therefore…” You glance at the bodies that lie unconscious on the ground.

“Can you please leave them to me?”

“But, Lady Traveler!” The man hurriedly rushes to your side upon hearing your request. The Vanguard, on the other hand, is at a loss for words. “Have you forgotten what they were about to do to you?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Then it’s a plausible reason for you to let us handle this,” it is the Electrohammer Vanguard who answers.

“No,” you firmly say, which causes them to believe that the situation is out of control and they are starting to panic. “They are almost out of life, and it's proof that they cannot lay a finger on me… also, do not worry about your report to your Master.”

“L-Lady Traveler!”

One thing the people should be aware of is when your decision is firm and intact, as they are irrevocable no matter how much persuasion they do. “I assure you no harm may befall the both of you. I’ll handle this matter. Thus, I’ll talk to your Master—myself to make sure everything is okay.”

In the end, the two are not able to convince you to come with them, and they leave you to your desire. If you were to depict the fate that you have during your stay in Liyue, it would be: crazy. Considering the factors that are being laid out in every path you take—restraining yourself from doing something whimsical, fighting your way to survive against the enemies, and now being saved from trouble right before you could fight back. On the side note, you thought you had the worst destiny, but somehow everything says otherwise.

Are all of these things the effects of my plan? Perhaps, it’s a portent?

You stand there staring as the aftermath folds right before your eyes. Everything happens so swiftly. But given how keen your nature is, you perfectly process everything as if what happened is just another normal occurrence for you.

But it is not entirely the same, considering the situation is far better, and you know it. However, somehow it is quite similar to the memories you have had for years.

As the surroundings become much more visible, darkness slowly disappears, and the sky is much livelier than the past hours. You know the sun will be up in a span of minutes. When the ray of light slowly emerges from the horizon, you begin your purpose of staying.

Together with your eyes closed, you clasp both of your hands and lay down the boundaries that you have set up, limiting yourself from exposing the truest identity that you possess. A tiny warm light slowly appears from your palm, and when the sun rays finally hit almost everything in Liyue Harbor, you open your eyes and glimpse at the glowing hands of yours.

The light from your surroundings boosts the amount of power you exerted, which causes it to glow intensely; it is breathtaking—showing too much tranquility. You smile and softly blow those towards the fragile bodies of the mortals like a dandelion being blown along with the wind. The lights turn into orbs of different sizes, lightly flying into the places you want them to be. They are like fireflies if you happen to do that at night.

Each orb slowly submerges into their bodies, and the rest only float. If a mortal were to witness that event, it would be a phenomenal occurrence: ethereal enough to be tongue-tied but full of mystery.

You stare at the bodies for a minute. The lights you summon contain the effects you want them to feel: at ease and free of pain they suffered, and pretty much cause their memories to alter in a way you replace much more understandable happenings, wiping out the exact event and faces of their foes. It is too much of you to do that, but you do not have a choice.

They may come back with more allies, and you have had enough battles.

For the second time, you make a gesture that causes the orbs made of light to arrange and slowly swirl into the air, rising toward the sky. After that, you slowly lift your hands, reflecting them to ascend toward the fully awakened sky. By the time your mini-exhibition is finished, the sky glows for a moment and soon calms. Then you turn around and stare at the vicinity of Liyue Harbor from the small cliff. Afterwards, you continue on your walk as if you did nothing out of the ordinary.

Please do allow it to reach him and feel the same way the mortals do.

Near the entrance of the city, a man waits for you, however, he faces his back against you and commands his subordinates. The distance between you two is enough for you to know they are now something on the same level as those people you talked with earlier. A presence you are familiar with, holds authority, and possesses great power that you know you prefer not to fight.

Based on your observation, you know he is the Master the man refers to, and that he is the same Master the man tries to prevent from causing more casualties. By that, you are able to understand the man’s point.

Given the presence he makes you feel from afar, you know his Master is capable of causing destruction.

You can’t help but chuckle, “Figures, heh.”

Mortals.

As the man turns around, it is you who he sees. A warm smile he first shows and slowly walks toward your direction to meet you halfway.

“Ah, it appears you arrived in the same state as we all want to be.”

His tone is full of felicity, as if he is incapable of inflicting chaos. If a clueless mortal were facing this man before you, they would be deceived and believe that he is not someone to be afraid of. However, given that he is part of the same group you are aware of, you know that this man may seem cheerful, but on the other side, he also loves war.

The irony he carries. Two sides that seem contradictory. What a pair of sides.

You return the same fervent smile he shows, “Your efforts are deeply appreciated, for they are also one of the factors as to why I arrived in one piece,” you state truthfully.

The man chuckles lively, and you are quite fascinated by how his enthusiasm inflicts joy effortlessly, making your smile grow wider. You just cannot escape from the warmth of his tone—because you also possess the same ardency as him, but yours is way superior to his—given your status.

“I am moved by your humbleness, dear Traveler,” he says with a tone of liveliness, which makes you chuckle. “Please forgive me for not meeting you – myself and sending some of my men in my stead.”

Ah, I was right.

You know the moment you saw him a while ago, he is the man who is responsible for your safety earlier. And for a moment, your thoughts call for Xiao—in terms of fighting, he is on a different level than the people who came to your aid. But if it was him who came, you wouldn’t have been able to do something like you did earlier. You are relieved that it wasn’t Xiao, but some part of you had hoped that it was him who had come to your aid. Needless to say, you are now safe from harm, and that is what matters as of the moment.

“It was not really something to fuss over,” you reply.

The man chuckles, “Why are you indeed an understanding guest?” he says amusingly. “Forgive my manners, dear Traveler…” He hands a hand, and you stare at it for a moment. “I am Childe—a Fatui Harbinger, I must add.”

"Pleasure to meet you, Childe," you accept his hand and introduce the name you use in the mortal realm.

.prev .next

[mainstoryarchive]

Revolution - 62: Chaos

Translator: Creampuffs

Rei: The plan is a success. We leave the main part of the plan to our brethren – “2wink”!

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Location: Auditorium

Rei: The plan is a success. We leave the main part of the plan to our brethren – “2wink”!

Hinata: Alrighty.

Yuta: That was a great performance, Sakuma-senpai.

Hinata: You called for us, so here we are ♪

Yuta: Tadaaa ♪

Keito: (……!? Where did they come from?)

(Their outfits are different – they’re not “UNDEAD”. I’ve never seen them before, but… are they newcomers who have yet to take part in an "A1"?)

(They shouldn’t be performing today, but all the paperwork must have been done behind the scenes.)

(It’s one outlandish scheme after the other!)

(They’re twins… which means they must be the first-year Aoi brothers. If I remember correctly, they should be members of the Light Music Club – Sakuma’s juniors. Are they also part of his plan?)

Hinata: Hey, stop looking so tense like the protagonist of a battle manga and leave already ♪

Yuta: You’re going over your performing time, so you’ll be penalised, you know~? ♪

Keito: Ugh… how imprudent can you two be? “UNDEAD” and “2wink” – just know you two won’t have a place at this school when this dreamfest is over!

Rei: Is now really the time to be talking about our fate? You never know – perhaps the school may undergo a change after this dreamfest.

If a revolution occurs, then the previous king will be taken to the guillotine ♪

But we’d only be a nuisance if we stayed here forever. My fellow unit members, we’re leaving!

We’ve done our job – I’ll be sure to shower my dear unit with praises afterwards ♪

Kaoru: What~? Being praised by you doesn’t make me happy at all, you know.

Anyway, is it true that I’ll get a kiss from the Transfer Student if I did my best for the performance?

That’s the only reason why I gave my everything for the performance, you know~? ♪

Rei: Hm. When did I ever say that…?

Kaoru: Wha!? It’s not time for you to start becoming senile, Sakuma-san.

You’ve got to be kidding me~ I worked so hard!

Koga: Stop yappin’ and get off the stage, you geezers! Outta my way!

Adonis, we’re leaving and taking the equipment we brought on stage with us!

We’ve also gotta set up the stage for “Trickstar”, so we’re hella busy!

Geez, why’re we even doin’ something like this…?

Well, I guess I do owe the Transfer Student. Now, we’re even, dammit!

Adonis: I’m good at doing manual labour. Kanzaki, could you lend a hand?

Souma: Hm? I do not think I am obligated to help you, though? W-What should I do… Hasumi-dono!

Keito: Don’t mind them. It’s not our time to perform anymore. We need to leave the stage, otherwise we’ll receive a penalty.

I’m going to leave the stage and get a grasp on the situation. Afterwards, I’ll summon the members of the Student Council, and then we’ll think about how to deal with all this.

We lost our initiative, but we can turn the tables around. No… the stable order the Student Council built will not crumble due to something of this level!

Hinata: Yeah, yeah. Just hurry up and leave, okay?

Yuta: It’s not fun if the opening act takes forever to leave, right? Especially when the audience is so pumped up already~

Keito: You’re saying… we’re the opening act!?

Hinata: Sorry if we hurt your pride, but that’s just how things naturally came to be~♪

Yuta: At the very least, that’s how the audience sees the three of us – “UNDEAD”, “AKATSUKI” and “2wink”.

Hinata: Attain victory first and put an end to everything…

Looks like the system that allowed you to be invincible was useless~ Normally, the opening act are those who appear on stage first ☆

Yuta: The heroes arrive after.

Hinata: With all that said, it’s time for the main stars to arrive…

“Trickstar”, the up-and-coming idol unit Yumenosaki Academy has been waiting for, will begin their performance shortly~☆

Yuta: Please welcome them with a big round of applause! ♪

[ ☆ ]

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[thereader-radhika]

Some crazy Ponniyin Selvan prompts

• Poonkuzhali joins Pandya Aabathudavigal.

Some time ago, some people from the Pandya country came here. They wanted me to help them wreak vengeance on the royal family which had betrayed my aunt. It was then that I heard my aunt's story. My blood began to boil and I decided to join them. Later, I came to know how my aunt felt about all this. . . . Then I abandoned the idea of joining hands with the Pandya group. As you said my aunt's love is really divine. But mark my words, I won't be like her. If any Prince tries to deceive me I'll take revenge. I'll kill him. I'll also kill the woman who steals him from me. Then I'll stab myself and die.

• Vanathi joins Buddha monastery for real.

Vanathi went on: "Yes! I've decided to become a Buddhist sanyasini. Why do you object to that? Weren't there many women in ancient Tamil Nadu who became ascetics? Did not Madhavi's daughter, Manimekalail, become an ascetic and attain divinity and don't we praise her now as the Goddess Manimekalai? I have no such aspirations. I tried to end my useless life, but failed in the attempt. Perhaps it is God's wish that I live a little longer. I want to join a Buddhist monastery and spend my time serving people. You won't refuse to help me, will you?"

• Chinna Pazhuvettaraiyar Kalanthaka Kandar adopts Vanthiyathevan.

Let's wait, he thought, until my older brother returns. We can find out about him then and do whatever is best. A warrior like him should be inducted into our private bodyguard. Even a portion of his ancestral kingdom could be given back to him. Helping boys like this will bind them to us and ensure their loyalty. But if he's proved an enemy, we'll have to make other plans. Let's wait for my brother, anyway. We’ll see.

• Poonkuzhali fakes her death and runs away from the palace.

The court politics and the never ending scheming are so tiring and infuriating. She doesn't like Senthan as much as thought and Emperor Senthan is the most eligible married man in the country. She runs away, to embrace the waves once again.

• Manimegalai thinks 'ponal pogattum poda' (let it go) and starts to manage the affairs of Sambuvarayar clan when Kandan Maran is away on border patrol.

She is totally embarassed about her emotional outburst about a man who doesn't like her, that too to the woman he actually loves.

• Parthipendra Pallavan and Manimegalai decide to get married out of spite and plot the end of Vanthiyathevan and Kundavai.

Yeah, I made that up. I am crazy.

If anyone writes anything, please tag me so that my evil heart can rejoice 😏

@vibishalakshman @willkatfanfromasia @celestesinsight @harinishivaa @nspwriteups @nature-writes29, @whippersnappersbookworm @philtstone @sambaridli @sampigehoovu @thirst4light @dr-scribbler @doesitmatterluv @thirishareads

[oopsitsnothingcreative]

SUNLIT MEADOW - CHAPTER 3

Parring: Edward Cullen/Beau Swan

TW: Underaged drinking, panic attacks, mention of child abuse, mention of past toxic relationship,

CHAPTER 3: THERE’S A MILLION SCARY THINGS

Soon, Halloween became the only thing anyone could talk about—especially Jessica. Her parents were going away for the weekend, leaving her alone in their big house, which was apparently code for “party time.” She handed out invitations to anyone that seemed even mildly interested.

I would’ve been more excited about it if I hadn’t accidentally agreed to bake cupcakes and cookies for the party. Well, “agreed” was a strong word. Jessica had this incredible talent to con her friends into helping with her schemes before they realized what was happening. It wasn’t just me, either—she roped Alice into decorating, a bunch of guys (including Mike) into picking up snacks, and even got her older cousin to buy what I assumed was the sketchiest—and cheapest—alcohol imaginable. Meanwhile, Jessica herself was busy making playlists and planning “fun activities”… whatever that meant.

“How am I supposed to do all of this in one night?” I groaned, letting a stack of recipes Jessica had printed out flop dramatically onto the cafeteria table. My forehead followed immediately after.

Alice leaned in close, practically yelling into my ear. Her voice was as obnoxiously cheerful as ever. “I can help you!”

I tilted my head just enough to glare at her, cheek still squished against the table. “Aren’t you already busy turning Jessica’s house into the set of Hocus Pocus? How are you gonna help me and make the party look like Spirit Halloween had a meltdown?”

“Multitasking.” Her grin practically gleamed. “If we team up, it’ll be done in no time!”

“Oh, good,” I deadpanned. “More work. Yay.” My face remained firmly planted against the table, my voice muffled by sheer resignation.

“Could you not?” She gave me a pointed look, crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed.

Angela, who’d been quietly reading at the other end of the table, finally set her book down. “I can help, too.”

Alice lit up like we’d just solved world hunger. “Perfect! We’ll head to Jess’ after school and get to work. It’ll be fun.”

“Sure,” I muttered, shifting my glare to the mountain of recipes now haunting me. “If by ‘fun,’ you mean collapsing from exhaustion while frosting a cupcake with my own tears.”

Alice rolled her eyes at me, but I caught her hiding a smirk. That was one of the best things about her—she never let my sarcasm faze her, but she never dismissed me either. She just... balanced me out. Like, where I saw doom, she saw glitter and glue guns. Somehow, it worked.

“Stop being dramatic,” she said, nudging my arm with her elbow. “It’s gonna be fine. And anyway, you’re better at baking than you think.”

“Sure,” I grumbled, “and I’m also great at suffering in silence.”

“You’re definitely great at suffering,” she teased, leaning her chin on her hand. “Silent? Not so much.”

Angela chuckled softly. Alice smiled at her, and for a second, I let myself think that maybe this whole baking disaster wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**********

I spent the rest of lunch—and the walk to Biology—strategically avoiding Mike. I’d overheard him talking to Tyler about matching group costumes. I was pretty sure I’d heard my name somewhere in their conversation. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to know.

By the time I got to class, Edward was already at our table, smiling at his phone, his face lit by the glow of his phone. He was smiling at whatever was on the screen, and my heart immediately betrayed me by skipping a beat at just the sight of him, and I stopped in my tracks like a total idiot. I didn’t even realize I was blocking the entrance until someone bumped into me.

Why was this happening to me? Why couldn’t I like someone more… attainable? At some point, between late-night texts and those maddeningly perfect lunch conversations, my brain had made the executive decision to develop a crush on Edward Cullen. Stupid brain. Stupid feelings. Stupid, impossibly pretty boys who made my heart stop.

I practically threw myself into my seat, busying myself with my bag. That’s when I noticed something sitting on my side of the desk.

“What’s that?” I asked, frowning.

Edward looked up, his expression a mix of amusement and mild confusion. “Your book.” He said flatly, setting his phone down.

And indeed, there was “The Complete Novels of Jane Austen” lying before me.

I blinked. “My book? W-What? How? I’ve been looking everywhere for this. I thought I lost it in the cafeteria! Where did you get it?” Words were just spilling out of my mouth as I picked the book up.

“I borrowed it.”

“You… w-what? Borrowed it?” I squinted at him. “You mean stole it.” I corrected jokingly.

He leaned back, “I borrowed it,” he repeated, his lips twitching into the smallest soft smirk, making one of those small, adorable—very distracting—dimples pop out. “I made some notes for you in the margins.”

My mind went blank, and I could only stare at him just as blankly. Words failed me and my stupid heart went crazy again. All I could do was stammer, “W-what?” and continue to stare. Damn those mind-melting dimples.

Fortunately, Mr. Banner started the lesson before I could embarrass myself any further. I quickly stuffed the book into my bag, yet I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was Edward sitting in his room writing notes with that stupid, perfect handwriting of his in my book, for me, thinking about me. And he remembered I liked to put notes in my books. Had he been paying attention? Why was I like this? Why did I do this to myself? Why couldn’t I just stop thinking about this boy? A very, very, very attractive boy who did very, very cute things.

I mean, how could I not start catching feelings? Honestly, I was screwed. And the worst part? I had no idea if he even liked me back. Why would he?

“Beau?” An already too familiar voice right beside me got me out of my daydream. “Are you listening to me?”

“Huh?” I turned to him, panic flickering across my face.

Great, I’ve been daydreaming about Edward and his stupid, perfect hands the entire freaking hour.

He tilted his head, clearly trying not to laugh. “I was talking… to you,” he said, smiling faintly, like he found my obliviousness very entertaining. “I said, we should get going. Unless you wanna stay here…”

“Oh! Sorry, I-uh, sorry.” I mumbled, frantically shoving my stuff into my bag, avoiding eye contact like my life depended on it.

“It’s fine. I’ll walk you to the gym. We can talk on the way.” His smile deepened, and my knees promptly forgot how to function.

We fell into step together, his voice a low, calming hum beside me. My thoughts were all over the place. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but I kept getting distracted by all the little things he did. The way his hand occasionally brushed against mine, or when he leaned in and spoke really close to my ear, leaving the faint scent of his cologne and sending shivers down my spine. Somehow, I managed to keep up the conversation and even made him laugh once or twice.

“Are you excited about the party, Eddie-boy?” I heard Alice’s teasing voice behind us, and suddenly her arm looped through mine. She wedged herself between us, wrapping her other arm around her brother’s waist. Edward slipped his arm around her shoulders instinctively, though his expression was a mix of fondness and mild annoyance. They exchanged a look, it seemed like they were having a full conversation, though they didn’t exchange a single word.

“I’m still not sure I’m going, Ali,” he said, matching her playful energy, but I could tell he was a bit annoyed.

“Of course you are! You have to. It will be fun.” She sounded certain, like she knew it would be exactly as she said. I noticed she did that often.

“It’s a costume party. I don’t have a costume.” He explained flatly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got a perfect one for you, already at home,” she said with a sly smile. “While we’re on the subject of costumes…” She turned her gaze to me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “What about you, Beau?”

“I, uh…” I stammered, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “I don’t have one. Haven’t really thought about it.”

Shit. Another thing to add to my ever-growing list of things to stress about.

“You could go as Bowie. B-O…” she sounded out my name slowly “B-O-wie. Get it? I think you can pull it off. And Eddie is, like, obsessed with him.” She slightly squeezed my arm and smiled at me.

“You’re sooo funny, Ali,” I said dryly. “Really, how do you come up with this stuff?”

She elbowed me in the ribs. “You could go as the king of sarcasm, but that’s who you are everyday.”

“I use sarcasm because murder is illegal,” I shot back, earning a laugh from Alice.

“See you after class, boys!” She walked off, still giggling, and I suddenly realized we were standing in front of the gym.

Edward leaned casually against the wall, giving me a once-over that made me self-conscious for absolutely no reason. “You could pull off anything,” he said, his voice quiet but sure.

I rolled my eyes, mostly to cover the blush I could feel creeping up my neck. “Thanks, Mr. Flattery.” I lightly pushed his arm, which only made him grin.

“You should go,” I said pointedly, hoping to deflect whatever was happening here. “You’re going to be late for French.” I paused to emphasize the next part “Again. Mrs. Goff will kill you.”

He smirked, tilting his head like he was daring me to stop him. “Spending time with you would be worth it.”

I just stared at him, brows raised in disbelief.

“Fine, fine.” He pushed off the wall, his grin softening into something warmer. “I’ll see you later.”

I walked backwards in the direction of the entrance, still looking at him. “I’m going to Jessica’s. To help with the party prep, so don’t wait for me.” As I opened the door, I saw he didn’t move, so I yelled, “Go to class!”

He looked down, his hair falling over his eyes. I heard him mutter something that sounded like “Yes, sir,” and with that, he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving me wondering—again—what the hell I’d done to deserve this kind of torture.

When I entered the locker room everyone was already there. Mike was talking animately with Tyler in the corner. His voice was low, but his expression wasn’t exactly subtle—irritated, maybe even angry. I couldn’t hear them over the usual chaotic chatter of guys yelling across the room or slamming lockers shut, but when they saw me, they clammed up and started walking away.

Okay. That wasn’t suspicious at all.

It might’ve been all in my head, though. ‘Cause when we were teaming up to play, Mike, as usual, did everything to be on my team. He was his regular, overly friendly self. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was pissed at me for something.

When I got to Jessica’s, Alice, Angela, and a few others were outside, battling over the decorations. Alice was mid-argument with some unfortunate soul about how the pumpkin string lights were supposed to be hung. The main entrance was wide open, so I ducked inside, leaving her to her war.

No matter how many times I came here, Jessica’s house never failed to make me feel like I’d walked onto the set of some rom-com about ridiculously rich people. I knew Jessica’s family was one of the richest ones in Forks, but this house was fucking huge—absurdly huge, especially, for a family that small. Even the kitchen looked like it belonged in a magazine instead of an actual house. It also looked like it had never been used, which made the ridiculous amount of supplies on the counters seem even more out of place.

I dropped my bag on the counter, pulled out my recipes, and started sorting through them. Most of them were fairly simple, but some were overly complicated. Absolutely me, a sleek little radio perched on a shelf. I turned it on, letting the background music drown out the awkward silence. A song I didn’t know came on, and I shrugged. It was better than nothing, I thought. I sorted the supplies next and got down to work.

Four hours later, I was still baking. Apparently, this kitchen had two pretty big ovens. Was this a rich people thing? Who the hell needed more than one oven? I suppose it did make things easier for me. I could shove in double the cookies and cupcakes at once.

I was almost done. Almost. The cupcakes were in the ovens, and I’d moved on to decorating the cookies. Pumpkin shapes, bats, witches, and other halloweeny things—store-bought icing galore. But then, because fate has a sick sense of humor, Jessica wandered in to “check” on me, and while scrounging for a snack, she casually remembered that her mom used to make mac-and-cheese cupcakes when she was little. She’d made those big pleading eyes and asked sweetly if I could whip up some for the party. And, of course, instead of politely saying that I in fact did fucking mind because I’ve been here all day and would love to go home instead of indulging her weird rich-girl nostalgia, I responded with “Oh, no problem,” like the spineless idiot that I am. 

Fast-forward to me working alone in a giant kitchen, decorating cookies while mac-and-cheese cupcakes baked away. Alice and Angela? MIA. I assumed they had their hands full with Jessica and her ideas, and I didn’t have the energy to bother them.

I was channeling all my artistic abilities and focus into decorating a cookie when I nearly had a heart attack as I realized I wasn’t alone in the kitchen anymore.

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

The voice came from across the kitchen island, so sudden I dropped the cookie I’d been working on. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. That voice had been haunting my daydreams and messing with my sanity for weeks. If I looked up, I’d lose whatever thin thread of concentration I had left. So I didn’t.

“I don’t sing,” said flatly, trying to salvage the mess I’d made instead of acknowledging him.

“Weeell…” He dragged the word out teasingly. “You just did. You have a beautiful voice.”

My hand froze mid-cleaning. Beautiful voice? Me? I snuck a glance out of the corner of my eye. Edward was leaning against the counter,his head tilted slightly, wearing one of those stupidly disarming smiles. “I think you should do it more,” he added lightly.

That’s when I realized I’d been absently singing along to Like a Virgin. Fantastic. Kill me now.

Back in California, there had always been music playing. My mother and I would sing along, and for a while, those moments were some of the happiest memories I had. She’d light up whenever I joined in, overjoyed that I was doing something—anything—that connected us. It was the only thing besides ballet that ever seemed to work. Everything else eventually led to me disappointing her.

She signed me up for art classes so I could learn to paint like her, but I fell in love with drawing instead. I wanted to write; she wanted me to play an instrument—anything but the guitar, which she despised and hated that I even touched. When I inevitably caved in on her wishes and took piano lessons—because we were “supposed to learn together”—she lost interest in a matter of weeks, leaving me stuck with an old upright piano in the living room. I only played it when the sight of it gathering dust became unbearable. But I couldn’t say any of that to him. It wasn’t exactly kitchen-counter small talk.

So, I changed the subject.

“Whatcha doing here, Eddie?” I asked instead. The nickname slipped out, and I realized it was the first time I’d called him that. Maybe it was because I liked the way his full name rolled off my tongue.

He grinned. “I’m picking up Alice… but she’s not done yet.” He leaned closer. “And those smell amazing.” He nodded at the cookies. “May I… Have one?”

He started reaching out for one, but I smacked his hand away before he could grab it.

“These are for the party, so no. Hands off.” I made the mistake of looking at him then—directly into his stupid, unfairly beautiful eyes. And when he looked at me with those eyes, it was nearly impossible to say no to him. I could see all the different colors in them, a perfect mixture of light brown and green—that you couldn’t normally see, unless you stood this close—with a dark ring around the edges, like someone had hand-painted them.

He leaned in even closer, his nose just inches away from mine. “What if I ask really, really nicely?”

My whole body went rigid. My grip tightened on the edge of the countertop as my thoughts spiraled into complete chaos. I didn’t know if I wanted him to move away or come closer. Did he want to kiss me? Did I want him to? What if he kissed me? What if he did, and it wasn’t what he expected? What if it was? What if it’s all just in my head? What if I kissed him? What if? What if? What if…

“Pretty please,” he murmured, his voice soft and infuriatingly sweet. It echoed in my head like a spell.

I straightened up, desperate to put some space between us. “Edward Cullen, are you flirting with me?” I asked, half-joking, half-looking for some kind of confirmation.

“No, I’m not flirting with you,” he said, a bit too quickly. “I’m clearly begging you for food.” His cheeks went faintly pink, and I could’ve sworn his eyes flicked down to my lips for a split second. Maybe I wasn’t imagining it. But I might’ve gone completely insane at this point.

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “You can take one—” But before he had a chance to, I added. “If… You help me decorate the rest.”

“Deal,” he said instantly, a quiet laugh escaping as he snatched up a cookie. He took a bite, then froze.

My stomach twisted and my head started folding with anxious thoughts.

Oh, no. What did I do wrong? Did I forget to add some key ingredient? Did I grab salt instead of sugar? Did I ruin the whole batch?

“This is soooo gooood,” he said, his eyes wide. “I think I’m in love.”

And with that, he took another bite, looking entirely too pleased with himself while I stood there, losing what little grip on sanity I had left.

This man was seriously driving me insane!

**********

When I finally got home, my dad was fast asleep on the couch, the sports channel still blaring. The man could fall asleep in the middle of a war zone—and honestly, he probably had. I didn’t have the heart to wake him—not that he’d wake up easily—so I turned the TV off, covered him with a blanket, and dragged myself upstairs. I thought maybe a shower would help me find the energy to come up with a last-minute costume. Well, I thought wrong. I barely made it to bed before passing out, and honestly, it wasn’t a graceful collapse.

When I woke up, my face was mashed into the pillow, and something felt… off. It was quiet, which was weird. Normally, the morning was filled with my dad’s hurried footsteps, the coffee machine going full blast, or he would already be on his way to work, the morning news left on in a hurry. But today? Dead silence.

I stayed still, waiting for my alarm to go off. It didn’t. The feeling that I was getting a suspicious amount of sleep crept in. I rolled out of bed in panic, smashing my knee on the floor on the way down. My phone almost slid out of my hand, and when I finally managed to check the time, my heart sank. 9:53.

Cue panic.

Messages flooded my phone: Alice, spamming notes and random gossip; Mike, mostly asking if I was dying and—most importantly, for him—if I was still going to the party; and, of course, Jake with his usual Good morning, sunshine text. My heart sank. I was so late I’d skipped panic mode and gone straight into existential crisis.

My heart was racing as I threw on some clothes and sprinted to the bathroom, managing to brush my teeth and fix my hair in record time—okay, I looked like a half-drowned cat, but who cares?

On my way downstairs, I missed the last step, fell flat on my back, and rolled dramatically into the wall. I could hear the framed pictures banging against it, and for a very scary second I thought they would fall on me.

It took me a moment to register the throbbing pain in my shoulder and I was thankful no one had been home, they would’ve heard some truly creative language that my dad definitely wouldn’t have approved of. 

I had no time to wallow in self-pity, so I quickly gathered the scattered contents of my half-open bag and threw it over my still hurting shoulder and hurried to the kitchen. I was just going to grab something to eat and take off when something on the fridge caught my eye. Held by one of the magnets—one of a little, blue fish—I got for my dad years ago, was a piece of paper with his messy handwriting.

“I saw how tired you were, so I called school. You have a day off. 

Get some rest! I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Have fun at the party!

—Dad.”

I stared at the note, my back slowly sliding against the wall until I hit the floor. My knees pulled up against my chest, the paper crumpled in my hand. My breathing turned shallow and ragged, like someone had sucked all the air out of the room. I hugged my knees tighter, trying to keep it together, but it wasn’t working.

It was stupid, really. A day off shouldn’t feel like such a big deal. But it wasn’t just the day off—it was the fact that someone had noticed, that Dad had noticed. He didn’t say much, but he always saw me. Even when I wished he wouldn’t. He knew when to push and when to let me breathe.

It was the kind of thing my mom or abuela would never have done.

I’ve never missed school. Well, not without a good reason. No missed school days unless you were literally dying. And even then, my abuela would probably shove a thermometer in your mouth, wave a hand dismissively, and remind you she’d escaped communism, or that she’d sacrificed everything for her family. She was one of those larger-than-life Cuban grandmothers who could command a room with just a look.

She and Mom expected perfect grades and a spotless house. All this to say, complaining wasn’t allowed. Every argument, every minor rebellion, it didn’t matter if I was asking for five more minutes of sleep or complaining about math homework, ended with her reminding me how lucky I was to be born in el país de la libertad or saying something like ‘What happened at school that was so bad, Xavi? Did someone… steal your freedom today?’ And then she’d give me the look—the one that shut down arguments before they even started. She had this way of making you feel guilty for even breathing wrong, but you couldn’t be mad at her because she’d bake you pastelitos right after. Like some kind of guilt-trip peace offering.

Mom went along with whatever grandma wanted. Whether she agreed or not, she didn’t fight back. Even after grandma passed away her presence lingered like a ghost, and everything stayed the same, weirdly enough. My mom didn’t step into her shoes exactly, but the expectations didn’t disappear.

My mom was… complicated. She wasn’t strict the way abuela had been. Not exactly. But she carried that same controlling energy, wrapped up in smiles and hugs and a glass of wine that was never quite empty. Her mood would quickly change regardless if she had something to drink or not. But after a few too many drinks she usually said something along the lines of ‘Beau, you need to relax. Be a teenager’ yet everything she did prevented me from doing so.

I always thought she was that way because her free-spirited nature had gotten crushed under abuela’s endless rules. But I wasn’t so sure now. After all, my father was in the army, and he wasn’t anywhere near as strict as them.

I mean, he was army through and through, but somehow the most chill person on the planet. People always expected him to be the strict one, I guess because of the whole army vet, now chief of police thing, but he wasn’t. He’d spent his early twenties halfway across the world in places he never talked about—not unless he’d had a few beers and thought I wasn’t listening. The one time I’d asked, all he’d said was, “It’s nothing like the movies, kiddo.” He’d never gotten into details, but I could piece it together from the shadows that sometimes crossed his face when he thought no one was looking.

He trusted me, and that somehow made me try harder. Not that I’d admit it.

Somehow, after all of that, he’d ended up being the kind of dad who’d let me screw up a million times and still say, “You’re doing fine, kid.” My mom used to say it was because I reminded him of himself, but I didn’t see it. He was tough. I was… well, whatever the opposite of tough is.

I closed my eyes, the vice in my chest tightening. I hated the feeling of losing control, the way it made my hands tremble and my breath catch. I tried the tricks that were supposed to help: counting, focusing on something solid like the cold linoleum under my fingers. Nothing worked.

The tears burned, threatening to spill over, and I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. “Get it together, Beau,” I muttered. Deep breaths. That’s what they say, right? Deep breaths.

It didn’t help much, but I stumbled into the kitchen and boiled some water for tea.

Chamomile. Grandma used to swear by it. “Xavito, you drink this, you calm down. Then you can be smart again,” she’d say, her thick Cuban accent turning every word into a song. I could still hear her voice sometimes, echoing in my head, teasing me about my name. She never liked “Beau.” Too American. Too… not Xavier.

I forced down a cup of tea, the warmth helping to unclench the icy grip on my chest. Still, I couldn’t shake the restless energy gnawing at me. I wandered back to my room, hoping it would help, but when I stood in the doorway, I froze, staring at the bed like it was mocking me.

What was I supposed to do now? There was always something—always something to fill the time. I never had to just be. It was… unsettling.

I hated it. I hated the way it felt like I was waiting for something to happen. Or, worse, for something to go wrong. I was never without a plan, never without a schedule. Not even for a second. And now? Now I was just… standing there, useless.

I glanced at the clock. I had no idea what to do with myself, and it was making my skin itch. I paced the room a few times, like I could out-run the feeling of emptiness. The ticking of the clock on the wall was starting to feel louder than usual.

I couldn’t let it get to me. I couldn’t.

I decided to try to get some sleep. And that’s exactly what I did—tried.

I closed my eyes, tossed and turned, trying to find the most comfortable position to sleep. And nothing. It felt like my body had forgotten how to be still, how to be calm.

The more I tried to get comfortable, the more restless I became. I opened the window and drew the curtains, hoping the fresh air would clear my head. It didn’t. And it got even worse when my mind inevitably wandered to yesterday… to Edward… to his eyes… to his lips… Damn, those lips… and to how I shouldn’t be thinking about him or his stupid lips. But I couldn’t stop.

Why was I even thinking about this? About him? It wasn’t like he’d said or done anything… except for the way he looked at me, the way his voice got softer when he spoke to me, the way he leaned in just a little too close.

Okay, fine. Maybe he’d done plenty. But this wasn’t me. I’ve never craved someone’s affection like this. Ever. But with him, it was like my brain had been rewired. It was terrifying, wanting someone so badly it felt like my whole world might shatter if they didn’t want me back. Wanting them like that—needing them—that wasn’t me. But with Edward, it was different. Too different.

I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow, but it only made the thoughts worse. It felt like my brain was just looping through the same images, the same impossible questions.

What if he was flirting with me? Or was he just messing with me?

Get it together, Beau.

But the panic was creeping in. I hated that feeling. My chest felt tight again, and the idea that I might need something, want something from someone—it sent me into a tailspin.

I looked at the time again. Instead of trying to relax, I decided to make a plan. Something to fill every second, every corner of my brain, just to stop the thoughts from creeping in. It didn’t matter what the tasks were—cleaning, reorganizing my bookshelf, math homework—anything was better than this. Something was always wrong when I had too much time to think.

Before I knew it, the day had slipped away, leaving me tangled in a web of thoughts and feelings I didn’t know how to escape.

**********

The party had started over an hour ago. I’d parked a block away, and I could already hear the music—the bass thumping so loud it felt like my car was vibrating.

And yet, I couldn’t make myself get out of the car.

I just sat there, overthinking everything. Why did I drive here alone? I should’ve gotten a ride. Would I end up drinking? Probably not a good idea. Why did I even come at all? I’ve never been to a party before. I didn’t even know how I was supposed to act.

“This wasn’t life or death—just high school.” I muttered under my breath, over and over, like a mantra. It didn’t help much, but eventually, I took a deep breath and cautiously stepped out of the car.

The air was cold, too cold even for my outfit. Somehow, even four layers of clothes weren’t enough for autumn in Washington. At least it wasn’t raining, though I probably should’ve worn a thicker jacket. I knew I was acting like a five-year-old screaming at his mom that a jacket would ruin the costume, but then again, I didn’t have a mom that would tell me to wear a warmer jacket.

I glanced down at myself. This costume had been sitting in my closet since last year, for what was supposed to be my first real party, my first wild high school experience. The party I’ve never got to because I had to take care of my heartbroken mother after her boyfriend decided to trash our living room and steal her credit card. I spent that halloween night on the phone with the bank while cleaning. So fun.

Still, I’d been excited back then. I remembered the guy that invited me. He was a year older, kinda cute in a “plays in the band that only performs in his garage” kinda way. We had that in common, the band thing. We went on a couple of dates, and I barely knew him, but it still hurt when he avoided me in the hallways after I stood him up.

Now, here I was, finally using the costume. People were pouring out of the house, some of them I had never even seen before. I guessed Jessica managed to invite people from the town over. A big group gathered on the porch and front lawn, talking and drinking, and one guy was already puking in the bushes. A great start.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk, overthinking again. I could still turn around, go home, and pretend none of this ever happened.

But I didn’t.

I felt my shoulders tighten as I walked inside.

Everything from the floor to the ceiling screamed halloween—the low lights, thin smoke, decorative pumpkins, skulls, cobwebs, caution tape over some of the doors and, of course, the people in crazy outfits. It was so loud I had to fight the urge to cover my ears. The living room had been turned into a dance floor, packed with sweaty, drunk teenagers. I pushed through the crowd, dodging elbows and drinks, and made my way to the back of the house, where it was quieter.

Sort of.

The back room had tables covered in snacks and games. To my surprise, people seemed to actually enjoy my baked goods, and that earned a small, satisfied smile from me.

I was looking for my friends when I got hit by a ping-pong ball in the shoulder. A guy dressed like a baseball player just shouted “sorry” before going back to his beer pong game. Meanwhile, I got stuck in place like a Sim when their action was canceled. Just following the ping pong ball with my eyes, watching how it missed the cups each and every time, to the frustration of the players and others around the table.

“Beau! I’ve been looking for you!” Jessica’s voice snapped me back to reality. She pulled me into a tight hug. “You look… amazing!”

“Wha-what are you supposed to be?” she asked, pulling back to give me the full once-over.

“Oh, I, I’m the Doctor. The Tenth Doctor.” I gestured awkwardly at my thrifted brown three piece suit with thin white stripes, a matching tie, red converse, and paper 3D glasses on my head. My nails were still painted black, thanks to my shortage of nail polish remover, so I decided to lean into the look with some eyeliner. The only thing missing was the iconic sonic screwdriver, but I’ve never been interested in buying overpriced movie gadgets—mostly because I’ve also never had the money. Jessica was dressed as Princess Peach in a light-pink puffy dress and a very sparkly tiara.

Jessica’s blank stare said it all.

“Doctor Who,” I added. “The British TV show?”

“Who?”

That was it. The joke practically wrote itself. “Exactly,” I muttered with a little laugh, but it was wasted on her.

Jessica shook her head like I’d just confessed to an unspeakable crime. “Whatever. Come on, we’re drinking!” She grabbed my arm and dragged me into another room.

And there he was, looking like a dream, looking like Mr. Darcy. The shirt, the coat, the messy hair—he looked like he’d just stepped out of the set of the 2005 Pride and Prejudice adaptation. Like he’d just confessed his undying love for Elizabeth Bennet.

My heart skipped a beat.

He was incredible, and I was hopeless.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away, not even when our eyes locked, and the rest of the room disappeared. My stomach twisted into a knot, and I could barely breathe. Not until I literally couldn’t see him anymore, until there was this tiny faerie practically throwing herself at me. Her cheerful voice pulled me back to Earth and then she literally pulled me straight to the ground to sit next to her, because apparently we were playing a drinking game.

That was when I finally noticed there were other people around that weren’t this handsome Georgian guy or his magical-looking, faerie sister.

Before I knew it, I was sitting cross-legged in a circle on the floor, wedged between Jessica and Alice, being handed a plastic cup filled with something alcoholic, surrounded by Super Mario characters. Looking at them all—Mike as Mario, Tyler as Luigi, Eric as Waluigi, Lee as Wario, Samantha as Rosalina and Lauren as Princess Daisy—made me glad I avoided them when I heard the words “group costumes.” Ben and Angela’s costumes didn’t match the rest of the group either. Angela was some anime character I didn’t recognize, and Ben was a superhero from one of those comics he always reads.

“Okay, game time!” Jessica announced, dropping a stack of laminated cards with questions or dares, and an empty bottle on the floor in the middle of the circle. The rules were simple: spin the bottle, pick a card, and either do what it said or drink. Basically, a mash-up of ‘Truth or Dare’ and ‘Never Have I Ever,’ so the classic teenage party game, except Jessica was the mastermind behind the questions and dares—which meant things were about to get really personal. Of course.

As expected, I was right; the questions did get personal, especially when it came to Angela and Ben. Everyone knew they had feelings for each other—except them, obviously. Beyond that, everything, specifically the dares were exactly what you’d expect—designed to make you drink. I honestly thought I could just sit and observe everyone else without ever having to actually, well, play. Fortunately, the bottle seemed to avoid me most of the time—maybe out of pity—and when it finally landed on me, I got lucky and only got the easy questions, like ‘what was your first kiss like?’ Questions that were a little embarrassing, but not so personal that I couldn’t answer them.

I considered lying but decided the truth was mortifying enough. “Weird,” I said, trying to sound casual. “It was with my best friend’s school friend. Paul. He kissed me at a campfire while people roasted marshmallows. Romantic, right?” I rolled my eyes, hoping that would be enough.

But Jessica, of course, the gossip queen that she was, immediately connected some dots in her head. “Wait, is this Paul Lahote? Didn’t he—?”

“Yep,” I cut her off quickly. “He did. And we don’t talk about it.” My tone was light, but internally I was wishing for spontaneous combustion again.

The game dragged on, circling around like an awkward confession roulette. People swapped stories about exes, awkward childhood moments, and, in one case, an unfortunate tattoo. I stuck to short answers, leaning on sarcasm, and kept my cup untouched. The only thing that truly made it embarrassing was Edward’s presence. Especially when I got the question ‘what was your first relationship like?’ I almost choked on my drink.

Talking about my first boyfriend—if I could even call him that—in front of the guy I wished was my boyfriend was a special kind of torture. Worse still when I had to admit I was still a virgin (or at least by my friend’s standards). I wanted to sink into the floor. I avoided Edward’s eyes like they might actually catch me on fire, instead staring at the rim of my cup as I muttered something vague about my weird, messy, complicated relationship with Paul Lahote.

I kept most of it to myself, glossing over the details like I always did. Paul wasn’t someone I liked to talk about often with anyone, brushing it off with a joke that didn’t quite land. It wasn’t a story I wanted to share here, not with Edward sitting across from me, his gaze soft and curious. Not when the truth still felt too raw, too tangled. Even Jake only knew bits and pieces, though he probably knew more than I’d ever had to admit out loud. My relationship with Paul was a tangle of contradictions—brief but long-lasting, messy but magnetic—and doomed from the start.

Well, it wasn’t always bad. It was actually quite sweet in the beginning, the opposite of complicated.

Jake introduced me to Paul when we were thirteen, during one of those Forks summers where the days stretched out like they’d last forever, back when everything felt simple and exciting. Paul was a year older, he was pure energy—loud, cocky, and unfiltered. But when we were alone, he let his guard down just enough to pull me closer. For weeks, he tried to impress me, to make me laugh, showing off at the bonfires and daring me to do things I never would’ve done on my own, like daring me to race him into the freezing water. I laughed at him at first, but before I knew it, I was caught up in his gravity.

I’ll never forget the night he kissed me for the first time. We were sitting by the fire on the beach, away from everyone, the ocean whispering behind us. His hand brushed against mine, and for once, he seemed nervous, his confidence faltering. He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he was about to ruin everything, and before I could second-guess what was happening, he leaned in and kissed me. It was awkward and clumsy—his lips too warm, his nose bumping mine—but it was also perfect in the way only a first kiss can be. We spent the rest of the summer tangled in each other’s orbit, sneaking around like it was the world’s greatest secret, stealing moments when no one else was watching.

When the summer ended and I went back to California, I thought that would be it. A sweet little memory to tuck away. That’s just how these things went.

Only, it didn’t end.

When I came back the next summer, Paul acted like no time had passed. We picked up right where we left off, sneaking around, again, stealing kisses when no one was looking, and whispering into the night. For the first time, it felt like something that could stretch beyond just a season, into something bigger, something real.

Even though loving Paul came with rules, ones I didn’t understand at first. He wasn’t out—not to his family, not to anyone but me… not even to himself in some ways. I could feel the weight of his fear, the way it pressed down on every moment we shared. Always looking over his shoulder, always torn between who he was with me and the version of himself he thought he had to be for everyone else. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t his fault, that I could be patient, that he’d figure it out.

But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t carry that weight for him. Loving him meant shrinking myself, bending myself to fit into the spaces he made for me, and hiding in the shadows he was too afraid to step out of. I kept telling myself it was enough… even when it wasn’t. But the truth was, Paul’s fear kept us on uneven ground from the start. I was always waiting for him to let me in completely, and he never did.

We promised to make it work, even with the distance. And for a while, it did. I believed him when he said it was worth it, that we were worth it. We stayed up late texting, calling each other, trading sleepy ‘I miss yous’ that felt like lifelines when we were hundreds of miles apart. I clung to those words like they could hold us together.

But slowly, Paul began to drift away. For a while, I convinced myself the distance was the problem. That everything would be easier if we were in the same place. But it wasn’t. Paul started pulling away bit by bit. He would take longer to text back, then stopped responding altogether. Let my calls go to voicemail. At first, I made excuses for him—he was busy, overwhelmed, tired. I told myself we were fine. But the silences between us grew heavier, like they were saying all the things Paul couldn’t bring himself to say.

Then Jake called.

He wanted to know why I hadn’t told him that Paul and I had broken up. My heart sank. I didn’t know what he was talking about until Jake told me he’d seen Paul with another boy—and, furthermore, he apparently also had a girlfriend.

He’d been seeing other people, and I was the last to know.

I felt hollow. I’d been holding onto something that was already gone, and everyone else could see it but me. Paul didn’t even have the decency to end things. He just… moved on, leaving me to piece together what was left of my dignity. I wanted to hate him for it, but I hated myself more for not seeing it coming. For ignoring the warnings Jake had given me from the start. He told me Paul wasn’t the kind of person who’d ever give me what I deserved. He told me Paul didn’t know how to love anyone but himself, but I didn’t want to believe it. I thought I could prove him wrong.

The worst part of a broken heart wasn’t the moment it shatters—it was the quiet echoes that linger after. I missed him in ways that made no sense. I missed the warmth of his laugh, the way he’d call me “kid” even though we were only a year apart, the spark in his eyes when he was just Paul and not the mask he wore for the rest of the world.

I kept waiting for closure that never came, for some kind of explanation. But Paul never gave me that. He just kept going, not looking back. And I was left to wrestle with the ache of loving someone who wasn’t who I thought they were.

I wrote about it, of course—it’s what I do, what I’d always done. I put it all in my journals, poured every feeling, every ounce of confusion, and longing, and heartbreak into words, or incomprehensible scribbles or sketches… anything that came to my mind was hidden neatly into those pages meant only for me. Though sometimes that endless stream of thoughts and pictures ended up as poems or lyrics, and those lyrics—with a lot of effort from my more musically talented friends—turned into songs for our little band.

But even with everything I wrote, the words couldn’t erase the hollow ache of knowing that no matter how much I’d loved him, it would never be enough to change reality.

Paul had always been a storm—wild and untouchable, pulling me in and tossing me aside. And I’d been foolish enough to think I could weather it.

And yet, even after all that, it wasn’t over.

The following summer, I didn’t expect to see Paul. I told myself I was over him, that the bruises he’d left on my heart had faded. But the moment he found me again, smiling that same careless smile like none of it had ever happened, my resolve crumbled.

He told me he’d made a huge mistake, that he’d never stopped caring about me, that he missed me. He said I was the only one who really understood him. And like the fool I was, I believed him. I let him pull me back in, convincing myself that this time would be different. That the sweet boy who kissed me by the fire was still somewhere inside him.

But Paul wasn’t the same. He was reckless now, angrier. He’d started drinking heavily and even smoking weed, partying with people who only fueled the worst parts of him. I’d get calls from him at three in the morning, his voice slurring as he told me he loved me while I could hear the sound of wind whipping past—Paul, drunk and driving, making promises he’d break by sunrise.

He wanted me when it was convenient, but he refused to let anyone else see us. We’d sneak around like some dirty secret, hiding behind locked doors and whispered conversations. When I asked him why he couldn’t just be honest about us, he’d snap, accusing me of trying to ruin his life or calling me selfish for not understanding how hard it was for him.

He showed up late to see me, reeking of alcohol and bad decisions. Sometimes, he’d come with bruised knuckles, a split lip, or blood on his shirt, and I never knew whether to ask questions or stay quiet. If he was in a good mood when I asked what happened, he’d laugh it off or change the subject. Other times, we’d fight. The arguments were sharp and exhausting, like walking on glass, and no matter what I said, it always ended the same.

He’d apologize and tell me it was my fault in one breath. He was so charming and persuasive. He’d tell me I was wrong, call me crazy, say I was imagining things, make me doubt myself so much that I started to believe him. There were times I’d feel like I was losing my grip on reality, constantly questioning if I was the problem, if I was too much, or not enough.

I remembered the time when I could make him smile during an argument, the argument forgotten, but those times were gone, swallowed by the storm of anger that lived inside him now. I couldn’t reach him anymore.

Paul’s temper scared me. He’d punch walls when things didn’t go his way, leaving holes in the plaster. One night, during an argument, he grabbed my wrist so hard it left bruises. I told myself it was just a moment, that he didn’t mean it, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t the first warning sign—I’d been ignoring them for months.

He’d cheat on me and lie. Once I’d overheard him talking with his friends, saying he’d only ever dated me for laughs. We’d fight and we’d break up. Later, when he was drunk and alone, he called me crying, saying he didn’t mean it, that I was the only one who ever mattered to him. And I believed him. Over and over again.

This cycle went on until this past summer—the one that finally broke me. Paul begged me for another chance, tears in his eyes and promises tumbling from his lips like they actually meant something this time. And like every time before, I gave in. I didn’t even know why anymore. Maybe I was still clinging to the memory of the boy who kissed me by the fire, the one who made me feel like I was someone worth chasing. Or maybe I just wanted to believe that he could change, even though deep down, I knew better.

I wanted to believe him when he said things would be different. But nothing had changed. The fights were still there, sharp and suffocating. The jealousy, the anger, the drinking, and, of course, the cheating. He wanted me to belong to him completely, but he was never really mine—not in the way I needed.

It all came to a head when I told him I had to go back to California a month early. He didn’t even let me finish before he lost it. His face twisted in anger, his voice cracking as he shouted over me. When I tried to explain, he grabbed my shoulders and slammed me against the wall. His whole body was shaking, and for the first time, I wasn’t just scared of losing him—I was scared of him.

I never got to tell him the truth—that I wasn’t leaving for good. That I’d decided to move to Forks, to stay. Not for him, but for me. Because I wanted a fresh start, a place that felt like it could finally be my home. But in that moment, I realized something that had been staring me in the face for years: Paul wasn’t the person I thought he was. He never had been.

Walking away from Paul felt like breaking free from a chain I’d kept locked around myself for far too long. It wasn’t easy—I wanted to turn back more times than I care to admit. There was a hole where he used to be, and no matter how much I knew I needed to leave, it still hurt. For so long, I thought love was supposed to feel like this. Like sacrifice and pain and longing. But Jake—my best friend, the one who always had my back, even when I didn’t deserve it—showed me otherwise. He reminded me of who I was, of what love should feel like.

Looking back now, I can see the relationship for what it really was: a mess of manipulation, heartbreak, and abuse dressed up as love. Paul was like a storm—beautiful and wild, but impossible to hold onto without getting swept away. He played with my emotions like it was a game, keeping me guessing which version of him I’d get each time. The charming boy who made me laugh until my sides hurt? Or the angry, destructive one who left bruises on my… heart?

Paul never changed, not really. He was still the boy who punched walls when he didn’t get his way, who got drunk and showed up at my door with slurred apologies. The boy who talked shit about me to his friends, who made me feel like I wasn’t enough and too much all at once. And for a long time, I let him make me believe that was my fault.

But the truth is, Paul wasn’t mine to save. No matter how much I tried to break through his walls, all I ever did was hurt myself in the process. He drained me of everything I had to give, and when there was nothing left, he moved on, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

I think the hardest part was letting go of the hope. The hope that he’d wake up one day and realize what he’d done, that he’d apologize in a way that actually meant something. That he’d love me the way I deserved to be loved. But holding onto that hope was killing me, and I finally had to let it go.

In the end, all I got from Paul was a lesson—and some songs. Writing about him was the only way I could make sense of it all, turning the pain into something real, something I could use. So, yeah, I got some decent songs out of it. But honestly? I’d trade them all just to never have met him at all.

Now, only a few months later, I sat in a circle of new faces, new friends and I couldn’t stop thinking about how messed up it all was. Paul’s ghost lingered in the room, a weight I couldn’t quite shake. I wondered if Edward saw it, too—if he could tell that every sarcastic remark was just a defense mechanism, a way to keep anyone from getting too close. After all, getting close had only ever ended in disaster.

The bottle spun and spun, but it never seemed to land on the right questions for Edward—the ones I needed answers to. My stomach twisted every time I glanced his way, wondering if he noticed the way I stumbled over my words when he looked at me a little too long or how I laughed a little louder at his jokes. Maybe it was stupid, but part of me wanted to believe Edward could be different. That he wouldn’t leave me feeling small and broken like Paul had.

The bottle spun again, glinting under the dim light, and I forced myself to focus on the moment, to push Paul out of my mind.

Edward drank a couple of times, always at the worst moments for my sanity. Questions like, ‘Do you have a crush on anyone?’ were met with a cool, deliberate sip instead of an answer. My chest tightened every time. I wished he’d said something—anything. I wished he’d said my name. I wished for confirmation that all of this wasn’t just in my head.

Jessica’s grin turned downright predatory. “Alright, Cullen,” she drawled, handing him a card. “Let’s make this interesting.”

Edward picked up the card and read it aloud, his voice calm and measured: “Who’s the most attractive person in the room?”

Cue collective silence.

Edward’s gaze swept over the circle, his expression unreadable, until his eyes lingered on me. For a fraction of a second too long. Then, with infuriating poise, he raised his drink and took a slow sip.

My stomach flipped, and not in a good way. Was I imagining things? Did that tiny pause mean something, or was I just desperate enough to make it up?

The moment passed, and the game trudged on. The rest of the group seemed oblivious to the tension humming between us, but I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him. And every so often, I caught him doing the same.

When the bottle finally spun back to me again, Jessica couldn’t hide her excitement. “Alright, Beau,” she said, her grin like a shark circling its prey. “Let’s get serious.” She handed me a card that read: “Kiss the person you find most attractive here.”

I froze, heat rushing to my face. The room felt suffocatingly small.

Edward’s gaze burned into me, intense and unreadable. It was the kind of look that could melt steel—or possibly my brain.

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the cup. I considered my options.

A) kiss Edward, get rejected and die of absolute mortification.

B) drink and look like a total coward.

Well, I already was a coward, so the choice was easy. I lifted the cup and drank, the alcohol burning my throat as I avoided looking at Edward. It was warm and bitter. It wasn’t all that bad, but I wasn’t entirely sure if I liked it.

Jessica pouted, but the game rolled on. Slowly, people started peeling away. Ben and Angela were the first to leave, as they emptied their cups to avoid the uncomfortable questions about their feelings. Tyler followed soon after. Alice abandoned the game entirely to join Emmett and Rosalie on the dance floor. My cup was still half-full at that point.

Before I knew it, everyone had fizzled out completely. It was just Edward and me, sitting in the corner of the room, the laminated cards abandoned on the floor. Exchanging questions under the flimsy pretense of the game, except neither of us wanted to embarrass the other. It started very simple.

“What’s your favorite color?” Edward asked suddenly, as if it was vitally important to him.

I rolled my eyes. “Very creative.” I leaned back, pretending to think deeply. “It changes from day to day.”

“What is it today?” he pressed, still solemn.

“Probably brown.” I tended to dress according to my mood.

He snorted, dropping his serious expression. “Brown?” he asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“Yeah, brown,” I said defensively. “Brown is warm. Also everything that’s supposed to be brown—tree trunks, dirt, rocks—is all covered up with squashy green stuff here. I miss brown,” I complained.

He seemed fascinated by my little rant. He considered for a moment, staring into my eyes.

“You’re right,” he decided, serious again. “Brown is warm.”

And then, like it was nothing, he reached over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitant and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips barely grazed my skin, but I forgot how to breathe for a solid five seconds.

“What’s your mother like?” He asked suddenly. It was my turn, but I let it slide. His tone shifted to something softer, more curious.

I blinked, thrown by the change in topic. He studied me curiously while I answered. “Uh, she’s… complicated. She kind of looks like me—same eyes, same hair color—but she’s short with darker skin. She’s an extrovert and super forgetful. She’s also eccentric, irresponsible, and a very unpredictable cook. She’s a nurse, or I guess she was a nurse, she quit to travel with Phil.”

“Do you miss her?”

The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated, my hands tightening around my cup. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I haven’t really thought about her much this past month.” I paused, feeling a little guilty. I looked away, focusing on the way my drink swirled in my cup.

“Why did your mother marry Phil?”

It took me a second to answer.

“That’s… complicated too.” I sighed, trying to find the right words. “My mom… she’s very… young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. Anyway, she’s crazy about him.” I shrugged, feeling awkward. Personally, I didn’t see it, but did anyone ever think anyone was good enough for their mom? He made her stop drinking or at least drink less, so that was something, I guess.

Edward tilted his head, like he was trying to understand my logic. “Do you approve?”

I shrugged again. “I want her to be happy, and he’s who she wants.”

“That’s very generous… I wonder…”

“What?”

“Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?” His voice was low, his eyes searching mine with unnerving intensity.

“I, I think so,” I stammered. “But she’s the adult—on paper at least. It’s a little different.”

His face relaxed. “No one too scary, then,” he teased.

I grinned back. “Define scary. Covered in tattoos and piercings? A gang member? Someone who doesn’t like dogs?”

“That last one would be unforgivable,” he said, his tone dry.

“Exactly.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile, and I found myself staring at it, which was definitely not helping my racing pulse.

“Do you think I could be scary?” he asked suddenly, his eyebrow arching in challenge, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk, lightening his face.

I pretended to examine his face for a minute, partly to keep the conversation light and partly as an excuse to shamelessly stare at him, my favorite thing to do, as of late. His features were perfect, so symmetrical. His face would stop anyone in their tracks, but it wouldn’t make them run in the other direction—the opposite.

“It’s kind of hard to imagine that,” I admitted.

He frowned a bit.

“But, I mean, I’m sure you could be, if you wanted to.”

Edward’s smile faltered for a second, like he wasn’t sure if I was joking. Then he chuckled softly, the sound low and warm.

We both paused for a moment, the silence between us wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… comfortable. More than I’d ever experienced with anyone else. It was strange to feel so connected to him, even when we weren’t talking. This past month had been filled with so many moments like this, where we didn’t need words to understand each other. It was like we had fallen into this rhythm, this unspoken closeness that I hadn’t shared with anyone else.

“Do you have any other relatives?” he asked after a while, his voice quieter now.

“My mom has a sister,” he waited for me to continue. “Umm…Tía Isa, she’s great. She and her husband are journalists, they travel around the world, or at least they used to. I don’t know what they do now. I-I haven’t seen them in years.” I looked down at my hands. “We used to be so close.”

“What happened?” 

“She and my mom fought a lot. They had a huge argument a few years ago, and Tía moved away. Mom didn’t want me talking to her anymore.”

Edward tilted his head, his expression unreadable. But he didn’t push for more.

“So,” I said, desperate to steer the conversation away from myself, “are you going to tell me about your family? It’s got to be more interesting than mine.”

His posture stiffened, instantly cautious. “What do you want to know?”

“The Cullens adopted you?”

“Yes.”

I hesitated, unsure if I was crossing a line. “What happened to your parents?”

“They died a long time ago,” he said, his tone flat and matter-of-fact.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t really remember them clearly.” His voice softened. “Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now.”

“And you love them.” It wasn’t a question. It was obvious in the way he said their names.

“Yes.” A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. “I can’t imagine two better people.”

“Then you’re very lucky.”

“I guess I am.”

After that, the conversation drifted, though it was hard to find something we didn’t already know about each other. We ran out of the simple, light and breezy questions pretty fast.

He asked me about my favorite books. And reluctantly I had to admit that I’d had a massive crush on Mr. Darcy when I first saw the movie adaptations. He laughed but admitted that he could respect my taste. Then he even got me to talk about Doctor Who, and I was surprised when he admitted the Tenth Doctor was also his favorite.

The room was getting stuffy and warm, the kind of heavy air that makes you feel like you’re stuck inside your own skin. Somewhere along the way, I shrugged off my jacket, letting it hang loose over my shoulders, and absentmindedly started to roll up the left sleeve of my shirt.

I didn’t even know what we were talking about or what led to this conversation, but Edward was laughing at me for being a ‘ballerina’ when he suddenly asked:

“How did you get that?” He was looking at my left forearm, specifically at the faint, thin lines on it, etched there like they’d always been part of me. “Did you fall out of a tree as a kid or something?”

He was joking—I knew he was. But the question hit me like a sharp jolt. I didn’t even notice the countless scars on my body most of the time. Nobody did. Either they didn’t look closely enough to notice, or pretend they didn’t see. Either way, no one ever outright asked about them.

But Edward wasn’t like anyone else.

I didn’t know why, but I yanked my sleeve down quickly, my hands trembling just enough for me to notice. I looked away, the heat creeping up my neck. I could feel him tense up beside me.

“I—” Edward’s tone shifted instantly, his voice soft, urgent, and apologetic. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” I interrupted, my words probably sharper than I intended, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “It’s fine. Really.” 

I grabbed my cup and drained it in one long gulp, in hopes it would calm me down. Unfortunately, the liquid did nothing to settle the storm inside me. The tension between us was palpable, but I couldn’t stand the way he was looking at me, steady and concerned, like he was trying to unravel me with his eyes, or like he wanted to fix something he didn’t understand. I stood up abruptly, and he was right by my side. He reached for my hand, but I pulled away before he could touch me.

“Really, let’s just go dance.” I smiled at him again, but he still wasn’t convinced. “And I can’t dance, so it will be fun.”

He hesitated, his expression doubtful. “You just told me you’re a ballet dancer.”

“Well, this,” I gestured to the crowd of drunk teens, “is very different from ballet.” A corner of his mouth twitched, he was clearly fighting back a smile. I seized the moment, grabbing the cuff of his sleeve, walking backwards, pulling him along with me. “Come on, you can make fun of me some more on the dance floor.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, like he couldn’t quite believe what I was doing. Then he laughed—a low, melodic sound that sent a shiver down my spine—and let me lead him. It distracted me more than it should have.

I didn’t get far.

I bumped into someone. There was a loud shattering noise echoing in my ears, I felt my shoes getting soaked. The acrid smell of spilled alcohol hit me like a heavy wave. I looked down. Glass, tiny shards of glass all over my shoes. And it was like I was back there. I couldn’t catch my breath, I was so lightheaded, I gripped the first thing near me not to fall down. The noise of the party blurred, people laughing, someone yelling “Watch it,” but it was all muffled, like miles away or coming from underwater. The sound of breaking glass still echoed in my head, getting louder and louder—sharp, relentless, deafening.

I didn’t even realize I was running, pushing my way through, until I felt the cold night air on my face. I had no idea where exactly I was. My feet carried me to the nearest wall, solid and grounding, and I collapsed against it, my knees pulled tightly to my chest.

I gasped for air, but it wasn’t enough. My lungs wouldn’t fill. My tie felt like it was choking me. I clawed at it, loosening it with trembling hands. It didn’t help much.

“Beau?” A familiar voice—soft but sharp—pierced through the thick haze in my mind. It felt far away at first, muffled like it was underwater, but steadily, it grew louder, closer. It anchored me, even as I shook uncontrollably.

Edward kneeled in front of me, his face etched with concern. He rested a steady hand on my trembling knees. “Beau,” he said again, his voice calm and deliberate, “what do you need?”

I couldn’t answer, my breathing still erratic, shallow, ragged. I clutched my chest with one hand and dug my fingernails into the palm of the other, hard enough to sting, trying to steady myself. Edward’s hand slid into mine, stopping me from hurting myself further. His grip was firm but not forceful, his touch gentle. I clung to it desperately, like a lifeline.

“Hey.” His voice dropped, low and soothing. “Look at me.”

He tilted my chin up with the lightest touch, just his fingertips grazing my skin. His eyes locked onto mine, those beautiful, weird golden-green eyes, impossibly bright against the night. “You’re safe. Just look at me.”

I focused on him, the sharpness of his features blurring the chaos in my mind.

“Breathe with me” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “Inhale. Slowly.”

I tried, the first breath a jagged mess. The cold night air burned as I dragged it into my lungs.

A moment later, “That’s it. Now exhale.”

We exhaled together. His hand never left mine.

He repeated that over and over. I matched his rhythm, each breath a little deeper, a little steadier. His thumb brushed against the back of my hand in slow, rhythmic circles. Gradually, the tightness in my chest eased, the frantic edge of my panic dulling under his patient guidance. The cold air seeped into my lungs, calming the storm.

I became aware of my surroundings again—the chill of the night air on my skin, the faint thrum of music from inside the house. I realized we were on the patio, mercifully alone.

Edward stayed close, his presence as steady as the stone wall behind me. “Are you feeling better?”

I nodded, though my throat still felt raw, my body shaky.

“Okay. What can I do? Do you want me to drive you home?”

The mention of “home” made me firstly think of the home back in L.A, dragging my thoughts back to the thing I tried desperately to forget about. I shook my head hard. “No,” I croaked.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was careful, almost hesitant, as if afraid to push me too far.

I hesitated, but then nodded. Words felt impossible, but something in me needed him to know.

Edward didn’t rush me. He just waited, both of his hands now in mine, letting me squeeze them as tightly as I needed. The quiet wrapped around us like a cocoon. My jacket must’ve fallen to the ground at some point, and I noticed it lying next to him. He must have picked it up after chasing me out here. The thought sent a faint warmth through my chest, though it was quickly drowned by the lingering echoes of panic.

I didn’t know how much time had passed. It felt like ages when I finally spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. This… this hasn’t happened in a while.”

“Don’t apologize,” Edward said firmly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult. “I… I need you to just listen. And then we can go back inside, okay?”

I needed to tell someone. And for some reason I needed him to know, I wanted him to know everything.

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice so soft it almost felt like a promise.

I took a deep breath, focusing on our intertwined hands. His were slightly colder. “I was maybe… about seven,” I began haltingly. “It was late, really late, and I was asleep. I heard my mom shouting and this… this loud crashing noise.”

Edward’s grip on my hands tightened ever so slightly, encouraging me to go on.

“I got up and went to the living room. My mom and her boyfriend were fighting.” I paused, my throat closing up. Edward didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stayed there, steady as always. “He was throwing things. I don’t think they noticed me. I… I remember hearing more glass breaking, and my head started hurting, everything was kind of a blur. I think I passed out.”

Another deep breath, shakier this time. “When I woke up, I was on the floor. There was glass everywhere. And this weird smell—like metal and salt with alcohol. Then another crash, and I think something fell on top of me, like a shelf… I don’t know, I just felt something heavy on me and I couldn’t move. My mom was screaming my name, over and over. And then I woke up in the hospital.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and jagged. I let my head fall back against the wall, staring up at the cloudy sky, no star in sight. “I hadn’t thought about that night in years… but I dunno, you asked about my mom, and the…” I trailed off, gripping my left arm where the scars were, “…and then the glass.”

I looked back at Edward, at those beautiful eyes, still fixed on me. Despite everything I couldn’t help but smile, “But I’m fine, really.”

Edward didn’t look convinced. “It’s okay if you’re not fine,” he said softly, his voice like warm honey tea.

He reached for my jacket, carefully draping it over my shoulders.

“But I am. I’m not gonna let this stop me from having fun with my friends. I got scared, and I just needed a minute,” I insisted, standing a little too quickly. My knees wobbled, and I lost my balance. Edward caught me immediately, his hands firm and steady around my waist.

I realized just how close we were, his face inches from mine. I was pressed against the wall, with my hands on his chest. His hands shifted to the wall on either side of my shoulders, caging me in without ever feeling threatening. His breath was warm against my lips, his gaze dark and intense.

“Are you still scared?” he asked, his voice low, rough. It was like he was asking about something else.

“No,” I whispered. “What would I be scared of?”

His gaze dropped to my hands, still pressed firmly against his chest.

“You?” I let out a nervous laugh, though my voice was barely audible. “Oh, Edward, there’s a million scary things in this world… but you are not one of them.”

I made sure to look straight into his eyes as I said this. There was something unreadable in his expression. I held his gaze, trying to will him to understand what I couldn’t put into words. And he looked right back at me, like there was something in me worth looking at.

Edward leaned in, his nose brushing against mine. The smallest, unexplainable spark passed between us, electric and undeniable. His forehead rested against mine, and I unconsciously closed my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“I get them too,” he murmured, his voice so quiet I almost missed it.

“What?” I asked, but I couldn’t open my eyes.

“Panic attacks,” he admitted, a faint vulnerability creeping into his tone. “Not often, but… when they hit, it’s like the world closes in. Like I’ll never breathe again.”

I stayed still, stunned. “You?”

“I’m not as unshakable as you think, Beau.”

The moment stretched between us, charged with something fragile and electric. I tilted my face up, trying to bridge the gap between us, just enough that the tiniest part of my lips barely brushed his—

And nothing, just nothing.

I blinked my eyes open, disoriented. He wasn’t there. He was just gone.

Was he here at all? Did I just imagine him being there, comforting me? Was I going crazy or did he just leave me? Which was worse, being insane or being rejected?

I pressed my lips together, the lingering ghost of his touch fading. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I could either cry and drown in self-pity or laugh and move on. So, I laughed—a hollow, bitter sound—and pulled my jacket tighter around myself.

Like I said, getting close had only ever ended in disaster.

With a deep breath, I turned back toward the house, slipping inside through the glass door. The deafening music hit me like a wall, drowning out everything else, every single thought in my head.

I grabbed an unopened bottle from the kitchen counter, poured a cup, and downed it in one go. I wanted to drown everything out. Paul, Edward and every fucking memory of my mother, of the pain, of the screams and the blood that creeped in my head. It burned all the way down, but at least it gave me something to focus on.

Tyler and Mike appeared at my side, grinning and laughing, their words lost to the pounding music. One of them grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the dance floor.

And I let them drag me away, the crowd of screaming people swallowing me whole. Everything started to get blurry fast.

**********

I was in a different part of the house. Maybe the basement? I wasn’t sure how I’d ended up there. The room was thick with smoke, stinging my eyes and making the edges of everything blur even more. A group of guys was sprawled out on couches and the floor, looking like they were melting into the furniture, clearly stoned out of their minds.

I was sitting between Tyler and… someone else. His name was a blur, lost in the haze in my head. Tyler was way too close, uncomfortably close. It was like he had no idea what personal space was. His arm was slung across my shoulders. He was chatty, his voice loud and slurred, and he kept laughing at things I didn’t say. I guessed he was too stoned to notice I wasn’t interested… in him or whatever he was saying.

“You having fun?” he slurred, leaning into me. His breath was warm and smelled like beer.

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if I could. My head felt heavy, and the words were stuck somewhere in the fog. He offered me his joint and I shook my head weakly, not bothering to explain, but he kept insisting.

“Come on,” he pushed, his voice dropping like it was supposed to be enticing. “Mama didn’t raise no fucking bitch,” he slurred, putting the joint to my lips. I tried to pull back, but the couch seemed to swallow me whole.

“Tyler! Noooo, no, Beau—no, mama raised a bitch, let’s go,” a small voice snapped through the haze, sharp and fierce.

A tiny fairy. Alice. She grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet with surprising strength. I let her, grateful for the escape. She shot Tyler a murderous look that could’ve burned a hole through him. He looked up at her, confused and slow to react.

“Mama didn’t raise nobody, actually,” I mumbled, stumbling after her. “My mom was absent.” I laughed at my own joke, but no one else did.

Alice’s arm hooked firmly under mine, holding me steady as she led me back upstairs. My legs felt like jelly, but she kept me moving, dragging me to where Angela was waiting by the dance floor. Her face lit up when she saw us. Alice handed me off like a package, and they steered me toward the crowd of dancers.

“Dance it off, babe!” Angela shouted, her voice barely cutting through the noise.

I didn’t argue. I didn’t do anything. I let them push me into the crush of bodies, their laughter and energy buzzing around me like static.

The music thumped in my chest, a dull, steady rhythm that drowned out everything else. Time blurred. Everything faded into a blur of sound and movement. I felt a cup pressed into my hand, and I drank it without thinking. I didn’t even know who gave it to me.

**********

Then I was wearing someone’s cowboy hat. I wasn’t sure whose it was or when I’d put it on. It sat lopsided on my head, threatening to fall off as I swayed to the beat. Everything was hazy and I liked it that way. It was so much easier to breathe with every thought and memory pushed to the back of my mind.

A guy dressed as a pirate offered me a shot, and I downed it without hesitation. It burned all the way down, and I laughed—though it didn’t feel funny. Nothing did.

The pirate high-fived me, and I stumbled backward into someone else. They caught me, steadying me with a laugh, their hands lingering on my shoulders before they disappeared back into the crowd, and then I was dancing again. Or at least moving.

***

It didn’t take long for the room to spin. Everything felt distant, like I was watching it all happen through someone else’s eyes. My body moved on autopilot, going wherever someone pulled me, doing whatever they suggested.

A hand brushed my back—too low to be casual. I turned, but whoever it was had already disappeared into the crowd.

***

Someone pressed up behind me, their hands brushing my waist.

“Hey, you look lonely,” a voice murmured in my ear.

I didn’t turn around. Didn’t care. Just pushed their hand off me.

They lingered for a moment before melting away into the crowd.

***

Another drink found its way into my hand. This one was blue, or maybe green. I drank it anyway.

Someone else tried to talk to me, leaning in close, their smile too wide, their words slurred. I couldn’t hear them over the music, and I didn’t bother trying.

I turned away, letting the crowd swallow me again.

**********

Sometime later, the music slowed down, giving me a second to realize how much my head hurt. My throat was raw from singing—or screaming—along to songs I barely remembered. I felt the ache in my legs, the weight in my chest creeping back in, heavier with every beat of the music.

I needed air. Or maybe just quiet.

I stumbled out of the crowd, I asked the nearest person about the bathroom, the words barely making sense even to me.

“Upstairs,” they said, pointing vaguely toward the staircase.

Ugh, of course, it had to be upstairs.

The stairs were strung with fairy lights, bats taped to the walls, and stars dangling from the ceiling. At the bottom, a cowboy was making out with a cheerleader, their bodies pressed against the railing. I pushed past them without a word and stumbled up the stairs.

The bathroom was one of the first of many doors on the left. I pushed it open and froze in place.

At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at, my brain struggled to catch up. The thought, ‘just how drunk am I?’ came across my mind.

Princess Peach and Princess Daisy were kissing in the bathroom. Or rather, Jessica and Lauren were kissing in the bathroom. Jessica was pressed against the sink, her legs wrapped around Lauren’s waist. Jessica’s hands in Lauren’s hair, Lauren’s hands on Jessica’s hips and moving up and down Jessica’s thighs.

They jumped apart when they finally noticed they weren’t alone anymore, faces flushed, startled and wide-eyed.

I shut the door instantly, yelled ‘sorry’ and ran. Just bolted back downstairs, past the cowboy and cheerleader who were still glued to each other. 

**********

Back in the kitchen, I grabbed a new bottle of something amber. Whiskey, rum—whatever. I took it to the dance floor, drinking straight from the bottle.

The warmth spread through me, dulling the edges even more. I drank half of the bottle before someone took it away from me. Everything blurred again—faces, music, laughter. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I found another bottle, someone took it from me again. But I didn’t care.

I was dizzy. My throat was raw. It was too loud, it was like my ears were bleeding. The flashing lights too bright. I longed for my bed, my warm, cozy, safe bed. I dug my phone out of my pocket, squinting at the screen. 3:15 a.m.

I needed to go home.

Somehow, I found myself on the front lawn, I didn’t know how, but I was there, the cold air hitting me like a slap. I found my keys in my jacket’s pocket, I fumbled with them, realizing with a sinking feeling that I couldn’t drive.

I was in no condition to walk to the car, let alone drive.

I collapsed to the ground with resignation. The damp grass soaking through my jeans. Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot against my cold skin.

I pulled out my phone again, scrolling through my contacts with shaking fingers.

Who was I supposed to call? Definitely not Dad. He was out of the question. No way.

I stopped at Jake’s name and hit call.

It rang and rang, going to voicemail.

I tried again.

And again.

The fourth time, I broke down and left a stupid voicemail.

“Jakey… I know you’re probably asleep, but I can’t get home. I-I need you. I need you to get me. Pleaseeeee,” my voice slurred and cracked, but he could probably still understand me. I hoped he could.

I hung up, dropping the phone into the grass beside me. The tears kept coming, but I didn’t wipe them away. I just stayed there, staring at nothing, waiting for something to pull me out of the dark.

**********

Bonus: Edward’s pov

Beau was so close, yet somehow still not close enough. He smelled wonderful, like lavender and old books. Now there was an undertone of whiskey, which made his smell all the more intoxicating. I inhaled slowly. His eyes were so dark, his pupils dilated, I could barely see the lovely, warm, deep brown, he slowly closed them, his long lashes falling on his cheeks. And then his lips…Oh, his lips… looked so soft, chapped from constantly biting them, but still soft. I wanted to feel them on mine so badly. I gently rested my forehead against his. He was warm, it felt so good against my permanently slightly colder skin.

I had this gorgeous boy under me, and he wasn’t afraid of me, even though he should have been. He was here with his hands on my chest and he trusted me. Beau sighed, and something hot and electric went through my chest. That was right, more right than anything I’d ever managed before. Making Beau feel like that, safe and secure in my arms, was it. I dreamt of kissing him for so long, but when his lips parted and he leaned towards me, his heartbeat quickened, I froze.

I knew I could never have him. I tried so hard not to cross the line. I told myself I’d be fine with just being friends. That I could at least have him as a friend, that it would be enough. But still I hung on every breath he took, every word he said. The question was never out of my mind: What is he thinking now? When I heard him quietly sigh to himself. When he twisted a lock of hair absently around his finger. When he threw his books down with more force than usual. When he was reading and suddenly frowned. When he wrote, almost obsessively, in his journal. When he rushed to class late. When he tapped his foot impatiently against the floor. Each movement caught in my peripheral vision was a maddening mystery. When he spoke, I analyzed every word and tone. I wanted him to be mine. Selfishly, thoughtlessly, mine.

For a long time I wished I couldn’t hear everyone’s thoughts all of the time, but when it finally happened it nearly drove me crazy. I never really got to enjoy the quiet of Beau’s mind. His thoughts were the only ones that actually mattered to me. Not hearing his thoughts was a blessing and a curse.

Spending time with him made me feel normal, human. But I wasn’t human and no matter how much I wanted to be a part of his world, I couldn’t. Being with me was too dangerous for him. My pursuit of him was indefensible. What kind of relationship could I offer him, when I couldn’t risk touching him? He deserved someone he would be safe around, someone that could touch him and not accidentally hurt him.

Alice said that I would not be strong enough to stay away from him. I would prove her wrong.

Leaving Beau there was the last thing I wanted, but I forced myself to anyway. I was gone and inside the house before Beau could notice. But before I could grab my things and leave the party for good, Alice was in my way, blocking my only exit, visibly angry.

“What the hell are you doing?” She yelled over the loud music. Emmett was right behind her. This whole situation was really entertaining for him. He was dying to see what Alice would do.

“I have to leave,” I said, my teeth clenched. If I stayed, I would definitely do something stupid.

“You can’t just leave, you idiot!” she snapped. “What, you can’t even properly kiss a boy you like? You had the perfect opportunity and you blew it.”

Damn, kid, you’re a mess, Emmett thought, sympathy in his tone.

“Bite me,” I muttered under my breath, and I heard his low chuckle. I stalked out of the room. Alice touched my arm as I passed, but I didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

They followed close behind me. Alice sighed. You are so blind, Eddie. Can’t you see where you’re headed? Can’t you see where you already are? It’s more inevitable than the sun rising in the East. See what I see…

I shook my head, horrified. “No.” I tried to shut out the visions she revealed to me. “I don’t have to follow that course. I will change the future.”

She’s been having the same visions for a few weeks now. Visions in which my feelings for Beau either end up getting him killed or changed into… one of us. And I couldn’t let either one happen.

“You can try,” she said, her voice skeptical.

“Oh, come on!” Emmett bellowed. “You had a gay crisis so big you had to leave the state. Just get it over with already.”

“Keep out of it,” I said under my breath. Alice’s face fell, and then brightened again. “Can you keep an eye on him? Please.”

Alice unwillingly nodded. Fine. Be stubborn. It’s only a matter of time.

I was running before I left the house. I raced into the forest. The rain was back again, falling so heavily that I was drenched in a few moments. I liked the thick sheet of water—it made a wall between me and the rest of the world. It closed me in, let me be alone. I ran as fast as I could until I reached the meadow, my meadow, my safe place. It was miles away from the town, from the people, from their thoughts. It was a place where I could breathe, where I could think. And I needed to think. I lay on the grass, feeling the cold rain on my skin.

This could not be allowed. There had to be a way to circumvent the future. I would not let Alice’s visions direct me. I could choose a different path. There was always a choice. There had to be.

His scent lingered on my clothes. That sweet, sweet scent which made me wonder if he was even human. He didn’t smell like any other human, not like, well, prey.

**********

I remembered Beau’s first day at school vividly. Every single detail.

I tried to give him some privacy. I knew how hard it was moving to a new place, every mind in Forks was already focused on his arrival. I wanted to give him space, but Alice decided to talk to him. I saw Alice’s visions, saw her becoming friends with him, which made Beau even more interesting. But I still kept my distance.

He was sitting with Alice in the cafeteria.

Edward Cullen.

I turned to the sound of my name being called, though it wasn’t being called, just thought, a reflex reaction. My eyes locked for a small portion of a second with a pair of wide, deep chocolate-brown eyes, so familiar, yet new, warm and intense at the same time, framed by thick, long lashes that blinked once in surprise. His face was gentle and thoughtful, with soft, dark curls that framed his features, slightly messy in a way that seemed more accidental than intentional. His skin had a warm, golden tone, it stood out against the backdrop of mostly pale faces of the student body. It gave him a distinct presence, though he seemed almost unaware of it. His whole face, the cheeks, the bridge of his nose, trailing all the way down his neck were dotted with faint freckles. Somewhere deep in the back of my mind I wondered if every inch of that enchanting sun-kissed skin was covered in freckles. And those full lips, slightly parted in either curiosity or maybe astonishment, were a perfect blend of features. They made him look almost regal, something that everyone around seemed to notice. I knew that beautiful face, though I’d never seen it myself before that moment. It had been foremost in everyone’s head that day.

The new student, Beauregard Swan-Torres. Beau. He’d corrected everyone who’d used his full name… I looked away. It took me a second to realize that he had not been the one to think my name.

Wait, is he interested in Edward? Is he into boys? I heard the first thought continue.

Now I recognized the ‘voice.’ Jessica Stanley—it had been a while since she’d bothered me with her internal chatter. What a relief it had been when she’d gotten over her misplaced infatuation. It used to be nearly impossible to escape her constant, ridiculous daydreams.

Alice was talking about our family, and I listened carefully for Beau’s reaction and heard nothing, though I listened close beside where Jessica’s frivolous internal monologue gushed. It was as if there was no one sitting beside her. My gaze locked on those wide brown eyes again. He was sitting right where he had been before, and looking at us, a natural thing to be doing, I supposed, thinking about us, too, would be natural. But I couldn’t hear a whisper. I scanned Alice’s thoughts for an explanation, but she was already lost in the future and not focusing on what was happening right before her.

I could hear nothing but silence from the place he was sitting. Nothing at all. I felt a moment of unease. This was nothing I’d ever encountered before. Was there something wrong with me? I felt exactly the same as I always did. Worried, I listened harder.

All the voices I’d been blocking were suddenly shouting in my head.

…wonder what music he likes… maybe I could mention that new band… Mike Newton was thinking, two tables away—fixated on Beau.

Look at him staring at Beau. Isn’t it enough that he has half the girls in school waiting for him to… Eric Yorkie thoughts, also revolving around the boy.

…My God, she’s not even looking at me anymore… flaunting her new best friend. What a joke… Even Edward’s staring, weird… Lauren Mallory was always jealous when it came to Jessica. Her secret crush on Jessica was consuming most of her thoughts. Venom continued to spew from the girl’s internal ranting.

…I bet everyone has asked him that. But I’d like to talk to him, he’s cute. I’ll think of a more original question… Ashley Dowling mused.

…maybe he’ll be in my Spanish… June Richardson hoped.

…tons left to do tonight! Trig, and the English test. I hope my mom… Angela Weber, a quiet girl, whose thoughts were usually kind, was the only one at the table who wasn’t obsessed with Beau.

I could hear them all, hear every insignificant thing they were thinking as it passed through their minds. But nothing at all from the new student with the pretty eyes.

Of course, I could hear what the boy said when he spoke to Jessica. I didn’t have to read minds to be able to hear his low, very attractive—though I couldn’t admit to myself yet—clear voice on the far side of the long room.

“Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?” I heard him ask, sneaking a look at me from the corner of his eye, only to look quickly away when he saw that I was still staring.

I’d hoped that hearing the sound of his voice would help me pinpoint the tone of his thoughts, lost somewhere I couldn’t access, but I was instantly disappointed. Usually, people’s thoughts came to them in a similar pitch as their physical voices. But this quiet, shy—attractive—voice was unfamiliar, not one of the hundreds of thoughts bouncing around the room, I was sure of that. Entirely new.

Oh, that’s not a good idea… but I guess everyone had a crush on Edward at some point… Jessica thought before answering the boy’s question. “That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.” She sniffed.

I turned my head away to hide my smile. Jessica and her classmates had no idea how lucky they were that none of them particularly appealed to me.

But him…

It was unbelievably frustrating. I could clearly see it was a strain for him to sit there, to make conversation with strangers, to be the center of attention. I could sense his shyness from the way he held his frail-looking shoulders, slightly hunched, as if he was expecting a rebuff at any moment. And yet I could only sense. Could only see. Could only imagine. There was nothing but silence.

I could hear nothing. Why?

“Shall we?” Rosalie murmured to Emmett, interrupting my focus.

I looked away from the boy with a sense of relief. I didn’t want to continue to fail at this—it irritated me more than I cared to admit.

Jasper got up and walked to Alice, and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I didn’t need to read minds to know what Jasper was thinking. I hoped they’d go far enough away for me not to hear their thoughts while they made out.

Emmett and Rosalie left soon after to join their friends. After some time, I too got up from the table and left the cafeteria.

In the classroom, I settled into my chair and let my books spill across the table. I was the only student who had a table to myself. The room slowly filled as students trickled in from lunch. I leaned back in my chair and waited for the time to pass as I replayed that brief interaction. The boy was still on my mind.

I didn’t notice him enter the classroom.

It wasn’t until he passed by my desk that my body went rigid, seized by a sudden, primal reaction. I hadn’t been surprised by a human ever since I was changed. Yet, in that moment, I felt something raw and instinctual surge through me—an immediate flight-or-fight response.

In that instant, I was nothing close to the human I’d once been; no trace of the carefully constructed control I’d spent decades mastering, no shred of humanity remained. It was as if his mere presence unraveled me.

The moment my eyes left him, it was like he ceased to exist.

Not in the mundane sense of someone walking out of sight, but in a way that was deeply, profoundly wrong. I couldn’t sense him. Couldn’t track him. It was as if the universe itself blinked, and he vanished.

And it terrified me. I spent decades trying to bury my vampire instincts and, just like that, my control was gone.

I snapped my gaze back to him, and there he was again, walking toward his seat as though nothing had happened. I stared, unblinking, trying to make sense of it. My mind raced, each question more disjointed than the last. What was he? Human? Supernatural? Something entirely outside my comprehension?

His gaze met mine, and I saw myself reflected in the wide mirror of his eyes. —shock, anxiety, and something else I couldn’t name etched into his delicate features. His heartbeat thudded faintly in my ears, grounding me, but the moment I looked away, it disappeared again. I still couldn’t hear his thoughts.

It was maddening.

I spent the entire hour with my eyes glued to him. I didn’t trust myself to look away. I had to make sure he was still there. His mental silence made everything so much worse. He was an unknown. My mind clawed desperately at the silence where his thoughts should have been. I tried to analyze every detail—his movements, his posture, his breathing. He had a heartbeat though, every time my eyes shifted away from him, I couldn’t hear it anymore. Every time I looked away, even for a fraction of a second, the world felt emptier, more dangerous.

And still, I couldn’t ignore how beautiful he was. This boy would drive me completely mad.

When the bell finally rang, I bolted.

I was in my car before I even realized how I’d gotten there. This boy shattered my reality. I was losing my mind. Everything I knew, everything I have been used to and comfortable with was gone. I needed to avoid him. I needed to put some distance between us, as much distance as possible.

So I tried to get out of Biology. I went to the office and, with the rest of my mental strength, I tried to change classes. I was barely coherent as I spoke to the receptionist, gripping the edge of the counter to steady myself. But then, he surprised me for the second time.

A faint breeze from the opening door announced his arrival before I even saw him. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him; his scent washed over me, a mix of warmth and something tantalizingly sweet. My control faltered, and panic surged again.

I had to leave.

I didn’t stop until I was in my car, moving too fast, too reckless the entire way there. Most of the students had cleared out already, so there weren’t a lot of witnesses. When I slid into my Volvo, the others were already there, their curious gazes fixed on me. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly it groaned under the pressure. My breaths came in short, sharp gasps, as though I couldn’t get enough air. 

He isn’t real. He is. What is he?

“Edward?” Alice’s voice broke through the storm in my head, alarmed.

I couldn’t answer her. My vision swam as the panic built, wave after wave crashing against me. I gritted my teeth, struggling to steady myself, but the feeling of losing control only grew.

“What the hell happened to you?” Emmett demanded.

I shook my head, my throat too dry to form words. Swallowing hard, I tried to speak, but the rising tide of panic made it impossible.

Instead of explaining, I threw the car into reverse, jerking us out of the lot faster than I should have. The tires squealed, the sound slicing through my fraying nerves.

Oh, he’s having a panic attack, Alice realized. Her thoughts were clear, cutting through the haze like a blade. “Eddie, what happened? What do you need?”

Without looking, I knew Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper had all turned to stare at Alice. She shrugged, her expression uncertain. She couldn’t see what had passed, only what was coming.

“I need—” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. I slammed my foot on the gas, the car lurching forward. My hands trembled so badly that I could barely maintain my grip on the wheel. “I need… to think. To figure this out. He’s—he’s not real.”

“What do you mean?” Alice pressed, her tone softening with concern.

I shook my head again, unable to explain. How could I? How could I put into words the way he made me feel like I was losing my mind?

I gripped the side of my head with my free hand as if I could physically hold my thoughts together. The image of him—his wide eyes, his fragile movements, the maddening silence of his mind—played over and over in my head like a fever dream.

“Edward, breathe,” Alice said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I tried. I really tried. But each breath came shallow and fast, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that everything I knew—everything I’d built my life around—was crumbling beneath me.

The silence in his mind. The way he disappeared when I wasn’t looking. The sheer impossibility of it all.

What was he?

What was happening to me?

Alice’s hand tightened on my shoulder, her thoughts shifting. She looked ahead for me now. We both processed the vision that had just flashed in her mind, and we were both surprised.

“You’re leaving?” she whispered.

The others stared at me now, their questions unspoken but heavy in the air.

“I think so…” I rasped. The words felt foreign in my mouth, like they didn’t belong to me. But I knew they were true. I had to leave. I had to clear my head. I needed to breathe.

Alice’s vision shifted again, playing out a future I could see as clearly as if I were already living it: an empty highway at night, trees dusted with snow flashing by at nearly two hundred miles per hour.

“I’ll miss you,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with sadness. “No matter how short a time you’re gone.”

***

I spent a week in Alaska, hiding in the snow, trying to get my mind right, the silence of the wilderness echoing the maddening silence of his mind. The stillness should have brought clarity, but it only gave me time to replay every moment over and over again. It was a week full of realizations.

I came back knowing two things; Beau was a mystery, unlike anything I had ever encountered. And I was undeniably, dangerously attracted to him.

**********

Attraction.

It was a problematic thing to contemplate. So many sides to it, so many different meanings and levels. Not the same thing as love, but tied up in it inextricably.

I had no idea if Beau was attracted to me.

Would his mental silence somehow continue to get more and more frustrating until I went completely mad? Or was there a limit that I would eventually reach?

I tried to compare his physical responses to others, like Jessica Stanley, but the comparison was inconclusive. The same markers—changes in heart rate and breathing patterns—could just as easily mean fear or shock or anxiety as they did interest. It seemed unlikely that Beau could be entertaining the same kinds of thoughts that Jessica Stanley used to have. And yet… as I remembered those fantasies that used to repulse me, but remembered them with Beau in Jessica’s place…

The air in my lungs felt too hot, too sharp. My throat ached, the fire clawing its way up and down as my mind conjured an image I couldn’t seem to stop.

What if it had been Beau imagining me with my arms wrapped around his fragile body? Feeling me pull him tightly against my chest, my hands sliding up his back? One cupping the nape of his neck, my fingers curling into his hair, feeling its softness under my palm? The other tracing the curve of his jaw, tilting his face up toward mine?

And those lips. Soft, full, and slightly parted, warm and inviting. My thumb brushing across them, his breath hitching under my touch. I’d let my fingers trail down the side of his neck, feel the rapid beat of his pulse against my skin, alive and fragile and…

And then I would lean in, drawn by the heat of his breath, the quiet sound of it catching in his throat as I moved closer, so much closer—

I flinched violently, yanking myself back from the edge of the daydream, horrified.

The ache in my throat burned brighter now, hotter, as if it were punishment for indulging those thoughts.

I almost did all those things.

I barely touched him, but I had been so close and his hands were on my chest—And, oh my god, I need to stop…

Attraction was an impossible dilemma, because I was already too attracted to Beau in the worst way.

Did I love him?

No? I didn’t think so.

Maybe?

Not yet.

I definitely had feelings for him, but infatuation or a crush didn’t seem to describe them well enough. So was it love?

Alice’s glimpses of that future had stuck with me. Those flashes of what could be, of what felt inevitable. I could see how easy it would be to fall in love with Beau. It would be exactly like falling: effortless, as though gravity itself were drawing me to him. Not letting myself love him was the opposite of falling. It was pulling myself up a cliff-face, clawing my way up hand over hand, the task as grueling as if I had no more than mortal strength.

I would not destroy Beau’s future. If I was destined to love him, then wasn’t staying away from him the very least I could do?

And yet I couldn’t do it. I guess I was too selfish for that.

Hours passed, the rain eventually stopped, but my thoughts had only tangled further. There were more questions now than before, more fears. And I still couldn’t stop thinking about Beau. I was too far away to hear Alice’s thoughts, and my phone was dead. I had no way of knowing if Beau was safe. The need to check on him struck me suddenly, like a physical pull I couldn’t ignore. Before I’d even made the decision, I was already moving. My feet carried me swiftly, faster than I should have allowed, back toward Jessica’s house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[beautifulpersonpeach]

It's cold and dreary and the tannies are gone,,, *cries in the corner* But the re-debuting (?) efforts for 2 cool 4 skool (I definitely didn't know how to spell this lol) is so heartwarming!! I just feel warm and fuzzy inside, you know?? Do you know if these fandom efforts are typical for kpop groups? I don't know what to expect for this ms era. I keep seeing articles and discussions that talk about who'll fill in the gap that's left by bts. It's not that I'm super worried (I know exactly where I stand), but I just don't know what will happen next as a whole. I quite enjoy the current army atmosphere. It makes me think that armys are the best when they are working towards a goal. Would you be able to share what are the things that ppl (who's never been through something like this) should keep in mind moving forward for the next 6month-1.5year? Thank you so much!

***

Yeah, re-charting old songs is something more than a few fandoms do from time to time, but ARMYs’ aim of re-charting several old songs, sometimes whole albums, at once and methodically - that’s something I don’t think has been done before. And yes it warms my heart to see the fandom give BTS this. Even though it’s more of symbolic gesture than ‘huge achievement’, it’s a tangible way the fandom can express that we intend to stick by BTS this entire time. Life might happen, we might explore other groups and hobbies or take some time to ourselves, but we’ll never really abandon BTS or forget them while they’re in service. It also allows the fandom the opportunity to re-experience BTS’s old music. It’s reminding me of why I fell in love with them in the beginning.

And you’re right. The fandom does need a goal to work towards. One of the first things I said on this blog that I remember people got mad at me for (lol), was that I think many ARMYs are just Type A k-pop stans who prioritize BTS. A lot of us do well with targets and performance measures, using information and ingenuity to achieve desired goals for someone we love genuinely gets us going. When the fandom is aimless people go crazy. So yeah, keep ARMYs busy and peace will be reasonably attainable.

It seems HYBE intends to keep milking the fandom too - more documentaries are coming, at least four members will release new music over the next 1.5 years, we might get a Jin tour/showcase or Hobi live performances, etc. So I guess we’ve got nothing to worry about on that front.

I’m not too sure myself what to expect between now and 2025. Last week I talked about what usually happens when a group enlists based on what I’ve observed:

1. Some people take a break away from k-pop fully.

2. Some explore other groups, whether or not they end up stanning as well.

3. Some people stay in k-pop and remain only committed to BTS

All three options are valid and sometimes there’s no real difference between how people approach options 2 and 3.

But really, while the guys are in the military I don’t expect the infighting within the fandom to reduce. At best it’s going to remain this annoying for the next 18 months. I know people are hopeful we get more spaced out releases but I’m actually expecting some stacked line-ups in releases next year. I’m also not expecting Seven/Golden-style promotions for any member that doesn’t release under HYBE America. The usual suspects (akgaes, shooters, antis, shippers) will be whining in any case so it’s going to be a pain.

And outside the fandom, I know the race is going to be mad. Right now ATEEZ, Stray Kids, NewJeans, RIIZE, Aespa, VCHA, Katseye, IVE, SHINee, Blackpink and few more… are revving up to take over in 2024. I’m so curious to see all the ways these groups/their companies will try to fill the BTS vacuum. How they will try to court ARMYs and pitch themselves as the rightful successors to BTS.

I’m not really sure what to expect but I know it’s going to be a fun time that’s for sure.

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Six - Celebration @sapphicmicrofics

April Daily Series - 576 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Dorcas worked full-time as a legal assistant, she had a Bachelor of Laws degree, and was actively studying for the Solicitor’s exam. The last thing that she needed was a distraction from her lofty goals and the obscene amount of work required to attain them. She didn’t have time to lose herself in that devilish grin and those ocean blue eyes.

Stop it! That’s not helping.

She tore her gaze from the photos and shook her head clear. Dorcas needed Marlene like she needed a hole in her head. Both would destroy everything she’d built for herself here in London. When she finished her law program, Dorcas decided to forgo a celebration in favour of continuing her dogged pursuit of a solicitor’s title. Her parents were proud of her and she was proud of herself. That’s all she needed.

Nothing would impede her progress now. Not even a fit, blonde hockey player with muscular thighs, curvy hips, and arms that were deceptively strong. Definitely not.

“What on earth are you thinking about?” Pandora asked, tilting her head to the side curiously. “You look overwhelmed all of a sudden.”

Dorcas dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Nothing. Lost in my thoughts.”

“Thoughts about Marlene?”

“No!” Dorcas stood up and resumed her pacing. She needed to settle herself and the repetitive movement helped. Walking stimulated blood circulation to the brain and she needed all the help she could get, at the moment.

Pandora followed her path with her eyes, but remained curled up on Dorcas’s bed. She never simply sat on a piece of furniture. That would be entirely too easy. No, of course not. Pandora insisted on draping herself over furniture like a Greek goddess instead.

“Come out for drinks with us tonight.”

Dorcas shook her head. “Alcohol and agitation are a terrible combination.”

“You need to relax, Dorcas.”

“The last thing that I need to do with her around is to relax,” Dorcas retorted, pointing at the closed bedroom door. “I will not allow myself to backslide now. Not after everything I went through last time.”

Pandora hummed thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Fine, but you should know that she’s crashing on our sofa for the next few days. You can’t avoid her forever.”

“I thought Lily was crashing on the sofa.”

With a derisive snort, Pandora shook her head. “Do you know how long it's been since I had a girlfriend? Too long. She’s sleeping in here with me.”

Dorcas nearly tripped over her own feet. “What?”

“We have a two bedroom flat, Dorcas. Until Reg gives in to James and moves out, we’ll have to share the master.”

“All three of us?”

Pandora’s smile didn’t waiver as she nodded slowly. “Yes, it should be fun. Don’t you think so?”

“Pandora, if you shag her while I’m in here, I will–”

“That will not be a problem.”

Dorcas eyed her warily. “It won’t?”

“No, because Lily is a screamer and she’d be mortified if you heard her.”

Pandora’s expression was completely unbothered and her voice matter-of-fact. As if she hadn’t just given Dorcas a glimpse of her and her girlfriend’s physical relationship entirely unprompted. Then again, this wasn’t new. Pandora always was a little too open about her sex life.

“Yes, well…let’s make that a new house rule then,” Dorcas said, biting back the urge to tell her off.

What was I going to say? How dare you have mind-blowing sex with your girlfriend? I am losing the plot.

Next Part>>>

[lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers]

Fighting to Stand Still

At one of our union actions recently, someone mentioned the idea that we (by which I mean striking workers) are often fighting so hard just to stand still. We’re fighting against job losses, we’re fighting for a pay rise that simply matches inflation. We’re trying to stop our sector hemorrhaging workers.

In the NEU we’ve now been on 8 days of strikes, and maybe… just maybe… we’ll get a pay rise of 6.5% that doesn’t quite match inflation. It seems like the junior doctors might get similar. Nurses ended up with the 5% they voted to reject.

Never mind pay restoration. Certainly never mind major improvements to our working conditions.

I’m not saying the will isn’t there to keep on fighting- my union colleagues continue to inspire me with their dedication and desire to keep on doing this. I think there’s a lot of hope in teaching about all the unions striking together.

But I do think the real ambition isn’t there- the real desire to say, “Actually, it’s not enough to make things a little bit better for teachers, but also we need to start thinking about real societal change”.

 Equally, I think I’ve mentioned on here before that I think the Tory long term goal is to do away with qualified teachers in England for all sorts of reasons. When I first started talking about this, I felt like a conspiracy theorist, but more and more people seem to be coming up with the same conclusions.

In England, most teachers working in state schools will have, or be working towards QTS (Qualified Teacher Status). This means they are degree educated professionals, many of whom will also have a post grad qualification like a PGCE.

This creates two problems for the Tories. One, they have to pay teachers a decent, competitive graduate salary- and that’s expensive. The Tories don’t like wasting money on state education.

Two, in general, people with degrees don’t vote Tory. I don’t want to stereotype here, but people with a degree level education tend to be able to think critically about what they’re told. They often hold social views that work against the Tory narrative. And they’re exposing children to those views.

The Tories don’t want socially mobile young people who are able to think critically about right wing propaganda. They want the working class to have limited options and to know their place, and buy into fascist narratives uncritically.

The solution? Get rid of teaching as a graduate profession. Have students supervised by TAs on a low wage, whilst they learn from pre-approved government videos and complete tasks created by AI. Lower educational attainment for the working classes. Less critical thinking skills. Less money wasted on educating them…

It sounds terrible and dystopian, right?

 To avoid that, perhaps fighting to stand still is worth it?