#god. to see your visions become reality before your very eyes

[lonewolflink]

i was personally victimized today by lee chaeryeong wearing a hockey jersey and i'm really not okay not even a little bit not at all

BONUS: THERE'S VIDEO

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

07 — DISTANT MEMORY I USED TO KNOW

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

Quickly switching to the main channel once more, you go to report the status of your target, when black consumes your vision.

Pain sparks in the back of your head, your head unnaturally twisting to the side as you fall to your knees, forehead colliding with the harsh concrete as all of the oxygen within your lungs leaves you in one thick swoop.

“Sweetheart?! Sweetheart, what��s your status?!” You can hear Price barking out through the comms, but all you can see, hear, feel, is the sparks in the darkness behind your eyes, the cool, rocky surface of the ground on which you lay. That, and the all-consuming ache your body’s become.

Your hand claws at the floor, an attempt to right yourself, but the very new feeling of a boot’s sole presses against your skull, crushing your cheek between it and the rocks.

“Now it’s clear why you got Colonel,” a nasty, nasally voice spits out from above you. Above? Beneath? You can’t tell, not with the world spinning, not with everything within you falling apart at the seams. “Thanks for confirming what we all knew.”

Even with your centre of gravity out of whack, your words never seem to fail you. “That your,” you suppress the urge to vomit everywhere from the onslaught of nausea, “Commander’s a bad lay?”

The man’s – a Shadow’s – boot presses further against your skull, and you can’t stop the pained groan that falls from your bloodied lips. When you cough, you can hear the red liquid splatter across the floor. He laughs, coldly, unamused.

“No. That you’re a filthy whore who slept her way to the top,” he seethes, and your chest heaves with every intake of breath.

“Real. Fucking. Original,” you manage to grit out, through every flash of pain in your head. Your stubbornness was going to get you killed. Right now, even, maybe.

…Hopefully not.

Struggling to open one eye, you manage to allow yourself a small sliver of vision. You know where your small, hand-held pistol sits, hidden beneath your vest. If you can distract him well enough, all you’d need is one shot.

He grinds the heel of his boot into the nape of your neck, and you find yourself hacking up even more blood. Not a good sign.

“How does a combat medic even make it to Colonel?” He continues, sneering, ignoring your grunts of pain and frequent squirming. “Was your pussy that good?”

“Jealous, Corporal? Wanted his small prick up your ass instead?” You goad, every word a struggle to get out, but worth it nonetheless. He doubles down, looking up to the roof to calm himself down with shaky breaths.

The short, two second window allows for you to slip a trembling hand into your vest, grab a hold of the small pistol, raise it, and pull the trigger.

Your eyes flutter shut once more as the revolting feeling of a corpse on top of you has you freezing up. You can’t even check for more threats, not with every nerve ending in your body feeling as though they’ve been frayed, the truest form of torture you’ve ever experienced.

It’s then that you fall into a state of limbo. A grey area, an unknown, a state of something that can only be described as a loss of self. The crash you’d been anticipating. A pain-induced one, maybe?

“Love! Love, shit, fuck, hey, hold on!” 

In the floaty, intangible abyss you find yourself floating in, you’re unsure if the words are even spoken in reality. If they’re just a figment of your imagination, a taunt, a way for the gods to mock you before you fall into their clutches. 

Graves escaped, the thought comes to you through your haze, as what feels like phantom hands clutch the nape of your neck and your hip, an alarm bell ringing through the blankness of it all. He’s free. He survived. 

You will never belong again.

“Ghost Team, I have Sweetheart, she’s in pretty bad shape,” the words are more certain, this time, your consciousness slowly coming to. You think someone’s carrying you against their chest, a potent smell of cinnamon and gunpowder surrounding you that has you instinctively curling in closer to the source. “We need exfil, now!”

You think you let out a small whimper from the confusion, the agony of it all, because the person holding you shushes you with a soft sound and tightens their grip around the back of your head, squeezing your outer thigh. A princess carry, then.

Attempting to open your eyes, the instant light that floods them has you burying your head into a chest, the fabric blocking your vision. It, too, has that distinct, comforting smell.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, I got ya.”

…Gaz.

Gaz is the one holding you, the one carrying you to exfil, the one who, embarrassingly, saved you. Out of the four of them, you suppose you were grateful it was him that had seen you passed out. A body on top of you.

Oh. God.

“What,” you croak, your voice broken and throat sore, “What. I – are we safe?”

“You’re safe with me, love. Won’t let anything bad happen to ya. You probably have a concussion so imma need you to stay awake for me, yeah?”

But sleep. It sounded so nice. You haven't slept since. Since you met them all. Since everything, since your life got ruined.

Whatever he says next goes unheard. Whatever pleas are made.

You let slumber take you in its icy grip.

*

“It’s a myth, ya knob. Only gotta wake ‘em up every few hours.”

“Brushed up on ya first aid knowledge to impress her? Real smooth, Soap.”

“The two of you – quit it. She’s wakin’ up.”

“Great.”

“You shut your mouth too, Simon.”

With a small groan, you try your best to gauge your surroundings. You’re moving, that much you’re sure of – by the thrum of the engine in your core and the distant whirring, you’re in a helicopter.

You think your head’s resting in someone’s lap – a hand in your hair, stroking against your scalp, soft and sweet.

Eyes fluttering open, you quickly adjust to the neon lights of the roof, finding yourself face to face with Gaz. So, you figure, you’re in his lap, his hand in your hair. He’s good, you think distantly, a proper damn masseuse.

His brows are furrowed, bottom lip forming a small pout as he glares at who you gather is Soap to your left. 

When he looks down, however, a grin quickly replaces the expression and the hand in your hair starts rubbing smooth circles into the base of your skull. If this is what Heaven is, you suddenly understand man’s desire to reach it.

“There we are,” he smiles, voice lower and smoother. “Sleepy head.”

You shoot him the world’s weakest glare. He, dutifully, doesn’t comment on its lacklustre effect. “I promise. I don’t usually have to get saved,” you petulantly point out, but the edge is dulled as Gaz continues to play with your hair. And that intoxicating cinnamon seems to have you on a leash.

“Didn’t think you did,” he reassures, and you accept the confirmation with a steady breath.

You try and pull yourself up, using your hands to do so, when a soaring pain through your left shoulder has your breath hitching and your head falling back into Gaz’s lap. It’s only then that you realise that someone’s got your bent legs in theirs, too, and when you try and get a look, you see it’s Price.

“Try not to use that arm,” Price jerks his chin to your aching arm. “You got grazed.”

It hits you, all at once, what has just transpired. What you failed to do. 

“He escaped,” you croak, looking up to the ceiling even when it starts spinning. “I tried to take him down. I did. But. He escaped, I’m…” you swallow, a heavy thing, “Sorry.”

“Hey, no, lass,” Soap chimes in, and with a secure hand at your non-wounded shoulder, Gaz helps you sit up, head resting against his shoulder, “Dinnae ken why yer sorry. It was one against ten.”

Your head pounds, a relentless rhythm, and when you look down, it’s to find Price’s hand fall onto your thigh and give a comforting pat. When you turn to him, he gives you a small smile. “You did good. We have to finish up another loose end, but we’ll take you to the nurse on base –”

“I want to go,” you interrupt, sitting up straighter with a small wince. It’s a small helicopter, obviously meant just for the 141, with bolted metal as far as the eye can see. “I can’t. I have to be useful.”

“No.”

The final member, the worst one, the man seemingly out to get you.

Ghost.

“What do you mean, no?” You quip, shooting daggers at the man who sits beside Soap on the other side of the chopper. 

“Did the concussion give you hearing loss?” He asks, cold, and you feel as though you’re buzzing with energy, “Or do you just hate hearing the word no? We don’t need you on this mission.”

“Didn’t realise you were taking over the duties as Captain,” you grit, your headache increasing tenfold, even with Gaz’s hand at the base of your nape a soothing presence, “How does Price feel about his Lieutenant’s new role?”

Both you, and Ghost, shoot a look to Price. He unknowingly tightens his grip around your thigh.

“We can discuss this on base,” he commands, allowing no room for argument. “We head for Chicago in two hours.”

Your brows furrow. “Chicago? Why?”

Soap’s smirk is dirty, excited as he simply says, “We talked to a… friend. She gave us the information we needed.”

“Information for what?” You ask, narrowing your eyes, leaning further against Gaz as more pain shoots through your body. He doesn’t say a word about it.

“Graves didn’t tell you…?” Gaz asks, looking down to you with barely concealed shock. 

You look around at the four men. “What? What’s going on?”

“The last missile,” Price folds his hands together, leaning forward to meet your eyes with serious blue. “We’re heading to Chicago to dismantle the last missile.”

*

“There we go, doll. Right as rain.”

The woman gives you a kind smile, securing the bandage around your arm, the disinfectant and tape underneath it along with the shot of morphine she’d given you easing the pain. She pulls off her latex gloves, a ring adorning her wedding finger.

“Thank you…” You trail off, not seeing a name badge on the nurse.

She places her hand on your good shoulder and gives you a soft squeeze, her smile warming. “Sarah. My name’s Sarah. I’d say that I’ll see you around, but… I hope not.”

You let out a laugh, and she lets out her own chuckle.

Sarah’s gorgeous, with dark features, black hair cut short to her head, graceful in her movements. A gold necklace rests on her collarbone, the pendant in the shape of a K.

The 141’s base is, well, almost exactly how you’d imagined it. Busy, well-stocked, off the grid.

Gaz and Soap had been lenient to leave you in the Med Bay by yourself, but Price and Ghost had made them haul ass to the conference room. You were all running on a very tight ship, time seeming to fall through your grasps with every breath you took.

“Thank you, again, Sar–”

“Colonel?” Turning where you sit on the white, hospital-issued bed, your confusion doubles when you see a woman you don’t recall having met before. She seems kind, motherly, almost, but steely in a way that only came with being in Special Ops.

“Hello to you too,” Sarah rolls her eyes, and you watch as the stranger looks to the nurse, her expression immediately easing into something loving.

“Hey, love,” the blonde woman says, pressing her lips to Sarah’s cheek, before pulling back and watching you.

“Who are you…?” You ask, feeling bad for ruining what seems to be the couple’s greeting. But also. You just got here, and couldn’t be expected to understand everyone and everything on base.

Inclining her head in a small apology, the woman extends her hand to you, which you take with a firm grip.

“Kate Laswell, Station Chief,” she greets, and recognition sparks in the back of your mind. This was the woman that had found out about Shepherd and Graves’ off the books treason. It feels as though a rock has gotten stuck in your throat as you pull away, not breaking eye contact. “You want to come on this mission? You’ll be with me.”

You immediately look to Sarah, expecting her to object, as a normal nurse probably would.

Instead, she just gives you a cryptic, knowing look. “I know how you soldiers work. If I tell you to rest, it’ll just give you more of an incentive to get yourself shot again.”

Your smile is the brightest it’s been in years.

“What’s our role?” You ask, standing up from the bed with the smallest of winces. Morphine has its limits, you suppose. Sarah starts cleaning up the supplies, and when Laswell encourages you to walk beside her with a hand at the dip of your back, you do just as much.

“We’ll be locating the missile,” she explains, low as the two of you walk through the crowded hallway. Her hand doesn’t leave its position on your back, and you’re grateful. “And you’ll be telling me everything you can about Graves and the Shadows.”

You fall into pace beside her, embarrassed by the difficulty of the task. Sarah had said you’d suffered a minor concussion, and a pretty hefty cut on your temple which she’d patched up as best she could. Being a combat medic, you knew most of your diagnoses anyway, but it was nice having it cemented by the kind woman. The bullet graze was at risk of infection, and a general pain in the ass, but it was durable with the tending in Med Bay.

“I’m surprised the boys aren’t the ones interrogating me,” you jest, more of a seeking for reason than anything. Why would they have Laswell do the talking, when they seemed so… interested?

She shoots you a look – a mystery for you to uncover. “Price told me that you mentioned a… questionable difference in authority and age. Gaz said just as much, and while they may be brutes,” she smiles to herself, telling of her history with the team, “They’re good men. Think they’re looking out for you.”

The only person, in hindsight, who had ever looked out for you was your mother.

You blink away the burning in your eyes, swallowing, before adjusting your smile once more. “I think they’re… wary of me, more like it.”

Her brows shoot to her hairline. “You don’t think that Gaz finding you unconscious with a dead Shadow atop of you cemented your allegiance? The two Sergeants haven’t shut up about you since they arrived. Only stopped talking when Price threatened them.”

“He threatened them?” you choke on a shocked laugh, getting lost in how… nice it is, talking to another woman. How safe, how it feels like you have someone to trust. The 141, you think you can trust them, but there’s something so different in the camaraderie of women. The inherent safety you feel with one in a position such as herself, that niggling in the back of your mind gone.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she looks to you with a smug grin, pushing open the back exit of the compound with a nudge of her shoulder. The wind slashes against your face, a strand blowing into your mouth, making you wince and spit it out.

“Fucking hate that,” you mutter, Laswell immediately quipping, “The worst.”

You think you and Laswell are going to get along quite well.

“Fuck, Sweetheart, there ye are!” A now all too familiar Scottish lilt calls, stood with the rest of the 141 by two helicopters. You stand across the field, but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face when both him and Gaz come bounding over, Gaz adorning what appears to be a wetsuit underneath his standard uniform. 

Bulky arms wrap around your waist, and you find yourself being lifted off of the ground, Soap pressing you against him with a strong hug. A surprised giggle leaves your lips, and you see Gaz stop just in front of you both, hands on his hips.

“She’s still injured, you dolt,” Gaz goads, and Soap responds by squeezing you harder.

“Aye, that she is,” Soap grunts, letting you down a touch gentler as you find your footing once more. He smirks. “But… She still owes me one for that dirty move back in Las Almas.”

You playfully punch at his shoulder. “Wasn’t patching you up enough? Not leaving you for dead?”

“I don’t seem to recall…” He trails off, his dimples deepening when you punch him again, harder this time.

“Good to see you up and ready to go.” The wind whistles through your ears, the near-dusk light brushing you all in sensual blues as you meet the Captain’s affirming grin.

Even when you try and flatten your mouth into an authoritative line, the smile seems unable to leave your face. You fold your arms. “I seem to remember you all wanting me dead or nowhere near you, just a day ago.”

Gaz raises his hands in defence, teeth on display as he swings his arm around your neck, pulling you in. “Don’t group me with ‘em. Trusted you the moment I saw you.”

“And who’s to say we still don’t want those things?”

Right. Ghost.

Laswell, standing behind you all, seeming to cast her calculative gaze over the five of you, narrows her eyes at the Lieutenant at the exact same time you do. “If you can’t play nice with the Colonel, Ghost, we can and will swap you out.”

That has you instantly ready to protect the woman’s six.

“Someone seems to recognise my rank,” You look to Laswell as Gaz unravels his arm from around your shoulders, and the woman simply shrugs, hands in her vest’s pockets.

“I just recognise another woman deserving of her power when I see one,” she says, and you might’ve proposed at that very moment if it weren’t for her wife just a few doors away.

“Sergeants, Lieutenant, go ahead and check over the supplies. I’ll catch up in a moment,” Price orders, and when both Gaz and Soap go to answer back, he raises a hand, raises his brow, too. “That wasn’t a request, boys. Go.”

They do just as much, both Gaz and Soap waving back at you as they jog back over to the helicopters.

Just you, Price and Laswell then.

“Kate, a minute.”

…Or, well, just you and Price.

Leading you with a hand on your elbow, Price pauses by a quiet section of the base’s wall, looking around you for any stragglers. Not seeing any, he moves both his hands to rest on your shoulders.

“The deal we made,” he begins, and it’s like a blow to your side. You lift your chin, straighten your posture, clench your jaw. “We – I would like it to extend until Graves is officially KIA. If we can plan a takedown properly, not rush it as much, we can do it. But it’s only right if you do it right alongside us.”

He subconsciously squeezes your flesh, but it’s a grounding motion, one you find necessary.

This feels like more than just that. This feels like an offering – a sense of stability for your foreseeable future. A way for you to find your feet, with a community, a support system to help you restart this path your life has diverted to.

“Yes,” you say, earnest, eyes not straying from Price’s for a single moment. “Yes – thank you.”

“I’d argue that we get the better end of the bargain,” Price mutters, and it’s so quiet and human that you think you might’ve imagined the words. You go to push, ask what exactly he means by that –

“Captain! Hassan has entered the building!” 

He breaks eye contact, finally, and your eyes catch on his profile in the night of dusk – the slope of his nose, the angles of his jaw.

He is, all things considered, a beautiful man.

Your heart thunders, and you pull away, his hands falling from your frame like weights. With a small, delicate smile, you raise your hand to your head in a faux-salute.

“Good luck, Cap.”

His responding smile is softened by the dreaminess of it all, the light, the nervous buzz in the air. He raises his own hand, then, a mocking of your movement.

“See you on the other side, Sweetheart.”

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author's note. i have TWO very specific. but huge. plot twists thatll happen WAY later in the fic. im very curious if anyone can guess em before hand! both of which HAVE been hinted at. a part of me hopes that you guys miss it!! :p

[dark-and-kawaii]

༺ 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓁 ༻

Astarion can’t get over his lust for tav, she’s sleeping but he can’t resist.

Slight NSFW - Blood

His tongue glides over one of his fangs as his thoughts start to drift, the feeling of your body submitting to him, your oh so sweet whimpers that turn into blissful moans… And gods the way your spine curved up pressing your breasts into his chest as he gorged upon your neck. His jaw clenched, it was as if your veins ran with ichor… A goddess ready to be consumed by himself and only him, you were a gift to him he knows it. Perhaps this was his reward for surviving 200 years under Cazador.

Right at this moment you looked like a sacrificial lamb, the fires light dances across your smooth skin, your loose underwear straps were crawling down your arm every time you moved. Your breathing labored. This was all starting to become far too much for the spawn, Astarion could feel his ice cold body begin to warm just as a drug like high fills his mind.

It felt as if chains were wrapped around your limbs and struggling proved futile… The air felt like it was slowly dissipating around you, mind hazy while your head shakes back and forth as if begging for whatever was holding you down to stop. Panic rose in your chest, your dreams turning to a nightmare, you were running trying to escape the darkness that started to cloak your vision. A vision of your dream visitor appears before you in your nightmare, they were holding their hand out to you, offering to help you find an escape. Just as your hands touch theirs your eyes open…

There in the dimly lit forest you see him, Astarion. His head is between your legs, your one leg propped over his shoulder while the glow of the fire shines off his fangs. At first you’re unaware if he’s already bitten you, it’s not until you feel warmth trail down to your clothed groin, he’s already taken what he believes is his.

“A-Astarion” your arms attempt to lift to his shoulders, you try to push him away so you can speak to him, but it proves futile. He’s taken so much from you already yet he can feel your struggles. Lifting his head from between your legs he greets your eyes with pure benevolence, knowing this look would deceive you, “Yes, love?” is all he can conjure up before sliding his tongue down your thigh as he laps up the blood that’s found its way down to your sex.

“When I ascend I’ll turn you, little dove. That way-“ Astarion kisses your inner thigh, “that way any damage I inflict on you can heal with ease.” His voice was velvety, “But first, I have another craving to satisfy.”

Mouth curving into a feral sort of snarl, fangs protruding from his jaw and his teeth running over their sharp points, Astarion lowers his head back to your inner thigh. He sinks his teeth into your upper thigh, the heat from your sex radiates off his cheek while thick hot blood runs into his mouth and seeps out… Your vital fluid makes his bloodlust hasten..

A steady stream running down onto the ground… As more of your blood flooded his mouth, the weaker you became… Still though, you believed you could trust him and you let yourself melt into him, “As-Astarion,” His name came out as a begged moan, yet you sounded like you were barely still here on this plane.

Your shaky voice was the only thing that could ever break his trance, pulling him back to reality that you very well could die if he goes too far. He isn’t a true vampire, yet. He couldn’t bring you back should he mess up. With his teeth still pierced into your flesh he could feel your pulse weakening, he knew it was time to stop, if only for a moment.

Smearing the blood on his index finger, Astarion lifted the warm substance to his lips; the intoxicating sweetness hitting every taste bud.

“I- you know I’d never mean to kill you.” He rested his head on your thigh that wasn’t propped over his shoulder. Besides the crackling of the fire, you both laid there in silence for only but a moment until in one swift movement, Astarion sheds his clothing. His rapid movements had you pinned down before you could even blink. His perfectly toned body loomed over you.

“I trust you,” You could feel some strength return to you, enough to be able to slide a loose strand of his white hair behind his pointed ear, your gracious smile putting him at ease.

Astartion’s lips met yours in a passionate kiss, savoring the taste of his saliva you could taste specs of your own blood. Hands running through each other’s hair as the kiss became more forceful, teeth scraping against teeth, tongues mingling in the very deepest depths of one another’s mouths, and your blood continuously dripping from your bite wound. Struggling to sit upright, to put your arms around his chest, you felt the power behind him pinning you down, keeping you incapable of moving.

Breaking the kiss, Astarion looked like he did the first time he ever tasted you, ravenous, hungry, his pants deep as his chest rises and falls, “Dove, let me take care of you, trust that I won't stray too far.” He kisses the top of your hand, foreshadowing what's to come if you allow him to ascend… Tonight you bask in his embrace, his sweet words, ignoring the dreadful feeling deep within your gut…

[miharuki]

𝖁𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕾𝖓𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝕷𝖚𝖐𝖆

Ruki note: I had this weird idea while writing another imagine, cobra luka, gender neutral reader (gender not specified) au miraculpus

It was just a few days of vacation at a camp with your friends. The forest was very beautiful, especially at night, with the most stunning waterfall you had just discovered. You were eager to take a dip, but it would take too long to return to the camp to fetch your swimsuit, and it was hot that night, so why not?

On a whim, you took off your clothes and left them on a rock in the grass to keep them clean, and you jumped into the water. You were thinking that you would come back here with your friends the next day to enjoy the waterfall's good water.

You were having so much fun, marveling at how the moonlight illuminated the scene so well, that you didn’t notice something brushing against your feet—something scaly. Looking at the water, you saw the tail of a snake slithering between your feet. Turning to sense the presence behind you, you froze in terror when that thing appeared—a huge blue snake with hypnotic eyes.

Turning to run from the giant snake, you felt your wrist being pulled back. Turning around, you saw a young man where the snake had been. The snake had vanished, and the only thing there was the young man with black hair tipped with blue and those hypnotic eyes.

You snapped back to reality when pain struck you. Looking down, you saw the boy biting your wrist. Pulling your wrist away quickly, you held it against your chest, and with the throbbing pain, you ran, grabbing your clothes and sprinting back to the camp. You stopped briefly to put them on before running back to the camp, glancing at your wrist and noticing the two puncture wounds from the fangs. You didn’t realize how close you were until you were near the campfire.

You turned to look back, thinking the boy might have followed you, which made your friend Alya find it strange. “Did something happen, (name)?” Alya asked, looking at you with confusion, noticing you were scared and wet. “I-I had a—” You could barely speak, and realizing this, Alya got up from her place on the log and walked up to you, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you to sit on the log as you looked like you might fall or faint at any moment. “Breathe, what happened to you?” Holding your wrist, you took a deep breath before finally letting it out and looking at the girl in front of you. “I found a waterfall and decided to go in. There was a snake there, but then it changed. I tried to leave, but it turned into a boy, and then he—”

“Calm down! You’re talking too fast!” Alya said, resting her hand on your shoulder, noticing you were trembling. “What happened?” You showed your wrist to the girl, with the snake bite. “A snake, a boy, I don’t know what it was, but it bit me!” you said, almost shouting, with Alya finally noticing the seriousness of the situation. “Oh my God! I’m going to call the others. Who knows if it was poisonous,” Alya said, as she stood up and ran out, leaving you with your hand outstretched toward her. “Don’t leave me here!” It was too late; Alya was out of sight, and you were alone. Whether the snake was poisonous or deadly, you didn’t know, but you knew it had some effect since you were starting to feel strange. You began to hear a very faint humming, as if your friends were approaching and you could hear their voices, but it was becoming background noise as you focused on the melody. With your vision blurring, you turned to see where the melody was coming from and saw, from a distance in the forest, the same young man, identifiable mainly by his cyan blue eyes that shone among the dark foliage.

You couldn’t even hear your friends calling you from afar, not when you heard that boy whispering something. “Come with me,” he said, and you began to stand up. With your vision still blurry, it seemed that the only thing you could see clearly was that boy, the same boy from the waterfall, who seemed somehow so attractive. Your feet began to follow him slowly, watching him raise his hand as if wanting you to take it. Your friends' voices were so faint and distant, even though they were almost at the camp. All you could hear was the boy's voice drawing you closer, closer, but before you could lift your hand and touch his, something happened.

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [6] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 11k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 5 >> Part 6 >> Part 7

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When Beomgyu wakes up in the morning, he decides he is never going to sleep again. 

Not truly, of course. Even in school he was never able to stay up all night to study, something Taehyun did often with ease. But if his sleep is going to be as restless as it has been for the past two weeks, then he’d almost rather not sleep at all so that the dreams can’t find him. 

The dreams are what really are going to kill him. 

How many times will Beomgyu have to relive that kiss—the moments before, the awkwardness after? How many times must he feel your lips against his, hear your little moans into his mouth, see your eyes fluttered shut as he holds you to him closely, so closely? Not to mention when his dreams go a little further than reality did and he ends up even closer to you than he ever could have imagined before…

God, he thinks about you too much. Dreams about you too much. Through his dreams alone Beomgyu almost thinks he could trace the planes of your face, your neck, your torso, onto paper, or shape it from a lump of clay. He sees you nearly every day, if not in person, then through visions at night. 

It’s torture. 

Beomgyu groans, rolling over in his bed. He’s never thought of a single person this way—never wanted��anyone like this—and it’s screwing up his whole life. He doesn’t know how he survived the Bridgerton ball without you noticing anything. The entire time you were dancing, he could hardly stop thinking about kissing you right then and there. 

He was so grateful, too, when you spoke to him of being friends. Of truly leaving your grudges in the past, and continuing to see each other not for the sake of the deal but just for being friendly with one another. He certainly didn’t have the courage to say anything about it which just makes you even more admirable in his estimation, not to mention that you did all that while apparently being terrified that he would view you with derision if you tried. 

Did you enjoy his company that much? Did you truly like him so? 

Even the idea that the answer to those questions might yes makes him want to smile like a child in a candy shop, and that terrifies him. 

All of this terrifies him. It’s hardly an exaggeration. He’s come to so many realizations about you over the past few months that just thinking about all of it gives him a headache. You are not the person he once believed you were, just as he said at the Bridgerton ball. You are vivacious, you are kind, and you have a wicked sense of wit that keeps him easily entertained. You are intelligent, honorable, and lovely not only on the outside, but in your heart as well. You are far more than the arguments you used to have in years past. 

Beyond that, though, you like him. You wanted to be friends. And you were brave enough to admit it, even with years of hostility and distrust behind you, which means you cared for him on a level deeper than perhaps either of you ever believed possible. Beomgyu should feel over the moon because of this. 

Instead, he just finds himself wanting more. 

It’s the stupid kiss’s fault. He resists the urge to throw his pillow across the room. He shouldn’t have offered, shouldn’t have played along, shouldn’t have gone with you until it was too late, but—it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You were going to stop seeing each other in less than a month. It shouldn’t have mattered to him or to you. 

Yet here he is, dreaming about the kiss, and wanting something more than friendship. 

Wanting. Beomgyu isn’t accustomed to want, as shameful as it is to say. He’s always been provided for, has always been given access to his basic needs and far more. He had a loving father and still has a loving mother. He has a wonderful brother, though he’ll never admit it, and his sister in law has only ever brought good things to his life. He has a good cousin. He has very good friends. He has never wanted anything more than what he currently has. 

But now…he wants you in a way that friendship won’t fulfill. And he doesn’t know what to do about it. 

He still doesn’t know what to do about it later that night when the family carriage pulls up in front of Lady Park’s home for a dinner party, the lights in her windows bright and warm and in stark contrast to the anxiety that’s been building in his blood throughout the entire day. You’re supposed to be here tonight and if Beomgyu knows anything about Lady Park, she’ll seat you two together for her own entertainment. Half of him rejoices. The other half of him wants to keel over and die.

“You look constipated,” Soobin says as the carriage rolls to a stop. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Beomgyu scowls, which probably makes him look even more constipated. He can’t tell Soobin that he’s nervous, because then he’d have to explain exactly why he’s nervous, and he isn’t ready to go into that with anyone. Not even himself. “I’m not constipated.”

“Good for you.” His brother’s wife smiles at him serenely and Beomgyu wonders exactly why he wanted them to get together so badly. They’re both menaces to him and to society and combined, they have some synergistic effect on him that’s more than awful. He almost wishes they would go back to pining for each other in secret. At least then they didn’t have time to tease him nearly as much. “Settle your expression so it doesn’t look like it, though, or Lady Park is going to have a field day with you.”

Beomgyu does manage to relax his face, but his mood improves very little as they enter the hall. In fact, it takes a downturn as he looks around and can’t find you among the small crowd of people milling about the entryway. On one hand this is a good thing—he doesn’t have to deal with your eyes staring back at him, your terribly kissable lips curving into smiles and frowns and every other micro-expression you have in your arsenal— but on the other hand, seeing you is half of the reason he’s here. 

“Mr. Choi!”

Ah. And there’s the other half of the reason. 

Beomgyu pastes a smile on his face that isn’t entirely faked as Lady Arina Park comes walking up, her cane thumping ominously on the ground. “Lady Park,” he says politely, bowing in greeting. Soobin and his wife have somehow managed to vanish and he curses them with every ounce of his being for leaving him to deal with her alone. “Thank you for inviting my family and I tonight.”

“Of course I invited you.” Her eyes glint, and Beomgyu is reminded why he finds this old woman so terrifying. She must be in her seventies or even her eighties, but even in her old age with her stooped walk and her cane, she remains as sharp as ever. Beomgyu shudders to wonder what a force she was in society when she was younger. “You, Mr. Choi, are one of the only people in this ton with an ounce of wit in their head. You were one of the first people I put on the invite list, along with that girl of yours…Miss L/N.” She clicks her tongue while Beomgyu just blinks. “What are the chances of you two bringing down the house tonight, Mr. Choi? Can I expect some marvelous entertainment from the two of you?”

“…We’re courting, Lady Park,” Beomgyu gets out. He’s almost certain she knew this already. 

“Oh, I already knew that.” She waves her hand dismissively and Beomgyu just feels stupid. “I wanted to hear it from your own tongue. I could hardly believe it when I found out, you know. Your, ah, discussions, had been my greatest entertainment in years.” She sighs, as though remembering some good old days, then leans in to Beomgyu almost conspiratorially. “Though I suppose it makes sense. The line between hatred and love is always finer than anyone believes it to be.”

“Love?” Beomgyu splutters. The wit that Lady Park mentioned before seems to have abandoned him entirely as he tries to remember how to breathe. “Lady Park, that is hardly—”

“Ah, is that your lady?” Lady Park’s eyes narrow on something behind him. Beomgyu turns to see you entering the hall, looking vaguely uncertain until you meet his eyes. Your expression breaks into a smile that only grows wider when you see the woman standing next to him. 

“She’s hardly my lady,” Beomgyu says, though he can’t hide his own smile at seeing you. 

“Delusion doesn’t suit you, Mr. Choi.” And as he’s reeling from that statement, she thumps her cane against the floor and grabs his arm with surprising strength. “I believe I will accompany you to her. I should like to speak to the girl myself.” 

Beomgyu tries to convey his apology through his eyes as the two of you draw near, but you don’t seem to be the slightest bit terrified or even hesitant to see Lady Park hanging off his arm. “Lady Park. Mr. Choi.” You curtsy, the smile on your face unwavering. “Lovely to see you both.”

“And lovely to see you too, my dear.” Lady Park reaches out to give you a fond sort of pat on the cheek and Beomgyu just gapes. He’s never seen her outwardly display such affection before. “I was just telling Mr. Choi that I should like to see some entertainment from the two of you tonight.”

You blink. “Um, Lady Park. We are courting.”

“I know that,” she huffs. “Why is it that both of you seem to think I am daft?” Before either of you can apologize, though, she’s plowing on with her next comment. “Watching you interact is already marvelous enough. I never thought I would see the day that you two could stand in the same room civilly, let alone be courting. And I have been in society with you two for over twenty years!” 

Beomgyu has no idea what to say to that. Judging by your expression, you don’t seem to either. 

“I could shed a tear.” Lady Park lets go of Beomgyu’s arm—damn, he didn’t realize how tight her grip was until it was gone—to wipe something away from the corner of her eye. Beomgyu would bet five quid that it was fake. “That two of the people in this ton with a reasonable amount of wit should court and potentially raise families that will be surely be the ton’s sole source of intelligence from now and forever on…oh, if I were capable of crying in my old age, I would already be doing it by now.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Beomgyu would try to help, but he is still trying to process the fact that Lady Park expects you two to raise a family. 

“With all due respect, Lady Park,” you finally say, a carefully blank smile affixed to your expression, “I think you might be getting somewhat ahead of yourself here.”

“I am never ahead of myself, Miss L/N.” She sniffs. “I say what I see how I see it.”

For some reason, Beomgyu almost laughs. “That was never in doubt, my lady.”

“Take care to keep it that way.” She gives him a threatening little smile that, despite her age, makes Beomgyu want to take a step back. “Well, Mr. Choi, Miss L/N, I should love to stay in your company for the rest of the night—” Beomgyu hardly bites back a shudder—“but alas, my duties as a hostess precede me. Mr. Choi.” She turns to him sharply. “Do take care not to offend Miss L/N. I do not believe I need to be the one to tell you that letting her go would be the biggest mistake of your short life.” With a parting whack of her cane to his calves, she disappears into the crowd, leaving Beomgyu to stumble forward with the force of her smack almost right into you. 

“Careful,” you say, steadying him with a hand. Your eyes twinkle. “How hard did she hit you?”

“Hard enough,” he mutters, trying not to fall over again at the touch of your skin against his. God, between Lady Park saying he’d be remiss to lose you and her speculations about a possible family, he’s losing his mind. “Apologies for letting her accost you. She insisted on accompanying me the moment she saw you.”

“No apologies needed. I quite like her.” You grin. “Do you not?”

“I certainly don’t dislike her,” Beomgyu replies. He shudders a little. “But you can’t deny that she’s terrifying.”

“In the best of ways,” you agree. “She’s hilariously witty. I want to be like her when I’m older.”

Beomgyu glances at you sidelong. “I don’t think you’ll have much trouble with that.”

“…I’ll take that as a compliment.” You take his proffered arm. Beomgyu tries very, very hard not to notice the way your lips curve when you smile anyway. “I like her.”

“She also seems to like you.” He raises an eyebrow. “If her saying that I would be an idiot to lose you is anything to go by.”

“And that might be the greatest compliment of all.” You turn a little towards the crowd and Beomgyu’s heart does a little skip of panic when you tug his arm and it feels as though you might pull away. Good Lord, he needs to get a hold of himself—he’s gone two weeks without you suspecting anything strange on his part and he doesn’t intend to break that streak anytime soon, at least not before he’s figured out his own thoughts first. You don’t let go anyway so he feels stupid for panicking in the first place. “It looks like everyone is going inside,” you say, apparently oblivious to his internal turmoil. “Shall we follow them to dinner?”

Beomgyu survives the meal. He survives sitting next to you for the best part of two hours, watching you eat and talk all the while with that lovely smile on your face. He survives having to talk to you for the entire two hours and doesn’t spit out any food every time he remembers that Lady Park expects you two to have a family, to have children. 

What he very nearly does not survive, however, is when he is talking to you in the drawing room when the men have rejoined the women after they’ve drunk their port, and Lord Cho comes up to steal you away from the conversation. 

Beomgyu notices him eyeing you first from across the room. “Lord Cho incoming,” he says, and he only manages a half smile to indicate that this is a joke. Or at least that it was meant to be, because he doesn’t feel much like smiling. 

You glance at him. “I don’t understand why you don’t like him,” you say frankly. “He’s very nice. At least he seems genuinely interested when he speaks to me, unlike many others I could name.”

Beomgyu shrugs. He wishes he knew why too, but he can’t exactly explain why Lord Cho gives him that slightly slimy feeling that puts him off so. Outwardly there was nothing amiss with their conversation the first and only time they spoke, but everything about it still felt all wrong. “He seems nice,” he agrees. “But just because he’s nice doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take precaution as you do with all the other men who might seek your hand.”

“As I should have done with you?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. A teasing smile plays on your lips and in a moment of weakness, Beomgyu imagines kissing it off. 

He pinches himself hard. Maybe he needs to get a brain replacement. “Well, I think you have already seen many of the worst parts of me,” he says superciliously. You laugh and he preens a little for having been the cause of it. “So I don’t know how much more precaution you must take around me. You have already proven yourself quite capable of fighting back.”

“Might I take that as a compliment?” 

Despite himself, Beomgyu smiles. “Yes, you may.”

“Then I’ll thank you for that.” You take the last sip of water from your glass and place it on a nearby empty tray. “And I’ll take your advice, Beomgyu. I appreciate it, though I don’t know how warranted it is.”

Beomgyu tamps down the stupid thrill that rushes up his spine when he hears his name from your voice. It’s not that hard to hide this time, not with Lord Cho’s approach dimming his mood already. “Just be careful, is all,” he says quietly, just before Lord Cho makes the last step into conversational range. 

“Miss L/N. Mr. Choi.” Lord Cho makes a polite bow. Against his will, Beomgyu moves slightly to include him in your small group. “I haven’t had the chance to speak to either of you tonight.”

“A pity that Lady Park had us seated on opposite ends of the table,” Beomgyu says, not really meaning it. 

You shoot him a sidelong glance which tells him you heard all of the indifference in his tone, but he doesn’t really care. You look more amused than annoyed with him, anyway. “A pity indeed,” you echo, giving a short curtsy. “How are you, Lord Cho? You look rather well.”

“Better now that you’ve been so kind to me.” Lord Cho smiles, and Beomgyu fights the urge to roll his eyes. Maybe this is why he doesn’t like Lord Cho—he’s never been one to stomach flirting, at least not as outright as this. “It seems Mr. Choi has quite kept your attentions this evening. Would it be remiss if I stole some of your time?”

“Of course not.” You smile prettily before taking his arm. “Mr. Choi, I shall see you later tonight or sometime soon, I am sure.”

“And I, you,” he says, smiling directly at you. He doesn’t bother looking at Lord Cho and the other man doesn’t seem to care as he turns you to another corner of the room. Beomgyu watches you leave on his arm, then decides he doesn’t care much for the scene and goes to get another glass of whiskey. He suddenly very much feels like he needs it. 

Soobin sidles up to him as he picks up a glass from a servant’s passing tray. “Well, you look like you have a mouthful of sour grapes,” he says, and Beomgyu nearly spills his drink all over both of them. “Hey, watch out!”

“You watch out,” Beomgyu hisses, cradling the glass to his chest. “You’re the one who startled me.”

“Well, if you weren’t so busy glaring holes into Lord Cho’s back, you might have noticed me approaching.” Soobin sniffs. “What did he do to you this time?”

Beomgyu groans. “Of course she told you.”

“What, my wife? She tells me everything.” Soobin smirks. “Including that you might have felt a pinch of jealousy towards the man who’s talking to the woman you’ve decided to court this season.” 

Annoying as Soobin is, his words throw a splash of cold water over Beomgyu’s thoughts. He isn’t courting you. Not really. Even though you decided to continue seeing each other, it isn’t because you wanted him to pursue you for real. It was because you wanted to be friends. He has no business feeling like this, wanting to kiss you, feeling annoyed when someone else steals you away. He can’t even put it down to just blatant uneasiness about Lord Cho anymore because even if that unease might still exist, to say that there is no jealousy whatsoever would just be a lie. “I regret the two of you ever realizing your feelings for each other,” is all he manages to say around the sick feeling growing in his stomach. 

“You’re the one who complained about suffering in silence amidst all the pining,” Soobin points out. “Though if I may—”

“You may not.”

“—I’d say I understand your frustration, now.” Soobin glances across the room where you’re chatting animatedly with Lord Cho and a few others, then back at Beomgyu. “This tension is unbearable.”

“There is no tension,” Beomgyu snaps. 

“Beomgyu, I may not have your gift for discerning personalities at a glance, but I’m not daft.” Soobin fixes him with a deadpan stare. “You clearly feel something for the girl. Whether that feeling is a simple interest or something more, I will not presume—I would like to believe you know yourself better than I—but there is something there. I only wonder why you have done nothing about it yet.”

Oh, if only he knew. Beomgyu barely suppresses a scoff. “And you are so knowledgeable about love?” he snaps. He’s lashing out because he’s angry and frustrated, he knows, but in this moment, God he doesn’t care. “It took you years to realize that you were in love with your wife!”

Surprisingly, Soobin looks more amused by Beomgyu’s outburst than angry at his tone. “First of all, I never said anything about love.” He waits a moment for Beomgyu’s spluttering to stop, then continues. “Second of all, though it may have taken me a long time, at least I did realize it in the end.”

Beomgyu raises a sardonic eyebrow. “And how, exactly, did you realize it?”

“I realized that every moment I was away, I wanted to be with her,” Soobin says seriously, either not hearing or completely ignoring Beomgyu’s sarcastic tone. Beomgyu is inclined to believe the latter option. “When I did not have her attention, I wanted it. When I was with her, I was happier than I believed I ever could be.”

Involuntarily, Beomgyu’s gaze flashes towards where you are speaking with Lord Cho right now, that pretty little smile on your face. His heart spasms and he finds himself with the passing thought that he’d much rather that smile be directed at him. That he dislikes that it’s being directed at someone else. Specifically Lord Cho. 

“I do not claim to know your heart or your thoughts with any certainty,” Soobin says. From the way he’s looking at him, Beomgyu gathers that he noticed the glance. “But I would implore you to make any decisions you need to make before it is too late. And, Beomgyu.” He smiles teasingly, which Beomgyu does not appreciate for even a second. “It would do you well to remember that the line between hatred and love can be a very fine line, indeed.”

. . . . .

After the fifth time you stab yourself with a needle, Soyoung removes the embroidery from your hands. You barely put up a struggle. It’s late, it’s dark, and all you can really do is stare at the small bead of blood welling up from the pad of your finger, deep red in the flickering candlelight. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Soyoung asks. You’ve always liked working with her in the dark of night—she becomes more casual, lets her words and laughter flow more easily as though the darkness erases some of the social barriers between you two. But right now, you wish you were alone. Your thoughts are hard enough to unravel as it is. You don’t know how to explain any of it to yourself, much less to someone else. 

“Nothing.” You shake yourself out of your daze and reach for your embroidery. Another dress, hopefully one of the last you’ll have to remake for the season—you’re not sure you have it in you to put together much more before the season is out. Each one already takes up so much time. “Soyoung, please give it back.”

She narrows her eyes at you. You’d smile if you weren’t so tired. “Not until you tell me what is bothering you so, Miss L/N,” she finally says, though she slides you a small towel to wipe off your finger. “You’re usually never this careless, especially not with your own clothing.”

Suddenly you’re tired. So tired. Between the whirlwind of society events and doing the household chores and keeping up your ruse with Mr. Choi—Beomgyu—you’ve barely had a moment’s time to truly relax. To breathe. You barely have time to sleep. Makeup can only hide your dark circles so many times and you’re already running out of your concealing powder. You’ve counted the remnants of your pin money and you hate the amount you’re going to have to set aside for more powder but there’s no choice but to do it. And what little time you do have to yourself after the days are all done and over now has to be spent on refurbishing your old gowns because you have no money to buy new ones. 

All of this, and you still have to contend with emotions. Feelings. Desires and wants that you have no right to have and that you really don’t want to have, but that you do anyway. It is an incredibly annoying situation and you are tired of having to deal with said emotions, because they are really getting in the way of things that are very important. Like marriage.

You try to put your face in your hands and very nearly poke your eye out with the needle you’re still holding. You can’t even muster the energy to glare at it, not in light of yesterday’s events. When you accepted Lord Cho’s invitation to promenade that afternoon, you had thought little of it. He’s a suitor. A nice one at that. This is normal. To be expected. 

You did not expect him to hint at a proposal. 

Everything logical tells you that you should be happy about this. After two seasons of despairing you will ever be married, you finally have a hint that you will really receive a proposal from a very eligible gentleman who will be certain to take you far from this place. You want to be happy. You really do. But you aren’t, at least not nearly as much as you should be, and you don’t know why. 

Actually, that’s a lie. You know exactly why. You wanted someone else to propose. 

You wanted Beomgyu to propose. 

Which is—insanity. Your courtship isn’t even real. It doesn’t matter if you are friends now—none of the presents, none of the dances, none of that meant anything. Not even the kiss. You knew you had felt something after the kiss but you put it down to it quite literally being the first time you kissed someone. Of course anyone would feel butterflies in their stomach for days after that. Right? Right. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to matter if that’s true. What does matter is that the kiss wasn’t apparently just a kiss for you. 

Candlelight flickers in the dark, throwing strange shadows on Soyoung’s face. “Miss L/N?” she asks softly. 

You feel close to tears. It’s too late and it’s too dark and you’re feeling far too many things right now for you to process. You should be happy to marry Lord Cho, so happy. But now all you can feel is dread for the next time you will see him, because while you know the answer you will give him must be in the affirmative, you know that you won’t be happy with it. 

When did you start feeling this way about Beomgyu? When did you start liking him beyond just the basic acquaintanceship, then the tentative friendship? When did you start wondering, however subconsciously, whether you could live a life with him that wouldn’t just be filled with screaming and arguments? It wasn’t just the kiss. That may have been the final straw. But you know yourself, and you must be honest with yourself right now, and you know that that wasn’t when it all started. 

Maybe it will begin to make sense if you try to speak of it.

You choose your words very carefully. “I may receive a proposal in a short time.”

Soyoung’s entire face lights up. “Oh, truly? That is wonderful!” Her voice feels brighter than the candle and it makes you head hurt a little. “I was honestly expecting it since you’d been spending so much time with him, but now that Mr. Choi has all but confirmed it—”

Mr. Choi?

“Soyoung.” You interrupt her excited exclamation, a very strange feeling in your stomach. “Soyoung, why do you think it was Mr. Choi?”

She stops midway through a word, her mouth still open like she plans to finish it. You watch her open and close it several times in the ensuing silence, her expression morphing into confusion. “Is it not?” she finally asks. Her voice is much smaller.

“No.” You shake your head. “It was Lord Cho.”

“…Oh.” She doesn’t sound so enthused about him, and that reaction just intensifies the strange, sick feeling still roiling in your stomach. 

You two sit in silence for a moment. Soyoung’s hand has gone slack, but you can’t find it in you to take your embroidery back. You probably wouldn’t even be able to do anything with it even if you had it—at least nothing beyond stabbing yourself another five times on accident. “Do you not like Lord Cho?” you eventually ask, though you’re not sure you want to hear the answer. 

“It’s not that I don’t like him!” Soyoung frantically shakes her head. “He seems to be a nice man. But that one time he asked about Mr. Choi…”

You remember that moment and how uncomfortable it was. How cornered you felt, how the intensity in Lord Cho’s voice and eyes made you tense up in…not fear, not exactly, but wariness at the least. You didn’t enjoy that conversation even after the tension was cut. Soyoung was there and confirmed then and now that whatever that was, it wasn’t normal. 

But it only happened once. Lord Cho has never given you any reason to be wary of him since, and if it weren’t for Beomgyu’s insistence that you remain on your guard you’d probably have relaxed around him entirely by now. He wouldn’t hurt you, you’re sure. At least not in the way that Mr. Thompson would. And anyway, it is entirely understandable that one suitor might be wary or want to know more about another. While you may not have appreciated the way Lord Cho went about to get that information, you think you can understand why he did it. 

So why does Soyoung still have so many apprehensions?

“It was only one time,” you say, uneasy. “You’ve been with me and him before. He hasn’t done anything strange since.”

“Yes, but…” Soyoung looks down, fiddling with her needle and a little bit of thread. “I don’t know. You do seem happy around him. He seems to be a good man. You would likely be very happy if you married him.”

For all the certainty of Soyoung’s words, her voice only thinly hides a current of wariness just beneath the surface. You debate for a moment whether or not to press her on the topic—have her explain why she dislikes Lord Cho so. But you decide not to. She doesn’t seem to know herself. 

It reminds you of Beomgyu, when he was trying to explain the same thing to you. 

You return to your original question. “Why did you think it was Mr. Choi?”

“Well, you just…you just always seemed so happy around him. Not always in the beginning, but even then, you were always…yourself.” She glances around the room like she’s afraid someone else will hear. “Even when you were arguing. You didn’t try to hide that part of yourself like you would have around others. And when you were just talking with him, your smiles were genuine. You didn’t try to be pretty around him the way you do with Lord Cho. Especially recently, whenever you look at him…I don’t know. You look at him like he’s the only one in the room."

The sick feeling in your stomach intensifies. You feel like you might throw up. 

“And he looks at you the same way,” Soyoung continues, apparently oblivious to your growing sense of dread. “He didn’t do it before but now he’s always smiling, even when you two argue. It seems like he’s not arguing with you to hurt you anymore. It’s more like…he just wants to keep talking to you. No matter what.” She pauses, and then her voice lowers. “He gave you gloves.”

Stricken, you can barely even nod to confirm her statement. 

“I don’t know who would perform such a gesture for anyone they didn’t love,” Soyoung says, almost as though she’s in awe. “When I saw that, I just…I thought there was no way he didn’t love you then.”

You seriously might throw up. You—you tricked her. You tricked Soyoung. You tricked the whole ton—you knew you would, that was the entire plan, but somehow, hearing it from Soyoung, one of your closest friends, that she really thought you were in love…

Suddenly you can’t stand it. 

“It wasn’t real.” You force the words out one by one, horrible relief coating your voice as Soyoung’s eyes widen. “None of it was real, Soyoung.” In as few sentences as you can, you tell her about the deal, about how you two conspired to trick the ton for the sake of winning you more suitors and discouraging his small army of followers, about how it succeeded. You don’t say anything about the kiss. You don’t say anything about being friends. 

You don’t say anything about the sick feeling in your stomach that rose to your chest when she said there was no way he didn’t love you. 

After you finish, silence descends upon the table. The candle burns low but you can’t move yourself to replace it, just watch the wax melt slowly, slowly, until the moon provides more light than the flame. Soyoung switches between staring at the candle and staring at you. She doesn’t say anything. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” you finally say, the warning rough in your throat. “I’m serious, Soyoung.”

She blinks. Shakes her head slightly, like shaking off a daze. “Of course I won’t,” she replies, and you immediately feel bad about doubting her. “I’m sorry. I just—it seemed so real.” She shakes her head again and you can’t tell if the disappointment in that movement is directed towards you or the situation at hand. Maybe both. “If I didn’t know that you would never lie to me, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

The room is too stifling. Too hot. Never mind that there’s only one candle barely burning and you’re wrapped in a blanket. You rise from your seat on stiff legs to open the window. The sudden burst of cold air hits you like a hammer and forces you to think. 

Soyoung’s words made you feel sick because they were true—at least on your end. You can say nothing about Beomgyu and how he feels. But it is true that you haven’t really felt that you had to hide anything around him. It’s just as he said before, as yourself have thought before—you’ve seen the worst of him and he’s seen the worst of you. There isn’t much left to hide if anything at all. You think less about your words, care less about your appearance—you certainly feel freer around him, more able to express yourself than around anyone else. 

You swallow. Soyoung said you never tried to be “pretty” around him, like you did with Lord Cho. You unfortunately do have an idea of what she means. To nearly everyone in the ton, you are just a pretty face with no dowry to accompany it, which means you’ve had to rely on that pretty face to get you where you need to be. It’s not extremely effective, which tells you exactly what you need to know about how much money is valued in this society, but that’s not the point. The point is that you’ve never been able to let that pretty little façade drop around anyone, because that is your main selling feature. Your beauty. 

Only you don’t have to hold that façade up around Beomgyu. 

Against your will, the kiss comes back to mind. Cool air rushes over your face but even then, your cheeks start to warm with the memory. God. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t been idiotic enough to go down that train of thought with a man with whom you were about to separate in just a few short weeks. Instead, you got caught up in the moment, had your first kiss, dreamed about it for days (and unfortunately you are still dreaming of it), and then begged him to be your friend so you at least wouldn’t have to stop seeing him ever again. What kind of idiot does that?

An idiot in love. 

You grip the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Maybe you really are in love with him. 

The heavens really must be having a good laugh at you right now. 

“Miss L/N?” Soyoung’s voice brings you back to earth, the call of your name soft and uncertain. “Are you all right? It’s quite cold.”

You look down and realize that for all you felt stifled before, you’re now shivering under the blanket. You let Soyoung help you close the window and light a new candle. The flame dances cheerfully in the dark, a stark contrast to the emotions sitting in a solid, tangled lump behind your chest. 

“Don’t tell anyone,” you say again, voice far more ragged than before. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“I won’t,” Soyoung promises. “On my honor, I won’t.”

That reminds you of another oath taken on someone else’s honor. An oath of silence when that person found out your deepest secret, the cracked and swollen secret hidden behind a thin layer of cotton fabric. 

You love him. You don’t love him. You might love him. The three statements bounce off the corners of your skull. Two of them are lies and only one of them you know for certain. 

“If Lord Cho proposes,” you mumble, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Soyoung looks at you sympathetically. “Miss L/N, I’m sure that when the time comes, you will do what is best for you.” The certainty in her voice only makes you feel a little better. 

Silence falls save for the clicking of needles and rustling of cloth. Soyoung doesn’t say anything more, and you stab yourself another five times before you finally give up and go to sleep.

. . . . .

Beomgyu shouldn’t have come tonight. 

Objectively, there is nothing wrong. The Haynesworths always host good parties, if not particularly interesting ones, and Beomgyu sees nothing to complain about this ball right now. Anyway, even if he did, it’s only their second year holding a ball for the ton. Flubs would be understandable and Beomgyu won’t insult them for it. But there are no flubs. The music is pleasant. The food is good. The decorations are nice.

What is wrong, however, is the fact that you have been attached to Lord Cho’s side the entire night. 

He arrived late, which wasn’t his fault—dinner with Kai, who just returned to London, took longer than expected. By the time he stepped into the ballroom, Kai at his side, you were already busily conversing with Lord Cho. The sight annoyed him slightly, but Kai was there and he didn’t want to ruin his friend’s night so he tried not to react. It didn’t matter—he would just find some other time to talk with you, and maybe dance. 

It's been just over three hours and Beomgyu has still not been able to speak to you once. 

He really thought it was just coincidence and bad timing during the first hour or so. Fine. Normal. Beomgyu came late and you kept getting whisked onto the dance floor by one person or another in between very long conversations with Lord Cho, so Beomgyu tucked himself away with Taehyun and Kai and caught up with his friend’s inheritance issues some more. He took to the dance floor a few times and enjoyed himself well enough. 

By the second hour, however, he was starting to suspect Lord Cho was keeping you sequestered away on purpose. 

It can’t just be coincidence that every time Beomgyu leaves the dance floor, you and Lord Cho are deep in conversation on the entire other side of the ballroom. It can’t just be bad timing that every time Beomgyu tries to make eye contact with you, Lord Cho hands you another glass of lemonade or guides you to another area of the room. As the second hour passes and the third hour rolls around, Beomgyu is grinding his teeth visibly and Kai is starting to look slightly concerned. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Beomgyu hears Kai whisper. 

“I don’t know.” Taehyun shrugs. “What’s wrong with you, Beomgyu?”

Beomgyu does not answer. You just laughed at something Lord Cho said, and he feels vaguely sick. 

“Ah.” Taehyun has apparently come to a conclusion even without Beomgyu saying anything. “He’s jealous.”

Kai frowns. “Jealous?” he asks, at the same time Beomgyu snaps, “I’m not jealous.” 

Taehyun ignores him, which he’s had ample practice with since they went to school together for almost ten years. It does not make Beomgyu feel any better. “Beomgyu here used to have a mortal enemy,” he says sagely, as though Kai isn’t completely aware of the previous animosity between the two of you. “That used to be Miss L/N over there.”

“…I’m aware.” Kai looks even more confused. “Why is he jealous of her?”

“I’m not—”

“They started courting this season,” Taehyun says, evil delight coating his every word as an irritatingly pleasant expression remains on his face. “Apparently they’ve put their past behind them, or something. They’ve become quite attached at the hip especially recently, but because Miss L/N is quite beautiful, of course she has other suitors trying to win her hand.” He gestures slightly at you. “Voila, Beomgyu is very jealous of Lord Cho.”

“…Just how much did you omit from your letters when I was abroad?”

“Quite a bit. Sometimes, telling stories via letter just isn’t as impactful as telling them in person.” Taehyun is still wearing that easy smile and Beomgyu is feeling the growing urge to punch it off his face. “Beomgyu, if you keep glaring at Lord Cho like that, you’re going to bore a hole in his head. Not to mention Whistledown will be scribbling terrible notes with her feathered pen to round out the gossip papers in a few days.”

With effort, Beomgyu looks away from Lord Cho. He still feels vaguely sick—his throat feels tight for some reason—so he takes a sip from his glass. “I’m not glaring at him,” he snaps. 

“You’re not now,” Taehyun agrees. “But you were.”

Beomgyu nearly screams. 

“Is there something wrong with Lord Cho?” Kai asks timidly. “You seem to hate him a lot more than you would if he was just a suitor.”

God, Beomgyu doesn’t want to go into this again. “I don’t like him,” he snaps with finality. “It isn’t just because he’s trying to court Miss L/N. He feels strange to me, and I don’t trust him. I wish I could tell you why.”

Kai looks at him strangely. “If I didn’t know you better,” he says slowly, “I’d say you were in love with the girl.”

Buzzing fills Beomgyu’s ears. The orchestra fades into white noise, the lights of the room suddenly too bright and loud against his eyes. Love, Kai had said. He didn’t hear wrong. He said the word love. And he said that Beomgyu was in love with you. 

Beomgyu blinks rapidly. Some of the spots clear out of his eyes but everything still seems too bright. “I beg your pardon.”

Taehyun steps forward, the previous humor drained from his expression. “Beomgyu,” he says quietly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Of course.” The room is too bright and his head vaguely feels like it’s spinning and his stomach just dropped to his feet, but he’s fine. Completely fine. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Some of the sardonicism returns to Taehyun’s face. “I don’t know, maybe because when Kai said you might be in love with Miss L/N your entire face turned pale and you looked like you were about to keel over right then and there.”

Lies. Slander. There’s no way Beomgyu looked like that. “I’m not in love with Miss L/N,” he says emphatically, but even though that’s supposed to be true, every single word sounded wrong. 

“Then why do you care so much about her?” Taehyun presses. “Let us assume Lord Cho does not have the lady’s best interests at heart. I will grant it is normal to be concerned. But to stare at them for nearly three hours wearing that expression on your face?” He waves a hand at Beomgyu. “That is hardly expected of anyone.”

“Well, she’s not a monster,” Beomgyu snaps. “Of course I should care.”

“You used to talk about her like she was one,” Kai says, raising an eyebrow. “And Taehyun’s point wasn’t that you shouldn’t care. It’s that you care so much more for her than would be normal for an acquaintance or a friend who was simply concerned.”

Beomgyu flounders for a response. Taehyun takes the opportunity to go in for the kill. “So are you going to give us another reason why you are so jealous of Lord Cho you can’t even see straight?” he asks. “Or are we going to have to go with the very logical conclusion that you are in love with the girl, and resent him for keeping her away from you this entire evening?”

Almost involuntarily, Beomgyu glances across the room at you and Lord Cho. Several others have joined your group but you seem only to have eyes for him, standing close by with that bright, pretty smile on your face. Not once since an hour ago have you looked at Beomgyu. Not even once. 

Maybe…

Maybe it is jealousy. But if it’s jealousy, then where did it come from?

Against his will he recalls Soobin’s words from Lady Park’s gathering. 

“I realized that every moment I was away, I wanted to be with her. When I did not have her attention, I wanted it. When I was with her, I was happier than I believed I ever could be.”

“It would do you well to remember that the line between hatred and love can be a very fine line, indeed.”

Kai thinks he’s in love with you. Taehyun thinks the same. Soobin certainly seemed to be hinting at it. Beomgyu clutches his glass, feeling suddenly like the floor is tipping beneath his feet. Is he in love with you? Is he truly?

He blanches. The fact that he’s even considering their words says far more about him than he’d like to admit. 

“I need to go.” Beomgyu swallows hard and puts his half full glass on some empty tray. “To the washroom.” He doesn’t wait for a response before he starts pushing through the crowd. 

The washroom is quiet, empty. Beomgyu stands in front of the small basin and splashes water onto his face until he feels a little more alert. There’s a small mirror hung up above the basin and he looks into it, not really seeing his reflection, but contemplating it. 

These are the facts. Beomgyu likes you. He enjoys being your friend. At some point he disliked you very much, but most if not all of those feelings have disappeared. You are a good person. He is happy to know you. He is even happier that you have overturned your previous opinions about him, and that you like to be around him. He was upset at himself when he mentioned ending your courtship. He was overjoyed when you said you didn’t want the friendship to end. 

And yet he still felt like something was missing, even with all that hope and joy fluttering in his chest. 

Beomgyu swallows. There are still more facts to sort out. He kissed you. He wanted to kiss you. It was the only kiss that had ever made him feel something more, the only kiss that had ever made him want more. He dreamed and still dreams about the kiss and he doesn’t know why. 

Or does he?

He takes a deep breath and lets it out quickly. Slowly, slowly, he forces himself to consider the fact that he may be in love with you.

It unfortunately explains a lot of things. 

The jealousy. The dislike of Lord Cho beyond the fact that he seemed only to view you as chattel to win in marriage. The fantasies about the kiss, the constant dreams where the kiss morphs into something more. The desire to be with you, to be the reason you smile and laugh. 

Beomgyu splashes more water on his face. He can’t do this right now—maybe can’t do it ever. He can’t face the facts or even try to make sense of them. He needs to get out of here or else he’ll go insane. 

He wipes his hand on the roller towel and leaves the washroom. Kai and Taehyun are nowhere to be seen, which is annoying because he really should tell him he’s planning to leave. Beomgyu wades into the fray again, searching the crowd for his friends, but then his eye catches someone else’s. 

Lord Cho’s. 

It seems as though he’s frozen in time. Lord Cho regards him with an impassive gaze, Beomgyu still rooted to his spot halfway across the ballroom. For a moment neither of them reacts. 

Then Lord Cho smirks. 

All at once there is nothing in Beomgyu’s mind except the desire to punch this man into the floor. Unfortunately, an ounce of sense remains—just enough for him to know that that would be a terrible idea, one that would land him in Wooyoung’s bad books forever and possibly even the town jail for a night or two. 

Besides, there’s another way he might wipe the smile off Lord Cho’s face for an hour or two. 

He pushes through the crowd with singular ease, beelining right for where you stand next to Lord Cho, listening to something a nearby gentleman is saying. The man’s words falter as he sees Beomgyu walking towards them, and when he does, you turn to see who he’s looking at and meet Beomgyu’s eyes. 

Beomgyu would dearly love to give Lord Cho the cut, but years of politeness in society force him to give the man at least a small nod in greeting before turning directly to you. “Miss L/N, we haven’t spoken all night.” He doesn’t wait for a response, only extends his hand. “May I have the next dance?”

. . . . .

The next dance is a waltz.

Which—normally wouldn’t be a problem. You have to get permission to take to the floor for this dance—with all of the touching and close holds, it is still considered extremely scandalous even several years after it was introduced to the ton. To dance it with anyone who isn’t a close relative or betrothed could be social suicide. You’ve never had an issue with this, though, because you’ve never been given permission to dance the waltz, and you’ve never bothered to ask. 

Though today, you do have permission. Your mother is friends with Mrs. Haynesworth. She extended that permission as a token of friendship with the invitation to tonight’s ball, and while it might have been nice to think about it, you never planned to use it. No one has proposed to you, even if Lord Cho seems close to it. You have no close male relatives with whom it would be acceptable to dance. It doesn’t matter—you’ve always sat out the waltz and you planned to do the same tonight. 

But now Beomgyu stands before you, his hand extended, his mouth smiling but his eyes sharp, burning with a fire you have never seen before. You have no idea if he knows what the next dance is. You have no idea why he’s looking at you as though no one else in the room exists. 

Some of Soyoung’s words come back to you, from several nights ago. “You look at him like he’s the only one in the room,” she had said. “And he looks at you the same way.”

Beomgyu asked you for a dance. Not just any dance, but the waltz. You don’t believe Beomgyu is an idiot. You don’t believe he would have asked for the next dance if it didn’t mean anything to him. Nothing he does in society is without reason. So if he is asking you to waltz…

A stupid, burgeoning hope starts to burn in your chest. Might Soyoung’s words be true? Might he be in love with you, the same way you might be in love with him?

It’s like you watch yourself place your hand in Beomgyu’s, watch from above as he smiles as you with the force of ten thousand suns as he leads you onto the ballroom floor. People are watching, whispering, but you seem to hear none of them as he bows and you curtsy. You feel light, almost like you’re floating on air—you don’t seem to have any weight as Beomgyu effortlessly spins you through the opening bars of the dance. 

Watching the waltz before, you had never quite understood why it is considered as scandalous as the old-fashioned mamas of the ton make it out to be. Sure, it involved some more close contact than usual, but other than that you couldn’t see much of a difference from the other dances. 

Dancing it now, though, you see exactly why the waltz could lead to social ruin. 

Beomgyu’s hand rests lower on your back, just beneath your shoulder blade. Your bodies are almost flush together. Your hand, gingerly placed before on his shoulder, has since slid down his arm, and when you turn to face him, his eyes are barely a few inches from yours.

Your breath catches. From the looks of it, Beomgyu realizes, and a little smirk begins to curl his lips. 

You hate how attractive you find it. 

He spins you out and catches your other hand before you manage to fly away. Even though several feet now separate you two instead of mere handsbreadths his fingers curl around yours, so strong and steady as he pulls you back into his dancing embrace. His eyes still hold a hint of that fire from before and in your burgeoning hope, you allow yourself to wonder if he was perhaps…jealous. Envious, maybe, that another man had your attentions for so long. While you don’t love jealousy, it does make your heart flutter to think that he might care about you enough to care about that. 

Truth be told, you had been trying to get away from Lord Cho for some time. The first hour was nice, and you hadn’t seen Beomgyu at all during that time so you weren’t bothered. But while you like Lord Cho, and his friends are fine, the moment you saw Beomgyu, you wanted to go to him. You tried to make excuses time and time again to leave but someone always struck up another vein of conversation with you or asked you to dance, or Lord Cho easily sidestepped your request and led you to another area of the room to speak to someone else. 

It wasn’t unpleasant. But even then, at some point, you wished you were elsewhere. Though you couldn’t have dreamed that you would end up here in Beomgyu’s arms, waltzing the night away. 

Beomgyu catches you in the crook of his arm and lowers you into a slight dip that has you staring directly into his eyes. Your arm wraps around his shoulder, half as part of the dance and half to steady yourself on your jelly-like legs, and you can’t help it when your heart races even faster. Beomgyu’s breath whispers over your lips and suddenly it reminds you of the kiss. You almost trip over his foot when he pulls you back up. 

Judging from the way Beomgyu’s eyes flutter down to your lips, you’d say you weren’t the only one feeling the same way. 

As the waltz begins to wind to a close, you feel your face getting hotter as Beomgyu spins you once, twice, three times. You feel like you’re flying—your toes barely skimming the floor, your skirts whirling around your legs—your feet follow the one-two-three rhythm of the waltz with ease, your slippers tapping merrily against the floor. The song ends but you still have that rhythm in your blood and Beomgyu seems to realize that because he spins you out as the orchestra finishes, letting the momentum carry you into your deep curtsy. 

When you stand up, you’re smiling like no tomorrow, and nothing, you think, could ever induce that smile to fall. 

A smattering of polite applause comes from the outskirts of the ballroom. The sound reminds you that you and Beomgyu are not, in fact, the only people here and you almost jump. Were it not for Beomgyu’s hand in yours, you might have. As it stands, though, your heart begins to pound as you look out at the sea of faces whose expressions range from astonished to horrified and everything in between. 

It hits you what you’ve just done, then—danced a waltz, the most scandalous dance in polite society, with a man who wasn’t a close relative or even your betrothed fiancé. You knew that when you accepted Beomgyu’s invitation, but somehow, now that it’s over, it all feels so much more real. 

But you trusted him. You trusted Beomgyu to know what the dance was, and to know what it would mean both to you and to the ton. And when you look up at him now, precious hope cradled close to your chest, you wonder if he will do what you have wanted him to since…well, almost since Lord Cho hinted at a question he might ask the next time you were in more private company. 

You wonder if Beomgyu will ask you to marry him. 

It is a small hope. Maybe even a futile one. But though you thought it impossible over the past week, when you first realized you desired it so, now you think that maybe it wasn’t so impossible after all. Not with the way he looked at you when he asked you to dance. Not with how he treated you as he spun you across the floor. Not with the way he looks at you now…

Right?

You look at Beomgyu. He does not look back at you. With his head turned just so, you can’t tell what expression is on his face. For the first time since the end of the dance, true unease prickles your chest. You trusted Beomgyu so completely to be right, to do right, but why won’t he now look at you? Now, when it is most important? 

“Beomgyu?” 

At the sound of his name, he starts. And then he does look at you. But where you expected to see love, trust, that same fire that burnt in his eyes throughout the entire dance, now he just looks…

Blank. 

You swallow hard as dread begins to creep up your spine. “Beomgyu,” you say quietly, hoping your words will jerk him out of whatever daze he’s in. “That was…that was a waltz.”

Some of the clouds clear from his glassy eyes but not in the way you expect. He still looks mostly blank, and a little shaken—panicky, even. He takes a deep breath that rattles around his chest in a way that you’re not sure you like. “So it was,” he says, and the subtle tremble in his words only unsettles you more. 

You dare to glance at the gathered crowd. Even more people are staring now, eyes glued on your figure as mouths whisper behind pastel fans. Your heart beats even faster but not with excitement—instead, you feel like you might throw up. “You’re lucky I had permission to waltz,” you say, forcing a certain lightness into your voice. “What would you have done if I didn’t?”

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because Beomgyu looks down at your still-linked hands and immediately lets go. 

A chill travels up your spine. Your hand suddenly feels incredibly cold, even though you felt so warm just minutes ago—the heat of Beomgyu’s palm against yours suddenly ripped away, only the cooling silk of your gloves left to caress your skin. Your fingers curl into each other, nails pinching through silk to bite into your palms as you try to rein in your trembling. 

You expected a witty answer. After all, that’s what Beomgyu is—wit and intellect rolled into one annoyingly handsome person. But the longer you look at him, the longer he says nothing, and the more you begin to realize that you’re waiting for a response he isn’t going to give. 

“Beomgyu?” you ask, voice a little more pleading this time. His face looks pale now, his skin a little clammy, and his eyes, while trained on you, don’t seem to see anything at all. “Beomgyu, is something—” You reach out, touching his hand with the tips of your fingers, and he flinches. 

You drop your arm immediately. “…Is something wrong?” you finish quietly.

Buzzing fills your ears in the silence that follows. The entire room is too bright and your heart has crept into your throat. Beomgyu’s face is becoming blurry in your vision and you really, really hope that doesn’t mean tears are coming. “Beomgyu?” you try one last time. 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns tail and pushes his way out of the room before you can react, almost running in his haste to get away. 

To get away from you. 

You stand there on the ballroom floor, alone, staring at the path he carved through the crowd when he left. He knocked one or two people over but you can hardly hear their grunts of pain over the buzzing in your ears. You’re starting to feel incredibly lightheaded and when you bring a hand up to touch your temple, one finger brushes against your eye and you feel the telltale wetness of tears. 

Damn. You’ve never cried in front of another person before, not to mention the entire ton. 

You look up to find every single person in the room staring right at you, and in that moment, two things hit you very suddenly. 

One. You are in love with Beomgyu Choi. 

Two. He just as good as left you at the altar. 

You suppress a hysterical laugh. As it stands, a strangled noise still manages to leave your lips as you contemplate the irony of it all. This is actually even worse than if he left you at the altar. At least then you would have been betrothed, and the blow to your reputation might have been softened by pity. Right now, though, you’re as good as ruined. A dirt poor, barely titled harlot who seduced an unmarried, unbetrothed gentleman into a waltz, only the most scandalous dance of the decade, and had the nerve to smile after it. 

Well, you certainly aren’t smiling now. 

The humiliation hits you hard and fast and the tears start flowing in earnest despite your attempts to blink them back. You were an idiot to believe Beomgyu could love you, an idiot to think he would ever want you beyond what any other man has ever wanted you for—your face, your beauty. You were an idiot to think anyone could ever want you for more than that. You were a fool, a bloody stupid fool, for thinking you might have been worth sacrificing his reputation for. 

You really trusted him. Trusted him, and his honor, because even when you hated him before you had never seen him act less than gentlemanly around anyone else. He kept your secret. He gave you gloves. You thought you could trust him and you fell in love, even, because of that trust. But now…

Embarrassment burns hot in your throat as you remember asking, practically begging him to be your friend. All because you couldn’t get a single stupid kiss out of your head. All because you held on to a stupid hope. All because you dared to want something more than you ever deserved to have—attachment. Care. Love. 

What an absolute fool you are. Just as your stepmother always said, you will never be worth such things. It was all you could do to try and secure a husband and look at where that got you. 

Desperation is a cruel mistress, and you are just another groveling subject at her feet. 

A choked noise rises from your throat and you clap a hand over your mouth to rein it in. Eyes burning with tears, you cut through the crowd just as Beomgyu did seconds or minutes or hours ago, fleeing into the night. No one follows. 

You find yourself in the Haynesworths’ rose garden. A small stone bench sits in a small clearing. The moon glows brightly overhead. It reminds you far too much of the night you struck a deal with the man who just left you on the ballroom floor. 

You sink to your knees in the grass and cry. 

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[vesora]

“The Law and the Promise” (1961) excerpts - n.g.

To attempt to change circumstances before you change your imaginal activity, is to struggle against the very nature of things. There can be no outer change until there is first an imaginal change. Everything you do, unaccompanied by an imaginal change, is but futile readjustment of surfaces.

Do not bow before the dictate of facts and accept life on the basis of the world without.

Assert the supremacy of your Imaginal acts over facts and put all things in subjection to them. Hold fast to your ideal in your imagination. Nothing can take it from you but your failure to persist in imagining the ideal realized. Imagine only such states that are of value or promise well.

What makes a present sense impression so objectively real is the individual’s imagination functioning in it and thinking from it; whereas, in a memory image or a wish, the individual’s imagination is not functioning in it and thinking from it, but is functioning out of it and thinking of it.

Enter the image of the wish fulfilled, then give it sensory vividness and tones of reality by mentally acting as you would act were it a physical fact.

Man must go back in memory, seek for and destroy the causes of evil, however far back they lie. This going into the past and replaying a scene of the past in imagination as it ought to have been played the first time, I call revision — and revision results in repeal.

I wish it were true of man’s noble dreams, but unfortunately — perpetual construction, deferred occupancy — is the common fault of man. 

When man finally identifies himself with his Imagination rather than his senses, he has at long last discovered the core of reality.

Man should daily relive the day as he wished he had lived it, revising the scenes to make them conform to his ideals.

Then, in imagination, read the revised letter over and over again and this will arouse the feeling of naturalness; and imaginal acts become facts as soon as we feel natural in the act.

If man does not always create in the full sense of the word, it is because he is not faithful to his vision, or else he thinks of what he wants rather than from his wish fulfilled.

If we had this wider view of causation — that causation is mental, not physical — that our mental states are causative of physical effects, then we would realize our responsibility as a creator and imagine only the best imaginable.

But causation does not lie in the external world of facts. The drama of life originates in the imagination of man. The real act of becoming takes place within man’s imagination and not without.

“The Gods have come down to us in the likeness of men!” 

The images of our imagination are the realities of which any physical manifestation is only the shadow.

Enter into the feeling of your wish fulfilled. Through spiritual sensation — through your use of imaginal sight, sound, scent, taste and touch — you will give to your image the sensory vividness necessary to produce that image in your outer or shadow world.

Change the image, and thereby change the fact.

We say that we are happy because we have achieved our goal.

It is possible to pass from thinking of to thinking from; but the crucial matter is thinking from, i.e., experiencing the state, for that experience means unification; whereas in thinking of there is always subject and object — the thinking individual and the thing thought of.

It is this “Eye of Imagination” and only this that can free us from the sense fixation of outer things which completely dominates our ordinary existence and keeps us looking on the reflective glass of facts.

We have to abandon ourselves to the state, in our love for the state, and in so doing live the life of the state and no more our present state. Imagination seizes upon the life of the state and gives itself to the expression of the life of that state.

In the world of sense we see what we have to see; in the world of Imagination we see what we want to see; And seeing it, we create it for the world of sense to see.

We see the outer world automatically. Seeing what we want to see demands voluntary and conscious imaginative effort. Our future is our own imaginal activity in its creative march.

Common sense assures us that we are living in a solid and sensible world but this so seemingly solid world is — in reality — imaginal through and through.

Man is All Imagination. 

Therefore, a man must be where he is in imagination, for his Imagination is himself. Imagination is active at and through any state that it is aware of. If we take shifting of awareness seriously, there are possibilities beyond belief.

We need not feed on sense-data.

Man is manifesting the power of Imagination whose limits he cannot define.

To realize that the Real Self — Imagination — is not something enclosed within the spatial boundary of the body is most important.

Mental traveling has been practiced by awakened men and women since the earliest days.

Paul states: “I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven — whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows.” 2Cor.12

Paul is telling us that he is that man and that he travelled by the power of imagination or Christ.

In his next letter to the Corinthians, he writes: “Test yourselves. Do you not realize that Jesus Christ is in you?” [2Corinthians 13:5]. We need not be ‘dead’ in order to enjoy spiritual privileges. “Man is All Imagination and God is Man.” [William Blake, from “Annotations to Berkeley”]. 

[iamrizaka]

Apollo is a god of many domains, and his children, obviously, inherit some of his traits and control of them. They are divided into talents and gifts.

Talents, like singing, playing an instrument, nursing, and archery, require no magic. The demigod has a tendency to a certain skill from the beginning and can train without a nonmortal's help.

Gifts, on the other hand, are magic-enforceable. Healing and truth sensory, along with prophecy powers, are some of them. Some gifts need to be "allowed" by a higher being to take action, and energy for some gifts comes from the very soul of the demigod.

Some talents and gifts are mixed, but it depends on the individual. It's mostly noticeable in archery-specialized demigods, with their ability to shoot one arrow but leave more than one mark behind on the target.

Gifts, as powerful as they might be, have a disadvantage. While talent doesn't majorly affect your health, gifts may harm you. A lot.

Overuse of healing leaves burns on the skin of your arms, and for as long as you don't take a break, their numbers will continue to grow. The will spread from your fingers to your hands, to your forearms and shoulders, up until they reach your heart. Once they're here, your heart can't support you anymore.

Plague powers are extremely rare, but most of the time when they're discovered, it's the healers who use them. It doesn't affect the bearers as much as it affects those around them; but the mental "it's my fault" is always there. It is deeply connected to the emotions of the demigod and is hard to practice — one false move and another epidemic will start. Unfortunately, that is one of many reasons why so many children of Apollo with plague powers are never welcomed back in the Greek world.

Truth sensory is more dangerous for your mental health. Every child of Apollo has this trait, but some of them carry the much more enhanced version of it. All children of Apollo have an allergy reaction to lying, but some of them can feel tings of pain in the back of their necks once they hear another person lie. Once wrong people learn about this, it can easily turn into another torture practice.

Light powers are unusual. Demigods emit the light of their own and have to recharge, absorbing the daylight. The trouble comes when they can't adjust the amount of light and its brightness while glowing, as it may blind people and creatures near them. One of the light powers' forms is temperature control. The demigods only partly glow, and their light isn't as bright, but the temperature of their bodies rises greatly and can melt anything around them. The difference between the temperatures of their different body parts can be disorienting and result in melting or burning the "cooler" organs. A quick temp rise can be harmful as well and destroy the tissues of the demigods' limbs.

Prophecy powers are extremely rare and vary in types. Some prophecy powers are minor, being just your "gut feeling" and "just a hitch"; some are controlled by your will and appear when you want them to appear; and some will catch you off guard and leave you heaving for breath, phantom pain in your head. The visions put pressure on your mind and eyes. You'll see the future until you can't recognize the difference between reality and a dream, and until you can't recognize shapes before you. They are rare for a reason, after all.

The archery is an interesting case, since it can happen to be both a talent and a gift. It doesn't have any side effects as a talent, but once you learn to do more, to connect your power and heart and soul with the arrow and the bow in your hands, it can become risky very fast. It presses down on your arms and shoulders, and as you focus on your targets, you can feel the lenses of your eyes take shape they have never taken before. It's nothing major at first, but as you grow older and improve at this skill, you tend to notice the differences in your body and health.

All of Apollo's gifts are blessing, but you can never forget the dangers they carry if you are not careful. There's a reason why only a few get them.

[lipglossanon]

Moon-Scented

Hunter!Leon S. Kennedy x Hunter!reader (one shot)

fic commission from the lovely @porcelainseashore who let me stretch my wings a bit 💜 thank you so much!!!

Warnings: mdni, blood/gore, fighting, violence, reader just trying her best

Proofread ✍️

Word count: 1997

follow up ~ Moon Drunk

Your eyes open, and you rise from under the lantern’s glow. It feels familiar—a haunting chord of phantom pain trilling down your spine. Picking up your weapons, you stand on your tired legs. 

Again. 

You walk the cobblestone streets, fighting the beasts who roam your path. It’s thankless and tiresome. Your body aches in ways that feel unnatural. Coming across a creature burning at the stake, you pause to gaze upon the macabre effigy. 

Again.

A sound draws your attention, and you spin around, threaded cane shifting into the serrated whip. 

“You are not welcome ‘ere!” The man in rags brandishes a torch at you, a pitchfork held in his other hand. 

It’s all so similar, your head spins. 

Again.

It’s a song of death and blood, just like everything in this cursed town. You pant, sweat matting your hair to your head as you whip your weapon through the air. Baring your teeth, the serrated edge of your whip cracks through the air as it sails in an arc down onto the Yharnamite. 

He cries out in pain, blood spilling across your clothes, the rotten stench pervading your nostrils. Your weapon slices off chunks of flesh, the bleached white of bone flashing in the moonlight. You’ve become numb to the gore.

Again.

A shriek erupts from his throat, flailing the pitchfork at you. You dodge backwards, underneath the wild swinging, narrowly missing a puncture to your left eye. Pulling your pistol, you step to the side to avoid another jab of prongs aimed at your head. A quick shot at his chest stuns him, his body slumping down onto his knees. Blood lust and adrenaline burn through your veins like wildfire, heightening your senses as you eviscerate him. 

A fuzzy memory resurfaces: a hunter must hunt.

“Oh, this curse. This is a damned curse.”

He chokes on his own blood and lies still on the cobblestone. 

Again.

Blinking against the fatigue that lies across your body like a second skin, you step away from the deformed Yharnamite. The night is ever long, and a Hunter’s work is never done. You must seek the Paleblood. 

Again.

•• 🩸 ••

Fear the Old Blood

It rings in your ears and saturates your thoughts. After the chapel, you’re even more confused. Reaching this point in your journey hasn’t been easy. The night in Yharnam is ever long. You’re exhausted—there is very little respite for a Hunter. 

You’ve met few, and with the exception of Eileen, you have had no help in this gods forsaken city. Beasts line every street, and what townsfolk are left have traveled to the Chapel of Odeon. It’s where you sit now, tending to more wounds from the fight with the Vicar.

Ever since you’ve awakened to this new reality, you’ve begun to question your sanity. Coming to on the sick bed in Iosefka’s clinic, the taste of blood has sat heavy on your tongue. You can still feel the echo of small hands covering your body before fully awakening—the tiny white creatures nowhere to be found. 

Closing your eyes, you seek that first memory. Making your way from the clinic, you run into what can only be described as a beast. Hideous and large, it attacks you on sight, claws razing through your clothing to shred your skin like paper. Blood gushes from your mouth as a lung’s pierced, and at the same time, it sinks its fangs into your throat. Darkness encroaches from the corners of the room, vision eventually going dark along with your thoughts. 

Eyes blinking open once again, you're met with a workshop silhouetted against a night sky and a comforting silence. The air is cool and damp, but in a refreshing way. Standing up, you walk forward to a set of stone steps when you pause, seeing a life-size doll to your left. She’s sitting up in a lovely dress paired with a pretty bonnet, and your finger gently touches her shoe. She looks so real, but she doesn’t move when you gently shake her foot. 

The strong smell of incense pulls you back to the present. The townspeople who care to even look at you do so with contempt. Eyes searching (always searching), you look for the Chapel Dweller. As long as he’s here, you can leave this fortress of solace and face the beasts outside. The night is ever long, and a hunter's work is never finished. 

•• 🩸 ••

The Vicar whispered words of truth before she changed. You struggle to remember. You’ve roamed these woods before. Seen these same horrors again and again. The writhing of snakes bleeds into your thoughts, making them slippery and cold. You feel like you’re in a never waking nightmare. 

(Again)

“Always a pleasure to see you, good Hunter,” a male voice calls out to you. 

Turning, weapon drawn, you see someone standing in the doorway of the windmill. 

“Surely you remember me?” He removes his top hat, sandy blonde fringe falling into blue eyes. 

“No,” you relax your stance, “we’ve met before?”

Walking past a low burning fire, you join him just on the inside of the windmill. You catalog his worn and bloody city attire, glancing down at your own mishmash of dress. 

He tilts his head, a queer little smile crossing his face, “It is of no matter now. I am Leon.”

You dip your head in acknowledgment. 

“I’m just a Hunter,” you offer in return.

“I can see,” he shifts, and you catch sight of a radiant sword badge pinned to his shirt. “Have you fared well tonight?”

“Yes, I—“

Your thoughts disappear in a haze of fog. It’s on the tip of your tongue, but it slips from your grasp (like a snake). 

“You search for the Paleblood?” He interrupts your pause. “From the dream, are you?”

You frown at him suspiciously, grip tightening around your threaded cane. 

“And what of you? Have you also come to seek Paleblood?”

He laughs, a foreign sound amidst all this rotted wood and creaking joints. 

“No, I gave up on that long ago. Tis folly to seek the truth. Too much insight will gain you nothing but misery, dear Hunter,” he shakes his head. 

You watch him warily, but sensing nothing deeper than curious amusement, you settle back down. 

“What of the Old Blood?”

He narrows his eyes at you, gaze searching; he must find what he’s looking for as he relaxes once more. 

“A gift from the Church, isn’t it?” 

His non-answer comes as no surprise. 

“I’ve been told to fear it,” you shrug, cape rustling from where it lays across your shoulders. “I found a skull.”

His gaze turns sharp, almost predatory. “A skull? So you’ve done it then, did away with poor Vicar Amelia?”

You snort, and he gives you a delighted smile. 

“You must have woken under that crooked lantern time and again,” he murmurs, “is Gehrman still the same sad little man recruiting others for his deeds?”

Gehrman… the name brings forth an image of a crippled man within a workshop. 

(Paleblood.. to join the Hunt.. the Doll if it pleases you)

“He wishes you to transcend the hunt, right?”

His goading does nothing save for adding to your ignorance. 

“I must take my leave,” you nod, stepping back into the treacherous forest. 

•• 🩸 ••

You stand alone in the decrepit library, peering up the stairs into nothing. A shuffling sound echoes down to you, and it makes your heart quicken. Silence consumes the space around you, and yet your thoughts buzz like flies on a putrid carcass. Your fists clench around the handle of your pistol. The energy in the air crackles, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. 

Everything in you screams to stay downstairs. Senses on high alert, you creep upward, pulse pounding in your ears. As soon as your boot steps onto the landing, you're primed for a fight. 

(Again)

Leon stands there next to a desk coated in blood and viscera. He pulls open a drawer, rifling through its contents before closing it back. He barely looks at you, body language at ease. 

“What’re you doing here?”

“Researching,” he offers vaguely. 

A flicker of recognition seems to flit across his features, and he pockets an item from the desk. Turning, he holds out a slip of parchment, aged—brittle—and yet the ink looks wet as if it were penned only moments ago. 

“The Byrgenwerth spider?” You question aloud after reading the note.

“Right place, eh?” He quips. “Seems Yurie was no match for you, dear Hunter.”

“Yurie?”

“The Last Scholar, part of the Choir,” he clarifies at your confused look.

Shuddering, you close your eyes for a moment. Snippets of your encounter filter through, like figments of a dream. Now you understand why you hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. The fight between you and the hostile hunter took more cunning and flexibility than you anticipated. She proved formidable, but a hunter must hunt. 

“Have you been granted eyes yet?”

Leon’s question pulls you from gazing vacantly at the desk to his uncovered face. That phrase sends chills skittering down your spine like spider legs. And yet.. those words don’t mean anything at all. 

“Don’t I already have a pair?”

His face splits into a grin, like the gash of a wound, “My dear Hunter, I so hope you bring an end to this night.”

He says no more, turning back to the books that lay scattered around. A sliver of hope blooms in your chest, like a doomed flower… it’s a feeling you’ve long thought dead. Turning on your heel, you seek out the deeper recesses of this desolate room. 

You find a ladder and venture onto the third floor. Discovering a key along with a couple of notes, you make your way back down to show them to Leon. He waves off the key but eagerly takes the pieces of ragged paper from you. The lines on each of those pages leave a bitter taste in your mouth, like fermented leaves. 

Leaving Leon to his own, you seek out the Lunarium door. Unlocking it allows you to step out onto an uncovered balcony. The moon looms heavy and foreboding. You gaze out on the lake, the sound of lapping water lulling you into a fugue state. 

Undone by the blood… 

Fear the Old Blood

A constant creaking pierces through your stupor. Shaking your head, you glance over and see a man rocking in a lavish chair. Stepping near him, you try to speak with him, but he stays mute. A wheezing sigh escapes his mouth while he gestures in front of him.

Frowning, you try again, and he only repeats the sound and action. Moving away from him, you walk to the edge of the balcony and gaze down into the cool water below. 

“Our eyes are yet to open,” you murmur to yourself, feeling a pull to drop off into the unforgiving depths. 

“Provost Willem,” Leon’s surprised intonation makes you step back from the siren song before you. 

He stands next to the elderly man, gazing at his blind face with a sort of melancholy.

“He is one of the first,” Leon’s blue eyes look too big in the moonlight—fanatic, “a founder, if you will, of Yharnam’s most distinguished institutions.”

A flashback of a conversation makes your ears ring—two men speaking in hushed tones as the smooth bone of a skull lay under your hand.

“Beware the frailty of men,” you break from your reverie with Vicar Amelia’s words on your tongue. 

Leon takes a half step toward you, but you shake your head. 

“I must see this night through,” you walk backwards to the ledge. “I hope to see you again.”

“Likewise, dear Hunter,” Leon bows solemnly, “happy hunting.”

With a curt nod, you turn your back to him, eyes already seeking (always seeking) for the moon’s reflection on still waters. 

You step off the balcony…

and fall into Moonside Lake. 

[koiir]

I FEEL LIKE IVE SEEN THIS MOVIE BEFORE

— movie scenarios with them

Pairings: sae, rin, bachira, isagi, (chigiri in Isagi’s part) kurona x gn!reader

Genre: fluff and angst, comfort with no comfort for some

Cw; not proofread cause I’m lazy, unrequited love, crying, mentions of killing but no one is killed

The last time

He held you in the final moments he had left with you, time moving slower with you. This should’ve been something good, but he hated the way he checked the clock so ever often waiting for the time to come. The clock ticked, 5 more minutes left. The last five he would spend with you. Sae held your hand as you two stood in silence, no words needing to be exchanged as you both knew this was it. The end of you two.

“I’m sorry sae.” You knew an apology wouldn’t fix what’s about to be broken, yet it’s all you could say at this moment. Leaving to another country without someone you love is always difficult, especially when you aren’t sure what will happen next. Not just including your new life in a new country, but what would become of you and Sae. The uncertainty made you want to cry on the spot, wishing for a miracle that would never come.

“It’s not like you have a choice, we both have dreams and I won’t let you back away from this opportunity just because of me.” I love you though. And I’ll miss you.

You knew sae was right, and currently you two didn’t fit with the others life. Maybe later, this could work out, but not now. You hated the truth being right infront of your eyes, from the beginning you knew it would be difficult being with Sae. Now you two faced the outcome of a love not meant to be. One that would be shattered by force.

The sound of the train was heard, seeing the light in your vision. You cling onto Sae, reality hitting you. This was it. Saw pulled you in one last time. “I’m going to miss you [name], I love you.” Tears stained his shirt as you couldn’t hold it in anymore, you emotions getting the best of you. “Don’t cry…please.” His voice cracked while he spoke softly to you. “I can’t bear to see you like this for our last time together.”

“But I love you Sae.” “I know name” you two stayed holding eachother, waiting to part ways. The train stopped, the doors opening for the people awaiting. Your whole body fell numb as you heard the footsteps of others, you had to leave any second now. Sae pulled back as you grabbed your hand and walked you to the entrance of the train, letting go of your hand. “Sae, I love you. I’m sorry, if things were different then-“

“Don’t apologize for something that you can’t control name. I’m not going to hold you back. Leaving you hurts but I can’t be selfish enough to ruin your dream.” One last kiss, the final one from sae. He held your cheeks with both his hands, him now letting the tears fall. You two stared at one another, before you let go and entered the train.

Sae didn’t leave, he couldn’t. He wanted every second to last. As the last couple passengers got on, the train started to move. This was it, the last time you would see sae, the last time together. You saw him from outside the window, he waved at you. You choked out a sob, he smiled back. Both of you now crying, you couldn’t bear it, seeing him like this. You waved back one last time, before you saw his face for the very last time.

Survival? Or Death?

Two options that could become reality. You ran out of the house, running as fast as you could away from the killer out for you. God why you? You thought they were just bluffing when you heard there was a killer out. I mean cmon, it’s Halloween people always talk to scare others. But now you fell victim to the killer with the mask, you his next victim. He followed behind, knife in hand as you kept on running.

The neighborhood dark with only a couple of lights from the poles, no one in sight as everyone was asleep out out. You probably should have went to that party you got invited to, but no you had to stay up and work. Your painting being the only thing heard, you ears ringing. You were so fucked.

It’s like a joke was being pulled on you as you fell into the grass. Fuck, this is the part where the killer catches up and kills me. Yet your one and only would come and save you.

A light flashed ahead of you, a car light to be exact. You got up and ran toward it, noticing the black car that belonged to rin. Your boyfriend. The killer still behind you, but now you had a destination of safety. “Name!” Rin’s voice clearing out the silence. You finally caught up to the car, the door already open due to Rin opening it beforehand.

“Drive,” your voice come out shaky, the running causing you to be tired. Rin began to drive, driving faster than the speed limit allowed. “How the hell did this happen, name?”

“Rin I’m not sure, somehow this masked man broke into my house and then I had to run around so I wouldn’t die…” you sighed as you leaned your head back into the seat. “So the rumors are true then, huh.”

“Yeah and your lovely partner here almost died!” “Would’ve been for the better,” you looked at rin, basically side eyeing him. “I’m joking, your the only one I could ever handle.” You gave out a soft laugh as you two kept driving, no destination in mind. Just you two, safe and sound.

Back to you

Being Bachira’s first (and only) friend was always an adventure no matter what. Two young souls having the courage to do anything filled your childhood with memories you would always remember. Especially Bachira, the memories he holds the most dear are the ones with you. You were his friend that he had ever had, and now as he’s grown older, he realizes that you were the first one he ever loved other than his mom.

But nothing is ever perfect, for Bachira at least. “I’m leaving” you had told him, leaving to follow a dream almost anyone had. One that not ever one could achieve. Yet he wishes someone else could take your position right now, it was selfish he knew that, but he didn’t want to be alone once again. Now with you gone, Bachira was now alone with no one by his side.

He always tried to see updates on your life online when he could, not wanting to miss any accomplishments that you had achieved. Always hearing others say your name, others who had fallen in love with your work, wishing to be known by you. And Bachira felt the same, but he had known you, he had been someone who you always made you smile. He wanted another moment with you, to make you smile. To see you again, just like the past. Yet you two lived in completely words, one where you were the main star, and the other who was the star never to be known.

It should have been an average day for Bachira, walking around the city with the friends he had made at his time during blue lock, now having a break after the glorious game they had won against the Japan u-20 team. Yet his day was turned around when he noticed people cheering, paparazzi, following one single person who shined like the sun. You.

Bachira saw the way people tried to crowd around you, some others around you almost protecting you from the average people. It was actually you, he was so close to you. This would probably be the last time he had a chance like this. Bachira always gave it his all, and he knew this might be a little stupid, to go after you with all the paparazzi around, but why should he care? It’s been years since he’s been able to be with you, a chance like this wouldn’t come by again due to your busy schedule.

So he jogged towards the scene, leaving his friends flabbergasted at what he was doing. He yelled your name, and to his luck you heard. Time stopped as you two locked eyes, your gaze holding his as his smile widened. It’s been so long since you’ve seen that smile. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him. More people started to crowd around you, wishing you could escape. Now you had a chance. Him.

“Sorry I have someone waiting for me,” with that you apologized to the people around you. You quickly walked towards him, wanting to rebuild what you once had with him. Bachira jogged to you, you two now in front of one another. You knew the paparazzi would go crazy seeing the scene unfold, you caught with one of the blue lock eleven players. It would make headlines, but none of that mattered to you and Bachira as you two only had eyes for each other.

“I’ve missed you meguru.” His heart couldn’t stop beating, especially now after hearing you say his name. “Do you wanna go to a cafe? I know how much you love sweets.”

Oh, but how much he loved you more.

Never fast enough

Isagi knew he wasn’t always number one when it came to things, never fast enough, never smart enough, never the best. Yet to you he was your number one, he was your best friend. The same could be said about how he viewed you, but his feelings weren’t. He didn’t view you as just a friend, he wished you two could be more. Isagi has always been fond of you, being friends since childhood he had grown feelings overtime, and he hoped you had to.

But what can he say, Isagi has never been fast, compared to Chigiri at least. He knew the two of you were mutual, but he never thought he would see you two out and about, laughing while teasing one another. He couldn’t bear but continue to watch you two as you sat down on the rock near the shore, Chigiri coming up behind you. It was evident, the way you two got along, the way it seemed different from any normal friendship. Something that would blossom into a beautiful relationship given the time, something Isagi would never get to experience with you. How he hoped he could.

Isagi held the camera, trying to get the hang of it as he was filming, you then came into the view. He kept watching you as you placed your feet slightly into the water, wincing at how cold it was. He smiled, you turned around with a smile on your face. He felt his heart beat, soon to be crushed when he saw the same smile on your face smiling at Chigiri, not him.

“Yoichi, you should take some photos so you can get the hang of it!” You were always better when dealing with the camera, he thinks of the times where you would help with his hand placement, not noticing the blush that would appear on his face.

“Oh, alright… how about I take pictures of you two?” This was the worst thing he could have said, cause now Isagi would have to watch you two grin, bright smiles because of eachother. He was merely a bystander, almost like a third wheel on some date. He hated it. Hated the feeling of watching the one he longed for get easily stolen away by someone he had reached to finish like before him. Someone isagi would never be able to beat.

Just you and me

The beach was always your comfort place, the weather being perfect made it a place where one could relax, the beautiful sea ahead, the way the moon reflected on the water, it was perfect. The perfect place to sit on the sand as you stared ahead, thinking of what had just happened. The cause for your now tear stained face. It’s like the beach was an escape, one where you could let out your emotions without anyone noticing or even caring.

“[Name]?” You knew that voice, it was Kurona. A best friend of yours, someone who you found comfort in. You didn’t expect a friendship to form when you two meet, but he was the perfect person to talk with, someone who felt like the missing piece that you have been looking for. The two of you got along well, the friendship was one you cherished, one that couldn’t be broken.

“Ranze…” your voice was soft, scared that it might expose the crying you had been doing earlier. You looked away from him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the puffiness in your face. He walked towards you before plopping down onto the sand next to you, looking at you as he spoke.

“Have you been here long? it’s almost midnight you know…” considerate Ranze, even with his calm collected personality, he alway found ways to show you that he cared. One thing you loved about him. In these moments, he always found ways to comfort you, which would then lead to a beating heart in you. Faster than before. Something only he could cause.

You looked at him, the moon shining down on him. His mouth agape showing his shark teeth that you had always been fond of, telling him how much they suit him once. “I came here so I could calm down I guess, I didn’t realize how much time had passed. Sorry if I worried you.”

“No, no… it’s fine [name], I just wanted to make sure everything was alright.” A silence now formed, one that was comfortable rather than awkward. You stared ahead, not noticing his lingering gaze on you. Kurona took in the way you looked underneath the moonlight, the way it made you look more beautiful than ever. He wished to hold you in his arms, to keep you close as you two admired the sea.

His hand crept to yours, almost grabbing it. “I’ll be here for you [name]. Just so you know… you can always find comfort in me.” Glancing down at his hand, you knew that he had moved if there for a reason, a rather bold move from someone like him. You took the next move, slowly moving your hand to his. Holding it. Holding hands with him. You gave his hand a squeeze, not daring to look his way as you blushed. He looked you way, noticing your flustered state. Kurona smiled, turning his head to the view ahead of him.

The view almost being as beautiful as you.

a/n; none of these are really inspired by movies, expect maybe sae’s and isagi with a certian k-drama… (20th Century girl) but not really, i just got inspo from the train scene… and the little beach scene. But otherwise I was thinking about doing a part two where it’s only inspired by scenes from 20th century girl but idk😭

[snoopledrooplecheesedoodle]

Reincarnated! 7 Deadly Sins X Archdemon! Reader Intro and Headcanons

Hi hi! Part two of Love Bugs is on the way but I thought I would right down something just to keep engagement up. BTWs this might become a whole story if enough people request it. You can also ask for the individual characters in requests! Any gender for reader is fine (I'm nonbinary so I feel most comfortable writing gender neutral characters, however request male/female reader if you want) Also guess what their powers might be.

You were an archdemon, a powerful one. During the battle with heaven, you proved your metal and earned your spot as one of the King of Hell's personal guards. You had plenty of muscle and scars to show your dedication to your King, which is why you were confused with his request.

"Puh-lease!" His Highness begged you causing you to roll your eyes. In all your thousands of years of serving your king, he only seems to be this childish around you. It was almost a pitiful sight to see your mighty king reduced to this. "Your highness, please stand up. Groveling will only embarrass us both." You deadpanned towards your master. "Oh, come now (Y/N) no one ever dares intrude on our personal meetings. I wouldn't want anyone else to see what is only for you." You wanted to gag at the semi-flirtatious tone your boss took with you. It almost made you regret betraying God to assist the one you admired so much before.

Almost...

Your King had called you in for an important meeting which almost made you roll your eyes since most of his "important meetings" were just an excuse to stop your training and spend "quality time" together. You were surprised you weren't an alcoholic yet because every time you were done talking to the king you wanted to forget the syrupy sweet smiles and pet names, he cooed in your direction.

However, this time the important meeting was truly important, as your lord had a vision of the future. On this very day, the stars will align and the Seven mightiest warriors in Hell's army will be reborn as mortals with no recollection of their past lives as demons. Your lord thought it would best to have someone remind them of their past and train them to be their full potential, and he requested you to do it.

As much as you and every other little demon admired the great seven one of whom was the very first ruler of Hell Lucifer himself, you did not want to become a glorified babysitter. You were a warrior, General of Hell's army and right-hand man of King Balam. It was your job to oversee the safety of Hell and fight off any angel brave enough to attempt another "cleansing". However, his majesty was insistent that the mentor had to be you.

"(N/n) please you are Hell's finest and one of the greatest soldiers who ever spawned, only you can handle the massive power of the Seven and teach these little mortals their true potential." Buttering you up typical his majesty. He always gushed about you and your awesome power of sealing holy and demonic powers with your chains. It was very useful in and out of battle.

"I'm busy with protecting you and recruiting and training my soldiers. Find some retired demon to do it for me." You dismissed his plea entirely. That seemed to shut the crying and begging off. Your King got up and brushed off his royal garb "Very well then you leave me no choice." He wouldn't.

Your King grasped your hand, and you were taken to a strange place. It looked like Hell but it didn't feel like Hell. Thousands of figures in white loomed above as millions of screams were heard. Human and demon kind both burned in white flames as the apathetic stares of the holy gazed uninterested at the whole scene.

Like you were nothing...

What made things worse was you saw your dear friend and King barely holding on to life as the tallest and strongest looking angel held a sword to his throat. Michael.

"So, you do care about me!" Your King's voice anchored you back into reality. your face felt oddly wet. Tears, that hadn't happened since you fell. "My liege what vision did you share with me." His majesty chuckled and lifted your face to look up at him and cupped your cheeks.

"I tell you to call me Balam silly, we've been friends for almost a millennia." You shook your head he never changes. "That was what happens if the seven don't reach their full potential. You see Heaven is growing restless as they realize that the Great Virtues are coming back as well." Not the great virtues. You fought only one of them and it almost cost you your life. In fact, the only ones strong enough to defeat the Virtues were the Sins.

"Balam..." You paused searching for the right words.

"Yes, my dear knight." Balam sighed fondly as he stared at you with so much adoration.

"I accept."

The Sins:

Pride: Nalani

Full Name: Nalani Ai’la’ausd

Pronouns: She/they

Nalani Ai’la’ausd was the youngest and only girl of her family. As such she spent most of her time being raised by and cared for by her older brothers and family members. Her Hawaiian heritage meant her entire community was family and were treated as such. Her last name shows her family's rebellion towards the colonization of Hawaii and Christianity. She ended up moving away from Hawaii because of the overtourism and being sick and tired of her family being treated as servants. She is attending university and studying Political Science in hopes of going back to her home and creating policy to stop the overtourism.

When Nalani first started experiencing her powers she was frightened. I mean who wouldn't be a little scared if they started glowing and were able to control fire. However, she tried to remain calm and brave in the face of a storm and even contacted her elders for advice. Or she would have if you hadn't come out of the floor.

"Greetings mortal, I am (Y/N), General of Hell's army sword of the King of Hell. You are the reincarnation of Pride and most powerful of the Sins... can you stop glowing it's hurt my eyes."

"I don't know how to?"

"Dear Satan."

Yandere Types: Harmless, Protective, Manipulative, Possessive, Self-Aware

Nalani at first would be a Harmless yandere as she is not fully taken on her duty as a sin. She feels admiration in a platonic sense for all you've taught her. However, her feelings change as time goes on. It might be because you encourage her to be more confident in her abilities or don't ridicule her dreams. A crush soon blossoms from the admiration. Nalani notices you also interact with her teammates on a daily basis for training.

She doesn't like it...

She's the reincarnation of Lucifer who fell in some myths due to feeling jealous that God favored another over him. She knows what she's doing is wrong, but she can't help it. You make her feel so good and she simply wants to monopolize on that feeling. She's got a silver tongue which allows her to manipulate others to do small things like give you two alone time, or form alliances with the others. Again, nothing that will hurt those close to her and you, but enough to get her fill.

She's Pride the sin above all sins, it make sense for you to choose her.

You have no choice

Fun facts:

Loves Poke and any dish with fresh fish. Would love to take you to sushi bars in the city.

Proficient Surfer- wants to teach you (excuse for some alone time)

Has a fear of crabs

Scrunches her nose when she's happy.

Muscular woman with tattoos (important part of culture)

Works in a tattoo parlor when not attending classes.

Greed: Avaris

Full Name: Avaris Buhl

Pronouns: They/them

Avaris Buhl is the definition of poor, they live in a trailer with their parents and five other siblings. They are used to sharing everything with their family and take it in stride. Bathroom, living space, soap, and other items. Avaris was not very popular and often bullied for being poor. What a terrible thing to do, make fun of someone for being born into an unideal situation. Their only refuge during this turmoil was art. Drawing, painting, sculpting, Avaris tried it all. They personally liked sculpting the best. They were immediately kicked out at eighteen for applying for art school and coming out as nonbinary. Now they live in a crappy apartment and work part time as a barista and doing commissions online.

When Avaris found out that they had powers they were thinking about something that was always the forefront of their mind. Rent was due tomorrow, and that bastard of a landlord was raising rent once again. Turns out Karens don't like when you take breaks as Avaris was harassed about a drink that they didn't even make. One thing led to another and Avaris ended up turning the Karen into a gold statue by accident. While fleeing in fear a large figure appeared from a rift in the ground.

"Greetings mortal, I have come here in search of the reincarnation of Greed. I sense a powerful aura in front of me so I'm guessing it's you."

Avaris promptly fainted.

Yandere Types: Clingy, Obsessive, Self-Sacrificial, Possessive, Stalker

Avaris isn't one to let their yandere tendencies show. At first, they were just grateful that someone was there to help them. Having company also wasn't too bad as Avaris isn't the most social person.

As time goes on Avaris notices all your little quirks and starts to admire each one. Do you swing your legs when you sit? Noted. Have a unique laugh? Noted. Do you have feelings for someone? Better fix that.

Avaris is a little (very obsessed) with your every move and action seeing you as their muse. Many of their latest art pieces and sculptures look a little too familiar (many of them smashed to bits for not fully incapsulating you). Incorporating precious stones and gold they summoned to enhance your natural beauty.

Avaris is used to being ignored which never was a blessing until now, in the busy streets of the city Avaris follows you as you explore the human realm. Careful not to get close enough that your demonic senses kick in but enough to keep track of you. They don't like how close the others and some randoms are to your immortal glory. It should be them and only them.

You are encouraging them to be more greedy.

Well they are greedy for you

Fun Facts:

Even though Avaris is an artist they also know how to code (taking a few lessons online)

Loves pudding

Has very long and nimble fingers which make sculpting clay very easy.

Has a short wolf cut that is shaved on the sides, its color changing based on what they want

Extremely near sighted

Average body type and very pasty (twig arms)

Envy: Cain

Full Name: Cain Alvarado

Pronouns: He/they FTM

You know that one kid who has a reputation for being "troubled" that's Cain Model. His parents divorced when he was five, with his mom taking his older and younger sibling, leaving him with his dad. His dad wasn't terrible, but he wasn't great either. Working on a construction site all day left Cain to become self-sufficient very quick. It was learn or starve. He still resents his mom for taking his siblings away and never coming back to check on him or even let him see his siblings. He was bullied in school for being the only openly trans kid and was called some really nasty names. They never got in trouble, only he did when he broke some stupid boy's nose for groping him inappropriately. Left at sixteen to stay with a cousin and finish school. He currently lives with the same cousin and is job searching.

This was it; he was going to die. Cain ran into some very angry gang members of an old rival gang; they recognized him immediately and intended to beat him to death. He wasn't even in the gang that long and they still recognized him.

"You should've known better than to insult us like that maricón!" One of the guys said his comment, causing his buddies to laugh. "I didn't do shit hijueputa." Cain doubled over again as another foot made contact with his stomach. "Shut up bitch, we do what we want." God damn it, someone deity must love to see him suffer. Cain dug his hands into the gravel. If I find that bastard, I'll fuck them up.

Suddenly a fire hydrant exploded, and a wave of water sent the men right into the side of a wall. The water formed a protective dome around Cain. The men ran off talking about "bruja" or whatever. What was happening? Cain opened his eyes to see an imposing demon with their back turned. "I didn't need your help." Cain spoke up to the figure, who turned around with mild fascination. "Clearly not. Are you going to get off the ground?"

"Fuck you."

Yandere Types: Tsundere-Yandere, Overprotective, Impulsive, Jealous, Clingy, Self-Indulgent

Your relationship at first was rocky at best and for good reason. Cain has serious trust issues, and you were tired of having to justify everything you do. A lot of curse words in English, Spanish, and Demonic were thrown at each other. He only stayed to figure out what was going on and because you are strong. However, you kept helping him and not pitying him like everyone else.

He would rather die than admit to himself and others that you've gained a soft spot in his heart. He's never had anyone to depend on so he can't trust that you won't be like everyone else too. Yet at the same time he won't allow you to spend too much time without him tagging along and complaining about how he hates spending time with you (liar). He sees anyone flirting with you and he will cuss them out, same with anyone flirting with him. Would melt internally if you help him volunteer at the animal shelter.

He is a very emotionally driven person and when he becomes jealous, he does many things to stop that feeling making him impulsive. Leading to him being capable of hurting and killing others and you. One of the most dangerous due to his unpredictable behavior. Believes that he should indulge in his obsession with you and will force you along if it means that he is happy.

Don't look to the others for a way out

He might get jealous

Fun Facts:

Volunteers at the animal shelter regularly

Loves sour candy

Low spice tolerance

Great at domestic tasks

Loves visiting the koi pond in the park

Has many piercings

Insecure about his big chest (well-endowed and too broke for top surgery)

Has a cat named Chorizo (rescue with burn scars)

Stocky figure (chubby yet strong)

Maricón= a slur used against gay men in particular. Cain isn't fully gay per se (all of these characters are pretty fruity), but these assholes don't know the difference between gay and trans.

hijueputa= means motherfucker

Wrath: Kali

Full Name: Kali Ramanathan

Pronouns: She/her

Kali comes from a conservative Indian family. Her family longed for a son but instead they ended up with a daughter. They fell into grief when her mother could not have any more children. She became the stain of the family simply for being born the wrong way. Instead of being light skinned and petite, Kali was darked skinned and very tall, towering over her own father. She was dubbed by the rest of the family as "Mannish Girl". Instead of being ashamed of it she wore it like a badge of honor, she would never make her parents proud so why try? Her parents were furious of her love of sports and her average to low grades (despite being very smart). No one would want to marry such a defective woman. Then she confessed to liking girls more than boys, which was the final straw. She was given an ultimatum: Marry a nice Indian boy a seventeen or get the hell out of our family in shame. Much like the vengeful goddess she was named after she stormed away without a second thought. An old girlfriend's parents let her stay with them until college when she left to prove her parents wrong and become a doctor.

Kali had always swallowed her pride; it was best not to argue. She had taken sixteen years of emotional abuse without once complaining. Being compared to cousins, called stupid, called mannish, called the shame of the family. She dealt with a shitty landlord, many rejections to colleges, and working her ass off in undergrad all with fierce determination. Yet her molecular chemistry teacher was what made her snap.

"Honestly I don't understand why you're still in my class you're not very smart and you're wasting a spot that a man could fill." She had lost control and punched him but a single punch that was supposed to just bruise his jaw and ego, shattered all his bones and snapped a few tendons.

This isn't good. Her chauvinist professor had passed out due to the pain and Kali was left panicking. Why did she have to snap now when she was so close to graduating? "Need help cleaning up?" Kali snapped around to see a janitor, except it was a very muscular and handsome janitor with a regal aura and... horns? "I just need to get this man to a hospital." "No need." the person spoke and waved their hand over the broken body a black aura surrounding the body. Kali anticipated something but nothing happened. "I healed him and in exchange for my silence on this matter I want you to come with me."

What had she gotten herself into?

Yandere Type: Harmless, Sadistic, Isolating, Manipulative, Possessive, Protective, Worshiper, Delusional

At first Kali thought you were the shadiest being on the planet. Who else goes out of their way to pluck young people from their lives to train them for...? The end of the world? Were you high? Clearly not as you had some of the best fighting, she'd ever seen. Please teach her!

However, you were one of the first to not belittle her for simply being a woman with her interests. You would listen as she rambled about anything that caught her interest. You also introduced her to boxing (something about channeling her wrath powers). You were her calm her source of peace and she would do anything to keep it that way.

She is never sadistic towards you; she would rather hurt herself then hurt you (physically at least). Others including the other sins are on the table. Got a little too rough during training? She was just really into it. Knocked the tooth out of that girl at her boxing gym? She was asking for it thinking she could flirt with you (she was just smiling at you out of politeness but okay)!

Kali is smart and knows she can't have you all to herself all the time (yet), especially with the other sins. Non sin people however... are fair game. She'll manipulate every situation to make sure others stay the hell away from you and that you come to her instead. She'll also do everything to earn your trust and lure you into feeling more secure around her (good luck with that). She will treat you with great reverence and be your champion.

She would let the world burn

If you'd be there by her side

Fun Facts:

Her poorer grades in grade school were due to undiagnosed ADHD.

Loves jewelry (specifically necklaces)

Got into boxing and working out to release anger (thanks to you)

Damn good at basketball

Is a yoga instructor at a local gym

Loves spicy food

Thinks spiders are cool

Dresses in the goth aesthetic

Knows a frightening amount about the human body (will ask you for books on demon anatomy as well)

Tall and lean (from sports) medium long dark hair that is very soft (has a tiny girl stache), slightly bushy brows

Lust: Désirée

Full Name: Désirée Beaufort

Pronouns: He/him

Désirée Beaufort is a child born of an affair, specifically his father and a maid that worked for him. His father only raised him out of a sense of obligation (not wanting to pay child support). His father's wife hated him and would do everything in her power to remind him that he was a mistake. Has two other half-sisters (that we know of) who were legitimate and hate his guts. Hated the fact that he was prettier than them and would do terrible things to him (chop his beautiful locks and cut his porcelain skin). It didn't help that the other people he met all objectified him, some even trying to assault him. His father's wife did nothing but watch on as these disgusting individuals would touch him where he didn't want to be touched. Luckily, they never went further but it made Désirée terrified of the idea of sex. He asked his father to let him live on his own (to escape the abuse), who agreed just to get rid of him. Currently, living in the wealthier part of the city off the allowance his father gives him.

Désirée noticed how easy it was to get what he wanted. Of course, he always had pretty privilege but now everyone had a foggy look in their eyes when they talked to him. His landlord allowed him to stop paying rent, his coffee was always free, and people would do anything he said. He didn't understand why everyone would act so strange around him, but he just got used to it. That was until a bunch of crazed admirers chased Désirée with obsessive intent. It frightened him so terribly to see their lovesick expressions.

Why won't they go away?

A heavy weight pressed on his arm and he was yanked into an alley as the admirers continued running past him. Désirée looked up in fear of what the person behind him might do. "Are you okay?" "Huh?" Désirée tilted his head to the side, no one had ever asked him that before. "Those people looked like they wished to murder you so I want to know if they hurt you." This person cared? Désirée pulled away from the strong persons grasp and stared at them. Before him stood a terrifying beast with a commanding aura.

"Do you love me?"

"Why would I? I just met you."

"Oh thank the stars!"

Yandere Types: Worshiper, Obsessive, Clingy, Manipulative, Self- Sacrifice, Harmless(?), Desperate, Delusional

Désirée was grateful to find someone who didn't throw themselves at him. He could have a conversation with someone as an equal rather than an object and he was overjoyed. You were equally strict on everyone you trained equally which Désirée both loved and hated. You were a savior in his eyes and someone to admire for your dedication to your cause.

Désirée fell hard and fast, maybe even the first person to go yandere for you. He was surrounded by people who mistreated him so doing the bare minimum was enough to make him fall in love with you. Désirée wanted to be around you 24/7! He found out about demon contracts and begged to enter one with you. Broke down sobbing when you explained that 1. He couldn't enter a contract as the reincarnation of Lust and 2. You wouldn't do it anyways (you serve no one but the King of Hell).

Normally very touch adverse but with you Désirée is the definition of clingy. Wraps himself around you as soon as he sees you, kisses your cheek, and drowns you in compliments. He adores you so so so much, how can he not express it?! Accidentally guilt trips you into being more accepting of his advances (he becomes very depressed if you seem nonreceptive). Learns all sort of magic to impress you and uses his secret ability to make sure that his dream comes true (you and him together forever).

He always hated lust but...

He feels compelled to it by you

Fun Facts:

Bilingual (speaks fluent English and French)

Favorite food is breakfast food

Likes heavy death metal

Loves to craft (crochet, sew, knit, needlepoint)

A very good swimmer and proficient fencer

Loves horseback riding

Loves romcoms (will try to reenact them with you)

Beautiful man: Tall and lithe (most likely to malnourishment) with Long wavy blond hair and icy blue eyes has two beauty marks under each eye

Gluttony: Gwyn

Full name: Gwyn Bex

Pronouns: ALL OF THEM

Gwyn Bex and their background is nothing to sniff at. She had two supportive mothers who love him no matter what, they have a successful career as a high fashion model, and they have more wealth than others of his age group could say. However, she is not satisfied with this life, it was all so hollow. The only time that he ever feels a thrill is when something is at stake, someone challenges their comfy life. When that is not happening, she is going on a diet to it the newest body trend after all their looks are what gave them this life and he can't be anything less than perfect. They have a severe case of binge eating and purging which has caused many health complications, oh well not like she cared much about himself.

Gwyn reclined in a red leather seat of a beauty parlor getting their hair done, smoking a cigarette. Smoking was against the rules but who was going to stop him? Their next photo shoot was coming up and she had to look flawless. The hairdressers were chatting about unimportant things until he heard a rival model's name. A string snapped internally as they heard those insects praising that ghastly creature. Gwyn sighed and tried to keep things together.

They wouldn't stop.

Gwyn dug their manicured nails into the armrests of the styling chair. How dare they speak of another who couldn't hold a candle to them and her beauty. Their multicolored eyes held nothing but malice for the people talking in front of him.

BOOM!

Large lightning bolt followed by wall shaking thunder landed in front of the shop. The lights in the shop began to flicker on and off, freaking out the customers. A humming sound came from the walls themselves. Bursting from the vents came a swarm of locusts swirling around Bex causing patrons and workers to scream in terror. How amusing.

Even more intriguing was the brief yet ominous silhouette that appeared near the window. Ignoring the chaos around her she walked out the door and was greeted with the intense scent of ozone. Some of the locusts leaving the store and following them, one in particular landing on a stranger's finger. "You know locusts aren't often found swarming in the city, they often flock to where there are crops to be razed. Gwyn cocked his perfect brow at the strangely alluring person in front of them, smirking. "You're going to be fun."

Yandere Types: Sadistic, Monopolizing, Controlling, Unpredictable, Self-Indulgent, Manipulative

Is the most dangerous yandere upfront. They know what they want and what she wants, what he craves is entertainment. It almost scares you how differently Bex approaches things than the rest of the sins. Beelzebub was known to be very dangerous but the reincarnation more dangerous than Lucifer's. That's new. Gwyn flirts with everyone in this strange little 'family' at first not really caring for their fate or anyone's feelings. You change that.

Foxy little minx you are

How dare you fill their mind when they should be focused on other things? You must pay by being their little play thing. Too bad your so stubborn and defiant. No matter... makes things more fun.

Unlike the other sadists Gwyn's sadistic tendencies can and will be turned on you. You're the big bad general, of course she wants to test your mettle (you're not having any of it). They like to playfully tease you, predatory gaze trained on your figure consuming your every action. It's so sweet how you worry for their health (you don't you just need them to embrace Gluttony further), you should be rewarded for that (you don't want his rewards).

Cain might kill others by accident but for Gwyn it's all a calculated game and everyone must play their part. Your part is to be her precious little general, their toy.

Gluttony is all about overindulgence

Well let them overindulge in you

Fun Facts:

Has heterochromia (one blue eye, one eye that is half blue half brown)

Is jealous of the King's power over you

Likes testing their abilities in his spare time

Great singing voice (is a triple threat)

The only sin who is on board with embracing their sin

Actually hates bugs (especially flies)

Knew Duke before all this (you'll find out ;))

Weight fluctuates from anorexically thin to fat (can pull off any weight), foxlike eyes, pretty strawberry blonde hair, average height

Sloth: Marmaduke

Full Name: Marmaduke Skelly (prefers to be called Duke)

Pronouns: "The guy ones" (any pronouns besides she/her)

Duke's a chill guy, he's very go with the flow type guy. Grew up in middle class suburbia with two loving parents and a cute little sister (very big age gap between siblings). Was very insecure of being short and skinny (was the shortest boy in his middle school), which lead to a lot of teasing from his friends and classmates. When you've been thrown through a basketball net you decide it's time to bulk up. Got his first set of weights at thirteen as well as a gym membership at fifteen. He aspires to be just like his first gym bro who helped teach him how to use all the equipment and figure out a routine. Joined his high school wrestling team and quickly became MVP. Was a golden boy jock at his school and would report any jock to the coach who was found bullying or harassing girls. Got in on a sports scholarship to the city university and is studying Early Childhood Education (minor in Philosophy).

Duke was having one of those sleep paralysis episodes again he was sure of it. He had no problems getting sleep in his whole life until recently. Every night he would fall asleep and would wake up unable to move or speak. A large dark figure would whisper to him calling him Belphegor for some reason. He was never really that religious, sure his parents dragged him to church as a kid but he never believed in demons.

Until he saw one in his frat's kitchen. "Ah you're awake finally, you know you talk in you sleep, correct?" Fuck. What was he supposed to say? "Uh are you a demon?" Duke asked. Idiot that must be such a rude question to ask a demon. The demon laughed as their eyes squinted in amusement (which Duke thought was pretty cute). "What do you think?" The demon asked flexing their powerful wings and sweet gains. "That you should teach me your routine cause you got some sweet gains." The demon stared at Duke in disbelief. Did he say something wrong. "Gains? Routines? Human what are you talking about."

He's jealous

Yandere Types: Harmless, Obsessive, Clingy, Overprotective, Delusional, Lovesick

Bro is just happy to be along for the ride. He a reincarnated demon represented the cardinal sin of Sloth. Sick... what is sloth? IT'S WHAT?! Bro's straight up offended. He did not put all this work into a healthy bod to be told he has to throw that all out the window. Hell no! Not only that but sloth is one of the least respected and powerful of the sins. How come Nalani gets to be Lucifer Freaking Morningstar and he just... he doesn't even know! You're pretty much the only person who can calm him down.

Bro is whipped for you anytime spent with you is good time. Wanna go to the gym? The movies? The gym? That new burger place? The gym? Please go to the gym with him! He wants to learn some new moves and teach you some of his own (also see you covered in sweat).

Delulu for real. You can do nothing wrong in his eyes. #1 (Y/N) apologist and defender. Will fight anyone who disagrees. He also believes that you love him the most deep down so that's why he's fine with you interacting with everyone else. Does many things to attempt to convince you that you he should be your mate. (you are his but more importantly he is yours)

Your number one hype man will shower you with compliments all day long. You didn't have an ego problem before, but you'll have one after interacting with Duke for too long. Bros always praising your muscles (using that as an excuse to squeeze them).

Freaks the fuck out if you get even the tiniest scrape. He doesn't underestimate you, he just never wants you to feel pain. Oh my god you have a paper cut?! CALL THE AMBULANCE! Don't worry baby he'll make sure to hold your hand the entire time. You're just rolling your eyes.

Seems the most normal out of all of them but he's still a yandere (just unintentionally sneaky).

Sloth is all about apathy but

He'll never sleep on you

Fun Fact:

Is intersex

Total gym bro (but a wholesome one)

Has fairy princess tea parties with his little sister like a real man

Professional body builder

Terrible cook

(insert the Knuckles feminist rant here)

Loves the Rocky movies (sister is convinced he's a ginger Rocky Balboa)

Huge anime nerd

Knows Gwyn (unfortunately in his eyes)

One of the only ones willing to share darling

Bros literally been called a buff leprechaun (cause he is short, ginger, and built like a tank). No one thinks this man would be 5'2 (158.496 cm) but he is. Hairy arms and cannot go anywhere without putting a crap ton of sunscreen on. Covered in freckles and has the nicest hazel eyes. Heart is as big as his muscles bro.

[mlove44lh]

Don´t hurt yourself

Chaprter 4 - Apathy

Masterlist

Previously chapter

Warnings: mention of cheating, angst, swearing, mention of miscarriage, mention of blood and hospital, alcohol use. This chapther it may be triggering for some people

Words: 4.337

“So what are you gonna say at my funeral, now that you've killed me? Here lies the body of the love of my life, whose heart I broke without a gun to my head. Here lies the mother of my children, both living and dead. Rest in peace, my true love, who I took for granted. Most bomb p*ssy who, because of me, sleep evaded. Her god listening. Her heaven will be a love without betrayal.

Ashes to ashes, dust to side chicks.”

August

"The physical pain is a gentle breeze compared to the emotional pain that engulfs me now. The contractions still echo through my body like violent waves, and tears continue to stream down my face. But none of this compares to the tightness I feel in my chest. The image of what happened before still haunts my mind like a nightmare that won't go away.

It lasted so little, I didn't even have a chance to know him, to hear his voice, admire his eyes, feel his warmth against mine. I will never know which one of us he would have resembled more. My dearest dream has turned into a nightmare.

They promised me that this would be the last exam, just to make sure I don't have any residue left inside me.

"Residue". That's what he became.

I go through all the procedures while being completely on autopilot, I no longer care where they take me, the smell of ether is already ingrained in me and everything seems like a loop of the same thing. Doctors come and go from my field of vision, their voices distant as if they were whispers.

A lot of blood lost, they said.

I think of Lewis, I think I saw him this morning, but I'm not sure, dreams are becoming more and more similar to reality. I don't know if I can trust my mind.

"Mrs. Hamilton? Do you hear me?"

The doctor stares at me, even though he is close, the sound of his voice feels like it's coming from miles away. I try to focus on the moment but it's almost impossible.

"We can search for treatments for your condition, but for now, the best course of action would be for you to refrain from attempting a new pregnancy. So that we can investigate and make the best decision before proceeding with anything else." He pauses before continuing, perhaps waiting for a question. I must have a million of them, but I can't even manage to utter my own name now. “I will call your husband, if everything goes well, you'll be discharged by morning. I'll be around if you need me.”

I watch him leave the room, the hole in my chest makes me feel absolutely nothing, which ends up being more comforting than the suffering I felt when I came across all that blood. I go back to staring at the white ceiling and hope this all passes soon.”

There is nothing more exhausting than loving for two.

I look at the diamond that even after six years, still shines brightly on my ring finger. It would be so much easier if there was no love, but it seems like love was the only thing that remained, even if only on one side.

Everything else has gone away; happiness, respect, attention. The only thing that remains will be the hardest to let go, love.

How does she look through the eyes of my husband? How does he see her? Certainly very different from me, certainly much better than me.

I don't know if I want to forgive him for what he did, but I also don't want to regret not having tried to fight for us both. Forgiving him would mean accepting what happened and trying to move forward together. On the other hand, moving forward without him would mean trying to heal on my own and leaving him behind.

But I don't want to be alone, and I don't want to lose him, even though the feeling that dominates me now is that I have been alone for much longer than I thought.

I stare at the cold coffee on my table, I thought I'd be rested and that I'd be able to think more clearly after a night of sleep, but I couldn't sleep for even a minute, and today things seem even more confusing and painful than yesterday.

"I don't think you should ask for a divorce"

"What?!"

"Put an end to this and move on."

I stare at the woman sitting in front of me as if she had just said the most absurd thing in the world. And it really sounded that way.

“Can't you see the state I am in right now?”

“Yes, your sadness today is clear to me. Just like your happiness almost blinded me during these seven years.”

The cafeteria is more crowded than usual, people are moving back and forth, most seem late for appointments. Emma and I are the contrast to these people, we've been sitting for hours, and many of those minutes have been spent in complete silence. For some reason she was the person I called as soon as I woke up from the worst night of my life.

Emma became practically my confidante over the years. I met her shortly after moving to Monaco, on the first day of my new job. She has always been kind, always seemed to understand me, and it didn't take long for her to become more than just a work colleague. Even after leaving the company after a few years, I didn't stop keeping in touch with her.

I know she has been married for over 30 years, and I also know that she is a very intelligent woman. So it made sense to me to arrange this meeting.

"Have you been through this?”

She says with such certainty that I should forgive him that it's almost like a confession.

“I've been married for thirty-two years. What do you think?"

"And was it like that? Did you just forgive him?”

“No. It was a lot of struggle, we almost gave up.”

“What happened?”

“I was pregnant when he told me he was in love with someone else and wanted to leave me. Can you imagine that?"

Emma is one of the sweetest people I know. Imagining her going through that makes me even more disturbed.

“How did I not know about this?”

“No one knows about it. I promised myself I wouldn't tell a soul.”

“Why are you telling me now?"

"Because you need to.” The woman continues to stare at me as she takes a small sip of her cappuccino. “No one can make the decision for you. But know that if you take him back, you will have to forget what happened and never bring it up again. On the other hand, you can achieve so much more together.”

I rest my head in my hands. I thought this conversation would bring clarity, but I'm even more confused now.

"I don't know, Emma. It's so complicated.”

"It's not easy, Y/n. It's a marriage, everything requires sacrifices. And sometimes those sacrifices are our principles. But if you love each other and want to give it another try, the rest can be fixed."

The thoughts and possibilities rush through me so quickly that I can't focus on just one. I promised myself I wouldn't go through this, but experiencing it firsthand, it's much more complex than I imagined. It's not just a simple 'yes' or 'no'. What's at stake is much bigger.

"Why don't you go out with some friends? It'll help clear your mind. Sometimes a hangover makes us think better about life."

I chuckle at your unusual request.

"I don't think that's a good idea. I'm exhausted."

"Staying in this spiral of sadness and doubt that he put you in won't help you, that I know."

I look at the woman in front of me for a few seconds, but I don't respond to her. The idea doesn't sound as absurd as it did seconds ago, but I don't think my exhaustion and melancholy would allow me to do something like that.

The woman gives me a kind smile, but I can sense pity in her gaze, which only makes me feel more ashamed and guilty.

"I need to go now," she says.

Emma gets up and grabs her coat, and I do the same.

"Thank you for listening to me.”

"You're welcome. You know I'm here for you anytime.”

As we leave the coffee shop, I feel the cold wind of the day wrapping around me. I put on my coat before turning to the woman one last time. Emma pulls me into a hug that I wasn't expecting, but I nestle into her arms, grateful for the chance to see her and for her willingness to help me.

"You'll know what to do when the time is right. And know that you'll never be alone, no matter what decision you make," her voice comes out softly in the midst of our embrace.

"Thank you so much," I say.

We part, and Emma continues to look at me for a moment before she starts to move. I watch her leave the street as she walks away calmly.

I get into the G-Wagon parked in front of the café, and I spend a few minutes staring at the steering wheel in my hands. I don't feel like going home. Even though he's not there, the idea of being surrounded by his things and his scent makes me anxious.

I look around the car and can visualize him in the passenger seat, with his mischievous smile and sparkling eyes. I remember how we used to travel together, planning adventures and sharing laughter along the way. Now, everything feels different.

I left everything behind to come here, to rebuild my life by his side. I faced different people, different cultures, a different language, but I had him by my side, so I didn't mind the barriers I encountered. Because I knew everything would be okay as long as I was with him. I've never regretted leaving what I left behind, even though I left a lot.

I contemplate before reaching for my bag and taking out my phone.I skip through all the unread messages from Lewis and go to her name in my contacts list. I feel anxious as I wait for the call to be answered.

-

The amber liquid goes down my throat, burning, but it burns less than the last shot seconds ago.

I slam the glass back on the round table and pop the small slice of lemon into my mouth, feeling the sour taste cut through the burning sensation of the drink.

I've lost count of how many of these I've had already. But I don't care about drinking too much now, because for the first time in weeks, I don't feel as suffocated.

I could become an alcoholic if it meant finding some peace from my own thoughts.

I reach for my phone inside my bag and stare at the lock screen. The small icon of his photo stares back at me.

“35 New messages”

Since yesterday they haven't stopped coming. I haven't responded to our conversation, but I can still read the messages. A mix of “please” and “let's talk” and a bunch of other things that make me want to drink even more.

Alessia sits back in front of me after returning from the bar with a drink in her hand. She notices my serious expression and looks at me with attentive eyes.

"Are you going to tell me what happened now?" She asks, leaning towards me.

The busy bar isn't too far from Alessia's place, and the bustle around us are louder than I'd prefer. The piano music plays softly, and despite the chatter of people, I can still hear Alessia's words clearly. Ever since we met at this bar, Alessia has been trying to get out of me what she knows is wrong.

She knows me very well. Too well, I would say. It would be impossible to keep something as significant as this a secret from her, but I don't want to have to talk about it at the only time I can deceive myself and pretend it's not happening.

"It's complicated. I don't think here is the right time or place. I just want to be able to drink with my best friend tonight."

Alessia tilts her head, studying me intently. She knows I'm avoiding it, but she's also familiar with my stubbornness.

"Okay. But you're going to have to talk to me sooner or later."

I nod at her as I put my phone back in my bag.

"Tell me. How are the preparations for the move going?" I ask her.

I try to shift the topic of conversation, and fortunately, I succeed. Alessia's eyes light up when I mention my curiosity.

"An organized mess." She responds with a smile. "Everything is in chaos in the gallery, with boxes everywhere. I'm moving just a few blocks away but it feels like I'm moving to another country with so much to do. But I'm really glad I got that spot."

I can't help but smile as I listen to her. I know how much she's been looking forward to this moment, and her joy is contagious.

"The location is perfect, it will help a lot with business.”

"Well, I hope so. This effort has to be worth something. At least it's almost over."

"Do you already have the opening date?"

She nods as she takes a sip of her drink.

"I organized the inauguration cocktail even before starting the move." I chuckle with her. "It's going to be on Saturday. So make sure to arrange to go."

"Of course, I will."

The conversation with Alessia flows for a few more minutes as we share laughs and more drinks.

I'm already feeling buzzed, but the more we talk and drink, the calmer I feel. We're immersed in our conversation when the waiter suddenly approaches, placing an elegant glass on the table in front of me. The transparent liquid inside the glass shines under the soft bar light.

"A dry martini for the lady," the waiter says with a smile, pushing the glass towards me.

"I didn't order that." I say to the waiter, looking confused.

The waiter points to a man sitting at one of the high stools at the bar, who looks our way and raises his whisky glass in a suggestive gesture. He appears to be in his early thirties, with dark hair and a mischievous smile on his face.

"It was the gentleman at the bar who ordered it for you," the waiter explains before walking away.

I look back at the man in the bar, surprised, as he gazes at me with a confident look. He raises his whisky glass in a suggestive toast.

Alessia glances at the man and then turns her inquisitive gaze back to me, clearly confused about what's happening. I shrug and take a sip of the drink, trying to appear indifferent. The bitter taste of the drink mixed with the sensation of the ice in my mouth makes me realize that it's a well-made martini.

“Jesus, either he didn't notice this giant diamond on your finger, or he's confident enough to be an asshole.”

“Maybe he's just curious.”

She looks at me and just by her expression, I can decipher her thoughts. On a normal day, I would decline the drink, send it back, not touch it, or do something like that. But today, I just accepted it willingly, with a smile on my face, from the stranger who bought me an unrequested drink. So I understand the reason for her confusion in her expression.

Alessia is a smart woman who knows me well. I can almost hear the moment when it clicks for her. But she doesn't say anything, just shakes her head negatively.

“What's wrong? Why are you looking at me as if accepting the drink was a crime?”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You don't need to say anything with that look.”

She laughs.

“I just wasn't expecting that reaction, but whatever.”

The sound of Alessia's cellphone interrupts us, she reaches for her phone in her bag, rolling her eyes as she looks at the screen.

"Oh my God, they really can't do anything without me in that place," she says, getting up from her chair and preparing to move away. "Give me a minute, I need to take this call before the gallery catches fire or something."

"Sure," I say, chuckling as I watch Alessia walk away from the table until she's out of sight.

I turn my gaze back to the man who is still watching me, a small smile on his lips. His desire is evident, but my interest in him is as nonexistent as my desire for a dry martini tonight.

But I accept the drink, and now I gaze at the man with curiosity. Not because I want anything with him, but because I wonder what it would take for me to do to Lewis what he did to me. Definitely much more than an attractive man buying me a drink. I still know this, even though I'm angry and drunk to the point of not thinking about how it would further affect my situation.

I hate this stranger for making me go back to thinking about Lewis when I was managing to deceive myself so well for a few minutes.

I watch the man get up from his seat and slowly walk towards me. I don't know why he thought he was entitled to all these actions, and I have no interest in talking to him now, but I still don't move to stop him. I stay in my seat with my eyes fixed on him, waiting to see what will happen.

His posture is impeccable, and he seems to be over 6 feet tall. His suit is flawless, and the watch on his wrist looks expensive. He is an attractive man for more than just these things. But even so, I couldn't be less interested.

"I've been trying to choose a drink for you for a while." He says as he gets close enough.

"And what made you think a dry martini would be a good idea?"

"It's an elegant drink, and you seem like a very elegant woman, so it made sense." He smiles.

"Thank you." I smile back at him.

"I'm Henry," he says, extending his hand, expecting a handshake.

"Y/n." I say, extending my left hand to him. He looks at it while shaking it. The ring on my finger is not something that would go unnoticed, especially to someone interested in flirting with me. But that realization doesn't stop him from being here, with the same smile and the same posture.

"So, did I make the right choice?" he asks.

My drunkenness and thoughts make me take a few seconds to realize he's talking about the drink he sent me.

"Well, to be honest, that wouldn't have been my first choice," I laugh nervously. "I prefer something sweeter. But thank you, it was very kind of you."

The unwavering smile remains on his face. Meanwhile, I struggle to maintain minimal eye contact. Regret and anxiety flood me for having accepted the drink and not having avoided the conversation.

"Let me buy you another drink then, one that you like this time," he laughs. "I'm staying at the hotel across the street and maybe we could continue the night there..."

"I'm married," I say, hoping to make the man realize my lack of interest and leave. But that's not what happens.

"I noticed," he says, seemingly unfazed. "But you accepted the drink, so I didn't think it would be an issue."

He says it as if it were a simple math equation, as if it were obvious that I would want to sleep with him in exchange for a fucking dry martini, even though I'm married.

At least I have the answer for Alessia: he saw my ring and has enough confidence to be an asshole.

I don't respond to him immediately. I just stare at the man in front of me, trying to process the audacity of someone making such a crude assumption.

“Is everything okay?” I feel Alessia's hands on my back. She says to me as she glares at him, there is clear anger in her features directed at the man.

"Thanks for the drink," I say as I grab my purse and stand up from the table. I have to concentrate when I put my feet on the floor so I don't end up falling due to drunkenness.

I walk to the exit of the bar and head towards Alessia's car, which is parked a few meters from the front of the place. I hear her footsteps behind me.

"What happened?" she asks.

My heart is racing, and I don't even know why. What happened in there wasn't anything that hadn't happened before, but for some reason, it affected me to the point of wanting to cry. I didn't realize it would be such a big trigger for me.

"Nothing. I just..."

And then it happens. What has been pent up finally surfaces, and I burst into tears. The wave of emotion is so overwhelming that I can barely stay on my feet. I know there are people outside the bar staring at me now, but I couldn't hold it back even if I tried.

In an attempt to have more privacy, Alessia retrieves her car key from her purse, unlocks the passenger door, and guides me inside. She doesn't say anything, but holds my hand and waits for me to calm down.

I know my sobs echo through the car, but I couldn't keep them down even if I tried. I denied myself this feeling, and I knew it would take over me sooner or later.

I don't know how much time passes there. I am silently embraced by my best friend, who holds my hand firmly as if she feels that I might slip away at any moment.

"He cheated on me," the words come out between sobs. I watch her posture change beside me. "In September, Alessia."

"Son of a bitch," she whispers, and I'm not sure if it's directed at me or herself.

"I thought nothing was wrong. He was distant, but after everything, it was normal for that to happen," I break my gaze from Alessia and look down at our connected hands. "But then I found a fucking bracelet in his car. And a few days later, I found out who it belonged to."

"Did you talk to him?” Her voice is low, as if she's not sure if asking me something like that would be helpful or not in my situation.

I nodded at her before continuing to speak.

"I saw her, Alessia. I looked into her eyes while she confirmed to me that she was with my husband. I've never felt so ugly, ridiculous, and humiliated in my life."

I give myself a few seconds to try to calm down, but every time I start speaking again, the tears and despair come flooding back.

"He told me that I was distant, that I changed after the diagnosis. He tried to justify what he did" I say, feeling Alessia's hand gripping mine tightly, providing comfort. "I don't know what to do now."

I look back at her, and I can see the emotion in her eyes.

"You know what to do, Y/n. Look at yourself now, if this isn't a cry for help, I don't know what is. The only problem is that the only person who can get you out of this is yourself."

She pulls me into a tight hug, and we stay like that for some time.

"I'm so sorry. Truly, deeply sorry," She say, pulling away from the hug, but Alessia stays close to me. "I swear, I could kill him right now."

"I know," I manage to smile through my tears. "But I don't think that would solve much."

Alessia backs away from me when she realizes I have calmed down, and she starts the car.

"You can stay at my place as long as you want," she says, releasing the handbrake and preparing to drive out of the parking spot.

"No. I want to go home," I reply.

Alessia looks back at me.

"Y/n, I don't think it's a good idea. Stay with me for a few days, try to think about it away from him,"

"No, I don't want to run away. I shouldn't have even left home today." She keeps staring at me with the steering wheel in her hands. "Please, I need this."

Alessia looks at me for a few seconds before sighing in defeat.

"Alright."

The drive home isn't long. I try to calm down during the journey, but the closer we get, the more I feel the urge to turn back. I know I have to resolve this situation and make a decision soon, but I'm afraid of saying goodbye to the only good thing I've ever had in my life.

Author's notes: Thanks for your patience in waiting until now, and... CHAPTER 5 IS OUT NOW! GO, GO, GO!!

Taglist:

@slafgoalskybaby, @justanormalfangirlsworld, @ravenqueen27, @nakamotosmoron, @supersanelyromantic, @maryseesthings, @bebesobrielo, @tenaciousathleteoperatorgarden, @bbhyunee, @missamericana69, @thotsposts.

If you want to be put on, or taken off my taglist, please let me know!

[flokali]

Bestie...

I'm trying to remain calm but

Holy-

˓˓ ⍥⃝⃝ ˒˒

I want to scream on how good you portray Zhongli like, he's not totally like grovelling off the bat. He's still got that Archon side to him. He knows that we have a little part of us that still loves him despite his actions. And the little grovelling session as we're getting f-cked silly, BESTIE I'M ROLLING AROUND IN MY BED BECAUSE I LOVE IT SO MUCH. And how delusional he is- mwah, chefs motherefffin kiss. It's the perfect balance of him still being in control despite us being the creator while he's a follower that's asking for forgiveness. Wait bestie, I'm gonna reread it again. I need to. It's delectable. Sorry for the word vomit but I NEED to say how much I love it.

Ahhh;; bestie, nonnie, my beloved ! I’m so happy you liked it !! I really like when my men are delusional enough they worship you like a deity but have a thread of awareness that reminds them they still have the ability to flip the script and force you to worship them >_>

I wanted Zhongli to be… aware (?) of his role as both a God and a believer. Like, on one hand for all his life he’s seen himself as your servant, as a follower, a sheep that follows its shepherd, a vessel for your wishes and orders, while I believe that during his early “100% Rex Lapis Edgy War God” phase he probably was really dismissive of you and your role, as he grows older he becomes one of the more fanatical, self-righteous followers who believes he knows you and your will the best - he’s older than most, he’s spent centuries being in your servitude. On the other hand, Zhongli definitely notices you’re not nearly as powerful as him, you have no Vision and your “divine powers” are not… powering. Before he realizes you are in deed the being he worshiped, he thought it was almost comical how powerless, how utterly weak you were, you had no idea where you were or how to survive - it was sheer luck and determination that kept you alive. So when he finally, after weeks of searching for you and requesting a meeting, one where an agreement between you two can be settled, he’s overly aware of the power he holds - in theory you have the upper hand, he is your servant, he’d declared himself yours and made an oath to you, but in reality, if Zhongli wanted and truly gave it his all to he could probably have taken you hostage the minute you stepped into his domain.

He really is being this “nice” because he genuinely believes this is the right way to do it, he really thinks this is the way to ask you for forgiveness; you’re weak, upset, and clearly not in the right state of mind, so he’ll just… take it into his own hands! He sees you as his god, but you’re also… weak, you need him, you need his help and power if you wanted to truly survive and thrive the way you deserve to.

I ramble a little bit about world-building UTC;; huhuhu

In my interpretation of the self-aware cult/organized religion that centers you/the player as a deity, especially in Genshin, you’d have very, very limited powers if at all. I think it’d be very interesting to have a God figure who is just… not all that. You are undoubtedly the person who’s been “helping” them, you are very much the god they have been praying to, but you’re also just… human. Here on earth we don’t have Visions, we don’t have the 7 Archons, there’s no Celestia, you were only capable of your “miracles” because it was a game, because you were meant to be able to do that. With that in mind, I feel like the Archons and some more observant acolytes might be able to figure out you’re pretty much defenseless, you have no power here. I believe most, if not all, of them will eventually realize, it just so happens that in this fic - you’re in Liyue and Zhongli gets his hands on your first.

If I had to make a list of characters who might act similarly to him in the fic… it might be like: Al Haitham (he probably sees you as dumber than him and weaker), Wanderer (in his eyes you’re too naive and weak), Dottore (without the groveling, he’s meaner and more condescending but he still… respects you to some (very minimal) degree), Ningguang (she’s softer and more manipulative, she thinks of you as a pretty, weak, and delicate thing - like… a rare ornament), Ei (she gets really emotional and becomes increasingly paranoid the more she realizes how much weaker you are compared to the average Teyvat Vision user, she sees you as weak but she genuinely thinks she’s helping you), and Yae (she probably behaves like a mix between Ei and Zhongli, she feels like a more lowkey follower but she worries greatly for you and genuinely wants to protect you and sees this as her only way).

[acefaun]

Hi!!!

Please write a part 2, where Lou faces the consequences of HIS ACTIONS.

Where-

His mother slaps him, in front of everyone, while his father says he is disappointed in him, because they never thought their son would do something like that. They have started considering the mc as their own daughter so they could never imagine that, a boy who would never hurt anyone would hurt the girl he claimed to love the most. His mother says she never wants to see him ever again, with tears streaming down her eyes.

The gods, looked disappointed and somewhat angry. Krioff hands were in fire, ready to get at Tauxolouve, if given the chance. Krioff had started considering mc as his sister, after all they had similarities. He was angry on himself for not being able to save mc sooner.

The King thought of the time when Tauxolouve's birth parents came to him and asked him to let Tauxolouve be adopted by their friends ( Tauxolouve's parents).

Mc was standing there see all this unfold. Was she happy maybe not, but she was certainly relieved.😌

Please write a second part these key points.

Yandere Tauxolouve II~ The Outcome

Synopsis: Facing his fate, Tauxolouve is disowned and left a broken man, stripped of all powers, dignity, and title. Looking back… he only wanted to love you… and he hated himself for it.

🩸Yandere Masterlist🩸 Female goldfish! (Primarily Lou’s POV)

A/n: I LOVE that y’all were able to feel my feelings through this! 💖💖 This is my favorite part as a writer. Sure, I love making stories out of the wazoo, But I love forcing emotions onto people!!  Not to be weird, but the way Lou was enjoying MC’s tears, I'M ENJOYING YOUR TEARS BECAUSE I’M CRYING TOO. Oh my lord, it hurt so much to write some of these lines. 🥺 (Other note: I 100% wrote all of Zyglavis’ lines in Neuvillette’s voice. It’s engrained in my head now.) 

–Word Count: 2,945–

His dull eyes stared across the barren cell, only observing the wall before him. It was blank… Much like the walls of his room before you walked into his life. It was an unavoidable fate, wasn't it? Ever since he first saw the vision of him killing you… he thought it was some form of cruel irony. He did everything in his power to stop it from becoming a reality. But… in the end… it was all inevitable.

You were the only bright spark in his life; you made him see that it was all worth living while there was still time left. Still, all the times he saw his death, it made him want to hold you all the tighter. 

Tighter. And tighter. And tighter. 

Until he had no choice but to watch you walk away in the arms of another god. His heart clenched again. You should have been his. Up until the very end of his existence, you should have been his. Even now, locked away in a cell, stripped of his powers, reflecting on how wrong it was for him to love you like this, he still wanted you. 

The other gods were right, he certainly was a pathetic god; but he was only so pathetic for you. You were the cruel one for rejecting his love. He would have done anything for you, and you turned your back on his love. Was it wrong, too, for him to think that this was all your fault? You should have picked another god to protect you from those dark gods… if this was what you were going to do to Tauxolouve.

Tauxolouve resented how things got to this point. If you had just behaved like you were supposed to—no. If you hadn’t hung all over the other gods the way you always did… Maybe then his sanity would have been salvageable. But… it was his fault too for giving into your sinful human temptations. He couldn’t help but ponder if this was why loving a human was considered a sin… 

Perhaps this was why his father was cast out of the Heavens as well. It seemed that Tauxolouve was just destined to follow in his father's footsteps. 

Footsteps echoed through the barren prison, before stopping outside the bars of Tauxolouve’s cell. Taking a glance up, Leon had come to retrieve him from his cell already. Had such time passed that they were ready to judge him? 

Leon and Tauxolouve stared at each other for a solemn moment before Leon bluntly announced, “It’s time.”

Tauxolouve didn’t respond, simply nodding his head and following Leon obediently as his cell was opened. He was being treated like a prisoner, as expected, but it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve any of this. He could admit to his faults at this point. He hated himself for everything he had and everything he lost. 

However, if there was one thing he could avoid, it would have to be facing you. He didn’t want to see you again, however strange that might have seemed for someone so obsessed with you. Despite how possessed and obsessive Tauxolouve was, he knew the carnal urge to have you was all too fresh in his soul. He loved you, and so he was a danger to you. 

It was best to get this over with, he decided as he followed Leon’s footsteps to the Department of Punishments. 

Whispers followed him. Rumors of his deeds met his ears, having spread like wildfire across the Heavens. He loathed these gossiping gods as much as he loathed himself. He loathed- No… He loved you. 

He wanted to resist looking at you, but the minute he caught sight of you across the courtroom, he flinched. Seeing you in his mother’s arms, he couldn’t help but long for it to be him comforting you. 

Leon stepped forward, blocking Tauxolouve’s view, giving a pointed look at the younger demigod. He had no sympathy as he ushered Tauxolouve in the opposite direction from you, being directed into the defendant’s stand; though, he knew there was nothing to defend against. This entire trial was just for appearances and formalities sake; Tauxolouve was unquestionably guilty. 

Zyglavis’ eyes lingered on Tauxolouve for a brief moment. There weren’t any obvious emotions on his face, as expected of an impartial judge. Still, his thoughts were none too pleasant; such was the vibe in the room. Inclining his head, he addressed the court, “Now that all parties are present and accounted for, the trial shall begin.” Assessing the room, Zyglavis noted that Tauxolouve’s gaze was focused on you. Zyglavis’ sharp eyes narrowed. “Tauxolouve, I ask that you remain focused, please.”

Regardless of Zyglavis’ sharp command, Tauxolouve hardly paid any attention as Zyglavis listed his crimes and recounted what had to have been your description of events. His eyes were locked on you the entire time, though you refused to even glance at him. He hated how you were staring at Zyglavis. The thought of you having eyes for anyone else drove him mad…

His mind was so preoccupied with thoughts of stealing you away once again, he didn’t register that he was being addressed until Zyglavis loudly interrupted his train of thought. “Tauxolouve, I will ask you again. If you have nothing truthful to add in your defense…” He paused, the tension growing in the room. “Do you plead guilty?”

The court waited with bated breath. 

After a minute of thick, suffocating silence, Tauxolouve replied, “I do.”

“Then our verdict is such…” Zyglavis announced to the court, “Tauxolouve, ex-god of Sagittarius, is guilty of all confirmed charges. As decreed by the King of the Heavens himself, Tauxolouve shall be stripped of his godhood and exiled from the Heavens. In accordance with the severity of his crimes regarding human life and death, a curse of eternity shall be placed upon him.” Inclining his head, he briskly concluded, “Court is adjourned.”

With Zyglavis as the judge, things went exceptionally smooth. Any quarrels or arguments were swiftly silenced, and the entire trial started and ended in a timely manner. Finally, after it was all said and done, it was time for the punishment to be fulfilled. The Zodiac gods and select other gods were gathered before the King’s throne. Tauxolouve was going to be dealt with at last.

While waiting on the King’s appearance, you unexpectedly approached Zyglavis and he regarded you curiously. Aside from the quiet chatter around the room, everything else was quiet. Your voice was no exception as you timidly inquired, “I’m not familiar with divine sentences… but you said he’d be exiled and cursed. What does that mean?”

Zyglavis’ eyebrows were furrowed, as if he were conflicted over something. Still, he answered, “These types of punishments were decided long ago for such sins involving humans, as well as the natural cycle of living things. The curse will allow his soul to be placed on the wheel of rebirth, forever as a human; however, he will retain his memories as a god. He will be forced to suffer with his sin for an eternity.” 

“He’ll be reincarnated on Earth…” You slowly repeated, “with his memories of me?”

“We considered that this could be a danger to you,” Zyglavis quietly agreed with your unspoken concerns. “But this is the King’s final decision, and we’re reassured that Earth is much too big a place for him to find you. But as for our negligence to your situation…” He trailed off, his hand gently landing on your head. His goal was to comfort you with this minimal affection in front of the other gods. “You will have our blessings as Zodiac Gods. Once this punishment is finally complete, there will be no further threat to your freedom or your life.”

***

Seeing you share hushed words with Zyglavis infuriated Tauxolouve more than he cared to imagine it would. But all he could do was watch the scene take place, his heart clenching with pain. Was watching all he could do? After all, the minute Zyglavis’ hand came into contact with your head, he lost his composure. 

Seeing that something was off, Karno called out quietly, “Lou-”

“Don’t touch her~” Tauxolouve interrupted Karno’s concerned call. In an instant, his arms were wrapped around you, pulling you away from Zyglavis before the god had a chance to move. It was almost as if Tauxolouve were trying to shield you away from the other gods, when it should have been the opposite way around. 

The gods panicked at the situation that came up so suddenly. They never should have left any open space between you and Tauxolouve. However, they were fortunate to have the right people with them to defuse the situation—or at least help out in ways the zodiac gods couldn’t.

Tears had already started to well up in your eyes, but to keep you from panicking and feeling trapped, Tauxolouve’s mother, Sofia, was holding your arms firmly. For the moment, they were all trying their best to remain calm and collected. “Louie…” She struggled to say, “Let go of her.” Tauxolouve and Sofia stared into each other’s eyes, but it was as if Tauxolouve was searching for something he’d never find. “It’s too late…” 

Tauxolouve was clutching desperately onto you. In his mind, he would rather die with you than die alone and suffer fate the way they had planned it for him. Tears welled in his eyes in sheer desperation as his nose nuzzled into your hair. “I can’t…” He admitted, his voice cracking. “I just wanted to love her… I didn’t want things to end like this. But I couldn’t stop it…”

Tauxolouve’s father, Nasir, placed a hand on his shoulder, quietly ushering, “Just let go; that’s the only way you can fix this.” They had to make Tauxolouve release you calmly, lest they put you in a worse situation. 

Your eyes were wide as you felt tears dripping above your head. Tauxolouve was already suffering for what he’d done, and he wasn’t even exiled yet… 

You hoarsely whispered, “Lou…”

Tauxolouve’s eyes widened as he loosened his grip on you. Between his parent’s gentle coaxing and your quiet plea, he was able to see the pain that surrounded him. He whispered into your ear, “I’m sorry… for everything…” 

His grip had loosened enough to where you were pulled away from him by Sofia, and Tauxolouve was again forced away from you, restrained by the other gods. 

Sofia held you against her chest like a child, caressing your head as you numbly cried without registering the tears that fell. You never expected Tauxolouve to apologize like that. For that one, brief moment, he sounded like he meant it. What was more than that, he sounded burdened by tremendous guilt—as if his actions were finally registering in his head. You couldn’t help but wonder… Was he finally hurting as much as he had hurt you?

“What were you thinking?” Sofia suddenly snapped. Finally, after having seen his seeming obsession for herself, she seemed to lose her composure. 

Seeing her reaction, Huedhaut instinctively reached out to comfort you in her place as she approached her son. After all, this was going to be their last time to speak. 

However, no one was expecting her to slap Tauxolouve…

The loud smack made everything fall silent, your sniffled the only quiet sound being made in the large throne room. 

Nasir held onto Sofia for comfort, though the two of them were both clearly torn, expressing it in different ways. “We never thought our son would do something like this,” he solemnly said. “We didn’t want to believe it, even after watching the trial. If only we didn’t have to see the evidence right in front of our eyes…” His eyebrows furrowed in frustration, yet remaining calm as he expressed himself. “We’re unfathomably disappointed in you.”

Sofia, heartbroken by Tauxolouve’s actions, shockingly announced, “No son of ours would have ever done the things you’ve done to this poor young lady. Our Louie would have never hurt anyone… especially the girl he claimed to love most.” Her eyes flickered to the ground, and it was clear that their words implied that Tauxolouve was being disowned. Tears were streaming down her delicate face as she uttered, “I never want to see you… ever again… Tauxolouve…”

These words were breaking Tauxolouve bit by bit. Hearing Sofia say his full name was so foreign to him… it didn’t sound right. None of this was right. 

He wasn’t right. 

His guilt melded into hate… hate for himself and his actions. But… he still sought your love and forgiveness, because that was all that mattered in his mind. “I’m sorry!” Despite his sudden struggling, he failed to pull out from the arms of Leon and Krioff. “(NAME)!” He wanted you to look at him. Time was running out. Why weren’t you looking at him?! “(NAME), I’m sorry!” Why? Why wouldn’t you even glance his way? He wanted to scream. 

Watching the scene empathetically, the gods were just as disappointed in Tauxolouve as Nasir and Sofia. It was clear that everyone had higher expectations for him. He shattered their reality. Seeing what he’d done to you pissed all of them off, and there was no apologizing for that. All the Zodiac gods cared for you; that was no secret. So it was fairly obvious the harsh reaction one would receive if anyone were to hurt you. Tauxolouve had irreparably hurt the one person they all agreed to protect… 

Krioff, who had much in common with you, had even started considering you as his sister. The guilt in his chest festered into a hot anger at the thought of not having been able to save you sooner. They all should have known better when you suddenly stopped making appearances in the mansion with all of them. They really failed you…

Hell, even the King of the Heavens was displeased with this turn of events—however much he knew it was inevitable to happen. He knew the dangers of allowing a demigod to join the pantheon. Tauxolouve never had the constitution of a god to avoid his sinful nature. 

Still… he had pitied Tauxolouve’s parents when they brought this demigod infant before him, pleading for his protection…

He could no longer uphold that promise. 

Revealing himself amongst the gods, his presence settled the chaos by forcing silence to fall upon everyone.

Apathetically, he looked down upon the gods gathered there, before his unforgiving gaze landed on Tauxolouve. “It is time. There is no need for you to say your farewells to the gods here, nor this human. You will live with your sins for eternity and have no solace in redemption, nor forgiveness. Therefore… I hereby cast you out.”

A bright light suddenly overtook everything in the room, and for a moment, your tears stopped overflowing. This bright light was so warm and comforting all around you. For the first time in months, you felt like it was all over. Your soul felt at peace. Maybe it was the blessings of the King and the 11 Zodiac gods present, or maybe it was just the sudden relief hitting you. 

You recalled Zyglavis’ words from earlier… You were finally free.

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XXXVI

Celestia has a cruel sense of humor. He’s always known this, ever since his days as a student. But a soulmate? Really? Dottore/Female Reader Soulmate AU. Lore speculation, interpretations, etc. AO3

At this hour, the moon was high, cresting over the edges of the tree that sheltered the port, bright and full.  You could just see it through the foliage when you looked up, pausing before you crossed the bridge outside of the hotel.  Over the edge, the docks and cranes came into view, and beyond them, the vast sea.  

The air was sticky.  It was worse this far south, so close to the sea, and the breeze didn’t so much relieve the humidity as it did remind you of it every time it kissed your cheeks and bare arms.  

You saw the ship due to set out tomorrow morning, ready to be loaded with cargo and your colleagues.  

But not you, not now.

There was no point in boarding a ship to continue on a tour you could not participate in.  

A flood of tears threatened to choke you, the neck of your cello tight in your hand.  Your faithful partner, broken beyond repair, never to tremble beneath your touch again.

All that awaited aboard that ship was another nation and more performances, more lies that the nation of Fontaine was not struggling.  There was no pollution, no poverty, no sickness, no deicide. Your patron had been right back when you gave your notice but anything had been better than being a songbird.  And it was propaganda with people who didn’t think twice about numbing their soulmate bond, who had both feet firmly planted in reality, sure of their existence and their purpose.  

You’d once been sure, too.

“Don’t tell me you used your instrument as a weapon.”

That familiar timber had such a cold edge to it, steel in a winter storm, as metal tapped wood in a rhythm you could recognize anywhere.

You turned, grip on the broken cello neck tightening in hopes to control the tremble through your limbs.  

For a moment, you were thrown back into the House of Daena.  Sharp boots, white coat, ornamentation that seemed impractical for lab work but denoted power no one dared question.  Beak-like mask, an earring with an ethereal glow.  His arms were crossed and a slight frown tugged at his lips, as though inconvenienced by the mere idea of running into you.

The hotel was full of Fatui.

Of course.

After all, Zandik had said Omega was working with the Akademiya and what you saw of the lab reinforced that even further.  What had the Segment said?  A man-made god?  

Fontaine had its faults, certainly, but they never dared try to throw off the yoke of Celestia so blatantly.

It stood to reason, then, that any public appearance of the Harbinger would be the Segment.

Your legs carried you across the distance, fury gripping you as you shoved the broken cello neck into the Segment’s throat above his harness ring. 

“Was this your doing?” you growled.

 Through the wood, you could feel the vibration of his amused chuckle.  Sharp teeth gleamed at you.

“You hate me almost as much as he hates himself.  I am impressed.”

You pushed the wood further into the Segment’s neck, reminding yourself that as much as the resistance felt flesh-like, that he was far from human.

“You’ve given me every reason.”

“I haven’t, actually.  I’m not the one who destroyed your precious instrument.  But I am going to be the one to ensure that everything falls back into place.”

No , you think, you won’t be.

You closed your eyes, the port before you disappearing for a moment as the Cryo-encased flower came to mind instead.  A dream you’d wanted for so long, finally becoming reality, the tangibility of limbs brushing, air between you heavy with both humidity and potential.  For a moment, red eyes widened as your vision went black, and hands traced every single callous in an attempt to memorize your very existence.

“You’ve done more than enough,” you said, jaw tight.

Omega drew in a deep breath, more for effect than need you realized, and let out an impatient huff through his nose.

“The experiment was intended to understand if Zandik’s soulmate extended beyond himself.  Beyond the Prime origin point of us all.  You weren’t supposed to lose the ability to dream.”

The Segment sounded apologetic, guilty even.  A fiery knot tugged at your gut.  He felt guilty over that but nothing else?

“I deserve far more than Zandik does,” Omega drawled.  “And therefore I was the most qualified candidate for the experiment.  That you ended up in Sumeru when I did, when larger plans were falling into place was, truthfully, unexpected.  I couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste.”

“Fuck you.”

You pushed him away with the cello neck, reveling in the irritated mark and small dents you left in his skin.  Omega reached a hand up and rubbed the spot, mouth pulled into a grin that didn’t need words to accompany it.

“Both of you go right for the jugular.  Perhaps you are soulmates after all.”

“He…”

“Self-hatred is a powerful thing, Noor 'eini.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Omega cracked his neck before he took one step, and then another, further away from the hotel doors to circle the perimeter.  To circle you .

“Your precious Zandik fractured himself twenty-four times.  Eleven of them are deceased.  I am the sole survivor of his later adult years.  The closest to his present self.  One does not segment their memories and their very being without wanting to be rid of said memories.  After all, we are the culmination of our experiences, our loved ones, universes unto ourselves.  You should see the hatred Zandik gives me for playing with you.  It’s as much inward as it is outward.  You may not see it but that’s because he thinks he’s hidden it, buried like the machinery he so adores.”

You stepped back when Omega bent a little, his face close to yours.  He cocked his head, locks of hair falling softly to frame his face as the earring pressed against his neck a little.

“Haven’t you ever wondered about the wind in the dreams?”

The wind?

Your face contorted in confusion and you no longer cared if the Segment could read you like a book.  You tried to recall the dreams that felt so far away now, cloudy and intangible.  The first dream after you met in person, you swore you heard multiple voices as the wind howled through mountains and trees, like voices of an audience.  And the leaves, in that final dream as you stroked his head in your lap and listened to him explain the Ruin Golem’s inner workings.  

Leaves didn’t whisper.

Not like that.

“I know what must be done,” Omega whispered, his words ghosting over your nose, your cheeks.  “When the time comes, you too must play your part.”

“I’m not humoring this anymore.”

You turned, adjusting your grip on your belongings as you strode away, determined to put as much distance between you and the Segment as possible.  Your anger was no longer a pot boiling over but instead a dulled blade, having carved off the edge of your grief for the briefest of moments.  By now, you knew better than to trust the Segment at his word, to consider anything longer than necessary.

With the idea in your mind though, the memories were more crisp than what the others, you could only conclude meant they were true moments between you.  That was something, you supposed.

But what were you meant to do with that information?  What good did that do when you…

You had no plan.

No job.  No instrument.

Nothing.

You trekked down spiral after spiral, the stone underfoot comforting in its steadiness.  One foot in front of the other.  

Life was, in a way, like sight-reading.  You knew there were notes ahead of where you were, waiting to be played, but you couldn’t get to them until you focused on the immediate ones.

Leaving without any kind of connection to your soulmate, especially given his position, was dangerous, stupid even.  All it would take was being at the wrong place at the wrong time with the right person.  The Doctor would be none the wiser until it was too late and all the worse because you had no means to contact him.  Not in a way that protected either of you and potentially revealed everything.  You survived on that connection, thrived on it, and then to not have it…

Did that even make you soulmates anymore?

What were you to one another, now, if you could not…

You closed your eyes, the port before you disappearing for a moment as the Cryo flower came to mind again.  A promise, a willingness to fix, but what if there was nothing to fix?   If this was what was destined, in the end?

There must be more, you thought to yourself.  More to the world than passively traveling, being subject to the whims of those around you.  More to working tirelessly on compositions that would never see the light of day or be played by anyone other than yourself.  It was clear to you that the world moved on in your short absence but where did that leave you?

A question for another time when you finally saw him again.  By quitting, you’d made up your mind on some things already.  That sense of relief didn’t extend far, though, and at the idea of what came next, your chest squeezed uncomfortably.  

You continued further into the harbor, dipping underneath a large root and behind the tavern, and out towards the wooden piers to the lighthouse.  Sumeru had no proper beach, at least not out this way, but the shoals would suffice for now.  It was enough to be away from the cacophony of the hotel and the tavern, far from Omega, alone with your thoughts and the rhythmic splash of the tide.  

You’d always felt an odd connection to the ocean and its beaches despite being a Geo user and mostly kept from the coast for most of your formative years.  The reliable rocking of waves and the sheer natural force had been something of an inspiration, a comfort, when all else failed.

There was, however, already someone here.  You paused on the edge of the pier, tense from both Omega’s prodding and your own anxiety, blinking once as though it would clear your vision.

You had been under the impression that you wouldn’t see him properly until the morning you were set to depart.

Once again, Zandik’s coat was absent, but so was his cravat.  The collar of his shirt was open, exposing the full column of his neck and a teasing view of his collarbone.  The harness only served to draw your eye precisely where it pressed against his bare skin before it dipped over his shirt to wrap around him.  His sleeves, too, were carefully folded up to his elbows, exposing well-defined muscle.  Leather gloves still covered his hands, his mask still obscuring his face, barriers between him and the world.

It was still cloyingly humid and you could see that even he wasn’t immune to the weather here.  But part of you couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, he was trying to help you visually differentiate between himself and Omega.  Attempting to be the Zandik you knew only in a separate world, dreams away from reality.

You had spent an eternity tracing a collarbone that wasn’t his but your fingers twitched nonetheless, a yearning that came from deep within your bones for late night conversations that held no pretense.  Such moments were stolen from you and as you watched him approach, you let your eyes roam over the shadows that dipped across his arms and the reflection of light on the ring of his harness.  You used to admire him in dreams, when you could; now, you told yourself,you deserved to, and you were determined to not have everything tainted by a shadow of himself.

A shadow that he was, no doubt, keeping an eye on from a distance.

“And here I thought you’d be asleep,” Zandik quipped.  “I might have little use for it but that doesn’t mean…”

His masked face fell to your hand and the broken cello neck.  You saw his shoulders rise and then slowly fall with a breath, one hand reaching up for his mask as the other extended towards you in silent request.  

“Omega stole whatever quip you want to say,” you muttered.  “There’s no fixing it.”

The tears that once felt as if they would flood you were far out of reach now.  Stolen from you just as much as your instrument, as your memories were.  Crying felt like a waste of energy.

Zandik turned the neck over in his hands.  You knew all of the scratches by heart that were glinting in the moonlight, the pegbox still shiny with polish.  

Without ceremony, you cast your bag aside and removed your footwear and accompanying garments to stand calf-deep in the water.  The tide was barely cooler than the air and you sat down, feet in the water, playing with the sand between your toes. 

“Why must I continue to pay a price that I cannot, Zandik?” you asked.  “Is this normal?”

His red eyes were too occupied with the wood in his hands, now held at eye-level and examined like a spyglass.  

“Some pairs endure more trials and tribulations than others, based on the research I’ve done over the years.  How did this happen?  The break is clean, with little signs of stress fractures.”

“Something about the matra looking for…capsules?  I wasn’t really listening, truthfully.”

You shifted your feet in the wet sand.  

If you were less skeptical, less aware of the world, you would have thought it the truth right from the start.  And maybe it was.   By now, however, you knew that some things were, in fact, exactly what they seemed.  Others may have had damaged instruments but somehow, you doubted theirs were as broken.  

An old friend, gone.

“I am tired of everything I own being taken away from me.  My life played with as though it were a toy.  Just when I think I’m carving my own path…”

You tore your gaze away from the glowing harbor and the cleaved tree, Zandik’s attention no longer on the hand-carved peg board but on you.  His lips parted and his tongue brushed his lower lip, as if to speak, before he seemed to think better of it.  He was usually so free with his thoughts, especially on this; he hardly, if ever, hesitated to correct you.

“I can take whatever it is you want to say, Zandik.”

He’d spent many dreams over the years explaining his view of the world, of the Archons and Celestia’s usurpation.  This exact situation is what he would tear apart to demonstrate just how wrong it was for a higher being to exist.  If mortals supposedly had something of free will but the Gods always intervened, be it with a Vision or a soulmate or both, then how was that true free will?  So many thought they were making their own way but in reality, one was only following the path that the stars laid out for them.

But fate, he speculated, could be changed.  The stars were not, in fact, the true stars at all.

Such conversations were so far away, though, that they couldn’t easily come to mind other than vague recollections.  

“The words on my tongue aren’t comforting,” he finally replied.  “You are mourning an old friend.  My thoughts can wait.”

You swallowed as he brought his attention back to the pegs, fingers loosening and tightening the knobs, before he handed it back to you.  

Everyone else assumed you would be fine, that you could pick up right where you left off (yourself included).  Ever since you’d awakened, despite your outbursts, he’d given you the grace to not be okay.  In hindsight, he’d always done that after both of you learned how far boundaries could be pushed until the other shut the conversation down.  The conversations from days earlier came to mind.  If he deemed something not conducive, not helpful , then he would not waste his energy nor time on it. 

 That had to count for something.

“I once stood on a beach one morning after a particularly…bad evening,” you said.  “I couldn’t sit, which means I couldn’t practice, couldn’t play.  I made a promise to myself…what I can only assume the Geo Archon took to be a contract,  to let no one ever stand between me and what I wanted out of life.  No one would hold me back, abuse me, keep me from what I deserved .  I should have included myself in that promise.”

You brushed your hand over your Vision before you held the broken cello neck between your hands and wrung it like a wet cloth.  When you caught Zandik’s eyes flick towards you when you turned your head slightly in his direction, you continued.

“I believe that was one memory untouched,” he said, his hands falling slightly to direct his attention onto you.  “You’d received something from the orchestra?”

“My planning paid off and I’d made a decision without hesitation to leave everything behind.  You were right.  That night in the performance hall.  I have been holding myself back.”

He didn’t speak, instead raising an eyebrow but not daring to revel in hearing you profess that he was correct.  Not yet, at any rate.

“I’ve been complacent, holding myself back for the sake of a group that does not see me as I see myself.  The Segment did that too in the dreams; I never made progress on my compositions, I played but it was as though I did it out of habit, not desire…everything that happened in those dreams was, I’ve come to realize, not a fabrication on his part, but an exaggeration of it.  I thought it was him but I’ve been doing it to myself.”

Omega’s words from earlier echoed in your mind.  If Zandik’s own problems made their way into your shared dreamspace, why wouldn’t yours have been accessible, ripe for the picking?

“The second I saw my cello shattered in its case, I didn’t even have to think about quitting.  I have no plan beyond that.   Without a way to contact you, we are forced to use methods that would be discovered at any time.  Why not just…bypass them entirely and try—”

Zandik’s expression darkened and he turned in full to face you.  

“Do you understand the gravity of such a consideration?”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I don’t need to.  Snezhnaya is not Fontaine.  That you know and can learn how to navigate social structures is one matter that never gave me cause for concern.  But it is a nation that is governed by a house of wolves, by an Archon who holds no love for her people and who believes that only those who survive the worst are worthy of such blessing.”

He’s thought this through, you realized.  He’d already entertained this very idea, hadn’t he? Realistically, not only did it make sense to keep what he considered to be a vulnerability close to him, she could learn from him.

Your lack of combat abilities was a sore spot and one he was eager to correct himself.  You both used the same weapon, after all.

Soulmate bonds didn’t have to be romantic, either, you told yourself, a well of panic and thrill rising as your thoughts wandered to his exposed neck and collarbone, the teasing promise of muscle beneath his shirt.  You weren’t sure how to even consider such notions, not now, not after Omega.  

And the world had already moved on without you.  You had just been another body in a chair, who played well and composed exceptional pieces.  

Remaining with him was the only viable option you could think of.

And if he’d already played with all of these possibilities, he knew that as well.

He was testing you, then; he wanted to know if you had been as thorough as he was.

“I have nothing left, Zandik.  Perhaps this idea is just following that stupid adage of ‘Don’t put your eggs in one basket’ but I literally only have one basket.  Am I supposed to go about the rest of my existence knowing that, if we don’t try now, we may never get this chance again?”

“This decision shouldn’t be made in a state of emotional anguish, no matter how correct your decision is.” 

He punctuated the sentence with your name and it stilled you, your legs suddenly no longer swayed by the tide but instead anchored in the sand.  

“We are discussing a choice that cannot be taken back.  You cannot allow your heart to lead you on such matters.  It is how, in the attempt to avoid the truth, one comes face to face with the inevitable.”

“What is that truth?”

“That the world demands a price from us all and that price is nothing but conflict and suffering.  You know nothing of the true nature of the world and the world in which I inhabit.”

Have I not paid my dues? You wanted to cry out.

“Then tell me about it!  You’re the one who has kept the truth from me and I must pull every kernel of information like a dentist pulling teeth, Zandik.  Do you really think you’re protecting me?!  Do you think that not telling me about your Segments and who you are saved me, after what I’ve seen and endured?!”

Your volume scared a nearby crab that scuttled away into the sand, eager to be away from you both. Your soulmate’s boots pierced the tide to stand next to you, his expression as much of a mask as the accessory he held in his hand.

“When a stranger from the far north came to me in the deep reaches of the desert, I too reached a similar point,” Zandik murmured.  “Driven out of my home, out of the Akademiya, I tried to help those suffering from a disease that has been around for centuries, a remnant of a King’s destructive decision.  And even then, despite the progress of my patients, my methods were questionable, unethical for even the strongest of stomachs.  Results didn’t matter if the patients suffered for them.”

Zandik shuffled his mask to his right hand as his left reached up to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger.  His eyes were narrow as they watched you, as he spoke, as his words ghosted over your lips.

“I, too, had nothing left and everything to gain.  I was promised resources, access to machinery and equipment without anyone holding me back to arbitrary rules that stifled progress.  In exchange for my position, I was given the burden of the truth of this world.  Or rather, it was confirmed for me.”

His thumb brushed your lower lip before he let go of your chin to brush stray hair out of your face.  His middle finger lingered on your ear.

“All of my research and hypotheses and speculation…all of it was true .  But I had suffered greatly to get there.  As must we all, in the end, to get what we want.  Choosing to come with me will not be the end of anything, if that is what you expect.”

Zandik pulled away from you, as though he’d touched something painful, his arm falling limply to his side as he turned his head away from you.  

How odd.  Only days ago, he seemed almost eager to solve this connection between you, to correct whatever his Segment had done.  Wouldn’t he want you with him?  Surely that would make everything more manageable?

Or was this part of the self-hatred that Omega brought up, you wondered.  Not that you wanted to put stock in the Segment’s words, of course.  But he was, in part, Zandik.  A grain of truth was still a truth.

You gazed up at the moon as its light kissed the rustling leaves and soaring branches of Port Ormos’ shelter, the water shimmering with a rippled reflection of the land, an imperfect mirror.  Warm light glowed in the distance, like fireflies resting.  Water lapped at your skin, warm and forgiving, every pull of the tide only serving to root you further in place.

Unconsciously, you reached out a hand and took his free one, his fingers curling around yours almost instinctively.

“Who said I wanted anything to end, Zandik?”

His brow twitched and a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he looked at you; he was not a man who believed in anything until he saw it with his own eyes.

You squeezed his hand slightly.

It was not until you’d turned back to look upon Port Ormos one more time that you felt fingers squeeze yours back once, just once, at the same time as your heart skipped a beat.

[themurderofcrowscollective]

Burn The Witch

(Call of Duty x Modern Magic x Modern Witch hunting because I write when I'm uncomfortable and experiencing Religious Trauma, and I am very uncomfortable.) - - - Your name is Sister Mary, known throughout the church as the Redeemed Nun who's story is known very well; You were raised in a cult and taught the teachings of a cruel and unjust God from the Old Testament. You've undergone trials and walked through Hell and back as you grew once the cult was destroyed and you were saved, being sent to Catholic boarding school to be re-taught. However at the time, you dabbled in the Occult and refused to learn until one night when you were possessed by a demon and had to be exorcised by Father Luke, the Headmaster of the school. From that day you went to the Nunnery and were 'taught the lessons required to become a Nun' when in reality, you suffered the most intense of punishments and were beaten into submission. You came out a strong and noble woman, being the fiercest in punishment and well-respected among your sisters. As of now, you resigned yourself to constant prayer and fasting. You've been given news of witchcraft rising up, more and more followers turning a blind eye to the church and it's teachings so it triggered something deep within you that you've come to fear. Currently the church is becoming similar to the witch hunters of Salem, recruiting devout believers and arming them with weapons to attack and capture witches who show off their power. Within these walls are screams of witches being hurt and whipped while nuns pray over them and recite prayers for exorcism. The others know of your story and have allowed you to your deep prayer and fasting, and it's been 35 days since then. You haven't moved an inch from kneeling down and praying before Holy Mary, Mother of Saints. The rosary in your hands hasn't been let go of ever since you begun, you've lost track of time as the only source of light is the multiple candles burning that you've had to relight once you prayed the whole rosary every. damn. day. Deep within your soul, you hear the young girl screaming and sobbing, hugging herself as she is whipped and beaten into submission with a dozen nuns surrounding her and praying her demons away. Every bit of you wants to stop the nuns and embrace her but you know your hands are tied and bound by the rosary you've come to fear. Then a vision from the Divine flashes in your mind, wind blowing out the candles around you as images of a woman tied to a cross flash through your mind, fire being lit under her feet as she's surrounded by nuns and priests but in the last vision, you see a coven of witches appear and save the woman. You open your eyes quickly with a startled gasp, looking around the candles which are blown out before you set your eyes on the statue of Mother Mary. There are tears of blood streaming down her cheeks, and a voice of a woman echoes through your mind. " You are not where you are meant to be, you must flee this place and return, return to magic! " You shake your head, rubbing your eyes before you open them again and see that the candles are still lit up and there's no bloody tears on the statue's face. Of course, you feel tears running down your cheeks so before you leave the room, you recompose yourself and stand tall as you open the door and walk into the hallway. Other sisters walking in the halls stop and freeze as you walk past them with determination and a focused look in your eyes, before looking at each other. You are a nun with an important assignment after all. - - - You enter Mother Loren's office with the loud opening of her door, startling the poor woman who looks up with a gasp. " Oh, Sister Mary. What a surprise seeing you again. " " Mother Loren, I do not come here for idle chat. I've received a vision from the Most Holy during my prayers of a woman tied to a cross and set ablaze by members of our church. " You do not waver as Mother Loren goes pale in the face, gulping as she shakily takes off her glasses.

[remuslupinbutcooler]

Robin Buckley Drabble

ft Steve because we love a good ally

themes ; discussion of Billy Hargrove ; his death , not really any romanticism due to me writing it at like 5 am and posting it now , I’ve been off due to family issues so i apologise but i will be back to writing for you all again 💗

The usual fast paced heart rate began as my feet led me into the centre of town, my hearts constant beating causing my breath to become laboured and my vision to become blurred. Everything suddenly felt heavy or almost chaotic. I caught myself in the window of one of the stupid shop, i looked like a mess. Strands of hair covered my face, eyeliner smuged , mascara clinging to my lashes , my shirt felt too big almost as though it was drowning me , my jeans cuffed and covered with various sharpie drawings felt almost too attention grabbing and my sneakers felt too red . I shook my head before deciding to take my mind away from myself and my imperfections . My eyes cast themselves over to the video store were a familiar stranger stood at the counter. My feet practically rushed through the doors and upto the counter.

“Hey there- OMG?!” Steve took a double take before almost jumping into the air . “HOLY SHIT?! YOURE BACK??”

“I guess..” I rolled my eyes before giggling and looking around . My eyes fell onto another familiar face, semi familiar. I hadn’t seen Robin Buckley since High school, since band and cheer practice. She looked almost-

“Hey”

“hey..” I smiled at her before turning my attention back to Steve

“you back for good or?”

“good. I’m back for good.” I nodded. “ I’m all…uh…better” I smiled before glancing at the male before me.

“That’s good. Bet Dustin’s happier now you’re here .”

“really ?”

“yeah… he kinda didn’t shut up about you while you were gone.. I mean you’re his sister ? He missed you.”

“oh… i mean he told me he missed me and that he’s glad i’m back but i didn’t think he meant it.. he’s all over that Munson kid? Is that his name ? Eddie ?” I scanned over dvds next to the counter .

“Yeah..Him..”

“jealous Harrington?”

“N-no..”

“He is.!” Robin laughed before stepping into the little counter box

“you really think Munson is gonna replace my brothers literal dating slash life slash everything coach??” A laugh escaped my mouthy and caused me to throw my head back .

“See ? Even she thinks you’re being stupid “ Robin playfully pushed Steve. Dustin never mentioned this or them dating .

“Look..he worships you .. never shuts up about you “ I roll my eyes before stepping away slightly and scanning for the horror section .

“oh..! Thanks”

Robin giggled at a now embarrassed Steve. I never knew Steve Harrington could get embarrassed, always felt as though he was some kinda emotionless god . I guess this is what adulthood does to some popular kid who’s never faced rejection or even reality.

“ looking for something?” Robin threw herself over the counter, eyes stuck onto mine. I never noticed how pretty they were or how good her hair looked or how it fitted her face perfectly. I shook my head as an answer, far too mesmerised to answer. I turned my attention back to searching for some basic horror movie .

My hand reached for one, its cover was practically red and stared some blonde bimbo on the front ; probably the main and final girl. It was something to watch, i wasn’t gonna pay too much attention to it.

“Just this ?”

“uh huh..”

“So since you’re back…” Steve winked before combing his hands through his hair

“save it Harrington.”

“Thought you’d be over him by now..”

“You thought wrong “ I rolled my eyes. The “him” in question was none other than Billy Hargrove, my fake yet very real boyfriend. No one really knew how Billy and I “started “ our relationship. In all truth we didn’t. It started with me walking in on his dad almost beating him to death and Billy threatening me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You..you fucking tell anyone and your ass is dead. You hear me Henderson ?” Blood poured from his nose, his eyes looked heavy and almost too sad to blink open. Billy Hargrove was a dick , this was his only reason for his behaviour. I felt sorry for him.

“How about this… I won’t say a word to anyone if you say we’re together.”

“ and why would i do that ? just date some loser-“

“Billy…I can’t believe you’re the first person i’m even telling this to but…uh…ilikegirlsandnotguys.” I hung my head in a cloud of shame , too embarrassed to even admit it fully.

“ You ? A fucking perfect little-“

“don’t. I already feel like shit for it.”

“why ?”

“because it’s not exactly a good thing around here ? “

“ i know that but-“

“ look is it a deal or not ? cause if you even utter a word about me liking girls then i’ll fucking tell everyone about you and your dad.”

“like anyone would believe a girl lover .”

“like anyone would believe daddy’s punching bag?”

“fine. Deal. “

“ Thank you. You kinda look bad ass with bruises. You could lie and say you were fighting some guy tryna save me or something.. you’d be a chic magnet in minutes.”

Billy laughed before patting me on the back , “ yeah… about that.. can i cheat on my fake girlfriend?”

I rolled my eyes , “ yes sure .. can i?”

He laughed again, this time harder and more friendlier, “ yeah sure … You’re safe with me .”

“and you’re safe with me.. if you need any help with that… call me. My dad kinda used to hit my mom so i kinda know a thing or two.”

Billy nodded before pushing me out of his window . “ goodnight my beautiful- BAHAHA- sorry… goodnight girlfriend”

I rolled my eyes at a now overly joyous billy pissing himself due to how funny he thought our situation was. “ goodnight boyfriend..ew”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ no offence Harrington but you try having someone protect you and be there and then something takes your only sense of safety.” I rolled my eyes before paying.

“sorry…”

“it’s fine.. it’s just uh…hard you know”

“ yeah well… if you ever need a shoulder to-“

“please stop hitting on me. It’s not gonna worrrkkk “

“ i know but… it could.”

“uh huh… bye guys ..”I waved before hopping onto my skateboard, my eyes glue to the ground and surroundings. The Hawkins sun setting over me .