#i am actually feeling a little insane.

[fooltofancy]

a few too many things have happened in the last five days, i have decided.

[kitamars]

doodles as i relive my spideyman phase from eighth grade

[saragrosie]

As promised, incredibly stupid s4-5 drawings

[dustykneed]

Picture this; Bones holding Joanna, rocking her to sleep and the part in Beautiful Boy where it’s like “The monster's gone, He's on the run, And your daddy's here” is playing. :,)

Fatherhood gives you certain... skills. Coincidentally, this is also how Jim finds out that Bones sings.

:'))

[wintaebear]

will someone point out to jack that he too was going to get the ring for boss by marrying rosé? and he only didn't because of romantic qualms and not moral ones?

[itsalwaysforyou]

WHAT???????

[puppyeared]

Was nobody gonna warn me that I would fall a little bit in love with every character in Stardew

[quirinah]

i! ro! ha! (six years edition)

[bee-snail]

HELLO CAMP CAMP FANDOM !!!

I'm going so crazy about him yes yes

[qoldenskies]

Babagril I adore clipped wings and you are feeding my insatiable hunger for heavy angst and impeccable writing but I am a littol concerned about how fast you're putting chapters out recently. I know they've been on the shorter side compared to the beginning but plase don't push yourself too hard okies? We can wait, I just don't want you getting burnt out or something :(

Also you are so meanies to us why must Donnie constantly go through the horrors its the fic ive always craved and I am sobbing, thank youuu

hey hey im fine!! i should probably clarify that im genuinely just a fast writer and im. yknow. an unemployed 18 year old who doesnt have much to do other than stuff like this, and im fed and moved along by all the praise and kindness. you dont have to worry about me!! honestly a HUGE thing im aiming for while writing CW is the joy of getting to complete something, i actually crank these chapters out in like a sitting if im in a good mood LOL (theyre kind of scrappy, but im trying to combat my perfectionism. pretty much every time ive said im gonna take a bit i find myself too excited to, ive got a big hyperfixation on CC at the moment and all of the good reception has gotten me even more hyped bghdghfh. you have NO idea how much i stare at the fanart you guys have made for me ily....). for my next project i plan on writing a lot in advance and pacing myself better (especially because i want to do longer chapters for it), but for CW im happy to just speed through!!

^^ helped along by the fact that im trying to avoid making chapters long for the sake of it now. i dont really have a goal in mind for wordcount with this next set, because i think i want to think in what progresses more than that

and thank you!! teehee the thing i want to move to next is so much sillier but i do enjoy taking a real good dip into The Horrors....... not sure where i'll be going after wwww but its planned to be a HUGE undertaking anyway. but i will probably be returning to the horrors. and maybe CVD ive missed her my love

[leadandblood]

RE drunkJop: this also gives Crozier's own drinking issues such an intriguing flavour because ofc the captain cannot be flogged so. Jop having to deal with that, maybe with resentment. Who knows maybe he himself had gotten drunk because he was done with Crozier's bullshit. Or meaning to do away with the recent bottle. (dont mind me I am just rattling the bars of your braincells' cage so that they may run free)

*the cage breaks open and my braincells scatter in every direction like this:*

IT'S EVEN SUPPORTED BY THE SHOW IN A WAY. At least in my humble reading of it.

We all know Nedward is mad when Crozier drinks but (although subtly) Jopson hates it just as much. You can see it if you pay attention to him enough. He's not exactly angry, but he HATES it when Crozier is drunk. I've made a post about it before i think *furious searching* found this one at short notice but i've definitely made more. He absolutely HATES it.

When Francis punches Fitzjames, Tom just leans against a cabinet and stays there, breathing like he's trying to calm down.

The little pause and a big eyed look before he says "two bottles, sir" has been haunting me since i thought abt it too hard one day.

A good reason for this attitude towards Crozier when he's drunk would be the "i got lashed for less and here he is still in command of a ship" attitude, or maybe, from another angle, it may be "oh my god Captin what the FUCK are you doing" thoughts.

Since he would have been just 23 (which is Insane to me HE WAS SO YOUNG WJAT THE FUWK) and the drunkenness was on duty AND severe enough for 36 lashes (jesus...) it must have been REALLY BAD i reckon.

Of course if we take the show canon, then he may be drinking because of his mother. He left her there, hand maimed, with his brother... Must have felt terrible the poor lad. Even though she wanted him to go, he might have had second thoughts. Maybe felt like like he shouldn't have left.

I think that's a really good reason.

But. If we diverge fron that a bit and step aside for a moment... Take a breather...

I think Crozier's (very bad) love language is giving people way too many/hard tasks. I SWEAR i just saw a post about it recently but i cannot for the life of me find it. How Crozier puts Little under so much preassure Because he loves and trusts him. Maybe he was doing that and more to Jopson during the Antarctic expedition. Maybe Jopson just couldn't handle the work/stress/preassure/whatever Crozier was putting him through at 23. But he was too proud to admit it/didn't want to disappoint him, so he turned to drinking. Maybe he thought nobody would notice? But then it got out of hand.

Two ways this could've gone after the lashing.

The way he's quick to fulfil commands in the show could be "you can't break me again, not like back then" kind of quiet, invisible defiance. He might think it wasn't deserved or at least not to such an extent and hold some resentment toward Crozier for it.

On the other hand he could be trying to prove to him that he's Better now and he's Stronger now and More Capable, Look, Daddy, Look At Me Aren't I So Much Better Now. Could be trying to undo all the shame from disappointing him back then with being the perfect steward now, going above and beyond although he doesn't need to.

Really an interesting thing to think about, to me. Which way did he swing? I need to think more abt this. Anyway.

It would also explain why he doesn't drink in the show! Since drinking on the job was the source of his previous punishment he'd be more likely to decline that shot from Blanky.

Then! Crozier goes dry and Teeheehee Just Like Meeee 🥰🥰 Ofc I'll Help You Get There Captiiin 🥰 And he might get a sick little kick out of it at first, because it finally feels like justice.

But then it goes on for one day too many and it's painful to watch and he starts feeling really bad for Francis. Like it's his fault Crozier's suffering so badly and he stays beside his bed for so many hours of the day and guards him so fiercly because he feels like he somehow caused it. And he doesn't want people to see the captain that way. He wants everyone to respect him and maybe to Jopson this would be the worst thing to come out of it. People not respecting Crozier.

Because nobody could understand his suffering like Jopson does of course! Nobody at all! And least of all Edward who's never had such problems but Tommy and Francis ooh they have so much in common now! He'd be insufferable about it.

(I've played with the thought of drunk Jopson in the fic, but not that much and i would love to expand on it... The Antarctic expedition in '39 would be the best way to do that it seems *sinister laughter*)

Moving on though. Timeskip!

When scurvy takes over him and his lash wounds open again he's really brave (stupid) about it and doesn't tell anyone. But it Hurts so fucking bad. So then he tells Bridgens, whom he trusts not to tell anyone and also to help him. Bridgens dresses his wounds and tells him to "Rest for god's sake". But we know Jopson ://

He doesn't rest and it gets worse and worse and he gets weak really fast until he falls while hauling one day and doesn't get up.

Crozier feels like Shit because well He Supervised that lashing. He's the Cause of this. He could've probably Stopped it, but he Didn't. He may have even ordered that lashing to be done. Oooh he'd feel so fucking miserable.

This is giving "300k fic" vibes and i don't know if im ready for that but GOD i so want to write it now. Thank you for stirring these thoughts, Anon 💖💖🙇

[moe-broey]

Miwabiwis.......

I actually do like her official outfit! I just... had a deep need.... put that girl in a nightgown and slippers RIGHT NOW‼️‼️‼️‼️ Also it is admittedly so much easier to draw 🧍

I did try to keep in line with most of her official look though! Or add more emphasis to little details, like the red berries... other details I added, like the bloomers, keep the roundness of her og dress! BUT ALSO.... they are just so cutes.... I imagine they're made of rose petals...... I was also thinking angelic motifs. With the dress shape, and the smaller wings shaped as such!

[1candybrainrotdungeon]

Hehehe I'm thinking of doing a series where I yassify the fo4 companions, starting of course with X6-88 >:)c

Bonus stuff under the cut

[toytulini]

man the thing about beauty standards and being ugly and being pretty and being insecure is that ultimately you do just kinda have to Decide that youre pretty. like ultimately thats how you become pretty, or hot, or sexy. you have to just Decide that you Are. you have to recognize that its made up, its arbitrary, its subjective, and that people might disagree with you about it, and as much as you are able, you need to completely and utterly disregard their opinions on your appearance, and decide that youre pretty now. and THEN.

you need to find beauty in "ugly". you need to recognize that ugly is made up, that its arbitrary, that its subjective, and you need to be able to find the beauty in it all. and this means you cant bodyshame people. you cant body shame shitty celebs or politicians. you need to base your criticisms on the substance of their character and misdeeds and unhinged horrific opinions and not give a shit about what they look like. you cant go calling people ugly for being shitty. you cant go calling people ugly for looking A Way You Dont Like.

and then if you wanna really galaxy brain this shit you start using ugly as endearment. OBVIOUSLY do not fucking call other human beings ugly. that shit is far too loaded, its just Rude. Dont call specific features of people or even characters ugly cos thats also too loaded. as a term it has baggage. but you can see the ugly in tacky, loud, garish clothing, and it can be Good. you can see the ugly in a distinctive, horrible tiny car from the 90s, and it can be good. you can see the ugly in animals that have evolved to look the way they do, without a single thought of what humans find appealing. you can see the beauty and the freedom in "Ugliness". you can break out of this shit altogether and feel nothing but disdain for anyone who stoops to insulting your appearance if they disagree with you about shit. you can get completely out of the cave of these beauty standards. you can find it so freeing to revel.in letting yourself be ugly. in recognizing that the way you look and exist might be ugly to some people, and youre out of the cave enough to simply recognize. thats just your opinion and it doesnt matter. didnt ask.

you can look at ppl arguing about the correct amount of skincare products to use daily, the Correct Amount of makeup, and whether or not its radical to conform to beauty standards or defy them and argue about is it really conforming if visible makeup pisses men off, and you can say, well I dont care about any of that, I recognize the societal pressures of flawless skin and all that but you see,

I just want to look like a silly little clown :o3

[jyminie]

Just finished the trials of Apollo and I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT

These books were so different to me because they directly revolved around a topic Rick clearly wanted to touch - abuse. Specifically, familial abuse. Personally I think he’d done it gracefully in a way that really sinks in for me now, but I’m not a victim of abuse and don’t pretend to understand the subject.

Regardless, I think the way Rick wrote Apollo, Lester, was absolute perfection. There’s an art to writing a literal god in first person perspective, and have him be one of the most human characters in the entire franchise.

Lester STRUGGLES. And he’s not perfect at all, he doesn’t even begin to understand everything at the start - not the world, not consequences, not the stakes and not the people around him. But fuck he learns, he learns the hard way, the only way, by doing. And it’s not a linear journey either - between book 1 and his more or less lucid identity in book 5, he goes back and forth between learning, and relapsing to his old ways, and learning again, and trusting and understand and rising victorious in all the confusion. He doesn’t shy away from his emotions - he cries a lot, and gets frustrated, and laughs. He learns to feel for other people. But he also learns to heal himself. And he does it by helping others heal, too.

To me, this red thread tying the books together by a common serious subject, made the reading somehow more whole. I can’t explain it, but Apollo slowly verbalising (well, thinking), realising there are similarities between his relationship with Zeus to Meg’s relationship with Nero, was so satisfying. Although I feel like “satisfying” might be a bit of a harsh word. Mostly I felt proud of him. I /felt/ for him, so very much, for so long. He’s likeable because he’s so human, and that includes both his silly and tragic sides, because these coexist within all of us. And I think he as a character encompassed that beautifully.

Reading that last book, expecting a showdown of sorts between Apollo and his father, and receiving a short conversation, an understanding, instead, was amazing. Because that’s Rick’s way of showing us what’s important. No use trying to fix what we can’t, what isn’t our responsibility to fix, what makes us miserable. Humans have this natural ability to rise from their own disasters and forge out of them their own paths in life. And Apollo did just that. It took him time, but that’s how it goes for all of us. And instead of fighting Zeus, he chose happiness. He chose focusing on what’s important, his old hobbies, his friends.

In a way, I’m bittersweet- I wish he didn’t have to stay at Olympus. I wish he could spend as much time as he’d like on earth. But the thing is, a god is what he /is/. But now, he understands for the first time that he gets to pick what kind of god he should be.

And he chose the human kind.

[distant-velleity]

Stay With Me

Summary: Santiago and Chrysos have a lot of feelings to work out. Spoiler alert: they still don't confess. Word count: 2.6k Warnings: major character not-actually death (this is my Boxing Day gift to you all) A/N: I wish I could've put Major Character Death as a real warning. Alas... such is life. Anyway :) I'm super done with writing this, I don't wanna keep going insane, I'm just gonna post it as is. It's actually pretty tame for angst on my part. Enjoy!! Tagging: @thehollowwriter (finn mention!!!) @kitwasnothere and @nahelenia as my top 3 murderers <3

-

When Santiago comes to, groggy and lightheaded, he’s greeted by the watered-down sun filtering through the seas of Octavinelle above him. Bird and sky separated only by the glass and several gallons of water, his limbs sure feeling as distant and heavy as the ocean.

Ah, he thinks, ever-intelligently. How did I end up here…?

He can’t quite remember. All of his recent memories are escaping like soap bubbles in the wind. 

While he racks his brain trying to figure it out, someone approaches and kneels next to him. A single glance at the person’s blonde hair and red eyes tells Santiago all he needs to know.

“Sorry about that,” Chrysos says, monotone as always. It’s hard to tell if the merman really is sorry or not. “I usually don’t get normal customers involved when 86’ing nuisances.” 

Santiago can’t help the smirk that comes to him all too easily. “Are you sure I wasn’t the nuisance?”

“Hard to say,” replies Chrysos with an amused huff. He stands back up and offers Santiago a hand, to help him stand up.

Something about it feels off—maybe because Chrysos’ gaze seems so benevolent, that he seems so unbothered about gently helping someone he’d normally be too embarrassed or proud to. Still, Santiago laughs and sits up. “Tight-lipped as always,” he comments, and reaches for Chrysos’ hand, pulling himself up to stand.

They hold hands for a moment longer than they need to. It feels, if he dares to admit it just to himself, nice—

“Hold it.”

As if he’s been burned, Santiago jumps away from Chrysos at the sound of Azul’s voice. Approaching them are the Octavinelle housewarden and his entourage of three. 

Santiago notices, with a distant sense of dread, that he’s never seen Chrysos look so furious and disappointed upon seeing his upperclassmen. 

“Get back, Parrotfish,” Floyd warns. “That’s not the right Lionfishie to be getting all buddy-buddy with.”

How odd. Why would Floyd, of all people, go out of his way to warn him?

Santiago glances at the Octaquartet, then at Chrysos, whose expression is steadily darkening.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chrysos says coldly.

“My, my.” Jade conceals his magic pen, clasped tightly in one hand, beneath the other. “There’s no need for that frigid tone. I’m sure we’re already on the same page.”

“No?” interjects Santiago. “No, we’re not. What’s going on?”

Finn looks him dead in the eye and then cocks his head towards Chrysos. 

Santiago turns back around, and everything changes. 

Where Chrysos was just standing as normal, there’s suddenly inky shadows surrounding the Octavinelle freshman. His eyes flare red-and-yellow as the ink (no, blot) viciously wraps around him in strands to form a cocoon of sorts. Santiago staggers back when the cocoon contracts, a dark purple haze spreading throughout the area and blocking out the sun. The whole dorm is plunged into a deep-sea darkness.

It’s Chrysos and a towering Phantom now, him hovering a little too close to the glowing pendant around its neck for anyone’s liking. 

“We’re running out of time,” Azul says grimly. “Our fight from earlier didn’t do anything—”

“I’ll help fight him if it cuts down on time,” Santiago immediately declares without missing a beat. “If it saves his life.”

“Of course you would. Well, stay sharp, then.”

And Santiago tries, of course—

—but it doesn’t stop him from misfiring at some point, trying to hit the Phantom, only for it to grab Chrysos with a sickening crunch of his ribs and hold him up in range of the destructive fire spell. Santiago can only watch as it strikes Chrysos indiscriminately. 

The resulting wail of agony is bloodcurdling and unbearable, but not nearly as much as when the Phantom moves a thrashing Chrysos closer and closer to its chest, a gaping hole like a beast’s maw forming there, the pendant dangling right before it.

“Wait—”

It’s what all the teachers warn about when they discuss the occurrences of Overblots. Defeat the Phantom, and the victim will come out unscathed. Take too long to destroy it, and the Phantom will… will…

Chrysos is brought to that gap, drawn in like an object near a black hole.

Santiago can’t breathe. 

He can’t bring himself to close his eyes either. Even when a sinking feeling blossoms in his stomach, gripping him with all the force of a predator’s claws.

The ‘hand’ of the Phantom squeezes, another crunch of body parts that shouldn’t be breaking—

“Don’t you dare take him—let him go—” Santiago begs, but it’s useless.

The Phantom simply. Tucks Chrysos away in itself like nothing. Ignorant to his furious, fearful screams. 

The hole in its chest closes over with viscous blot. 

Santiago can’t look away.

“Ah… Ahh…”

He 

can’t 

look 

away—

“AAAAAHHHHH—!!!”

A guttural scream tears its way out into the open from Santiago’s raw throat, burning and hoarse and painful. Still begging for a life not his own, his eyes fly open as he sits up in a grieving frenzy. “Chrysos, please, don’t leave—!”

“I’m right here,” calls a familiar voice from beside him, miraculously free of its terrifying Overblot overlay. It’s melodious and soothing, easy on the ears, just when he thought he’d never hear it again.

“You—” Santiago’s hand shoots out without thinking, clamping down on Chrysos’ where it was gripping the edge of his blanket.

…his… blanket…?

Only then does Santiago realize, half-delirious, that he’s on a bed in the school infirmary. He’s not in Octavinelle, he’s not surrounded by torrents and mists of pure blot. The air is clear here, and the sun is shining bright and pleasant through the windows like it does through the forest canopy back home. Although his lungs still burn a little, everything’s okay.

And, looking at the boy sitting right next to him—Chrysos is okay. He’s alive. 

In silent awe, Santiago squeezes the cold, ungloved hand in his a little more tightly.

He’s alive.

Chrysos bites his lower lip and pointedly avoids looking at their joined hands. “What a nightmare you were having,” he says, false indifference in his tone. “Screaming like that… You’re lucky the nurse isn’t in right now.”

Santiago blinks. “A nightmare?” 

“Yes. You were trembling and crying out in your sleep. If it weren’t the first time you’d shown any signs of movement in days…” Chrysos trails off, brows pressed tightly together.

Putting aside the fact that it was all little more than a bad dream, thank the Great Seven— “What do you mean, in days?” Santiago echoes disbelievingly. “I don’t even know how I ended up here, and you’re telling me I’ve been unconscious for days? Hello? Way to hit me with the double whammy.”

It was an attempt to lighten the mood for both their sakes, but when the corners of Chrysos’ mouth twitch downwards and his lips thin in a stressed frown, Santiago immediately realizes he’s said something either really wrong or really stupid. Or both.

“You don’t remember what happened at the SDC?” asks Chrysos. “Weren’t you there? You know, for Schoenheit’s Overblot, like Yu said…”

Santiago’s eyes widen. He only slightly loosens his grip on Chrysos’ hand a second later. “Oh, you mean—”

Toxic purple mist surrounded them, reeking of a sickly sweet concoction. 

More saccharine still was the smile on Vil’s face. Even as blot dripped down his snow-white face from beneath his elaborate crown, he still found it in himself to pursue being the fairest one of all. 

Showing simultaneously all and nothing of his burning jealousy and bitterness.

“—yeah, I remember,” he continues, letting out a laugh with no real humor in it. “I even remember getting a faceful of poisonous mist and then passing out right after the awards ceremony ‘cause I tried to act tough.”

“At least your brain wasn’t permanently damaged. That’s good,” remarks Chrysos with a half-hearted smirk. “Maybe you’ll be out of here sooner than I thought.”

No, there was definitely a screw knocked loose if Santiago was imagining Chrysos Overblotting in place of Vil… much less sobbing desperately at the possibility of his death…

…Santiago swallows, mouth suddenly dry for no good reason. “Uh-huh? I don’t know, I still feel a little off.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Chrysos suddenly leans forward, hand subconsciously moving at lightning speed to place itself on Santiago’s wrist. “You still feel off? You’re not messing with me, are you?” he asks, voice demanding with a hint of… something else. “I swear, I will have the nurse over here faster than—”

“Whoa! Don’t get your boxers in a twist, jeez!” Santiago exclaims, and Chrysos halts immediately. “Am I still dreaming? Did you just gaslight me into thinking this is reality? I mean, seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worried about me.”

“I’m not worried,” retorts Chrysos, although the watery look in his eyes as he tries to meet Santiago’s gaze says otherwise. And where there would normally be an underlying bite to his tone, it’s totally absent. “Isn’t it fair to ask questions when a certain someone has been unconscious for days?”

Nevermind, I’m definitely not still dreaming.

“So you’ve been worried about me. Got it.” Hopefully that isn’t giddiness bubbling up in his chest, despite—or because of—the way Chrysos sputters out another denial, because it sure as hell is conflicting with his sense of spite. “Why don’t you save any of it for yourself? You’ve been a resident here way more often than me.”

Chrysos stiffens, before puffing up a little; chin lifted indignantly and gaze judgmental. Santiago wouldn’t have it any other way.) “I was conscious all those times and did not actively inhale dangerous toxins made by a very powerful mage.”

Seriously, this guy… Santiago shakes his head. “Dude, I heard you nearly turned yourself into sand that one time, also because of ‘a very powerful mage.’ I saw for myself when you could’ve died fighting Jamil or Overblotted at the same time and had to stay in the infirmary for a very lengthy check-up. You know, you—” 

died in my dream because of me and I would never forgive you or myself for that matter if that actually happened,

“—are a grade-A idiot getting hung up on the wrong details,” he decides to say instead. “One of these days, you’re gonna end up back here and I’m gonna get to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Hmph.” Chrysos scoffs and turns his head away. To anyone else, it might look aristocratically prim and stuck-up in the way his hair tosses slightly. “You wouldn’t come running to my bedside crying out my name, then?”

It’s Santiago’s turn to stiffen, feeling called out in too many ways. “...fuck, I forgot you heard me talking in my sleep. Well…” He pauses, searching for an appropriate response. “I would if you wanted me to.” He doesn’t have time to appreciate how smooth that was on his part before his traitorous mouth moves faster than his brain, going right ahead and saying, “And I’d still do it even if you didn’t want me to, ‘cause if you die on me I’m absolutely going to—”

Crap! Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack!

He shuts up immediately before he can incriminate himself any more, pursing his lips and watching carefully for signs of a negative reaction.

Almost too neutrally, Chrysos glances back over at him from the corner of his eyes, the piercing look in his irises only partially hidden by his lashes. “...You really would be that concerned?”

“Maybe,” Santiago answers, pasting on a nervous smile.

“‘Maybe’ isn’t an acceptable response.” Chrysos looks him straight in the eyes. His hand feels warmer, for some reason. “Don’t be shy. What would you do?”

Santiago huffs defensively. “Fancy that, you telling me to not be shy—”

“Santiago. Stop messing with me already.”

That tone, desperate and curious and impatient all in one, is singlehandedly more commanding than any other order Santiago has ever gotten in his life. 

The beastman slumps back against the headrest, being sapped of his will to argue. He already knows it’s pointless. It’s kind of hard to beat around the bush when the bush has already slapped you in the face with a very thorny nightmare. “Miss you, probably. I mean, I dreamed about it, but…” 

He thinks about the way he screamed and forced himself to wake up because that scenario had seemed so real. Probably can only begin to describe whatever he was feeling.

“...Well. You’re the only person who’s ever gotten me, y’know, so don’t die because you couldn’t help yourself. I don’t wanna have to cope with my dream becoming reality. Please,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh.” Chrysos stares blankly at him for a moment, then at their hands. “...oh,” he repeats, in a much quieter ‘sudden realization’ sort of voice.

Santiago squints at him. “Dude. What kind of guy tells his buddy to open up about his feelings in such a pleading tone and then is surprised when he actually opens up about it?”

“The one right next to you who was expecting his buddy to dodge the question again.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Santiago replies, rolls his eyes. 

Chrysos worries his bottom lips, gaze shifting to the side suspiciously quickly. It looks like he’s considering something.

“...Are you taking that literally?” Santiago wants Chrysos to take what he said literally, to be honest, but that’s beside the point.

“Because you’re so dense, yes,” Chrysos snaps back. His free hand comes up to tug one of his curls closer to his face in that bashful way he always does. “If you died like you could’ve from Schoenheit’s poison, I would march right over to the afterlife and drag you back into the world of the living. Then I’d beat you into the ground for hurting me like that. Your ass is not leaving this life until I say it’s okay to. Does that make enough sense to you?” 

“I don’t remember the story of the musician and his muse being this violent,” mutters Santiago, feeling incredibly touched despite the brash nature of that admission. Or maybe because of it.

Chrysos’s cheeks flush as red as the ends of his hair. “You asked. I delivered. Look who’s being a hypocrite now.”

“Touché.” 

It feels like something between them has… changed, when they both fall silent for lack of things to say. Not in the terrifying way Santiago’s surroundings shifted during his nightmare, but a change for the better. Like a burden has been lifted off his shoulders, making the silence bearable.

“I… think I may need to go,” Chrysos says, a dusting of pink still on his face. Maybe because he’s spoken too much, or at least by his own standards. He stands up, letting go of Santiago’s hand. “Culture fair and. All that. You know how it is. I’ll see you—”

“Wait a minute.”

Santiago reaches out and, instead of just grabbing, intertwines their fingers. His longer ones settle perfectly between Chrysos’ knuckles as if they were meant to be there. 

The merman goes still. 

“Hypothetically,” Santiago begins, “if I asked you to stay a little longer—would you say yes?”

Chrysos’ mouth opens, freezes, and then closes. When he next speaks, it’s slow and cautious, like he’s testing out how the words actually feel. Testing the waters. “In this hypothetical scenario… I could be convinced to stay. Possibly.”

“Cool. So don’t run away just yet. Stay here with me.”

They make eye contact.

“...How persuasive. Well—” Chrysos sighs and sits back down, before offering Santiago a small smirk. Barely noticeable, but there. “It seems like I’ve actually got plenty of time to spare all of a sudden.”

Santiago can’t help but smile too.