#crystal i would do absolutely anything for you

[mqriuss]

written in lucky stars

synopsis 。。。rindou doesn't know what to do with all the origami stars you give him. he doesn't have the heart to throw them away, so he buys a jar to hold them when the stars—and memories—start piling up.

contents: rindou x fem!reader, childhood friends, perceived unrequited love, death & grief, unnamed illness, non-linear

playlist

note: girl i don't even know if rindou is still in character throughout the story, i just started vomiting words. hope you guys will still like this tho lol

𖤐 "hi rindou! i wonder if you'll even read this. if you see this, say 'star' tomorrow when we meet."

"what's this?" rindou gave you a puzzled look, eyes darting between you and the small origami lucky star in your palm.

"a star," you answered him innocently, making him deadpan at you.

"obviously, i know that." he rolled his eyes. "i just meant... what's it for?"

"it's not for anything," you trailed off, his words making you think. you couldn't let him find out you wrote something on the inner parts of the folded paper star. it'd be more fun if he found out himself, you thought. "i just made it and wanted to give it to someone. you're the only person i can think of."

rindou's gaze returned to the star. he's definitely seen them before—probably in kindergarten or elementary school, but he's never actually received one. you were gifting it to him, he understood that much. so he took it from you, albeit hesitantly.

not because he didn't want it, he just didn't know what to do with it.

"you can throw it away later if you want," you said, as if hearing his thoughts.

there's no way rindou could do that though.

rindou kept the star in his pocket. when he returned home that day, he pursed his lips at the sight of the now flattened star. he was just glad it didn't tear. he placed the star on his desk, not sparing it another thought.

the next day came, and rindou never said the word "star."

—

𖤐 "so you didn't open the star to read it? aw. i wonder what would happen if i said i liked you."

a week passed since the first star you handed him. you had accepted that he either threw it away or just didn't read it. you supposed rindou wouldn't be the type to think, "i wonder if anything is written in this tiny origami star. i should unfold it and find out." so really, what were you expecting?

perhaps giving him another star would get him curious?

"here." you pushed your hand towards him when you met him by the school gates.

"another one?" he raised an eyebrow at you, taking out one of his earphones.

you chuckled, "get used to it. i'll give you one when..." you trailed off, and rindou looked at you expectantly. "whenever i feel like it!"

he sighed, taking the star from you wordlessly before heading to class. every now and then, he'd glance over his shoulder—just to make sure you were still walking with him.

nothing interesting happened the next day. you gave him another few days, and there was still nothing. it seemed he didn't know about what you wrote... or did he find out, but he was just purposely ignoring it?

oh well, there was no point in dwelling on it. the world kept spinning.

—

𖤐 "third time's the charm. i'm getting bullied again by takeo and his friends lately."

you, in fact, were not getting bullied by takeo and his friends.

the last time it happened was years ago. it wasn't as if you were lying for rindou's attention, but you wanted confirmation that he absolutely never opens these paper stars. you knew for sure he'd give some kind of reaction if you mentioned takeo.

the memory was almost clear as crystal. origami papers on your desk, takeo sitting in front of you, lunch break, a half-empty classroom, and no teachers around.

throughout elementary school, takeo had always been a bully and a tease to whoever he felt like targeting. you weren't a special case to him, he just didn't like the way you always sat quietly, playing with the toys you made out of origami papers.

takeo tore your origami papers because he felt like doing it. he crushed your paper cranes because he felt like doing it. he crumpled them and threw them in your contorted face because he felt like doing it. he laughed at the tears you tried to hold back because he just felt like doing it.

unfortunately for him, rindou pushed him to the ground because, well, he felt like doing it.

you didn't even know who rindou was at the time. he was in the same year but different class, though you've heard about his brother, haitani ran—your senior. not long after rindou had pushed takeo to the floor and stomped on his hand, ran came strolling in to your class.

"nice, rindou." he grinned widely at his younger brother before they both turned to you. "takeo's so lame, isn't he?" ran said, picking up the paper crane takeo crushed earlier.

you were unresponsive, which was fine—they weren't really expecting anything. while ran didn't think to do any more for you than give you a tissue to wipe your tears with, rindou couldn't help eyeing your torn origami papers.

"let's go, rindou. you'll be late for your next class," ran reminded him, making his way out. he stopped in his tracks when he noticed rindou wasn't budging.

"your papers..." rindou muttered under his breath, but it was coherent enough for you to hear. ran watched for a moment before he decided to head out first.

"it's okay. i can still use them." you sniffled, rubbing your nose a little before taking a torn piece of origami paper.

"how? you can't make birds with that, right?" he tilted his head. "it's way too thin."

he watched as you grabbed a pair of scissors from your pencil case. when you started cutting the strip of paper to make it slightly thinner, rindou tilted his head in confusion. but before he can say anything, you had began folding. you made a knot and created a small pentagon shape, wrapping it over and over until there was not enough paper left to fold. the real magic happened when you used your fingers to pinch at the points of the pentagon, puffing up its shape to create a star.

that day after classes came to an end, rindou had used some of his pocket money to buy you a new set of origami paper.

—

𖤐 "i always thought you looked cool playing basketball, y'know? i'm just too shy to tell you. i also like when you sit next to me after you're done playing."

rindou noticed the star is a lot... puffier than usual. unbeknownst to him, it was just because you had more words to write at the time.

sweat trickled down rindou's forehead as he gulped down half of the water from his bottle. the puppy sticker you had pasted on it a long time ago was still there, it's a little faded—probably from all the washing it's been through. seeing it always warmed your heart, and you couldn't help but tease him about it sometimes.

"why don't you just scrub it off? it's hanging by a thread at this point," you questioned him. rindou exhaled deeply as he put down the bottle, panting slightly.

"i don't know. it's just there." he shrugged and you huffed at his dry response.

"seriously? i thought you didn't like that sticker."

"i never said that," rindou denied almost immediately. "did it... seem that way?" he added, his hesitance made you laugh.

"so you like the sticker? is that why you kept it?"

"no."

"then why do you keep it?"

rindou sighed, almost groaning at your questions. "i dunno, okay? it just won't come off," he claimed as he stuffed his towel and water bottle into his bag. "now, get up. i'm walking you home."

you followed him suit in silence for a while, a small smile lingering on your face. "i saw you finally scored a three-pointer, by the way."

rindou flashed you a cocky grin. "yeah? looked cool, right?"

"hm, i think you looked cooler when i saw you missing three shots in a row in your backyard."

"oh, shut up. why were you even at my place yesterday?"

"i wanted to try your mom's cookies."

—

𖤐 "it's getting a little hard to breathe, rin. i don't maybe it's 'cause you're so breathtaking!"

rindou never really liked it when you walked tailing behind him. he felt more at ease when you were beside him instead, even better if you were on the inner part of the sidewalk.

at times, he'd find you walking slow—too slow for his liking. there were normally two reactions to this. the first, he would grab your wrist and pull you with him. rindou didn't need to do it too hard, he just wanted to make sure you were still with him. the second, he would simply let you, but not without looking back to check every now and then. it usually happens when you were strolling around the neighbourhood. he hid it well whenever he worried about you, but why he felt that way to begin with was a question mark to even himself.

he always tried to convince himself that it's just because you were a klutz, but it didn't feel entirely right.

as time went on, you grew close enough for him to tease and play around with you more. in a friendly way, of course. he was always careful not to take things too far. after all, he didn't want to be one of the reasons for your tears.

so when you were walking particularly slow one day—your three steps equating to his one single step, rindou purposely walked faster. you were just in the neighbourhood, so he wasn't worried about anything bad happening.

"bet you can't catch me!" he called out, a cocky grin stretching from ear to ear.

and you really did try.

you could still run. you could still run fast enough to catch up to rindou's speed-walking, but his speed-walking turned to running. you knew you couldn't be as fast as him, but you didn't think you'd have to stop so soon to catch your breath.

your hands had found your knees as you bent, head pounding slightly. concern flashed across rindou's face when he could no longer hear your footsteps. when he came rushing back to you, you gave him a grin.

"i know better than to try you in a race, rindou. you'd surely win!" you laughed. you laughed, but rindou felt unsettled.

he blinked at you, handing you his water bottle. "here," he said, and you blinked at him too. rindou urged you to take it as he nodded.

you took the half-empty bottle in your hand, eyeing it hesitantly. twisting the cap open, you tilted it for a sip, pressing your lips against the spot where his had just been. the thought immediately spread warmth across your cheeks, contrasting the cool liquid traveling down your throat.

he was blushing too, but you wouldn't know with his back turned to you. "don't stay up too late. you need the energy if you wanna keep up with me."

rindou held your hand for the first time that day, and he didn't let go until you returned home.

—

𖤐 "i told myself i'd confess after we graduated junior high, but i guess i haven't changed. i'm still a coward."

by the end of junior high, rindou's jar was starting to pile up with all the paper stars you gave him. he had bought it when he received his tenth star. it wasn't a big jar so it didn't take long to fill—it was almost full and rindou had lost count of how many you'd made.

you were also spending an awful lot more time at his place than usual, and even started getting along with ran better.

by the end of junior high, you made a decision to tell him. tell him that you like him, straight to his face. it's clear that he never unraveled any of the stars to read the tiny letters written on them, so you thought, it's about time you told him soon.

and yet, the words never came out.

"i..." you said, trying to ignore his expectant look. "i hope we do well in high school together," you blurted out instead of your confession, preparing yourself for rindou's laughing fit over how corny you were being. his laughs never came out.

instead, he nodded. he simply nodded.

"you gonna give me another star?" he asked. he began to expect it now, the origami lucky stars.

you broke into a fond, gentle smile at his words. your right hand went down to your blazer's pocket, fishing out a paper star. slightly bigger than the ones you usually gave him.

"the strip of paper was thicker for this one. it's a special day after all." you chuckled, placing the star on rindou's already outstretched hand.

—

𖤐 "i miss you a lot, rindou. but you shouldn't miss me too much, okay? hehe <3"

rindou had no idea he'd be going to high school without you.

he remembered you clearly telling him you'd go to the same school as him. well, you more so implied it. your idle chatter with rindou normally took place at school during break, or after school when you're sitting on the bleachers before heading home together, but also on his rooftop whenever the weather was good enough to stargaze under.

"i'm not so excited for high school," rindou had said one time, making you tear your gaze away from the sparkling night sky.

"why?" you questioned and he deadpanned at you.

"maths will be harder, obviously." his response elicited a laugh from you.

"you'll be fine! i'll pay extra attention in class and take notes for us to go over together," you reassured him.

but here you were, nowhere to be seen.

he only got the news about you transferring schools after the semester started. admittedly, he was a little bit pissed. could you not have told him beforehand?

rindou couldn't be upset for too long though. you still visited his house every week and as usual, you gave him a star.

and as usual, he'd never unfold them. as usual, they went straight to his jar.

every week turned to every day—you were always with him, always coming over to his place after his classes ended. even rindou didn't have all that free time, but you were okay with it. most days, you preferred to lie in his bed and do nothing, maybe fall asleep for a while. you rarely wanted to go out and do anything now, claiming that you just wanted to hang around here.

when he asked you why, your answer was something along the lines of, "i like it better here." and it never failed to alarm him.

you always refused to tell him any more than that.

—

the last time you came over to his place, there were plenty of moments when rindou thought you were acting weird.

the first instance was when he was in the bathroom, you were inside his mom's bedroom while she was cooking in the kitchen. he would know, because just as he was coming out, you came out of the room at the same time. rindou always thought it was an unspoken rule to not go into each other's parents' bedrooms because it was... odd, yet you were acting like you did nothing of the sort.

the second weird thing you did was hug his brother. even ran didn't have the slightest idea of what was going on, but he played along smoothly, teasing you for "preferring him over rindou."

rindou couldn't even bring himself to be jealous. he couldn't bother himself with asking why ran got to hug you first and not him. he especially couldn't when you immediately retreated to his room after eating dinner with him and his family at the table. you've been in his room before though, so that wasn't the weirdest part.

the weird part was when you grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down onto the bed with you.

you were laughing the hardest he's ever heard you laugh in the past few months. "look at your face, it's so red!" you may have laughed too hard though, and you started coughing a little bit.

"quit it, what the hell are you doing?" rindou exclaimed, flustered. he meant for his words to come out lightheartedly, but fell silent when he realized his tone was a bit too harsh for his liking.

despite that, the smile you wore remained unwavering.

you nuzzled your head into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. "can we stay like this for a while?" you asked, and instead of an answer, he wordlessly draped a blanket over both of your bodies before snuggling a little closer.

"what's up with you today, hm?" rindou questioned, his eyes becoming droopy and his words a little slurred.

"nothing. just missed you," you answered, closing your eyes.

"you saw me yesterday."

"i wish i could see you every day though."

rindou raised an eyebrow. "but you have been coming over every day," he said, and you chuckled at his words.

"i might not get to do this all the time, y'know? what if i make plans or have other places to be in?"

that much is obvious, rindou thought as he pursed his lips. your words had sent him deep into thought, and he found himself imagining things he didn't want to think about. his pounding heart took over his senses for a moment.

rindou is a teenager after all, so the thought had finally crossed his mind that day—is this what it was like to have someone special to you? to hold them close, walk with them hand-in-hand, and feel the need to shield them from anything that would harm them? to want them to stay in your life forever?

you both had fallen silent, it remained that way for a few minutes. the only thing you could hear was the sound of each other's soft breathing. rindou had wondered if you were thinking of him too, the way he thought of you.

"you didn't give me a star today."

your eyes fluttered open at his words to look up at him. he had a neutral expression on, but in your mind, he kind of resembled a wet puppy.

"did you want one?" you teased, a grin appearing on your face when he rolled his eyes.

"you started giving me one every day these past few weeks," he said, jogging your memory. "and you haven't given me one today, so i was just wondering."

"aw, so you noticed." your hand found its way to his cheek. rindou visibly froze and reddened at your gesture, and his eyes widened when your gaze travelled down to his lips. "i might have... something better than a paper star," you whispered, leaning closer to softly press your lips against his.

he was wide-eyed when you kissed him, your hand slightly cold against his cheek. but rindou quickly melted into the kiss once he'd processed what you were doing. tilting his head and placing a hand behind your head, he deepened the kiss and let out a sigh of contentment.

you were acting weird again, he thought. but maybe you really were better than paper stars.

perhaps it was the thrill of having his first kiss, but he found himself looking forward to seeing you again after you left.

much to his dismay, rindou wouldn't hear from you again since that day.

—

everything feels blurry now.

rindou doesn't respond when spoken to, not even when people tell him that they're "sorry for his loss." even when your mother had gasped earlier upon finding out that he had no idea about your illness, all rindou could do was nod or shake his head, as though words had abandoned him completely. his expression so lifeless, you'd think the funeral was for him.

the words are barely coherent as your mother explains what happened to you. again, all he could do was nod. wordlessly. absentmindedly. he's in another world, forcing ran to do all the talking and responding for him.

rindou hates seeing the way you look right now. laying in the cramped casket when you should be lying next to him on his bed. your hands placed on your stomach when they should be cupping his cheeks. and your eyes closed when they should be looking into his, letting him admire the way they glimmer. the thought that they would look hollow if pried open now sends a chill down his spine.

he's known for most of his life that everyone's time would come eventually, inevitably. to be human means to be impermanent. to have life, death needed to coexist. he knows all of that already, but why? why did your time have to come so quickly? why couldn't he know about this sooner?

did you disappear for a week to prepare him for this exact moment? to prepare him for a life without you? he wonders hopelessly.

just when things start to become clearer, just when he figures out that you're the person he wants in his life, everything becomes muddy again. what was he supposed to do now? the thought of moving on felt impossible at this moment, couldn't he just go with you?

your mother approaches him with a small drawstring pouch in her hands. she doesn't say anything at first as she simply opens the pouch, and rindou feels slightly more grounded upon seeing its contents.

more origami stars.

"rindou," your mother speaks up. "y/n wanted me to give these to you, and she wanted you to do something with them."

—

rindou fishes out the pouch from his pocket before taking his blazer off in a hurry, discarding it somewhere in his room. he sits down at his desk, opens the pouch, and dumps all of the paper stars out in front of him. he goes over them for a while, recalling your mother's instructions.

"save the purple star for last."

picking out the purple-coloured star, he sets it to the side. rindou takes a random star and begins unraveling the origami.

he's met with words you had written with a black pen. though your handwriting was legible enough to read, he couldn't understand the message. his eyebrows furrow as he mumbles the words to himself.

𖤐 "doesn't she sound cute? she loved to stargaze like we did!"

rindou frantically opens another star, but is careful not to rip it.

𖤐 "i saw that lucky stars are usually gifts to symbolize good luck, love, and support."

he grows even more confused. were you seriously leaving him behind with a puzzle to solve?

𖤐 "did you know? the origins of lucky stars began with a tale of a girl named hoshi."

he opens another. the message written is far more alarming, causing him to tense up.

𖤐 "but no matter how many stars i fold, i can't seem to save myself."

it didn't take him long to react, he was immediately unraveling every single star. except for the purple one.

his eyes lit up when he found a message that seemed to match one of those he previously opened.

seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to at least two hours. rindou has never found himself cooped up in his room for this long that even ran began to notice his brother's absence.

"not having dinner? mom's gonna be mad that you ignored her calling you downstairs." ran leans against the door frame with his arms crossed, watching his brother go through every strip of paper, mixing and matching them.

"i'll eat later."

ran raises an eyebrow, uncrossing his arms as he entered the room. he looks over rindou's shoulder for a few moments and his mind begins to process what he's doing.

"this one goes here, no?" ran points to a strip of paper, making rindou pause. the latter blinks and tries his brother's suggestion.

the next few minutes go by faster with ran's help. rindou feels confident about the order now and sits back, going over the entire message.

𖤐 "hi, rindou! if you're reading this, you probably already know what happened to me."

𖤐 "i wonder how much you'll miss me. if you see your basketball moving on its own, just know it's my ghost! hehe."

𖤐 "anyway, i saw that lucky stars are usually gifts to symbolize good luck, love, and support."

𖤐 "so if you wondered why i gave you so much of them, i guess i just wanted to show how much i cherished you."

𖤐 "i don't think you ever opened them to read the messages though, but i'm not hurt by it!"

𖤐 "i'm mostly glad 'cause i know you never wanted to ruin them."

𖤐 "did you know? the origins of lucky stars began with a tale of a girl named hoshi."

𖤐 "doesn't she sound cute? she loved to stargaze like we did!"

𖤐 "one night, she saw the stars began to fall during a meteor shower and she was sad about the stars falling."

𖤐 "so she started folding paper stars because she believed it would save each star that fell."

𖤐 "but the stars kept falling so she got the help of other children in the village and they folded stars together."

𖤐 "they folded thousands of paper stars and soon, the night sky began to shine with stars again."

𖤐 "i really liked the story, it was the thing that kept me going besides our friendship."

𖤐 "i wanted to believe i could live a little longer and be saved, just like the stars in the story."

𖤐 "and i like to think that we're both stars. you always shined so bright to me, rindou."

𖤐 "your glow was quite contagious too, but i think my light is slowly dimming."

𖤐 "no matter how many stars i fold, i can't seem to save myself."

𖤐 "i lo you can open the final star now!"

rindou reaches out for the purple lucky star to unfold it, but not without squinting at the scribbled letters on the last star.

𖤐 "go to your mom's bedroom. look under the cushion of her window seat."

rindou only realizes now that ran had left his room a while ago, but he pays it no mind. he rushes to his mother's room, entering without knocking. "rindou?" she says, startled. he doesn't respond as he makes his way to the window seat, pushing the pillows to the side and lifting up the cushion. nothing.

he lifts the other side of the cushion and finds a usb flash drive hidden underneath it.

rindou takes it and places the pillows back in their original spot before dashing out of the room. "close the door!" his mom reminds him, and he does just that before going back to his room.

he immediately plugs the usb to his pc to find just one file. it seems to be a voice recording titled, "to rindou." he wastes no time clicking on it.

"hey... i didn't want to write this one down, because i really wished i could have told you in person." the sound of your voice plays on his computer, and his heart twists upon hearing you again. "i love you, rindou—and i don't just mean it as a friend. i'm sure you know that already but i had to reassure you just in case."

"it's okay if you don't feel the same, but if you do..." he doesn't miss the subtle way your voice cracked, and you paused before shakily continuing. "i'll be really happy. i'll be leaving with many regrets, but you'll never be one of them. i lived a good life knowing i had you."

as your voice recording comes to end, his room is silent. it's silent until he hears the faint sound of something dripping on his table. it was only then he became aware of the saltiness on the corner of his cracked lip, and the tears staining his cheeks.

—

everyday, rindou would unfold one star.

it's become a routine now, and he was nearly halfway through the jar. he'd wake up and the first thing he does is walk to his desk and read a message you left behind. he'd check the time on his phone after doing so. he didn't care if he was running late for something—you're a priority even though you're no longer with him.

ran notices this new routine as well at some point. perhaps it was rindou's way of grieving, he thought.

everyday, rindou would make a lucky star. writing your name and the date on the strip of paper before folding it into a star. despite knowing you couldn't be saved with lucky stars like in the tale, he hoped that you could be more at peace, knowing that he still thought about you, still loved you, and that it would never change.

occasionally, he'd write other things on them the way you used to. words he never got to say to you in person.

𖤐 "i actually really liked the sticker you put on my bottle back in junior high. so i never took it off."

every year, rindou visits you at least twice. on your birthday and your death anniversary. every time he did, he'd sit in front of your tombstone and fold ten lucky stars for you. he doesn't know why he makes ten of them either, it just felt right. it felt like a number you'd choose.

at some point, rindou thought he'd give you all the stars in the night sky one day, but you beat him to it.

sometimes, he still wished you could've come back that day when you left him with an abundance of stars. real or paper, it didn't matter. you didn't need to come back with thousands of stars. there was only one you, and that would've been enough.

but as long as he had the jar of stars you gave him, and strips of origami paper to make more, your light could never dim. you were brighter than any star he's ever seen.

[spiritually-a-blorb]

gang the arcane brainrot got too good.

so headcannons it is. And character study beacuse my ass is never beating the allegations.

starting off with my schizophrenic princess Jinx

- she definitely did not know she was the favorite for Silco. This is literally a whole arc, I feel like, with her. From my foggy-ish recall of my first watch, Jinx didn't know Silco did the eye thing without her sometimes. She's older, she tries to rebel. It's a thing. That's like, half the plot of the first arc. And she, by the end, looks back and realizes just how much she was really loved. Like a lot of us do, I think.

- Jinx would have totally begged for a cat. A black one, specifically. Silco tried really, really hard to say no. He's the leader of Zaun, he's intimidating, cruel-

- so they have a cat named Lucky. It's a black cat, with a little spot of white in the middle of her chest. And Jinx absolutely dotes on this cat. Or tries to, anyways. The cat is a bit feral at first. But it settles in.

- Jinx and Ekko were SO CUTE IM GONNA CRY. LISTEN THEY, THEY GET A HAPPY ENDING THIS TIME, IGNORE CANON- 😭

Jinx never had someone who chose her and stayed. Silco was great, don't get me wrong. 10/10 dad. But I would argue he didn't choose Jinx. Jinx came to him. Jinx chose him, not the other way around. And he put her above all else after that.

- My point being, Ekko did. He stayed. He found a world that was perfect, everything he had wanted - and he left. For Jinx. And Jinx, this time, had to be the one to let him in again.

- AND ITS SO FULFILLING THAT JINX HELPED SAVE THE WORLD. NO, NO, HEAR ME OUT PLEASE.

In our world, we saw the moment Jinx's trust, her hope in a good life, was shattered by Vi picking Kaitlyn over her, and her dad dying by her hands. She's on that bridge, her dad died, the one constant in her life - and she fires the missile.

But then we see Ekko in the perfect world. Where Jinx could afford to trust in a future. A future she keeps pushing away. To help people. She trusts him, and she helps. And they create the time-travel. And Ekko saves the world, sure. My favorite boy Savior.

But in the end, it was her tech, too.

The narrative... is consuming me...

- Anyways! It's Jinx and Viktor time. They would be the absolute best chaotic besties to ever serve.

- Viktor matches her crazy to an INSANE degree. Like this girl helped invent time travel, a whole ass arm, and a NUKE. I'm never letting anyone forget that thing. And he makes it 10x worse. Like, she says one thing and now they're throwing the Hex crystals into anything they can get their gremlin paws onto.

- I believe Jayce would try, for like three seconds, to mediate. Then he offhandedly corrects their math or something and they turn to him with a wicked grin and he just melts into the floor and wants to die.

- Jinx would create bigger, bolder ideas until eventually Jayce manhandles the two into getting some rest (for once). They are NOT happy about it, don't you DARE assume so. Even when they're very cozy in their onezies.

[baronessvonglitter]

Sprinkle of Cinnamon ✨

Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Word count: 1.3K

Summary: While getting some holiday baking done, your boyfriend has a big surprise in store for you.

WARNINGS: Absolutely none. Pure fluff and family friendly themes ❤️ Mention of fire (Frankie burns some brownies but he’s a pro and gets the fire put out quickly.

Author's note: This fic is for @frenchiereading who I got in the Secret Santa challenge by @pedrostories. This was such a lovely challenge idea and I had a wonderful time writing this for you, Mel! Wishing you a very happy and peaceful holiday, and I hope you enjoy this little slice of Frankie sweetness 🥰

FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

Cinnamon is the last thing you need from the store, and as you wedge yourself in between other shoppers' carts during the last-minute Christmas baking rush to get down the spice aisle, you grab the last plastic bottle of McCormick's and head to the checkout line.

Now that you have your last ingredient a calmness washes over you. All the gifts are wrapped, the house is ready for your Christmas guests tomorrow, the first with your live-in boyfriend Frankie Morales and his young daughter Daniela. Everything is going according to plan. No surprises, just how you like it.

All that's left is the baking, which little Daniela blithely asked to assist you with.

However, when you arrive home, the sight you behold is of Frankie, apron haphazardly strewn about his person, emptying the last contents of the fire extinguisher at the stove. Acrid smoke hangs in the air and a sheepish smile creeps upon his face.

"Hey honey," he says pleasantly, coughing a little from the smoke. "Didn't expect you home so early."

"What happened?" you ask, wide-eyed, assessing the damage, of which there is thankfully little.

His seven year old daughter Daniela speaks up. "Daddy was trying to make brownies!"

"To surprise you," he groans, his secret unraveled by his own flesh and blood. "You have so much baking to do before tomorrow and I just wanted to help you get ahead."

"That's sweet." You wrap your arms around him and give him a soft kiss. "I'm sure they would have been delicious."

"I don't think so," Daniela shakes her head, unsuccessfully evading her dad as he scoops her up into his arms and tickles her.

A shuffling noise is heard upstairs, right above the kitchen in the bedroom you share with Frankie. "Is someone here?"

"No," Frankie says, giving his daughter a look as he holds her in his arms. "I didn't hear anything. Did you hear anything, niñita?"

Daniela hides her face in her dad's shoulder and shakes her head, but a tiny giggle escapes. 

"Still, I should go check." He puts her down and races upstairs.

"Okay.." you side-eye them, a little smile on your lips. "Dani, sweetie, want to help me start with the cupcakes?"

Later that night everything is cleaned, back to its normal settings, and you're mixing a bowl of gingerbread with Daniela's help. She's excited to be involved in the baking process, carefully arranging the decoration icing tubes and separating the sprinkles by type, making the thumbprints in the jam-filled thumbprint cookies, and meticulously adding red and green M&Ms to the cupcakes she helped you frost.

Frankie, who claimed not to find anything suspicious earlier, is upstairs wrapping gifts (so he says), and suddenly emits a loud curse. There's a loud bump. You listen, watching the ceiling above you where the noise comes from. "You okay, babe?" you call out.

"Yeah! I'm good, baby.. don't come up!" he warns you.

"Okay," you stifle a little giggle, exchanging a glance with Daniela, who looks just as amused and shakes her head and keeps at her work, adding snowflake crystals to some freshly baked brownies.

"Ow! Hey, damn it," you hear him grunt, then another sound is heard, something muffled and whiny.

"Frankie?" you call upstairs.

He's silent but you hear some rustling and scratching. "What's going on up there?" you call out again.

"Daniela!" Frankie calls, evidently trying not to sound frazzled. "Can you come up here, niñita? Please?"

She dutifully goes up, abandoning the brownies. 

"What is going on today?" you mutter to yourself, mixing the gingerbread as the oven dings its readiness.

Finally you have time to rest. Daniela's still helping out her dad with the wrapping, even though you'd offered your expert gift-wrapping technique. He didn't want you to see what he'd gotten you.

"I don't need anything for Christmas, just you," you'd told him all holiday season. But Frankie was insistent. He loved giving gifts, even something as small as a small bouquet from the florist or your favorite snack from the corner store where he took your car to fill up the tank.

You hope he'll like the watch you got him. You'd saved up for the expensive one he'd been looking at in the sales catalog for weeks.

"Babe, take a break and come down here for some cocoa!" you call up, putting down a tray of steaming sweet hot chocolate in three mugs, topped with whipped cream, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and some candy canes for stirring.

There's that shuffling sound again, like little taps on the stairs. You hear Frankie's curse and Daniela's high-pitched giggling before a golden retriever puppy comes bounding downstairs, a little Santa hat on its head, pawing at your legs.

"Oh my gosh, who's this little guy?" you bend down to scratch the puppy's ears as Frankie and Dani come downstairs.

"He's your surprise," Frankie says, swiftly picking up the little cutie. There's a red ribbon tied to his tail, with something on the end of it. "What is that?" you ask.

"I did that! I was very careful," Daniela says proudly. And before Frankie can move away with the puppy, you touch the ribbon and find something heavy on the end. Bright and sparkly.

"A ring?" You give Frankie a confused look.

If it's possible for someone to both pale and blush at the same time, Frankie accomplishes it. He unties the ring from the ribbon and slips it off, holding it between two fingers as he gets down on one knee, the puppy tucked safely under his arm.

"Baby.." he starts, and your eyes blur with tears of joy and excitement. Daniela claps her hands happily.

"I had a whole speech planned, but I'm just gonna wing it, and speak from my heart," he says, big brown eyes looking up at your like you're his life raft.

"You're the most beautiful person I've ever met. Not just on the outside, but on the inside. You're caring and smart and funny, you made Dani and I feel like part of a family again.. and you put up with all my bullshit."

Daniela gasps. "Daddy, don't say bad words!"

You laugh with him. "But it's true," he continues. "I don't deserve you, not one bit. But if you marry me I promise I'll show you every day that I can be worthy of you.."

Your heart is racing so quickly you're afraid it'll fly right out of your chest. "Frankie.. of course I'll marry you!"

It takes a moment for him to register your answer, then he's up and hugging you, the puppy wagging its tail and Daniela wrapping her little arms around yours and Frankie's legs.

"It was the hardest thing to keep her quiet," Frankie says, watching Dani play with the puppy, affectionately named Holly in the spirit of Christmas.

"That was all the noise I heard?" you snuggle on his shoulder as the two of you sip your hot chocolate, The Santa Clause playing on TV. 

"I know you don't like surprises, but I wanted this to be memorable for you," he says with an apologetic look. You can't resist him, giving him a soft kiss which he returns with eagerness.

"It was.. I just feel bad I only got you a watch when you got me an entire engagement ring.."

"Baby, it's no big deal- wait, you got me a watch?"

You groan, smacking your forehead. "Yeah. That's meant to be a surprise for you too."

"The one we saw in the mail catalog? The expensive one?" You can't help loving how hopeful he sounds.

"It wasn't that expensive," you smile.

Content as you rest on the sofa, watching Dani play with Holly, life can't possibly get better. The diamond on your finger twinkles in the lights of the Christmas tree, but you're too enamored with the people in the room, the ones who belong in your heart.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto 👑

[dizzybizz]

my favorite k-pop artist turned exorcist

[coloursflyaway]

✨(for the Star from the ask game - please give random information about your fanfics??)

Thank you so much!! Sorry this took so long, I just got back from my holiday 🥰

A very random fact: for Won't Fear Love, where Charles takes Edwin on dates to figure out his feelings, I initially wanted to include this in the author's note in the last chapter (and then forgot about it):

You just know that the boys keep up the date schedule even afterwards. Usually, it's Charles who plans the activities, but sometimes, Edwin pitches in as well, if he stumbles upon something.

(One time, he takes Charles to the opera, and they dress up all fancy, which Charles loves, even if he isn't wild about the performance afterwards. Another time, he takes them to a classical concert outside of Schönbrunn palace in Vienna, which they both enjoy a lot - Edwin because of the music and Charles because halfway through the performance, he ends up in Edwin's lap, kissing him until they both cannot think anymore.)

And it goes on for so long, that at some point, a client comes to them with a case around midday on a second Wednesday of a month, and they decide to take the case. From tomorrow on, of course.

"Why can't you start now? You have nothing else to do, this is time sensitive!", the client wants to know, obviously annoyed.

A gasp echoes through the room, coming from the boys and Crystal simultaneously, like the man had just made the biggest social blunder imaginable.

"Of course we cannot start tonight", Edwin starts, folding his hands and looking very put upon; Crystal finishes the thought for him, "What do you take us for? Don't you know it's date night?!"

[earlyspringtranscendence]

ik im talking a lot abt the books im reading rn (this is due to the fact that after eons of not having the time or energy i am once again reading books) but theydies i can happily announce that after 2 unsuccessful weapons and wielders books soulbrand has truly captured my enamoration once again i’m kissing keras lovingly and tenderly (the only way to kiss him)

[3liza]

man it sucks so many people on here have absolutely convinced themselves that entire categories of consumer goods like perfume are bougie. you are depriving yourself of little treats by just assuming you cant ever afford anything! this isnt an avocado toast post either im not saying 'just save up and buy it lol', i would never say that, what im saying is perfume (that is: scents in liquid, paste, oil or solid form intended to be worn as a personal adornment) as a commodity starts at "free" and gradually increases in price from there. my favorite perfumes are priced everywhere between $0 and $300. one of the most lauded amber scents in the world (regrettably JUST discontinued), "Amber Paste" by Kuumba Made, is one of those little hippie oils you get at Whole Foods and it cost $10.

and im not telling you to wear perfume, obviously people have allergies and shit, or just dont care for it, im talking to the people who WANT to own fragrances. im saying they aren't all going to cost $150.

you can also get unlimited (unlimited over a long enough timeline, they limit you to a couple or three per visit) free samples at a lot of sephoras and nordstroms if you live somewhere that has those stores (this depends on the location and a lot of other organic factors, you'll have to check ahead of time or just try it if you're nearby, it's sort of random). if you're actually buying something at sephora (and they have a lot of stuff that isn't a million dollars as well, despite their branding) ask for every free sample at checkout that they have. they will often load you up, and not just with perfume. secondhand outlets like Value Village and Goodwill also do huge business in perfume because people are ALWAYS donating it.

sephora also does perfume refills. if you actually do buy a full size bottle, they can refill it for much less than buying a whole new bottle of the stuff. i don't know exactly how much it costs because i havent used this service myself. and idk how careful yiou have to be about reeceipts either, but look into it if you bought a full size and its running out

idk it just bums me out there are all these people who actually want perfume and seem to think it's out of their price range. the really basement-tier dupes of popular brand scents are so good these days it's often worth dropping the $10 at Walmart or Rite Aid too.

some of my favorite ever perfumes were some weird crap i got in a crystal wizard store, or a drug store, or a goodwill, or whatever. if you want perfume you can get it

[deathbxnny]

Arcane characters when someone flirts with you. | Viktor, Jayce, Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Sevika x Gn!Reader

I am the brain rot. The brain rot is me.✨️

Content: pre season 2 Viktor/Jayce!, Jealousy, pitfighter Vi, established romantic relationships, angst, threats of violence/death threats, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VIKTOR

He always struggled with self-esteem issues, mainly due to his sickness and disability that made it difficult for him to do much. A part of him forever will believe that you could easily do better than him, yet that doesn't stop him from getting terribly jealous anytime someone gets too friendly with you. Especially when they can see him standing next to you clearly being your partner as well.

But despite his insecurities, he doesn't allow anyone to harass you either on his watch. He lets you defend yourself for the most part until he has enough and lets his more sassy side handle the flirtatious person for you. He may not be able to do anything in a physical way, something he very much would rather avoid. But his tongue is sharp, and it takes little to make them quickly scurry away with a nervous apology for the disturbance.

He'll never admit to being jealous, however, and denies any teasing accusations you send his way. But he'll secretly ask for reassurance as he starts feeling embarrassed over his insecurities rather quickly after. A couple of hugs and kisses from your side will fix that right up, though.

》JAYCE

He has a reputation to keep up. And so, technically, he should always handle things professionally no matter what. People are watching him after all, and his public image can not be tarnished under any circumstance... or so he says. Things change in his mind when they are about you. In general, people know who you are and who you belong to since he rarely shuts up about it.

But every now and then, someone who is somehow unfamiliar with this concept will come up to you and attempt to woo you right in front of his very eyes. Now, Jayce tries to let you handle yourself, but doesn't hesitate to step in either if the person doesn't get the hint. His rather intimidating frame and position as a councilor help him out Immensely with this. He chases them away with a tight smile and a kiss to your head, as he casually asks how he can oh so graciously help them.

Once they leave, he'll pretend not to hear you, of you teasingly asking him if he was jealous. Him? Jealous? Hah! Impossible... okay, maybe a little. But don't tell anyone that.

》VI

As a pitfighter, Vi doesn't hesitate to get violent with anyone who comes close to the only good thing she has left in her life, which happens to be you. She's extremely protective and makes sure everyone gets the hint regarding who you belong to. But alas, there are always the couple strays that refuse to comprehend that fact and therefore attempt to "steal" you away from her. Something that never ends well for anyone.

Her temper is shorter than it used to be, and that becomes quite clear when she's quick to loom over the person that was pestering you. She knows that you can handle yourself just fine, too. But that doesn't stop her from grabbing their shoulder and asking them if she can help them out instead. Or maybe they want to talk it out in the pit? All the same to her, but the message is clear. She'll win if it comes to you every time, and that's enough to make the person scurry away in terror.

You'll definitely have to calm her down and reassure that you had everything handled. She's just looking out for you, though, and doesn't want you to get hurt, too, like everyone else in her life. The last thing she wants is to mess up again, so her overprotective tendencies will probably never lessen. Not that you kind anyways.

》CAITLYN

Your role as her partner is crystal clear to absolutely everyone in Piltover, especially after she takes over the troops as their new ruler. She's much more cutthroat and cold than she used to be before her mothers death, which made her extremely overprotective of you and your safety. She may even be suffocating at times with her security measures, but she finds it absolutely necessary. This also means, however, that those who try becoming a bit too friendly with you are always at risk of facing her wrath.

She doesn't hold back with her dismay and is quick to stand before you with a dark, stern glare directed at whoever was flirting with you beforehand. Caitlyn doesn't care if you can take care of yourself or not either. She'll take full advantage of her new position and power too, not hesitating to give the person that was pestering you a professionally worded threat that leaves them as pale as a ghost.

Admittedly, it's hard to tell if she's jealous or just worried in her own way. Before her mother's death, it may very well just be her being a bit jealous... but with her current position, she may also just be afraid to lose you too deep down. And she couldn't handle that.

》JINX

After Silco's death, Jinx's temper is milder than before due to her deteriorating mental health (if there was anything left of it to begin with). She's a lot calmer when handling situations and seeming more calculated than before, but that certainly doesn't quell the extreme abandonment issues in her at any rate. If anything, they've become much worse than before. This means that she'll cling to you and snap at anyone who nears you. No one is allowed to steal your attention away from her. No one can take you away from her. She just won't allow it when you're all she has left.

And so, she won't hesitate to use her gun on anyone who is pestering you. A death threat or two usually gets the point across anyway. Jinx will also let you handle yourself first, however though, knowing you can easily do that. But if things do get out of hand, she will step right to scare them away at best. She'd never kill anyone infront of you after all. She doesn't want to scare you away.

You'll have to reassure her of your loyalty a lot afterward, however, as her insecurities and issues can make her spiral fairly easily. Giving her a lot of attention and love makes everything go away, though, luckily.

》SEVIKA

She's very secure in your relationship and trusts you perfectly fine, which is why she rarely ever gets jealous. Why should she, anyway, when you'll always come back to her at the end of the day? Besides, people in the lanes know who you are and who you belong to, and most importantly, what will happen to their faces once she bashes them in if they ever harass you too much.

With that said, though, she typically lets you do your own thing and chase the person away yourself first before bothering to step in. If things get out of hand, then she'll suddenly be right behind you and tower over whoever it is that's not getting the hint. Blowing smoke right into their faces, she'll ask them if they have a problem, and if yes, then they should take it up with her outside. Although everyone knows she's the only one back afterwards. This usually does the trick.

Don't expect her to ever say that she is jealous, though, and hopes you know better, too. She knows you're loyal, as she certainly is for life and therefore doesn't worry about a thing regarding the strength of your relationship.

No one is better than her anyway.

[i-need-of-a-hobby]

the dbd crew absolutely lacks the ability to understand money. like edwin and charles haven't had to buy anything non-magical in 30+ years, crystal was the kind of rich to buy designer toothpaste if she felt like it, and niko was born and raised in japan with a very different currency than the states. needless to say, local father-figure-by-default jenny has her work cut out for her.

jenny: ok, just off the top of your head, how much would you pay for a carton of milk?

edwin: 15 pence

charles: i dunno, a 'buck 50?

crystal (confidently): 12 dollars

niko: *doing math*

[phsychobanana]

In your eyes

Pairing: Zuko x Firebender!reader

Summary: When Zuko falls for a member of the gaang, he fears that his mistakes may ruin his chances with them.

Word count: 2.3k

A/n~ I think this is gender neutral? I don't remember putting any specific pronouns, but correct me if i'm wrong. Enjoy!

Funnily enough, the first time you met Zuko was at the northern water tribe. Two fire benders surrounded by waterbenders during a full moon. Not exactly an ideal situation for any firebender, but you were welcome, whereas Zuko was not.

You were running as fast as you could, your legs carrying you in a speed you didn't know was even possible. Katara was in trouble and the moon was slowly disappearing from the sky, fire nation soldiers were everywhere, the water benders were struggling with the loss of the moon and you were terrified.

"Katara!" You yell to her as you get closer to the girl. She was fighting a boy you had never seen before.

You jump on the boy's back and hold your hand to his throat, heating your palm up slowly.

"I would choose my next move carefully if I were you." You say as Katara puts her own hands to her neck and moves them around trying to mimic an explosion.

Suddenly, the boy moves his hands to your face and you feel a burning swipe across your eyebrow. You let go of him and move your hands to your face, a searing pain on your eyebrow almost making you drop to your knees. Katara rushes to your side in a panic,

You see the boy grab Aang and run off before you could do anything.

"Who was that?" You ask Katara angrily.

"Zuko."

***

Zuko followed you and the gaang around for weeks, those weeks turning into months. And the more he saw you, the more he wanted to see you again.

Unfortunately for him, the more you saw him, the more you wanted to smash his head through a window. But every couple has their problems.

You held a very strong grudge towards him, seeing as your eyebrow had scarred and you now had a line going through your eyebrow and over your eye. It made you angry every time you looked in the mirror.

Unbeknownst to you, Zuko felt absolutely terrible for what he had done. He didn't mean to scar you, he would never wish his fate on anyone. Not even his greatest enemy, which lamentably, happened to be you at the moment.

***

The next memorable time that you saw Zuko was in the crystal cave. You had both been thrown in there as a punishment and you were freaking out. Aang, Katara, and Sokka needed you.

You started hitting the walls, throwing as much fire power at it as possible, you even broke a crystal into one big sharp shard and slammed it against the door repeatedly, but it was no use.

"There's no point in doing that." Zuko says, looking at you with his blazing golden eyes. "We aren't getting out until they want us out."

You just scoff in response, unsure of why he was even talking to you in the first place.

He looks at you when he hears your scoff, "You don't have to be rude."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt your feelings by being mean?" You mock him in a baby voice, causing him to roll his eyes.

"What's your problem?" Zuko asks, looking you up and down with pinched eyebrows.

"What is my problem? You're my problem, Zuko. You've been hunting my friends and I for months, you've hurt us -or attempted to- more times than I can count, you gave me this," You point to your scar, making him flinch, "And you have the nerve to ask me what my problem is?" You let out another scoff and turn around, giving him your back.

Zuko looks down at his hands, not knowing what to say. He watches as you light each one of your fingers up like a candle to keep yourself distracted.

He walks over and sits next to you, doing the same with his fingers.

You look at him and roll your eyes.

He smiles softly to himself. You haven't moved away from him, yet.

***

If there had ever been even a sliver of you that had liked him in that cave, it was completely gone now. He had betrayed you that night in the cave and it hurt you.

It was the day of the eclipse and you were running through the underground tunnels, looking for Sokka. As you were running you bumped into something, falling hard to the ground.

"Ow!" A familiar voice huffed as the other person made contact with the ground.

"Zuko?"

He looks up, his hair falling into his eyes. You notice his eyes widen and light up, but just as he goes to say something you lunge at him.

With your hands around his neck, you yell at him through gritted teeth. "I trusted you!"

"I know, I'm sorry." He barely gets the words out, gasping and clawing at your hands.

You let go of him and slam him into the ground hard.

"I swear to the spirits, if you ever try to hurt my friends again I will kill you with my own two hands. No bending, no help, just me and you." You say and walk away to go find Sokka.

Zuko sits there for a moment replaying what you said in his head over again. A small smile spreads across his face and he jumps up, running after you.

***

"You have got to be kidding me!" You yell at your friends. They were letting Zuko, the guy that had tried to kill you and capture Aang on more occasions than you could count, into the group.

"Everyone deserves a second.....or 100th chance, Y/n." Aang says, placing a hand on your shoulder as Zuko takes a step towards you.

You clench your fist defensively, making him put his hands up in defense as he takes another step forward.

"I get why you wouldn't trust me, but I've changed." He says, taking one of your hands in his. You pull away with a hollow laugh and walk away.

"Fine, let this psycho join us. I don't care." You say as you disappear behind a wall.

Zuko looks down with a sigh. "Challenge accepted..." He says under his breath as he thinks of ways to win you over.

***

Two days after Zuko joined the gaang, you were attacked. A pack of firebenders found you, attacking the group. You all paired together, Sokka with Toph, Katara with Aang, and you with Zuko. You had begged Toph to pair with you but Sokka stole her, leaving you with the one person you did not want.

You were back to back, fighting off the soldiers when another fleet arrived. The gaang chose to run, not wanting to be captured. You stayed behind to fight off the rest of the soldiers so the others could get away.

"Y/n come on! Hurry!" Sokka yelled for you as you were running after Appa. A soldier dived at you and their hand grabbed at your ankle, making you tumble to the ground.

"Go!" You yell and Aang pulls Appa out of there. You kick your foot back at the soldier, successfully kicking them in the face. You run off into the forest, You can hear the soldiers running after you as you twist through the trees.

You feel something grab your arm and pull you toward them. Looking up, you see Zuko. He's not looking at you, instead looking at the soldiers running around looking for you. You notice that he pulled you into a clearing hidden by trees and bushes. He places his hand over you mouth as you go to say something.

His adams apple bobs as he swallows harshly, listening and watching for any signs that the soldiers might be headed towards the two of you. After no signs, he looks down at you, finally making eye contact.

His golden eyes shine as he looks at you and he smiles softly.

"Thank you." You say quietly, not wanting to be too loud.

He nods.

"Do you still hate me?" He asks with a barely there smirk.

You shake your head. "I don't think I ever really hated you." He smiles at you. "I just strongly disliked you. It was a very strong dislike. Very strong."

"Okay, I get it."

You laugh softly at his dismissiveness of the subject.

"Do you think I'm still a bad guy?" His voice is quiet. Barely a whisper, but you hear it.

You look at him, he's looking down at the grass, his fingers are playing with each other out of habit, his hair is fallen over his face and covering his eyes. You never quite realized how pretty he was.

"Of course not-" You begin to tell him your answer, but your words are interrupted by yelling.

The two of you turn your heads in the direction of the noises and see your friends running to you.

"There they are!" Katara calls to the others as she makes eye contact with you.

Zuko lets out a frustrated breath at the interruption, but he gets up and dusts off his clothes, offering you his hand.

***

The days after that moment in the woods would replay in your mind every night before you would sleep, every morning when you'd awake, every meal, every training session with Aang and Zuko, every group meeting, every day all day.

You had started watching Zuko more than you would care to admit. The way he tried to make up for all of his past mistakes always seemed to put a smile on your face. He helped Katara in the kitchen when he could, he always made time to talk about weapons with Sokka, he always played games with Toph and Aang, and he was especially trying to make it up to you. Though you didn't notice that part.

He always pulled your chairs out for you, he helped teach you how to control the lightning within you, he even got you flowers one time. Unfortunately the flowers backfired and Appa ended up eating them, sneezing petals for a week.

You were currently training Aang on the beach with Zuko. The sun was blazing down on your back and your cotton shirt was absorbing all of the heat, making you sweat more than you would normally.

You walk over to where Katara, Toph, Sokka, and Suki are sitting, sipping their little coconut drinks as they watch you and Zuko beat the arrows off of Aang.

You take both ends of your shirt and pull it over your head, leaving you in your shorts and bathing suit top. When you walk back over to the boys you notice how red Zuko's face is.

"You alright over there, Z?" You ask, worried that he might be overworking himself in the heat.

His head snaps to look you in the eyes, his face going an even deeper red.

"Y-yeah, heh. Why wouldn't I be?" He looks around, avoiding looking at you with everything in him.

You decide to ignore his weird reaction to your words and go back to teaching Aang.

"This one is a partner move. So, I'll demonstrate with Zuko and then when you understand how to do it, you can try with him." You explain as you walk over to the spluttering and red as a beet, boy.

You move his hand to your waist and his other in yours, your own face heating up a bit at this position. You then kick his own foot out from underneath him and flip him over your shoulder. You light your hand ablaze and put it near Zuko's neck like one would a sword.

"I thought you said this was a partner move," Zuko groans out.

"Yeah, good guy and bad guy. Partners." You say with a smirk.

"You can do that, right Aang?"

Aang nods his head excitedly.

After another hour or two of flipping Zuko over your shoulders, you all sit down around a camp fire on the beach for dinner. You and Zuko offer to collect the plates and take them back up to the house.

"You did good in training today." He says as he takes the plates from your hands and places them on the counter.

You let out a small laugh.

"Well I would assume I did considering the amount of times I was able to flip you."

He rolls his eyes and you take this moment to admire him.

His hair falls in perfect strands across his forehead, his golden eyes reflect the light of the setting sun peeping through the window, his skin is soft as you place your hand on his.

He looks at you confused when he feels your touch.

"You did good, too." You say softly.

He smiles at this, looking down at your hand that was still on his.

"How do you see me?" He asks, breaking the peaceful silence.

"What do you mean?"

"What am I in your eyes?"

You think for a moment, pondering how your answer.

"You're a person who has made many mistakes." You begin, making his shoulders droop a little bit. "But you are also a person trying to make up for all of those mistakes. You're a kid, a kid who has been through a lot. Yet, you're still sweet and funny and kind and loyal. You try to hide how you feel, but I can still see every emotion you have in your actions. You're trying. And for that, I think you are amazing. That is who you are in my eyes."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, making you feel nervous about how he would react.

With a million thoughts racing through his mind, he decides not to say anything. You said that his actions meant more, so he spoke with an action.

He gently placed his hand on your cheek and leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away at any second. But you don't.

His lips meet yours in a soft kiss, his hair tickling your cheek. You smile into his kiss making him smile as well. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him closer as he pulls away from the kiss. You rest you foreheads against each other, catching your breath.

"I think I like you." He says, making you laugh.

"Oh shut up." You say and lean in for another kiss.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can you please do a part two of the Sebastian fluff where he lets his thoughts get the best of him and gets anxious that reader now sees him as a monster because of what they read on his document so he prepares extra good items and plans to give them heavy discounts and even some free but reader barges in like

"MANTIS SHRIMP??? PUNCH SOMETHING RIGHT NOW"

And after a bit of reassuring(possibly some punching too bc reader is too starry-eyed for him to say no to em) Seb realizes he trully never had anything to worry about and just, generally grows fonder of reader?

Ps. Adore your writing, keep up the awesome work!!

"God, why did I let them take it? Stupid, stupid, stupid.."

Sebastian couldn't stop beating himself up, even though he knew he shouldn't care about the opinion of any human sent by Urbanshade--especially one of the "expendable" class.

Yet because it was you, specifically--who was currently in possession of his document--he began to wonder what you'd think of him once you found out the truth:

That he was nothing but a horrible monster. Plain and simple.

If not the knowledge that he was a hideous chimera of several sea creatures' DNA...then surely the revelation that he caused the lockdown of the Blacksite would ultimately make you resent him.

He released all those creatures, who stopped at nothing to prevent you from reaching the crystal and had you running, fighting, or hiding for your life.

He was responsible for all the injuries you've sustained while crawling into his shop, desperately needing a medkit and a place to rest.

He would understand if you'd never want to visit him again after what they documented about him..but the image of your furious expression and overthinking the words you'd possibly say to him left him feeling incredibly anxious.

Suddenly, Sebastian found himself gathering more supplies. Medkits, code breakers, and every light source he had currently in the shop, trying to market down whatever he could. He was even willing to let you take batteries for free...which was something he'd never normally do.

Would it be enough to make up for everything horrific you discovered about him and the terrors he indirectly put you through? Absolutely not.

Was he willing to try it anyways just for the small chance that you'd keep visiting him? Maybe.

No other human has shown him a single ounce of kindness or gratitude for his services. Nobody except you, of course, and he refused to lose that.

-thump, thump-

"Shit.." He froze, hearing movement in the vent duct, hands trembling for his light to shine brighter. Part of him wishes he could stay in the dark, as he didn't wanna see your face and whatever hurt expression it could possibly hold.

But he knew it'd be rude if you actually needed to buy something, so he forced himself to look as your familiar figure crawled out of the small opening. You seemed out of breath, like you were just running from something, and stood up to dust the dirt off your pants.

"Sebastian..I need to know something, and you need to be 100% honest with me."

The moment you pulled out his document, the shopkeeper could feel his heart sink.

"Wh..What did you want to know?" He asked, already bracing himself for the worst.

You sounded dead serious, and he was convinced you were finally going to let him have it.

You were going to force him to explain himself and his actions, and tell him what a monster he truly was. Literally and metaphoric-

"Its it true that you have mantis shrimp DNA????"

Silence.

Of all the possible outbursts he expected from you, that certainly didn't cross his mind.

Sebastian just stared down at you, utterly dumbfounded. He blinked several times, unsure if he was truly seeing the wide smile and starry-eyed look on your face.

He had been waiting for a deep scowl, eyes full of anger and betrayal and sadness that he wasn't the "friend" he claimed himself to be when you first visited his shop.

Yet now? He saw nothing but pure delight in your expression.

"Um..yes. But of alllll the things you read about me, that shocked you the most?" He was still treading carefully.

"Well, it sucks that you were an innocent guy who got thrown into a shitty situation." You gestured to him, frowning a little. "And I'm sorry you never saw justice, but...it's just SO cool that you're part mantis shrimp!" A grin returned to your face. "They've fascinated me for years! I used to watch videos of them all the time. Did you know the velocity of just one of their punches is equal to a .22 caliber bullet-?"

"Stop." He put a hand up, huffing. "At least some part of you must resent me. I mean...helloooooo, did you skip over the bit where I'M the reason those monsters are after you?! There's no way you could've ignored that..unless your brain turned off the moment you read "mantis shrimp"."

"I read everything, Sebastian." You huffed back. "Look, if I ever had to go through what you did..I think I'd wanna rebel, too. And as much as those monsters scare me, they've probably endured the same experiments as you. They probably felt just as trapped and afraid. You must see at least a few of them as your friends, right?"

"Eyefestation and the PAInter are the only ones I consider "acquaintances"." He answered after a long pause, shoulders slumped. "The anglers are primitive, but they recognize me as the one who freed them, so they don't bother me or my shop. The only creature that tends to be an issue is-"

-thump-

-thump-

Tensing, you looked over your shoulder to see a Wall Dweller emerge from the vent behind you, its mouth split open and drooling with hunger, standing on two legs.

"-that." Sebastian glared at the creature; and before it could run away, he blocked the entrance with his tail fin. "Oh no you don't." He swooped over to grab ahold of its head with his third hand, causing it to shriek and kick its legs as he held it up high. "You seriously need to stop eating my customers when they're trying to BUY SOMETHING!!"

The Dweller just growled at him, to which he ignored it and glanced down at you. "What should I do with this thing?"

"Punch it!" You grinned, your fists balled up in front of you as you hopped up and down. "I wanna see how fast you could throw one!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Pleeeeaaase?"

"..ugh, if it gets that stupid puppy-eyed look off your face, fine." He looked back at the Dweller, grinning widely as he cracked his knuckles. "You wanna eat something so bad? Try this."

"....grahh-?"

In a blinding flash, his fist went through the creature's skull, effectively turning its head into dust. Then he dropped the whole body onto the ground with a grimance. "Eugh..never done that before.."

Then he looked down at you again, seeing your smile brighten. "Hope that made you happy."

"It did, that was amazing!" You laughed, kneeling down to rip off a chunk of the Dweller's flesh. He eyed you strangely, his expression changing to a look of horror as you shoved a piece in your mouth.

"What the f...why would you eat that?!"

"It's okay! I've had this stuff before." You swallowed, feeling rejuvenated already.

"B....Before?! What you're eating is clay and acid-"

"Actually, it's fresh meat. Reminds me of poultry, almost. I found a document somewhere saying that it has regenerative properties." You explained to Sebastian, whose eyes only widened the more you talked. "I didn't believe it at first until I saw the Angler kill one. I was hungry and...eating it healed my electrical burn somehow."

".......why was that not in its actual document?" He muttered.

You shrugged, ripping out another piece and offering it to him. "Care for a bite?"

"I'll..pass. But thanks." Lowering his body closer to you, he frowned. "Are you absolutely sure that-?"

"I'm sure."

"..you didn't even know what I was going to-"

"You were worried about my reaction to your file. I could tell from the discount signs and how you were scared to even look at me."

"............."

"But I promise it doesn't change anything, okay? We're still friends, Sebastian, and I'll still swing by to do business with you." You reassured him, smiling as you patted the back of his hand, before noticing the bandage on his third arm seemed bloody. "Um..when's the last time you changed that?"

"...oh this? Erm..it's fine." He attempted to hide it behind his back. "Nothing you should be concerned abou-"

"Too late. It's my concern now. Let me repay you for saving my tail."

He had no time to protest, as you were already on your feet and running for the medkit that was on the table. You weren't worried about getting to the next zone right now.

Not that Sebastian planned on kicking you out anytime soon.

No.

Now that he was able to confide in you, he was genuinely beginning to enjoy your company--especially as you asked him to rest his arm across your lap. From there, your gentle hands went to work changing the bandage out for a fresh one, using an alcohol spray to keep the wounds from getting infected.

He hissed and cursed a few times at the stinging pain, but not once did he try to get you to stop.

Suddenly, it all began to hit him in this exact moment.

You were willingly playing nurse to a giant sea monster that has killed a man and was responsible for the terrifying things you had to witness down here.

He couldn't understand..but at the same time he felt relieved that all along he had nothing to worry about.

"Th-That's fine..thank you.."

Hearing a sniffle, you glanced up as Sebastian hastily took his arm away, "standing" back up and turning away from you. You just smiled and patted his tail comfortingly, not saying a word as you waited for him to collect himself.

For once, that snarky and sarcastic fish you've come to know was gone, and he was letting his walls down, finally realizing he could trust you.

Eventually he fell silent, and you wondered what to do now. You bought everything you wanted to earlier, so you didn't wanna overstay your welcome-

"Do you mind staying for a little bit longer?"

The question surprised you, but you smiled and nodded. "Sure. As long as you don't mind, shrimpy."

There was a pause, and he slowly looked back at you, pouting. "Big talk coming from someone as tiny as you, friend." He playfully sneered.

You just laughed and shook your head, glad to see him in better spirits.

Thanks to that scrambler on his back, you didn't have to worry about HQ getting on your ass about continuing the mission or threatening detonation.

You could definitely stay awhile and ramble about more mantis shrimp facts to Sebastian...if he was willing to hear them, of course.

[hyukascampfire]

𝓐T 𝓢WA𝓝 𝓛AKE ﹐､﹒ c.bg ˏˋ੭ꠥ ¸ˎ

as both equals and opposites, white swan and black swan, it is paramount that you and choi beomgyu do not touch. the curse of your natures did not even make exception for incidental brushes. that was never an issue for you—not until the day the prince took it upon himself to break every rule you’d ever known. ⋆˛ ˛

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

⸉⋆ ᧔ 🦢᧓ ･ 10.3k

𝒫airings ˒ black swan prince!beomgyu 𝓍 white swan princess!reader

𝒢 ‎⍪ smut ˒ fantasy ˒ forbidden romance

𝒲arnings ˒ smut, angst and longing, unprotected sex, lots of teasing, jealousy…, yearning and yearning, he cums on her, theyre both desperate, pathetically in love!beomgyu, shes all he wants, virgin!reader, loss of innocence, he talks her through it, he gets a little whiny… hmm i can’t remember if i’m missing anything. this is not proofread!! i’m gonna nap first.

✎୭ ashlynn's note @hmusunoo … baby you did your big one with this. i can not explain to you how excited i’ve been for this one. this is absolutely my favorite. it’s just so me, u know me so well and i think we should kiss. THANK U!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

Around you, mist and delicate flurries sit over white, fluffy blankets. Where it sits over the lake, it turns the horizon of the lake’s expanse into an obscured uncertainty. If you hadn’t spent so much time right here, you might think that it goes on forever. 

It’s a beautiful, clear winter’s morning. Sparkling air wraps you in sweet and crisp tendrils, every breath to your lungs almost bitingly fresh. But in all its lightness, your chest only feels heavier. You had hoped that coming here would be a little, momentary respite. The air is so free around you, though, the weight doesn’t float away with it—it just leaves nothing but the feeling for you to contend with. No skittish wildlife rustle the foliage, and a thin film holds the crystalline lake from lapping at the bank. It seems that not even the wind moves. Just you.  

It’s not your tears that you hide here. Sadness is a soft, gentle thing; an acceptable thing for a Lady like yourself to indulge in. It’s what the people expect of their princess. The demure and always prim White Swan. Always correct, always just how you should be. 

Your tears are more like scalding, molten licks of fire than the slow, darling tears that are expected of you, though. They’re angry. It clashes up against the walls you’ve built up within yourself, against the role you’ve assumed. 

That’s why you’ve come here. Coarser emotions are unbecoming of you, and it’d be a shame to feel them in front of others. It’s a shame that you’re letting yourself feel it now, even. You summon a thin sigh, funneling up all the tangy bitterness on your tongue to let it fall out into the air before you. 

It doesn’t do much for you, really. This—feeling like this, so beyond the reach of your usual ways to shove down ugliness—is unfamiliar. Your entire life has been this, why do you struggle with it now? In the center of you, mingling with that anger, it’s as though a blackness blooms. Like a wretched flowering of some invasive plume, or perhaps the floating of inky black feathers through your bloodstream, you feel painted dark and unpleasant. 

Holding the dappled fur of your shawl closer, you decide to watch chunks of crystal white ice float on the water’s surface. Or maybe the on-and-off snowflakes that float down around you. Even tracing the lengths of barren branches, lined with white fluff so still and serene, with your eyes. Anything but delving into what that tainted tug inside is, or what it might mean about you.  

Snow crunches, or maybe a branch shifting, beckons your attention. But the foliage isn’t too thick, and trees are sparse around the lake, and there is always some small winged creature fluttering between branches out here. So, you brush it off. 

A tingling about your person, some sort of whispering premonition, whisps and tugs just around your person. You straighten up at another thick step crunching in the snow from behind you. This time, you can’t explain it away.  

A figure greets you. Dark, raven strands of silken hair fallen over eyes of the same, his skin so stark against it, black shoulder cloak on his shoulder flowing like velvet water against his billowing sleeves all ruffled and enamoring. He glitters like the frost, twinkling silver threads and black crystals sewn in to catch the light and make a show of him. Standing there, looking at you, he doesn’t look caught or frozen. 

But you are. Wholly still, all of you like a sculpture of frost, you gawk right at him. You’d never interacted with the prince, the black swan. Never even seen him. It was never in the cards. Fear like ice curls clawed fingers over your heart and grasps it.  

All your life, grand warnings of terrible things of him and what might happen should the two of you ever touch fell from the mouths of those around you. It was the constitution of who the two of you are—born to be the balance to each other, never to touch. Just an incidental brushing of fingers meant turning the world’s balance over on its head. They told you that the world would begin to fray at the seams, reality would warp, and that it’d be all your fault. And they also told you plenty about who the prince was as a person, too. Not only do you fear him for the curse of your nature, but also for all the nasty things you’ve heard of him. This, meeting him, was a thing of your deepest-cutting nightmares. 

And, there, he stands in front of you. 

“What are you doing out here crying?” Beomgyu says, curious eyes darting over your face. Under his gaze, you’re not sure how to feel. But you feel every last bit of it, regardless. 

You wipe at your cheek, where he must’ve seen the wet streaks glistening in the light. Summoning some poise up from where you keep it in handy, you say, “It’s no matter. I was just looking out on the snow.” You fix up your hair and your dress.  

The prince frowns, studying your face once again. Utterly unconvinced by what he finds there, he gestures toward you. “You’ve been crying, princess,” he says. “I didn’t think that lying was in the cards for you.” 

Lying? Not in the cards for you? Lying is all you do. You lie to yourself and to others more than you are honest. “Maybe, but I’m well,” you say, and then you lift the soft skirts of your dress to step without treading it in the snow. “Really, I ought to get home before the snowfall gets heavier. It was lovely seeing you.” You try and make sure to keep a good and proper distance from him as you make for where you arrived here from. 

Beomgyu reaches out for you, only pulling back from grabbing your arm at a frighteningly slim realization. “Wait,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he realizes what he’d almost just done. “You don’t have to leave. Why is it that you cry?” 

He’d almost touched you. That close—you’d come that close to tragedy in only the first moments of your meeting. Your heart pumps out sizzling, frantic energy that has you looking at him wide-eyed and shaken. “I think you and I both are the most aware why it’s best that I leave,” you tell him, keeping it curt. You hold your arms to you.  

Strong brows knitting, he shakes his head and stakes some big steps back. The snow, sat powdery and calf-high on the ground, creaks beneath them. “I’ll stay back here,” he says. “Just don’t go. Won’t you entertain me? It’s a gentleman’s duty to help a weeping Lady.” 

You falter. The words might have you blushing and offering him a modest thank you, but the way he says it—it’s rather taunting. It’s taunting in a way that gets right up under your skin and ruffles your feathers. “And why does it bother you so?” you ask him, arching a dainty brow. You’re not even sure why he’s come out here in the first place. This is the one place that you ordain your own. It seems that not even here can you be totally alone. “They’ll have a fit if they know I was here with you.” 

The prince, with his clear, ethereal features cracking into a wicked amusement that you’re not sure how to digest, says, “Perhaps they will.” He tilts his head at you, wispy strands of hair moving over his shadowed eyes with it. “But, princess, that’s the fun in it. That they will admonish you for it. Is that why you’re crying?” 

Fun? Nothing about what your people, your parents, might do should they find that you’d not only been near but spoken to the black swan, is fun. You level him wary eyes. And, though sense tugs at your feet and asks you to get going, you do not. You do not know why. 

“I think it is.” He’s got an obnoxious tilt to his lips. “I think that’s why you cry.” 

A scoff, an abrasive and distasteful sound coming from you, falls out from your mouth. There’s that awful imprudence and temerity that you’ve heard of the black swan—everything you ought not to be. “You seem the type to know everything,” you say. 

He laughs, delighted. “Is that snark?” 

Pursing your lips as though confused, you spin spiced threads of patronization into your voice. “Not snark,” you say. “Just an observation.” 

 “Hmm.” Beomgyu slides his hands into his pockets to warm his hands. “Might I make an observation about you, princess?” 

There’s interest written all over his face—you know he’s playing some sort of game. You also know that you shouldn’t indulge him in it. Still, you do. A slight raising of your brow, or maybe the interest twinkling in your eyes, too, tells him to go on. 

“I think that you are too dutiful for your own good,” he says.  

In a slight, testy step, he inches closer. Not so close that you worry, but the two of you are not even supposed to be in the same room. Anything is too close. You mirror it with a step back. “You don’t know me,” you say. Against your better judgement, though, your lips twitch into a soft smile. The kind of smile that is insistent, no matter how you refuse it. “So, I believe your wonderings to be entirely groundless.” 

Hair blowing gently in the wisps of a winter wind and his nose and cheeks gone pink, he says, “Oh, princess. Hardly. I think we know a great deal about each other.” 

Well, that’s true enough. All your life you heard of him and your curse. You’re sure it was no different for him, no matter your differences. “And what do you know about me?” you ask.  

Beomgyu’s laugh falls out in a white puff of curling frost. “I know it’s been arranged that you’ll marry a superior Lord,” he says. He observes you. “Am I right?” 

So fast, just with that, lightness falls from your face. You hadn’t wanted to be reminded. Your feet itch to be off, so that you can feel it elsewhere. Not here; not in front of him. Leveling yourself so that your voice doesn’t come out as stilted as you feel, you say, “Yeah. You are.” 

With his eyes narrowing on you, he says, “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a girl excited to be wedded look like that when it’s brought up.” 

You reign in your face and shake your head. “I am perfectly excited. It’s a blessing to be married into such a family.” As much as you smooth over the furrowing of your brows, or make your expression pleasant, it’s not so easy to tame the picking of your fingers. 

Anything other than excited, you might be. But absolutely not that. In fact, you are beyond yourself with anger, and you have nowhere to go with it. It bubbles hot just under your skin and demands a release that you cannot give. 

Being who you are, it’s been a truth you’ve known your whole life. Someday, you were going to be offered like a shiny, silver pawn to the highest bidder. And you, as the world’s white swan, are quite the enticing thing to own. You thought you’d banished the hope for a union of love right where you’d left the sense of self behind: years ago. The time’s come now, but you aren’t as at peace with it as you should be. No matter how hard you try, you are more human than you’d like to be, and far too human to be what the world expects you to be. 

If you’re going to be frank with yourself: you do not want to marry him. Living as something bought, expected to live forever as this mellowed out, poised version of yourself by the side of some man who you don’t even know or love... Of any fate you might be made to live, you think that this one is the worst. 

Beomgyu begins working on taking off his jacket, a white and pretty thing with thick, winter fabric. He offers it to you. “You don’t have to lie to me about it. Maybe them, but not me.” 

You look between him and his offering hand—his perfect features that are so elegant, and yet, there’s a wildness to him in those hard black eyes. If you didn’t already know so much about him, you might still be able to see the untamed in him. Who couldn’t? He wears it plainly; without remorse. You’re not sure how to interact with it, but, in a way, you envy him. 

Reaching out, you accept the jacket from his hand. Tentatively, with great care so as to avoid touch, but you do.  

It’s nice and soft against your frost-kissed shoulders. But it’s not enough to fix the bite against the skin on your face, so you trudge through the snow over to the sparse tree line, where the trunks might protect you better from it than the flat expanse of the lake’s surface. You press your back to a tree, and he mirrors it on the tree opposite to you. Looking over the great lake, so very serene. It twinkles with an ice film like sugar crystals atop its surface. “I guess I’m just... scared,” you say. The words come out soft and uncertain. 

He nods. Listening. So, you continue. “I don’t even know him. I haven’t spoken to my betrothed once. Maybe I’ll get to know him, and maybe he won’t be bad, but...” 

“But he’s not who you want,” Beomgyu says. “Not who you love.” 

Licking your winter-chapped lips, you eye him for a moment. You nod slowly and say, “...Yeah. I suppose it’s selfish, but...” 

Ignited, Beomgyu pushes off the tree to say, “Selfish? You give your whole life to being their saint. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t own you.” 

You, not us. Frowning, you ask him, “Are you not set for some marriage of convenience?” Marrying is different as a woman, but you don’t doubt that the prince’s family intends to strengthen alliances by offering his marriage up to some optimistic, lesser family with a daughter to bargain the way yours has done with you. Every last girl and boy born as you two have been—destined to a life bigger than yourself, a force in the world as much as you are a person—have lived just the same. All of them. Each incarnation of the white swan, and you’re sure every black swan too. The people of this world paint you as embodiments of balance and life, but use you more like power plays. Even your own parents. You were born from your mother all the same as all your siblings, but as much as it aches to admit it, you are not their child. In the back of your throat, hurt and bare anger wells up thick. 

He half laughs, half scoffs. “They could try. It doesn’t matter to me. They’d have to kill me before I do their bidding. Is it our fault that we were born this?” he says. “I’m going to live my life how I want, no matter what.” 

You tuck your hands into your sides, where they warm between the jacket and your body heat. His words and how he looks at your lives, it’s everything you’re not. Sense of self and determination to live for more than just your predetermined role—while you’d surrendered it all, he lives thrashing and fighting against it. A product of your mirrored and opposite natures.  

“Why?” you say, teeth chattering a bit under the cold’s caress. “You have a girl in mind?” 

That sounds nice. Being so hopefully devoted to someone, and them to you, that you might war against destiny for it. The thought only nurses hurt somewhere deep in your chest, though. Not for you. Never for you. You could be the prettiest on this Earth, the kindest, the most disciplined, or the least even. Still, that would never be yours. You know that, so why does it taste so bitter?  

A quick look, something new, passes over him. In his eyes, you see it. He looks at you for a long minute, the morning so quiet that nothing but tranquility hangs in the air for a moment, and then finally says, “Yeah. Something like that.”  

Entirely intrigued, you ask, “Who? Is she a Lady?” 

Beomgyu nods his head, that strange look lingering. “Of sorts,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest to lean back into the bark. “And your betrothed? Some well-off Lord?” 

A smile ghosts over your mouth. “Probably. I haven’t a clue who it is; but I’m sure he’s got enough coin to spare, if my parents settled on him.” 

The lines of his face gone playful, he says, “Not possibly more well-off than me.” 

Your nose crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say. A husband with money is nice. You can’t pretend that you don’t think of that, especially that none of your family’s wealth belongs to you, nor will it follow you into your marriage. Your heart revolts regardless.  

Shrugging after a few beats of silent considering, he turns his attention on the lake. His face turned like that, you admire the straight slope of his nose and his eyelashes as they flutter with his heavy eyes. Like the rest of him, his side profile is a contradiction. Strong and noble, but elegant like hewn from marble. It’s perfect. With all the talk in your ears, you’d pictured something far off from the youthful, wry man stood before you. Why you’d come to imagine him brutish, you’re not sure; he’s as much swan as you. Different and mirrored all the same. 

“I used to come here all the time,” he says. 

“Here? To the lake?” You perk up. This had been your hideaway as a girl; where you’d come at times like this when you needed to bury something away. You thought it’d been just yours. “I wonder how we never ran into each other. I used to do the same. I guess, I still do.” 

When his eyes fall back on you, they’re softer. More deep brown than black, but maybe it’s because you’re closer now. He says, “Well, I came here once or twice on my own, maybe when I was five. I didn’t really start coming back until I saw you. You were crying, all snotty, and throwing bread out for some ducks.” 

Your face twists up, maybe at the memory or maybe with confusion. It seems like if he’d really come here so often, and had even seen you here, you’d have noticed. “You must have thought I was weird,” you say, the words coming out around a shiver.  

“Maybe,” he says through a wry smile that’s cracked over his lips. “But mostly, I just wished I could talk to you.” 

He’d watched you, because he couldn’t approach you? You were under the impression that the prince had never cared for the rules, not even one so paramount as that. But, it seems that his brashness came to him later. He stands in front of you now, doesn’t he? Maybe it was just that innocent trust that, as children, you levy out to those arounds you. Especially toward adults; and all of those had preached over moments like this. You imagine a young, curious Beomgyu, hiding himself away between bushes, itching to approach or play with you. But he never did; you hadn’t the slightest clue he’d even been there until now. Could you two have been friends, if not for the curse? 

“You never came out,” you say. “Or introduced yourself?” It’s all you can really think. 

His mouth twitches. “Would you have stayed?” 

No. Then, you don’t think you would’ve. Even now, you’re stricken with the innate fear of touching him, no matter how surprised you are at how different he is. Different from what they said he’d be. You think you would’ve darted, should you have known who he was. For some reason, that makes your heart ache. A dark ebbing wave of ache that you are unfamiliar with. 

A slight knowing smile danced over his features, eyes gone to sweet crescents that turn them, usually so dark, into something rounded. Not so abrasive. He tilts his head off to one side and says, “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?” 

Cheeks long been numb, you answer, “An hour. Maybe and a half?” 

“I’ll walk you home.” 

You grimace. Arriving with him by your side, the man you quite literally were not supposed to even speak with, is the very last thing you should do. An awful idea. “I wouldn’t bother you. It’s probably not the best idea to show up after disappearing, with a man by my side. Especially not as a to-be-married woman,” you say. “But, thank you. Really.” 

He knows what you really mean, though. A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that, would we?” 

As he begins to turn, making for wherever he’d come here from, you call out to him. “Hey, wait. Your jacket.” You pull it off your shoulders and joust it out at him. Against your skin which it had warmed, the air is bitterly cold. 

“Keep it, princess,” he says, giving you a parting nod. “Get home warm.” 

❆

Today, you are to give your hand to a man that you do not know.

In the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance and mingle with the roar of chatter. Hundreds of familiar and unfamiliar faces line long tables with runners decorated by platters of plump, sugar-dusted plums and fruit pies. They’ve all come in their winter’s best—whites and reds and luxurious furs lining thick, velvety fabrics or embroidered with sparkling threads and studded with crystals that twinkle in the low firelight. It’s warm and lovely and all just for you. 

But, you don’t feel any of that. All you feel is a heavy belly. Each smile you tug over your mouth feels like dead weight. You’re familiar with this—putting on the act. Smiling in faces that you know will turn around and have something else to say about you, pretending like you don’t know that it’s all false sweetness. You’d been trained in noble propriety since you could walk and talk. 

But, considering that they’ve all come here to shower you with gifts and lovely words for a marriage in which they could really not care about beyond how they make it a profit, it’s all a bit more sour. 

You’ve met your promised. The man you’re supposed to wed and spend the entirety of your life beside. You spoke with him for... what, two minutes? Two very awkward, very awful minutes. What should you have to say to each other? You’re meeting for the first time today. At your engagement feast. It’s a real conscious effort to not take your lip into your mouth and gnaw, or to not fuss over your hair, or honestly anything that might show these people that you are anything but pleased. 

So, you relent to their gaudy pleasantries. You listen to them tell you that it’s such a blessing to be married to a man of high society—and a wealthy one, too. They tell you that they knew your marriage would bring a great dowry; that all the white swans have. That they were watching and expecting it. All you hear is the dripping of greed; all you see is hungry eyes and fingers crossed behind backs. 

You relent to it until your stomach is sick and wrought with it. And then, the older lady ahead of you singing praises of your beauty, of how she wishes her daughter might catch the eye of a husband as advantageous as yours, does something out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift behind you, her snooty, pinched features twisting up into something new. You follow her gaze. 

Dark and beautiful and his eyes trained right on you, the black swan prince stands beside you. He’s lazed, a heavy cup of some thick, spiced and wintery drink in one hand, as he does. In the clear light of morning, he’d looked so out of place. But here, soft and hard planes of his face illustrated by the flickering orange firelight, he looks so right. 

You blink. And then blink again. Never once had Beomgyu made any sort of appearance at any hosted thing by your family. You just stand in place for a moment, registering his presence.

“You look lovely, princess,” he says. His eyes fall up and down you. The way he says it—it’s liquid smooth, but it’s taunting in a way. “The perfect image of a bride-to-be.”

He can’t be here. He can’t be here at all. When you look to the side, the woman is already gone. You have no doubt in your mind that she’s whispering in somebody’s ear right now.

“Prince,” you say, gritting your teeth while also dipping into an elegant curtsy. 

“Do you feel that way?” He raises his eyebrows at you, his gaze heavy with underlying tension. “A perfect bride? Happy?”

Making the conscious decision to not look around you, because you can already feel the burning interest of the eyes that you’ll find on you, you say, “I do. Isn’t this quite the feast?”

“I told you that you don’t have to lie to me, princess.”

You shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him. They’re all watching. Stepping back to cut conversation with something witty, you stop in the onslaught of a chorus of surrounding gasps.

Beomgyu had reached out to grab you, and only stopped himself short the same way he had the first time you met him. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he brings his hand down, curling the fingers as if to wash away the urge to reach out.

He’s closer now, too. His breath smells sickly sweet with the liqueur he drinks. A sarcastic grin over his lips, he says, “Did he pay for all this?”

You do a dance of give and take. You step back, and he meets it with a step toward you, all the way until you find yourselves in a quieter corner. “He did sponsor the feast, yes.”

“Well, isn’t that just great,” he says, voice carrying over the many layered sounds of the gathering. “And that makes you happy? You feel fulfilled by that? Is that the purpose of the lovely white swan?”

You’re not sure what he’s getting at, or why your marriage is any of his business. For some reason, though, despite those rational thoughts, some faraway memory whispers that it makes every bit of sense. “He is a lovely man.”

Barking a laugh, Beomgyu says, “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t believe that, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself.”

You curl your fingers into the obnoxious, glittering material of your dress. “Seriously, what makes you so sure?” you say. “What makes you so sure you know? This is good for me. This is the way things are supposed to go. Not everybody in this world can get away with serving only themselves and doing whatever they want. Maybe it works for you, but not for the rest of us. I’m glad your life is fun, though. Really.” 

His face doesn’t sharpen into offence, though you brace for him to. You’ve never spoken to anybody like that. Ever. Shaking his head, raven locks glowing warm around the edges, he says, “Because I know. I know. Are you listening to me? You don’t have to lie to me.”

Balking at him, you don’t know how to answer. That was nowhere near the answer you were expecting from the prince, known and notorious for his chaos and fire.

“I am listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Thick emotion slips through the seams. “Honesty has never done me any good. This is going to happen; all honesty is going to do is hurt me. So, I’m sorry.”

His mouth opens to fire something back, but you don’t hear it. Somebody digs their fingers into your upper arm, dragging you without a word away from your conversation. You stumble, letting them take you without a fuss. This was to be expected. You shouldn’t look back. If today was already going to be the last day you ever see him, it certainly is now that you’ve been caught not only in touching distance to him, but making conversation with him.

Tossing a self-betraying glace over your shoulder, you find his figure. Hand in pocket and his lips turned down, he watches you go.

You wish you wouldn’t have. You have no explanation for the emptiness it casts into your chest.

❆

Recently, you’ve been crying so much. You might believe that it’s because you’ve been letting yourself feel freely, but you don’t feel free.

Your palms are soaked against your cheeks, face fallen into them as you shudder with it. Their words pin and scrape in your head, forcing you to contend with them before bouncing off the walls and you hear them again and again until your stomach has gone sick. Your parents had given you an earful. That’s been your whole life; you can handle that. The moment you saw him there, intending to speak to you, you’d prepared for it. Instead, it was their contempt and sneering faces that bleed your heart like this. 

In this life, you are alone. Totally, wholly alone. Who you are—your role in life—is not the blessing they claim it to be. Is it selfish to ask to be understood? For somebody to just understand, without your pleading or begging?

Maybe. It feels that way, anyway.

“Why is it that I always find you crying?”

His voice freezes you to where you sit sprawled on your floor. Spinning to him, you say, “What are you doing?”

Beomgyu shrugs, as though he hasn’t snuck his way into your room. “I felt bad for getting you dragged off. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”

Maybe his insisting on being around you should be annoying, but right now… You think you appreciate the company, even from the forbidden likes of him. “You can’t be here,” you hiss. “How did you get in? They’ll… if they find you here…”

His boots squeak against the polished flooring as he approaches you, and then settles down on the floor with you. The fire flickering behind him, his back to it, casts an orange light around the edges of his figure. He looks terribly inviting, like this: strewn on the floor, no holier or better than you, his face not sickly sweet nor cold and devoid of love, and his eyes curious to know how you feel. 

“I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I want to see you.” He tugs his jacket off, letting it fall on the dirty floor. Improper for a prince, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. That’s who he’s always been—that’s the one thing that was entirely true out of all the things you heard about him. “Who the hell cares about their approval? We don’t need it.”

You know what he means by they and we. Only a few days ago, you’d still believed that Beomgyu was other; that he was your total opposite, and that you should fear his darkness for all your lightness. All it’s taken is being around him the once or twice that you’ve been able to for you to realize the falsity that drips from that. When you’re around him, your soul, feathery and wispy in your chest and your veins and all the rest of you that constitutes you beyond what is physical, tugs. It’s impossible to ignore—it consumes you. Where your soul longs for him around the edges, like torn and searching for what’s been lost, you feel stuff that is beyond yourself.

Rather than your opposite, you think that Beomgyu is your other half. You think that they’ve gotten it all wrong. 

“How do you do it?” you say, back up against a white, whorling table leg. “How do you not care? I don’t understand.”

Inky eyes shining, he says, “I did. When I was young, I believed everything they told me. It’s hard not to, when it’s all you hear. Them, telling us that our purpose is to surrender ourselves to be something Saint-like. But when you catch one lie, you begin to catch the others, too. I saw their excuses and reasonings peel. Princess, it’s all lies. Everything you know is lies.” He says it with such conviction. Each and every word reaches down into that part of yourself that is missing something. “We’re not their Saints. That’s never been our purpose. I hate that shit; I hate that they’ve made you think that this is all you’re for. Marrying him? Never doing anything, because you’re scared of what it’ll mean for you? It’s not fucking fair.” He pushes himself closer to you. Now, your criss crossed knees are so close that a stray move might mean the world’s end. This time, you don’t panic. There’s no room for that among the swarm of your other thoughts. “So, of course I don’t give a shit about what they tell me to do. I’m going to live this life the way that it’s supposed to be. I wish that you could join me.”

“This life?” you blurt. It’s the one thought that appears clear to you, so it’s what comes out. Frowning, you add, “What lies?”

Deadpanned and as though he’s not delivering something that changes the world’s fabric around you, Beomgyu says, “There is no curse. There’s never been a curse.”

Your room is silent for a few moments, and then you shake your head and laugh. “How would you know that?” you say, nose wrinkling. If you don’t laugh, you’ll begin to actually consider the possibility of that. Just the very surface of the notion makes you nauseous. You couldn’t handle exploring the thought deeper. 

Beomgyu doesn’t laugh along with you. “The curse is a lie, and everything that comes with it. All of it is just excuses or justification for the hate for the other people. The whole reason that they ever decided on it was because of their hate. Maybe to the people alive now, it’s not a lie. But that’s what it started as.” His face, dark and soft as he reads your face, twists up. “Of course, we can touch. We are two halves of a whole. There is you in me, and I in you. Do you not feel it? The tug? That’s it. The black swan and the white swan were never meant to be apart and opposite. We are meant to be together. We’re meant to be the only ones that understand each other. It’s us against the world, princess.”

Your ears ring with the pierce of each word cascading out from his mouth. “Beomgyu, I don’t understand. That doesn’t… Make sense. How?” He can’t just make claims about that. Not something like this. It’s not fair.

“I know it’s hard to believe, princess. It’s all you’re ever made to believe. But you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Tongue darting out to wet your lips and your fingers stilling where you fuss at the fabric of your chemise, you take a good look at him. Roaming over his features, the contradiction in them and the strange familiarity that constitutes him no matter the fact that you’ve only just met, you consider it. Everything he says is absurd, and it does go against everything you’ve ever known. You should turn your nose up at him for even suggesting it; should suspect that he only has some sort of plan to coax you into bringing the world’s end.

But, you do. You trust him beyond explanation, as though intrinsically.

You nod slowly, holding his eyes in yours. “But I don’t understand,” you say. “How do you know?”

He smiles ruefully. “I saw something—had a dream when I was young. I saw us, in every last lifetime. We have lived again and again, as we are, in so many different ways. But the one thing that was always there was that they couldn’t keep us away from each other.”

The world does a few spins around you. Lightheaded, you try to stay up under the oppressive gravity of that. You want to stick your head in the ground and shake your head and yell no, but that deep tugging that has plagued you beginning the moment you’d met him, and all the emptiness before it, tells you yes. 

How poetic is that? How tragic? You, two souls born to be one, made to live apart at the interests of the world around you. Made to do it across every lifetime, and yet, in each you meet. In each, the twinkling thread of fate prevails nevertheless. 

“Do they all love?”

That soft smile still playing on his lips, his cheek to his knee as he looks at you with the veneration of somebody who might’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and perhaps in this one, too. “No. Some of us were secret lovers, but so many of those lived how you do for the entirety of their life. Halved,” he says. “And never did any of them touch.”

Heart fluttering with wings in your chest, you say, “So, how do you know that the curse is a lie? If it’s never been done before?”

“Let me show you,” he says. “That I can touch you.”

All the blood in your body pulls back. You trust him; you do. But is trust enough to risk a touch that could be the end of the world? Is trust enough to be so selfish to do so? 

Seeing you blanch, Beomgyu’s eyes go glassy. “Please,” he says, voice breaking as if to touch you might mean more than just proving something to you. As if the weight of everything he’s ever wanted rests on the back of it working—that if this works, and the world does not fall apart around you, then he can love you how he does, and how he had so many times before. Inevitably. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Beomgyu,” you say, looking between his eyes and the twitch of his hand as it itches to touch you. “I don’t… I’m scared.” Your voice drops to nothing more than a whisper.

“It’s okay,” he says, bringing that longing hand up. Your heart jumps when he raises up by your face. “You can be selfish this once. I want to see you do something because you want to, not because it’s what you think others might want.”

Your throat burns and tightens. Every last sparkling bit of your being longs to lean into his touch—to do what you two have wanted to do so many times before, and finally bring your souls back together. “What if it happens?” you ask, your eyes soft and true like an animal turning its soft underbelly to receive affection.

“Then let it,” he says. “At least we would have touched. Just this once.”

Gritting your teeth and swallowing hard, your belly does itself up into knots. You don’t answer him, but your quiet speaks enough. His hand hovers beside your face with the weight of the world in it.

The first touch of the white swan and the black swan happens in a gentle cupping of your cheek. And, the world does fall down around you. The walls melt, air leaves, and the seams of everything that’s even been good or true are ripped out and sewn with something new and beautiful. It’s as explosive and cosmic as you imagined it, but it is not terrifying. It’s lovely.

Your breaths shudder, your lungs trembling as you look into his eyes and realize what this means.

“Fuck,” is all Beomgyu breathes. It looks as though that it’s all he can manage. His touch grows more solid as the both of you realize that the both of you are still very much here, and so is the world. Thumb pad grazing over the softness of your cheek, his throat bobs with a swallow. You think that if you were to press your hand over your chest, you might feel it thudding there to the same thunderous rhythm that yours beats to.

So, you do. Because you can touch him. His heart sings beneath your palm, even through fabric and flesh. You can’t help the wobbling of your lip and the hot tears that spill out past your eyes and roll down your cheeks.

The second touching is the bringing together of your lips. His mouth is soft and hard against yours, contradictory as the rest of him. He brings his other hand up to hold your face into his kiss. It’s not sweet and slow—it’s as ground-rumbling as the kiss between intertwined souls coming together after an eternity of being away. Each nip and lick and clash of teeth are like the claps of thunder of the storm that will end the world, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to card his fingers through the hair at the back of your head like the claws of a beast sent to ensure its end.

And, maybe Beomgyu is the beast that has come to end the world. You wonder how he’d waited so long to bring the truth to you, or if he was torn about ever telling you. What changed things, after so many years of him watching you from afar? Your engagement? Perhaps that’s what that drink in his hand had been: a thing to forget with.

It hadn’t worked. As he kisses you for all the lifetimes in which you couldn’t, you know that he couldn’t have accepted that and moved on. Of all the black swans that have lived and passed, Beomgyu must be the most stubborn and strong-willed. That’s why, out of every single life, this is the first that you touch. He would take the world on, or play with the existence of it, for this. Just for you. All for you—you’d found somebody who will do something just for you. Curling your fingers into the front of his tunic just over his chest, you pour the fire of that revelation into your kiss.

He roams his hands all over you, mapping your shape. You kiss and kiss, lips tugging and twisting against each other, and still it isn’t enough. Bracing a splayed palm over your lower back, he does not stop kissing you even as he lays you back onto the ground. The flooring is cold against your burning body. He supports his weight on one hand beside your head and straddles your hips to do nothing but run his fingers through your hair and just kiss you. 

Only when your lungs are too hungry to ignore does he free your mouth. His soft black hair dangles over his starry eyes as he looks down at you with them. Lips swollen and smeared with you, his chest heaves. Bringing his free hand up, he wipes your wet cheek.

“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “Beomgyu.”

Pressing his forehead to yours, he laughs. “I like when you call me that. I think I want to make you scream it—scream it until they come breaking down your doors and see that we are each other's. Until your fiancé hears it.”

Body bursting at the seams at the prospect, you nod frantically and dip your face into his neck to dust starry kisses there, too. He shudders. “I want it so bad. Can you please?”

“Of course I can. I’m going to make love to you, okay?” He pushes off you, crawling back so that he’s sat squatted just before your knees as you pin them together. “Open your legs, princess. Show me how pretty you are—I’ve waited so long for it.” He pats on the outer side of your knee.

Thrill spiraling up from between your thighs like sparks, you oblige slowly. You let your legs fall open for him, and choke on your own heart as he begins to slowly work your dress up the expanse of your legs, and then your thighs, baring to him the plush and unseen skin there. He eats it up wildly, his eyes gone ravenous and even blacker.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say, voice trill and unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”

A wicked grin cracks over his features. “I know, princess.” The fabric bunches at your thighs, now. You tremble with the stifling anticipation. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to feel so good—I’m gonna make you feel so good. I have so many things I want to do to you. Lifetimes of things I want to make you feel.”

Doe-eyed and laying your trust in his hands, your thighs twitch and you nod. He reveals your cunt at last, finally catching the glistening sight of it for the very first time. And, he does not disappoint. The look that washes over his face—the twitching of his lips, the tightening of his jaw in a flickering muscle, and the fire razing your cunt in his eyes—is something so dreamlike, but lucid nonetheless.

“You just lay down and let me help you. Treat you how a princess should be treated.” He works on his pants, silver belt clinking and then loosening, and then he’s just as exposed as you when his length pops free. It’s hard already, tall and pretty like the rest of him, but pink and obscene at the tip. He leaks from the little slit at the top. “Look at you. You look like you want to taste it,” he says, laughing while collecting the liquid to pump himself a few times. “Next time, baby. I’d love to see the proper mouth of the world’s princess choking on my cock.”

The air is cold against the mess between your legs. It sends a chill up your spine—or maybe that was the crudeness of his words. You suppose you should’ve expected nothing less from him. When he goes to climb back over you and line himself up with you, your thighs twitch and try to snap shut.

He pins your hip to the floor. “Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna see that pretty pussy. It’s not fair to hide it from me.”

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning.

Taking that hand and sliding it up behind the back of one of your knees, pressing that thigh up to your torso, he laughs a teasing laugh down at you. “Don’t say sorry,” he says. He holds his length adjacent to your slit and then begins to slip up and down the length of it. “Just let me fuck you. I need it so bad.” He hisses in tandem with you. The drags of his length, harder than how you thought a cock might feel, is like undiluted liquor. “I can’t believe this… shit, princess. I’m about to fuck you. I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you by his side.” 

You take your lip into your teeth when he pushes in. It stretches. You bring your hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other to dig into his tunic, mewling softly.

“It’s okay, princess. Hold on to me, you can take it, right? You cunt was built for me. Everything about you was made for me. Your heart, your pretty hands for me to hold, your sex, all of it. Do you feel how I fit right into you? How I was made to?”

You do. When he finally is balls-deep, his cock nestles exactly where it should. Not an inch too deep or an inch too scarce. The two of you were sculpted by something holy, fit just for each other. “Yes,” you breathe.

He can’t even linger sitting still  in you. He begins pulling himself out, all the way until the tip of him threatens to pop out lewdly, before shoving back in right up against that spot. He doesn’t even have to search for it. Head falling into your chest, he licks and bites. “The taste of you,” he says. Then, he presses his tall nose right over that spot in your neck where your heart’s gone wild. “The smell of you.” Wincing, he lays into you with more vigor, hips slapping against your skin. “The feel of you. You drive me up the fucking walls. How was I ever supposed to live without this?” he says. “I refuse.”

Your belly begins to tighten in a way that you’ve never known. Tears prick the corner of your ears, clinging to him as he fucks you into the floor like he’ll never have to opportunity to have you like this again. The wood cradles your back and the back of your hips, receiving each of his thrusts. You curl your toes and will back the lewd cries that threaten to spill over with each.

His voice is taut and wobbly. “Feels good, huh? I know. It feels… so good.” Dropping your thigh to cup your face, he says, “Cry. Cry for me. I said I wanted you to scream.”

Face burning and squirming against the hardwood behind you, you shake your head. “I can’t, gyu…”

“Yes you can,” he says, face twitching. “I want you to start letting it out, or I’m gonna stop. Do you want me to stop?”

Covering your face, with the back of a forearm, you grit your teeth through each punctual and yet sloppy grind up into you. Your bodies sweat and meld, and you’re sure that anybody walking by your quarters would know just by the hollow smacks of skin and grunts that you’re fucking a man. You, an engaged woman, are letting the prince turn your brain inside out.

But, there is nothing you want less than for him to stop. So, you let your mouth drop open and allow the sweet mewls to come with each rut.

“There we go. Louder.” He braces himself, digging his feet into the floor, and then he really starts driving into you. Sparks fly in your belly—each yellow and glowing and scalding. “Do I need to fuck you harder? C’mon, louder, princess.”

Thighs squeezing his hips so tight that they ache, you squirm. You struggle against your sounds—turning from sweet moans and mewls, you groan and gasp and your voice breaks. Each collision of your bodies breaks your sounds.

Curling your fingers into his silken hair, you grit out, “H—hoooh fuck, Beomgyu, Beomgyu, I feel… like…”

Bangs sticky and his eyes growing wilder, he knows something you don’t. The knowing, taunting grin on his mouth says enough. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it.  Just stay—stay right there, and I’ll give it to you. No running from it; it’s gonna feel so good.” His muscles go taut, and he doubles down on his efforts, panting through his nose and his neck sheened. He drops his head into your chest. “Fuck. Fuckkkk, I love you so much, princess. Thank you—thank you, so much.”

You don’t know why he’s thanking you. You don’t have the cognitive function to worry about that. Your mind has gone to two things: the growls and whines that rumble and tear from his chest, and the frightening tightness that only goes more dangerous. Your chest tightens—it feels as though, if he feeds that hungry beast gnawing deep down in your belly with any more of what he’s doing now, it will snap and take you down in its wake. Warbled cries crawling up your throat, you arch your back up into his chest to try and dig your hips into the floor, away from the bliss and the power of it.

“No,” he says, cursing. “No—don’t run from it. Don’t… Baby, please take what I’m giving you. It’s gonna be alright.”

Pushing back on the dark throes of the tide as it creeps up over your shoulders and sends shocks through your body, the hair on the back of your neck rising with the effort, you choke. Beomgyu takes a hand down the seam of your bodies and rolls your aching clit. They’re succinct and intentional—pressure right on the sensitive underside, sending your belly rippling as he pairs it with a few more sharp, more meaningful thrusts.

You see white. It’s white and hot. You are the sun, beaming and writhing like stardust. You curve off the floor once more, raking nails down the lengths of his back. Are you even making sound? You don’t know; you can’t hear it past the ringing piercing sharp in your ears. You shake beneath him, cunt gripping him frantically with flutters of your walls. 

He grunts, voice strained and shaking as he begins to follow his own release.  “Holy shit—look at you. You’re so f-filthy. So pretty, cumming on me.”

You bare each brush of his cock against your still twisting walls, trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your thighs jump and your toes curl, and it’s all too much, but not enough. He needs to come tumbling over the edge right along with you—if he comes with you, it doesn’t seem so hard. You chant his name, smooth voice gone hoarse.

Stilling inside you, he whines, “Shi—it.” A war wages behind his eyes for a long second before he slips his cock from you with a wet, squelching pop, strings of your release breaking as he lays his cock on your belly. His stomach goes tight, and with one last slide of his length, slick with your mess and staining your belly, his cock jumps. He shoots all over your skin, pretty glistening spurts like ribbons a milky white. 

He sits back on his haunches, slowly rubbing himself off to give you some more and come down. Your room is quiet now, aside from your heaving chests and the buzz of something new in the air. Letting his head fall back, wet strands of spiky black hair dangle around his neck, a bead of sweat catching light as it rolls down it.

“Feel okay?” he says, looking down on you with softened eyes. He pulls cloth from his pocket, unfolding the fine fabric, and he wipes himself off your belly.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, leaning into the palm he cups your cheek with. “I’m okay.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The world didn’t explode, did it?” he says.

You share a stolen laugh with him, feeling every last honey wave receding from the spot between your thighs. The world hadn’t ended, and yet, in every way, it had. Savoring the abated rises and falls of his chest and the content sagging of his shoulders, your belly tightens anew. 

What happens now, when everything else has been a lie? When you don’t believe that you can survive that lie for any longer?

❆

So many hands work on you. One of your ladies in waiting laces you up in the back, and another works on your hair even while you stand, and one bounces a wintry, snow-kissed rouge over the plush of your cheeks. 

Yesterday, your world changed. And today, you’re expected to go on living in it.

When Beomgyu slipped out from your room last night after hours of holding each other under the covers, indulging in your ability to touch, you let your heart crack in two. You shouldn’t have. Why had you let yourself think that it was going to end up anything other than like this? You, getting prettied up to be sent away with your expecting husband, and the dreams you’d let build up to the clouds in the prince’s arms all shattered on the floor at your feet.

What else can you do? Loving Beomgyu freely is out of the question. Your parents would laugh right in your face, or maybe lock you away and make even more sure that you never get to see him again.

You try to burn the image of his eyes into your memory. Black, big and round and cunning all the while. You commit the broadness of his shoulders, and the pretty straight line of his nose in profile, and the pink plushness of his lips, and the little freckles you’d discovered yesterday, and the sound of his voice in your ear, and the feel of his touch on your skin, too.

“We’ll leave you until it’s time to come collect you,” a Lady says, bowing at the waist to you as the others finish up, tying the fastening of your dress up quick and sprinkling their final touches over you before following her out.

Your room goes utterly quiet. More quiet than it’s ever felt.

Dragging your limbs over to your bed, you let yourself fall onto it despite all the care they’d taken to get your skirts right. Resting your cheek to your palm, you let your eyes fall closed as you memorize the feel of your own bed, too.

When you flutter them open, there’s something peeking out from the pillow across from you. You furrow your brows and reach for it.

The paper is folded up with haste, torn from the edge of somewhere else and scribbled on with a quick hand. How long has that been there, without you noticing? Pushing yourself up from the bed, careful to at least maintain the smoothness of your hair, you unfold it.

ℳ𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝓉 𝒮𝑤𝑎𝑛 ℒ𝑎𝑘𝑒. 

Your soul comes back to life and seeps through your bloodstream. Sitting there for a few moments, idle at the largeness of what you’re about to do, you loose a breath. 

And then, you curl your hand around it, shove yourself up in a flurry of white, crystalline skirts, and you go.

The curious faces of the palace hands you pass do not stop you, nor does the morning’s bite as you find your way outside, nor does the almost-slip over ice, and absolutely nothing else stops you as you run. Is he still going to be there when you make it?

God, please let him be there. Don’t let this be almost.

Fists full of the abrasive fabric of your skirts and darting by barren bushes and trees, you do not stop until you clear the little tree line and the lake stands vast and frosty ahead of you.

When Beomgyu spots you, and you spot his figure against the background of the lake crisp in the morning, the sweet cooing of the birds and the rest of the bustle falls away. None of it compares.

“You came,” he says, dragging his feet through the snow until he’s right in front of you, his features elegant once more in the clear morning haze. “I didn’t think you would.”

You reach up to dust away snowflakes resting on his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him—that’s all you find yourself wanting to do, now. Brows pinching, you say, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just… was scared.”

“No, no, I came,” you say, feeling now the bare expanse of your arms. You run your hands up and down them. Heart in atrophy all the while feeling full just being here with him, you add, “Why did you want to meet here?”

The world is serene for a few long moments as he just looks at you, his gaze searching. “Don’t marry him. Don’t leave with him.”

You know where he’s going with this already. Letting your dress fall from your hands, the one they’d fashioned you in to do exactly that, you say, “And do what?”

“Be with me. Marry me. Be my wife,” he says, the lines of his face solemn. “Let’s elope and find a corner of the world that’s just ours, so that we will never have to hear another word from them again. Let’s just… be together. Finally.”

Chest swelling with something so hopeful that it’s painful,  reality comes with its pin point and pop it. “Is that really what you want? You’ll take me, even though I’m promised to somebody else?”

His lip curls as though the thought were detestable. “What the fuck is a dowry to this? To the approval of the fates? The world could try snuff that fact out with whatever they’ll try, and a man could offer your parents a dowry of all its money, and still, you’d be mine. No matter what, our souls belong to each other.” His hand is frozen against your cheek. He’s been out here waiting for you for so long. “I’d take you, promised to another man. I’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, I’d have you each time.”

That’s all you need to hear: that you are cherished for more than just your nature, but for yourself. That he loves you unendingly and undyingly, and all you have to do is leave by his side. You’ve already left it all behind—thrown any attachment to the wind, because truly, what is that to this? You don’t know where you’ll go, and you think Beomgyu hasn’t a clue either. But you’ll find that somewhere together. 

Together, your half sings. His answers with a thrilling beat.

“This time,” he says, eyes blazing with conviction. You know he feels the tug, too. “We got it right.”

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

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[alastorthirsty]

Hooray For Makeup Sex! ch. 1 - Alastor x f! fallen angel!reader

Request: Hi! I recently read one of your alastor pieces & ohhhh my god! It was amazing. I was wondering if you would do something alastor x f!reader where they have an argument, add some angst, some fluff, some heavy heavy smut? Almost like alastor begging for reader & wanting to do anything for her to forgive him ?? Just a little idea. :) thank you so much for your wonderful work!’

Hey nonnie! I’m absolutely thrilled to fulfill your request. I hope this hits the mark! Let me know if it does! 😘

Word count: 6678

Warnings: established relationship, breakup, angst, fluff, Alastor is a very jealous and possessive but also in love man, thigh riding, (angelic) bloodplay, vaginal intercourse. Listen, we all know Alastor is a Bad Man(tm). In this story and many, many others, Fucked Up Alastor is going to say Fucked Up Things. Alastor is a sentient red flag. I would like to kindly remind you that you need to carefully decide whether or not that's too much for you before you begin to read. I'd hate it if you read and got triggered by some possessive or otherwise red flag dialogue/prose! If it’s not for you, you can simply block me and avoid my other fanfiction. You're responsible for your own reading experience!! 💖💋

Please like, comment, and reblog to sustain me! Let me know if you'd like to be on my tag list and remember that requests are open!

Chapter 2 | Masterlist

‘Sorry’ is not a word in Alastor’s lexicon. He stares at the heatless green fire in front of him, whiskey in one hand, the other tapping against the arm of his chair.

That was Charlie’s unsolicited advice, a rehash of old material. It starts with sorry, Al.

Well, he stubbornly doesn’t believe he’s in the wrong to begin with, so why should he go and grovel at your fucking feet?

‘Sorry’ is not a word in Alastor’s lexicon, and that’s that.

He throws the whiskey across the room suddenly, with such force that the crystal crashes into the opposite wall, forcing him to look at it.

Oh, it’s luxurious. A four poster bed with a white linen canopy. A mattress that adjusts itself to your whims, night by night. Silken sheets in the exact shade of your favourite colour. All of it for your benefit and yours alone—for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t even sleep! He doesn’t need to sleep, he just needs…

Alastor stares at the bed, imagines how he’d sit next to you as you slumbered, glancing over at you occasionally for the sake of your comfort and security. He remembers how you’d snore lightly and how he would push hair out of your face as you snoozed. He remembers smiling…

He remembers smiling.

He also recalls other little activities the two of you got up to in this bed, satisfying a hunger he’d never known before you, but that isn’t something he craves anymore. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

‘Sorry’ isn’t a word in Alastor’s lexicon, even though… even though…

It needs to be.

He sits there thinking of everything from the beginning. The day you first met, all those mysterious luminous creatures floating along, moving your furniture past the lobby. Your soft and kind smile, the one that sickened him at first. That damnable dress you wore the first time the two of you hit the sheets, and how fun it was to rip it off your body. The way his shadow always tried to steal feathers from the wings of your shadow. The first time you yelled at him for that.

He thinks of where things went wrong, the man that caused that incredible din, but the only thing he can think of, if he is finally honest with himself, is himself. His own jealousy, his controlling nature, thinking he knew what was best for you. That was what sparked the argument, wasn’t it?

It his fault, certainly, but ‘sorry’ is not in Alastor’s lexicon, period.

The lilies are still on the bedside table. They are dried, desiccating, the little leaves and petals falling onto the surface. He had gotten the lilies to say ‘sorry’, in his own way, but you never did come back to his room.

He lays back on the bed and plucks a dying lily from the bouquet, keeping it in his hand. It's not difficult to imagine you there beside him, your arms wrapped around him as he presses his face against your shoulder, and oh, that’s when it really hits him.

Your scent. He remembers it so well that he smells it now, a phantom chased by nothing. His eyes close and he rolls until his head meets your pillow, breathing in your scent deeply.

‘Sorry’ is not in his lexicon, but goddamn it, there are lilies.

What would it take, what flowers would fix things, if lilies were not enough? Pink roses? White orchids? Tulips? A hundred dozen daffodils, flooding the entire hotel?

Alastor notices now how his hands are shaking at his sides. He clenches his claws into fists and closes his eyes, breathing in your scent again. The best thing to do is to incinerate the pillow, the bed, the lilies…

No, no. His jaw tightens. No, that would be the easy thing to do. Not the best, or even the smartest. It was the cowardly thing to do.

‘Sorry’ is not in Alastor’s lexicon, but he’s no fucking coward.

He can almost hear your voice in his ears, whispering his name with such sweet affection. He remembers your laugh, a sound like music to him. A laugh reserved for him and him alone. Something special.

He's never needed anyone else's company before. He never bothered with the emotional needs of other people. You’re the only person he's ever cared for, the only person who has ever truly meant anything to him. He feels weak and vulnerable over your absence. He doesn't like feeling like this, but you’re the one woman that can break down his walls.

Alastor doesn't like needing you, he doesn't like letting you have this power over him. But at this moment, he doesn't care. He'd give anything to just hear your voice again, even if it’s just to yell at him and tell him to fuck off.

Again.

The sound of your voice, the way you looked into his eyes, your little imperfections that only served to make you all the more perfect in his eyes. He remembers how your lips felt against his skin, the soft warmth of your touch.

He doesn’t like to need you, but he does love it.

He opens his eyes, clutching the now withered flower so tightly that all but a few brown petals fall from the stem. He stares at it for a long moment, trying not to let the memories overwhelm him. A green fire erupts from his palm, scorching it first, then turning it to ash. He stares at it, the lightness of it in his palm.

He's always had such strict control over himself, even under stress or grief, but not anymore. Not when it comes to you. You’ve always been able to cause feelings of weakness and helplessness within him. He hates himself for feeling this way, but at the same time, he can't bring himself to hate you. No, never you.

He closes his eyes again, imagining you lying beside him. You would have wrapped your arms around him and pressed your lips to the side of his neck. Sometimes, you’d start leaving the tiniest of kisses down his neck. It would make him shiver, it would make him…

Just like that first night when things turned physical. Your hands would always find a way under his shirt, running your fingers over the muscles of his chest and stomach, your fingers tracing reverently over his scars.

He can almost feel the softness of your skin, the warmth of your body.

Alastor sighs in consideration of his current position. One of, if not the most powerful Overlord of hell, lying in a bed he does not need, pining after a fallen angel who once (admittedly, accidentally) broke a horn off his shadow. He breathes in your scent again. A fallen angel who made his mama’s jambalaya for him. A fallen angel who was never once intimidated by him. A fallen angel who created life, “along a certain slant of light”, as you put it, most of them visible only to you, except for shimmers of light, like oil on water.

A fallen angel who wouldn’t speak to him even if he said sorry.

Alastor sighs, sits up, holding her pillow like a child holding a fucking teddy bear.

“Fuck.”

He smacks himself on the forehead and drags his hand down his face.

“Fuck.”

He says it again, getting a taste of the word, the pride of it in its coarse formation and meaning.

Alastor sighs, holding the pillow, looking at the bouquet of dead lilies. “Fuck.”

He wants to feel the softness of your lips again. To feel the warmth of your skin, the press of your body against his. But more than anything, he wants to hear you laugh again. He wants that beautiful smile back, the smile you give to him and only him.

But he doubts that will happen. You’ve probably already moved on from him, and honestly, he wouldn't blame you for doing so. Well, that’s a lie.

He knows he's difficult, and demanding—sometimes too demanding. You’ve always been far more patient with him than anyone else, but even that has its limits. And he's certainly pushed those limits.

You’re probably in the arms of some other man right now, maybe even him, laughing as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. You probably don’t even think about Alastor anymore.

‘Sorry’ may not be in his fucking lexicon, but like hell he’d ever allow another man into your bed, and certainly not…him.

Alastor makes sure he’s impeccable before riding the dark to your room. He decides it would be a rather stupid idea to appear inside your room without permission, so he settles on the hallway and knocks on your door.

“Come in!”

The sound is muffled, and he feels the sharp need to lecture you on not checking who is at the door before letting them in, but he refrains. He turns the doorknob and walks into your room for the first time in a while and finds you—

Down on the floor, halfway underneath the bed.

“This seems like a cliche pornographic film,” he comments as he shuts the door.

Herbert, the only one of the little light creatures that he can see, floats towards him.

You try to sit up right when you hear Alastor’s voice, banging your head. You get out from under the bed and stand up.

“Herbert, leave him alone,” you say.

“Nonsense! Hello little creature,” Alastor says to the glowing bastard he had tolerated at best before the breakup. He summons up an apple for the mischievous little son of a bitch to snack on and Herbert quickly zips away with it, disappearing under the bed.

“How did you know that being stuck is a porn cliche?” you ask, sitting on the edge of the bed, your arms crossed. “Been watching a lot of it lately?”

“I think you know that I have not,” Alastor says, leaning forward on his staff. “We just so happen to live with an adult film star who tries to pull the ‘help me I’m stuck’ routine on Husker at least twice per week. What were you doing under the bed, darling?”

“Herbert! He’s been stealing from me,” you say. “I knew I didn’t lose those emerald earrings you gave me. I found those and then some in his little nest under the bed.”

He can’t help but swell with pride. One of his favourite things to do was present you with gifts and he loved seeing them on you every time.

“What do you want?” you ask, and that deflates him a bit.

Alastor takes a breath, his chest rising. “I need you to instruct me in something.”

“Go ask literally anyone else.” You open up the door, gesturing for him to leave, but with a bit of boldness Alastor flicks the door closed again.

“I’m afraid there’s no one better to ask than you, my dear.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Alastor, I broke up with you so I wouldn’t have to deal with things like this anymore.”

Alastor pauses for a time. Honesty tumbles its way past his lips. “You are all that I love.”

The room goes silent, save for the sound of Herbert cronching his apple.

You give a sigh, a pained expression on your face, one that he hates to see. All of him wants to go to you, but you wouldn’t want that—not yet.

“Goddamn it,” you whisper. “Is that what you needed instruction for?”

“No,” he says immediately. “No, loving you needs no instruction.”

You let out a breath. That’s all you can do before your head is in your hands.

“My dear, may I sit beside you?” Alastor asks after a moment’s silence.

“Oh, fuck you!” You stand up and circle around him once. “Fuck you, Alastor!”

His eyebrows rise. “That is not the response that I anticipated or desired.”

“Oh it’s not?” you ask mockingly.

He’s never seen you act like this before, and it is surprising him. An unseen variable, one that choked him. His grip on his staff increases.

“My dear, I sense that you still harbour quite a lot of animus—“

“Shut up! Shut up!” You pace back and forth the length of the rug, also a gift from him. “Fuck you! Fuck you for saying the right things the wrong time!”

Alastor takes a chance and sits down on your bed, watching you closely. “Do you want more earrings?”

You immediately go to your armoire and start throwing jewellery at him. He’s quite literally stunned by this behaviour. Herbert comes out from underneath the bed and snipes a few rings.

“Darling.”

You say nothing, you just keep throwing things at him.

“Darling.”

“Just take it. Take it all back. Give it to someone else.”

Now he looks offended and straightens his posture. You run out of jewellery to throw at him.

“You know there can be no other,” he says, somewhat angry. “You know I’m not capable of having any such enjoyment with anyone else. You are all I love and all that I desire to love. All I can love. There’s none but you and nothing will ever compare, never come close. Do you understand?”

“Then keep them for yourself. Or let Herbert have it all, enable his fucking kleptomania.”

“They belong to you and you will have them. Every last jewel.”

“Alastor, you shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“That is a consideration I undertook before coming.” He leaves his staff on the bed and goes to you. “I need your instruction.”

“On what?” you snap.

He lets out a deep breath. “How many lilies will it take to be forgiven?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Forget the lilies then,” he says quickly. “Just disregard the matter of florals altogether. What token is needed?”

“Token?”

“It doesn’t need to be a physical object, not a coin one inserts into a slot in exchange for heroin or soda,” he says quickly. “I am explaining myself poorly. I’ll be truthful and direct, if you will allow me.”

Your arms cross again, a defensive posture. “Okay.”

“I need you. I don’t know how to be without you anymore. It’s maddening. I find myself missing you in all these vacant spaces that were not vacant before you. You created space in me that only you can fill, and now it is…empty. You made me this way, and it is your fault,” he says quickly. “And what am I to do, now? Accept that I am now empty? Accept that I will walk through eternity alone, with all this space within me, space that you and you alone can occupy?”

“And you hate it, don’t you Alastor? And you hate me for it.”

“I considered that,” he admits. “I tried to insist it to myself, that I did not need such adulations and that I didn’t need you, specifically. I tried not to need you, but your absence insisted upon you. I do not hate you. Nothing could force me to feel that way, not myself, not you, not Herbert.”

“Herbert?”

“Correct. Herbert.”

You sit down beside his staff, touch the microphone knowing you were the only person ever allowed to do so. You sigh. “I love you, too. And just like you, I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I know exactly what to do with it,” he responds.

“Yeah?”

Alastor nods. “We just…go back to before. Move forward. But together. I would sooner die than see you with another man.”

You lift a warning finger to him. “You’re not helping yourself.”

Alastor huffs. “It is the truth. You value honesty as well as I do.”

Now you scoff. “You deal in subterfuge, not honesty.”

“Not with you, and you know that,” he says, pointing at you. “I am a flawed man, but I’ve given you my very best. Better than I thought I had capacity for. Can you truly say that it was never enough?”

“Of course it was,” you say softly.

Alastor sighs and sits beside you. He thinks to put an arm around you, but manages not to.

“You are so used to getting everything you want,” you say. “You have the power to get whatever you want except me.”

He winces. “Please do not put it that way, darling. Please don’t say…we’ll never find a way. Please.”

Slowly, you reach over and touch his hand. When it curls together with his fingers, he places his other hand firmly on top, squeezing.

“Four hundred.”

He waits for you to explain, but you don’t.

“Four hundred what, dearest?” he asks.

You look at him and smile. “Four hundred lilies.”

Alastor snaps his fingers and four hundred lilies arrange themselves in vases on top of every surface in the room. Smelling them, Herbert whooshed out from underneath the bed and floated all along the flowers, playing with the tiny white bells in a way that Alastor could admit might be considered ‘cute’ by others. He looks back to you.

“Do you want to count them all, darling?” he asks.

“I don’t need to,” you say softly. “I feel like I should tell you something.”

“I do not like that,” Alastor says immediately. “I do not like the sound of that. Is it him?”

“Don’t bring this full circle to the last argument,” you warn. “There is no other man. I just thought…you really came in here and said things that I didn’t think you could. You really laid it all on the line and I feel like you deserve the same from me.”

Alastor nods along slowly. “No other man?”

You shake your head. “No other men. Will you stop? Will you please stop? Will you let me talk now?”

“I suppose,” he says, pulling you closer. He settles so that his head rests against your chest. “I am listening.”

“It’s not exactly easy for me to open up either,” you say before clearing your throat. “There’s a wealth of differences between us but similarities that are significant. We both struggle with making space for other people in our lives and typically won’t.”

“That is true,” he says, fingers running along your shoulder.

You start to play with his hair, the fuck-ass bob you only came to love because it was his preference. You’re tempted to touch one of his ears, but now’s not the time for that.

“Sometimes it’s simply hard to believe that there’s this perfect person that really…loves me,” you say softly, quietly, almost wishing that you hadn’t.

Alastor tightens his hold on you. Neither of you could handle personal vulnerability quite so easily, but yours makes his heart clench. “Do I make you feel…less loved when we argue over other men?”

You sigh. “Alastor, it’s not just an argument about men, it’s you basically calling me a whore—“

“No, I didn’t,” he interjects quickly. “No. I have never called you that or thought it of you. You are my favourite, my treasure, my prize, and I would never think so lowly of you. Never, not in all of eternity until what you call ‘the inevitable heat-death of the universe’. I would argue that heaven and hell are a different universe but that is yet another argument we should never cross again.”

“Agreed,” you say, nodding your head. “Just like the argument about—“

“Horses running on their fingers, I know.” Alastor can’t help the fondness in his smile. No matter how heated the arguments, the passion between the two of you manifests itself in all ways possible.

You smile back at him and decide to take the chance to kiss him again. Just once. Just to show him he was still loved, cherished, longed for. It was only right.

Alastor cups the back of your head to keep you there. Fuck once, now that he’s gotten to kiss you he chooses to interpret it as carte blanche to take as many as he wants. Damn, how he had missed this…

You gently remove his hand and pull away. “I’m not done speaking.”

“Apologies,” he mutters.

You nod and continue. “I want to be the one you love. I want to be the only one you love, just as much as you want to be the only one that I love. You just can’t treat me like a soul that you own.”

Alastor’s eyes widen at that. Had he really…?

He looks you dead in the eye. “If I ever do that again, correct me with a good slap.”

You shake your head. “No. I won’t lay my hands on you with anything but affection and…shall we say, intimacy.”

“Intimacy,” he repeats, and almost moans then and there. It has been…too long.

“I know,” you say. “I know.”

“Will you ever be…comfortable with the idea of it again?” Alastor asks.

“I’ve practically undressed you with my eyes since you came in here.”

He goes to make a move but you rebuff him once more, sitting up in the bed. “The fact remains that I am hurt by you when you start questioning me about the attentions of other men, attentions that I do not notice more often than not, if they exist at all. Especially not from him. I keep telling you, he does not look at me that way, he doesn’t think of me that way.”

He nods several times in thought before sitting up beside you, turning to face you. “I am afraid.”

Your eyes widen. You’ve seen him express all sorts of emotions in front of you before but never, not once, had even alluded to fear.

“W-why?” you ask with a bare whisper.

“I’m not a good man, and you know that. You know what I do almost better than anyone else. You are too good for me, therefore I fear another man will come along, catch your fancy, and leave me with the choice of either killing him and devastating you or simply languishing in my own self-pity. Why are you so far?”

(Obviously he would kill the other man.)

Alastor drags you into his lap and you give no resistance. He holds you tight, intending to never let go, not now when there was a chance.

You lay your head on his shoulder and breathe him in. You’ve missed his scent, too.

“I’m not too good for you,” you mutter against his neck. “And I won’t hear of it. Understood?”

He smiles begrudgingly. “Fine. You will have it as you wish, my dear.”

“So,” you say. “What now?”

“Move forward,” he says again. “Be with me again. Allow me to present you with jewels. I will…continue to put up with that little abomination eating the lilies.”

You gasp and look towards Herbert. You clap your hands together loudly. “Herbert! No! They might be poisonous to you, and besides, they’re mommy’s!”

Alastor can’t help himself but laugh. “Mommy’s, you say?”

“I made him, I’m mommy!”

Maybe…maybe it was possible. You’re not a sinner, after all, and Charlie does exist…

Maybe he can give you fawns, bond you to him for all eternity, heat-death of the universe be damned.

Alastor chuckles, lets that thought slide by (for now). He whisks the lilies away before the little bastard can make himself sick and throws another apple at him. Herbert gasps softly, takes it, and back under the bed he goes.

“See?” Alastor says. “I am suitable.”

You smile at him softly. “Promise?”

“Yes, dear. I do promise. There are many things I can’t. We will continue to argue over pointless things, that’s already in the cards. We will bump heads and piss each other off. I will be jealous, I will certainly be possessive, but I will never express it to you in a way that makes you feel like a harlot. And I will try not to over-analyse every interaction with him. Perhaps I will never express it at all, that would be best, I know…

“And I will fail. And you will, too. We will have our… fuck-ups, as you often call them. However, for all the fuck-ups we ever had before, not a moment passed when I did not know that I loved you. You created space in me, made my lungs full. I cannot be without you now, and I think you…I think that you are the same. I hope you are the same.” He pauses. “Please, darling.”

You kiss him, and in that he understands your acceptance of this. Of him, his words, the explicit and implicit promises. Words were difficult sometimes.

He grabs you tightly and rides the dark to his bedroom, to the bed he made for you.

You break the kiss with an air of incredulity. “You know I hate when you shadow whoosh me!”

“And you know I have exactly one rule about where we are intimate.”

You sigh. “Not above Herbert’s nest.”

“Indeed. Not above Herbert’s nest.”

“And who said anything about being intimate?” you ask, a hint of mischief in your eyes.

He smirks. “There she is.”

“Tell me what you want to do to me,” you say.

He grins, his eyes burning with a dark, sinful desire as he responds huskily, his lips against your ear. “Ah, my love, I want to do everything to you. I want to touch you, taste you, explore every inch of you until nothing exists to either of us except each other. I want to hear you moan and gasp my name, to make you feel things you've never felt before.”

You give him a wicked smile. “We should do that.”

He grows in agreement, his eyes burning with need and desire as he responds in a low, guttural voice. “We absolutely should. We will. I’m going to explore every inch of you, to make you feel things you've only dreamed of. Are you ready for that, my love?

He pulls you so that your back is snug against his chest, not a bit of space between your bodies. His clawed fingertips run from your knee all the way to your hip. He can hear that little gasp you try to hide, can feel that little shiver. The hem of your dress hiked up, his hand moves to cup your mound. He smirks to himself when he feels you rub against it.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing against the shell of it. He rubs against your underwear for a few moments, allowing you to rock your hips against his hand, and oh, there it was again. Control. Control over you, the greatest prize of all, and you gave it to him so willingly.

His hand slides his hand inside your silken undergarments easily—ones that he bought for you. It’s gratifying as hell, almost as good as feeling your slick folds against his fingers. He blunts his fingertips and rubs against you.

Alastor’s teeth catch on your neck and he’s more than tempted to bite down, but not just yet. You moan and he relishes it.

“You like that?” he murmurs against your ear. “You love it, don’t you? Being a good girl for me.” Alastor uses his free arm to wrap around your hips to stop you from moving. “Now, be very good.”

You give a soft little whimper when he won’t let you move anymore, knowing you’re at his mercy when he’s in a mood like this. Fingers slide inside of you, his thumb rubbing over your clit.

“Be still, and be quiet,” he instructs, smiling against your ear.

He can sense the struggle almost as soon as he says it. That little tremble in your thighs. The hand that shoots up to cover your mouth.

“Oh, no dear,” Alastor says, pushing it away with his free hand. ”Don’t test me again. No cheating, no tricks. No magic, no power. Only me.”

Listening to you trying to contain all your little sounds is priceless. Alastor knows how to play your body like a Stradivarius. His fingers move lower, deeper.

“Who makes you feel like this?” he asks, sucking a dark mark against your neck.

You’re not sure if it’s a trick or not until his little ministrations pause, causing you to whimper again. “You!”

“Atta girl,” he says affectionately. “You’re so wet for me.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against your skin, his chin rubbing against your neck as he kisses and teases you. "My love, I can feel. You like it, don't you? You like how I can make you fall apart in my hands, helpless to my touch."

He bites your neck softly, his teeth scraping against your skin.

You take a few shaky breaths. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

Alastor pauses, as if deliberating, and the lack of movement in his fingers is excruciating. Your pussy throbs at the loss, clenching around them, and you’re near the point of begging.

“No,” he says momentarily. “No, you are not allowed to speak yet. Good of you to ask, darling, but now is the time for you to listen, not to speak. Now, stand up.”

Confused, you manage to get up from his lap and stand one rubbery legs before him. Your eyes give the inquiry your lips cannot.

Alastor parts his knees wide and pulls you to straddle one of his thighs.

Oh!

Your cheeks warm and your jaw opens slightly. You almost shake your head, but Alastor reaches for your chin and holds it between his fingers. With his other hand, he grabs one of your hips and forces you to start moving, the grind against your wet, clothed pussy causing you to gasp.

“I’ve missed you in more ways than one,” he says, slapping you on the ass to encourage to ride his thigh on your own.

“It was my own fault, I know that,” he continues, and places both hands on your hips to support you as you move. “I was insane with jealousy, yes, and that is also my own fault. I cannot tolerate the mere notion that someone else would get to see you…like this. You are so very beautiful, darling. You are so very, very much mine.”

He could never let anyone else have you. He knew that he never would. Surprisingly, his possessive words seem to make you grind harder against him, your hips working more quickly. Alastor welcomes this with a grin.

“Ah, my dear.” His hands move from your waist to your ass, squeezing, making you moan for him again. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you fall. Come for me.”

Still unsure if you’re allowed to make any sound, you bite down on your lip hard, your eyes on his when a little golden rivulet drips from your poor, abused lip.

With a growl, Alastor lunges at you, though you are still in his lap. You fall down to the rug and he’s on top of you, licking up every trace of golden blood. Nothing could ever compare to it, he’d once said, and it turns him feral every single time he sees it or smells it. He kisses you, gently sucking at that tiny wound until it closes way too soon and his fist pounds the floor in anger. He raises his head, looks at you, and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, okay, but in bed,” you say.

Alastor picks you up quickly and tosses you onto it. He takes off his coat and throws it across the room. His bow tie is next, but you hold your hands out.

“Wait!” You say, reaching for him. “The shirt is my job.”

He grunts in his feral state, but he allows it, and soon his shirt is off and on the floor, forgotten.

“Where?” he asks raggedly.

“Where do you want?” you ask with a shrug. “This is your thing, but I’m happy to oblige. A bit. Not enough to make me dizzy.”

Permission granted, Alastor falls on top of you and goes straight for the jugular, literally. Just some sharp teeth and bam. He was drinking golden blood straight out of your neck, and you gave him the extra sensory delight of playing with his ears while he did so. He’s moaning, again and again, and you can feel how hard he is, pressed up against your body.

Eventually you decide he’s had enough and push his head away gently. Alastor kisses you instead, still giving animalistic energy, and rips away every article of clothing that separates you.

You can taste your own blood on his lips.

Somehow in this state Alastor remembers that he told you to come but didn’t let you and he quickly works to remedy that. His fingers enter you again. He knows your body well, he knows how to make you come in moments and you do, your legs shaking uncontrollably. Alastor finally leans back to look at the wreck he’s made of you and he smirks.

He holds one of your thighs against his waist and enters you fast, all at once, and the pace he sets is equally feral. Any time your blood came into the mix he truly could not help himself. His strokes are hard, deep, enough to make your knees wobble.

You hear him take a deep inhale and look up at him.

“My darling, the way you react to me, the way you react…Fit so perfectly, like your cunt was made just for my use.” Alastor bites at your neck again, but he won’t try to draw blood.

You grab one of the pillows and put it underneath your hips. This was an especially careful operation, considering how he was pounding you, but it tilted your hips and allowed for a more delicious angle.

Alastor’s clawed hand grabs your other thigh and squeezes hard. “What do you think, darling? Do you think this pretty little pussy was made for me?”

You nod several times, finding it harder and harder to catch your breath, but he’s without mercy this time. “Jesus…”

“Not an acceptable response, dearest,” he says with a little groan of exertion. He squeezes your thigh again. “Now, I believe I asked you a question. There’s only one correct answer, so give it to me.”

The sheets twist beneath your hands. There’s a decision to be made. Be forthwith and tell him yes or tease him until he’s out of his right mind.

“Damn it, darling,” he says impatiently.

You smirk. Let the teasing begin. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Alastor’s claws on your thigh almost drew more golden blood.

“You asked if my pussy was made just for you,” you say, your words coming out through pants because of his force.

His antlers grew larger, longer. His glare was menacing. His voice was dark.

“Then I suppose I must show you.”

The bed began to shake, and his tone shifted.

“Ah, my sweet darling, what I want to do to you right now is beyond description. I want to feel your softness, your warmth, your very essence against me, writhing under my touch. I want to take you, claim you, make you mine completely, with no doubting.”

“And how will you do that?” you ask playfully.

His hands grip you tighter, pulling you completely against him. He leans in, his lips trailing along your neck, his voice a low, dark growl in your ear.

“How will I do that, my sweet darling? I'm going to make you feel so good, make you scream from the pleasure of it. I'm going to kiss you, and touch you, and taste you, until you're so lost in pleasure you don't remember your own name or where you are.”

Your breath comes more and more harshly. “Did you soundproof the room?”

He gives you a look of pure incredulity. “Of course the room is soundproof! These precious little moans and gasps, they’re all mine, understand? Only I get to hear them, they belong to me!”

“Yes, yes!” You gulp for air.

“You do things to me, darling,” he says, “things that drive me absolutely wild. Your touch, your scent, your responsiveness, it all makes me ache and desperate for you. And you know it, don’t you?”

“I do my best.” You wink up at him. “Out of curiosity…what do I smell like?”

Alastor growls. “Ah, darling, you smell simply divine. I can't get enough of your soft, sweet scent. You smell like honey, like flowers, like the fresh air of a sunny day. It's intoxicating and completely addictive. I can't get enough of it, and I can't get enough of you. There will never be enough.”

“Keep me,” you whisper.

“Oh, darling,” he says. “Let there be no doubt in that. Yes, you're all mine. Mine to touch, mine to kiss, mine to have. I'm going to make sure you never forget that, darling. You're mine. Do you understand that?”

His hand comes up to gently squeeze at your throat, a warning.

You swallow, knowing he could feel every movement, and nod. “Yes, Alastor! Yes!”

His grip on your throat softens somewhat. “You just love to be under my control, don’t you?”

“I love being at your mercy,” you say with a moan.

“Is that so?” There’s a grin on his face that presses against his voice, dark and velvet. “And why is that? Tell me.”

Your eyes flutter closed. “Because I’m the only one safe at your mercy.”

“You’re right about that,” he says, pushing your thigh higher against your chest. “Look at you. Hair all mussed, lip swollen, bruises on your throat. And I did all of it. Tell me, darling. Tell me.”

“You did it. You did all of this to me, you’re the only one I want…”

That was what he truly wanted to hear, you knew. His jealousy is a problem and in all likelihood will continue to manifest itself, but at the root of it he just wanted to be the only one you had an appetite for. He fucks you harder and harder until you start screaming for him.

“Yes, yes,” he says, rubbing at your clit now. “Go on, make all of those beautiful, lascivious noises for me…”

You huff and gasp for breath. “Alastor, please, please let me come!”

He chuckles. “Yes, darling. That is the goal.”

When it hits you, you gasp first. Your hips grind against his, moving through it, along it, until it’s just too much—

But Alastor doesn’t stop. He holds you down, fucks you harder, draws it out for as long as he can. He smirks down at you as you shake for what he is doing to you—for you. His thumb circles your clit one last time before he’s finally merciful.

“So tight for me, darling,” he says, sucking the words between his teeth. It’s almost more than he can take, and he knows that it’s coming fast. He just…he needs something first.

He speaks in a gentler tone now, watching the bulge in your stomach move as he fucks you. “Darling…"

You’re still gasping for breath. “Yeah, honey? What is it?”

“Promise me that I’m…enough.”

“Enough?” You laugh, a raspy sound. “You’re too fucking much.”

Alastor lets out a gravelly moan, its intensity changing the pitch. You could almost swear that you can feel his cum inside you, all white and hot. When he finally stops moving, he leans against your thigh, chasing his breath.

“Bravo,” you say, putting your arms around him when he lays down beside you.

"I thought perhaps I had pleased you," he says, shuddering when you rub the base of his ears.

You laugh softly, breath finally caught. "Reconciled?"

Alastor nods. "Indeed. We are reconciled. If...you'll have me, anyway."

"I think that I will," you say, and from the corner of your eye, you see something on the wall and sit straight up, pointing. "That son of a bitch shadow of yours is stealing my feathers again!"

The smiling spectre flaunts his new feather and cuddles closer to your shadow. Maybe they were reconciled, as well.

[wiptw]

Pokémon Stadium Series

Nintendo 64 - Nintendo - 2000 to 2001

You as a Pokémon fan are absolutely fucking spoiled these days. Aside from the mainline games you have spinoffs and fangames offering different experiences, you have entire websites dedicated to documenting everything down to the internal maths of the series, there's no end to the free content you can access with an internet connection between emulators and battle sites like 'Showdown!', and it's now socially acceptable in most circles to be older than 13 and have something with Pikachu's face plastered on it (especially if you're female presenting, especially if your friend group is also infected with the Pokémon hype). Back in my day™ you had almost none of this. You had the anime on Saturday mornings, you had the early run Pokémon licensed merch which WOULD get you called a baby if you continued buying past 10-12, and you had the games. Those sweet, sweet games that indoctrinated a generation of young people into being gamers and awoke a horde of JRPG addicts.

Literally Me

So remember this when I tell you that Pokémon Stadium, both one and two, aren't great games because they do something back then that you can't get today; they're great for what they did back then. So Pokemon Stadium 1&2 were a duology of games from 2000 and 2001 respectively that allowed players to battle Pokemon in 3D, with the addition of some side content such as minigames included to prevent the game from being 100% Pokemon battles. Because otherwise, the game is in fact navigating a series of menus and completing Pokémon battles with 3D models.

Whether it's taking on the gym gauntlets, the marathon of battles in the Pokémon cups, or just free battles with friends and loved ones, 98% of the experience is either selecting Pokémon from a roster of pre-built 'rentals' or transferring them from a saved game using the Transfer Pak, then fighting them in a series of 3D environments. An experience which you can definitely do today using web apps but as I said earlier, we didn't have that.

The peak of Pokémon battles in 2000

So if you're buying Pokémon Stadium (either version really) you're already probably a Pokémon fan right? So that means you have Red/Blue/Yellow/Gold/Silver/Crystal, so why not just play that game and get the full experience? The fun of exploring, talking to NPCs, discovering new and exotic locations? Simple, because in those games battles looked like this

While in Stadium, battles looked like this

If you grew up watching the anime while playing the Gameboy games, there was this special kind of dissonance where you might find yourself saying "Yeah, (for the time) these graphics are RADICAL but I wish I had something closer to these cool Pokémon Battles they had in the anime." As you hide under the covers with your Gameboy Color worm light, nestled in your Ash Ketchum pajamas while you attempt for the 100th time to capture a ditto. Pokémon Stadium was the answer to this dissonance, providing you with vibrant 3D graphics unlike anything you'd ever seen before; bringing Pokémon to life in a way that would be unmatched until Colosseum came out during the Gamecube era.

So, to actual mechanics, you play both games pretty similarly; by building a team of Pokémon (either on your handheld or by using the rental mons the game provides) and take part in a series of battles to become the ultimate battle master. To use your own Pokémon, you'd need to use the aforementioned 'Transfer Pak' to plug in a copy of Red/Blue/Yellow (for 1) or Gold/Silver/Crystal (for 2) with a game saved to the cartridge; otherwise the rental Pokémon covered all released Pokémon (except for some hidden ones) allowing you to build your dream team, sans a few caveats here and there.

Evolved Pokémon have better stats but worse moves, while weaker Pokémon tend to have better moves to compensate

In terms of WHERE you can battle, there's two choices: Either in the Gym Leader Castle, or the Tournaments held in the center of the map on either game. Either way, the game will then have you battle through a series of 3v3 matches versus a set number of trainers who will also select 3 random mons from their full team of six.

A bit bare bones, but there's some spice to how things are run. For one, the rental system was a huge thing for us younger players back in the day. Even if you had the games some Pokémon were hard to catch, had evolution requirements some players couldn't complete (like the trade-mons), or were locked to a version you didn't have. The rental mons give you a list of every Pokémon (some exceptions, but not many) and then lets you build your dream team. Sure, you can't set their moves, EVs, IVs, and it's the era before abilities and natures but I CAN HAVE A MEOWTH/PERSIAN ON MY TEAM. Do you know what I had to do as a child to have this Pokémon outside of Stadium? I had to find someone in the American South who also enjoyed Pokémon, hoped they had Blue instead of Red, hoped they had a link cable, then get them to agree to a trade despite both of us being children (and therefore, objectively terrible) which likely meant giving away a rare Pokémon in exchange for what amounted to common garbage in their game because it was Version fucking Exclusivity™ and everyone seemed to know that meant you'd do anything to get that one fucking Pokémon you wanted.

In the handheld games, if you wanted to build your dream team then likely you'd have to put in some more effort than other games of the time would've required of you. With Stadium, your dreams come true, and if you already have that dream team you can just import them to fight in glorious 3D. Circumventing the fact that rental Pokémon are kinda terrible overall.

Don't feel like building? The challenge cup mode that gives you randomized team comps that has it's own charm (for masochists)

Not to say all of them were bad but construct a normal distribution of 'Good' to 'Bad' picks then that graph is gonna skew left so hard you'd be forgiven for thinking it was just a straight line. To keep every choice 'viable' Pokémon rentals were balanced around stats and moves. More powerful evolved Pokémon and Pokémon with high Base Stat Totals (BST) were given weaker moves and first form and low BST Pokémon were given generally better moves. Charizard might have better stats than Charmeleon and Charmander but his only fire type move is going to be something like Fire Spin. Conversely, Charmander might have Fire Blast but his stats are gonna make him an easy target for the computer's pokemon, which are not bound to the same builds as the rental mons you're using.

Once your team is assembled, then you're off to battle trainer after trainer after trainer with beautifully scored (for the Nintendo 64) soundtracks giving you an unearned sense of importance every step of the way. Battles themselves are conducted with a weird, but functional control layout where A and B access sub menus you then check with the R button before finalizing with the c-buttons, which on original hardware or a USB N64 controller is fine but on emulation with a more modern controller like Logitech, can be a little nerve wracking as you worry about whether your 'up' input on the control stick was up enough for the game or if you accidentally drifted right or left using an unintended move.

fun fact: the name of imported Pokémon affects their coloration in Stadium

Battles are also largely regulated by (at the time) tournament standard rules. Little and Pokecup have level restrictions, and all three non-random cups include clauses for sleep, held items, and repeat Pokémon. Additionally, in any cup if you win the round with all 3 Pokémon still in tact, you're granted a continue; meaning you can retry the battle if you lose. Additionally, there is no 'draw' outcome in these games. Use a move like Explosion or Selfdestruct and the game will register it as your loss on your final Pokémon, regardless of whether you took down the opposing fighter with you or not.

You'll be doing a LOT of back-to-back fights here against trainers with varied team comps, but even with over 246 Pokémon in the available potential lineup you'll get tired fast of fighting. This is, however, slightly mitigated by the 3v3 nature of the matches but even so be ready to here the same Pokémon noises, watch the same effects play out, and wait for the same health bars to tick down over and over as you claw your way to the spot of Pokémon Master.

The art style of non-battle scenes like the main map and minigame plaza have that nice, 90's charm to them as well.

If you do get tired of battling it out, then Stadium 1 and 2 both offer minigames for players to partake in. Either in a tournament format or by using the free-play browser, players are able to take part in a multitude of different Mario Party-esque (without the hand burning) minigames featuring the Pokémon as stars. Minigames consist of stick twirling, button mashing, and point collecting all while controlling fan favorite Pokémon such as Togepi, Eevee, Scyther, and Pichu with no real rhyme or reason behind why these game exist aside from a amusement park theming the minigame zones have for their icons and menus.

You won't get a real explanation as to why you're racing Donphans, cutting logs as Scythers and Pinsirs, or playing Simon Says with a bunch of Clefairy, but you don't really need that either. The games are fun, the models are charming, and watching Clefairy get smacked in the head for each wrong input brings me a level of joy I should probably talk about with my therapist. You won't likely spend hours in this mode, but it's a nice breather from the onslaught of battles otherwise.

fun fact: I still won't talk to some people because of the outcomes to Rampage Rollout over two decades ago. You know who you are.

Additionally there's a quiz minigame separate from the main selection of minigames with easy/normal/hard difficulty selections. Players compete to see who can be the first to get a number of questions correct before anyone else based on facts about the Pokémon (typing, size, silhouette, etc) or facts about the game (where you can find things in the game, names of routes and towns, names of figures in the game).

It's not the most challenging on easy or normal, but playing on hard the game will try to screw you with trick questions so playing with others becomes a balance of "do I let the question play out, or attempt to steal it before someone else can answer correctly?"

Sometimes even playing the game won't prepare you for how out of pocket the questions can get

The real advantage of 2 over 1 is that, in addition to minigames, the game has the trainer academy; a kind of in-depth battle tutorial to teach players not only the basics of Pokémon fighting, but also some secrets as well

You can learn about held items, a feature new to the second generation, as well as participate in mock battles to demonstrate the materials you've been reading and quizzed on. Some of this information for the time too was obscure or hidden knowledge, like the fact that using Defense Curl before using Rollout would boost the damage significantly or that using Stomp on an opponent who used minimize would double the damage.

Some type matchups just make sense, like Ground v Electric.

Overall though what really makes this game is the presentation. The soundtrack does a great job selling the feeling Nintendo wants you to experience, climbing the ladder in a tournament or the Gym Leaders Castle makes you feel powerful, and the little details on top of it all just tie it together in a nice package.

The fights, for example, are also narrated by "The Announcer". A bombastic voice shouting over every detail of a fight. When you score a crit, when you apply a status effect, even using certain moves will get the announcer loudly narrating each detail like a Pokémon prize fight. Seeing the ground rip apart when you use Earthquake is only half the charm, the other half comes from that man yelling in your ears "A DEVESTATING EARTHQUAKE ATTACK!". Clearing gyms or clearing opponents in one of the cups grants you gym badges, a dream for any child growing up on the handheld classics or watching the anime who wished they too could earn shiny bits of metal that gave them an inflated sense of importance.

I would literally kill everyone I came across if it'd get me a real life Zephyr Badge.

Stadium 1 and 2 aren't evergreen classics. They're stuck in Gens 1 and 2 respectively, the roster of Pokémon while impressive is largely useless and makes collecting trophies way harder than it has to be, and the games were made before things like abilities and double battles were introduced, leading to the Pokémon battling game missing out on the generation of Pokémon that made battling more fun (Revolution doesn't count, Revolution is dead to me and disappoints me more than I disappoint myself.)

But for the time especially, it gave fans an opportunity to experience a form of Pokémon more advanced than what the handhelds could output. It was a window into a world of potential that wouldn't be truly fulfilled until arguably the 3DS era of Pokémon released, and gave fans a fun little romp handcrafted for them at every twist and turn. Whether you were a gamer or you enjoyed the anime, there was something here for you.

Overall: 7/10 Sound: 8/10 (for the time) Graphics: 9/10 (for the time) Memorable Moments: Stadium 1: Hearing about Mewtwo, thinking he was an urban legend, then finding out he wasn't Stadium 2: Finally beating the elite 4 using only rental mons.

[tsuutarr]

Yandere!unicorn x reader

Okay, it’s official: you’re lost. 

You had tried to run away from your captor, but you neglected to think about what would happen after you had left his castle made of crystal. Of course his stupid castle had to be located in the depths of the forest with no way for you to find your way out.

So, all you can do now is slump against a large tree, trembling. You should’ve brought some food or water or a coat or anything, but you had been too focused on escaping that all of that slipped your mind.

Your stomach grumbles as you curl further into yourself. The injuries you’d gotten while running away sting as a particularly harsh gust of wind blows past you.

Maybe you shouldn’t have run away.

Rustle.

You freeze.

Your mind rings. What if it’s a bear? A pack of wolves? You’re in absolutely no condition to fight or run. 

Warily, you look in the direction of the sound, shoulders tense.

“Oh, sweet thing.”

You’re not sure if you’re relieved or not when you see your captor emerging from the foliage.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, gently cradling your face in his hands. Despite your disgust, you can’t deny how warm he feels against your cold skin. “I hope you had fun, really. But it’s time to go home, hm?”

You can’t fight back as he scoops you into his arms.

“I understand wanting to go outside – I’m quite fond of nature myself,” he says while the adrenaline in your body begins to dissipate. “However, it’s very dangerous to go without me.” Carefully, he watches as you teeter between alertness and sleep. “So, for your sake, I’m going to have to keep you locked up for a little bit, okay?”

Alarm bells ring in your head, but you’re too tired to say anything.

“Oh, don’t worry! I’ve made the cage myself – I’ve made sure to add your favorite jewels and the comfiest cushions. You’ll love it.” He smiles, watching you snuggle into his chest. Gently, he kisses your forehead. “Really, I’m too kind. I should punish you, but I love you too much. I hope you’re thankful.”

He looks down at you expectantly, but you’re already drifting off to sleep. You do have one thought before you lose consciousness, though: 

You’re terrified to wake up.

[pippin-katz]

Why Did Charles Keep Asking About Edwin's Conversation With The Cat King?

I was reading a fic where Edwin agrees to the Cat King's initial offer, but because time passes differently in whatever room that is, he's gone for six weeks even though it was a couple hours for him, and it got me thinking. I worked out why Charles was so pushy about that conversation.

Charles and Edwin have been together for 30 years. The way they act gives me the feeling that they spent very little time apart, and wherever one went, the other went too. In the fic, Edwin's inner monologue refers to it as "shared memories"; they experience everything together.

But now, there's this.

Edwin disappeared for hours on Charles' side of things. He had this conversation with a magical being, a stranger that sets off warning bells in Charles' head. He came back with a magical bracelet that trapped him in Port Townsend, that he couldn't remove, and something about his behavior was off.

Charles is not stupid or oblivious. He reads Edwin like a book, albeit with blurry text. He knows something is not quite right, but doesn't know what. And he knows it's because of whatever happened in the few hours that he wasn't with him.

For what is likely the first time in 30 years, Edwin has experienced/done something significant without him. Charles is in the dark; he wasn't there to see or hear what happened for himself. All he has to go on is what Edwin tells him, and he gets the immediate feeling that he's not saying everything.

When talking about it in front of Crystal, he just asks if he said anything else, but once they're alone in their office, he's direct.

Charles is absolutely (and correctly) sure that Edwin hasn't told him the real/full truth about his meeting with the Cat King, and tells him as much.

The way he asks feels... calm? Crystal's not there, they're alone, they're in their safe space, why wouldn't Edwin tell him? He probably thinks he would, but obviously, he doesn't. He lets a detail slip that confuses and concerns him even more; the Cat King whispering in his ear. That confirms very close proximity between them, something that's potentially dangerous and something he knows Edwin doesn't particularly like, and Charles is just... lost, uncomfortable, and frustrated.

Can you imagine how maddening that must have been? To not know what really happened? To only have vague descriptions of the events from his friend? To see and know that something is wrong with him, but being unable to truly help because he's clueless as to what the actual problem is?

It's highly likely that this is the first time Charles has ever encountered this.

As Edwin says, he's "fixated" on this. It's like there's a page missing in his copy of the script of events. He's never had to worry about it before; he was always there with him. Edwin says it's not a big deal, but Charles can't make that call himself. It's not that he doesn't trust Edwin; it's his protectiveness of him. He wants to see and assess the situation for himself. He wants to be positive there's no danger, that it meets his standards. He needs to know everything about where Edwin is, what he's doing, who he's with, at all times, so he can be ready to protect him.

As Jayden put it, Charles has given himself the mantle of Edwin's guardian. Edwin dedicates all his time and energy into helping others, to the point of neglecting himself. In response, Charles dedicates himself to Edwin. If he won't take care of himself, if no one else is going to help him, Charles will. As he says in Hell when he's rescuing Edwin, "Someone's gotta do it."

(ko-fi)