#if i ever get around to it i'll link back to your post

[wolfnight2012]

I know Jorge is being (mostly) faithful to the Odyssey even as he interweaves his own themes/motifs; EPIC is a retelling but not a reimagining

YET

I'm loving his themes so much that I sometimes wish he could/would take it further

Establishing the guilt of decade of war, the "actions [that] will haunt [his] days" & the "endless pain" starting EPIC with Odysseus teetering on that edge, and contrasting the ultimatum of "Just a Man" with "Open Arms" is sooooo Interesting!

And I think those themes are handled wonderfully given the constraints of the pre-existing plot. But wouldn't you like them to go futher?

"Open Arms" is dropped by the Underworld saga & it seems like Act 2 will be all about "Ruthlessness is mercy"

But...open arms WORKED

"You can show a person that you trust them, when you stop and lower your guard"

Odysseus bares his heart to Circe "My wife awaits for me, she is my everything" And. It. Works!

Circe lets his men go. She goes a step further and helps them both evade Poseidon AND speak to a dead prophet for help.

She's been burned before, & she has loved ones she'll do anything for, yet, Circe rewards Odysseus with compassion.

"Maybe showing one act of kindness, leads to kinder souls down the road"

Like, kindness IS brave.

Odysseus is given an alternative to the heavy guilt he carries in song #4 "Greet the world with open arms"

When Polites dies it seems he decides to fake it till he makes it (in honor of Polites?? To carry on his spirit?? Because the losses in the cyclops fight broke the fragile hold he's been clinging to since "Just a Man" & he's hoping if he follows Polites advice he will be able to "relax"??) I think it's up to interpretation, but we are told he's being weird about it. (he's not being genuine with it fyi)

An "open arms" approach also works with Aeolus, does it not?

Odysseus trusts Aeolus to not simply strike him down for the audacity. He gives his plight & humbly asks for help and he receives it!

Sure, there's a bit of trickery there (making the bag enticing/making Odysseus paranoid) BUT he could have won the game, it wasn't rigged to fail. Had he managed to keep the faith of his crew/hidden the bag/stayed awake, he would have made it home.

There's no appeasing Poseidon, but open arms works for Circe as well.

Not counting Athena (because both were just being catty there) that's 2/3 times that open arms WORKS

With the additional 1v1 of Circe explicitly echoing Polites' belief system, and Poseidon echoing Athena's last instructions

Then we get to ACT 2 and Odysseus has been told the man who gets home is "no longer you" & that his "palace [is] covered in red " & his wife is with a "man with a trail of bodies" and he's even MORE desperate to get home and he seemingly accepts (or at least sings very explicitly about) becoming a monster.

In the 5 songs of the Thunder Saga, Odysseus is ruthless 4 times

Cutting off the sirens' tails

Feeding this men to Scylla

Trying to kill(?) Eurylochus

Giving his crew up to Zeus' wrath

But only 1 of these works out for him.

We don't know what would have happened if he'd spared the sirens. They could have turned on him once they'd been freed, they could have gotten revenge later. They could have never been seen again. Or they could have repaid his kindness ("kindness is brave/"maybe showing one act of kindness, leads to kinder souls down the road") yakno the antithesis of "ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves"

We can't say he 100% for certain spared himself future grief because we can't know. He's killed them & that's the end of it.

In Scylla his ruthless act has 2 parts: not telling the crew about Scylla & sacrificing 6 men to ensure he survives

He "knows what it takes to survive" & succeeds in it. He makes it through Scylla's lair alive/gets one step closer to Penelope.

He also lands himself in a mutinty because of his deceit.

In Mutiny, he does not "lead from the heart". He offers zero explanations/apologies & is not understanding/sympathetic to Eurylochus' turmoil at all.

Instead, he ruthlessly tries to severely wound/kill Eurylochus

Which leads the rest of the crew to join the mutiny & stab him/incapacitate him

In the 2nd half of mutiny, because he is incapacitated & because his men have lost faith in him, Odysseus is unable to stop them from killing the sacred/ immortal cow

Would the men have given in to their hunger if they still had hope? There's a BIG decrease in moral from Different Beasts to the 2nd half of Mutiny, one that cant be attributed to the 6 deaths alone because they've already experienced big losses like this one/gone through a bunch of horrors together.

This is strictly because of Odysseus' betrayal/losing their faith in him.

So, Odysseus' actions lead both to his inability to talk his defeated/apathetic crew off their metaphorical ledge and (arguably) leads his men ONTO that ledge in the first place by destroying their hope/faith & this leads to Thunder Bringer

Thunder Bringer is a tricky one because being ruthless DOES save Odysseus, he gets to live by sacrificing his crew, BUT

Is it mercy?

Sure, we know how this story ends, (Odysseus will get what he wants) but that's literally in songs 39/40.

Odysseus' immediate reward is Ogygia. He survives to be trapped for 7 years.

Was his ruthlessness mercy upon himself? (Seriously, i can't decide if this counts or not) [edit: I think we have our answer, folks]

The (tentative) scoreboard as of song 25 is:

Ruthless is mercy: 4 (Siege of Troy, kill an infant, kill Polyphemus, sacrifice your men to Zeus (?) )

Open Arms: 2 (Aeolus, Circe)

Inconclusive: 3 (lotus eaters, killing the sirens, sacrificing your men to Scylla)

Ruthlessness is NOT mercy: 3 (Luck Runs Out, dealing with the windbag, Mutiny)

But even then, was ruthlessness the only option for Polyphemus?

Like, the sacking of Troy is its own thing. Kill or be killed/war. The infant is a prophecy & prophecies always come true.

But letting Polyphemus live isn't what screwed Odysseus over. It was giving his name. If Odysseus listens to Athena, he loses even MORE men in another fight against Polyphemus.

Or he could have simply left without revealing his name, occupation & home address. Either action would have kept his crew safe.

We don't know if the lotus eaters meant any harm. If killing the sirens actively prevented retaliation. What might have happened if Odysseus ran the plan by the crew/explained the dangers of Scylla (hence results being inconclusive)

But in Luck Runs Out, though Odysseus talks a big game about following Polites' example (and he DOES, with Aeolus) he is not leading with the heart when it comes to Eurylochus & the crew. He dismisses Eurylochus' concerns, brushes him off. Gives an imitation of sympathy/connection to try & soften Eurylochus up "Where is this coming from, my friend?" But when Eurylochus doesn't immediately give in/fall back in line, Odysseus immediately replies in a harsher tone/with accusation "Suddenly you doubt that I could figure this out?"

When the crew echo Eurylochus' doubts, Odysseus turns the charm on them, remember how many times we've succeeded? Remember how far I've gotten you?? (very gaslight/girlboss of him)

Then he gets Eurylochus away from other eyes/ears and drops the mask, telling him to shut up & get in line.

It's not full-on ruthless (he doesnt make an example of him/punish him/make him disappear)

But its not "lead from the heart" either. He could have tried to have an actual discussion with Eurylochus/listened to his concerns & addressed them.

If Eurylochus had felt listened to/Odysseus had worked to regain his trust/confidence, would Eurylochus have opened the windbag?

This cant be the first time (in 10 yrs of war) that Odysseus has come up with some clever/out-there plan that none of his men could see the logic of (until it got results)

Had Odysseus worked with his crew to ease their doubts/rebuilt their faith in him & his ability to seemingly pull a win out of his ass, they'd probably have left the bag alone & waited to see how Odysseus' latest scheme resolved itself.

Odysseus "doesn't get the job done" but it IS moreso because he "caves to guilt" than because he is truly following Polites' advice.

He doesn't open up. He doesn't relax. He doesn't trust, not even his second in command (!!!) He might be "far too nice" but he is not kind

Even the mutiny itself might have been salvageable; Eurylochus starts that song by demanding an explanation & Odysseus refuses to engage with him at all

So Eurylochus turns to violence to protect the few men he has left.

Anyways, all this to say, wouldn't it be great if we could get some kind of closure for that "Open Arms" theme?

(edit: with the release of the Wisdom Saga, I now have a post going more into depth on why "Open Arms" needs to find closure in the narrative here)

I continue to believe pride & hubris are Odysseus fatal flaws, not mercy.

I think the whole fandom's made fun of his non-apology to Poseidon, but there's also his demand for Polyphemus to remember him (I am neither man not mythical/I am your darkest moment), his dismissal of Eurylochus' concerns during storm, their conflict in LRO, his cockiness when first approaching Circe "you better cower now & flee/I must be a god like you"

It's even a huge part of Thunder Bringer, Zeus takes the time to shine a light on Odysseus' pride, despite the fact that he's here for the cows.

I do think Odysseus needs to kill the suitors. I think (from what little i know of it) song 40 is going to be lovely

BUT, i wish all those themes established in "Open Arms" had some kind of closure, because Odysseus only really embodies them ONCE "There Are Other Ways" and it isn't planned (because he's truly leading with the heart, it came naturally to him)

What IF he had spared the sirens & it came back in some way when he's floating on his tiny raft?

What if Telemachus demonstrated something similar to Polites' teachings & Odysseus (and the audience) understood it was too late for Odysseus, but Telemachus wasn't doomed to committing the same mistakes/inducing the same kinds of miseries on himself?

What If "Get in the Water" could go the way of "There are Other Ways"

(I know we all largely agree Poseidon was always gotta kill Odysseus/his crew regardless but what if)

What if in the hopelessness of "Get in the Water" Odysseus finally humbled himself & offered Poseidon a genuine apology, connecting with him from one father to the next, sympathizing with the pain Poseidon must have felt at hearing "all [Polyphemus'] cries"

And everything just ended??

Maybe even with the same heavy put-upon sigh that Circe had "Ugh, Poseidon, eh?"/ "Ugh, fine, go home then"

And it doesnt fix anything. 600 men are still dead. Odysseus still has to take back his palace. He will still greet his wife as a man with a trail of bodies.

But also, we are reminded that, despite how it ends, kindness is brave.

I know this isn't canon but could you imagine if...

Poseidon: Maybe I was a little too hard on that Odysseus fellow. I mean he did spare my son's life and only did what he had to in order to escape.

Poseidon: I think I'll let him get home. Just gonna go pay a visit to my Siren daughters first...

Poseidon: WHAT THE FU-!

[pellucid-constellations]

Fable - After

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Your wings were gone. The healing process would teach you much about yourself, but it would teach Azriel, too. Does it matter, in the end?

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Angst, injury, symptoms of depression (including difficulty eating)

a/n: This is part of a mini-series and the other parts can be found in the link below. Sorry this is literally so long lol. Debating on adding another chapter to the end because I obviously have a lot to say! Also, I won't be posting an update for about a week because I'll be traveling, so I hope this long chapter holds you over. Thank you :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

You woke as the sun did. Yellow light made an imprint behind your eyelids and the grogginess that immediately followed let you know that this was not the first time you had been awake. Sleeping through the night had become a luxury not afforded to you. 

You clenched the pillow at your cheek between your fingers and tried to pull at the loose threads of sleep that were escaping you. 

Someone was in your room. 

Someone was always in your room these days, but this morning, you knew it was Azriel. You could feel the whisps of his shadows making barely-there strokes along your back, and his scent was unmistakable. If it was Azriel today, they didn’t expect you to talk. When they wanted you to try and speak, they sent Cassian or Mor or even Feyre on the odd occasion. 

They didn’t expect you to talk when it was Azriel. 

You supposed everyone thought you were mad at him. Truthfully, part of you was mad at him. If he had just opened his eyes once over the last hundreds of years, he would have seen that you were right there—that you were more than a responsibility for him to look after. That you were a woman in love with him and he was a fool for taking so long to notice. 

But another part of you felt that you couldn’t blame him. Azriel had never had much luck in the romance department, and you’d always chalked that up to self-sabotage. He seemed to go after women he knew he couldn’t have and only assumed late-night trysts with those he could, so you couldn’t expect much out of him. And how was he to know that you pined after him? It wasn’t as if you’d ever made any kind of move. 

But Elain had so enamored him and you were so angry at that part. Because you had been there and he had never taken the leaps and bounds he had with her. 

He had left you in that camp, so ready to believe your lie to appease her. 

You were the biggest fool of all. 

In actuality, neither of those parts mattered. There wasn’t some internal strife that fought against your sleep and made you question your feelings. You weren’t mad at Azriel. You weren’t mad at anyone or anything. You felt empty. 

You gave up on sleep, breathing heavily through your nose and squinting your eyes into the sun that peaked through your curtains. Your back ached, and even more, the insurmountable pressure on your chest was amplified by the bandages that wrapped around from behind you. They made it difficult to breathe. 

No infection had set in. It had been two and a half weeks since the incident, and Madja cleared you to begin moving around a few days ago and noted that you were “out of the woods, medically.” Everyone looked relieved as if that news had changed anything. To them, you supposed it did. You would live. That was good. 

Azriel knew you were awake, you were sure of it. You heard his chair groan as if he were leaning forward in it, and his shadows had begun to traipse around your head, weaving in and out of your hair and blocking the light from your eyes. 

He would try to get you to eat, look at you with those pitying eyes, and apologize when you could barely sit up and hold out a plate as if you were going to eat it. You hadn’t met his gaze since you woke up and there was more than just resentment behind that. There was shame—you were so ashamed of what you had become. What you had let happen. 

Maybe that was another reason why you felt so empty. How could Azriel even look at you as anything other than broken? When you were whole—when you had your wings—there was an irrational part of you that considered you had a chance with the Shadowsinger if he would just see you. 

There was nothing to see now. 

“Are you awake?” Azriel asked, keeping his voice low in the quiet room. You nodded against the pillow, face still turned from his view. The chair groaned once again. “Are you hungry?” 

No head shake. It was a frequent question that you hated being asked. 

Azriel’s footsteps were soft against your carpet. He kneeled beside your bed and attempted to catch your fleeting gaze, but you found a spot on the floor and kept it there. 

“Can you try?” he prompted. His textured fingers brushed the hair from your eyes. “Not even at the table. I’ll have the House bring you something here.” 

You pressed your lips together and fought off the burning in your nose. 

“Please, y/n.  I know you’re angry with me—I know. But please, just try to eat something.” 

Angry at him—anger wasn’t even in your repertoire at the moment. But he sounded so desperate, as did every other member of your family, and you didn’t want the let them down more than you already had. You shut your eyes and nodded, resigned. 

You built up the strength to prop yourself up on your arms, but that’s where you stopped. Your center of gravity had been completely ripped from you. Anytime you moved without your wings, it felt like free-falling from a mountain. Madja had offered—several times since physically clearing you—to come and get you back on your feet, but the motivation wasn’t there. 

You couldn’t imagine walking without the weight at your back. 

And you had avoided every reflection known to man; seeing yourself would be too much. 

“I have you,” Azriel encouraged, holding you at your waist as he twisted your body up. “Almost. There we go, angel” —he positioned you between pillows that hadn’t been on your bed before— “How’s that? Is it alright?” 

Humiliation felt like a hot knife. You nodded and found a spot on the bed to focus on. You could feel Azriel’s lingering gaze and he hesitated before placing a bowl of broth on a small platter before you. 

“Is that okay?” 

You nodded again, biting the inside of your lip. Your back ached. 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

You nodded. 

Azriel hesitated once more, rocking back on his heels before clearing his throat and letting the door softly shut behind him. The tears came then, and you were so tired of crying. 

~~

Azriel’s POV

Outside of your room, Azriel’s forehead was pressed against the wood of your door. The intricate carvings imprinted his right palm as he kept it pressed there as well, and Azriel had to breathe through his nose to calm himself. 

He was at a loss. 

He didn’t blame you for not speaking to him, but you wouldn’t speak to anyone. You wouldn’t get out of bed unless it was Mor or Feyre lifting you for a bath and you wouldn’t leave your room at all. They had all expected this—planned for a long healing process—but you were so… lifeless. 

Gods, he was helpless. You wouldn’t even look at him. 

Azriel clenched his jaw and tried to listen for the clink of the spoon against the bowl when a hand on his back startled him. Because that was another thing—he’d been off his game since you got hurt, completely useless as a spy. 

“How is she?” Cassian. Cassian was just as worried as Azriel, but Azriel was pretty sure you were looking him in the eye at least. “Get her to talk?” 

“No,” Azriel breathed through a constricting throat. He turned to meet his brother’s face. He was sure Cassian still held some resentment towards him, but he’d apologized for his outburst when you arrived at the House. Apologized, but not entirely forgiven. 

Cassian sighed and rubbed at his jaw. “Is she at least eating?” 

“She agreed to eat. I left her with some soup. She wanted me to leave.” 

“She say that?” 

“I asked and she nodded.” 

Cassian kissed his teeth and curled his wings in tighter. “Have you… talked to her?” 

Azriel had to fight the urge to scoff, throwing his brother an incredulous look. “Obviously I talk to her, Cassian. I don’t stand in her room and motion at things.” 

In response, Cassian did not fight the urge to roll his eyes. “I mean actually talk to her, Azriel. About what happened. You finding her. Her lying and you not being there. I know it was one of the only missions at the camps she’s been at without you there. That means something, no?” 

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me at all—let alone rehash all of that.” 

“Azriel,” Cassian started, stepping forward to place a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Give her a chance to push you away. Let her be the one to do it. If you play into this fear, it might confirm things for her, and you know her mind isn’t in a good place.” 

Azriel winced. “I think you might be better to—” 

“No, Az, you. Let her eat her breakfast, give her an hour or two, and then go back in there and talk to her. I’ve already been talking to her and she won’t say a word to me. I think you’re the only person who’s been too afraid to.” 

Azriel sighed and then leaned his head back until it knocked against your door. In another life, you might’ve called out and asked who was there. But there was only silence. 

Cassian sent Azriel a look with raised brows and patted his brother twice on the shoulder before backing into the hall. He had taken four steps towards the dining room before Azriel called, “What did you mean then, about me being blind?” 

Cassian paused but didn’t turn. Azriel watched his head tilt to the side and a deep sigh escaped him. 

“Shouldn’t have said that,” Cassian muttered. He started walking once more. “Just—think a little more.”

~~

Original POV

Breakfast was fine; you kept it down and that was the goal. 

Following breakfast, you thumbed through the books Nesta had sent to you. The action was lackadaisical and without purpose. You weren’t going to read them. 

You took breaks from staring at the wall to stare out the window instead, but that only sent waves of something heavy through your chest. The skies looked so open today, with only a few clouds and endless rays of sun. Maybe if it were raining, it wouldn’t hurt so much to look out the window. 

You were being left alone far more than usual today. 

Perhaps they had grown tired of being around a stubborn mute who refused to see the bright side of things, the “well, with your injuries it’s a miracle you’re still alive,” talks not entirely working on you. You were sure that was true, but you didn’t particularly care about the marvel it took to put you back together. 

This miracle felt hollow. 

As you were about to shut your eyes and drown the rest of the day in sleep, a small knock and the creak of your door stopped you. You snapped your gaze forward and quickly averted it when you recognized Azriel stepping in, his shadows preceding him and rushing you in circles. 

You expected him to take up his post in the chair beside your bed with a simple greeting—as he had done every visit to your room in the past weeks—so when he stood at the door and spoke, confusion and anxiety filled you. 

“Um, hello,” he began. You watched his hands fumble around each other before he cleared his throat and brought them behind his back. “I realize I haven’t given you a full opportunity to be angry with me. I’ve only offered pleasantries and… well, moved you around. I wanted to speak to you if that’s alright?” 

You fixed your gaze on the wall behind him and twisted your lips to the side in the show of a grimace. 

“You don’t have to say anything back—unless you’d like to. It would just—Can I just sit and talk?” 

You had no idea why he was asking. Everyone else in the House sat in your room and talked your ear off, asking questions they wouldn’t get an answer to and telling you about the happenings in town. Azriel was the only one who stayed silent and, now, was the only one to ask permission to speak. 

Still, you slowly nodded and shifted on the pillows. 

“Does anything hurt?” he began, stepping forward with a hesitant hand reaching towards you. “I could fix—” 

You shook your head. He sat in the chair.

There was a beat of silence—uncomfortable silence, which was odd because Azriel had always been the one you felt most comfortable being quiet around. 

When he spoke, the torture in his voice had you finally whipping around to look at his face, but his gaze was downturned. 

“This is my fault,” he said, strained and cracked as he clasped his hands tightly between his knees. “I know I’ve apologized to you since you woke up, but it’s never really been for that. You have to know how sorry I am, y/n. How much I wish I had just come with you. I always come with you.” 

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I—I don’t understand why you’d lie about Lucien going with you. Or Cassian, for that matter. I thought it was always obvious that I’d do anything for you—that you were more important to me than a date.” 

Something twisted and pulled inside of you. You were getting the devotion you so desired from him, but it was cast behind a layer of something ugly. You were more important than a date—then why did it hurt as he spoke the words to you?

“I’m sorry that I ever made you feel otherwise. I’m sorry that you felt you had to lie for my benefit. But, y/n, I thought you were dead. I walked into that camp and I heard you scream, and I thought—I thought you were dead when I held you in my arms. There was so much blood and—” 

Azriel’s words choked and stopped in the air. He pressed his hands in prayer over his mouth and when he looked up, he caught you in your stare. You sat paralyzed, wide-eyed, as he looked at you directly. 

“Why did you lie?” he asked weakly. “I would have been there. And I’m sorry I believed you so easily, but we’ve always been honest with each other. You’ve always had me.” 

Your chin trembled. You were tired of crying, but the irony of his words hit you with full force and your wings were gone. Your wings were gone and nothing would ever be the same again. 

Your trembling jaw quickly morphed into the too-quick intake of breath that made your shoulders tremble as well. And then you were heaving in ugly sobs that hurt to let go of. You clutched at the blankets beneath you until your knuckles turned white. 

Why did you lie? 

Why did you—

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Azriel hushed. He was on the bed now. You hadn’t heard the chair when he got up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. He held you at your shoulders and pressed your face into his chest. This was the most anyone had touched you. Madja only healed with brief skims of her hands and everyone else moved you with panicked touches.

“Angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” 

When you spoke—for the first time as this new person—your throat made the words unintelligible. Everything was scratchy and hoarse from misuse, but Azriel heard it. He gently pushed you back and found your eyes once more, his gaze wide and encouraging. 

You tried again, and again, each time more coherent but also filled with the tears the Shadowsinger continued to wipe from your cheeks. 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” finally ripped from your chest. “I only—only—” You hiccuped and Azriel’s face crumpled. “I just wanted you to be happy.” 

Azriel’s eyes were already glassy, but when your voice finally rang in his ears, the tears fell. He pressed your face into his chest once more. This time, you brought your hands up to clench his shirt between your fingers. And, because you were already vulnerable and because this was the first time in weeks you no longer felt numb, you whispered out, “My wings are gone,” and Azriel held you tighter. 

~~

You woke to speaking, a voice seeming to rattle in your head. You couldn’t remember falling asleep, only knowing it must have been a productive sleep because you did not feel weighed down. Your back throbbed, as it typically did after sleep, but there was no heaviness at your chest and you felt rested. 

Another voice in the room sounded off, and you kept your eyes shut as you tried to piece together the words. 

“—to walk. Important for her health—too much time—” 

The voice rumbling your head then said, “She might not be ready. We shouldn’t push her.” 

“She will never be ready, Azriel.” Rhysand, you deduced, the conversation in the room becoming more clear. “But, as Madja has said, if we don’t try to get her at least out of this room, she’ll be stuck in her head. Just try to get her to the balcony. Start with that.” 

“Rhysand—” 

“Don’t Rhysand me. It’s almost been three weeks. Her back is nearly healed. That’s not what we’re worried about now.” 

“And what are we worried about?” Azriel bit back. You were on his chest. Hands were on your waist.

The room lulled into a tense pause, the echo of Azriel’s near growl punctuating the silence. 

The door opened and closed, someone’s footfall departing. 

“You’ve scared off our healer, Azriel,” Rhysand noted with a mock scold. Azriel let out a small scoff. “We are all worried about her, Az. I know it feels… maybe like it’s you against the world, but it’s not. We need to get her up and moving. Her headspace isn’t good.” 

Azriel shifted you in his arms. “Fine.” 

“And Madja needs to come back in to change her dressings.” 

Your hair was moved behind your ear. “Fine.” 

Rhysand let out a tortured sigh. 

~~

Azriel’s POV 

Azriel was going to try today. 

He said that yesterday, but yesterday, you had let him coerce you into sitting by the window instead of in bed, and you had talked to him the entire time, so he forgot to bring it up. 

A large part of Azriel was afraid of pushing you—afraid that you would close up again and refuse to look at him. But he knew Rhys and Madja and everyone else in this House was right. You needed to start making progress. You needed to be able to live some semblance of a normal life without your wings. 

It was strange to see you without them. The pit in his chest grew each time you moved to accommodate them. You would shift in bed or reach around to reposition the fantom limb and realization would come before the dread. Sometimes that was it for the day, you wouldn’t speak anymore. Azriel would read to you when that happened. 

You had started to talk to the rest of the circle, which Azriel was mostly glad for, but the smallest bout of protectiveness had somehow dug its way into his heart. When he would walk into your room to find you chatting with Cassian or listening to Rhys, Azriel would have to pause at the territorial feeling that temporarily consumed him. He figured it was only because you were still hurt. That would fade. 

When he came in today, you were alone, and Azriel felt relieved. For a moment. 

You were already awake and looked well-rested, which was detrimental to his plan of asking you while you were half asleep. You set your book down to stare up at him, and even the fact that you were reading was not lost on him. 

You were making progress. This was part of progress.

“Good morning, y/n,” Azriel greeted, standing at the foot of your bed. 

The action already made you nervous. You eyed the chair beside you and glanced back at him. “Hi, Az.” 

Azriel’s lash fluttered at the sound of your voice, still so fresh after weeks of silence. You were meeker than you once sounded, unsure and small. 

Azriel took in a breath before asking, “How’s today?”

“Today is good,” you replied, words slow. 

Azriel spied the remaining badges peeking out from the top of your shirt. You needed this. “I think we should walk today.” 

Silence consumed the room. Your lips parted as you stared at him, and Azriel immediately wanted to eat his words. Another beat of silence. And then another. He tried desperately not to shift weight between his feet lest he look antsy or unsure. 

You blinked, twice, and then stared down at your fingers as they rested in your lap. 

“I know it will be difficult,” Azriel tried, speaking low. “But I’ll be here. We don’t have to go far. A few steps, that’s all I’m asking.” 

You pressed your thumbnail into your palm, brows furrowed. You hadn’t smiled, Azriel realized, not since before. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips before you spoke. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” Azriel asked, bending down to catch your gaze unsuccessfully. 

You blinked back up at him. “Okay, I’ll try.” And then, in a much lower tone, as Azriel walked to your side, you grumbled, “Not as if I could get any lower than I am now.” 

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” you replied, reaching for his outstretched hands. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

Azriel decided to revisit that later. He wouldn’t pass up this opening you had provided, even though his heart ached at what you’d insinuated. He held your hands in his own and leaned forward as you shifted yourself to the side, your legs hanging off the edge of the bed. 

Already, the disorientation on your face was difficult to stomach. You swayed backward with a pinched expression and your nostrils flared in frustration, but Azriel only held your hands firm and steady. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he comforted, allowing his thumb to brush your knuckle. “Anything hurt?”

You shook your head, your lips pressed in a tight line. Azriel forced himself into your field of vision and nodded, softly counting to three as your eyes darted quickly between both of his. As your legs straightened and Azriel’s hands held you up, you refused to break the connection. Azriel wouldn’t be the one to break it. 

You were shaky on your feet and completely unbalanced, but you were standing, and that was all Azriel could ask for. He gripped your hands tighter as your breathing deepened, the struggle evident on your face. 

“Feel okay?” Azriel asked. 

“No,” you grimaced. “But keep going,” you breathed out. 

“Okay, okay. Start with your right. I won’t let go of you.” 

And you did as he asked, albeit with a small groan and a look up at the ceiling. You abandoned the frustration in favor of staring directly at your feet and white-knuckling the grip on Azriel’s hands as you swayed and brought your right foot forward. The moment you placed it down you wobbled on it and had to right yourself three times, causing one of Azriel’s hands to come around your waist. 

You gritted your teeth but continued with your left foot with some encouragement from Azriel. He stepped back with each step you took forward, his hands glued to your body to correct the mistakes from your core. You made it six steps and Azriel was elated. He let out a small, breathy laugh. 

“You’re incredible,” he deemed. 

And it was so, so small, but the scoff-like laugh you offered was accompanied by a minuscule half-smile, and Azriel was over the moon. You looked up at him, a sarcastic upturn of your eyes lighting them up, and Azriel was struck then. 

Mate. 

Mate. 

It was so obvious, so clear. There was never anything but this. But you. 

You were meant to be his and he yours. Years of this pull to you, and he always thought it to be one of friendship. He’d always loved you, always, but he’d never humored the possibility of anything more. You’d seen him in his teen years. Gods, you’d seen him in his twenties when he was terribly full of himself without the credentials to be so. 

And he’d seen you through the decades of your life as well. 

But everything was so much clearer now. He’d always been protective of you, always been the first to follow you. That was part of why this had been so devastating—he’d let you down, left you alone. For another woman. 

Azriel felt his stomach lurch and then something rotten was left in his mouth. 

His mate—he’d let this happen to his mate. 

And what had he said in the store that day? When you’d asked him what would happen if he’d found his mate?

He’d said it wouldn’t matter, that Elain was bigger than a mating bond. 

Elain.

“Azriel?” Your worried tone snapped him back to the present. To the way your legs shook and your body swayed before him. He quickly scooped you up at your waist and held you close as he walked you back to the bed. 

“That’s enough for today,” he said, tucking you back into the bed. His hands were shaking. “Does anything hurt?”

“Are you okay?” you asked, and when you looked at him with your wide eyes, he was so angry at himself. 

Nothing made sense, but everything did. 

“I’m alright,” he reassured, placing a hand on the top of your head. “We need to take that slow. Your muscles need to be rebuilt along with your balance.” 

He needed to get out of this room. He needed to—

“I promise I’ll be able to do more tomorrow. You’ll… come back tomorrow, right?” 

Something was screaming at him. His shadows. They twisted and struck his ears before coming down to rest gently at your shoulders. 

“Of course I will.” 

~~

Original POV

Azriel did not come back the following day, or the day after that. 

Mor came on the first day, a smile plastered on her concerned face. She held her hands out as Azriel did and got you to walk ten steps before exhaustion made your legs shake. She sat beside your bed and went on and on about some shop in Velaris and you laid back and listened. 

You loved Mor, but it became hard to swallow when she was the one to walk through your door that morning. 

The next day, it was Cassian. 

He grinned and boasted about being the best person on the job, rounding your bed and heaving you up by your hips until you were pressed against his front. Cassian took a different approach to you relearning how to walk, placing your feet on top of his to move as he did. He was joking at first, laughter fresh in his tone, but he got serious as your brow twisted and your body swayed. 

“You got it,” he assured. He stepped back, his hands now just hovering over your hips as you balanced against him. “You’re doing great.” 

You gripped the sleeves of his shirt. “I should know how to walk,” you said through gritted teeth. “I shouldn’t have stayed in bed so long.” 

“You were healing. Resting. No one expected you to hop up and be fine, y/n.” 

“I moped for too long. This wouldn’t be so hard if I had started earlier.” 

“Hey—” 

Frustration had accumulated, building since realizing that you really were only a fraction of yourself, and that was probably why Azriel hadn’t come back. You clenched your teeth once more and pushed from Cassian’s body, finding the ground beneath your feet and ignoring the protest from the Illyrian before you—the one with his wings so tightly pressed to his back that you almost could forget they were there. Almost. 

But the action was short-lived. Cassian grappled for your waist as your body only allowed you two steps forward before you shot backward, an ache permeating down your spine as it tried to accommodate the movement. 

“Cauldron, y/n, warn a guy,” Cassian scolded, stepping you back to sit on the bed. “Did you do this with everyone or am I just special?” 

Frustration burned behind your eyes. You stayed silent as you scrubbed your hand down your face. You couldn’t even fling yourself back against the bed as you wanted, knowing that pain would radiate down your back if you did. 

You couldn’t do anything. The extra time you’d spent with Azriel had created a false sense of… something you needed to let go of. He was pitying you—that was all. You were a broken creature, and he felt responsible. 

“What was that about, huh?” Cassian asked, kneeling before you and looking up below a raised brow. 

“I’m broken,” you admitted, resolute and small. “That’s why Azriel won’t come back, isn’t it? I can’t walk. I’m not how I was. I let this happen to me. I should know how to walk.” 

Cassian’s tongue clicked as his head tilted to the side. “No, y/n, you’re not broken. You didn’t let anything happen to you. This is all—Gods, this is all a fucking mess. But the one thing you can know is that you aren’t broken. And Azriel—he’s dealing with something right now. He’s not avoiding you because you’re broken.” 

You stared back at him, the empty feeling slowly creeping back into your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded when Cassian gave you an expectant look. You would act as if you believed him, and the following day, when Azriel stepped through your door, maybe it felt a bit easier to lie. 

“Did you handle what you needed to?” you asked him, your hands cemented against his own as he guided you around your room. The words came out strained as your balance faltered. 

Azriel took a moment before responding, “You could say that.” 

“Was it Elain?” You hadn’t meant to ask the question, and the bitterness in your tone was new to even you, but it came out all the same. You avoided Azriel’s gaze as it snapped to your face. 

“Some of it,” he admitted. His eyes burned into you. You stared at your feet as you stepped. “But only some.” 

“How’s that working out for you?” 

“Y/n.” 

You stepped again. And again. It was easier each day, but that also spelled a more difficult future. The further you walked, the sooner you would have to come to terms with your wings being gone. Staying in bed helped you avoid that truth. 

You ignored Azriel’s call and stepped again. 

“Look at me. Please.” 

You shifted your jaw to the side but glanced up through your lashes and gave in to his request. Azriel’s beseeching expression made you falter. 

“I can never apologize fully for not being there that night. With Elain—“ Azriel paused, wincing. “I’ve been blind to what’s important. You tried to tell me. Everyone tried to tell me. I was so caught up in a chance at happiness. It was never about Elain.” 

You had no reply. Your legs were shaking. 

Azriel seemed to take a different approach. “I meant what I said before—that you’re incredible. You’ve pushed yourself so hard and we’re all proud of you.” 

“Is that why you didn’t come back when you said you would?” you asked. The tinge of bitterness remained. “Because you’re proud of me?” 

“I had to—y/n, there were things—“ 

“Just say you’ve been visiting out of pity, Azriel. That would make this easier.” 

You gripped his hands harder as your wave of frustration made walking more difficult. You grunted slightly and Azriel took that as a sign to shift your weight from your feet, holding you to his body even as you struggled against him, even as you averted your gaze. 

Gods, this was better when you kept your mouth shut. 

“I do not pity you. Y/n—y/n. I don’t, do you hear me?” 

“Why?” you stressed, pushing your hands against his chest in a futile escape attempt. “Why, Azriel? Too busy running after Elain to make room for it?” 

“Don’t say that. I already told you—“

“Just let me go.” 

“No.”

“Oh, so now you listen to me.” 

“Y/n—“ 

“This was already humiliating, Azriel. And then you said you’d be back and you weren’t,” you accused. “You got weird when I finally started walking and I know you only came in here because Cassian told you about yesterday.” 

“Yesterday?” he questioned. 

You rolled your eyes. It was so much easier to be angry than hurt. “When I asked about you. I know he can’t keep a secret.” 

Azriel only shook his head. “He hadn’t told me anything. I needed a few days because I’m the weak one. Me. I needed distance because I’m reminded, every time I see you, that I could have prevented this. Im selfish.

“And Elain,” he trailed off, hazel eyes flicking between yours. “I had to tell her that I’ve been a fool. I won’t be pursuing her anymore.” 

Your brows furrowed. You gave up fighting against Azriel, but he kept both of your hands in a grip at his chest, his other arm locked at your lower back. This felt like a weight lifted from your chest, but it wasn’t that easy. None of this was easy. 

“Why?” 

Azriel paused. 

Something flashed across his face, indecipherable to even you, but he covered it just as quickly.

“It wasn’t supposed to be her. I’ve always known that.” 

More silence blanketed the room. Your earlier anger melted into a white-hot embarrassment that lingered in the pit of your stomach. You’d never been one quick to anger. Azriel hadn’t even blinked an eye. 

“Can I help you back to your bed?”

You pressed your lips together. 

“I want to read with you, if that’s alright?” 

Your head turned down. You nodded. 

~~ 

Azriel’s POV 

Azriel couldn’t tell you. 

He couldn’t. 

It was clear that no bond lit up your chest as his did, and that made sense to Azriel. You’d been through a loss few could ever imagine. You were stuck in your head for most of the day, and then angry or numb for the rest of it. The only time you seemed to find reprieve was during conversation that had nothing to do with anything of meaning. 

Azriel would take what he could get. So he read beside you and helped you walk and he didn’t tell you that a bond connected your souls. 

How could he even broach the subject, anyway? When he had so openly pined after another woman? 

This was not the time. 

You needed to focus on yourself. He would focus on you and you would focus on yourself. 

It had been about a month since you began walking again, and two since your injury. He counted each day. On the second week of the third month, Azriel saw you in the hallway. Feyre walked alongside you as you trailed your fingers on the wall, and while it gave the air of a casual stroll, he could see his High Lady’s hand hover behind you. While he took effortful breaths to calm his excitement, his shadows did not. 

“Azriel, what terrible timing!” Feyre scolded, batting away the shadows as they stormed you. “I finally got her out here and you're going to knock her over with air.”

“I apologize,” he spoke, but he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. Despite your unsteady gait, you lit up as his shadows swirled around you, displacing your hair and clothes as you went. And then you laughed; a small sound, but one that Azriel felt in his chest. 

“Call them back,” you giggled. Azriel’s face warmed along with his chest. “I’m going to collapse into this wall if you don’t.” 

“Azriel,” Feyre called, and Azriel hadn’t noticed he was staring. He blinked and shook his head as if to clear it and tried to call his shadows back. And then tried again. 

They were stuck to you. 

“I really am trying,” he explained, taking a step closer. “They seem attached.” 

“I can’t imagine why,” Feyre groaned. She shot the Shadowsinger a look and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her side. “Idiot bats.” 

As the pair walked past him, his shadows still whispering along your arms, you hooked your chin over your shoulder, casting him a lingering gaze. It was odd to see your face with such clarity, no wings clouding his view. Even more odd was the uncomfortable way you walked; the leaning into Feyre’s side was more necessary than for the show. 

The strangest thing, however, was the tug in his chest that left him breathless. Every time you looked at him, that thread in his chest tugged and yanked and begged him to get closer. 

But this wasn’t the time. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be the time for several decades. 

Not after he let you down in such a way. 

He would spend the rest of his life making up for that, even if you were none the wiser to the bond between you. He would protect you for the rest of your life, as he was meant to do from the beginning. That feeling, the urge, only swelled as you turned forward and continued your walk with your High Lady, Azriel still hearing the remnants of your laugh in the hall as you went. 

A shadow broke away from your figure and lopped around his ear, reminding him that he actually did have a destination before he became so enraptured by you. It whispered to him hurriedly and Azriel had to break his gaze from your retreating back as he made his way to Rhysand’s study. Each step had him increasingly irritated; he should have been with you the day you decided to leave your room. 

He bit back his vexation when he felt the tension in the room. 

“Azriel. Good,” Rhysand greeted. The door swung shut. “Sit. We need to talk.” 

“That doesn’t sound promising,” Azriel remarked, shifting his leathers as he took a wide seat on the chair across Rhysand’s desk. 

From the couch beside him, Cassian let out a humorless chuckle. “I think you’ll find this quite promising, brother.” 

“As long as it’s quick. I have other things to attend to today.” 

Cassian sent a wry grin in Rhysand’s direction. “I told you he’d see her in the hall.” He turned back to Azriel. “Packed schedule today, Az?” 

“You know better, Cassian,” Rhysand chided, the lightness in his tone betraying the scolding nature of his words. 

“Is there an actual point to this discussion?” Azriel deadpanned. 

“Bond feeling a little loose?” 

Azriel threw him a dirty look. It hadn’t taken a genius to recognize the change in Azriel the day the bond snapped, his heightened aggression paired with the scent of you still lingering on his clothes had Cassian immediately clocking the Shadowsinger. He’d looked surprised—gaurded and surprised. Rhysand looked as if he’d been the one waiting for the bond to snap, and Azriel had sent him a myriad of questions. 

Namely: Why the hell wouldn’t he tell him he thought you were his mate? 

“Don’t taunt him, Cass.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Are we getting to the point?” Azriel drawled. The desire to get back to you itched beneath his skin. Maybe you’d made it to the kitchen and he’d sit at the table beside you. 

Rhysand sighed. He tapped his finger against a piece of parchment laid on the desk. “I have correspondence from the northeast camp. From the spies you have placed there.” 

Azriel sat up in his chair. “Why wouldn’t they speak to me directly?” 

“I had them turn all communication over to me. You’re too close to this and I wouldn’t have you acting rashly and putting yourself in unnecessary danger.” 

“They are my spies—” 

“I didn’t do it to undermine you, Azriel,” Rhysand interrupted, raising a hand in surrender. “You can’t tell me that if you got word her attackers were found you wouldn’t immediately rush into that camp without a plan or even a weapon.” 

Azriel breathed hard from his nose and clenched the wooden chair arms between scarred fingers. 

In the silence, Rhysand continued. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, brother. But you understand why that was a risk I couldn’t take.” 

“What did the correspondence say?” Azriel gritted out, his mood depleted of the lightness you had brought. 

Rhysand eyed Cassian on the other side of the room before fixing his gaze on his Spymaster. “The escaped attackers have been identified. They aren’t contained, and no one even knows where they are, but we know who they are.” 

Fiery rage met Azriel’s soured mood.

If only he knew of the terrors that would continue to fall. 

[soursherbat]

LAMB X BISHOP MASTERPOST YEAAAA!!!

(original template link)

this genuinely took me so long but i needed to explore my ship dynamics with ramzi and his bishops! more details under the cut if you want to know more- warning this post is LONG!!!:

[edit: i was obviously rlly sleep deprived while writing this so im editing it for better readability, including using more consistent pronouns for everyone bc reading it back this post. was very hard to parse 💀]

in order, just adding notes and addendums :3c im super sleep deprived so im trying my best but i need to yap about them

ramzi's pronouns are it/he/they!

narinder;

initially a very slow burn relationship, this sheet shows them at their peak. it takes a very long time for the lamb to forgive narinder, and vice versa, but once they're over their differences they're committed.

notes;

he/they for narinder :3c he's bisexual with a preference for masc presenting people! (using he/him for this post)

prefers to be the big spoon but will allow ramzi to take that spot if it really insists on it

reaallly loves to wear the lamb's fleeces and cloaks (the only clothing of theirs that will fit him) but is too proud to directly ask for them

narinder really does not like most people- the only ones he usually socializes with are ramzi and his siblings, possibly a follower he can tolerate for a few minutes. if ramzi is talking to others while narinder is shadowing him he tends to just flick his tail and sulk quietly until his lamb gives him attention again

narinder isn't great with words, he prefers to show ramzi his love with physical affection (in private) and acts of service, while ramzi is more than willing to shower narinder with loving words and acts of devotion

ramzi refuses to confess its feelings to narinder first, full stop. narinder waits and waits, but eventually gives in and tells ramzi how he feels first- ramzi is still feeling bitter and betrayed by narinder, not appreciating them snatching it from its peaceful death to be a tool in his games. they're both incredibly conflicted, it takes a long while for them to work their differences out. its not something that can be solved with a single conversation, but eventually they come to terms with everything that's happened and make amends

ramzi wouldn't actually squash the bug- it'd prefer to just grab it and take it out of whatever space its invaded, narinder will just smack it and be done with it

im just applying the driving one if i ever make a modern au lmfao

narinder cannot cook to save his damn life after being locked up for so long- ramzi had to learn quickly being raised by ratau, i'll be real i dont think that rat knows how to cook

that prickly cat would prefer not to show his love for the lamb in public, but he might sneak a kiss while no one is looking... ramzi however doesn't care, though it does like to fluster narinder a little by flirting while others are around

these two would kill for each other, narinder is practically begging the lamb to let him do so actually- nari is described as the lamb's shadow (affectionately) by most because of how often he's seen just following it around the cult. god help you if you confess your love to the lamb while he's around- though ramzi does get pretty jealous if it sees anyone making eyes at his special kitty...

nari is 4,000 years old virgin to me lmao. ramzi has had a few relationships before narinder, it actually marries shamura before nari- they're not beating the toxic yaoi allegations any time soon they were still battling their resentment around that time

i'll touch on the spicier dynamics in a dedicated post sometime >:3c that'll apply to the rest too-

i wouldn't describe narinder as being awkward, but moreso stoic and lost really. he's also just incredibly pissed off with ramzi, feeling robbed of his rightful status as a god and feeling jealous of everything its built for itself in such a small amount of time- later on he's more flustered than nervous or awkward because that damned lamb wont stop flirting with him

gods help you if narinder even sees you making eyes at the lamb. he's incredibly possessive over his former vessel, its perceived rejection of him made something in him snap and they want to possess it, even if he knows that's not exactly plausible... he's normal, i swear (<-lying) ramzi returns some of that energy, it really does not like followers flirting with its favorite cat- i'll be the first to admit that they've got some toxic codependency going on

-

leshy;

leshy uses any pronouns! he really just don't care that much, same with his sexuality (using he/him for simplicity for this post)

these two fight over who gets to be the big spoon, since they're nearly even in height (leshy tries to argue his branches make him taller) it makes it easier for them to trade big/little spoon positions- but theyre so competitive they end up wrestling over it

leshy can't even see the clothes he's wearing, but he likes the idea of ramzi matching with him, even if he won't directly admit that

ramzi is rarely called by name when leshy is around, it's always 'lambzi', 'lamby', 'cottonball', or any other seemingly sarcastic pet name he can come up with for it- meanwhile ramzi often calls him 'wiggler' or 'wormy'

compared to leshy, ramzi is a little less outgoing. leshy loves to be the center of attention, he loves to pull pranks and cause mischief whenever he can.

ramzi's quick to let leshy know he is loved through any means, though surprisingly leshy is a bit more inconspicuous about showing his affections for his lamb through old traditions it clearly has no clue about but leshy gets a bit of joy watching its confusion (shamura tells it later-)

these two have a pretty easygoing relationship, at first leshy is upset about his lost godhood but he quickly begins to like staying with the lamb when he learns how accommodating and, frankly, extremely chaotic it is- they get along very well and have a teasing, poking and earnestly soft relationship rather early on. leshy admits his feelings first, mainly getting fed up that ramzi hasnt confessed that it obviously likes him by that point

neither of them mind bugs, leshy actually likes them quite a bit. they'd prefer to catch and release rather than smash them

the poor worm is blind of course he cant cook!! he might be able to if he really focused on building muscle memory and focusing his senses but he's honestly just too lazy to bother, heket's cooking is better anyway

leshy doesn't care if anyone is looking, he loves his lamb! he gets a little embarrassed when they know its siblings are around, but she does get a kick out of knowing he's making narinder jealous

ramzi would lay down his life for his precious chaotic grub, it knows leshy is more than capable but it can't help but worry sometimes- leshy knows ramzi can handle itself so he's pretty relaxed about everything, unless ramzi comes home particularly hurt

i like to think leshy was a bachelor in his time... why not?? he's the bishop of chaos, im sure he's started a love triangle intentionally to watch them fight over him- ramzi however is a little less experienced in romance

leshy has not an ounce of awkwardness in his body, ramzi's a little awkward when he says something particularly unhinged but otherwise they match each other's freak a little too well

leshy would never admit to ramzi that the smell of anyone else stuck to his wool makes leshy a little jealous... another reason he likes to lend his clothes to ramzi, really-

-

heket;

she/they/he for heket, she's bisexual with a preference toward women (using she/her for simplicity on this post)

heket is the big spoon, no questions asked. she loves to cradle that lamb in her arms and it is NOT one to complain about that

heket doesnt lend out her clothes very often, but she likes to see how baggy they are on ramzi- she quite likes seeing it wake up wearing her shirts...

ramzi is incredibly formal with heket, usually referring to her by name or some honorific to show its respect (something she appreciates greatly)- meanwhile heket is always referring to the lamb by anything but its name, really

heket's level of social battery depends on the day, some days she would prefer not to speak to anyone, others she's more outgoing

heket shows her affection by making sure ramzi isn't overworking itself, making sure it's eating and sleeping- she knows it can care for itself, but she just wants to protect her lamb.

there's absolutely no way heket would swallow her pride and confess her brewing feelings for ramzi, she waits very patiently for it to finally get its nerve up and admit that it wants to pursue a relationship with her- after (mostly) healing her throat, she doesn't feel so lonely in the cult once her voice returns and she begins to feel conflicted about ramzi... she wants to hate him, but it's doing everything they can to help her siblings and she can't help but respect and admire it for that, she would admit that she would never consider it if she was still a god-

heket thinks bugs are cute, she'll either catch and release them or keep them in a little container for a bit (she's never beating the weird little sister allegations to me)

ramzi's cooking definitely is not as good as heket's, if it cooks a meal the whole cult is asking when it's heket's turn next LMAO-

PDA ruins heket's cool and stoic exterior in her eyes, though she can't just say that to the lamb- she'll gladly give it a hug or a kiss when nobody's looking, though

honestly, ramzi is just protective over all of the bishops. it feels terribly for killing them repeatedly and making them suffer in purgatory, and it never wants to see them suffer again- heket knows the lamb is strong, she's seen it with her own eyes. that doesn't stop her from worrying for it a little when it leaves on a crusade, however...

heket has some relationship experience, though its been a WHILE- forneus and ramzi are her most recent romantic endeavors and she's incredibly awkward about both of them

heket is insanely awkward, she tries to maintain a cool exterior but it's so hard when that damned lamb is so cute and that sweet cat mom is so kind and shaped- whats a woman to do in her situation??

she can get a little bit jealous if her buttons are pushed on the wrong day, but other than that ramzi and heket have a pretty open relationship

-

kallamar;

any pronouns for kallamar! though he/she are most preferred, she's very lax about his gender and loves to experiment (using he/she interchangeably, lamb is referred to by it/its for simplicity)

despite being nearly a full foot and a half taller than ramzi, kallamar loves to be its little spoon! he feels so safe in his lamb's embrace, she would never leave if it was possible

none of her clothes would fit the lamb, but he does have clothing made for it often! he'll be damned if he lets ramzi walk around looking anything less than presentable, even if its naked it must be TASTEFULLY naked- (though his definition of what that means is a bit nebulous. ramzi's convinced he just wants to ogle)

they love to make up pet names for each other, 'mari' and 'kallie' are ramzi's favorites to use for its precious husband. kallamar is particularly fond of calling ramzi his puppy, often flustering it-

kallamar is a YAPPER and she will not shut up about how much he loves her lamb! ramzi doesn't mind it, but she's often talking so much that it can't properly find the words to express it back- so it gives gifts often, knowing how much its wife loves to adorn himself in jewelry and silks!

ramzi is actually a little bit intimidated by kallamar's experience in love and how pretty he is, kallamar ends up making a very dramatic love confession in front of everyone, totally flustering ramzi (though it has to admit it really loves the dedication!)

he is TERRIFIED of bugs kallamar will shriek so loudly if she finds even a small beetle anywhere near her living space- ramzi often finds itself catching the little bugs while kallie screams bloody murder in the corner

kallamar absolutely can cook but he doesn't want the responsibility of cooking entire meals for the whole cult so she intentionally cooks like shit to avoid it- ramzi catches onto that pretty quickly though

these two need to get a ROOM the confessional is NOT to be used in that way!!!

kallamar's overprotective attitude mainly comes from a place of not wanting the lamb's image to be ruined, he'll tend to its makeup and wardrobe, even helping to enforce loyalty amongst its flock to keep its image pristine- and kallamar is just an easy bullying target, ramzi is Very quick to put an end to that!

kallamar is absolutely more experienced than ramzi, though he's no less dedicated to it. it makes their relationship very calm, there's very little tension between them!

ramzi is very awkward around kallamar at first, he's pretty indignant and a bit cruel to it during the first few weeks- once ramzi begins offering him gifts and praise she warms up rather quickly, however. ramzi's disarmingly cute appearance and dirty mouth tends to make kallamar a nervous mess sometimes, though...

there's not a single ounce of jealousy between these two 🧍‍♂️ they both understand that they're dedicated to one another, and can dedicate themselves to others without compromising their bond

-

shamura;

they/it for mura! i feel that they enjoy experimenting with their clothing in relation to their gender, but they prefer neutral pronouns (using they/them for mura and he/him for ramzi for readability)

these two take turns on who gets to be the big spoon, though usually shamura claims that spot

shamura loves to weave clothes for ramzi! they enjoy seeing his face light up when they incorporate designs ramzi has shown them that sheep often wore, wanting to keep that memory alive for him

they're pretty formal at first, but the two of them can't help but call each other by loving nicknames once they've become comfortable with each other- ramzi often calls shamura 'softie' or 'dearest'

shamura prefers to keep to themself, though they've grown rather attached to webber. they've basically adopted the little creature, that's their son...

once clarity has returned to shamura through ramzi's healing, they have a better grasp on their words- but they still struggle to word their feelings a lot of the time. they try their best, but they find it easier to give gifts or show their affections with physical intimacy when words fail them

shamura is incredibly paranoid and wary of ramzi's presence when they're first indoctrinated, until they finally break bread and reach an understanding, shamura doesn't even consider the lamb could feel anything but hatred and resentment toward them. they assume that he wants revenge, but learns that he just wants to help them- it takes a bit longer for the fear to truly leave shamura, but when they never feel that dagger in their back, they begin to soften he clearly isnt lying to them, he's helped all of their siblings become as happy as he can- and he asks nothing in return of them? it feels too good to be true, but they can't help but trust him eventually ramzi confesses first, and is initially (softly) rejected... but theyre not entirely opposed! mainly conflicted, for a while-

they both love bugs, obviously- though sometimes ramzi gets bitten while trying to show shamura the little spiders he's captured

shamura likes to cook but they prefer liquid only foods- it's not horrible, but sometimes they want more variety

shamura is a bit shy about their relationship with the lamb, they're the least experienced with this sort of thing out of all of the bishops- war and reason have no room for love and compassion, after all. they're learning, with ramzi's help

if someone even LOOKS at ramzi the wrong way, shamura is the first to come to the lamb's defense. both a form of devotion, claiming ramzi as their charge they'd guard with their life, and a form of facing their grief- they'd ended ramzi's life once, they don't want to see it hurt anymore

these two match each other's freak so well its scary- you dont wanna see what happens in the mating tent when these two are in there!!

after shamura's initial wariness and shortness with ramzi fades, they become incredibly shy and awkward- they don't know how to navigate all these new feelings, and they don't really know who to turn to for advice

shamura is very possessive of their lamb- they were the first to be wed by him, after all- not to mention i personally think them being a spider influences this quite a bit,

WOAW THATS IT!!! holy shit thats a lot of text.... anyway if u have any questions abt any of them or want more clarification feel free to send me asks i love to yap abt them all <3

oh boy im not looking forward to putting all the tags on this

[alex51324]

Now, more than ever, we need to be careful about spreading misinformation and rumors

I can guarantee that over the next few months, we'll be hearing about a lot of alarming things going on here in the US. Some of those things will be true, and some won't. (And some will have both true and false or exaggerated elements.)

It's going to be absolutely vital that important information is not drowned out by misinformation, rumors, and ragebait.

That means, when you see something that would be important if true, before sharing, you check whether it's actually true.

In library world, we use the acronym SIFT:

STOP: Don't spread the information, or get caught up in your emotional reaction to it, before you've checked it out. INVESTIGATE: Who is saying it? How do they know? If there are links or sources in the post, do they actually say what the person is saying they do? FIND other coverage: Do an internet search for key details: quotes, people's names, specific locations. If something major is happening, there will normally be a lot of coverage. TRACE claims, quotes, and media back to their original context.

Usually you don't need to do all four things: just STOP and then pick what makes sense from the other three. If you decide to share the information, you can also say what you did--"This is a firsthand account from XYZ protest; it lines up with what the local TV station is saying, but has a lot more details about what the cops did," or whatever.

The more urgent the information seems, the more important it is to make sure it's reliable.

If we're hearing every other day that this or that vulnerable group is in immediate, life-threatening danger--but 49 times out of 50 it turns out to mean Trump rambled somewhere about something which, if actually implemented, could end up having the described consequences at some point down the line--then people aren't going to know the difference the one time in 50 when the danger really is immediate.

Think, here, things like immigration crackdowns, CPS investigations into parents who affirm a trans child's gender, or demands that health care providers report miscarriages to law enforcement. We all know that these are things Trump World talks about a lot and would like to be able to do, in some form. For the sake of the people affected by these topics, we need different ways of talking about, "Here they are, back on their bullshit," versus, "This is a policy proposal for a real thing that could happen," versus, "Holy shit, grab the kids and run."

We cannot go to "Holy shit, grab the kids and run" every time Trump, or someone in his inner circle, decides to bloviate about something that could disastrously affect people lives. The people who are most in danger can't stay at DefCon 5 every day of their lives, and when they do really have to grab the kids and run, we need that alarm to be heard over the constant background hum of dread.

The same goes for action items--whether protests, ways to help, or little things people can do to stay safe/sane. There's going to be plenty going on, and nobody is going to be able to do everything, so do your part by passing along those things that you can vouch are true and important, and skipping the things you aren't sure about.

I'll leave you with an example. Remember how a few years ago, we were all-in about hand hygiene and disinfecting surfaces? And then it turned out that those were not actually very important in terms of preventing the transmission of COVID-19, and what we really need is better air filtration in public spaces--but, at my work at least, we still have canisters of surface-disinfecting wipes sitting around, and tattered old signs up about hand hygiene, and no air filters.

At the time, early in the pandemic, we were sharing the best information we knew about how to stay safe, but people got a little too fixated on that initial advice--remember how people would wipe down their groceries? And those little sticks for pressing elevator buttons?--and then when the advice changed, they didn't want to hear about it.

Distrust, fatigue, superstitious attachment to the old grocery-wiping ways--there were a lot of reasons, but the key thing to take away is that attention, energy, and goodwill are all finite resources. Try to avoid wasting it with grocery-wiping--or worse, shilling for the guy selling little sticks to press elevator buttons with.

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

i want to look after you

summary: paige gets injured and you want to look after her

content warnings: suggestive, slightly sexual language

"What the hell happened to your eye?" You question Paige, in slight concern as she walks into your apartment, left eye swollen and red.

"Oh, I got smacked in practice." She says, nonchalant as ever, allowing her bag to fall off her shoulder and onto the floor.

You loved the way she looked post-training. Her hair still damp from the shower, muscles pumped after being used to the extreme and she always wore some variation of a tank top and shorts showing off her long, slender legs and toned arms. Bonus points if she had the sleeves of her tank top tucked in, exposing her biceps like she did today.

She walks over to you, where your curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around your body while Netflix plays on the TV. The show you were watching becomes background noise as all of your attention is on the blonde girl in front of you. She sinks down beside you and you unwrap yourself so you can get a closer look at her eye. It's bloodshot and you can see a faint bruise already starting to form and her gaze is glassy as if her eye had previously been streaming.

"Gnarly right?" Paige asks taking advantage of you being leaned into her, faces inches away and she presses a kiss to your lips. You kiss her back, of course but that doesn't override your feelings of concern.

"It looks bad." You say, bringing your hand up to her face and gently inching towards the hurt area. Her eye socket is puffy and warm against your skin and Paige winces at your touch.

"Does it hurt?" You inquire, a light frown forming on your face.

"I'll survive." Paige responds, removing your hand from her face and linking it in her own. Physical touch was your girlfriends love language, you believed if Paige could hold your hand at all times, she would. Not that you would complain.

"Not what I asked." You persist, cocking a brow.

"Maybe a little." Paige gives in slumping back into the couch.

You slip your hand out of hers and get up, walking to the kitchen.

"Where are you going? I came over to cuddle." Paige calls out after you and you smile to yourself at her neediness. The same girl that thought it was gnarly having a busted eye loved spending her evenings bundled up with you, in each other's arms watching trash TV.

You quickly filled a zip lock bag with ice before returning to your girlfriend.

"Here, put this on it. It'll help the swelling." You advise and Paige quickly shakes her head, "No. No way, I'm done with ice. It stings." She grumbled, refusing to take the bag from you.

"What if I do it?" You suggest and you swing your leg over her, so your straddling her lap. You wait for her response to your question but she's just smirking now, eyes focused on your legs and where they meet hers, your exposed skin touching hers.

"Paige?"

"If it means you'll stay right here, yes. Ice me all night, baby." She mused, hands riding up your thighs and settling, holding you in place. Her palms were warm against your bare legs and it reminded you how touch starved you were after not seeing her all day.

You roll your eyes at her shameless need for you to be touching at all times, even though you love it and brought the bag of ice up to her eye earning a sharp intake of breath.

"Sorry baby, but it'll help." You say holding the makeshift ice pack over the quickly forming bruise.

You stay sat in Paiges lap nursing the injury for a few minutes before your body begins to struggle to stay still and you fidget in place trying to reposition yourself into a more comfortable stance.

"Y/N, you gotta stop moving like that baby." Paige groaned from beneath you, her grip tightening on your thighs.

"I can't help it." You say fidgeting again, your legs rubbing against hers as you moved.

"OK, fuck this." Paige declared, taking the ice bag from your hand and placing it down before very smoothly flipping you onto your back on the couch.

"But your eye..." You argue as Paige positions herself over you, propped up by her hands at either side of your head.

"My eyes fine, trust me." She insists, leaning down so her face is just centimetres away and you can see every perfect feature so clearly it makes your stomach flip. Her soft, rosy skin glistened in the low light of the room and her eyes, despite one being knocked a little out of shape, shone the most intense shade of blue.

"I want to look after you." You say but it comes out in a pleading tone as your hand finds her jaw and caresses the skin there.

"I can think of many way you can do that, don't worry." Paige quipped, voice quiet and raspy before she finally closed the space between you both, pressing her lips to yours hungrily, a low groan escaping her mouth and vibrating against your lips.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: hi, first post on here, hope you enjoy! open to requests btw :)

[lunarmoves]

who i see, looking back at me (ch1)

pairing: sebastian solace x reader

mentions: post-urbanshade fic, no use of y/n or pronouns, u are his partner <3, hallucinations, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, ooc sebastian probably, i took creative liberties with his mom and siblings, check masterlist for fic summary

a/n: this is something i decided to write after scouring ao3 and tumblr for anything like it and finding nothing. i was just- (thanos voice) "fine i'll do it myself." hope you guys enjoy! i cant believe im simping for a roblox fish man in the year 2024, literally who am i.

word count: 9.5k+

masterlist

ao3 link

When your husband was executed for a crime he did not commit, you decided to move out to the seaside. 

It was a way to just… get away from everything. Start fresh. His face was plastered all over the news after his death sentence. Everywhere you went, it felt as though people were staring at you. Judging you. Hushed whispers followed you just as much as the haunted look on Sebastian’s face when he’d taken his mugshot. It was—unbearable. You needed to get out and away from all the people who only saw you as the partner to a murderer.

His presence lingered everywhere, back at your tiny apartment in the city. From the framed pictures on the wall, to the green toothbrush next to yours, and the faint smell of cinnamon attached to your bedsheets. It was—overwhelming, in more ways than one. You itched and itched with the urge to get out. You stayed only as long as you needed to after his death to go through the process of moving out. It took a couple of weeks. The you from the future would applaud you for lasting longer than a few days, you were certain. 

You didn’t know what to do with all of his things. You sold his expensive belongings unclaimed by his family, like his laptop, electric guitar, and gaming system. The more materialistic items were packed into bins to donate to charity—his old textbooks, binders of sheet music, clothes he seldom wore. The rest you separated into two boxes. One had some things you figured would be appreciated by his mother. The album of his family he kept tucked away in his desk. A small teddy bear he’d had since he was a toddler. Some of his favorite shirts and jewelry he’d been gifted from his siblings. 

The other had things you could not bring yourself to part with. 

You spent a while hovered over that box, tracing the worn edges of a red and black flannel that he always wore around your apartment. There was a small panda plushie that you won at an amusement park on one of your dates and decided to give to him when he said it was ugly-looking. A sketchbook he doodled in from time to time that you didn’t have the heart to open, but knew you would regret giving away. A crumpled piece of paper with hastily scribbled vows on them. Each and every item in the box held some amount of sentimental value—you wondered if it would ever haunt you, keeping them. Part of you already knew the answer.

When you dropped off Sebastian’s things at his mother’s house, you couldn’t help the way your heart sank deep into your chest when she opened the door. Maria was a beautiful woman, and you saw traces of Sebastian in her every time you saw her. The warm honey of her skin, the crinkle of her blue eyes, even the way she smiled. It made your eyes sting and ache with something fierce. Agonizing, even now. Especially now.

She looked at you with a sad smile, gratefully accepting the small box you offered her. “Gracias, sweetie,” she said, hands tightening on the edges of the cardboard. “I appreciate you coming out all this way.” 

“It was no problem,” you told her, shifting slightly on your feet. You hadn’t seen her since—well… You cleared your throat, doing your best to ignore a pang of guilt and this ever so tightening feeling in your chest. “How are you doing?” 

She hummed, a weary thing that matched the dark circles under her eyes and the new streaks of gray in her hair. She looked down at the box. “No muy bien,” she murmured, “but who would after losing a child so wrongfully? I can only hope it gets better to handle with time.” Her gaze lifted up to meet your own. “What about you, hm? Almost done packing?” 

Blue eyes the same shade as his. You looked away, staring down at your shoes and her slippered feet. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Just gotta put a few more boxes into the car.”

“I do not blame you for wanting to get away,” she chuckled. “I would too, if I could.”

As though on cue, there was the sound of a crash somewhere behind her, immediately followed by raised voices. Sebastian’s siblings causing havoc, no doubt. Maria whipped around to shout into her house. “Isidora! Lucas! ¡Comportense!” After she got two distant apologies, she turned back to give you a look. “See what I mean?”

You could only manage a stiff nod, not quite trusting your voice. That feeling in your chest was growing by the second, and you were not sure how long you would last. Maria didn’t deserve this, but you couldn’t help it. You felt like you were being stifled under a large, unforgiving pillow.

You could feel the way she watched you—that same probing stare that Sebastian often wore when he could sense you weren’t feeling well. You continued to stare resolutely at the ground, not wanting her to crack you open like a book to see the way you just couldn’t stand being here right now. She sighed, and you had to suppress a wince.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” she finally said, turning slightly to head back inside. “No eres una desconocida, you hear? You are always welcome here.” 

“Right,” you whispered, and when you finally managed to pull your gaze back up to her face, she only gave you a small, melancholy smile before gently closing the door. You stood there for a moment more, heart beating in your throat as you cursed yourself for being a coward.

The drive down to the seaside was only a few hours. It was relaxing, in its own way, as you passed by concrete buildings that slowly melted away into wide, open fields. Rolling hills and staggering cliffs. You could almost taste the change in the air the closer you got. The stale, musty scent of the city was replaced by a fresh, salty breeze. If you listened close enough, you could hear the distant roar of the ocean as its waves crashed against rock. And once you arrived at what would be your new home for a long, long time, you took a moment to just stand outside and breathe. 

One breath in, one breath out. The seaside air felt cool on your heated face. Out here, you felt like everything could be put behind you. A breath of fresh air to chase away the way you hurt inside. You could finally shed the layer of muddled emotions and thoughts that had surrounded you for weeks. 

If only it was that easy. Still… Baby steps, you reminded yourself.

The cottage you were moving into was a quaint thing, with just enough space for you to live comfortably on your own. It was more than a steal, and you were thankful that you’d managed to snatch it up before anyone else could—and at a reasonable price, too. It sat near the top of a small cove, overlooking miles and miles of open water. If you walked down to the shore—away from the cove—there was a small dock that jutted out into the sea like a pirate’s plank. It was old, though, covered in mold and made of rotting wood that creaked ominously in the breeze. You didn’t dare risk venturing out on it. 

It took you most of the rest of the day to bring all your belongings inside and unpack everything. You stood in what would be your living room, a mess of boxes scattered all around you, and felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn’t make heads nor tails of. Your eyes landed on that small box of Sebastian’s things, and you turned away with this twisting sensation worsening in your gut. 

Getting properly settled in and starting your new job in the nearby town’s clinic took up most of your time. Your energy and thoughts. But at night, when it was just you laying in a too small bed in a too small room, your mind wandered. The moon peering through the small, curtained window into your bedroom bore witness to the way you stared and stared and stared—unblinking at the popcorn texture of the ceiling. Always twisting the gold band that remained on your finger in absentmindedness. 

There was a gnawing ache in your chest that waxed and waned, but it never truly disappeared.

You thought about those final days a lot. They didn’t let you see him. All you got was a single phone call, sometime before his scheduled execution. The contents of that call would follow you no matter how far you tried to run from them. How hard you tried to forget. 

(The phone felt locked in your grip—your fingers tight and stiff. There was a silence that was broken by your name spoken on the tailend of a choked breath. Your teeth clenched so hard you felt a muscle spasm in your jaw.

“I-I didn’t—” Sebastian’s voice stuttered thickly, hushed into the microphone. Something sank down to the soles of your feet, then continued on in an endless spiral. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.” 

There was something so devastatingly helpless about talking to him like this. Divided across miles and miles, nothing but a thin connection between you and him. Your words his only comfort.

“I know, baby,” you told him miserably, raising a hand to palm at your wet eyes. “I know.”) 

You couldn’t even host a proper funeral for him. His body was never released to his family—for what reason, you were unsure. It felt as though you never had any proper closure. You could scream and cry about the injustice of it all, but… no one would listen. It was done. It was over. There was no getting him back. It was a grim thought that you grappled with on the daily, always present at the back of your mind. At the front of your mind. Suffocated you in gallons and gallons of grief. You did your best to work through it all over time, but sometimes it felt like your best just wasn’t enough.

And then… a couple of years after his death… you got a call. 

You were lounging around in your little living room after a long shift at work, a book splayed out on your lap as you relaxed. Your phone was sitting right by your legs, just out of sight. So when it buzzed with an incoming call, you did not bother to glance at the screen before you answered it.

It was Maria.

The tremble of her voice made you instantly freeze. 

You couldn’t understand what she was saying—so rushed and stifled through choked sobs. You sat up, both your hands gripping at your phone. 

“Maria— wh-what—” you stuttered out, a sinking feeling slowly making itself present in your gut. You stood up, barely registering your book falling off your lap and onto the floor. “What’s—” 

“They— they were wrong,” she hiccuped out, breathless and hysterical. “We knew they were and they— they—” 

“What are you—” You tried to make sense of her words, but she quickly dissolved into more incoherent crying. You swallowed thickly, a cold sweat erupting along your back.

It took you a few minutes to calm her down enough so that she could strangle out a “Check the news.” Your eyes snapped to the darkened television sitting against the wall across from you.

Your throat felt drier than a desert. The remote was wedged between the cushions on your couch, and you fumbled around for it before finally managing to press the power button. Channel twenty-one, the news. You punched it into the remote. 

There was a picture of Sebastian on the screen. His mugshot, actually—black hair messily scattered across honeyed skin, dark eyes that glistened in the dim lighting, thin lips downturned into an unsteady frown. A ringing sound erupted deep within your ears, drowning out all else as your gaze narrowed in on the bold headline. 

Innocent man wrongfully convicted for murder of nine. 

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped from your lips. This was how you found out? They didn’t bother to contact you first? You almost couldn’t believe it. Two years after he’d already been imprisoned. Two years after they’d decided he should die via electric chair. You laughed again, and your phone slipped right from your fingers as you dropped onto your knees. You barely felt the impact—barely heard Maria’s questioning sniffle above the racing of your heart.

You laughed and you laughed and you laughed and you laughed because wasn’t that just the funniest fucking thing? They found out the truth after what had been done to him could never be taken back. After you and his family had fought so desperately to prove his innocence. 

Funny! It was funny!

You bit at your bottom lip to suppress the way it violently quivered. 

Years passed and you continued to live on without Sebastian.

You thought time would help you heal—would dull the ache you experienced at every waking moment of the day and night. But there were times where you just felt infinitely worse. It was awful. It was so utterly miserable, and you were tired. You were just… tired. You couldn’t think about him for too long before you’d feel that familiar sting to your eyes. So you tried not to think about him at all. 

It didn’t work. 

You were plagued by him. Awake or asleep—it did not matter. 

“You’re still up,” he murmured into your ear at night as you laid curled up on your side. Like this, you could face the window of your room—where the moonlight filtered gently through your thin curtains to brush against the walls like the hand of a ghost.

You hummed in response, face partially buried in your pillow. You tried in vain to ignore the presence you felt at your back. Making the hairs prickle on your nape. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel light breaths against the side of your face. 

“You’ve got work in a few hours, you know,” he said, matter-of-fact. His voice lowered, gentle and calm. “What’s bothering you?” 

There was a pause. Distantly, you could hear the waves of the ocean as the tide rose and fell along the shore. A constant source of white noise. 

“Nothing,” you eventually whispered back, closing your eyes momentarily to breathe in the faint smell of cinnamon. “Nothing at all.”

It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Over and over and over again. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t.

He didn’t stop there. 

He sat across from you at your little dining table in the kitchen, grinning at you as you forked spoonfuls of pitiful dinner after dinner into your mouth. He was in the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet as you showered or brushed your teeth. He was in the living room, sprawled across the floor in front of you as he gazed at you with his face propped atop his palm. 

He accompanied you to work, a pair of blue eyes staring at you in the rearview mirror of your car as you drove. He lingered over your shoulder as you pushed paperwork or chatted to other nurses. Close enough to touch, yet never crossing that line. Always present. Sometimes silent, sometimes not. You weren’t sure which was better.

He was haunting you, and you could do nothing about it. 

The only place where you seemed to have any kind of reprieve was down by the little cove or the shore. You liked taking walks along it—when the walls of your cottage seemed to loom too close for comfort. It was refreshing, being able to just… breathe in the sea air and take in the rolling waves from the sand. A healing balm for your enervated soul. It became a habit no matter the weather, every evening after work. Soaking in the sun, basking in the mist, watching dark clouds grow closer on the horizon. You were oftentimes alone, but occasionally you’d pass a few people also enjoying the fresh air. They never bothered you, so you never bothered them. 

Once you returned home, however, he would be waiting for you at the door—all warm smiles and crinkled eyes that made your insides ache like they never have before.

You contemplated going to grief counseling many times. But something held you back. You just… didn’t have the energy to pick yourself up and go. Didn’t want to come to proper terms with it all, you supposed. Or maybe you were desperately holding on—afraid of letting go completely when you could look in a mirror and see him standing somewhere behind you. It hurt. It soothed. It was a push and pull that you learned to deal with as time went on. 

You often caught yourself staring at the tiny closet in your room—where you’d buried that small box of Sebastian’s things so deeply, it would never see the light of day again. Most of the time, you could drag yourself away from it, pushing it to the back of your mind once more. But one night… you couldn’t help yourself. You caved. You just… needed to.

You pulled the box out from the depths of your closet and sat on the floor, eyeing it warily as you clutched a pair of scissors in your hand. It was just as you’d left it—flaps tightly sealed with packing tape. You hadn’t bothered to label it. You knew what was in there and that was enough. 

You took in a deep breath and stabbed the point of the scissors into the box’s top to pry it open. Then, you stared down at its insides. 

It simultaneously felt like you’d packed his things away in this box just yesterday and a hundred years ago. In any case, the tender ache at seeing it all still persisted.

The panda plushie, which you picked up gingerly and ran your fingers over its short fuzz before setting it off to your side. It used to sit on a shelf, back at your shared apartment, picked up only occasionally when he wanted to throw it at you to bother you. 

(“Sebastian!” you shouted, startled out of your focus on your book when that goddamn panda nailed you directly on your face. You glared at him, setting your book to the side to snatch up the plushie when he laughed hard enough that he doubled over. 

“Oh my god, your face!” he wheezed, swiping a finger under his eyes to wipe away an imaginary tear. “Come on, you didn’t see that coming? You’re losing your game here, babe.”

“Shut up, you ass! I was reading!” you fumed and stood up to pelt the plushie at him. It smacked him right on the arm, and he only laughed even harder.)

The sketchbook, rarely ever seen by your eyes because he was so protective over it. Abashed, more like, you came to realize a while ago. And for a good reason, you supposed, your lips twitching as you flipped open the thick cover. 

There were some landscape drawings at the start—places you recognized at your old university. The café near the library, the statue at the center of the main quad. A few students walking around or sitting outside on benches. Some components from his engineering projects—designs with their associated dimensions, fluid mechanics calculations, free-body diagrams. You saw a handful of drawings of Lucas and Isidora, either fighting or sleeping against each other—gaping mouths and all. 

And then… once you hit a certain point in the book, there were drawings of you. 

He’d been so embarrassed when you caught him sketching you one day, though he’d tried to play it off. It was before he’d asked you out, you remembered. You’d thought it was flattering—at least what you could glimpse on the open pages. He’d slammed the book shut pretty quickly once he’d realized you were peeking over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until years later that he’d finally let you flip through the sketchbook properly. 

Doodles of you sitting around campus, doing homework or looking at your phone. A sketch of you walking down the street or staring out a window. Upper body shots of you smiling, or laughing, or talking to one of your friends. The level of detail always blew you away—he managed to capture details about you that you never quite paid attention to yourself. The crinkle of your eyes or the pull of your lips. 

You gently brushed a finger over a rough doodle of you and him—sitting back-to-back as you did your respective work—then closed the sketchbook to set down next to your legs. 

Next was the crumpled, smudged paper of his vows—that you lingered over for a moment, reading it briefly with a small smile. 

There were the silly ones, where he promised to be the best pain in the ass you could ever ask for. To make fun of you for being shorter than him or annoy you to smithereens everyday because he loved the face you made when you were mad.

Then there were the sincere ones, promising to always love you unconditionally. To take care of you whenever you were sick, or encourage you to be the best version of yourself you could possibly be. To hold your hand whenever you were scared. To always be by your side, no matter what. 

You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling slightly, and let the piece of paper flutter down to the ground.

And finally… you picked up the flannel. 

Even after all this time, the material was still soft in your hold. You squeezed it between your fingers, tracing over the lines where patches of black met patches of red. If you closed your eyes and imagined hard enough, you could almost feel a warmth coming from it—like it had just been shucked off a warm body. Raising it up to your face to take a deep breath, you could faintly smell that familiar cinnamon. A comfort. A heartache. 

“You know,” Sebastian started, and you lifted your gaze briefly to glance up at him standing a ways in front of you. “I’ve always liked how you looked in my clothes.” He wore a sharp grin that made his cheek dimple on his right. He winked down at you. “Always liked how you looked outta them too, but that’s neither here nor there. Go on, put it on.” 

You rolled your eyes, but found yourself complying anyway. You stood up and slipped the flannel over your arms, fixing it properly over your shirt. Closing your eyes, you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

You could almost imagine him embracing you. Something in your stomach twinged.

“There you go,” he whispered, a breath of air just barely out of reach in the fragile twilight of your room. “Just look at you.” 

You only smiled sadly at the ground and hugged yourself tighter.

In recent years, the small dock by the shore was stripped down and built anew. 

You saw them doing construction from your cottage’s window when the project was first launched and spent many nights fantasizing about dipping your feet into the water from the dock’s edge. And once it was finally complete—after months and months of waiting and watching—you did just that. 

Your evenings were kept mostly the same with your walks along the shore or within the cove. But now you could trudge out onto the now sturdy dock and embrace the ocean in its entirety. You could let the tips of your shoes protrude off the far end of the dock as you breathed in and out. Salty air. The hint of rain in the distance. The spray of water against your face as the waves ebbed to and fro. It was refreshing. The perfect way to let the incessant buzz of your mind die down in preparation for a quiet night.  

The dock, from what you could see whenever you were at home, was mostly used during the bright hours of day. A couple of fishermen during the afternoon. Teens from the town who wanted to jump off and swim to the shore. Either way, by the time the hush of evening fell as people prepared for bed, the dock was empty and perfect for some alone time. 

It was nice, being able to sit down and soak your feet in the cool water when the weather was warmer. You liked watching the sun as it sank beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of burnt mandarin and dusty magenta. The last vestiges of gold light would make way for inky darkness that sparkled with hundreds and hundreds of stars. You were never able to appreciate the night sky in the city—so you took every chance you could to sit and stare up at it. Trying your best to identify constellations or just admiring it all until you got too cold to stay out for much longer. 

Sometimes you ate your dinner out on the dock while you chatted with Isidora or Maria on the phone. Sometimes you brought along a book or sketchpad. You missed listening to Sebastian strum away at his electric guitar at times—always filling your apartment with music—so you impulse bought a ukulele and sat by the sea plucking awkwardly at its strings. The dock became a place to pass time. It became a habit that you stuck to for many years. 

You were familiar with it all after spending evening after evening after evening out on its wooden platform. You could count the number of planks it was made of, the number of nails you could feel under your hands. You learned how to read the sea—when it hinted at an oncoming storm or calm night. In a way, it became a safe space for you, away from the stifling walls of your cottage. 

So naturally, when something disrupted it, you noticed almost immediately. 

You were sitting on the dock, half a sandwich on your lap that you’d scrounged up for a late dinner. Your feet idly swished through the water, cool against your heated skin. The dock was high enough that it only submerged your feet up to your ankles, but you did not mind.

You took another bite of your sandwich, then felt an odd prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Pausing, you noticed the hairs on your arms were standing straight up. It… felt like you were being watched. You glanced around—at the wide ocean before you, then the sandy shore behind you. There were a few stragglers in the distance, but they were far enough that you were sure they were not the cause for your sudden unease. 

You swallowed your bite and decided it was probably nothing. 

The following evening, however, it happened again. Then the next evening. And the next. 

Like clockwork, almost, every time you sat down on the dock to relax after your shifts at work. It did not matter what you were doing, or how late you were there. Even for how long. You would always feel that prickle along your nape, and it would not leave until you walked back down the dock to make your way home. Sometimes it followed you up until you shut the door to your cottage. 

You tried testing to see if you would still feel this way walking along the shore, or lounging on the sand of the cove. But even if you completely avoided the dock, you would still feel that familiar prickle of your hairs standing on end. It was… stupefying. You wondered if you were being paranoid. Or maybe you were losing it, just a little. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Sebastian said one night, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you both sat at your tiny kitchen table. “You might have already lost it, sweetheart.” He only grinned at you when you told him to shut up. 

After weeks of enduring this strange sensation, you decided it was best to just pretend it wasn’t there. You could ignore a little unease if it meant your routine would remain undisrupted. So you sat at the dock and minded your own business. Stared out at the rolling waves, read a book, laid back to stargaze. You were able to find peace again. 

Then, one night, you noticed something. 

It was by chance, really. You were staring out at the sea, watching as the waves crashed against an outcropping of rocks in the far distance. It was dark, the only lighting coming from the moon and the stars. It caused the waters to turn black—void-like, almost, if not for the gentle moonlight. Maybe that was what had ultimately allowed you to see it. 

There, just behind the rocks jutting up from the sea like a jagged line of teeth, was this teal glow above the water. 

It hugged along the wall of rock, barely visible from your vantage point. You paused and found yourself squinting at it, trying to make out what the hell it could possibly be. The moment you stared at it for a second too long, however, it ducked under the water before disappearing out of sight. 

You were confused, yes, but you brushed it off as some sort of reflection. Maybe even a marine animal or bioluminescent plant of sorts, though you weren’t sure what. 

You saw it again some nights later, this time just under the surface of the calm waters by the outcropping. It was oddly hypnotizing, in a way, even muted under the deep, navy waves. A constant presence, throughout the entirety of your time on the dock. You could even see it from your cottage window if you squinted. 

The underwater glow became another upset in your routine that puzzled you to no end. You tried to ignore it like you ignored the prickle along your nape, but it was almost impossible to do so when it was so blatantly present in the water. No matter where you looked, the glow always lingered in your periphery. And it wasn’t like it stayed in the same place either. Some nights, it stayed near the rocks. During others, it seemed to draw closer. Farther. Closer. Closer. Farther. 

Definitely not a plant, you concluded one night as you warily eyed the teal glow as it lingered several meters away. A trick of light? You cast a glance up at the vantablack sky dusted with twinkling white. But no, that would be impossible. It showed up no matter if the night sky was clear or cloudy. 

Maybe you were imagining it after being on your own for so long. You grimaced as you thought about your cottage and the inhabitant waiting for you to return to it. Him. As real as your mind could make him. 

In any case, the glow was not a priority. Not with the way the days cycled on—a twisting, gnawing feeling soon growing in your chest that you were well acquainted with by now. Though you wished desperately that you weren’t. 

You woke up tired. 

Not atypical for you, by any means. But this was a different kind of tired—that lingered deep within your muscles and tissue, even your very soul. It made every single motion feel as though you were lugging along hundred pound weights. You were slow in getting out of bed for this reason, taking a few moments to blink wearily up at your ceiling and rub at your temples in a vain attempt to ease the headache you could feel trying to manifest. Already you were not off to a good start.

Steadily, you sat up and immediately spotted Sebastian looming in the far corner of your room. Smiling at you with his hands shoved into his pockets. He opened his mouth to say something, but you lifted up a hand to stop him. Your throat felt like it was lined with cotton.

“Not today,” you told him, voice barely over a whisper. You closed your eyes, then reopened them to give him a weary look. “Just… Not today.” 

He only closed his mouth and continued to smile at you.   

Once you picked yourself up and trudged over to your bathroom, you took a second to regard your reflection in the small mirror. Dark circles that lined the area under your eyes. A small wrinkle between your creased eyebrows. A dullness to your complexion and a hollowness to your cheeks. You rubbed an eye and sighed, a deep thing that didn’t make you feel any better. The day must go on, as much as you didn’t want it to. 

Your coworkers knew not to pester you too much once they saw you arrive at the clinic, so you were granted the relief of a somewhat quiet day. But that did not make things any easier for you—forcing you to be with the overwhelming spiral of your thoughts. You kept yourself busy with work around the clinic, but by the end of your shift, you somehow felt even worse than you had before. 

On the drive home, you stopped by a store to pick up a couple of groceries you needed. And once you returned home and unpacked everything into their proper places, you whipped up a quick dinner and spent some time sitting at your little table poking at it sluggishly. You weren’t all that hungry, despite only having some crackers and water earlier. Your stomach churned, your chest ached. You feared if you ate too much, you would just end up throwing it all up. 

It was quiet. You took your time to clean up and shower. Procrastinating, you registered faintly at the back of your mind. You slipped on some comfy clothes, then snagged Sebastian’s flannel that you’d never had the heart to pack away back into the box with the rest of his things. It hung on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, next to your towel. Forever a haunting presence in the corner of your world that you grew accustomed to with time. You slipped it on, the sleeves lolling past your hands.

Making your way back to the kitchen, you glanced out the window over your sink at the steadily approaching sunset. You’d gotten home slightly later than usual, but it was fine. You shuffled over to your fridge to grab a small, two-pack container of cupcakes and pried it open to take one out. You rummaged around in a nearby drawer for a few things, then slipped out your front door to make your way down to the dock.

It was a bit colder today, especially with the sun dipping closer down to the horizon to make way for night. You took a moment to stand at the edge of the dock and breathe. The fresh air helped, if only a little. The swell of the waves eased some of the tension lining your shoulders. You sat down, crossing your legs, and set the cupcake atop the small space in front of you. 

Leaning back onto your palms, you watched as dusk bled across the sky until it was overtaken completely by night. The moon painted the waves in a milky glow that highlighted their crests and shadowed their troughs. You could faintly register an ache behind your eyes that worsened bit by bit every time you blinked. You leaned forward and rubbed your cold hands along your upper arms before deciding it was time.

From your pockets, you pulled out a single candle and a lighter. You stuck the candle into the top of the cupcake, then—with a flick of your finger—used the lighter to set it aflame. The tiny, orange bud of fire flickered in the gentle wind and washed its soft glow along your hands and legs. Your wedding ring glinted in its light. You stuffed the lighter back into your pocket and sank into a slouch as you stared at the cupcake. 

Faintly, you could smell cinnamon. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyes stung, unblinking as they were. You swallowed and it was like choking down a bucket full of thorns.

He would have been thirty-three today, you thought miserably to yourself as you stared and stared and stared. The fact settled over you like a particularly suffocating blanket. That fatigue you'd felt earlier came back full force, accompanied by a wrenching feeling in the pit of your gut.

Thirty-three. Your face felt hot and cold all at once. You rubbed at your cheek and your fingers came away wet. You exhaled a shuddering breath.

All those years of missed opportunities and moments. No waking up to his slumbering face or to his gentle kisses on your eyelids. No playful teasing or hugs that stole the breath right out of your lungs with how tightly he squeezed. No midnight dances in your little kitchen, swaying back and forth to an imaginary tune. No being loved by him. 

Your heart ached.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you whispered out into the still air, closing your eyes momentarily as your jaw trembled. “I miss you. So, so much.” 

You leaned forward and blew out the candle. 

Then, you buried your face in your palms. And you cried.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, hiccuping into your hands. It hurt, god, it hurt so much. It always did. You were sure even years down the line, you’d find yourself trapped in the same wallowing pit of despair. The pain dulled, yes, but ever so sharp and present when the time lined up perfectly—as much as you dreaded it. Your chest hurt with the way you suppressed your pain.

When you finally managed to pull the shaking pieces of yourself together, everything felt numb with cold. Your head was stuffy, your eyes were bleary. You sniffed and had to choke back another sob. It truly never got easier, even after all this time. You needed some painkillers and a long, long rest.

Sighing, you plucked the cold candle from the cupcake along with its paper wrapping to toss into your trash later. You stood up and hugged yourself, giving the lone dessert another long glance before turning on your heel to head back into the warmth of your cottage. Come morning, the birds will have eradicated all traces of the cupcake from the dock, as they tended to do.

As you walked, the back of your neck prickled all the way up to your door.

In the following days, you noticed the teal glow you’d been seeing underwater was growing closer and closer—even moreso than it had been before. 

This would not have alarmed you too heavily—after all, it wasn’t like it hadn’t been going back and forth in terms of distance for a while—but it was getting to the point where it was only a few meters away. You could slip into the water and swim over easily, you mused, as you warily eyed the glow. Just in case, you decided to avoid sticking your feet into the water for now. 

You couldn’t kid yourself anymore. It was weird—really weird. Pair up the glow with the ever present prickle along your nape and Sebastian’s haunting presence at home, and you had a recipe spelling out… well… mental disaster. It was all you could do to hang on. There really wasn’t much you could do about it anyways, you figured. These days you were just too tired to care.

Currently, you were sitting cross-legged in your usual spot on the dock, aimlessly scrolling through your phone’s notifications as you enjoyed the night air. You had a couple of messages from Maria to respond to—you’d been trying to get better at maintaining contact with her every so often. It was a work in progress, but at least texts were easier for you to deal with than phone calls.  

You thumbed through the rest of your notifications. Lucas had sent you a meme around one in the morning last night that you’d missed. He was in his last year in university, you mulled. How time has flown. You remembered when he was still an annoying preteen, bugging Sebastian to use his no doubtfully expensive guitar. It was difficult to get Sebastian to ever part with it. The thought made you smile slightly to yourself, then you sobered upon remembering you’d had to sell it. In hindsight, Lucas’ guitar phase hadn’t lasted all too long—or maybe he hadn’t wanted something that reminded him of his older brother so much. Sweet memories turned sour after the execution. You sighed and sent him a meme back after liking the one he’d sent. Something about weird-looking cats. 

Oh, one of your coworkers wanted to grab dinner in a couple of days. Hmm. You checked your calendar, then sent off a response text in agreement. The distance you were from the nearby town was not large by any means, but it was enough that you rarely sought exchanges outside of work. You really needed to get out more. Most of your other interactions were online, especially after moving from the city and away from everyone and everything. It certainly was not doing you any favors. 

As you typed up a comment on one of your older friend’s social media posts, you noticed something. 

Just over the top of your phone screen—reflected in the dark water of the ocean. You paused and lowered your phone to stare at it. 

It was the teal glow, brighter and closer than it had ever been before. You eyed it for a moment, apprehension taking root in the pit of your stomach. But there was also this sense of tentative curiosity. You leaned forward just enough to peer down at it beyond the dock’s edge, submerged as it was beneath the gentle waves. It was almost underneath you, oddly hypnotizing as you tilted your head at it. You felt as though you could be sucked right into it, lulled into a trance as the glow encompassed all that you were. 

Brighter and brighter the glow grew. There was the distant thought in the back of your mind that maybe you should be more wary—maybe you should lean back or stand up to gain some distance. But all you could hear were your steady breaths, feel the way your grip tightened on your phone. Maybe you could see if what you were seeing was really an animal of sorts or just some figment of—

There was a head. Sticking out of the water.

You froze immediately, breath caught in your lungs. 

For a moment, you couldn’t process what exactly you were looking at. But then you realized you were staring at a gray-blue face framed by raven hair stuck to its sides. A rather large face, in fact, nowhere near the size of a regular human’s. A… mermaid? You weren’t entirely certain, and even then, there was a lot to unpack with this realization that you were in no way prepared to do. 

There was some sort of lure attached to the top of the creature’s head that drooped down into the water in front of it. Two—no, three, you noticed—eyes were trained intently in your direction, pupils indiscernible in a way that made it difficult to tell where precisely it was looking at. The back of your neck prickled.

Ah, you thought faintly as teal light gently washed across the nearly black surface of the water from the creature’s eyes. That’s what that was. 

You weren’t sure how long you and the… mermaid… stayed there, staring at each other, but eventually something had to give. You were just surprised it wasn’t you first.

The mermaid’s jaw seemed to tense. It regarded you with an unreadable gaze that you could feel flicking over your face. Then, it parted thin lips to say a quiet “Hey.” 

It was like getting punched in the gut—harsh and utterly unforgiving. 

It sounded— It sounded just like Sebastian. Raspier, maybe. A little lower in timbre. But unequivocally him. It was unmistakable—his voice so deeply cemented into your mind when you lived day by day listening to him speak over your shoulder. You felt like you couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t force the air you so desperately needed into your lungs. 

He seemed to take in your silence, appraising you for a moment before speaking again. 

“I know this has gotta be… weird as shit…” he said slowly, voice stiff and slightly stilted. “But I”—he swallowed thickly—“I can explain.” 

You weren’t sure what expression you were making, but you saw the way the skin above his eyes seemed to crease together. You wanted to force yourself to spit out something, anything, but you could not hear yourself think over the rapid ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump of your heart in your ears. The vice-like grip on your insides with how much this mermaid sounded like Sebastian. How it made you hurt. How it made you ache. 

What the hell was going on right now?

“You—” you eventually choked out, your eyes taking in what was before you. A membranous fin at the side of his head flicked slightly at the sound of your voice. “You— I—”

He said your name quietly, and it was like another vicious twist of your gut. The sounds of the sea became white noise, distant and weak. “It’s me. Sebastian. You know? Love of your life?” His face scrunched up, sharp mouth turning into a strained grin as he stared at you with wide, imploring eyes. “Come on babe, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” 

Just like him. He talked just like him.

But that couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be right. He was dead. He was—

Something suddenly clicked in the far recesses of your mind. 

“Ah.” The syllable dropped from your lips like a rock from a high place. You slumped like you’d been cut from a few taut strings struggling to hold you up. “I get it now.” You exhaled deeply, willing yourself to gain control of your mind and your heart. You knew exactly what was going on here. 

No need to panic. You were in control.

“...Do you really?” he asked warily after a minute or two. You ignored him to focus on yourself.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You released the tight hold you had on your phone—line etched into your palm from the pressure—and shoved it into your pocket so you could lift your hands up to rub at your temples. 

You were tired. Of this, of everything. 

“I thought this was supposed to be a safe space,” you grumbled under your breath, your eyes closing in a vain attempt to stave off the building headache you were experiencing. “You had to follow me out here too?” 

Sebastian made a sound—a questioning, confused little thing that made you open your eyes to gaze down at him. He looked hurt, almost. “I— What?” 

Your hands dropped from your temples, and you leaned back onto your palms so you could look out at the calm sea. A few clouds passed over the moon from above, temporarily casting a shadow over you and him. You eyed him after a moment of letting yourself relax from the previous adrenaline spike.  

“You’ve never looked like this before,” you eventually mused as your eyes traced over the shadowed line of his nonexistent nose. The way his skin glistened in the dim lighting. “Did something change from yesterday?” You didn’t think you were capable of imagining him like this. Inhuman. No honeyed skin or rough scar bridging his nose. You wondered why it was happening now, of all times. If maybe it was the result of staying by the sea for so long, alone to deal with everything that had happened.

He opened his mouth as though to respond. But then he closed it and just… stared at you. Observing you. Analyzing you for something you were not privy to. A probing gaze that made something under your skin itch. You watched him back, then found you could not hold his gaze for much longer. You looked away and cleared your throat. 

“I’m thinking pasta for dinner,” you remarked casually to fill the silence, eyes shifting skywards in thought. “The alfredo we made last week was pretty good. I got the sauce on sale at the grocery store.” 

Another pause. Another moment where your skin prickled with the sensation of being picked apart, piece by piece.

And when he spoke, his voice was barely over a murmur—a grim realization to his tone. “You… You’ve really lost it after all this time, huh?” 

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Don’t be mean. I’m— well…” You gave him a smile, something melancholy lining your lips. “Doing just fine.” The words were bitter across your tongue. He only gave you a look like he didn’t quite believe you, something indecipherable in his gaze. 

“Right,” he snorted. “Like I’m gonna believe that after whatever the hell you just said.” A hand lifted from the water to gesture at you, gray-blue just like his face. 

Rolling your eyes, you shifted on your feet and stood up, brushing off your pants as you shoved your hands into your pockets. You hadn’t realized, but there was this twinge building in your stomach with every minute that ticked by. You needed to sleep this off… whatever this was. You sighed, long and weary. “I should not be entertaining you.” But it was so hard to resist—has been, for years now. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Sebastian muttered to himself, pinching at the bridge of his nonexistent nose with two large fingers. When you only raised an eyebrow at him and took a step in the direction of your cottage, intending to head back to get started on dinner, he lurched forwards in the water. “Wait. Where are you going? Y-You’re leaving?” 

You didn’t intend on answering him, so accustomed to ignoring him in your cottage whenever he spoke into the air. But when this Sebastian snapped out your name in a warning tone, you gave him a look. “I’m not leaving, silly. I’ll see you inside, won’t I?” 

“God, do you even hear yourself right now?” he rasped out, voice betraying a certain incredulity as he lifted himself up in the water just enough that you could see what looked like a waterlogged scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. “Listen to me. I’m here. I’m real.”

Real, huh? 

You closed your eyes and thought about a figure standing in the corner of your living room, watching you with a small grin. You thought about the endless nights of him standing near your bed or hovering just beyond your shoulder, whispering at you to close your eyes and sleep. You thought about a lot. You thought about nothing.  

And so you hummed, a distant thing that you did not quite register as you started to turn away, unwilling as you were to continue this. But before you could make it even a couple of steps back down the dock, Sebastian made a noise—ragged and disbelieving. There was the sound of rushing water directly behind you. The roar of a small waterfall, almost. It made you turn back and blink in surprise as your head craned back.

The wood beneath you creaked and groaned in an ominous manner. 

“We are not done talking,” Sebastian growled as he loomed over you. Like this, you could take him in his entirety—from the brown jacket covering his torso that was dark with seawater, to the three arms he had that held himself up atop the dock’s surface. The shirt he had on was translucent enough to appear gray in color. If you looked close enough at the sliver of his unclothed body before it disappeared beneath the dock’s edge, you could just barely make out the shine of scales. 

This was—like nothing you have ever seen before.

Your lips parted when a drop of water landed on your cheek, startling you for a moment. A glance up at the sky showed clear skies above you. Maybe you’d imagined it. You shook your head slightly and focused back on Sebastian.

Water continued to run down his body, each drop soaking into the wooden planks of the dock, before it eventually eased into a trickle.  

“What is there to talk about?” you asked lightly after contemplating his words. 

His grip tightened on the dock, enough that you could almost hear something splinter. “Much, in case you were not aware.” He surveyed your open face with narrowed eyes, a soft teal glow dusting across your features. It was like you were being held open like a book, all of your innards exposed for him to analyze. You weren’t sure what he found there, but it made him suddenly soften like butter atop a warm stove. 

“I just…” He sighed, something long-suffering that came from deep within his chest. “This wasn’t how I’d imagined things would go, believe it or not.” 

You cocked your head at him and watched him slouch from his rigid position. Still dripping water. Still with that raven hair plastered to his face. There was a sort of exhaustion to him that you’d never noticed before. It made something pang in your chest—caused you to clench your hands into fists in a vain attempt to focus on anything else. 

There was the pungent smell of fish, raw and metallic.

Not real. This was not real.

Sebastian shifted, and the hand attached to his torso—smaller in size and covered sloppily in stained bandages—raised as though it was going to reach towards you. Your heart nearly skipped a beat at the motion. But then he stopped, staring down at his palm. Big and gray and consisting of four thick fingers with sharp ends. There was the glint of something gold around his fourth finger. Your own hand twitched inside your pocket. 

Always just out of reach. Never crossing a line. 

His hand clenched into a fist, and he lowered it back to the dock with a quiet thud.

He said your name. “I know this is difficult to hear, but… It’s me,” he whispered, voice strained like it was on the precipice of breaking. “It’s really, really me.” 

You swallowed heavily, feeling as though the world was unraveling by the seams beneath your feet. 

This was not him. It couldn’t be. 

Why would you ever imagine him like this? 

“No, it’s not,” you eventually said bitterly, breaking eye contact so you could glance back at your cottage. You closed your eyes, then reopened them as you turned your back to him. And when you spoke again, your voice teetered like you were one step away from falling into a never ending pit. “You’re dead.” 

And then you walked away.

Each step you took felt like eternity, something heavy weighing you down. He called out your name. First so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, a tinge of something fragile to it. Then again with frustration lining his voice—louder and aggrieved. There was a sharp crack of something behind you, but you were determined in your march back home. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your jaw clenched to suppress the tremble you could feel working its way throughout your body. You refused to look behind you, and you succeeded right up until you stood before the door to your cottage. With one hand on the metal knob, you twisted around to look back at the shore—the dock you could see a ways behind you. 

It was vacant, not a soul in sight. 

Your lips pursed together, and you opened the door to slip inside with a heavy, grim feeling taking root in your stomach. 

Sebastian was waiting for you already, sprawled atop your couch as he grinned at you wide enough that you saw each and every one of his white teeth. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said amusedly, one of his hands raking through the wavy mess of hair on his head. His voice lowered, gentle and sincere. “Maybe take a break from the dock, yeah?”

You only slowly shook your head and moved past him, suddenly feeling queasy and lightheaded and so frazzled that you couldn’t bear being awake for much longer.

Your thoughts lingered on the shore. Teal eyes and the sound of breaking wood that felt so real in that instance. You forced yourself to breathe.

It was fine. It was fine. 

You would deal with it as you always have.

part two

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids,

Can you have a healthy relationship with a narcissist?

Well, if you trust many social media posts, then the answer would be a resounding "No". Narcissistic is - apparently - a synonym for abusive, and of course you can't have a healthy relationship with an abusive partner!

But, well, social media is not always right. A lot of topics get oversimplified, terms get misused and black-or-white thinking is rampant - and "narcissistic means abusive" falls into all three of those pits.

Let's look at it a bit closer: "Abusive" describes a set of behaviors - while narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) describes, well, a personality disorder. It's a mental health condition.

I am not a trained mental health professional, so I'll use a medical source here. According to mayoclinic.org (link to article), symptoms and their intensity may vary from one affected person to the next (just like the exact symptoms and severity of depression or anxiety may vary!). A person with NPD may

have an unreasonably high sense of their own importance

have an excessive need for attention and admiration

have low/no empathy (struggle to understand or care about the feelings of others)

have low self-worth

be easily upset by criticism

struggle with social interactions

have difficulty managing their emotions

experience major problems dealing with stress 

And, again just like with other mental health conditions, NPD can negatively affect the person in a lot of areas of life. For example, struggling to manage their emotions and stress levels may make it hard for them to hold down a job and cause financial worries, or they may avoid participating in social events, which may lead to them becoming isolated and depressed etc. And yes, of course some symptoms may also lead to problems in romantic relationships.

Therapy for NPD usually centers around talk therapy, with the goal of helping the person to better understand and manage their emotions, to learn how to cope with self-worth issues, and to create/maintain healthy fulfilling relationships and communication with the people around them.

Now, you can look at all this and go "See? The social media posts are right! They are self-centered, have no empathy and are easily upset! That's abusive!" - but that'd be jumping to conclusions. None of those things are behaviors.

An autistic person may also easily get upset and they may also feel low empathy. So could a person with major depression. Yet, we do not treat "autistic" or "depressed" as a synonym for abusive. We do not assume that their symptoms will definitely lead to abusive behavior. So, why would that be different for people with NPD?

Am I saying no person with NPD has ever been abusive? Of course not. That'd be black-or-white thinking, too. What I am saying is: People with NPD are people. And people can show abusive behavior or they can not.

If someone who easily feels upset hits you, that's abuse... but hitting would be abuse, even if they didn't feel easily upset. A partner with or without NPD shouldn't be hitting you. If someone with no empathy degrades and insults you, that's abusive... but that would be abuse regardless of their ability to feel empathy. A partner with or without NPD shouldn't be degrading and insulting you.

A person could have NPD and behave abusive - but "some people are X and Y, so all people who are X must be Y" is a flawed logic.

So, let's circle back to the beginning: can you have a healthy relationship with a narcissist? Yeah. It will be a relationship with someone who has a mental health condition and that's something to be aware of because mental health conditions do affect everyday life (duh?).

You should set boundaries and take warning signs of abuse seriously - like you should do when you date anyone, regardless of health status.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

[singukieee]

—my all time favourite bts fics (pt. 2) ᯓᡣ𐭩

consists of my personal favourite bts fics that I've read countless of times. including those from other platforms, such as Wattpad, AO3, and Patreon.

For some works that are cross-posted between tumblr and wp/ao3, I'd only link them to the latters bcs I find it easier to read and navigate the stories on those. but I also tagged all the authors I know are here and linked the rest so you can check their blogs out yourself!

I'll also separate this list into several parts simply because there's too many... So it'd be easier for you guys to navigate!

red means unfinished

blue means finished

🗯️ editor's note

(sorted by alphabetical order)

Dreams of You by seoktishie

You are a theater actress who dreams of becoming a successful Broadway star. You’ve dedicated your whole life hustling for the show, surrounded by a supportive family and friends you never thought you would lose your best friend and boyfriend on the same day. This puts your dreams to a halt, and you decide to take a break and a soul-searching trip to Korea, where you meet a successful artist that reconnects your love for the arts. OR You accidentally meet Kim Namjoon of BTS, and you had no idea of how an amazing person he is nor how he is the leader of the biggest boyband to date!

🗯️ the yearning and pining *chef's kiss*

Epiphany by 2stanornot2stan

Your soulmate mark seemed self-centred to you "I'm the one I should love" Who would ever want to love someone with that as their soulmate mark?

🗯️ this one is painful. but writing's so good, doesn't fail in pulling my heartstrings.

Escapade by bonnehh_

"Where the hell am I?!" He shrieked, stumbling over his feet like a newborn deer. He was a panicking mess, spinning around in circles to see the unfamiliar sight of giant trees and bushy plants covering the land. The forest was heavily rich with greenery, vegetation and strange fruits. Fallen leaves covered the ground, creating a crunching sound after every step he took. "Calm down, Sweets." I calmly voiced amidst his loud screeches. My words cut through his mess of a mind making him freeze on his spot. Turning on his heel, he noticed me. He stumbled back immediately, possibly because I was covered in angry, red scratches and the bandages covering my arms alerted the male. "What the fudge?!!?! Who- who are you??" He shouted, alarmed by my…seemingly beaten-up figure. "I'm Diana. Welcome to the game." I smiled softly. Hoping my excitement can keep a hold of itself for the sake of keeping the man from getting scared. Dumbfounded, He could only let one word out, "Huh?". Oh boy.

🗯️ a cool one! many adventures and mc has freakishly good survival skills. this honestly cured my longing for that one fic that's no more that was also survival, adventure and game themed with slight crack. I think it was called 'Ready Player One'? (not that famous book and movie). but I think it was a translated ver of a chinese ff on another platform. Idk I still missed it very much, it was also very good. (If you know anything abt this, pls dm me!)

Ethereal by @purpleyoonn

After leaving your home in need of a fresh start, you open a bookstore with the hopes that the words you read could bring you solace. You never realized that the books you loved would bring you home instead.

🗯️ I love soulmate stories, this author also has good writing so

Euphoric Endeavours by haveagreatday

Through a series of curious happenstances, the Boys of Bangtan - your campus' most popular and most handsome group of individuals - set their sights on you, a regular student with a stubborn streak and a wayward mouth. Strangely enough, the mere sight of them sets your instincts off, red-lights flashing in your brain - danger, danger, danger, danger. It's too bad that they can't seem to leave you alone, though. They like you too much.

🗯️ enemies to lovers, anyone?

Everything Falls (Into Place) by Hiromi_20 / @blog-name-idk

"I… I might know someone who has a spare room," your brother finally muttered hesitantly. You perked up from where the couch had been swallowing you. "What! And you didn't tell me?" You accused. "You'd be living with a bunch of dudes." "Oh my god Jackson," you groaned, rolling your eyes. "The fact that you're even suggesting them means that you know them all and they're good people, right? It's not like they're gonna murder me and hide my body in the walls or something." "Well, yeah, but…" "But WHAT?" you almost screamed in frustration. "They're all… hot." Silence for several moments. Then you started guffawing uncontrollably, unladylike snorts escaping from your lips. "You are such a dork," you gasped between laughs, tears coming to your eyes. "If I promise not to let them gangbang me, will you please ask?"

🗯️ another really well-written crack fic! goshhh this one's so goood! this one's the real friends to lovers, gosh the pining is just *chef's kiss*

Finding My Pack by @untaemedqueen (paid on Patreon but so worth it)

In which an all-alpha pack unexpectedly found their mate isolated in a sterile room. So the only right thing would be to pamper and love her to make up for all those years she spent alone and lonely.

🗯️ spicyy 🥵 but also cute. I love protective mates

Flaw in The System by Strayberry_

She has 8 moons on her wrist. So do they.

🗯️ honestly Idk what to say about this one. just prepare your tissues for this family of misfits that fit so well together.

Full House by fillomina

Y/N has a steady job and lives alone, that is, until she tags along with her friend to the shelter. Jimin, Hobi, and Yoongi have been waiting to get adopted, and their chance has finally arrived. With the small hybrid pack now living with Y/N, her life never has a dull moment. As Y/N gets used to her new family, she also begins learning more about old friends, making new ones, and getting a very full house.

🗯️ I'd say that I don't like the fact that yn's kinda treated as a doormat at some parts, but it's still good and quite well-written found family fic.

Getting Back Into The Swing of Things by @jellifysh

Hearing her voice now, Namjoon was reminded of the times when she was all he had. How she was his everything, supported him with everything she had, even if it meant giving him the shirt off her back. "Joon?" Y/n sniffled. "I know it sounds crazy, you don't even have to, its been years," "No," Namjoon was agreeing before he could even think, before he could even remember the other people who lived in the house just the next room over. "No, its okay, I mean, we promised each other right? We'd never turn our backs on each other?" "You can stay with us, it'll be fine I promise, I'll handle everything, don't worry at all, it'll be great! Like, old times, okay?" Namjoon was tripping over his words now, he just felt like if he didn't see her now, he would be too late for… something. What, he wasn't sure, but there was an urgent need to have her home safe.

🗯️ just re-read this one again literally yesterday, still as good as the first time. I love strangers to friends to lovers.

Her by untouchablerave

The question hangs between you, and you’re desperate to ask it. Usually, you don’t mind much who is on the other end of the appointment, as you’re so focused on a list of kinks, trying to map out a scene in your head, but this time, the ‘who’ is all you can focus on. Your boss looks at you. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this but… do you know BTS?” Your head snaps up in shock. “You’re fucking with me,” you gasp. “I’m dead serious,” your boss replies. “Jeon Jungkook just came of age. He wants to lose it right away.”

🗯️ spicy but soft soft softtt

Hidden Marks series by Havenesa

❶ Hidden Marks

What does it mean to be soulmates? What do I love about her? What is the reason? Does there need to be a rational reason to love someone? Maybe I love her amber eyes, or the way she tries to hide her smile whenever we get into playful arguments, or her love for just living. Maybe I just love her because she is simply just Han Sera.

🗯️ This one's so angsty yet so good, the writing's also so good at making the characters so human that I'd always end up sobbing at every re-read.

❷ Connecting Hearts

What defines a soulmate? Is it the mark that you were born with, only shared with a selected few? Or a bond which was created through pain and suffering? You'll have to read to find out.

Highlight by Alphathyx

Hana attends Atlas Academy of Arts also known as the AAA to pursue her passions in Hiphop with best friend Hoseok and Prince Charming Jimin. The school gets selected along with other arts schools to compete in an inter-school competition which prize could open doors to any arts students dreams. She along with seven boys, discover what it means to love, but a tragic incident spirals the competition and them into a mystery no one saw coming.

🗯️ friendship and struggle to success <3

Hotel California by Deliebre

You are a badass business guru that works for a huge gaming company. Your home is Korea but you travel often. You are in California for work but keep bumping into hot Korean men, which makes you want to do more than bumping...

🗯️ immediate connection... yes please!

In The Dark by BearPawBeach

"How can that be? I am looking right at you. I am speaking to you right now." "That's the thing. I don't know! That's why I came here today. Yesterday, when you laughed at me, you laughed at me. I almost didn't believe it myself, but the more I thought about it, the crazier it sounded. So I came here to see you and to know if you can see me!" she blurted out. He could not believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. "Look, you don't need to lie to me. There is no need to make up some crazy excuse to meet someone." "I'm not lying! I really am invisible," she argued back. The man just threw his hands up to concede and turned to walk away from her again, walking right out of the building. The girl followed in hot pursuit. "Do you really not believe me? Why would I make something like that up? Yes, I know it sounds crazy. If I were you, I would probably think it's nuts too, but I am telling you the truth!"

🗯️ mc is invisible in this one, story's kinda sad and cute!

In Your Roots by sweetinsanityy

Jungkook is the perfect alpha, a little too perfect. Being the youngest in Bangtan, a group full of alpha's, friction has been happening between him and the boys. He's too strong, too dominating, too wild, and too much for Bangtan to handle. The perfect solution? An omega just for himself. You happen to be the perfect candidate. But the other boys want a taste of you as well. Or, you're hired to be an omega for Jungkook to take care of, and maybe he and the rest of the boys get too attached.

🗯️ another one about the boys being absolute simps!

Iridescent Love by @imnotlauriane

From a fated meeting to a life filled with wonders, the path of discovery is much, much harder than what I had prepared myself for. Especially when my identity, the only one I knew of ends up being a total lie.

🗯️ sad... but it got better. and what did I say abt imnotlauriane's stories? they're all good!

It's a Little Complex? by Infired_Mochi

Starting college and moving into a new apartment with complete independence has been your goal. Due to all the hard work at the cafe during your high school years, and your parents pitching in a few dollars, you can afford to stay in the apartment that is just the right size. However, did you get more than you bargained for? A few other college students occupy the rooms next to yours, seven to be exact. Eight rooms reside on the third floor of the apartment complex and yours is on the farthest right wing, apartment number 308. Just wait until you meet them.

🗯️ sooo it's a little complex... just read it!

Late Bloomer by basicwitch13

Despite growing up in a wolf pack, you were never able to shift nor had a second gender present itself. It seemed, by all accounts, that you were a typical human. So you carried on, burying yourself in your work as a sociology professor—until one of your students introduces you to his pack and changes everything.

🗯️ yes to yearning, pining, and healing.

Like Crazy by @euphoricfilter

The story of seven loves across eight lives.

🗯️ so freakin well-written

Little Do You Know... by @yoongiofmine

In a world where idols and actors can’t date, whether it be because of contracts, lack of time, or the dangers that involve having your personal life leaked, the market opened up for a new work field. Playmate Agencies emerged to supply the entertainment world with highly trained companions for hire. Bangtan is looking for new playmates. And you just happen to be the one all of them choose.

🗯️ another idk what to sayy, just read bcs it's so gooood.

Magic Shop by AriZedd

In which Yn is meeting new friends (and an old one) getting charmed day by day.

🗯️ just read this crack fic, strangers to friends to ... I'm obsessed.

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4 | NAVI

[messenger-of-babel]

Alive In Memory

Summary: Even after everything he endured, the memory of you kept him alive. Even if that meant losing you forever. (Leon S Kennedy x fem!reader)

Word Count: 2.5K

Notes: Two Leon's coming up in a row wowwwww. This was written earlier but completely just me forgetting to post since I had an event on tonight. A little OOC I believe but I'm trying to pull it back in. I'll hammer out the fanon aspects that swirl around and re-engage with the canon like I normally would, but I have SH2 now so resi replays are gonna need to chill for a bit. Much love!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon often thought about September 30th, 1998.

It was the day his life changed forever, entering as the bright eyed, kind-spirited rookie and leaving with all of that stripped away from him. His hands became stained, and he'd seen more death than ever before, coating his skin with the ashes. The years passed and he was forced to recount the story over and over, like a toy responding when it's string was pulled. He'd speak of the horrors he saw that night, the tragedy that was Umbrella, the destruction that littered the city. Yet he also remembered the night for another reason, a reason that he kept tucked away in the corners of his memory, just for him.

It was the day he lost you.

You and Leon had been dating well before he left for Raccoon City. You had shown up to every cadet function he had; arm linked with his when you went to get drinks. You got along well with his friends, you patched him up when he got bruised from falling off obstacle courses, you came to pick him up some days and you'd go get a treat down by the pier. Even after all these years he could still see your face, all rugged up and cup of tea in your hands, crook of your knees thrown over the edge of the couch. You'd stay there while he studied, a soft presence behind him while he studied, head in his hands. You were there for him always, and that included when he graduated. He had sought your eyes out first thing, seeing you in the crowd wearing an ear-to-ear grin, eyes sparkling. His chest had puffed out in pride, beaming back down at you.

That was supposed to be the start of your new life together.

The life you had both decided to build. He was planning to get a job, start off as a desk cop rookie and move his way to detective. He'd save up all his money so he could get a plane ticket to fly to your folks’ place and ask to speak to your parents about something important. He was going to save up all of his bonuses so he could buy you a pretty ring, with enough left over that you could have anything you wanted at the wedding should you choose to say yes. He loved your parents, the way they treated him like a second son. He loved you. So that's why he had no hesitance in heading to Raccoon that night. The sooner he started, the sooner that dream could come true.

"I'll be back." he said softly, kissing you on the cheek as he got into the driver’s seat. "I'll head in and see what's happening. I'll phone you."

Despite his reassurance you still frown, fingers curling around the door so he can't close it. "Didn't they call and tell you not to come?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed. "In that case shouldn't you be staying here?"

He shakes his head. "They won't respond when I ask. I think it'll be faster if I go and ask myself. I'm sure it's just a mistake. The movers are still scheduled this week to pick us up and move us in. If I get time I might get the keys to the apartment early, and we can go see it together." he smiles softly. He can see the way your jaw clenches thoughts racing around in your mind. "Hey," he says, placing his hand over yours on the door. "I'll be fine. It's not like I'm a SWAT team or S.T.A.R.S." he chuckles.

"S.T.A.R.S?" you inquire, and he waves his hand.

"They're a special task force in the RPD. Way above me." he says. He sighs, seeing you're not convinced. "Honey, I swear I'll be okay."

You fiddle before sighing yourself. "How about I pack a bag too, I'll stay at a hotel while you’re working and figure it all out. That way there's somewhere for you to sleep too if they say you've got another start date. I don't want you to drive back tired."

"And miss your big presentation tomorrow?" he raises his eyebrows. "That's super important to you. You could get promoted for that, and you've been working hard on that for weeks." he says, recalling the sleepless nights you had sacrificed. "I'll be fine." he muttered, swinging his legs out the car and standing up briefly just so he could kiss you again. You melted under the contact, fingers loosening against the door.

"I'll be fine." he soothed you for the millionth time, offering you his boyish grin before sitting back in the car and buckling himself in. "Go get some rest."

"Love you." you say quietly, hand coming through the window to grip his shoulder as he turned the engine over. He smiles, hand coming off the wheel to cover yours and give it a squeeze.

"I love you too."

And then he was gone, pulling out of the driveway while your eyes chased his taillights into the darkness. Little did you know that he had kept his eyes trained on the tears staining your cheeks and the bridge of your nose, heart panging as he saw you on the rearview mirror shrink smaller and smaller.

No, he hadn't lost you, you had lost him.

he had survived Raccoon with the desperateness to go back to you, your parents, his family. He cursed himself constantly. He shouldn’t have come, he should have listened to you, he should have thought about it a bit more. Yet if he could go back, he'd make the same mistake again and again, unable to stop the thoughts that there could be someone in trouble if he had never come. He just thanked every god above that he hadn't caved when you had asked to come with, his heart settling knowing that you were safe (albeit worried) back in your home. When he had finally gotten out of Raccoon, all he wanted was a cold shower and to go back to your shared place. To take a break and scrub his brain of everything he had seen. His hands shook when he wiped his face of the grime, uniform biting into his skin and making him feel like he was suffocating.

he wondered if you would be angry at him when he told you he wanted to quit the force after a single day.

Yet he never got a chance.

They had been intercepted almost immediately after the city was destroyed. At first he felt relief, he thought he had been rescued. That it would all be over soon, and you were closer than ever. However, it turned out to be quite the opposite. He was locked in a room with some agents for the better half of a day, wearing him down till he agreed to work with them. he was unable to return to his old life, everyone and everything that had made him who he weas before Raccoon.

 He could no longer go to you.

They redacted his files, pulled his documents and ID. He sat there with dull eyes seeing his digital footprint be wiped from the map, all the photos of you together being deleted off his media before his account was shut all together. He had managed to keep that flame of himself alive all through the city ordeal, but with each deleted image it flickered more and more until eventually, it was extinguished with a defeated breath.

They had put him almost immediately in the army training, all of their communication monitored. Every day he still thought of you, writing you letters you'd never get. He knew they were burning them, the way he'd drop it in the collection box for soldiers knowing that would be the lasty time he saw them. He liked to imagine differently, that instead of being sent to the burner they made their way back to you. You would know that he was still alive and hadn’t been caught in the explosion. That he loved you, and he wished more than anything that he could go home. He imagined the letters decorating your mantle or filling up in a shoebox while you waited for him to come home, instead of his handwriting curling with tongues of flame until his words never existed.

As the years past they broke him in more and more, until he was an agent with the DSO, no longer a flight risk and allowed to be unclipped from his leash. It was nearly a year after he had gone to Spain and rescued Ashley that he found himself in a bar in some big city, hunched over the whisky he knocked back. He kept himself holed up in the corner, obscured in the shadows and scowling at anyone that came too close, leaving the booth free to himself.

He spent a lot of nights like this now, fiddling with the callouses on his fingertips while he counted the grains in the wood table. Until a laugh makes him pause, head rising. With the chiming of the bar door, a group of women all walk in. He watches as they settle at a reserved table near the bar, and when the sea of dresses part his heart stops in his chest.

 It was you. Older and more mature, but you nonetheless. It didn’t matter that you had worn your hair differently, he could still point out the way it framed your face so nicely, eyes the same sparkling colour he remembered. The lines of your face, the arch of your nose, the dip of your lips, he had committed all of it to memory in those long nights alone. He studied your face like a saint, the image permanently etched in his mind’s eye.

His fingers twitched with the urge to go to you, to see if you remembered him. If you could still tell it was him under all the scars and bruises, and the way his lips always sat in a frown now. If you could still see that his eyes were the same shade as always, even if they had dulled a little. If you would still tell his hands were the same when they interlocked with yours, even if they were calloused and rough now. He pushes his drink to the side, standing up slightly before he gets a look at what you are wearing and slowly lowers himself back down.

The hope that was in his chest sputters out, and he bites back the bitter taste of reality. Of course, just because his life before Raccoon got frozen, doesn't mean that yours was. To you, he had died in a horrific incident and was a number among the thousands of deaths. You still had to dry your tears and go to work the next day and the next and the next, knowing he wasn't going to be coming home. You had pursued your career undoubtedly, winding up in the big city, and now you were in this bar seven years later wearing a white sash printed 'BRIDE' in gold lettering. He calmed the shake in his hands with a trained breath, hanging his head.

He was happy for you. He was happy, knowing that him leaving hadn't destroyed your life. The question of what you were doing now, that he thought about every single night, was finally answered. You were alive. you were happy. You were getting married, just like he had always wanted to.

 He slips a hand into his shirt, fingers toying with the worn silver chain. He tugs it to look at the silver engagement band lying there. It had always been fruitless, and honestly quite selfish of him. However, Leon couldn't find it in his to scold his past self, still a lovesick puppy who had been kicked in the ribs by life. He couldn't scold the young man who had taken a walk down the main street the day he got his very first pay check working as an agent. Sure, there were still a few eyes on him, he could see them trailing him, but he couldn’t care less. The pay was good, exceptionally so, which allowed him to push open the glass doors of the jewellers and pick out a ring. It was your favourite stone and your favourite cut, things he had asked your parents before he had left. he knew it wouldn't ever reach you, but it soothed the young man at night when he was restless and tormented by nightmares.

He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, watching at how it still had a spark of light despite how worn it had become from missions and late nights alike. He tucked it back inside, closing his eyes to recall the face of you like he remembered, looking at him as he shut that car door.

He never should have left.

he then opened them and looked up, taking a mental snapshot of what you looked like now, the way you smiled and the way you laughed.

he needed to leave.

Silently he slips from the bar, a few bills left under his half-drunk glass. He casts one last glance at you, smiling softly. He has to pry the fingers of his rookie self off of his chest, his young love making his heart beat faster. Eventually the internal war ends, the young cop backing off and slipping back into the corner of his mind that Leon had shoved him into. When your eyes meet, he's already leaving, controlling the clench in his fists.

You were happy. You were safe now.

 Your girlfriends are giggling and drinking around you, chatting with each other as you celebrate your bachelorette. The night has been fun, attention focused wholly on your future. However, the ringing of the bar bell manages to steal your attention for a moment, making you look up from your drink. You catch the eye of a man as he walks out the door, a jolt of lightning running down your spine and hair raising on your arms. His eyes that were so deeply familiar yet foreign to you, then they were gone. You see a glimmer in the eyes of a stranger that leaves the bar. It might’ve just been the alcohol or melancholic speeches your entourage has been reciting all night, recalling the ‘good old days’. That’s what logic dictated to you.

But when you listened to your heart for a split second, a barely tangible moment, you saw a glimpse of a young police academy graduate you knew years ago, a glimmer of a young boy you once loved but now struggled to recall the name of.

[thepixelelf]

Oh Baby, You - svt smau

The birth of your son three years ago was what caused your breakup with Wonwoo, your longtime (and at that point, long distance) partner. Now, you're getting concerned that Orion is starting to look a lot like his dad, but that's not your only problem. Wonwoo is back… and he's living across the hall.

Genres: smau, romance, drama, comedy, angst, single parent au

Pairing: jeon wonwoo x afab they/she reader x mystery member(s)

Warnings: coarse language, conversations about sex, mentions of pregnancy, mama/mom/mother is used to refer to reader's parental status sometimes, infidelity, light alcoholism, miscommunication as a plot device, some of the teenies are not so nice at times, slut shaming, angst, everything is unrealistically dramatic because this is basically a kdrama in text/twitter form. warnings may be updated as they come, but I will label chapters properly if it's anything major

Note: unfortunately, I did have to make the mc for this series have female reproductive organs because, well... that's the plot. I couldn't find a good way around it :( if anyone reading this is discouraged, please know that pretty much every other fic I've ever posted is gender neutral. So, if you think you might've liked this smau, please check out my masterlist! hopefully there will be something you like there :) ALSO! if anyone makes fun of Orion's name just know that it's the name of a precious baby cousin of mine and if you bully smau Orion you are bullying irl Orion!! do not touch him!!!

(new!) Updates will post when I have the time and motivation

The taglist is full! Leave a comment under the post linked here if you're not on the main taglist to be notified when Oh Baby, You is completed.

Profiles I: Orion's Prettyboy(gn) Posse

Profiles II: Wonwoo's Famous Friend and the Other Guys

Profiles III: Gyu and the Rise of Capitalism

1. Everybody Loves Vernon

2. Tens Among Tens

3. Grown Ass Men

4. I Hate This FUcking Family

5. The Ones Keeping Secrets

6. A LITTLE Curious

7. You Go Girl Get His Ass

8. The Calm

9. The Storm

10. It's Been a While

11. Fucked Up Coincidences

12. Not... a BAD Guy

13. Still So Affected

14. Just My Type

15. Nothing to Hide

16. Fists Up

17. Act Natural

18. Girl, They Blocked You

19. Plot Relevance

20. Actually it is a Date

21. It's All Pretty Confusing

22. Scripted

23. All it Takes is a Smile

24. Yoon Jeonghan is Watching

25. Completely Surrounded

26. No Such Thing

27. What Does That Mean

28. A Name I've Heard Recently

29. Can't Risk It

30. Errand Day

31. One Day at a Time

32. Confrontation

33. Not Looking to be a Parent Any Time Soon

34. What if I

35. For This Little Guy

36. Get Blocked

37. I'll Take Care of You

38. Messed Up, Stupid, and Jaded

39. You Fucked Up

40. That's For You to Figure Out

41. Need to Try Something

42. Recovery Mission?

43. Your Everything

44. You're Cute When You're Like This

45. Not Sponsored

46. This is Nothing

47. Promise? Promise

48. Hhrk

49. A Busy Afternoon

50. Cherry

51. Don't Freak Out

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52. Bad Guys

53. Everything is Fine

OBY Ask the Characters Game

[goquokka00]

The Little Things (Jisung Ver.)

The small things he does every day that make you feel oh, so special.

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

| Compares Hands |

Jisung is one of those people where I just get the vibe where he'd be one to regularly compare his hands to yours. Why? I don't know. But I just get the feeling that whenever the two of you are cuddling, Jisung's got your hand in his, and he's just...comparing them.

Your hands are so different compared to his. They're smaller, so much more feminine. They're so soft, probably because you use that one lotion you hidden from him every day on them. They're nothing like his, which we've seen pictures of them and dear GOD, his hands are absolutely fine. They're veiny and long, they're probably rough, but are just so gentle.

A lot of times, Jisung will take your hand and place it against his to directly compare them. And he'll comment on it, too. "Your hands are so cute, baby," or, "Our hands look so perfect together." They're never bad comments, he just likes to tell you how he feels.

| Shares Earbuds |

This is probably a given. Jisung loves music, and we all know this. And that means he's open to hearing a whole variety of music, mainly to help inspire him for songs for Stray Kids. Where else is better to get that than from the person he loves the most?

If you guys are ever out in public or walking around, Jisung will almost ask for an earbud so he can listen to whatever you're listening to. It doesn't matter what you're music tastes are, either. Kpop, rock and roll, pop, country, hip hop, rap, indie, latin, jazz, he'll listen to it all. And if he recognizes the song, he'll happily sing the lyrics.

There are other times where Jisung will want to share his earbud with you, too. I feel like he wouldn't play any spoilers for upcoming albums (Bangchan would murder him alive), but he'd play music that he listens to regularly, wanting to expand your own horizons. As a bonus, I also think that the two of you would make one big playlist of both of your favorites, and you'd listen to that together a lot.

| Holds Your Arm |

Jisung really likes to be close to you at all times. And that means that whenever you two are shopping, or going to different places outside of JYPE or your work area, or even the apartment, there are times where his arms are wrapped around whichever arm of yours is closest to him. Sometimes your arms are linked, but other times, he's clinging to your arm.

I do have a strong feeling that he'd mostly do this if his anxiety was acting up. If he was starting to spiral because of crowds, or his thoughts were overwhelming him because of work, he'd cling to you to try and ground himself. And of course, you'd be there to comfort him.

He'd probably apologize for it. He'd feel bad because you'd have to put up with him like that. But you really don't care. You'd gently rub his hand, keeping it there while guiding him to a less populated area so you two could chill and just breathe. And while he'd feel guilty, Jisung would be so grateful for it.

| Back Hugs in the Morning |

I've said this once in my first ever post, and I'll happily say it again. I am a firm believer of Jisung not being a morning person at all. The late nights down at the studio, writing songs for hours until the early hours of the morning just drain him, and getting up is quite literally a chore in Jisung's mind.

And so, while you're probably making breakfast, I think that Jisung would be the kind of person to come up behind you and pull you back against his chest, the man still half-asleep as he rests his head on your shoulder. He refuses to talk, as it takes too much energy. And so all you get are grunts, hums, and any other noises he decides to make.

Jisung will just cling to you for as long as he needs. If you need to walk to a different area of the kitchen while you're cooking, Jisung will just follow you, not giving you any space whatsoever. Even when he's finally awake and alert, he's not letting you go. At least, not until he gets his good morning kiss.

| Spoils You |

Guys, I kid you not, Jisung will buy you anything and everything you want. You want food from that one restaurant you went to a few weeks ago? Done. You spotted a sweater that you really like? It's yours. You need something for a hobby of yours? Say no more. As long as you're happy, Jisung's happy.

It doesn't even matter how expensive it is. Nothing is too expensive if it's for you. You can complain all you want, too. You don't want him to spend all of his money on you? Too bad. You're happy with just being his? Yeah, but Jisung wants to make you even happier.

I also have this irk that Jisung would buy you souvenirs from wherever he travels to. If it reminds him of you, he'll buy it for you and then give it to you once he gets back to South Korea. And I'm not kidding you, this man would be like so giddy as he watches you react to each and every single gift. He just loves to spoil you beyond belief, and he will NEVER stop.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

[deathdetermineslife]

I genuinely cannot stand you and your account. Every time I make a new account, you're always the in selfship tags filling it up with your terrible art and shitty posts. You are a waste of space and no one in this community likes you. Your f/o (who isnt YOUR f/o by the way, stop calling him that) doesn't love you, he definitely thinks you're annoying and wouldn't love you in any universe. I want you to know that I have an entire group of selfshippers I'm friends with that wish you'd do the world a favor and kill yourself, just so you know. It doesn't matter if you block me, by the way, because I can and will make new accounts to try to make you feel like shit. I pray to God every day you get in a terrible accident and die a slow and painful death. You mischaracterize "your" f/o (just a reminder, he doesn't love you and wishes you were dead!), you make the entire selfshipping community look stupid, and you're a sharer, too, which means you don't actually love any of your f/os anyways. You should get off of Tumblr. I'm serious, several of my friends are skilled hackers and will dox you. You don't deserve any of the merchandise you own, you don't deserve to be happy, really. And don't even try to tell me that since I'm a proshipper this goes against my "antiharassment values" or whatever I'm sure you'll try to say, every single proshipper I've spoken to thinks you're a hypocritical, disgusting, terrible individual that doesn't deserve the likes and attention you get. I seriously cannot believe anyone will a brain follows you. They probably do because antis don't have brains. They're retards that like throwing pedophile accusations at anyone that breathes. You all are some of the most idiotic and stupid people I've ever seen in my entire life. I cannot stand you. No one likes you, any mutual you think you have is secretly hoping you die, and trust me, a few people I know who follow you or at the very least have reblogged your things are secret proshippers! Isn't that terrible? I'm sure you think so. Because you think we're so bad, don't you? You think that all of us are rapists and evil people that deserve the death penalty. Every time someone reblogs the art you make and says "otp" and "I ship it", just know they're lying to you, they don't believe that, in fact, everyone's out to get you and no one likes you. And that server you own? Just know no one in there likes you. All of the friends you probably think you have? They don't like being around you. He doesn't love you, no one loves you, and if you have more f/os, they don't like you either. Your familial f/os want to disown you, your platonic f/os wish you weren't friends with them, and every single romantic f/o you THINK YOU HAVE does not LOVE YOU they DON'T LOVE YOU and they NEVER WILL. THEY DON'T LOVE YOU. Every person I have talked to you about agrees they wish you didn't exist they wish you never made an account they wish you never started posting to selfship Tumblr. You are lucky that your main blog isn't linked here because if it was, I would be sending asks there too so you'd have to delete your main blog too, and maybe then you wouldn't come back to Tumblr. The entire selfship community hates you and your lazy posts that a five-year-old could write up. In fact, just so you know, I regularly steal your posts and post them to the proselfship tag and they get more attention than your blog. Antis are the minority in fandom, no one likes antis. Not a single person likes them, you're all braindead children who have no morals or understanding of the world. This website would be better without you on it. I know you'll post this, and I know that there's probably going to be people in the replies telling you that they love you so much and that you're a good person and that "your" f/o loves you but he doesn't love you and he never will love you and you're absolutely fucking delusional if you think so. I fucking hate you. I'll continue to ban evade until I can push you off of this website. You can't get away from me and I will dox you.

uh oh someone let grandpa out of the nursing home again. also you sound like an evil supervillain. you expect me to take this seriously? this CANNOT be serious I'm giggling so fucking hard

anyways, heres all the art i have of me and korekiyo!

also bad news buddy, i dont have any familial or platonic f/os. womp womp. go back to algebra class, lil bro.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Indefinite hiatus

I was toying with writing up a long post about what running this blog has meant to me over the years and why I'm stepping away for the foreseeable future, but that feels too dramatic for what's really just me saying "I'm not going to be on tumblr for at least the rest of the year". So, I'll just say I'm not going to be on tumblr for at least the rest of the year.

Okay, actually I have a bunch more to say, but it'll be under the cut.

Politics sucks. And paying attention to it, even in the reduced way I've been paying attention to it over the last few years, is hard. You end up spending so much of your supposedly free time thinking about things you can't change, getting mad about things you can't change, and getting depressed when the people who can change things just keep going in the wrong direction. Even when good things happen, it's just a matter of a few days before something bad happens once again. And vice versa. It's an endless cycle of hope, despair, resignation. Rinse and repeat, and triple speed that cycle during an election year. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of spending every other year worried about what's going to happen on one day in November. I'm tired of hearing a piece of news and automatically composing a post about it or running through 20 different responses I might give to asks I might get about it in my head.

Everyone I know who doesn't pay attention to politics (or at least doesn't run a social media page dedicated to it) seems to enjoy their live a lot more than I currently do. Which sounds way more dramatic than what's actually going on, which is mainly that I want to get to a place where I just don't care. I want the world and its problems to flow off my back instead of weighing it down. I want to stop thinking about what people on the internet might say about something I haven't even posted yet. And that can't happen while I'm tied to this blog. So I'll be staying away from it for at least the rest of the year.

I did have a good time with this blog. I've met a bunch of really awesome people, some who are sadly no longer with us (RIP Blue), and some who I think will carry on the "fight" way better than I ever did. This isn't an admission of defeat, or pessimism about the election. Even if Trump wins, and I truly think he will if we have a fair election, I still won't be back this year. But I'll still vote and I'll still be proud that my silly little tumblr blog had an impact on some people's lives. I may not have the reach of a Tucker Carlson or a Glenn Beck, but I've gotten a lot of messages from people who said they changed their minds about an issue, or even politics in general, because of things I said, and that counts for something. If you guys take anything away from me, I want it to be this: Even the smallest impact matters. It doesn't matter if you only ever reach one person and then stop, reaching that one person is enough. Changing one vote is enough. Changing one mind is enough.

To all my mutuals, you guys are the best. I truly hope you have wonderful lives and I'm sad I won't get to see your names on my dash everyday anymore. To anyone I've ever followed or reblogged from, I couldn't have had a blog without you, so thank you. Yes, even the leftiod psychos, XD. To everyone else, find your own balance and never give into despair and never listen to people who tell you not to try. Even a failed effort is still more meaningful than sitting back and mocking people for trying to improve even the smallest thing about themselves or the world around them.

I won't be logging back in after I post this, so any messages or asks you send, I won't see. I'll still be active (or as active as I ever am) in my discord, so feel free to join there if you want to. It should still be my pinned post, but if it isn't, I'll edit this with a new invite link.

And that's all I've got to say for now.

[three-realms-archive]

(This me rambling, feel free to ignore and lesson 16 spoilers! ^^; hi hello btw!)

I wanna see MC sometimes staying at Purgatory Hall and the Demon Lord's Castle more often as an escape to truly relax and maybe see the brothers try to overcome some of their struggles in their own, even if it's just a bit, if not for them, then for MC who has done so much, maybe even too much, for them, y'know?

Lesson 16 was quite the turning point, but not a lot of things changed. I wanna see before and afters with everyone. I wanna see angst where everyone is trying to be normal (maybe because MC is trying to be normal), but when the slightest thing goes wrong, they all flinch to shield MC or something. The smallest smell of vlood after chopping up food for dinner? Flashback to lesson 16. MC being too cold? Mammon flashes back. Belphie standing over MC (holding blankets or just so happen to be there for some reason)? Levi is holding his breath.

But at the same time, i want to see MC flinch from Lucifer. Before Belphie, Lucifer was going to hurt MC or worse, and he did it the most and has succeeded in hurting MC the most out of the brothers. I want to see MC hold their breath anytime he gets angry but is completely calm with Satan. I wanna see MC's shoulders tense while helping with paperwork alone with him but be completely fine with doing the same with Diavolo. I wanna see Mammon acting as like a bridge between the two.

Everyone is so creative on how they write lesson 16 but i don't see a lot of "after the lesson" ones. I always wondered, if their MC went through that (assuming if they made ir canon in their MC's story), what changed, if at all?

Phantom Pain

First oneshot of Scars, Wounds and Minor Inconveniences: a oneshot series featuring slice-of-life snapshots of the aftermath of Lesson 16. Naturally, features spoilers for OG Obey Me! up until that point. Each oneshot will have an associated headcannons post, which will be linked when it goes up!

(thank you to @kittylilyheart for inspiring what will now be a oneshot series dedicated to everyday life in the aftermath of lesson 16, because there's just so many characters in this series with so many things you can write for each. they gave so many interesting examples in their submitted idea; so I'll be including some and incorporating my own. If you have an idea for something related to Obey Me! or Obey Me! Nightbringer that you'd like me to put to writing, please read the rules pinned to this blog before submitting to the blog's inbox!)

_

It’s like pins and needles, starting at your neck and running down your back. Mammon sees you arch your back oddly as you go to knock on the door to the Demon Lord’s castle; and immediately knows.

“Hey, hey.” He says as he bumps his shoulder into yours, fingers touching your sleeve. Even though he’s seen this a bunch of times, he never really knows what to do. “Ya, uh. Ya got the needles-thing again?”

“Yeah. Ugh, why now?” You groan through gritted teeth, waiting for the feeling to subside. Both you and Mammon were used to this, episodes happening every now and then. Temporary bouts of phantom pain down your back and sides, where arms had hugged you and…

Dwelling wouldn’t help. And besides; they barely inconvenienced you. You sat down and pressed your back against a nearby wall.

“Don’t do that. What are ya doin’?”

“It feels better when I put my back against something hard and flat.” You state matter-of-factly, never breaking eye contact as you slowly slide down. He looks more confused. You grin. "As long as Beel hasn't got his fifth dinner on it, the kitchen table is nice, too."

“Weird humans…” Mammon mutters disapprovingly, but he sits beside you to wait it out. His head flops to one side, cheek resting on your head, as he makes the ever-so-cliché show of pretending to stretch his arm above his head, over yours… and, eventually, around your shoulders. You snort as his fingers fidget, figuring he just doesn’t know where to place them. They first settle on your chest, lingering over where your heart beats. Then, they scurry up to your collarbone and settle on your pulse point. He presses around a little, as if searching. Then, with a satisfied hum, he leans back against the wall, too.

“I think it’s going away, now. Mams. Hey, Mams.” You shake his arm a few minutes later. He blushes at your willing contact (as if he hadn’t been holding you close this whole time) and the cutesy nickname, but shuffles back to give you space to stand. Though not before checking your back first, touching the back of his hand to the skin between your shoulder blades, which your outfit exposes. Because you’d been leaning on a metal wall, your skin is cold.

He freezes. Your skin, cold. Your lips, not breathing. The slight red from where his hand had pressed against you has a slightly red flush. Red - red, just like it had been when -

He makes a show of dusting off your shoulders, one hand curling its fingers just enough to press a little more around your neck pulse point.

He hums again, satisfied. Then, the sheer amount of touching you that he’s done today hits him - and he turns his head to the side with a not-so-subtle cough.

“Y-Yeah, okay. Good. Let’s knock, then.” Mammon straightens and flashes you one of his signature grins. You notice it wobbles a little, but you attribute that to the adorably-dramatic cough he was forcing out of his throat just moments earlier. “If we get back late, Lucifer’ll think we’re slackin.”

“We can’t stay longer? Lord Diavolo said in his letter that I can work at the castle for as long as I like.” You pout. Secretly, your heartbeat gets a little faster; you swore you read the letter correctly. You look at Mammon hopefully, avoiding looking at the path behind you; which was starting to look awfully short. “I thought we were getting back after Lucifer goes out tonight.”

Mammon raises an eyebrow. “Ya wanna stay that long? It’s dangerous out. It’s safer with Lucifer around. ” He protests worriedly - but catches himself quickly. “W-Well. Not that I can’t protect ya… But everyone’s at home, too! The more people around, the better the protectin'!”

“Mammon -”

“Mammon is probably right, MC." Suddenly, you hear a voice behind you. "Though, I admit - I hadn't thought about that when I wrote the letter requesting your visit.”

The two of you jump. You and Mammon immediately find each others’ hands, and whip around to face the source of the voice. Mammon is already stepping forward, stretching his arm in front of you protectively... when he sees who it is.

“Lord… Geez, Lord Diavolo. Barbatos.” He nervously chuckles, stepping back. “We were literally just about to knock. Warn a guy next time, why don’t’cha?”

“No worries, Mammon. Sorry for startling you.” Diavolo offers apologetically. He nods in acknowledgement to you. “Hello there, MC. Lucifer may worry too much if he doesn’t see you before leaving the House, so it may be best for him to see you’re safe and sound, first.”

You look up slowly at the Crown Prince of the Devildom. The prince’s demon butler stands just behind his liege, almost blending into the shadows. They look so… tall. So towering. You don’t register the words that come out of your mouth.

“Oh, u-uh. Okay, then. I’ll help with some RAD event planning, then leave. early”

Mammon gives you a look, shuffling closer and bumping his shoulder into yours, again. “Oi, human, are you sure? I thought earlier you said -”

“I’ll do what Lord Diavolo, said. It’s probably for a reason.” You reply nonchalantly as Barbatos steps forward and unlocks the front door. You can see the hallway as it creaks open and it’s dark. It reminds you of a room you had woken up in when you were pulled from your home with no warning. It reminds you of winding stairs that had lead up to an attic, with a shadowy figure waiting behind a locked door. It was the home of two people who, try as you might, you could never, ever say no to.

Was it fear? You didn’t think so, you could talk to them pretty easily. Agree with them, easily.

Was it hatred? Not that either. You knew Mammon appreciates them for their part in saving you, so you guess you do, too.

You think of the phantom pain from earlier, then think that the darkness of the castle hallway looks a lot more inviting than dwelling on painful memories and difficult questions. So you let your feet follow Diavolo and Barbatos into the castle, laughing when Diavolo fondly tussles Mammon’s hair and enthusiastically piping up with ideas when Barbatos lists off the upcoming events to be held by the student council at RAD.

Mammon does hang back a little at first, though; wondering why you disapproved of his idea when he said it - but then agreed so readily when Diavolo did. But Diavolo did help you with the whole Belphie situation. And he was grateful Diavolo had you brought to the Devildom at all. So he follows you and thinks nothing of it.

And you follow Barbatos and Diavolo. Listening to their every word, like it was instinct. Like you didn’t really have a choice. Just like you didn't have when they had saved you.

Just like you had no choice when they had first brought you here.

(first chapter of the blog's very first series! this was pretty interesting and challenging to write as i really didn't want anything sad or angsty; just the same tone as my other slice-of-life stuff but with little pangs of hurt from the habits that the characters pick up after the belphie incident. i'd like to think that mc and the obm cast actually do recover pretty quickly from lesson 16, but not for the reason of forgiving each other easily, which i'll get to in later chapters. in this case, mc gets along well with dia and barb out of trust for them saving them, but also because they've always taken the reigns on their fate anyway.)

[lynnlovesthestars]

The sun, the moon and the stars.

Pairing: Astarion x reader.

Synopsis: with the solution in your hands, you give back Astarion all he has lost.

Genre: fluff, a tiny bit of angst, kinda smut but not graphic?

Warnings: mentions of insecurities and self doubt, mention of past abuse, death. Extra warning: Astarion being so loving and caring. Tav/reader taking risks for Astarion. Post act 3.

WC: 5k

Alternate name: Curses, Undead, Deseases.

Author's note: Hello everyone, before i posted "One and only" I didn't expect it to be loved so much, but after seeing the love it received, I took it to my heart to grant your wish. So here it is, the part two of One and Only, which I'll link down here.

One and Only.

Taglist: @skittleabyss

Cure for vampirism: kill and resurrect the vampire with a scroll of true resurrection or, use a scroll of wish and hope you won't fuck it up.

Finally the scroll was in your hands, the legendary wish.

The great Mordenkainen spoke plenty of this spell, the inevitable results of using it and the power it held.

The risks were great, like being sick and weak for weeks, and the chance you might never be able to cast the spell ever again. It was a one shot enchantment, and you would have done it in a heartbeat if it meant your Astarion would be free from vampirism, even if it meant not being able to control the weave ever again.

You were all on the floor, weighing the situation while you read and reread the spell.

Astarion sat next to you, his hands shaking as he kneaded your thigh. The adrenaline from the fight was still cursing through your bodies, even though you were all eagerly to get over with this, you knew that it'd be better to cast the spell in the safety of your home, where you could rest right away.

Gale spent the whole trip explaining the hows and whats of the spell, especially the risks, trying to remind you that there could have been other ways. nevertheless your mind was set. You would risk it all for Astarion.

Everyone scattered around the living room, tea cups were all over the place to ease everyone's nerves as you mentally repeated what you were going to ask.

Shadowheart protected your home, making sure you could feel safe as you rested afterwards.

Wyll was sitting close to you, in case you would pass out and needed to be carried to bed.

Gale was reading and rereading Mordenkainen's tome to make sure there was no trap.

Karlach was trying to cheer everyone up, offering hugs to everyone.

When she planted herself in front of Astarion, ready to beg him to be hugged, he took her by surprise.

He was shaking ever so slightly, the pure anxiety was ebbing through his veins, he was not going to back away from an hug.

"Can you stay next to me? I trust you" He smiled weakly as she squealed happily.

"Of course" She beamed. She took the spot next to Astarion and opened her arms to wrap the pale elf's body in her warm embrace.

When you finally raised your eyes, ready to cast the wish, you locked eyes with everyone one at a time.

All your friends were gathered there because they loved you and Astarion, and were not going to miss the moment. Even Lae'zel was uncharacteristically sweet, even in her harsh and bitter words. "Tck, you better not come back as a zombie, cause I don't know what zombies need" She scoffed. "And you already reeked like this, I can't stand zombie stench at all". She said scrunching her nose.

You took a long breath and lastly locked eyes with Astarion, exchanging a nod as the silence fell around you.

The knot in your throat was tight, your words almost were strangled out of your lips.

"I wish.." You could feel the air being knocked out of your chest. "That Astarion Acunin" the words wrapped around your throat tightly, the magic vividly ebbing from your body for everyone to see. "Could be" The soft blue-purple glow flowing out of your body, wrapped around Astarion's throat, making him breath harder. "Cured.." You felt the word drain you almost completely. "From vampirism and" You breaths were heavy, worry in everyone's eyes while you didn't stop. "Could live his life as elf" You were shaking, threatening to hit the ground, but no one had to intervene, you had to endure it all alone, for him.

"Like before being turned" As you spoke the last word, the magic that was holding you in a chokehold suddenly released you. The magical flow disappeared in Astarion as you fell to the ground, and him with you.

Everyone scrambled around the room, checking for pulses and bringing you to your shared bed.

They tucked you under the comforter, as they planned turns to take care of you both.

They didn't know how long it would take for you to wake again, but they concentrated on things they had power to do.

Your body was heavy with an inexplicable tiredness. Your eyelids felt like bricks as you fought to open them.

The soft light of the sunrise filtered through the curtains of the room, almost blinding you for a moment.

You were in your bed, tucked in and warm. An arm was wrapped around your waist protectively as you could hear the faint chatting coming from the other rooms.

You turned to look around you,then it hit you.

The arm around you, it was warm. The complexion was still pale, yet it looked like it was almost a very faint shade of pink.

You almost jolted up, if it wasn't for your limbs, that grounded you, startling the sleeping Astarion next to you.

He gasped as he awoke suddenly, his eyes squeezing for a moment before opening wide at the realization that you were awake.

He didn't change much, his body at the end of the day was mostly the same, if not for the color that he regained.

His hair was a mess from sleep, the soft white curls were all over the place, untamed. His cheeks, nose and lips were warm with a pinkish blush, and his eyes.

Oh his beautiful scarlet eyes were still there, but softer. A shade that was more pinkish blue, than red. A color so soft that swirled peacefully. His canines were still slightly vampiresque, but way duller than before.

And when you leaned in his arms, you could feel it. His heartbeat, fast in the beginning, probably from the scare, but then rhythmic as it calmed down.

Astarion's arms wrapped around you, pushing you tightly against him as he sunk back in the comfort of the bed.

Your eyes filled with tears, before you could even process the elf in front of you.

"We did it" You sobbed in his tight embrace, relishing the newfound warmth.

"No my love.." He whispered as his own eyes were teary, threatening to spill any second. "You did it" He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. "You cured me and I will be forever grateful for this gift" He lulled you, gently tapping his fingers on your skin.

You sobbed harder, your arms wrapping around him as well as you allowed the realization to completely hit you.

You weren't quite sure what day it was, or how long Astarion has been cradling you close to him, but you didn't care anymore.

Only when you finally regained a bit of your control, your head started filling with questions.

"How long have i been out?" You asked, before yawning.

"So.. if i did the math correctly" He counted on his fingers before beaming. "You sleep for a whole week. I fed you and hydrated you as you rested. The wish literally drained you" He gently raised your chin to look at you, a tender smile spread over his face, along with the warmth of a blush.

He took in your beauty, gently tracing the tip of your pointed ear to your cheek, resting his palm on it.

Your body chased the warmth of his touch, leaning into it.

"How long were you asleep instead?" You asked as your body was melting.

"The thing is, I didn't sleep" He shrugged. "Gale gave me a long and boring explanation of what happened, but I'm going to take out all the useless informations he added" He explained, waving his hand in the air. You couldn't help but snort at the remark.

"Anyway, making it quick, you killed me" He blurted out, making you jolt up confused, your mouth hung open and your index finger pointed up as you were about to ask something. Then you curled back your fingers and closed your mouth, thoughtful.

"Basically the cure for vampirism involves killing the vampire and using true resurrection on the body or soul" In a way it made sense, cause a vampire is a dead person turned into undead, reason why restoration spells and curing curses wouldn't be effective. You didn't have to remove a disease either, but revert the body back to its original form. And the only way was true resurrection.

"Oh, cause the spell would be able to bind your soul back to your body completely, reversing death instead of just raising you as undead as vampirism does" You whisper shouted as you connected the dots. "But your death was way past 200 years ago" You remembered.

"I'm glad you remembered how long it's been since my first death" He tucked a stray hair behind his ear. "But apparently that's where the wish spell comes in aid" He kissed the top of your nose.

"It erased the time clause from the spell, since it was a wish" He smiled.

"Mhmh makes sense" You whispered as you tapped a finger on your chin and slowly eased again in the silence.

There was so much you wanted to say in that moment, like the fine print of the spell, whether he could already walk in the sun freely now, how did he feel, and so many more questions about this new story you were going to start together, but your body started growing heavy and thick again, drawing you back in your sleep, but this time you were lulled by Astarion's steady heartbeat.

Hours later you woke up still in Astarion’s lap, though now he was using a magic hand to read a book that you couldn’t quite recognize.

“That’s a very smart use of a magic hand” You stretched your arms, squinted and yawned loudly.

“It is, and this book has been very enlightening as well” He flips pages quickly, getting back to one that had a bookmark.

“Really?” You asked mindlessly as you rested your head on his shoulder.

He nodded, skimming through the page looking for a specific paragraph.

“I always wondered why you choose to sleep every night, aren’t you bothered by the weird dreams?” He asked. He never thought about it until he started reading this guide he found with the wish scroll. It was a book by Mordenkainen himself which spoke of his studies of all the races he encountered. He picked it up to read about what he missed through the decades about his culture and habits, just in case elves grew a new horn at a certain age or something. Dying so young, really cut off a huge chunk of his youth. At the time he was still considered young by his family, he was looking forward to that 100 birthday so much. At least he was glad he kept his youngish self for a little longer than his peers. if that really mattered.

“Mh, no I like them” You mumbled, another yawn escaping between one word and the other. “I found meditating boring, what even is the point of relieving past experiences when most of the memories are negative?” You shrugged, slowly stretching your legs.

“I never thought about that” He was definitely contemplating ditching meditation, if he had to see less of the memories, and more of.. anything but that. He usually slept when you happened to fall asleep next to him, or while you were traveling, and everyone would take their sweet time in the morning. He didn’t need to be up for 8 hours so why not just sleep, he always thought.

“You should do it more often” You smiled at him as you crawled out of his embrace, already missing the warmth of his chest, but you needed something to eat, a whole week asleep really took a toll on your stomach.

The house was still crawling with friends lounging all over, even withers found a corner for himself, in case a resurrection was needed, funny since the conditions of this party, you thought.

Whoever allowed Gale in your kitchen would pay the price. You walked slowly towards the chair in the kitchen, making sure you could hold on to the wall, in case your body decided to be too tired to move.

Gale didn't notice you joined until he turned and unexpectedly saw you sat with your arms crossed, staring stoically at him.

The most satisfying part? The squeal he let out, though it didn't last long. In an instant he was next to you handing you a glass of water.

"How are you feeling?" He asked as he sat in front of you, playing with a peanut he got from your nuts basket.

"Groggy" you mumbled. "Tired" You took your time stretching a little more. "It truly drained me" You leaned on the table wondering what to fill your stomach with.

"I cannot even imagine" He patted your back. "Though actually i could since the netherese orb whole ordeal" He mumbled.

"The price a man must pay to seduce a goddess" You rolled your eyes jokingly.

"Ehy, if you knew Mystra, you'd do the same" He poked your shoulder before handing you a fruit that was laying nearby.

You rose from the table, taking a bite from the apple he gave you. "No, I don't think I would. I'm more the whole I will fix your vampirism I promise, person" You shrugged before taking another big bite.

"I would have never guessed" He laughed.

"Oh so I'm a type, you did this for other spawns?" Astarion chimed while wrapping his arms around you, and placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Yeah, don't you know?" You took the last bite from the fruit before attempting to throw it in the trash. "I've kept a diary with all the names of the spawns I saved" You picked up a piece of paper nearby and scribbled a few names all over the paper, and handed it to Astarion.

"So, we got: Astarion, the annoying one, the mysterious one that almost cut my throat, the one that almost sucked me dry, the one that I recently casted a wish spell for" Astarion counted on his fingers. "Damn that's a lot of people right there, you must be an expert" He joked as he folded the paper.

"Of course, don't you see?" You pointed at yourself, sluggish on the chair. "I'm so good at it, I'm not even tired" You jokingly dropped your upper body on the table, faking to be asleep.

"Well, this is my time to leave the room" Gale awkwardly said before standing up and quickly escaping the kitchen.

"I've got sad news for you, my dear expert" Astarion took the seat in front of you, and took your hand in his, absolutely ignoring your friend. You didn't even wait to raise your head, you were already lost in his eyes. "You don't have all the names of the spawns you freed." He poked your nose.

"Mh, who's missing?" You smiled at him as the sly grin appeared on Astarion's lips.

"You will know in due time"

When was the due time? You had absolutely no clue. A few days passed by, everyone left when they were sure you were at least able to move on your own, and Astarion was remembering his physical needs. For so long he only drank blood, and for most of his life, it was very inconsistent as well, so they just made sure he had all the necessary to stay hydrated and well fed, while you were still recovering.

One afternoon you were sitting outside on the porch, the chirping of the birds and the whooshing of the trees was the only sound around you. You enjoyed the warmth of the sun as you waited for Astarion to join you. You had planned a nice picnic in your garden, so together you could enjoy your first sunset since he was a normal elf again.

Astarion just appeared from the door, mittens in hand as he carried out a tray. You could still see the steam coming from it as you were eager to know what he had been fumbling with in the kitchen.

"My darling, they might look wonky, but I promise you, they are way better than what they seem" He smiled, as he placed the tray on top of the low table you set up outside for the two of you.

They did indeed smell delicious, though the cookies looked like they lost their shape.

You couldn't hold back your smile as you picked one that looked like a disfigured kobold.

As you took a bite of it, Astarion joined you. "Wow that's how you treat our dear Wyll uh?" he asked, trying to not laugh at his own joke.

"That was Wyll?!" You took another bite of it, the look of fake surprise on your lips was adorable.

"Didn't you notice the detail of the fake eye and the horns? I thought it was pretty obvious" He joke-scoffed as he relaxed.

For a moment you couldn't believe this was real: the soft breeze lullying you and Astarion as you had a late afternoon snack together. You no longer had to worry about the sun burning to ashes your other half, or to eat alone, though Astarion always sat at the table with you. You didn't have to worry about excuses or mirrors that wouldn't dare to reflect Astarion's beauty.

Just the thought of mirrors brought you back two memories you held dearly: the night you helped him read his back, and the first time after 2 centuries that he could see himself with his own eyes, rather than through yours.

It was the same night you finally awoke after a whole week. He had waited through that week eagerly, as you recovered. All those things that he lost the habit of doing, he wanted to experience them with you.

So you both stood in front of the mirror, you were behind him, your arms tightly wrapped against his hips and your head on his shoulder, as he stared wide-eyed at his reflection.

"See?" You twirled one of those curls that fell in front of his face. "This is what I mean" you gently twisted his head so he could see better his ear and the way his curls wrapped behind it.

He was speechless as you guided him through all those things you always swore to love, but sounded silly for him.

You even ended up telling him a joke about kobolds and goblins to steal a smile from his lips, just enough you could show him those creases that made your knees like jelly.

But the more he'd look at the reflection, the more he'd notice also the details he always dreaded would forever haunt him: like the bite mark on his neck, so deep that it never healed properly, or the scar he never knew was on his shoulder. It was a cold shower while you were trying to cheer him up, and he was so sad because he thought he ruined such a lovely moment between the two of you, focusing on the wrong details.

The one thing he was truly afraid of though, was looking at the rest of the body, the back in particular, terrified of what gruesome scars might have harbored between his shoulder blades, so he didn't dare yet.

He wore his best smile as he turned your way, placing a tender kiss on your lips before muttering—

"My love, are you alright?" He asked, sitting closer to you, and placing a hand on your thigh, drawing slow circles, bringing you back to your picnic and away from memories.

"Yeah, sorry" You muttered, still half lost in the memories. "I just remembered your smile, and I couldn't stop. '' You said softly, your cheeks warming up at the look on Astarion's face. His eyes were wide and soft, so beautiful as the sunset light started to reflect in them. The now softer red of his irises danced and swirled with the soft shades of pink that twinkled reflected. His lips were turned in a grin that he couldn't wipe away even if the world would be crushing on him. Even his ears had a cute reaction as the tips twitched for a moment.

Lastly his cheeks flushed, a sight that was so unique, as they took the colors of peaches.

He wanted to kiss you now that you were so close, but then his mind connected the dots, and he couldn't help but yelp ever so slightly at the realization.

"My love" He called lovingly, his gaze not leaving yours as you admired him. It was not about the admiring itself, but the love those eyes were shining with. Eyes that twinkled like that only for one, him.

A soft hum was your answer as you just enjoyed the little corner of peace you were sharing.

"In the beginning I thought me and you were like the sun and the moon, destined to chase each other and never meet in the middle. Even before we knew each other, deep down- very very deep down I might point out- I would dream of a love like this, of being rescued by a kind soul that would teach me what I never had the chance to experience." He didn't stop, he poured it all like a river during a high moon. "And even in those dreams, you were a fleeting presence, you'd run around kissing everyone's cheeks, and meeting with me in those small moments when the sun and moon would be next to each other"

You could see the raw emotions seeping through his eyes as he just let it all out, while you listened devotedly.

"I wonder if in those two hundred years, we met accidentally down the roads of Baldur's Gate. If by any chance we stumbled upon each other as we were running for errands. If the universe tried to bring us together earlier but failed over and over again" He sighed, taking a long breath before starting again.

He didn't notice your hand reaching for his and cupping it with your fingers, until the pads of your thumb brushed delicately against his knuckles.

"But then we met, and you were no longer running away. Yet I was so afraid that I ended up being the one who did, and you chased me" He smiled ever so softly.

"I was truly awful to you if I think back. I initially planned to toy with your feelings to have a safety net, and instead I had you there, poking with your dexterous fingers where no one ever did. You came every morning, before leaving camp, to say hi. You offered your neck to me and trusted me, it was so new. All of it."

He unclasped your hand, bringing it to your cheek, and caressing it.

"Then I saw it. We were no longer the moon and the sun. We became the moon and the stars. You were there in all that darkness. You listened to a story that would make anyone weep in pity, and yet you offered me a shoulder to cry on and ears willing to hear. You offered a heart to share the burden with, willing to help me carry it. You were my moon, the light that I couldn't help but yearn for. So I became the stars, lingering around you and taking in all those little things you'd do." He could feel his chest tighten as he went on, seeing the way your eyes would soften by the minutes.

"You taught me all. With you I didn't have to be afraid of being myself, I didn't need to be afraid cause you had my back. I didn't have to charm my way through you, and despite the fact that I could give you nothing, you still managed to patiently give me your everything. You taught me love, something I've never thought I could feel, in any way" He leaned forward, placing a ever so soft kiss on your forehead before sitting back.

You were still there where you leaned as well, your eyes yet to open. Then he spoke again, his voice low yet delicate.

"And I will be forever grateful for it, my love. I will forever be grateful for you to be in my life. I will be grateful of the gifts you made me, giving me a second chance at life" It was something he couldn't fully explain, and neither could you, how naturally you two fit together. How the universe made sure his arms would perfectly wrap around your waist, or how he could shake you like no one ever could. The fates truly took their time threading you two together, and you both were grateful for it.

A calm was between you two, silence filling where words could have been, silence where you allowed your eyes to say it all. Yet that silence was abruptly stopped.

"So my love." He took a long breath, mustering all his love in his heart before gifting it to you. "I was wondering if you'd like to share the night sky with me forever, until the end of time." You smiled, and he swore he saw the universe in your irises.

"I thought it was obvious, my star." You brushed your thumb along his cheek. "I'd cross the nine hells if it meant staying by your side. I'd sail the elemental planes and even at the edge of the universe if it meant to kiss you" You leaned in, your lips barely caressing his in the most delicate and pure kiss.

He hummed, closing his eyes at your warmth, but quickly brought himself back to the reality around you.

"So" He cleared his throat, swiftly reaching into his pocket. "My moon, will you marry me?" His words came out so full, like he wanted to scream the question into the void, and yet so gentle, like he was holding a single flower in his palm, out for you.

Warm tears traced your cheeks as your heart swelled. You wanted to say it out loud, to yell it. Yet the words were stuck in your throat behind the trembling lips as you were so overwhelmed.

Your head did it all for you, nodding before you could control the rest of your body.

Your touch was delicate against his chest, even when you were pushing him to have him lay down.

You towered over him, as you gripped the collar of his shirt, and crushed your lips together.

You poured every drop of you to him, cause you were his and only his.

He didn't let go of you, or of your kiss. He basked in the slow dance you were making together, while the cookies and the ring laid forgotten on the table. You don't know how or when you moved back inside, your bodies still flush against each other, and your lips still tangled.

It was something so harmonious, the way you'd moan in his lips, as he grazed your skin. You were one as you made love over and over again. So tender, slow, emotional.

Sometimes tears would swell on your eyes just for a brief moment as you'd profess your love to each other between those choked moans.

You were truly the other piece of him. The only one that would fit perfectly wrapped around his hips, and still perfect when he'd be tangled in your limbs, coaxing those sweet sounds that drove him insane. You were perfect when your arms held him to you, and perfect when he filled you to the brim.

He wanted to say so many things as you showed him the stars, as his head rested in the crook of your neck while he could feel his body lose control over and over again. For you, with you, in you.

"I'll be yours in every universe" He'd kiss your shoulder.

"L-love you in every life" He'd lock your leg on his hip.

"M-my moon" He'd moan as he'd spill in your warmth.

He was glad they were alone, secluded away from any prying ears, cause all he wanted was to drown in the sweet sounds of the love you'd give to each other.

And then you laid in his arms. Your head pressed against his chest as your bodies grew tired, as your legs were still tangled with his while he'd whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

"I'll never love again the way I love you" He'd let his fingers trace the hills and dips of your body, and for a moment he'd indulge in thoughts he always feared to cross his mind; like his hands cradling your swollen belly, or the tiny life you'd protect with every fiber of your beings. The byproduct of your love asleep in his arms. He dared to dream about growing old by your side, and for a moment he dared to imagine meeting you in his next life, but this time he'd waste no time.

Like that, he'd also forget about that folded piece of paper in his pocket where he added one more name to the list. He wanted to finally uncover the mysterious person you saved: your husband.

[teen6ge]

Seoul Drift ☆ 1

☆ summary: Ever since your mom tied the knot with Seungcheol's dad, you've been drawn to the electrifying world of drift racing. Watching Seungcheol—aka S.COUPS—tear up the streets, cementing his place as one of Seoul's top drifters, filled you with pride. From the moment you witnessed your first race, you've been itching to join in, begging Seungcheol to teach you the ropes. But he's always been dead set against it, wary of the dangers lurking in the shadows of the racing scene. However, everything changes when Wonwoo, a member of a rival crew, enters the picture. Suddenly, the lines between personal and professional blur, and seismic shifts rock both your personal life and Seungcheol's drifting career.

☆ pairing: fem!reader x racer!wonwoo

☆ genre: action. angst. eventual smut. strangers to lovers.

☆ word count: 3,6k

☆ a/n: IT'S HERE EARLY THAN I EXPECTED!!!!!!!! y'all, i have absolutely nothing to add. this is only the beginning and, soon enough, i'll evolve my writing, promise. i just hope you like it just as much as i did! i also would like to thank for the support and interest. next chapter i'll work harder. soon i'll post two important links to get you in the mood (playlist + aesthetic boards). that's it! thank youuuuuuuuuuu

“This is so exciting, isn’t it?” Yeeun's high-pitched voice chirps, breaking through the veil of your anxious thoughts about tonight's race. You turn to face her, mustering a somewhat forced smile as you nod in agreement before looking at Seungcheol again. It's unusual for you to feel this anxious about one of his races, but tonight, there's an unshakeable feeling that something is going to be different. The anticipation hangs in the air, thick with the promise of an electrifying night ahead.

Your stepbrother is already in his car, a white Acura NSX with striking red, gray, and black accents, poised at the starting line while awaiting the final racer to arrive. He exudes confidence, as always, unfazed by the tension of the moment. One hand firmly grips the wheel while the other casually supports his chin, his gaze scanning the crowd before meeting yours. A reassuring smile graces his lips, conveying silent encouragement. You couldn’t help but relax as you smile back, feeling way less nervous than before. 

A short, black-haired man strides confidently toward the first car, an all-black BMW M5, leaning casually over the driver's window to engage in conversation. "Hey, who's that?" Yeeun inquires, pointing in his direction. Your eyes instinctively roll at the sight of him.

"That's Hoshi. His real name is Soonyoung, but everyone knows him as Hoshi. He's part of this massive drift team called Supra NFZ. They're rivals with Cheol's team. Well, basically, they're the only rivals they have," you explain, crossing your arms. Yeeun listens intently, her gaze shifting to Hoshi for a moment before she scoffs. 

"Pigs," Yeeun mutters, and you can't help but giggle at your best friend's words. Honestly, you couldn't agree more.

"Yeah, they are. Plus, I don't know why Seungcheol keeps coming to their events. It's not like they're the only ones around..." you mutter, scanning the area as you observe people placing their bets with another member of the Supra NFZ.

"Maybe because they're our only rivals, as you said before, Y/N," Mingyu's voice chimes in, causing you to turn around. You're met with the flash of his professional camera as he captures a picture of you and Yeeun. Blinking rapidly, you close your eyes immediately after, the brightness burning into your retinas as you whine, slapping your hand against Mingyu's strong arm. He giggles in response. "I'm sorry, I just had to." 

"A'ight, listen up, racers," Hoshi's loud voice cuts through the chatter, instantly quieting down the crowd as all eyes turn to him. "Race starts in 2 minutes, with or without my guest, so get yourselves ready."

Not a minute after Hoshi's announcement, a loud roar of a car getting closer and closer fills the air, causing the crowd to scatter. A black, simple 1995 Mitsubishi Eclipse emerges, positioning itself beside Seungcheol's car. When the driver rolls his window down, Hoshi smiles as he opens his arms. “Wonwoo, you made it! A’ight, y’all. This is my guest, Jeon Wonwoo, a.k.a GAM3 BO1. It’s his first time, so let’s make him feel at home, a’ight?”

"Shit… We got a newbie." Mingyu exclaims in excitement, standing right behind you. His eyes scan the crowd, searching for his own team.

The crowd starts to buzz talking about the new competitor, your group included. Seungcheol glares at the dark haired man, smirking cocky as his engine roars impatiently, now turning to the other opponents, Bobby and Zico, who are adorning the same smile as him.

“Racers… Ready?” Hoshi asks, the drivers only speeding up in response, engines roaring loud and repeatedly. Wonwoo's eyes meet your stepbrother's, and for a moment, it seems like Wonwoo looks scared. Seungcheol is a serious man to those who don't know him; it's not uncommon for people to find him intimidating. However, once you get to know him, you understand that he's actually a very patient and caring person. That's why it's common to see the look of despair on his face as Cheol glares at him. You're beginning to feel nervous again as Hoshi stands in front of the now four cars, his arms lifting as the race is about to start. 

Engines purr impatiently as Hoshi begins to count down from 3 to 1, yelling "GO!" As expected, the first car to start moving is Seungcheol's, the last being from the newbie, but not too far behind. People cheer as they rush to the start line, now free of cars, to watch the vehicles until they disappear from view, yourself included. Yeeun cheers as loud as she can for Seungcheol, Mingyu joining her afterwards as soon as he drags Vernon, the newest member of Cheol’s crew, along with him. Your eyes are fixed on your stepbrother's car, the white Acura drifting beautifully as it turns right, almost side by side with Zico’s car, a purple Nissan 180SX S13, closing in on Seungcheol’s lead, which makes you bite your nail due to nervousness. 

As soon as the four cars disappear, the crowd darts to an alley, eager to reach the other side of the block where the finish line awaits. Mingyu is the one to bring you back to reality by grabbing your hand and forcing you to walk with the rest of the group to where the crowd is going.

"Gyu... I don't... I don't think Cheol is winning this one," you manage to mutter, your eyes filled with worry as Mingyu stops in his tracks to face you, his smile disappearing when he notices your serious expression.

"Hey! No, no, no. Don't you dare think he can't win this. Zico might be scary, but he's definitely not better than Coups, okay? Bobby and the other one are not even a competition anymore," he says, grabbing your chin and smiling fondly as he tries to soothe you. "He's got this, okay? And he needs us to be there when he wins yet another race. Let's go, love."

As soon as you reach the finish line, you spot Hoshi watching the race from a TV surrounded by a crowd of people trying to catch a glimpse of the screen as well. A drone camera hovers overhead, controlled by a long black-haired, skinny boy who sits by Hoshi's side. It's the same boy who was collecting people's bets before the race started.

From where you stand, you can see Cheol's car in the lead, with Zico following closely behind while Bobby and Wonwoo are locked in a fierce battle for third place. A wave of relief washes over you at the sight of your brother leading the race, and you notice Vernon, Mingyu, and Yeeun already opening a beer to celebrate the foreseen victory. You smile in relief, grabbing a beer yourself. 

"Ain't no way!" someone yells from the crowd, and your smile drops as you turn to face the screen, disbelief washing over you as you see what seems to be the unbelievable: Wonwoo closing in on Seungcheol. Over the buzz of the crowd, you can hear Hoshi's laugh, and your eyes remain fixed on the TV screen as both cars take a turn to enter the street where you are now.

Everyone moves to the sides of the finish line, their eyes glued to the two cars closing in on each other. Both drivers have already activated their Nitro gas, accelerating with every ounce of power they have in an intense final push to try to win.

Just when everything seems to be shrouded in uncertainty, Wonwoo's car starts to slow down a bit, a clear indication that his Nitro has run out, while Cheol keeps moving faster and faster, crossing the finish line. Drifting his car to mark a circle on the ground before coming to a stop, Seungcheol jumps out of the car, a victorious smile on his face as people rush up to congratulate him.

Yeeun jumps into his arms, showering him with kisses as he embraces her waist, murmuring words of love before letting her go to greet Mingyu and Vernon, both of them gushing about how incredible the race was. You watch him with a proud smile before wrapping him in a tight hug, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. 

"I'm so proud of you, Cheollie. That was scary, but also pretty amazing!" you say in a low voice, knowing how much he would hate it if everybody listened to your nickname for him. He winks at you before turning to the rest of the competitors, who are now talking to their own crew. Seungcheol walks up to them to congratulate them about the race. You eye the competitors you’re familiar with before your eyes land on Wonwoo, who has a satisfied smile on his face. His car has fog coming out of the hood, and he clearly lost a bunch of money. You couldn't understand how and why he's happy, but you couldn’t help but smile along with him, finding it adorable. 

"S.COUPS… Here's your prize. Congrats, man," Hoshi approaches your brother, his voice carrying a tone of somewhat fake admiration as he hands over the money they've collected before the race. It’s a BUNCH of money, and your brother's smile widens with pride and satisfaction as he accepts the winnings. "A'ight, let's party, people! The night is just beginning," Hoshi announces to the jubilant crowd, igniting a wave of excitement and anticipation for the festivities ahead.

After securely stashing away the prize money, Seungcheol strides confidently toward the new boy, whose skill nearly cost him first place, and crosses his arms, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. GAM3 BO1 turns to face him, his smile unwavering even as he lifts the hood of the car, releasing a billow of smoke. Seungcheol positions himself beside the boy, casting a critical eye over the engine as he inspects the interior, shaking his head in mock disapproval. His gaze returns to the boy. "Whatcha smiling about?" 

"Dude, I almost had you," Wonwoo declares, his tone filled with a mixture of determination and playful challenge, before pointing a finger squarely at your brother, and earning him a round of cheers and applause from the onlookers. Now you’re definitely laughing. Seungcheol grins at his words, looking over his shoulder at his teammates before looking at the boy again. 

“You almost had me? You never had me. You never had your car.” Cheol's words ring out, cutting through the air with a mix of humor and challenge that sends the surrounding crowd into fits of laughter. The infectious sound fills the air, causing your lips to press together to contain your own amusement. Despite the laughter, a sense of sympathy washes over you for the boy. Wonwoo’s eyes shift between the crowd and your brother, his smile unwavering.

Your brother strides confidently around the car as he continues, his voice carrying a playful edge. “Granny-shifting. Not double-clutching, like you should. You’re lucky that 100-shot of NOS didn’t blow the welds on the intake.” His words are met with a chorus of cheers in agreement, the crowd clearly enjoying the banter between the two racers. “Almost had me?” Seungcheol turns to the people behind him, their expressions a mix of disbelief and awe at the exchange that just unfolded. Without a word, they gesture for Wonwoo to leave, their reactions a testament to the intensity of the moment. The boy is still unaffected by any words or actions. 

“Ask any racer. Any real racer.” Cheol's voice booms with confidence as he returns to stand in front of Wonwoo, his demeanor commanding the attention of everyone around him. Mingyu and Vernon move closer to support their friend, their presence adding to the sense of camaraderie and unity among them. You watch the scene unfold with a grin on your lips, observing how your brother exudes an undeniable sense of cockiness when it comes to racing.

“It doesn’t matter if you win by an inch or a mile. Winning’s winning.” His words resonate deeply, echoing through the crowd and eliciting cheers and applause from all around. Some people even join in, yelling "yeah" to express their agreement with your brother's sentiment. 

And it was true. 

Although Wonwoo came close to overtaking Cheol's lead, he ultimately didn't win, and that's what matters in the world of street racing. Your brother turns around to embrace his girlfriend before making his way through the jubilant crowd, joining in the festivities as someone's car blasts music at full volume.

Meanwhile, you remain in the same spot, a sympathetic smile on your lips as you observe Wonwoo, who appears to be crestfallen as his car continues to emit smoke.

"You really didn't prepare for the race as you needed to, did you?" you remark, your tone a mixture of empathy and curiosity as you address the disappointed racer. He turns around as soon as he hears your voice, and sighs as he shakes his head.

“Apparently, I did not…” he chuckles, his expression a mix of resignation and amusement as he acknowledges his oversight. You find yourself smiling in response, drawn to his easygoing demeanor as you approach him, taking a closer look at his car.

“But he’s right. S.COUPS knows more about this than I do, clearly,” he continues, his tone tinged with admiration as he acknowledges your brother's expertise. “I thought only having Nitro gas was enough.”

You smile sympathetically, nodding in understanding as you lean against his car, your eyes scanning the crowd in search of your brother, who is now engrossed in the festivities with his teammates and Yeeun. 

“He’s not a bad guy, you know? He’s been in this game for a long time, so he knows and loves what he’s doing now. But he was just like you at first,” you remark, your gaze returning to Wonwoo, who mirrors your posture as he leans against his car beside you. “NOS isn’t enough, and whether you like it or not, drifting is also an important skill to master.” 

"Yeah... Do you race too?" His curiosity is genuine, evident in the way he speaks, as if he's genuinely interested in your involvement in the racing scene. You chuckle softly and shake your head, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes.

"No! No, I... He would never let me," you sigh, your gaze drifting towards your brother once again. The familiar tension between you two surfaces once more in your mind. It's a recurring cycle - you ask him to teach you, he refuses, and before you know it, you're locked in another argument. "He hardly changes his mind."

Wonwoo hums in understanding, his gaze following yours to your brother, and a chuckle escapes him, prompting you to look at him with a slight frown, though a smile plays at the corners of your lips. "What?"

He shakes his head before returning his gaze to you, a playful glint in his eyes. "I was going to ask if he's your boyfriend or something, but he clearly isn't. He's almost swallowing the blonde girl he's with," he remarks, his observation laced with humor. You laugh in response, shaking your head at the amusing misconception.

"Oh, God, no! No, he's my brother. Well... Stepbrother," you clarify, offering a small smile as you dispel any misconceptions about your relationship with Seungcheol. Wonwoo hums again, looking at his own hands while toying with his fingers before speaking.

“So… It’s okay to ask for your number then, right?” he smiles at you, his ears slightly pink, a sign of his nervousness. You feel your cheeks burning as you smile shyly and nod in response to his question. “Yeah? What about a date?”

“Yes, Wonwoo! I’ll go out with you,” you say, unable to hide your excitement. His gaze is endearing as he looks at you, his eyes moving between your lips and eyes, a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"Good. I promise it won’t be as embarrassing as today… At least not for me," he adds with a chuckle, and you both share a laugh, the tension easing between you.

After exchanging phone numbers, Seungcheol calls out for you, indicating it's time to go. Reluctantly, you begin to make your way toward him, though part of you wishes you could stay longer with Wonwoo. You're unsure if he'll actually ask you on a date, but the possibility leaves you feeling anxious and excited.

After a few moments, Wonwoo makes his way back to Hoshi’s garage, where the rest of the Supra NFZ crew has gathered, minus DK himself. Despite being a part of the team for two years now, Wonwoo has never actually met DK in person; he only knows of him through reputation. Stepping out of his car once it's parked, Wonwoo strides toward the table where the other members are gathered, their attention absorbed by a lively card game as they await his arrival. The first to acknowledge Wonwoo’s presence is Dino, the youngest member of the team.

“Oh, hyung! You’re back!” Dino exclaims, his cards dropping onto the table as the rest of the crew swivel around to greet Wonwoo. Rising from his seat, Hoshi gestures for Wonwoo to join them at the table.

“A’ight… Now that all of us are here, at least the Seoul division, let’s first congratulate Wonwoo for his performance tonight,” Hoshi announces, his applause prompting the other members to follow suit with cheers of approval. Wonwoo accepts the praise with a smug smile before settling into his seat at the table.

“I told you I could do it… Choi Seungcheol really thinks he won because poor Wonwoo didn’t know his way around,” he jests, his eyes rolling playfully as laughter ripples through the group. Rising to his feet, Dino takes it upon himself to retrieve beers for everyone before resuming his place at the table. After taking a sip of his drink, Wonwoo sinks back into his chair, the tension in his muscles easing slightly. “So… What’s next?” he inquires, his tone laced with curiosity.

“Hm… Right.” Hoshi sets down his beer, reaching for his notebook and flipping it around to display the screen to the assembled members. The file on the screen contains scant details about Seungcheol’s crew. “Here’s the plan. We need you to gather intel. Gain their trust, blend in, and become one of them. DK’s orders.” Hoshi outlines, his gaze locking with Wonwoo’s as he emphasizes the importance of discretion. Wonwoo nods in solemn understanding, taking another sip of his beer as he absorbs the gravity of the task ahead. “You still need to maintain your cover by using that beat-up car as your alibi to coax S.COUPS into helping and teaching you a thing or two. You cannot afford to be discovered. Understood?”

“Got it.” Wonwoo’s response is resolute and brimming with confidence, his determination evident in his tone. Hoshi shifts his attention to the rest of the group, clicking a button to transition to the next slide on his presentation.

“Great… Now, we know Seungcheol has a stepsister… I believe the best person to try to use her would be-”

“I can do it.” Wonwoo’s assertive voice slices through Hoshi’s sentence, prompting the short-haired man to give him a thorough once-over. “I actually spoke to her today and even got her number. She thinks I’m taking her out on a date later, so… Let me handle the Chois.”

“She isn’t a Choi. Not like Seungcheol,” Hoshi murmurs, his voice carrying a note of skepticism as he closes the notebook and straightens his posture. “I’m not entirely convinced you can handle her…” His arms cross over his chest as he subjects Wonwoo to another round of scrutiny, his gaze flickering to the other members of the team, gauging their reactions before finally shrugging. “But fine. If she gave you her number, there’s potential. But no romantic feelings, Jeon. Don’t make me regret it.”

As he checks his watch and rises to his feet, Hoshi lets out a muttered curse, hastily finishing the remnants of his beer and scrambling to gather his belongings. “Now scram. It’s late and y’all still need to work tomorrow. Dino, tomorrow you’re training Jun. I need him ready by the end of the month; Metaworld is happening, and we need him since Wonwoo will likely be racing for Seungcheol’s team.”

Dino and Jun exchange nods of understanding, echoing a simultaneous “yes, sir.” “Great! Hao, you’re in charge of DK’s new car’s design. He wants something along the lines of green neon fire. Don’t ask me what or how; just get it done and send it to me when it's ready.” Snatching up his car keys, Hoshi beckons to Seungkwan, and the two of them stride purposefully toward Hoshi’s car, an eye-catching orange 2020 Dodge Charger Hellcat Redeye. “Wonwoo, you’re heading to S.COUPS’s restaurant tomorrow. I’ll text you the address. Don’t forget about it.”

And with that, the rest of the crew departed the garage, their engines roaring to life as they dispersed into the night. Wonwoo offers a casual wave goodbye to his teammates as they peel out in their respective vehicles, leaving him alone in the empty space. Retrieving his cellphone from his pocket, he quickly shoots you a text, a simple confirmation that he indeed had your number.

"No romantic feelings," he mutters to himself with a scoff, dismissing the notion as he locks his phone. But deep down, a seed of doubt lingers. Maybe he didn’t realize it yet, but the wheels of fate had already been set in motion.

He would find himself drawn to you, just as you would to him.

☆ taglist: @kwonshiho - @aaa-sia - @tootheiass - @vlbi - @soonyoonswoo - @bekah931215 - @i-lovegojo