#chapter 4 yay

[lesbiangiratina]

TESTAMENT DOUJINSHI BIRTHDAY BLAST

HI!!!! Im celebrating testament’s birthday by sharing scans of 3 testament-centric doujinshi anthologies: totentanz (2007), gentle grim reaper (2014), and potatoment (2015), as well as a collection of short stories by 1 of the writers as a bonus. Generally sfw, untranslated. Dizzy sol and johnny are also in there sometimes, some others too.

Google drive might not be the neatest way to share this, but its the best ive got right now. Hopefully anyone else out there finds these as extremely charming as i do. :) HAPPY BIRTHDAY TESTAMENT YAY

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Crazy issues that come up when a character is written a little too well

[sleepycuga]

Yarnaby

[a-writing-otter]

WIP Wednesday - Chapter 4 of The Redemption and Subsequent Death of Bill Cipher

Bill’s entire body is clenched as he stares down at Ford. The hand holding to the knife is aching with how hard Bill is holding onto it, wanting nothing more than to throw it down, but knowing he’ll hurt Ford likely if he just drops it.

“Are you awake?”

Bill can’t even begin to form words to answer Ford’s question, just barely managing to give a stiff nod in response.

“Okay.” Ford’s words are easy, calm, and the only thing keeping Bill from spiraling out of control. “I’m going to take the knife from you now.”

And just as controlled, Ford pulls Bill’s hand down slowly, then uncurls his trembling fingers, and puts the knife down on the end table. The action proceeds to make all of Bill’s ability to stand rush out of him. Once again, his legs give out from under his body, but rather than falling to the floor or collapsing on the stairs, Ford guides him to the bed beside him.

“You’re okay. It’s okay,” Ford soothes and Bill realizes his face is in Ford’s chest with Ford’s arms tight around him. “It’s okay.”

Once more, Bill tries to open his mouth, to say literally anything, but the only sound that manages to escape is a sob. All at once, he seems to realize he’s got tears streaming down his cheeks and his entire body caves as he bawls into Ford’s chest.

Not once during this episode does Ford let go. Ford swings Bill’s legs up onto the bed, settles them in so that they’re lying together while he holds Bill’s head with one hand, rubs his back with the other. The crying doesn’t stop and Bill is… is [disgusted] with himself, this pitiful, sniveling display. However, no amount of disgust is stopping him from unraveling in Ford’s arms as he finds himself clinging to Ford’s chest as his shoulders shake and he gasps and cries for minutes on end.

Then all at once, it dries up. His gasping sobs peter off, even with the tears still slowly coming, but Bill now just frozen. Ford is still petting his hair, still rubbing his back, and maybe that’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“Feel better?”

Bill still can’t quite find words, so he shakes his head in the negative and Ford’s hands don’t stop.

“Take your time.”

Bill isn’t sure how much longer they stay like that, but the position becomes uncomfortable and, more than that, this deep shame takes root in him. Bill finally starts to pull away to sit up. Ford does let him go, but sits up with him and only then is Bill able to take full inventory of the damage to Ford’s face. His hands go up, thumb streaking across the mess of blood that’s on his cheek and likely in Bill’s hair now.

“I— I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

Ford takes his hands and holds them in his own. The look on his face isn’t angry or judgmental, it’s surprisingly… soft. His thumb rubs over Bill’s knuckles for a second as he makes a shushing sound.

“I’m okay. You’ve done far worse to me before.”

And that more than anything else seems to shut Bill up, his mouth closing with a click of his teeth especially when the bastard has the audacity to [smile] about it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

Frankly, no, because he doesn’t like this flighty fear he’s feeling in his chest, this nausea that’s been reoccurring for nights. He just wants to run, to go to another universe and not have to deal with problems there.

But he can’t, so he doesn’t, so he gives a little nod.

“Has this happened before?” Ford asks when despite his nod, Bill remains silent. Bill nods again.

“Have you hurt anyone else?”

Bill shakes his head.

“Do you usually wake up?”

And, again, Bill nods.

“It only happens in your sleep?”

Another nod.

Bill seizes up when Ford reaches out again, pulling him to his chest. He wants to stay scrunched up and uncomfortable, this should be uncomfortable, but— but Ford is warm and he’s sturdy under Bill and his body traitorously gives in. His head fits against the crook of Ford’s shoulder and when Ford adjusts, lays his head on his, Bill almost sobs again.

[seraphirism]

what happened at the end of chapter 4?? im not really updated anymore due to busy schedule :/

hii, and I’d be happy to explain (*^^*)!

readers, please be aware that there are spoilers below (of chapter 4 and “wish upon a black rabbit” or 黒兎に願いを込めて event story) so proceed with discretion!

I tried my best to condense it but I wasn’t sure how far you had read, plus the story following part 3 of chapter 4 till part 5 is completely connected (in a way that you wouldn’t understand one part if you didn’t know the previous part) so I gave it my best shot! I’ll include a tldr at the very end so you can read that if you want to avoid the barrage of text; I went kinda overboard?

in chapter 4, as we know, Boschi’s demon took over him; he lost control to it. but unlike the case of Bastien, Haures and Lato where they lost control because of an emotional outburst (caused by extreme despair or rage), Boschi gave control to his demon on purpose.

(just in case if you don’t know/remember why, let me give a brief summary!)

Aruji and the second floor butlers were sent over to guard the Seirans/セイラン, a noble family in the East. this was after kidnappings and attacks were done by an unknown assailant (the white headed, elf looking guy). the stranger was specifically targeting nobles associated with the Sardis family.

while they were there, the butlers were at the same time investigating if the Seiran family had been in cahoots with the Sardis family (you know in, child trafficking and experimentation).

earlier in the chapter Boschi revealed that around 300 years ago, his mother and grandmother (who was actually his nanny) were killed on the orders of Seiran family. (that was a long story; if you want me to explain that, please send me another ask, I’ll do that separately :D!)

then skip to a week later, while Aruji and the butlers were staying at their residence (and doing their guard duties) the elf guy kidnapped the head of the Seiran family. Boschi decided he and Ammon would protect Aruji and the wife of the head of the family (while they stayed in the Seiran family’s residence), and Haures and Fennesz would leave to search for the head of the Seiran family with the help of his guards.

elf guy was targeting the families associated with Sardis. that’s because a large group of his people/compatriots went missing/were kidnapped; he suspected the Seiran family was involved with it (due to their association with the Sardis family that were publicly exposed to be carrying out human trafficking. )

it is later revealed that the Seiran family was responsible for that, in particular the wife of the head of the family (because of her twisted obsession with beauty; you’d need a separate post to understand her). she was later injured by Seraphim and killed by elf guy. unfortunately for elf guy, his people are then taken by Seraphim and Cherbim.

then Chrone/スローン attacked Aruji, Boschi and Ammon whilst this happened. however this time was different; instead of trying to kill the butlers, he was attempting to kill Aruji (so the butlers would become seriously upset/angry and thus fall under the control of their demon, fight Chrone in that state to see how strong the butlers really are. (his mission was to access the full strength of the butlers).

whilst fighting, Boschi loses his prosthetic arm protecting Aruji.

(boschi’s demon is called Zaebos/ザエボス by the way!)

Zaebos offers to give Boschi all his power for this fight (basically unlock his full potential) if Boschi agrees to give up his life to the demon (i.e die) by the end of the fight. their whole talk and meeting happens in Boschi’s subconsciousness. Boschi agrees after he loses his prosthetic arm, the incident acting as a trigger.

(he realised he and Ammon couldn’t defeat Chrone by the time Haures and Fennesz would arrive and Aruji could lose their life.).

before fully losing control to his demon (like how Bastien and the rest did), he gives Ammon a warning. then he attacks Chrone. in the end, both Ammon and Boschi managed injure Chrone enough for him to agree to leave when Seraphim asks him to (since they got an idea of how strong the devil butlers are under the influence of their demon.)

but Boschi, having lost complete control to his demon side, now attacks Ammon. Ammon, having trained with Boschi for years and years on end, well aware of Boschi’s moves and what was Boschi’s weakness in a fight (—he gets exhausted easily and rapidly loses energy to fight.), exploits this. Boschi collapses in the end, Aruji comes over and does their whole usual going into their “heart”.

this time though, when Aruji goes there, Boschi was chained to a throne (I think it was a throne?) and asleep, and Zaebos (who has the form of a leopard by the way) appeared and told Aruji that it’s no use trying to awaken Boschi because he had promised his life to him in return for power.

Aruji tries their best (which was a very emotional scene by the way, the way they kept calling out for Boschi despite Zaebos telling them that Boschi is gone for good 😭) and Boschi finally manages to hear their voice (he was in a dream-like place with his mother and grandmother, possibly passing over to the other side/about to die). he comes back and tells his demon that while he did promise to give his life to the demon, he did not specify “when” he’d give his life up (that was such a move on his part, our king ✨). so long story short, Boschi promises to give his life up to the demon when Aruji dies in the future (so he’ll die when Aruji dies.).

next thing you know, he manages to wake up with Ammon collapsed at his side. Fennesz and Haures arrive with the master of the Seiran family (who they found on their way back in a bad state). His wife, Falin is dead. there will be trials in the East to implicate the Seiran family officially.

there’s a whole mess going on with Eastern Lords Alliance but Finley will attempt his best to settle the situation; he also adds that the butlers may be asked for their assistance in the matter of finding the stranger (mr elf; please devs, give him a name already or I’ll—).

[also, I nearly forgot to add; mr elf is being suspected for the crime of killing Falin, the mistress of Seiran family since she was killed with a sword and the public believe angels would not use swords to kill, rather their light/power. in actuality, he attempted to end her life with a quick blow of his sword instead of leaving her to bleed to death from Seraphim’s attack which was from a sword.

the angels use swords now too by the way ✨ like yay, their powers weren’t enough.)

then, we’re back at devil’s palace (yay! our visit was more than a week long, less than 2 weeks, if I’m not wrong). Aruji and the second floor butlers get some much needed rest. Boschi shows Aruji their new prosthetic arm (which was made from the material of his old prosthetic arm.).

he seemed much more at peace now (but we later learn in the black bunny festival [黒兎に願いを込めて] event story that losing his prosthetic arm did trigger his memories of losing his actual arm, so now whenever he spars he gets flashbacks of Chrone cutting his prosthetic arm off. those flashbacks make him freeze up while fighting. for this reason, he trains a lot more to get over this, than he did prior to this incident.

anyhow, that event story and his card story sheds light on to boschi’s state right after chapter 4, in a bit more detail.).

lastly, Berrien visits Belen and says he hopes to be able to save Belen someday.

i read the story about 2 weeks ago; though, there’s a huge chance i might have gotten something mixed up/wrong. so feel free to correct me in the comments or send me an ask! there’s also a lot of stuff i left out because i was afraid it would get too long (it still did 😭) like about:

a: Falin/フアリン, the mistress of the Seiran family, who i’d say was the most interesting character in this chapter. i could write paragraphs upon paragraphs about her.

(i love the writing of aknk but i also believe they could have given more information on Seiran family and how they came to be what they are. They have a lot of potential for a follow up event story or even a side story. I hope in a side story we get more information or maybe in the next main story?)

b: Boschi’s past; we got a lot of information about his life and, how after everything he came to meet Berrien and became a butler.

c: Ammon! we got insight into his thoughts and feelings from when Haures became demonized, and how he feels inferior to the other butlers, how he puts less effort into training because he feels he can never reach the level Haures and Boschi are on. And so on!

d: i also skipped explaining the first two parts and a bit of part 3 of chapter 4 since you asked for the ending; (but that involved Berrien, Belen, Lono and were not exactly relevant to what happened with Boschi and the ending of chapter 4.).

Tldr: Boschi loses control to his demon after losing his prosthetic arm, he manages to defeat Chrone with the help of Ammon. Aruji brings him back from the control of his demon though ultimately he will have to give his life up to his demon the day Aruji dies. there’s investigation going on into the Seiran family, the stranger (mr elf) and his identity. his people (from the valley) are still missing because Cherubim and Seraphim took them. the butlers might get a request to aid in the investigation of mr elf.

i hope this helped (^^)! feel free to send another ask if you’re confused about something or want further explanation; i like talking about aknk so it’s no trouble for me. i hope your schedule eases up a bit, please remember to take breaks and eat/drink — have a wonderful day ✨!

[separatist-apologist]

Something In The Orange

Summary: Someone is trying to murder Eris Vanserra's soon-to-be wife.

And no one can rule him out as a suspect

Note: Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for the mood board and the unknown anon for the song inspiration.

For @sjmromanceweek

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Arina decided it was better to do as Eris asked and meet him outside her bedroom door after she and Elain had a private lunch in Elain’s bedroom. Eris turned the corner mere seconds later, eyes sliding down her body so intimately it made her shiver. He could do something with his eyes that made her nervous, turning that look on and off like igniting a candle. This time, though, Arina knew he disapproved of the yellow dress.

“Change—”

“No.”

Eris looked upward as if he was asking the gods to grant him patience. “Your clothes are impractical—”

“I don’t walk around prepared for battle. If you’re going to teach me to defend myself, teach me as I am, tangled skirts, long hair, and all.”

Eris paused, cocking his head to the side like a predator. “You’re taking your hair down?”

Oh, did he want her to? She was tempted to tell him no, though she’d put very few pins in her hair today to make it easy to let her hair down once they were alone so she could simulate being alone in her bedroom like she’d been when someone tried to strangle her. 

“Does that offend you?”

His cheeks darkened for just a moment as he cleared his throat. “I don’t care about your hair.”

Liar.

“This is probably pointless to say to you, but I would prefer it if you didn’t go easy on me.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Eris promised, falling into step beside her. She expected him to take her outside—somewhere public. Somewhere people could see. It hadn’t occurred to her that Eris would take her to his lavish apartments across the palace, nor that he would close the door behind him.

“Eris—”

“Oh who cares?” he said with a roll of his eyes. “There is no escape for either of us, so what does it matter if they think I’ve had you now or in two months?”

“I care.”

He shrugged. “Where would you prefer we go? To the common hall? The courtyard? Somewhere anyone with eyes can watch? The point of teaching you this is to catch your attacker off guard so you can escape, not help them hone their skills so they don’t make another mistake.”

“I care,” Arina admitted. Her reputation was all she had left—and she knew her father would be furious when the rumors reached him. Eris could still change his mind, but Arina would be unmarriageable if anyone believed Eris had her first.

Eris’s look of frustration wasn’t enough to cow her. “I told you, this marriage is happening—”

“Until it doesn’t,” she countered quietly, stepping closer to a long sofa she could imagine him lounged on, book in hand. “Are you telling me that you’d still honor this contract if your father freed you?”

Eris ground his teeth together. He couldn’t lie to her, so he wouldn’t. Instead, he said, “He’s not going to—”

“He might—”

“He won’t!” Eris snapped, some of his anger getting the better of him. “If only to piss your father off. He is taking that shitty piece of land one way or the other and you are the most convenient way to do it, and unless you think your father is willing to trade it for less than his daughter sitting on a throne, you will be my godsdamned wife.”

Arina hated him a little bit right then. His anger was palpable, a flame burning hot in his gaze. She wanted to hit him, wanted to make him feel every ounce of her own fury and fear until he stopped talking to her like she was a simple, stupid child. 

“I don’t want to be your wife,” she whispered, which was the wrong thing to say. Eris advanced on her until he was inches from her face. 

“I don’t care what you want,” he whispered, gaze not on her eyes but her mouth. 

“I’ll make you miserable,” she threatened. Eris only shrugged, the spell broken. He looked around the room as if trying to find something. It gave Arina a moment to appreciate the shelves of books, the rich rugs of red and cream, the high ceilings and open windows—all of it tastefully appointed and betraying someone with taste far more refined than her own. She couldn’t help herself, gravitating toward one of the shelves to see what he liked to read.

A lot of philosophy, she found. History, too, and more than a few books on poetry. She was particularly fascinated by a cracked blue spine that read Romantic Poetry, the silver letters peeling and worn. 

Arina reached for it just as a pair of arms wrapped around her body, holding her tight against a torso. It was Eris, she reminded herself—Eris’s forearm pressed to her throat, Eris’s torso she was pinned against. He wouldn’t kill her.

He’d promised he wouldn’t.

“Are you scared?” Eris whispered, lips brushing gently against the shell of her ear.

Arina couldn’t speak, could only nod her head.

“Relax,” he ordered, pressing his arm harder against her throat. “Go limp.”

Arina tried, but every inch of her demanded she fight him, that she twist and thrash until he let her go. Eris sighed when he felt her rigidity, holding her so tight her ribs groaned. 

“Make me work for it, Arina. Go limp.”

Something about the way he said it—with such authority—made her listen. The part of her brain that wasn’t panicking recognized help. Her whole body flopped toward the ground, causing Eris to groan beneath her weight.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise warming that same alert part of her mind. “See how I have to drag you, now? Do you feel how my hold has to shift?”

“Yes,” she rasped. He’d loosened his grip on her neck just enough for her to take a deep breath. 

“If you had a knife, this would be the time to use it. Let’s pretend you have one hidden in your skirt. Reach for it.”

Arina did as he told her to, fumbling for her pretend knife. Eris tightened his hold with a disapproving click of his teeth. “Too slow.”

And then, without warning, he drew his fingers across her neck like he was slashing her throat. Releasing her, Arina collapsed to the ground, heart racing. 

“You need to be quicker,” he said dispassionately. 

“You surprised me,” she accused, rubbing the skin of her throat. 

“Do you expect your killer to send an invitation beforehand? You need to be prepared, your instincts razor sharp.”

“My governesses must have missed the lesson on not being murdered,” she snapped, though there was no real ire to her words. 

“I’m not surprised to learn your father is inadequate,” was all Eris had to say in response. “Get up. We’ll do it again.”

Arina almost wished Eris had wanted to have sex with her. It would have been easier, would have been over faster. They spent hours going through the same scenario over and over. Sometimes he walked her through what she needed to do step by step and other times he promised her a break, let her drop her guard, and then attacked her all over again.

She left his room wrung out and exhausted. Arina didn’t dare let Eris see it—he wasn’t exactly warm—but the moment she was safe in her own bedroom she fell face first on the mattress and cried her eyes out. Nothing was going the way she’d thought it would and every time Arina tried to make the best of her circumstances, it was like fate decided to add another complication as a little test.

Oh, you thought you could connect with this man? Well, he hates you. 

At least he didn’t want her dead. She could mark Eris off her list of the people trying to kill her, which made it a list of four—maybe five if she took Eris at his word regarding his fathers priorities. 

Beron Vanserra needed her alive in order to make good on the contract. Her father needed her alive in order to secure position and wealth, as well as continue ruling as a vassal lord. Eris didn’t want to marry her, but he didn’t want her dead either. And Elain and Lucien were outsiders entirely. 

But the palace was massive and teeming with people. Was it someone angry she was the one marrying the prince? An angry courtier? A political rival? Just having a direction would have been helpful.

Arina fell asleep turning the question over in her mind, forgetting to go down for dinner or changing out of her clothes. Perhaps she ought to have known Eris wouldn’t give her peace. In retrospect, Arina figured Eris had noticed her absence at dinner and decided it wasn’t enough to torment her during her waking hours.

She felt the weight of the mattress dip moments before he swung his legs over her body and pressed his blade to her throat. Apollo didn’t intervene, raising his head only to look before laying back down in his spot at the edge of the bed. Useless animal.

“Eris,” she whispered, fingers curling around his wrist.

“What happened to your dresser by the door?” he replied, his voice low. She knew what he wanted—or, she thought she did. She didn’t have a real weapon to stab him in the thigh with so she used her pretend one, slamming her fist against his leg before shoving him off her. Eris grunted but didn’t fight her when she straddled his hips, his knife now in her possession.

“If you ever wake me up like that again,” she whispered, her hair falling between them like a curtain, “it’ll be me who kills you.”

Eris’s chest rose and fell rapidly, palms raised upward in defense as she held his knife to this throat. She could have killed him—it would have been so easy to end him right then and there. Eris held her gaze, his eyes cat-like in the dark. 

“Eris?” she whispered.

He blinked. “I…shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why did you?”

Slowly, Eris reached for a strand of her unbound hair and pressed it against his nose. “I’m a fool.”

And with that, she was on her back, knife flopping harmlessly to the bed. Eris stood, adjusting his pants before turning back to look at her sprawled over the mattress. “Keep the dagger.”

“Eris—” He left before she could finish her thought, which was just as well. Arina had no idea what she would have said if he’d stayed. It was strange, though, sitting in the dark wishing he’d come back to do the gods only knew what.

Stranger, still, to realize that the man she was about to marry wanted her.

And that she wanted him, too.

ERIS:

Eris couldn’t focus. Standing in a packed ballroom, all he could think about was Arina’s legs wrapped around his waist and how close he’d come to dragging her back to the mattress and doing every wicked thing he could imagine to her. That was made worse by the woman herself, standing beside Elain and his brother in a golden gown that tapered to a dusky rose the further down the beading went.  The neckline was low enough he could see the swell of her breasts beneath the soft slope of her collar bone and when she walked, a slit revealed a tantalizing peek of her legs. 

He sighed, half relieved when his father approached. “Have you seen your mother?”

Eris scanned the crowd again. “She’s probably fretting over wine again.”

“I’ll handle it. You handle her,” his father ordered, glancing toward Arina.

“Problems?” “With the girl? Not one. With her father? It never ends,” Beron muttered with a scowl. “All he does is complain.”

“Maybe you should kill him,” Eris suggested dispassionately.

“After the wedding,” Beron said with a roll of his eyes. “Finish things with Novak’s daughter.”

“She doesn’t want to be alone,” Eris informed his father, not betraying his own regret. Oh, how he wished Arina acted more like the ladies at court. Their propriety was just for show, their skirts easily lifted. Even now, Eris knew if he made eye contact with any number of the ladies he’d grown up with, they’d be staring right back.

Unlike his betrothed, who hadn’t spared him a glance once.

“You’re charming. I trust you can engineer some scenario that silences her obnoxious father.”

Eris resisted the urge to snap at his father. It wasn’t worth the inevitable pain that would follow. Maybe not right then, maybe not for weeks—but down the road, Beron would make Eris pay. There was only one right answer, and that was whatever his father wanted to hear.

“I’m sure I can manage it.”

His father reached for two goblets of wine off a servant's passing tray. Thrusting them into Eris’s hands, he ordered, “Now.”

Great. 

Eris knew his father was watching just as he knew Arina’s father was watching, too. How far would he go to keep Eris from defiling his daughter? Not far enough, given Eris had successfully gotten into her bed chamber unimpeded twice. All he really needed was to get her alone long enough that it suggested something happened. Though it made his stomach churn, he figured he could get her just drunk enough that she’d let him bring her to his room. After that, all Eris had to do was close the door and let her sleep off the wine on his sofa or the floor or anywhere but next to him.

“You win,” Elain said glumly to Lucien as Eris offered Arina the wine his father had given him. 

“Pay up, princess,” Lucien replied with a grin.

“Do I want to know?” Eris demanded, his temper getting the better of him. Did Elain always need to be hovering over Arina? Couldn’t he have ten minutes alone with his future wife without a million people staring him down? 

“We made a bet—”

“I don’t care,” Eris interrupted flatly, catching the way Arina smothered a smile before taking a drink. “Dance with me before I go out of my mind.”

Arina gulped down the rest of her drink, setting the empty gold cup on a nearby table. Eris followed suit, wondering if she needed alcohol to tolerate him. The thought bothered him even as she turned, flushed and beautiful, and said, “Just one dance?”

Her hand was in his before Eris knew what was happening. He abandoned his drink beside Arina’s, catching sight of a quick-fingered servant whisking them away.

“For now,” he agreed, distracted by the way the lights gilded off her golden hair and how bright her eyes seemed to be. Had her mouth always been so pink? Her skin so smooth? Eris wanted to run his hands up her arms but settled for putting one on the curve of her waist and pulling her just a little too close.

Suggestively so. Arina didn’t seem to notice, staring down at her feet before looking up to meet his gaze. “Can you dance?” he asked.

Arina’s pretty smile shifted and he swore it was disappointment that flashed over her features. “Of course I can.”

He supposed he had been a little mocking when he asked. Eris couldn’t help that. When he was nervous his words came out in a sneer. There was no apologizing, which left him only with a challenge. “Prove it.”

“I hate you. Do you know that?” she asked, stepping with him as the music began. She was fluid like water, eyes on his face, grip pleasant on his shoulder. Eris nudged her a little closer, inhaling the scent of vanilla and lime. 

“I like a passionate woman,” he heard himself saying. 

Arina narrowed her eyes. “What else do you like in a woman?”

Eris knew better than to answer that question honestly. “I like you. Isn’t that enough?”

“I would hate to see how you treat women you don’t like.”

Eris couldn’t help himself. “There’s very little difference.”

“Now that I believe,” she said, the softness returning to her expression. Arina gripped his shoulder just a little tighter as the pair lapsed into silence, focused on their combined steps through the music. They weren’t alone—couples twirled alongside them, talking just loud enough to be heard over the band. There were things Eris wanted to tell her inexplicably—things he’d never told anyone, secrets he’d been keeping his entire life.

It was nothing dark, nothing deep. There were things Eris never wanted to say out loud, circumstances he intended to keep alive only in his mind. His throat burned as he lowered his head and murmured, “My favorite color is orange.”

Arina’s brows shot skyward, eyes widening with obvious and open delight. “Really?” she asked him.

Eris felt immediately stupid. He pulled back, heart pounding. That was a stupid thing to tell her, the regret instantaneous. Arina, though, was never going to let it go. She was grinning, her fingers digging pleasantly into his shoulders.

“Mine is green,” she confided as though admitting some terrible truth. Eris exhaled the breath he’d been holding. It sounded like a laugh, maybe because it half was. 

“I’m starting to see the merits,” he murmured, taking in the mossy green of her eyes. Arina’s cheeks flushed and when she rubbed her palm over his shoulder, sliding down his back, Eris thought he was going insane. He needed to get out of the ballroom before he did something unbearably stupid.

Like kissing her in front of everyone. There was no doubt in Eris’s mind that the wine had made Arina sweeter just as he knew for certain that if he tried to touch her like she was touching him, he’d earn little more than a slap to the face. 

“Have you ever been to the garden?” Arina asked him, pulling Eris from his thoughts. It was tempting to ask why she wanted to know that. Surely she must be aware that Eris had been in that garden hundreds of times for a myriad of different reasons.

He wasn’t stupid, though. When a lady was asking a gentleman if he’d ever been to the garden, what she was really asking for was to be alone. Well. Maybe he was a little stupid, because Eris’s response was, “Not with you.”

“Would you like to see it? With me, I mean?” she asked, her voice sweet and breathless.

“Yes.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Eris remembered this was what he was supposed to be doing. Getting her alone, creating just enough doubt as to what they’d been doing when no one had eyes on them. It didn’t matter if it was true—he’d have her one way or the other—only that people believed it. Eris wished he could say everything was going according to plan but when Arina slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, once again gripping his limb just a little too tightly, all Eris could think about was being alone with her.

Stupid, given he’d been alone with her before. Not like this—not when she was touching him, smiling at him. Arina kept close, following as Eris led them from the ballroom with murmured excuses of getting some air. They certainly weren’t the only ones trying to slip away—it was practically a right of passage for couples to find some private place before their chaperones caught up with them. The only difference was Eris himself, who was a prince and therefore could do whatever he liked.

Well. Not anything. If Eris truly had that kind of power he could have simply pressed Arina against a wall and kissed her like he wanted to and no one—including Arina—would have stopped him. Still, it was a pleasant little fantasy that might have carried him outdoors had Arina not pulled him toward a hall that led the entirely opposite direction.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, yanking him close as footsteps approached. Eris was too distracted by her nearness, unable to look at anything but her palms laid flat against his chest. Obscured by shadows and half hidden behind a rather large pillar, a gaggle of older men filed past, arguing about the latest book written by a poet Eris thought was rather overrated. He might have told Arina so, too, had he not gone to look her in the eyes only to find she was staring back at him.

Oh.

He should have asked. Eris knew it and he didn’t care. If he asked her permission she might have said no and right then every inch of her seemed like an invitation. It was the sweetest she’d ever been, the most inviting and he wanted her. Deciding it was worth the risk, Eris lowered his face and kissed her amid the fading echoes of the crowd, still close enough to the party he could hear the music echoing around them. 

Bracing himself for the inevitable outrage, Eris decided to press his advantage and reach for her face. It felt good to press his mouth against hers, to feel her soft skin beneath him. Eris was so distracted that it took him a minute to realize she was kissing him back. His eyes flew open at the realization. Eris needed confirmation that what he was feeling was, in fact, his reality.

Her eyes were closed, fingers curled in the cobalt blue of his jacket to keep him close. It was right there that ruined Eris—that look on her face, the way she was holding him, kissing him, breathing him in. 

“Open,” he breathed and the hells help him, Arina did exactly as she was told. The kiss was a mess at first, betraying her inexperience though she was a quick study. Eris had her pinned against the wall, her wrists in his hands as he held them over her head and knee wedged between her legs before he could think about his next move. 

All he wanted was to take down her hair and watch it tumble over her shoulders. Well—and then to watch her dress pool at her feet while he slid to his knees and— “Eris,” she breathed, pulling him back to reality. There was something sweet about her mouth.

A familiar sweetness mingled among the wine. Eris kissed her again, taking another taste as he tried to place it. Some part of him didn’t care so long as she kept kissing him…but the other…the other reminded him that she didn’t like him. And now she was half desperate, rubbing herself against his leg as her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his jacket and—

“Fuck,” Eris snarled, turning his head in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. The syrupy sweetness betrayed itself—he should have recognized it the moment his tongue first slid into his mouth but Eris was too excited to notice. Myrrah—from the root of a regular berry plant—was a powerful aphrodisiac a lot of people took recreationally at court. Husbands sometimes slipped it in their new brides drinks after a wedding to make things easier, though Eris had never liked that practice.

For one wild minute he considered turning back to the ball and drinking some himself so he could finish what they’d started. He might have, too—the idea was powerfully tempting—had he not felt Arina’s fingers slide into his hands. Catching her wrist without thinking, Eris knew he needed to stop her before she took things too far. 

“With me,” he panted, cock twitching desperately. 

“Anywhere,” she said, opening her eyes to look at them. Eris swore softly at the sight of her blown out pupils and flushed cheeks. She tried to take a step, but Myrrah made everyone a little disoriented, made the room seemed to swirl in a way that was more pleasant than it wasn’t. Eris scooped her up before she could fall flat on her face, took a deep breath, and began walking her toward her bedroom as quickly as he could.

“I want you,” she said, the pretty little liar. 

“Tell me again in the morning,” Eris replied. “Tell me when you wake up and I’ll give you anything you like.” “Anything?”

Yes, anything. Gold, jewels, land—whatever she wanted. Maybe that was his own arousal talking, but Eris would have made her an untold number of promises if it meant she’d willingly put her hands back between his legs. 

“Where are you—Eris!” Arina shrieked, but Eris had dumped her onto the floor in her bathing chamber and slammed the door before she could stop him. “Open this door right now!” she demanded, pounding the palm of her hand against the door.

“I can’t,” he told her, sliding down the wood to keep it closed. 

“Please—”

“Don’t,” he managed, closing his eyes. “Don’t beg.”

“You don’t want me?”

“Fuck—yes, I want you,” he admitted, forcing the words from behind his teeth. “And if I take you this way, you’ll hate me in the morning.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” he replied, saying the words as a reminder to himself. She wouldn’t forgive him, would be furious he hadn’t stopped her. “You’re out of your mind right now and don’t know what you want.”

There was blessed silence for a moment. Eris knew better than to think Arina had fallen asleep—he’d been in her position before, though he’d, at least, been able to relieve himself with a partner. Eris had no intention of freeing her so she could roam the halls like a cat in heat, nor did he intend to help her. She’d simply have to handle things herself.

And like an utter degenerate, he was going to stay exactly where he was and listen.

“I like you,” Arina said softly, still too breathless for his liking.

“Liar.”

“You have nice hair,” she protested, voice rising with irritation. “And I like your eyes…your hands…”

“Stop,” he breathed, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

“Open the door, Eris. Let me show you—”

“In the morning,” he groaned, his willpower shredding with each sultry word that poured from her throat. “Ask me in the morning.”

“Do you not like me?”

Eris groaned again. “Too much,” he admitted, spreading his legs apart. It did little to alleviate his need. “But not like this.”

“Then how?”

Fuck it, he decided, reaching for his belt. If he couldn’t touch her, he could at least touch himself. He could still talk to her, could make it a little bearable at least on his end. “In your right mind, to start with.”

“Maybe it’s better this way. Get it over with—”

“Trust me,” he half panted, gripping his cock in one hand. Eris stroked himself to the sound of Arina’s little gasps behind the wood and the image of what she must be doing to elicit such noise. 

“Will it hurt?” she asked him breathlessly.

“No,” he swore, closing his eyes so he could imagine it. “Trust me.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Will you be angry if I have?”

He’d never considered that prospect before, maybe because he’d never expected his wife to be untouched. He’d assumed he’d end up with one of the ladies at court and while virginity was the official expectation, it was a rule too often skirted around in favor of hedonistic fun. 

“It seems unfair. Maybe I should be allowed—”

“No.”

“No?”

Eris stroked himself again, exhaling a soft, shuddering breath. “No,” he agreed. “It’s too late now. I want your first time.”

“You’re selfish.”

“Jealous, too,” he agreed. “I don’t want to share you anymore.”

“Maybe you won’t be such a bad husband.”

Eris’s hand stilled for a moment, cheek pressed against the wood. There were a million things he wanted to say, all of them choked by emotion. He couldn’t accept the compliment nor could he find the words to assure he would do his best. What if he failed? What if he was no better than his father? 

“Where are your hands?” he asked instead, retreating to comfortable, familiar territory.

“Under my dress,” she replied. Eris groaned loudly for her benefit, knowing damn well he shouldn’t. 

“Next time it’ll be my mouth,” he told her with more conviction than he’d ever felt. So he couldn’t tell her the truth about himself—maybe he could show her, then. His actions could be enough, he decided, and if not his actions than the way his body touched her own. 

“Your mouth?” Arina asked breathlessly. It wasn’t really a question and still Eris gripped his cock tighter, pumping faster.

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes closed as he imagined her legs spread for him. What did he want more? His cock in her throat or the taste of her cunt smeared across her lips? Both, he decided. He wanted it at the same time, wanted her thighs straddling his face as she took him, unable to move while Eris spent half an evening eating her.

And then he’d flip her over, breasts pressed to the blankets, and fuck her until she couldn’t walk the next morning. He could practically feel it, was lost to the fantasy and the sound of Arina’s own soft, desperate moans. 

“That’s it,” he rasped, unsure if he was talking to her or himself. “Come for me.”

Arina did—or, he thought she did. He was so used to loud screams that her breathless gasps of air seemed like a revelation. Was this what it was like when the woman he wanted didn’t care if he was a prince or not? Eris came, too, hips jerking off the ground as come splattered against his hand. 

The timing was terrible. Arina turned the door handle, tumbling on top of him just as a servant burst into the room, eyes wide with horror.

“I—”

“Well, fuck,” Eris snarled, trying to shove himself back into his pants without making a mess of the woman tangled up in his lap. “It’s not…”

What it looks like. He never managed to get the words out—the servant scurried away, leaving Eris alone 

“You feel better now, don’t you?” he dared to ask, buttoning his pants as Arina stood, cheeks burning red. 

“I—”

He reached for her chin, squishing her cheeks gently beneath her fingers. Eris kissed her, ignoring how wide her eyes were.

“When you wake up, don’t regret this.”

Though, if he was honest with himself, Eris regretted leaving her in a heap on the floor.

Still.

That was for the best.

[foxett]

Swingset Basil :3 yeah this is kinda spoilers but whatever

[valleymyristica]

OH i forgot to ask: will hazel notice the red flags? and will dev realize that what he's doing is wrong?

I can tell you she'll notice something Like, she does know his dad isn't great, as we saw in chapter 1 And she does try and help and encourage where she can

So, if he's having a bad day, she'll be there to help

Though, she has to know And Dev wouldn't want her knowing Would he?

Still, maybe there is something that feels off?

As a side note, we'll meet Hazel a little bit more in chapter 5 She's such a good friend And she may be a kid, but she isn't dumb

Kids can be smart you know It's just that they don't fully understand the world Sometimes it's hard to grasp what you've never seen Sometimes it's hard to understand, the world can be mean

As for Dev, well it's hard to say But I can assure His actions are ones he will regret one day

[pernesophe]

Arranged Marriage to the Demon of Sakuragi Master List:

(Minors, Ageless and Blank Blogs DNI)

Synopsis: You are an American who moved back to Japan to live with your father - Kenzo Asano - after your grandmother passed away. Truthfully, you had started receiving cryptic letters, small messages, and flowers left in places you’d typically be. One thing that remained constant was the signature: “It’s a beautiful day for flowers, isn’t it?” After a few months being back home, your father proposes you marry The Demon of Sakuragi to ease tensions between the two rival clans. You agree, hoping your marriage can create a lasting alliance and peace. How will you manage being wife of The Demon turned babysitter? Can he love you? Can you love him? Will the letters and flowers stop now that you’re in Japan, with a husband who is Yakuza to boot? MDNI. TW {stalking, angst, paranoia, deaths in reader's family prior to the story. Eventual violence, blood/gore, and smut. Some comfort and fluff throughout} In depth TW's available on each chapter. Links for each chapter will be added as they are posted.

Chapter List:

Chapter 1: Move

Chapter 2: Business Deals and Crushes

Chapter 3: Nightmares and Tea Cakes

Chapter 4: Atonement and Sleuthing

Chapter 5: Museum Dates and First Kisses

Fandom Masterlist I do not own or have rights to any of the characters, manga/anime panels, art or photos in this post. The ring photos were posted on Pinterest by Runmily (ring designer) - here is the link to their ring set on Etsy.

[the-sun-and-the-sea]

Mare Nostrum

After saying goodbye to his family and boarding the train for the 65th Hunger Games at just fourteen years old, Finnick has a lot on his plate.

And that's before he finds out that District Four's most revered deity is actually his father.

[courtney-deserved-better]

its so funny how being stuck in an airport for the last six hours has actually cured my writers block for the current chapter of amicus curiae im working on. feeling a lot more hopeful that ill knock out those last three chapters soon! and boy oh boy are they gonna be a doozy

[brideofdiscord-rewritten]

Bride of Discord chapter 12: The Story

"Discord, may I ask you something?"

The draconequus had just finished showing Fluttershy his water skiing tricks and was drying off. His feathers clumped up and he looked as if he were one of those dogs, the ones that leave a film on the hoof when pet. Fluttershy loved how happy and prideful he looked when he wanted to show her a trick, like the previously mentioned playful puppy.

"Anything, of course!" he said over his shoulder.

She looked down at the blanket she was sitting on. "Well…I've been here since late summer, and now it's winter, so... and…"

He made his towel disappear and teleported to her side. "Yes? It's been a pretty confusing series of time. I had no idea how much time had passed since you got here!"

"Well…there's something that's been on my mind and…"

She felt him scoot closer and rest his hands on his... whatever's. What were they, if not hooves? Claw and paw? "Go on?"

"I…I just want to know…"

A ray of hope appeared on Discord's face. Was she finally going to say it? But she said it was a question. Still, was this it?!

She looked up at him. "Where did you come from?"

His expression fell. "Oh…see here, when two ponies are in love- you ever heard of spores? Well-"

"Dear no,that's not what I meant! I meant what was your life like before... uhm, y'know, turning into stone." She quivered. She didn't want to think about how that felt.

He sighed. A great weight rested on his every fur, every fibre. " I'll tell you now, it's not very cheery, but if you look at it like a book or painting, then it's kinda beautiful."

Fluttershy lay on her belly. "I'm curious, about what art is to you."

Discord smiled and took a breath. "I like to think that art is seeing the beauty in the ugly and the ridiculous in the aesthetic. Like looking out the window at an ugly forest. If it was a painting, the elements would make it meaningful."

She shifted her weight. She was getting him comfy, and that's what mattered.

"if my life was a biography,I'm sure the paintings and music it would inspire would be beautiful. Perhaps even architecture. Im particularly fond of maximalism, ecobrutalism, cubist works... you get the point. I like to romanticize things. Back to the story!"

She smiled warmly at him, brushing the weight from his follicles with a gentle hoof. He still needed to know where she gets her iron shoes fitted

"well, I'm rather famously one of a kind. I like to think of it as a blessing, no younger brothers or culture to feel like I'm disappointing! I think I just appeared one day, in a big star, surrounded by bigger stars. I remember a quaint little Stone house I'd take apart and put together again. That was how I honed my craft, magic! Chaos! In the middle of space!"

He scratched his hand.

"it does get rather lonely. I have no idea what the concept of age is, or how old I was. I didn't know there were others until I met an owl. It's first reaction was to screech and fly off. So I had no idea what interactions were. The only thing I knew was remodeling a single building, with no idea what it was or why it existed. I found out by wandering around that I was in a dimension between dimensions. I was intertwined between the multiverse."

Fluttershy looked at him like he was... well somehow less normal than he is. He looked down at her and giggled. "See? Weird painting."

He made another pause before continuing. "I'll spare you the details. Let's just say that it didn't take long for me to realize that I was different from most creatures. I came to equestria by complete accident, by my magic bursting while I was practicing. in the middle of the forest, where I met the aforementioned owl. The forest turned black and spikey, and I heard before that it was regular. I corrupted it. I knew then that I wasn't meant to be interacted with. I was a complete anomaly, and should never have existed. Yet, I learned every day for something to accept me."

He felt corny. Fluttershy snuggled close to him. Gosh, that must have been jarring. No concept of anything and then constant yearning. It made her want to cry.

"Then I found Equestria and you ponies, and…well, let's just say they didn't take kindly to my appearance either. I eventually gave up trying to fit in and focused on my magic, making myself at home in a cave in the mountains."

"Was it that cave you took me from?" Fluttershy interjected.

"Yes, in fact. You know Celestia has stopped by there several times to see if I was hiding there? I made myself invisible whenever she came. She found me there, when her mane looked like yours. She saw me practicing my magic and might I add, she was quite impressed with it. She said I should use my talents for good, for her court! Well…" he twiddled his fingers, "she wasn't very specific on her definition of 'good.'"

He gave a small laugh. "My magic wasn't made for pony ideals! It was just wacky! I guess I got in over my horns. I had packed houses every day! Just hours and hours of ponies adoring me, giving me what I wanted, what my magic was made for! Lights! Attention! Laughs! I guess she didn't really like how little i cared about actual court matters. Wasn't my fault!"

Fluttershy Stared intensely at his manners, the lordliness of it all.

"I wished more than ever to date this alicorn. She always pestered me about her day and I just heard her, and didn't listen. I just dreamt about her being my... housewife. I KNOW!" Fluttershy cringed and laughed.

"I asked her out once and... it was over. She couldn't see me anymore. Granted, her sister was locking herself away and becoming... less than favourably hostile, and her kingdom was constantly yelling at her. But I asked anyways. She told me that I only liked her because she was the first pony who was ever kind, and she didn't owe me anything."

Fluttershy sat up. "What did she mean?"

" gosh, it's so stupid. I used to think that since I was nice to her she owed me her hand in marriage! Can you imagine? I didn't care about her princess struggles or her look to the kingdom of she married, I just wanted a wife. Everypony else had that one pony who loved them no matter what, and I thought I was entitled to one!"

Fluttershy spoke up. She puffed up her chest, tried to hold it in, and laughed. "Oh dearie, at least you're past that!" She looked almost pleadingly at him with a warm smile. He nodded.

"well I blew up on her, and she cast me out, telling me to go find a place that accepts my magic and all my demands, but somewhere else. I felt rejected again, and... tried to takeover. Thank Celestia she- wait, what? That's so weird. Anyways, she turned me into stone."

It felt crushing to hear himself thank the pony he harassed into hating him for thwarting the plan that was still in motion.

"Did it hurt? The stone, I mean."

"woof! Lemme tell ya, I've never had a better sleep in my life! It's like all the benefits of sleep, and a good stretch. Never felt a thing."

Discord looked down at her. "But yeah. I got pretty messed up being alone. Not anymore, now that you're here."

He used his tail to bring her closer, making Fluttershy blush. She put a hoof over her muzzle and grinned gently.

"you don't think... of me like that Celestia thing, do you?"

He felt like he was going to heave. He did. One hundred percent. He Never made an attempt to this point to even think about it, but he knew it.

"I've been trying so hard not to think about it, and when I see you, my best-first friend, I can't help but cringe when I remember it. I Can't imagine being in that deep of whatever that was!"

He trailed off and stared into space.

"I suppose I should tell you about me?"

"wouldn't object to it, if you really want to tell me."

"You see…" She glanced down at her hooves. "I was very shy as a filly and could barely fly. All the other ponies laughed at me. It didn't help that I believed them. These boys, they were the only ones I swear loved me."

He choked. "They laughed at you?! You didn't do anything wrong!"

She giggled. "Don't do that. It was a long time ago. Anyway, I know what it's like to be…different. Alone. They treated me like I was too much when I was happy, like I was a disease." She whimpered, and shook it away.

Fluttershy squeaked as he threw his arms around her. "We can't make each other sick, can we! Sickness buddies!!"

She gently tried to push him away. "Discord, please…"

"Did you not hear me, darling? I'm saying you're perfect! And you make me feel less alone! We're peas in a pod!"

"dis-"

"Which reminds me! Do you love me? Better get it out of the way now!"

A wall burst

"I can't! I can't just love you now! You don't know me!"

He floundered into a deflated dunce.

"That's really flattering and all, but…those colts didn't like me. They liked my looks. They never hung out with me after school because they didn't want to have to hear me. They didn't want to listen. Everybody in the world could love you... but nobody really likes you. And I feel like that every time you compliment me, I can't help it. They beat me down just like anyone else, but we're embarrassed to be around anyone else when they said they liked my face."

He felt like a sludge of trash for what he thought. For trying to convince her with a stupid little sob story and a dumb little question.

"I just know it in you you aren't like that anymore, but I just wish you'd let yourself fully heal before you try to marry me. Even if we're just married friends. I wish I could heal first."

True or not, Fluttershy knew he was lonely and that he seemed to care for her, but she could not do it. She might as well be saying 'I do' at the altar. She was not ready.

"Are you alright?"

...

She was so honest with what she wanted. She was so shy and retracted, so outspoken through years of tears.

...

"I think I'm gonna start exploring those thoughts. I think I want to be nature, y'know? I want to be a part of the life here, a little animal. I don't wanna tell myself I'm different until it's true."

She looked at him like he was a roaring river, like he was a gentle spider web. It fascinated her. After everything, he was there.

"Maybe one day we'll get married. one day. but right now, I want to stay as your friend more than anything."

"Be patient, Discord. You've at least gotten somewhere with that pony. She'll say yes eventually. You just need to up your approach. She admitted it herself!"

He smashed the glass. It made him sick. How callously it ignored every word she ever said. At least pretend like you were trying! At least pretend like you're not thinking like that, like you detest it! I'm sure I dont actually hate it, I was right back then... I know it. I think.

He hates that he was unsure. He hates that he knows it was horrible, how he treated Celestia and how he still thinks that way. He hates that he didn't think that way. He hates that Fluttershy tore his plan apart with pony morals.

Across the dinner table, now less quiet, to simple pain.

"why are you making me better?"

She shrunk under his gaze.

"I think you'll be happier when you know you love yourself. And you'll find its easier to make friends that way."

He hoped he didn't come off as how he used to act.

"Well, glad to have you then! I don't want you to feel like you're forced to lo-"

"YOU DONT HAVE ME!"

His face fell as she snapped at him. Fluttershy then took a breath and moved towards the window.

"I understand you don't want me to leave and that we had a deal, but... You've tried so hard to make me happy, but you still deny me the one thing I want." She glanced out as some of her birds tried to fly into the forest but were stopped by the force field.

"Well, you've denied me the one thing I want, and what I want is…"

His frustration melted away when he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. He cautiously stepped toward her.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to …"

He lightly hovered his claw over her, almost asking, only to have her pull away.

"Fluttershy…"

She faced him. "I want to let them go."

He blinked. "What?"

Fluttershy glanced back at the animals outside. "It would be selfish of me to keep them here. They're not here because they need me. I thought they did, but…I just wanted them here for myself."

Discord put his claw on her shoulder. "That's why I brought them here. For you."

"And now I want you to send them back."

"But…don't they make you happy?"

"Look at them." She pointed at the birds pecking at the invisible wall. "They don't want to stay here. That's why you have to send them back. And besides this... in sorry, but I want you to help yourself too. I can't always help you, because we're too similar."

He stared at her for a while, wiping away her tears. "I understand. I know you can't always help me, but I'm glad you're real with me. I guess I'd like to have more friends, not just you. But... you sure this is what you want?"

She looked up at him and nodded.

She knew he knew she never owed him a thing, and smiled as he let them go. He simply hugged her hard and sat and talked throughout the meal. They talked and laughed and he never asked for a thing. The birds sang louder than they did when they were trapped. He probably didn't even know it, but he climbed the stairs once more and they felt one step lower.

[landscaping-your-mind]

Know that i am holding the ninth doctor soooo gently

[organised-disaster]

Aight @baxieblur-turnip and @randosfandos y'all know the drill here it is

SNOWBIRD: CHAPTER IV

I stare at the ceiling. It's quite nice. Wood panels. Inoffensive. I count the scratch marks in it, then the proper holes.

I've just nicked it more than I've actually hit it. I don't especially try when I throw my knife. It used to be Otto's. I feel bad launching it at the ceiling, but it's what I do when I'm bored.

I retrieve it from my drawer. I flick it open and close a few times, running my thumb over the dimpled texture of the green handle while I study the ceiling. I can almost see the shape of a face...

I throw the knife up into a blank spot. It makes a tiny scratch. Not enough force. It sails back down into my hand. I catch it easily, the blunt side of the blade slotting seamlessly between my fingers.

Again. It thuds into the ceiling, between the boards, and I almost think it's going to stay there. It slides out, however, rotating to be blade-first. It pierces the pillow next to my head. How unfortunate.

Again. A thunk can be heard as it stays put. I stand to retrieve it, my bed creaking in protest. The ceilings are not especially low, but Otto's knife is easily within my reach.

It comes away too easily. Not enough force, once again. I stay standing instead of lying down again. I look at the knife in my hand.

I could stop. I could stop damaging the ceiling over and over again, and I could stop blunting the knife. I should stop.

I am only breaking things. No, not even breaking. This is nothing.

This is just more purposeless damage. I am just stabbing the ceiling, the ceiling that can not die, or feel it at all. This is an exercise in futility. I am satisfying nothing.

The sound the knife makes as I personally drive it into the ceiling is very satisfying indeed.

I step off my bed, landing silently on my floor. I allow the knife to say in my ceiling. I don't need it, anyway. I have other, much sharper knives. Better knives.

I pass my empty wall. The spot with four holes in it as if something was once displayed there stares into me, accusing me. I face it, staring back. I blindfold it by displaying Sera's gift. Yumi's warm, grey eyes now bore a hole into my skull, but it's a marginal improvement.

I shut the door quietly behind me. I don't care about the noise I make, but I don't need to be loud. It would feel too small.

My footsteps echo in the empty hallway. There used to be photos in this house. Filling the walls. There also used to be laughter.

The one photo left sits alone on the mantle. I know what it looks like, of course. I wasted many days staring at it.

Yumi is approximately seven. My mother is desperately trying to keep a hold of her, obviously tired but still smiling. Yumi is wearing a large grin, several teeth missing, as she seems to yell and reach toward the photographer.

One of her hands is pushing my mother's face to the side, slightly squishing her smile. My father is holding me, smiling at my mother and Yumi rather than the camera. I look grumpy.

It was taken in winter, so we are all wearing warm clothing. I look adequately cared for, with a knit beanie and fluffy green jumpsuit covering all of me but my face. My father's puffy jacket is an equal green. Yumi's brown sweater matches the one our mother is wearing. Yumi had to be wrestled into that sweater.

It's a lovely, lively photo, full of warmth and happiness. It reflects nothing of what we are now, though. It's almost like looking into a broken mirror.

You know what's supposed to be there, what it's supposed to look like, and it just doesn't. You can tell what it was. You can tell what it did. And it will never be what it was again, even if you fix it.

It's far more complicated than a broken mirror, though. We've lost all but two of the pieces, and one is so dirty and scratched that it's functionally worthless. We don't even have the glue to put those two pieces back together.

I hate the year-old girl in that photo. I hate her dissatisfied frown and barely visible black hair. I hate her chubby, tiny, tightly balled fists. I hate her innocence. I hate her ignorance.

I'm not looking at the photo now, though, so there is nothing immediately in front of me to hate. At least until I reach the mirror. But I already know what I look like. I will just ignore myself, like always.

I wash my face for the third time today. I should apologise to Sera. I should also never speak to Sera again. I should also lie down in the sand and wait for the ocean to claim me.

It's unclear what order I should take those actions in. Logic states that the ocean will take up far more of my time than begging for Sera's forgiveness and exit from my life.

I do not like logic. It is normally against me. I don't really want to talk to Sera right now, either. I don't want to talk to her, full stop. She'll come to me, talk to me, convince me to talk to her. She always does.

Of course, the Reaping is soon. I have several hours to kill. Normally, I'd spend this time with Sera. It would be tense, and there would be something inherently sad about it, but we would have each other. And that would be how we held each other together.

But not today. I won't lose this. I don't lose. It isn't something I do. I don't need Sera. I need her like I need a gaping head wound. I need her like I need the knife in my ceiling. Gods, I hate that knife.

I hated Otto's urgency as she pressed it into Yumi's hands before pressing an equal kiss to her lips. I hated my father's soulless eyes as he dropped a box of Yumi's things on my lap. I hated the message at the bottom of that box.

I hate that message.

I twist the tap violently enough that it must have bruised my hand. What a shame. The tap drips for a moment, then realises it's done with its job and ceases. The ensuing silence is decidedly agitating. It is broken by the sound of the door creaking open.

I will not look in the mirror. I will not acknowledge who is staring back at me, and I especially will not acknowledge who is behind me. I bring my hands behind my head, gathering my hair into one area.

I make sure to keep my eyes closed. I slide my hairband off my wrist and wrap it once, twice, three times around my ponytail until it is tight and stays in its place just behind where my head curves. I drag the towel across my face, mildly hoping it'll miraculously turn into steel wool.

I push past the man with the unshaved face and uncombed hair. I do not speak to him. He has missed his chance. He lays a hand on my shoulder.

The father makes some semblance of an attempt to speak to his daughter. The daughter coldly brushes away her father's hand.

My gait is not hurried, but most would fall behind. I don't know where I'm going. I suppose I'll find out when I get there. More people are around now. Most of them are Peacekeepers.

Preparing for the yearly slaughter, of course. It's a miracle Annie won the last. The poor girl snapped like a twig the minute Moor was beheaded. I don't blame her.

We were... not friends. Never friends. I knew her. It wouldn't be right to say that I know her. But we interacted, and I didn't hate her. She's how I knew him.

I remember how she trembled in the chair she looked too small in when her other friends rushed in to wish her luck and comfort her. He would have loved to, but mentors aren't allowed to.

I don't envy her. Or him. Nothing good came of their victories, aside from the food parcels for District Four. He's off in the Capitol being treated like an object, and Annie is... hopefully still breathing.

Perhaps I should visit her. There was far too much screaming coming from her house in Victor's Village for a woman who lives alone the last time I tried to check on her, though. It's best that I stay away.

Seth is about her age, I believe. They've never once held a conversation, but Seth has a way of speaking without his voice. He is very regular with his visits to her.

He looks almost identical to his sister. Messy blonde curls that spill easily into his eyes and tie themselves into knots around his ears, dulled-gold irises, a constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks, a solid, strong build. One of their very few physical differences is his facial hair, which isn't much more than some thicker patches of fuzz at the moment.

I'm told he's very handsome by his many fans. I don't see it. He's just a male version of Sera, so feasibly I should be able to see it, but it just doesn't appear to me. Perhaps it's his lack of everything that I find sweet about her. Sera's face in my vision every day for almost two decades could have warped my perception of what "good-looking" is...

Most people assume Seth is mute or deaf or both, but he turns when someone talks to him, and he responds with a mumble or vague noise if I ask him something.

Seth is... strange. He's oddly fascinated by seaweed and the like, wasting all his free time poking at samples of it pulled up of fishing trips. He doesn't feel anything until it's applied tenfold, and even then, it doesn't appear to bother him. He'll just stare at people if they talk to him.

He talks to his friends the most. They adore him. It's understandable, with his inexplicable odd charm. It was easy to assume at first that they were just acting like they liked him because they found it funny.

They're genuine, though. They gather, the five or so of them, without him occasionally. I once walked past them as they were talking, and he was mentioned many times.

They talked about how odd it was that he knew so much about seaweed, but changed it immediately by talking about what he knew and how interesting it was. They discussed if they should bring Seth along to an event, mainly debating if he would enjoy it. One of them mentioned a rock Seth had given him, holding it out and praising it.

I don't consider myself jealous. It made me wonder for a moment if that was how the people who knew me talked about me when I wasn't present. I felt relieved for a moment. I am not one to try to deny facts, however.

I'm not blind. I saw the glares Seth's friends gave me.

One of them was Otto's younger brother, Oswald. She had two, him and a boy named Fayrouz, who's now about thirteen. He hates me now, but I would sometimes see him when Otto came over to talk to Yumi.

I remember her fairly well, although I didn't know her as greatly.

Otto loved green and wore a lot of it. Mainly deep sages, but I'd occasionally see her wearing an almost blindingly lime shirt. She was one of the fishers and had the build to match. Her burnt umber skin was lined with scars, especially her hands, and her whole body rippled when she flexed.

She had distinctly sharp features, much like the Esthel twins. Unlike them, though, her caramel-colour gaze could easily cut diamond. Her face was also more square, drawing attention to her high, ever-bruised cheekbones. She would always wear her black, curling hair in a low ponytail.

Oswald and I talked a little then, while our sisters were busy with their schoolwork and their gossip. He's a nice enough guy. Or, he used to be, anyway. He has a lot of friends. Sera is one of them.

He's very fond of her. She's ushered me out of her house so she can talk to him before. It makes sense. He detests me, and Sera likes him for some reason, so she keeps us separate.

Mechi sometimes brings up how Ozzie being alone with Sera doesn't bother me, but them being alone does. I don't really have anything to address that. I can't really take him seriously, I guess. I know I'll never have to worry about Sera preferring him to me.

He looks just like Otto. His hair is curlier than hers, and he keeps it cut short, but very similar. His eyes used to have her same piercing quality, but now they smoulder when I look at him. He didn't use to try to look like her.

It's for the opposite of the reason I keep my hair long, I'd imagine.

When Yumi died, it was like his older sister had died all over again. But at least there was someone he could rightfully blame. He likes it when we're partnered together in training. Especially when weapons get involved. He never wins, but he doesn't care.

Yumi's swap was considered "a shock" and "a display of friendship." Mine was called "a tragedy" and "unjust" and "stealing."

Otto loved Yumi deeply. And then Yumi was called, and Otto couldn't imagine life without her. So Otto took Yumi's place without a moment's hesitation. Yumi was comforted and consoled, and Otto was mourned as a dead woman.

Yumi cared for me. And then I was called, and Yumi felt that I was her responsibility. So Yumi took my place without a moment's hesitation. I was scowled at and disregarded, and Yumi was mourned as a loss.

It's not unfair, not exactly. Yumi was all kinds of excellent, but Otto was different. Colder, but still as caring. Less patient, but still as willing to listen. She gave solutions when presented with problems.

I remember her voice being smooth and warm. Much like someone else's. I didn't cry at her funeral, either. Rumi Erudite doesn't cry.

There was so something so utterly tragic about Otto.

It doesn't matter, not anymore. She's dead.

Ah. So my destination was the beach. Logical. It's nice this time of year. Victors will often stop here on their tours.

I don't feel anything when I sit down in the sand, just ahead of where the waves lap at my feet. I don't want to get saltwater on these shoes. And I don't like the way the waves move. I don't like the way they're getting closer to me.

Some part of me laughs at that. They're waves. They can't be malicious. They can't be cunning. They can't be evil. They can't... hate...

I shake that away and shuffle further up the beach.

It would be nice if I could feel what I felt three hours or so ago. It would also be nice if I could describe that feeling. It's childish that all I know is that I feel it with Sera, childish that I know nothing of my own emotions.

I wish my appreciation of the sunsets and sunrises wasn't linked to Sera. I wish my best memories didn't involve her. I wish that I didn't feel short of breath when she laughs.

I wish, I wish, I wish...

How childish. How naïve. How old am I, really? That I'm stuck wishing and hoping and whining? I hate that. I hate it all. I hate Sera.

I stare out into the ocean. I normally try to identify the boats on the water, but it's all been put on hold for the Reaping. The ocean surface is empty. It's slightly odd. It's very much non-standard, but it isn't alien.

It's sort of like when the birds all fall silent and leave the skies when a storm is brewing. It's not like it isn't normal. It's just not a good sign.

No boats means a child of District Four dies.

I remember when Sera would come home from storms. If she was caught in one, it'd be because they blew in before they could react. I'd wrap a blanket around her shoulders as she laughed about how she had been thrown overboard and hauled back on more than once.

I've noticed a pattern with Sera. Every time something bad happens to her, she just... starts joking. It's like she can't take it seriously. She refuses to acknowledge her own injuries. I'll usually have to drag her over to Cod. The only time she's taken herself there was when she accidentally cut off part of her ring finger while chopping carrots, and even then, she still tried to deflect it as okay for about thirty seconds. She worries me sometimes.

One night after a storm, Sera didn't laugh. She knocked on my door and waited where she would normally just let herself in. Even when I answered, she just stood in front of the door, dripping wet from the pouring rain with her head hanging. I could barely hear her when she asked to come inside.

I wonder if it's possible to purge memories. The ones after Yumi's death are all blurred. Those aren't gone, though. I want them gone entirely, so I wouldn't even know that I was remembering them strangely.

Alas.

The ocean's calm, at least.

"Rumi." I jump slightly. The newcomer's soft voice surprised me, somehow so much louder than everything else. I glance at the sky instead of her. The light's changed. I have no idea how long I was staring out at the mostly-flat ocean.

I identify her by the stitching at the hem of her shirt as I turn to watch the ocean again.

"Figured I'd find you here," Mechi says vaguely.

"Yes, well..." I respond, equally non-specific.

There is more silence. I assume Mechi is admiring the sea.

"You made her cry, you know," she says after a few minutes.

"Okay." Mechi sighs.

"Showed up on our doorstep," she furthers.

"Okay." Mechi shifts next to me.

"She was bawling her eyes out about how she upset you. She blames herself for every little thing you do, you know."

"That seems like her problem."

"Gods, Rumi, don't you care? You're her best friend," Mechi says, irritated. I finally turn to her so I can glare at her.

She's exactly as she always is. Blank. Mechi does not show her emotions much. It's not deliberate, I don't think.

"Why should I care about what Sera blames herself for? Why should her issues be mine, too? When did I agree to that?" Mechi flexes her hands.

"When you became her friend, that's when," she says, maintaining her composure. I turn away from her. Mechi sighs again. "It's sort of difficult to calm her down when she gets like that, you know." I do know. I've known Sera for longer than she has. I hate it when people act like they know her better than me.

"She loves contact, yeah?" Mechi continues. "Likes having her hair fixed, likes being hugged, likes being held. She loves to have somebody wrap their arms around her." Mechi pauses for a moment. "Affection. From someone she trusts. That's all she really needs."

There's another long pause between the two of us.

"To make her feel safe again. You know how it is."

She's saying all that like she did it. That's all oddly intimate for someone who's just her friend. Mechi's not close to her like I am. I'm the only one who's allowed to do things like that. That's what I do with Sera, not her. That's ours, not hers. And I don't like what she's implying with that snarky little last comment. The sand crunches in my clenched fists.

"You're too cruel to her. You're on a good path to lose her, you realise." She really thinks she knows what she's talking about, doesn't she? "I can tell when she's upset. I can tell when she's scared. I know how she gets when you get angry."

Oh, of course. Because Mechi knows everything, apparently. She acts like this sometimes, like she's the smartest person in all of Panem. She acts like she's so much better than me.

Sera doesn't "get" anything when I'm angry. She knows it's not really her fault. It's not even directed at her most of the time. I always apologise to her afterwards, too. I hate to see her upset. Which I recognise better than Mechi.

Mechi doesn't have any right to assume things about me and Sera. She knows far less than I do. And she's making me angry. I bet she's doing it on purpose so she can lie some more and say that I'm always like this. Fine then. If she wants me to be angry, I'll get angry.

"Really?!" I snap at her. She doesn't flinch. "You really have the audacity to say that?! I've known Sera for fifteen years! You've known her for - for not even a third of that! Do you think you're even remotely capable of knowing her like I do?! Do you really think that you - "

"She says you scare her sometimes," Mechi says levelly, cutting me off. "She says you aren't really yourself."

I don't scare Sera. We're friends. She's not scared of me. She knows me. Maybe... maybe once, years ago, I did scare her, but we talked about that! And besides, she'd tell me if she was afraid of me. She wouldn't tell Mechi instead. She wouldn't hide her feelings from me. She wouldn't betray me like that.

I know Mechi's lying. She's doing it to make me angry. Sera would never betray me. Sera would never say that I'm not myself. She knows me. She knows who I am. She's the only one who does.

Mechi is a liar.

"You've got an excellent tactic right now, actually," she says, still daring to speak. "You're absolutely awful to her, then you tell her you care about her and act so sweet about it." How dare she. How dare she. I'm not. I'm not anything she says I am. I'm nothing she says I am. She's everything she says I am, if anything! She's the -

"What, are you just going to sit there and get redder?" Mechi prods. She's waiting for me to come to any kind of a conclusion on my own. I have a conclusion for her. I have so many conclusions for her, and right now, a lot of them end in her blood decorating the sand.

"You don't know anything about us!" I shout, going in the least violent direction. "I care about Sera! More than you ever could! And I -"

"You're doing such a great job manipulating Sera, Rumi."

She's so pretentious. She's so smug. She's so proud of herself. She thinks she knows me. She thinks she knows Sera. Sera is my friend, not hers. Sera spends the most time with me. Sera is mine.

She's mine, all mine. Mechi should give in. She's mine. She's not Mechi's, she's not Tyra's, she's not any of those stupid boys', she's definitely not Ozzie's. She's mine.

"That's why she's afraid," Mechi says, so quietly. I must have said all that out loud. I don't care. It's true. She knows it's true. And she knows she's lying.

Something breaks. Some restraint I was keeping, it's gone. She thinks she can say all that. All that without consequence. She thinks that because she's just oh so important, she can do whatever she wants.

I wasn't raised to take disrespect like that. I wasn't trained to tolerate attitude like hers. And I won't.

I strike her, hard. It knocks her over, and she cries out. I stand. She rubs the side of her face. She looks up at me. Where have I seen that expression before..?

I don't care. I don't care.

"Stand up," I snarl. She's afraid. She's cowering at my feet. She didn't expect to be hit.

Something tugs at me, at the back of my mind. I ignore it. I demand that Mechi stands up again. This time, she obeys. I hit her again. It doesn't... do as much this time.

I hit her with just as much force. I think.

I punch out at her again, but she brings her guard up and blocks it. I am abruptly reminded that Mechi has had nearly identical training to me. She sends a violent blow into my cheekbone, causing me to tear up.

I punch her in the teeth on my rebound. Her hand instinctively flies to her mouth. I take my opportunity and kick her knee, knocking her down.

I bring my own knee violently into her face.

It doesn't occur. So I bring my own knee violently into her face.

Don't I? She's at the perfect angle for it. It would probably break her nose. So I bring my own knee violently into her face.

But I don't. I stand. Useless. Mechi looks up at me. She swipes the back of her hand across her mouth, stepping up and away from me. Her face softens.

"I can tell you aren't trying," she says quietly. She doesn't even have a lisp. "You don't really want to hurt me. You're just angry."

"Shut up," I hiss. There's a good, cold fury in my voice. Mechi's expression is one of pity.

"You only did that because you hate that what I said was true."

How many times do I have to tell her? How many times do I need to bruise her? How many times do I need to split her lip?

She is a liar. I love Sera. I don't hurt her. I hate hurting her. I don't mean to. I mean it every time, and I regret it so much more every time. Something in me always whispers that she deserves it. Something in me is wrong. Some part of me is broken.

I must be doing something stupid with my face.

"You need to go talk to her. She loves you, Rumi. And you keep on breaking her heart," Mechi says, her voice weak and wavering. I mishear what she says next. I must've.

Because otherwise, Mechi just said that Sera is going to die.

Mechi wipes one of her eyes.

"I tried to talk her out of it. She said she didn't have a choice." Something icy spreads in my chest.

"She's rigged the Reaping, Rumi. For you. It's going to be her. I don't know why. She could have done anything else." Mechi is lying. Again. She must be lying. She must be. The ice creeps up my spine.

"Does she have a death wish?" I demand, although it's more desperate and pathetic and on the verge of tears than actually demanding. Mechi laughs, cold and hollow.

"Same thing I asked her," she mutters. "She didn't tell me. She just gave me this sad smile." I grab her, seizing her by the collar. The ice reaches my arms. I will not let go of her until she tells me the truth. Mechi reaches up to try to free herself, her hands landing on my wrists.

"I don't believe you," I hiss, more strangled than I would have liked it to be. It's true. I don't believe her. I won't believe her. I don't want to. Mechi shakes her head.

"It's what she told me, Rumi," she says, voice low.

My veins freeze over.

"It's my fault that she knew," Mechi says, shame colouring her face. "I overheard a guy we know, I forgot his name, bribing Papa to rig it to be you." Mechi squeezes my arms tighter.

"He accepted. Because he's shameless," she mutters angrily. "So I told Sera, because what else was I supposed to do? Let her watch you die?" she spits. Her words boil with anger and resentment.

"She got him to make it all her name," she says, some of the hate leaving her voice to make room for defeat. "He wouldn't listen to me when I asked him to just drop the whole thing."

Tears drip down her face as her posture weakens.

"He hates the Kaishurrs. He was basically being paid to kill one of them," she says. "I don't know what she's planning to stop you from volunteering, but Sera's smart. She's going to be in the Games." I release her, staggering back. I am cold. I am unnaturally cold, on this nice, warm morning.

The ocean laughs at me.

The ice does not release its horrible grip as my body starts to move. Mechi moves out of the way as the beach rushes past, the sand giving way to earth and the earth giving way to concrete.

My chest tightens. I can't breathe.

My feet carry me forward. I can't see. All I can hear is my heart hammering in my ears. And Mechi's awful words, echoing over and over again.

She's going to die. She's going to die. She's going to die. She's going to die, and it's my fault.

I can't go fast enough. My top speed is not fast enough. I am not strong enough. I can't save her. We're both going to drown.

Blood is spreading through the water like a grim plume. Rain is cutting into us like knives. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't. I can't. I can't. I can't. I can'tIcan't. Ican'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan't.

WhyisnobodyherewhyisnobodyhelpinguswhyisshenotbreathingwhyamIuselesswhyamIworthlesswhycan'tIsaveherwhywhywhywhywhypleasepleasepleaseI'msorryI'msosorrypleaseopenyoureyespleaseplease -

A scream tears at my throat, but it comes out as a stream of bubbles, and comes back in as suffocating, surrounding water. Every desperate, sprinted step hurts. Everything hurts. My clothes feel heavy. Seawater burns my eyes and nose.

We will drown. We will drown, and it is my fault. She hadn't insisted. I had a choice. We will die. I am drowning. I am drowning. I am drowning.

I can't breathe. I can hear the ocean. Crashing waves. Dragging me down with no remorse. No mercy. No care.

Water roars in my ears. It hates me. It's always hated me. It let me feel safe for a long time, so I'd let my guard down. So it could kill me. It's docile when I see it, when the sun shines.

It shows me its true nature when it storms. It shouts at me, comes for me, hungers for me.

I fear it. Not when I am not alone. It doesn't dare touch me when I am not alone. But I know how cruel it truly is. It hates.

It consumes me. It swallows me whole and does not notice. It does not care what it is doing to me. It does not care how it seeps the life from me.

I can't move fast enough.

She comes into focus. Her face. Her head. Her mouth. The blood around her. The blood on the docks.

She turns to face me. I see her eyes widen. Through my pain and my rain and my desperation, I see her.

My arms come around her body. We fall to the ground. The solid, dry ground. I fall into blood-spoiled blonde curls and the forever poisoned scent of petrichor and saltwater and rotting wood and blood and exposed bone and desperate screaming and tear stained cheeks and regret and pain and lasting injuries and warm nights and happy embraces and death and love and loss.

I'm sorry, I tell her. I'm so sorry.

[sunshinereddie]

“Plus, I already know everything about him, which makes things a lot easier.”

Eddie turned to look up at him, his expression puzzled and skeptical. “I highly doubt you know everything about me.” 

“Your favourite colours are yellow and orange because they’re the colours of the sunset,” Richie said without thinking. “You don’t like coffee, because the first time you tried some when you were ten, it was the three-day-old pot that your mom left on the counter and it ruined the taste of coffee for you forever. You’re allergic to both cats and dogs, but if you had to choose, you’re more of a dog person. On the topic of allergies, you’re allergic to soy, eggs, gluten, cashews… and you always keep your epipen in your right pocket, on the inside of your jacket.” Richie finished and finally took a breath, turning to look at Eddie- who was staring right back at him, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth gaped open, speechless. “Did I get all of that that right?”

It took a moment for Eddie to finally find his voice, as he replied with a quiet. “Y-Yeah. I’m… I’m just surprised you remembered all that.”

wip: secret reddie fic :3

[spellmage]

Chapter 4: Iconoclasm

Your neck is stiff with exhaustion, but you know that you must look while you still can. There is joy there, excitement etched into the lines of her face, cruel-kind eyes gazing grey and giddy not at you, but through you. Past your battered, blood-boiled skin, the bared teeth and woozy, weightless eyes, down to what you really are. Hers.