#if you actually read all of this you have my eternal gratitude

[fromfairyland]

My thoughts on Bleakwatch Chronicles: Tinkerbell and the Lost City

I really, really enjoyed this book! I would recommend it to any disney fairies fan, particularly fans of the movie series. It was also a delight to read about a nonbinary fairy in the disney fairies universe! Overall, I don't want to say that I was plesantly surprised, because I was expecting Bleakwatch to be good, but I will say that it exceeded my (reasonably high) expectations. I am very happy about this! A more spoilery discussion below the cut ✨✨✨

First of all, to expand on what I touched on earlier, Clark did an incredible job of imbuing the tone of the disney fairies film into this book. It very much felt like a Tinkerbell film through the characterisation of the characters we already know from the movies: the interactions Tink had with Clank and Bobble at the start literally felt like I was reading dialogue from a df movie. Even Scribble, the bookish fairy from Secret of the Wings, had a mention! Clark did his homework for sure. This doesn't just come through in characterisation and references though, it also moulds the new lore of the series, which is really cool. For example, in bleakwatch, dream talents are necessary because of the lack of the moonstone and moonlight that is required to generate pixie dust. Bleakwatch is firmly established in the canon of the movies and this is done is a very genuine and authentic way. It reads as a natural continuation.

All of the new characters we are introduced to in this book are enjoyable, my favourites being Quin, Danvers and Darwin. I did wonder if perhaps there were a few too many characters apart of the Flutterpunks for such a short book, we don't really have enough time to get to know any of them apart from Quin, but I understand that a team of fairy scavengers would need multiple members and I trust that they will be characterised further in subsequent books.

Though objectively I appreciated this book the whole way through, personally it took me a little while to really embrace it because my favourite thing about the df franchise has always been pixie hollow, it is to this day (and I read a lot lol) one of my all time favourite fictional universes. So at first I didn't think reading a book about a society of mainland fairies would be for me. But the concept of this book is so well done that it really drew me in, particularly the exploration of class and the exploitation of lower classes (which feels silly to be saying about a df book but here we are). The idea of fairies having their talents suppressed by those who wish to guard resources (pixie dust) for themselves is a conceit rife with potential that I trust this series will continue to fulfil. I did think it was obvious that King Bartleby was the one behind the whole scheme but I'm not going to critique a kids book for having a plot twist that was predicatble to me, an adult (also I think plot twists should be predictable to a degree but that's a seperate tangent). The lore and also just, the vibe, of bleakwatch is also so compelling, like baby's laughs attaching to pieces of metal and machinery (what would this look like in present day I have to wonder?) and all these new talents that have emerged. The dreamdross thing is particularly cool to me and i'm excited to learn more about it! Also the image of an underground society of fairies lit by glowing mushrooms is just very cool!

As I mentioned I have a bias towards pixie hollow so I was a little peeved by the constant degradation of it as 'rustic' or 'backward' by the bleakwatch fairies, not because i'm that easily offended, but because it didn't really make sense to me that bleakwatch fairies would feel this way about pixie hollow when it would provide a far better living situation than they have, even before they knew that their talents were being suppressed. I even had an annotation that was like 'man when I learnt about never fairies i'd be PISSED'. But when it's revealed that the only source of information the bleakwatch fairies have about pixie hollow is King Bartleby, who would obviously present it in this way so that no one would ever want to leave the society that he is presenting as better, I decided that this is one of the most clever aspects of the book.

I'm very interested to see how these relationships between pixie hollow and bleakwatch will progress in future novels. I have to wonder if queen Clarion will be as accomidating as Tink assumes, maybe she will decide that it's too dangerous to go back to help right away and Tink will sneak away with some pixie hollow friends and Elmira to do so (this would be too many characters I must concede... but a girl can dream). I particularly would love to see the Flutterpunks go to pixie hollow and their reactions to it.

My only real critique of this book is the pacing. I understand that the first book in a series such as this one needs to be very lore heavy, and that the balance between story telling and communicating lore is tricky, especially when you also have to tie the work to a pre-existing canon. Yet it did kind of feel like we took 90% of the book establishing the set up for the story that then happened in the last 10% and I do feel as if it could have been balanced a little better. The was so much fun and built tension really effectively. I would have loved to see a few more moments like this in the book. I have faith that this will operate better in subsequent books but I am a little nervous considering that there's so much we still don't know about the Bleakwatch-specific talents, it makes me worry that the next books will also be kind of lore-dumpy. This is nitpicky for a middle grade novel, but I also think the relationships between Tink and the Flutterpunks felt a little rushed, Tinkerbell remarks at the end of the book that she was sure she'd made friends for life and I just didn't really feel a sense of that strong of a bond between them from what was shown in the rest of the book. I don't know if Clark was given a hard limit in terms of how long the book had to be, but i've certianly encountered middle grade novels that were a little longer and I think this could have benefited from a longer length, just so these aspects of the ending didn't feel quite so rushed.

Overall though I found this to be incredibly well executed, both as a middle grade novel and as a continuation as the disney fairies franchise. I'm very excited to see where the series goes!

My favourite part was when Tinkerbell told the Flutterpunks to touch grass.

[punkrockisafulltimejob]

For those who are unsure of whether or not they really have the "sensitivity to cold" symptom of fibromyalgia, because you think that it's just you not being able to handle colder temperatures like other people, that's one way of putting it. The other way is, when it's winter and the temperatures start dropping, do you feel your pain more intensely? Do you feel like you have more problems with your joints? Is your partner always commenting how cold your fingers and toes are, but it somehow gets more frequent in winter? Those are other ways to consider being sensitive to the cold.

[erabundus]

the  thing  about  scaramouche  is,  more  often  than  not,  you  won't  ever  see  him  actually  fighting.  he  calls  it  pragmatism  —  others  may  call  it  LAZINESS.  if  he  wants  you  dead,  he's  always  going  to  pick  the  most  direct  route  to  get  from  point  a  to  point  b;  no  honorable  duels,  no  flashy  shows  of  force,  nothing  unnecessary  that  may  compromise  the  mission.  a  knife  between  the  ribs  is  just  as  efficient  and  twice  as  discreet  as  a  bolt  of  lightning  —  and  really,  why  should  he  INCONVENIENCE  himself  with  anything  more? if you disagree, you're either stupid or naïve.

he  does  have  innate  electro  abilities  in  the  sense  that, as  ei's  creation,  the  power  source  keeping  him  running  is  electro.  (  think  of  it  as  an  engine  perpetually  generating  energy.  alternatively,  his  soul.  )  part  of  the  fatui's  modifications  gave  him  the  ability  to  tap  into  this  power  source  manually  —  another  part  removed  the internal limiter  that  prevented  him  from  drawing  out  TOO  MUCH.  this is, for the record,  why  overusing  electro  causes  him  physical  pain.  even  kunikuzushi's  body  (  obscenely  durable  as  it  is  )  can  only  take  so  much  punishment;  he's  effectively  searing  himself  with  electricity  from  the  inside AND  burning  through  his  own  life  force  in  the  process.  he  can  regenerate,  and  his  energy  stores  can  replenish,  but  it's  probably  not  the  best  ability  to  hand  someone  with  deeply  self  destructive, self loathing  tendencies. oops.

technically  scaramouche  could  die  if  he  uses  up  every  ounce  of  power  he  has  —  but  it's  HIGHLY  unrealistic.  after  a  certain  threshold,  he  no  longer  has  the  strength  to  remain  conscious. even  then,  he  could  theoretically  be  revived  with  a  new  "soul."  perhaps  not  as  himself,  perhaps  reduced  to  a  blank  slate  once  again,  but  his  body  would  technically  be  "alive,"  even  if  his  consciousness  wouldn't  survive.  (  think,  factory  reset  to  his  pre-kabukimono  state.  )

wanderer  does  still  run  on  the  same  power  source,  though  it's  debatable  whether  he  has  the  CAPACITY  to  use  it.  the  divine  power  he's  mentioned  to  have  spent  came  purely  from  his  ascension.  however  (  to  put  it  bluntly  )  he  really,  REALLY  messed  himself  up  disconnecting  from  shouki  no  kami  —  both  because  he  was  never  meant  to,  and  because  he  did  so  in  probably  the  worst  way  possible.  the  tubes  keeping  him  tethered  were  intrinsically  linked  to  that  internal  power  source,  and  it's  possible  he  damaged  his  connection  to  it  irreparably.

another  possibility  is  he  (  mentally  )  can't  get  himself  to  tap  into  it  anymore.  during  3.3  he's  completely  genuine  about  being  depowered  —  but  as mentioned, he  has  an  innate  healing  factor.  it  isn't  entirely  outside  the  realm  of  possibility  that  he  may  one  day  regenerate  enough  to  reestablish  that  connection.  it's  just  easier  to  say  he  "can't  use  electro  anymore"  than  delve  into  all  the  nitty  gritty  psychology  behind  the  why.

going  back  to  scaramouche,  on  the  off  chance  he  actually  does  fight,  he  is  a  far  more  brutal,  more  visceral  foe  than  his  anemo-flavored  variant  —  and  wanderer  is  by  no  means  gentle.

his  weapon  of  choice  is  still  a  catalyst  —  mind,  he's  quite  deadly  with  a  SWORD  as  well,  it's  simply  difficult  to  use  them  in  conjunction  with  electro.  ordinary  blades  literally  can't  handle  the  sheer  output  of  power;  they  melt  or  shatter  in  his  hands.  a  catalyst  is  purely  geared  towards  channeling  the  elements,  whereas  with  other  weapon  types,  the  elements  are  complimentary.  that  being  said,  scaramouche  doesn't  actually  NEED  his  catalyst  to  fight.  because  the  power  he  uses  comes  from  his  own  body,  he  can  easily  hold  his  own  without  one. ( a fact he oftentimes uses to catch others off guard. )

the  balladeer  alternates  between  navigating  the  battlefield  with  the  fluidity  of  a  dancer,  and  striking  with  swift  brutality  befitting  of  the  electricity  he  wields.  the  moment  you  delude  yourself  into  thinking  you've  managed  to  land  a  hit,  his  entire  body  dissolves  into  pure  electro  —  and  (  literally  quick  as  lightning  )  reforms,  completely  unharmed,  too  close  for  you  to  react.  as  soon  as  he  manages  to  get  his  hands  on  you,  it's  over;  you've  already  been  shocked  into  paralysis  and  left  at  his  mercy.

after  that  point ...  he  has  a  most  curious  (  almost  ulquiorra-esque  )  tendency  to  rip  out,  crush  or  otherwise  destroy  the  HEARTS  of  his  opponents.

while  scaramouche  can  do  the  generic  not  so  squishy  mage  tactic  of  hanging  back  and  pelting  his  enemies  with  enough  electricity  to  fry  them  like  an  egg,  for  opponents  who  require  more  than  the  BARE  MINIMUM,  he  tends  to  get  up  close  and  personal.  he  uses  that  aforementioned  ability  to  become  lightning  to  dart  around  —  closing  distance,  and  making  it  impossible  to  pin  him  down.  imagine  parkour,  breakdancing,  gymnastics,  but  with  semi-teleportation.  (  still  hurling  massive  bolts  of  electro  at  you  all  the  while,  just  to  make  the  onslaught  even  more  overwhelming.  )  his  limbs  are  effectively  blades  in  their  own  right.  trying  to  block?  hope  that  claymore  of  yours  is  a  good  one,  otherwise  he’s  shoving  his  fist  through  the  metal  and  grabbing  you  by  the  THROAT.  did  i  mention  he’s  inhumanly  strong?  enough  to  crush  your  neck  with  one  hand?

...  and  woe  unto  you  if  you  manage  to  irritate  him  enough  to  use  his  catalyst.

only  scaramouche  can  use  it  to  its  full  capacity.  this  is  because  it  was  specifically  TAILORED  for  him.  in  some  ways,  it’s  actually  something  of  a  shouki  no  kami  prototype  —  it  has  its  own  strings  that  attach  to  the  ports  on  his  back.  the  strings  appear  to  be  made  of  a  sickly  purple  light;  they  can’t  be  sliced,  and  he  can  move  through  them  without  fear  of  getting  tangled.  they  connect  directly  to  kunikuzushi’s  internal  power  source  in  a  distinctly  PARASITIC  way  —  drawing  deeply  from  that  energy  fueling  the  core  of  his  being.  using  his  catalyst  is  one  of  the  few  things  that  can  leave  scaramouche  genuinely  exhausted,  if  only  because  he’s  using  his  own  LIFE  FORCE  to  power  it.

however,  the  benefits  it  offers  are  well  worth  the  fatigue.

not  only  does  the  catalyst  GREATLY  enhance  his  other  abilities  (  making  his  attacks  stronger,  increasing  his  already  impossible  speed  to  obscene  levels  )  it  can  also  be  used  to  fire  blasts  of  pure  energy.  these  are  absolutely  MASSIVE  —  think,  deep  valleys  gouged  through  the  ground  in  an  instant,  everything  beneath  scorched  and  melted  into  one  smoldering,  indecipherable  mess.  the  catalyst  can  be  split  into  up  to  four  pieces  —  though  with  each  subsequent  division,  the  blasts  they  produce  will  become  smaller  and  smaller  in  size.  still  deadly!  just  a  bit  more  precise.

and  remember!  on  top  of  everything  else,  his  most  exemplary  quality  is  STILL  that  he’s  just  that  impossibly  durable!  the  firepower  is  just  a  bonus.  even  if  you  do  manage  to  land  a  hit,  he’ll  get  back  up  and  keep  on  trying  to  fry  you.  sweet  dreams.

[theladybrownstarot]

Pick-A-Card:What should you know about the situation you are facing?

𐙚˚ Here's my masterlist for more !

𐙚˚ Make sure you follow/like/reblogg/Comment for more pacs like these !

Pile 1. Pile 2. Pile 3.

˖⁺‧₊˚Pile 1.

Namaste pile 1 ! Let's begin with your reading:

˖° The situation you are in is very stilled and controlled by you only by this I can surely say that you are controlling the situation where eternal factors are being controlled but if you loose the control the situation will escalate into something else so you are being called up to analyse and shift your focus on the very details and take action slowly not fastly.

˖° I see that you are not the one who is controlling up everything or is the main person in the situation because I'm getting this very strongly you are actually being controlled or dictated by someone superior than you ; situation or person. You are maintaining up or controlling up the very small part of the situation so the situation will be only influenced by the the one holding more power but you can change the course of decision by playing logically or if possible by getting more people in it.

˖° I see that you want to show yourself different from others but you need to play smart in order to win rather than arguing or fighting up or being defensive.

˖° You could be possibly dealing up with issues related to travel , finance , property or settlement and visa related somewhere , colleague issues or something related to boss and education.

Short Guidance To Follow Up :

Be fearless and stand strong ;

Feel love and comforted;

Retreat and recharge ;

˖⁺‧₊˚Pile 2.

Namaste pile 2 ! Let's begin with your reading:

˖° The situation you are in says that you have backed off from it even though you didn't wanted to somewhere because you thought there is no chance to make it right but this is where you are wrong because forgiveness is there not to the person but to the situation and yourself .

˖° The situation involves many people or the third party interfering in and spreading the falsified information for same , Only few or one can be trusted with whom you had a quarrel . If there's no third party situation then stop explaining to others unnecessarily. You are also making or need to or will be made to make one choice out of two which seems to blind you because you feel stuck because of it but truly it's all a mental fog so take time and clear it up with yourself first.

˖° It could be possible that you are dealing something related to relationship or work .

Short Guidance To Follow Up :

Hold the space;

Be graceful in movement and action ;

Ignite your passions ;

˖⁺‧₊˚Pile 3.

Namaste pile 3 ! Let's begin with your reading:

˖° The situation is going to be on your side because you worked hard for it but this doesn't mean you will leave up everything because you believe it's the end . There are people helping you positively to make you win and themselves because of similarity and familiarity.

˖° The situation for few people might be taking more time because they are constantly working towards one same thing and not allowing themselves to rest out of high emotions running in so you are being told to get aside and let thing unfold themselves .

˖° For all the people who choose this pile you are being told to journal and show and practices gratitude to yourself and others too because this will change the energy of the situation.

˖° You could be possibly dealing up with some investment , mass protest & financial related issues .

Short Guidance To Follow Up :

Choose your path;

Be brave and honest;

Enjoy success and happiness;

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

©️ @theladybrownstarot 2023 all rights reserved. Any stealing or copying of work will be a punishable offence.

[onlyjaeyun]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟑𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟔.𝟏𝐤

↬ 𝐜𝐰: 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐛𝐯𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬, 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐜/𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐃𝐃/𝐋𝐆 (𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝟎𝐦/𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬), 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐦.𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 (𝟏) 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐤, 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞

Ever since the day Jongseong had decided to add your number to his list of exceptions from his "do not disturb" mode, there's been this certain type of calmness in his chest, knowing he's always available for you.

And despite the fact the two of you had only talked to each other a few hours ago, he couldn't help but be surprised about seeing your name on the display of his phone; especially considering the fact it's way past midnight and you've never been one to stay up this late.

All of a sudden, a jolt of worry rushes through his veins and without missing another beat, he picks up the call.

"Yes, Ba–", and as your soft little cries interrupt him, said worry turns out to be justified.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

From the way none of your responses seem to make sense or are even coherent for the most part, Jay's whole body freezes from the panic of listening to you. Before he can even overthink his actions, he finds himself reaching for his sweater, pulling it over his head and reaching for his car keys in the same moment.

"Stay with me, Baby", he says as calmly as possible, knowing you need the best version of him right now, no matter how much he's internally losing his mind, "I'm on my way."

The young businessman doesn't say another word until he's firmly seated in the driver's seat of his car all while trying his best to calm you down.

But by the time he's on the highway, Jongseong knows he's lost you to a panic attack. Your sobs and breathing heavy to the point where the worry of your lungs actually hyperventilating overwhelms him. His words don't reach you, no matter what and how he says it.

Thousands of possible reasons start rushing around in his head and as he comes to stop at yet another red light, Jay subconsciously makes the decision to have you either move in with him or in one of the apartments in his own complex because there's absolutely no way he's going to let something like this happen ever again.

Knowing you're on the other side of the city, scared, overwhelmed and panicked, unable to handle it all by yourself is breaking his heart in the most painful way possible and the urge to break every single traffic rule suddenly becomes overwhelming.

Jongseong's very much aware that this probably isn't your first panic attack and at the end of the day you somehow would have dealt with it on your own, but you decided to call him because you need him and that's the only thing he cares about.

In all those months of knowing you, the way from his own to your apartment has never, ever felt this long; as if the whole world had collectively decided to test his patience and self control.

By the time he finally parks his car across from your apartment building, a whole eternity has already passed by and the only thing he can focus on is the sound of your little cries and sobs on the other side of the phone.

The boys from your block seem confused and a little surprised to see the young man at such time of the day but upon meeting his worried gaze, none of them dare to say a single word but rather do whatever it takes to get him to you even faster. Seyeon is quick to read Jay as he reaches for his keys and immediately unlocks the front door, nothing but a nod of gratitude being exchanged once he walks into the hallways.

Jongseong never once pulls his phone away from his ear as he basically runs up the stairs ro your apartment, not ready to waste any more time by waiting for the elevator.

His thoughts are racing at such high speed, it feels like their about to shoot out of his ears. Jay has never been this worried or stressed before; the lack of knowledge of the reason behind your panick attack pushing every single one of his buttons, even the ones he didn't even know existed.

"I'm here, Baby, open the door", Jongseong breathes heavily, his voice a little louder and stricter than usual as he hopes for his words to reach you through the sound of your own sobs.

And up until the moment you finally swing open the door, his heart is brutally crashing against his rib cage, just to skip a few beats when the sight of your tear stained face and shaking body hits him like a fist.

"Oh, Baby", is the first thing to leave his lips as he reaches for your body and before he can even pull you closer to his body, you bury your face into his chest and start crying even harder.

Jay wraps his arms around your fragile body without an ounce of hesitation, pulling you even closer against his own as he closes the door behind him and tries his best to calm you down with his words.

"It's okay, pretty girl. I'm here. You're safe", he whispers softly, his heart still hanmering against his rib cage and every single beat hurting his soul the more his brain processes what's actually happening.

Seeing his usually so happy and smiley girl in such a state of devastation feels surreal and if it wasn't for the pain in your little cries, he would have doubted this moment to be actual reality.

Every now and then, Jay gently pulls your face away from his chest to look at you, worried and concerned about your physical health and feeling the need to check if everything is intact.

He has absolutely no idea why you're crying as much as you are. He basically just dropped you off at home again about two hours ago where everything was perfectly fine.

By the time you slowly start calming down in his arms, Jongseong has already painted several thousand possible scenarios in his head and the more time passes without a word from you, the heavier his heart becomes.

And as he gently caresses your back, subconsciously regulating his breathing to give you something to follow, you can physically feel your body coming back to reality.

The blood stops rushing in your ear, your cries slowly dying as your heartbeat finally reaches its regular pace again. All of a sudden the world stops spinning and the heavy feeling of panic and anxiety on your chest slowly disappears.

With tired eyes you lift your head from the crook of Jay's neck to meet his gentle gaze and before you can even react, he takes your face into his big hands and starts nodding at you.

"You're doing so good, Baby", he whispers and pushes the hair out of your face, "breathe with me, yeah? Slowly, you've got this."

Without giving it much thought, mostly because you're way too mentally exhausted to overthink anything, you start imitating his breathing pattern. Inhaling deeply, followed by a short hold of breath and then a long exhale.

It doesn't take you longer than five minutes calm down completely, yet to Jongseong it feels like an eternity.

You let out a soft yet shaky sigh and press your cheek against his strong chest again, your whole body freezing from the cold air in your hallway.

"Let's go to my bedroom", you say, your voice hoarse and raspy from all the sobbing and as soon as those words leave your mouth, Jay finally manages to calm down himself.

He silently follows you through your apartment, a certain type of comfort surrounding him as he holds onto your hand and allows his eyes to graze your place the way he usually does when he comes over.

Jong doesn't know what it is about your home but there's never, ever been a place he's felt as comfortable and safe in as he does in your four walls. He knows you think he's exaggerating because of the size difference in your two apartments, but to him his own is nothing but a place to sleep, whereas yours is an actual home.

He simply can't wait for you to make a home out of his penthouse and finally give him what he's been craving ever since he moved in all those years ago.

With a soft smile of reassurance, you tell Jongseong to get comfortable on your bed as you're getting washed up to be a little more presentable, not even to him but rather to yourself.

Just as usual, he does as he's told and yet can't help but feel tense as you walk into your bathroom, your pretty body covered in nothing but a white little camisole, reminding him why you had asked to come into the warmth of your bedroom in the first place.

Up until the moment you walk through the door again, does he remain as tense and anxious, something so unusual for the young CEO. Growing up the way he did, Jong's simply never had time to lose himself in feelings like this, which is why they now seem so unfamiliar to him.

As you slowly approach him with unsure steps, you can't really tell what's going on in his head and for a moment worry overwhelms you. The first instinct to hit your messy brain after your brother's threatening texts was to call the one man you know would never harm you, yet you never once considered what your current emotional state might do to him.

"I'm sorry, Jongie", you whisper and reach for his face, loving the way he moves further into your touch before placing a row of soft kisses into your palm.

Different than you expect, Jongseong remains quiet. All he does is wrap his fingers around your delicate wrist and pull you closer to his body, silently moving you to straddle his lap before he lets out a soft sigh of relief.

Holding you in his arms like this feels like all the weight has been taken off of his shoulders and for the first time in the past hour, he feels like he can actually breathe.

"Don't be sorry, my pretty girl", he whispers into your ear and gives you a soft kiss on the temple, "I'm just glad you're okay now."

"But I scared you", you reply shyly and pull away from him, nervously playing with the little chain around his neck and intentionally avoiding his gaze, "and I worried you."

"Yes, Baby", Jongseong doesn't hold back with his response, the need to hear your voice too intense, "and yet you made me the proudest man ever. I know calling me wasn't easy. You did so well, pretty girl."

His words surprise you, to say the least. You tend to forget just how soft spoken and gentle Jongseong is compared to all the other men in your life. And as your brain slowly processes his soft words of affirmation and reassurance, you can't help but tear up again.

A very familiar haze starts taking over your brain and for a moment you feel like you're about to fall asleep just from those few words.

"Thank you, Jongie", you whisper and subconsciously bite your tongue to hold yourself back from calling him that tiny little title you've always been oh so hesitant with.

You know how forbidden and scandalous it is, how some people won't ever understand why one would find an inch of pleasure in such a word, yet to you it's always been nothing but comfort.

Yet the fear of scaring him away or even worse, disgust him with your choice of sexual comfort is way too consuming to even consider opening up such a topic any time soon.

Maybe in a few months when the two of you have surpassed a certain point, you'll find the courage to go up and talk to Jongseong about your deep desires. But for now you're more than just content keeping them to yourself if that means to satisfy him.

"Do you wanna tell me what this is about, Baby? Do you feel comfortable enough to do it?"

His voice is calm and soft, his embrace taking over every single one of your senses and as soon as Jongseong takes your face into his big hands, you feel yourself ready to do whatever he asks of you.

"My older b-brother texted me, he somehow got access to my number", you reply and feel the knot in your throat returning in an instant, "he threatened to hurt the men you've hired, as well as you and me and then he–", but your voice betrays you as it breaks at the end of your sentence.

Jongseong gently pulls you into a soft kiss, pressing his lips gently against yours yet not expecting your hungry reciprocation. With a soft sigh he allows you to lead the kiss, swallowing your little whines as he waits for you to calm down.

"Keep going now, Baby", Jongseong whispers against your lips, a sweet blush covering the apples of his cheeks as he looks at you with adoration gleaming in his pretty eyes, "you're almost there. I know you can do it."

You nod softly, pushing your hands into his hair and pressing yourself further against his chest to calm the racing of your heart, all while subconsciously ignoring the growing wet spot in the center of your panties.

It's just another day of your body betraying you by mistaking sexual arousal with genuine comfort and the feeling of security.

"He implied something about finding out where I live and that sent me into a panic attack because I know – I don't – what if he hurts me again, Jongie?"

The tears have yet again blurred your vision as you struggle to breathe and look up at the young business man with a quivering bottom lip.

Jongseong's reaction is quick, his big hand gently holding your face as he starts taking one deep breath after the other until your pattern matches his.

"That's my good girl", he whispers and gives you a soft kiss, "that was great, Baby. I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you, Jay", you sigh and move further into his soft touch, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in your lower stomach from how much his gentleness is affecting you.

"How about you stay with me after the trip to Jeju and then we'll figure everything out once we're back, hm? If you don't want to stay with me for a longer time I'll make sure to hire two bodyguards of mine to watch over you through the day as well as have them stand in front of your door during the night."

His offer is exactly what you needed to hear and you can't believe how it instantly sends jolts of calmness through your body, easily suppressing the anxiety in your veins and with a soft smile you nod.

"Thank you for letting me help you, Baby", Jay sighs and places a soft kiss on your neck, his big hands firmly placed on your waist, "I'd do everything to keep you safe and protected. They won't ever hurt you again, my angel. Not as long as I am around."

Maybe it's the sound of his voice or his choice of words, maybe it's the genuineness nehind it all and maybe, just maybe it's because you've never felt as comfortable and safe with a man as you doneith Park Jongseong, yet regardless of the reason, you find yourself slowly turning off your brain and with a soft sigh, you bury your face in his neck and start squirming in his lap.

The urge to be as physically close to him as possible has already taken over every single one of your senses and at this point you're just tired of fighting against yourself.

"Easy there, angel girl", Jongseong suddenly grunts and digs his fingers deeper into your skin, the soft pain sending yet another jolt of arousal straight into your cunt.

"I don't have much self control when it comes to you, Baby, I don't wanna hurt your heart", he whispers and throws his head back when you suddenly start littering his neck in soft, open mouthed kisses. The feeling of your tongue licking over the little spots on his skin as well as the feeling of your warm, barely clothed cunt against his cock send his brain into overdrive and Jay knows he has to stop this or he'll lose his composure.

"Don't", you reply calmly, looking up at him with big, glassy eyes and your pretty lips pushed into the cutest little pout, "please, Da – Jongie, I want you so bad. Need you to make me forget again."

You're quick to save your little slip up, despite the heavy cloud surrounding your brain and as you allow yourself to roam his handsome face with hungry eyes, you realise he's way too gone to have noticed.

Jongseong on the other hand is convinced his brain is playing games with him. You didn't actually just almost call him by that fucking title he's been daydreaming about ever since the first day he's met you. It's just his stupid head and the pain urging from his now rock hard cock. There's absolutely no way.

"Look at me, Baby", he grunts softly, his big hand wrapping around your throat to make you follow his request, "I need you to tell me exactly what you want, yeah? Can you be a good girl and use your words for me again?"

You don't even think a single thought, just nodding in response to his sweet request.

"I wanna ride you, Jongie", you sigh as your hands find home in his thick hair, pulling on the dark strands gently and slowly grinding your hips against his, "I miss feeling you inside of me."

"F-Fuck", his response is instinctive, more of a reflex than anything else and with a deep grunt, Jongseong throws his head back to enjoy the feeling of pleasure filling his veins.

"That's my good girl", Jay growls deeply, lightheaded and slightly dizzy the more his body loses itself in the sweetness of your touch, "Daddy's perfect little angel."

It takes him a whole second to realise what the fuck had just slipped past his lips and with wide eyes Jay finds himself staring at the ceiling.

All of a sudden his heart starts hammering against his ribcage, anxiety and fear of your possible reaction to the sudden exposure to his most treasured and well hidden kink.

You two have talked about quite a few things but this never felt fitting enough to bring up ag any given point and for some reason, Jay can't help but be genuinely afraid.

His previous partners never enjoyed it the way he wanted them to. They usually only played along in bed because they knew he liked it and the fear of you doing the same has the knot in his throat double in its size.

"I'm so fucking sorry", he whispers and finally gets himself to look at you, yet skillfully avoiding your eyes.

He's not quite ready for a heartbreak of this sort, not when he literally just regained your trust.

"It won't ever happen again, Baby, I promise. Please just forget I said it. I'm so ashamed."

Yet again, a million possible scenarios start flooding his mind and not a single one preparing him for your actual reaction.

As you watch the young CEO obviously struggling internally, you can't help but feel relieved.

You've always hoped that he'd be into this as much as you are, especially after the first time the two of you had gotten intimate but for some reason it's so much better, more fulfilling than you could have ever imagined.

Similar to Jay's experiences, you've rather been hesitant about revealing this particular fantasy to your previous boyfriends, mostly because you know they either disliked it or even thought of it as weird and disgusting.

And the one who didn't really care about it usually never reciprocated your urges and just let you use the title for him, something you quickly pushed yourself to let go of to save your dignity and heart. Ever since that you had promised yourself to never, ever give this to someone unworthy again.

And now here you are.

In the arms of a man who got so lost in his pleasure and want for you, he actually slipped into the designated role without your initiation.

"No, please", you whisper, a thin veil of tears blurring your vision as you take his face into your shaky hands, your body actually overwhelmed by all the emotions, "I've dreamed about this for so long."

"It's okay, Baby, you don't have to play along if you don't like it. There's no need for you to indulge in it, I'll be–", but you don't give him the opportunity to finish his rejection, too consumed by him.

"Please, Daddy", your voice is small as you're too afraid of bursting into tears, "don't take this away from me again. I need it so bad."

"My Baby."

This time, Jongseong's voice is filled with relief, the excitement reaching his pretty eyes as he takes in the sight of his pretty girl on his lap; the sound of you referring to him the way he's been fantasising about for longer than he'd like to admit constantly replaying in his mind.

"Only yours", you say confidently and nudge his nose with yours before the tension finally becomes too much and you needily pull him into a deep kiss.

Despite having done it a fair amount of times, you don't think you'll ever get used to kissing Park Jongseong.

It's rhe way he allows you to lead the kiss all while maintaining the control. Each time your lips meet his, you feel your cunt clenching in despair and the wet spot in your panties doubling in its size with every second passing by.

Just as usual, it starts off slow and gentle, only for the hunger to overwhelm the both of you and before you can even realise it, you find yourself sucking his tongue into your mouth as you shamelessly grind your clothed cunt against the hard bulge in his sweats.

You quickly swallow all of his deep grunts and heavy moans, loving the way his taste consumes your senses and Jay doesn't seem afraid of letting you know just how good you're making him feel.

With a tiny ltitle whine you make your way to his chin all the way down to his neck just to cover his soft skin in open mouthed kisses. You know you can't leave your marks, he's a business man after all, yet you can't take it away from yourself to avoid the pretty little birthmark on the left side of his neck.

"There you go, that's Daddy's good girl", Jay grunts as soon as you suck the skin into your mouth and basically set his whole body on fire.

The hoodie he's wearing has never felt as suffocating as it does in this particular moment, but you're faster than he is.

You're eager and needy, too far gone to even notice the look of pride grazing his features when you reach for the hem of his hoodie and pulling it over his head along with his shirt.

Jongseong's usually not the type to let go of his control so easily but the way you simply take what you want because you know he'd give it to you anyway makes him want to become nothing but the realisations of your deepest fantasies.

With other women he'd feel the need to remain composed and collected but with each one of your needy kisses down his tattoo covered chest, Jay can tell how much you're enjoying his compliance.

The sudden worry about not being what you actually want however, remains in the back of his mind as he watches you climb down his lap and in between his spread legs to litter every ounce of skin in your sweet kisses.

"Baby", he grunts and chokes on his breath at the same time, the unexpected grip on his hard cock leaving him overwhelmed, "let Daddy take care of you, please. Be a good girl for me."

But his words fall on deaf ears. You've been dreaming and fantasising about pleasuring him for the past who knows how long and after allowing him to do as he's just said, you're degermined to finally give him back what he deserves.

"Angel girl, ple–", "Please, Daddy. I wanna make you feel good, too. Want to be what you deserve."

"Oh, Baby. You always make me feel so good. You take such good care of me, I'm so fucking lucky."

Just as usual, Jongseong's words instantly push you into the sweetest headspace you've ever been in and with a little pout, you press your cheek against his clothed thigh too look up at him, not knowing what that particular sight is doing to the young businessman.

"Go ahead, Baby", he sighs and caresses your cheek with his knuckles, "do whatever you want to me. Daddy's all yours. use me, my body, my cock, it all belongs to you. I belong to you, pretty girl."

You feel hypnotised by the way he speaks to you. Every word seems to carry a single emotion, yet all of them ooze nothing but affection and adoration, something you have never experienced in your life before.

Which is probably why you don't even manage to form a simple sentence, just greedily reaching for the babd of his sweats, only for Jay to stop you mid-movement.

"Good girls use their manners, Baby. You always respond to Daddy, okay?"

"Yes, Daddy."

The response easily slides off your tongue and the look of pride in Jongseong's pretty eyes leaves you lightheaded.

And within just a few seconds, you carelessly disregard Jay's sweats along with his boxers on your bedfoom floor, your whole focus remaining on his thick cock in your hands.

Different than he would have expected, you don't hesitate to wrap your pretty lips around his leaking tip, your tongue lapping up every drop of precum before you decided to pull away and lick your way from his shaft all the way up, easily eliciting a row of deep moans from your usually so composed boss.

"That's it, Baby, so f-fucking good." Of course Jay doesn't hold back with his praise as the feeling of your hot mouth around his throbbing cock sends dizzying jolts of pleasure through his whole body.

You're quick to take more than half of his length into your mouth, tryingy our best to get as much as possible, only for your gag reflex to stop you.

"It's okay, pretty girl", Jong reassures you upon noticing the way you've furrowed your brows in frustration, too adamant about taking the entirety of his impressize size down your throat, "we'll work on that some other time, yeah? You're doing ducking amazing for me, making me feel so good."

"Thank you, Daddy", you sigh and rub rhe tip of his cock against your saliva covered lips, spreading his precum all over them as you look up at him with those eyes.

Jay's never seen eyes as pretty as yours and if it wasn't for the way you're bavk to wrapping your lips around his cock, he would have spent another fifteen minutes just admiring how pretty they are.

"F-Fuck, Baby", the feeling of hitting the back of your tight throat has his toes curling in despair, "wanna come and sit on my cock now, hm? Am not gonna last much longer, I've missed you too much and your mouth is t-too good."

To hear a usually so confident and well spoken Park Jongseong stumbling over his words like a child is something you never knew you need up until this particular moment.

For a second, you don't even understand what he's saying, too focuse on the way he seems to feel to even stutter.

"Baby", this time his voice gives off more warning vibes and make you realise that you've been subconsciously sucking on the tip of his to gue while being stuck in awe about his mannerisms.

"Take those pretty panties off, leave the camisole on and sit on Daddy's cock. Wanna cum inside of that pretty little cunt."

"Mhm, yes", you reply hectically, standing on yojr knees in between his legs, only to stop in your tracks and correct yourself with wide eyes, "I mean – yes, Daddy."

"Good girl", Jay leans back with his lips stretching into one of his pretty smirks as he casually watches the way you clumsily pull your drenched panties down your thighs and then your legs.

"Show them to me", he suddenly demands, his big hand firmly placed on your naked thigh, gently groping the soft flesh, "I wanna see what a mess you've made of yourself just from sucking Daddy's cock."

"But – it's embarrassing", you whisper shyly and push his hand higher up your body, knowing he'll understand exactly what you want and as soon as Jay take sone of your sensitive tits into his big palm, you cock your head to the side and pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Come on, Baby, there's no need to be embarrassed. I carry great pride in what only I can do to you and that perfect pussy", he mumbles and yet again easily convinces you to just as you're told, so without missing another beat, you lift your panties up and show him the big, wet spot in the center of the soft fabric.

"Good girl. Now get on my lap, pretty girl and sit on my cock, show me how good you can take me."

And as you've come to realise in the past few weeks, you don't need to be told twice when it comes to Park Jongseong.

With your bottom lip firmly tugged between your teeth, you straddle his thighs and let out a loud whine at the feeling of his bare cock against your wet cunt, the sudden stimulation resulting in you almost instantly burying your face in his neck.

"You're so fucking wet, Baby", Jay geunts and guides your hips to move your oussy against the length of his sensitive cock.

"For you, Daddy", you whimper and suddenly lift your hips up right before pushing your hand in between your bodies to take hold of him, "only for you."

"That's my good girl. My perfect little angel, come on, guide me inside and look at me while you do it. Wanna see how good you look when you're taking my cock."

You're already following his instructions before he can finish speaking, his voice growing more and more hoarse as you rub the tip of his cock against the hot flesh of your wet cunt, only to line it up with your sensitive hole right after.

Not a single word is being exchanged from the moment you slowly start sinking down on his thick cock. The stretch this part comes with usually enough to drown the both of you in the rawest pleasure possible.

Your high pitched moans meet his deep grunts in the thick air of your bedroom and as he finally bottoms out, your reach behind him to hold onto the headboard of your bed, your knuckles turning white from your tight grip but there's no way you can stop yourself from cumming all over him if not for tensing all your muscles.

"Fuck", is the first coherent thing to fall pst Jay's swollen lips, "you're so fucking tight, Baby. It's like I didn't spend hours stretching you out before."

You try to move, yet are quickly humbled when a stingy pain shoots through your body and you know you have to wait another minute to adjust to his impressive size.

"It's because you're so big, Daddy", you whimper and look at him with big, glossy eyes.

"Yeah? Is it big, Baby? Too big for your tiny cunt, hm?", a hint of faux sympathy echoes in his deep voice and you can't help but whine in response to his slightly teasing tone.

You start nodding like you've lost every single word in your vocabulary,

It doesn't take you as long as you initially thought and by the time Jay throws his head back to let out one of the hottest moans you've ever heard, you've already figured out a rhythm which hits each and every single one of your sweet spots.

Of course Jongseong doesn't hold back with his dirty words, continually talks about how good you feel, you tight you are and how he's going to fill you up to the brim with his cum because food girls deserve just that.

You're nothing but a mess, not a single understandable word leaving your lips, just a row of needy whines and high pitched whimpers begging him to just please never stop.

You're so far gone, so lost in the sweet haze of your pleasure, you don't even notice the way Jay sneaks his hand between your bodies and casually starts rubbing firm circles into your hardened clit.

"Oh", you moan and look at him with big eyes when he suddenly meets the movements of your hips with his own thrusts, easily hitting that one particular spot inside of you until you can actually taste the sweetness of your high on the tip of your tongue.

"I can feel it", Jay chuckles and pushes his hand into your hair to geab a fistful of it, pulling your face closer to his, "you're going to cum for me, aren't you, Baby? Gonna make a mess of Daddy's cock like the good girl you are, isn't that right, my sweet angel?"

"Yes, Daddy", you whine and push your forehead against his, heavily breathing against his lips as your moans become louder by the second.

"Look at my pretty little girl, using her Daddy's cock like she owns it." You know he's teasing you, pushing you to the edge and playing with your patience, yet at this point there's no way for you to think the slightest bit rationally.

"Because I do", you say firmly, "it's mine. You belong to me."

"Fuck, yes", Jay lands a harsh spank on your sensitive ass, never once halting his hips from thrusting up into you, "claim me, Baby. I'm all yours. You fucking own me."

And it's those exact words of affirmation which finally push you over the edge and leave you absolutely breathless as you stumble head first into your much needed high.

As soon as your toght cunt starts tightening even more around his sensitive cock, Jongseong presses his lips against yours and quickly thrusts his cock all the way into you, making sure to graze the entrance of your womb with his tip just so he can fill you up with every single drop of his cum.

Heavy breathing, a mixture of his grunts and your moans as well as the thick scent of sex fills the space of your bedroom while the two of you try to calm yourselves down and if there's one thing as satisfying as the act kn itself to you, it's the aftermath.

"So fucking good", Jongseong sighs and wraps his arms around your shoulders, "you fucked me so well, Baby. Daddy's so proud of you."

For some reason those heartfelt words hit you a lot harder than you expected and with gesry eyes you lift your head from his neck to meet his tired gaze.

"Thank you, Daddy", you whisper against his lips and love the way Jay doesn't hesitate to kiss you.

"Let's calm down and then I'm gonna pamper you like a good girl deserves, yeah? Gonna let Daddy take over mow, hm? Is that okay, angel girl?"

Who in their right mind would ever reject such a sweet request?

And just as usual, Jongseong stays true to his words and gives you the sweetest, most gentle and genuine aftercare you've ever experienced. Not only does he run you a bath, he also makes sure to keep you hydrated, massage your body, take care of your night time skincare routine, feed you snacks and hold you close to his body as you allow the exhaustion of the day finally get the best of you.

"You're so good to me, Daddy", you mumble against his chest and place a soft kiss against his warm skin, not knowing you're driving rhe butterflies in his stomach into insanity, "thank you so much."

"Anything for my perfect girl. I'd lay the world to your feet if you let me, Baby. Thank you for giving me what I've been missing all my life."

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: AND IT FINALLY HAPPENED 🤕 im super sleepy rn so pls ignore the typos but omg you guys have no idea how patiently ive been counting down the chaps and we have finally made it. daddy dom jongseong has officially entered the chat and i'm SO ready fo indulge in it. please please please dont hold back with letting me know what you think, you guys know inlove reading y'all's thoughts 🥺 thank you sm for all the love and support, sendinc everyone kisses! feedback in form of asks, comments or messages is always appreciated babies!💞🧸)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @xrr-s4sha @kwiwin @heelcvr @deobitifull @kpoprhia @doodlelibrary @abrazosolorcereza @certifiedmoa @sleeping-demons @heerinnie @ohmy-moonlightx @heeswif3y @hoonieluv @fakeuwus @jjaeyuns @cheybabey @ineedsomezzz @super-amberlynn @kshoshi @tinie03 @jseongies @mimikittysblog @primroselover @heebrry @jebetwo @donghyckl @07myonlylove @enhamysunshines @quemirasboboandapaya @lostwonderwall @seuomo @enhaz1 @teawithbucky @beomgyusonlywife @dammit-jjk @lhsvibez @azurez @boutyouwonu @finchyyy @ocyeanicc @jaylaxies @in-somnias-world @zerasari @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @capri-cuntz @fluerz @3amstarlight

[chaotic-orphan]

Vendetta (X)

Read part one // Continued from here

Strap in lads, this is gonna hurt.

*~*~*~*~*

Supervillain walked with purposeful, basking strides back towards the stage, villains parting like an honour guard for him as he walked. Villain walked behind, parading Hero after him, the whip cutting into Hero’s wrists and yanking them stumbling forward. Hero felt the coldness of Villain’s shadows possessing them, keeping them upright even as they longed to just pass out.

They didn’t want to fight anymore, they wanted to lie down and die with Superhero. They longed to plunge their… their sword that killed…

Tears somehow had the energy to keep streaming down their faces in bursts. They could still see Grieves striding forwards and grabbing the sword from Supervillain’s hands.

If Hero… if Hero never got caught then Superhero would be— they’d—

Villain dragged them up on stage and kept them by his side this time, letting Supervillain take centre stage. Grieves stood on the other side of the stage, next to Crow and the other boy from before who looked a little paler now, a little less relaxed.

“Superhero is dead. The heroes are scattered. We won!” Supervillain yelled. The shouts and cries of joy and laughter, the stomping and clapping and hollering and whistling, all of it sounded so far away to Hero who just sat staring at stage in front of them. They lost.

They actually… lost.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The good guys were supposed to win! The good guys won in every book and movie and— it can’t end like this? With Superhero dead, Hero on their knees immobile. Surely, surely someone else will come? Surely… Teleport? Or Medic? Or… or… Hero’s hands balled into fists as a fresh wave of sobs overtook their body.

It was pathetic and childish, and so, so tone deaf to the imminent life altering moment that was before them, but all they wanted in that moment was Vigilante. He’d know what to do. He’d hold them and hug them close and tell them everything would be alright.

Hero wanted them, longed for them, with every ounce of their soul. The grief was like a quilt, dulling their senses and making everything quiet, everything except that ache for the one person they loved; the one person who loved them most. The person they’ll probably never see again.

“The time has finally come for a world where we don’t have to hide our powers, where we can walk free from the shadows. Where the powerless will know who we are, and not fear us, but respect us.” Supervillain continued. He spread his arms and indicated the crowd to quiet down. “I know I promised a world where we would rule, but if I make that world then this cycle of violence will start again.”

Hero looked up, eyes on Supervillain as he spoke. What? Did Supervillain actually want peace all this time?

“I can see your faces, but fret not, friends. We will all be on the right side of history, and it will be the Heroes who suffer in the new world!”

Another burst of claps and cheers. Supervillain turned and gestured at the boy on the other side of the stage. Crow walked the boy up to Supervillain who smiled encouragingly. The boy couldn’t have been older than sixteen, dressed in a black hoodie and jeans. He glanced over his shoulder at Hero who stared at him, too tired to offer any compassion.

“I want to thank each and every one of you here for helping us win this war, forging a new world order, know you will have my gratitude eternally.” Supervillain grabbed the boy’s hand and Hero felt the pull of power at the contact.

Their eyes widened and their stomach drooped. “No,” they breathed. Hero tried to push against Villain’s hold but Villain tightened the collar of shadows around Hero’s throat and squeezed. “No! Get back!”

But their warning was lost in the sound of cheers and applause. That boy… he must be some kind of magnifier, extending Supervillain’s reach of his power but how far Hero didn’t know.

A ball of light erupted from Supervillain and the boy, burning so bright that Hero had to turn their face away to shield themselves from the glare and the light was warm, pleasantly so, and it seemed to get closer and closer Hero. They heard bodies drop around them and people’s cries of surprise and fear and then nothing but a single, searing ringing that echoed everywhere; so loud and clear it was as if Supervillain had dropped a bomb on the battlefield and all that was left was silence and bright, white light, and that ringing.

Hero woke up in the light, stretching for miles around until it was out of sight, encompassing everything. The sky, the horizon, the earth, the ground, nothing was safe from its entombment.

Hero walked along the white ground, footsteps repeating coldly back to Hero’s ears, Villain’s whip and the shadows no longer a concern. Their hands were free. They reached up to touch their face but it was still flakey with blood from the battle, and Hero was in their same clothes. Hero frowned down at their hands.

“Confused?”

Hero whirled, eyes wide as they settled on Supervillain grinning in front of them. He stood casually, one hand in his pocket, his head tilted to the side, icy eyes focused on Hero.

His voice echoed off the expanse of emptiness. “What did you do?”

Supervillain let out a pleased sigh. “I changed the world Hero,” he said. “All I wanted was for the powerful and the powerless to live in harmony with each other. I didn’t want all the bloodshed.”

“You’re a liar.”

“Believe what you want,” he replied with a shrug. He started towards Hero, and Hero braced themselves, lowering their centre of gravity, ready for a blow, but Supervillain just put a hand on Hero’s shoulder. Hero stiffened, straightening. Supervillain’s eyes were sympathetic and kind. “It doesn’t matter anymore now. I won, Hero, and I’m finally ready for you to see my new world.”

Hero blinked. “What?”

Supervillain continued walking past Hero, and Hero turned to follow them. “I had you in stasis for a few months,” Supervillain said. Hero paused, frowning, and the expanse wasn’t just white anymore. There was a black dot faraway that Supervillain was walking towards, leading them towards. “Just while I crafted the new world to my liking.”

“What!” Hero demanded, panic gripping their chest. “But you just— we were just at the stage, at the—”

“Heroes Guild?” Supervillain asked with a chuckle, shaking his head almost fondly. “That was months ago now, Hero. Or was it a year?”

A year.

A year?

Supervillain looked over his shoulder, blue eyes capturing Hero’s in his. “Grieves kept you alive here. I didn’t want you to suffer so I asked him to make sure you wouldn’t remember anything until I was ready to release you.”

Hero swallowed the lump in their throat. Supervillain was beside the black dot now, but it was a door. How did they get here so fast? When were they moving? Wasn’t Hero standing still? Hero’s frowned deepened.

Hero shook their head. “I don’t want to go. I— leave me here, please. Leave me so I don’t remember anything.”

Supervillain shook his head sadly. “I want you to see my new world, Hero. See what you fought so hard to stop, see that the fighting wasn’t worth it at all.”

The door was open. Supervillain was stepping through. “No! No!” Hero protested as Supervillain grabbed Hero’s wrist and dragged them through the open door into more whiteness. “No! Leave me! Leave me here! Please!”

Hero woke gasping, shooting straight up in their bed and clutching at the sweat soaked sheets. Their eyes darted around the room, looking for Supervillain, but they didn’t have to look far. Hero skittered back on the bed, shivering as they stared at Supervillain’s icy, smiling eyes.

“Hello Hero,” he said with his friendly voice. Hero swallowed, their eyes shooting to the door but there Grieves stood, glare fixed on Hero.

“Sleeping beauty finally awakes,” Grieves grumbled. Hero gasped, their chest beating in fretful staccatos, jumping and falling and plunging and pushing.

It’s a nightmare. This is just a nightmare and Hero will wake up and they’ll— they’ll—

Superhero’s face flashed behind Hero’s eyes. Hero’s eyes blew wide and they lunged forward, gripping the edge of the bed and threw up everything in their stomach which wasn’t much. Mostly bile and water.

They heard Grieves moan in disgust distantly as Hero shuddered, another wave of warmth climbing their throat as the battle came back to them in terrifying, vivid clarity.

The war… Vigilante… Teleport… they had lost. They— they lost, and Supervillain— a hand on their back and Hero flinched but they couldn’t move, afraid that if they did it would anger their stomach again and they didn’t want to throw up on the bed.

“That’s it, Hero,” Supervillain said warmly. “Get it out.”

Hero couldn’t reply before they were getting sick again, and then, somehow, they knew they were finished. They wiped their mouth with the back of their hand and sat up, shaking. Supervillain smiled at them.

“Here, sip some water. I’ll get someone to clean that up.” Supervillain said, pushing a glass to Hero’s lips. Hero blinked rapidly, steadying the glass with their two hands and tentatively taking a sip. The water was cool going down their throat, and pleasant. It washed away the taste of bile and acid and Hero wanted to swallow the whole thing, but Supervillain pulled the glass away. “Easy, Hero. If you gulp it down you’ll just throw it up,” he told them.

Hero sat back away from Supervillain’s outstretched hands, away from the water and glared at him.

“Come now, Hero. You could hurt my feelings with that look.”

“I will kill you,” Hero promised, their voice croaking from disuse, but the words were heavy, weighted with a vow that Hero would follow until their dying day. Or until Supervillain’s, whichever came first. Supervillain chuckled and leaned away, setting the glass of water on the table beside the bed.

“You can try,” Supervillain said with a shrug, crossing one leg over the other and clasping his hands on his thighs. Comfortable. Relaxed. As if Hero wasn’t a threat like this.

Because you’re not.

As if they were two friends catching up on lost time. Hero was new to Supervillain’s changed world. They didn’t even know what he did, let alone what his power was. This new world he promised, Hero wouldn’t be able to navigate it properly if he didn’t show them around. All they knew was that Supervillain killed Superhero and Hero would kill him for it.

Eventually.

After a brief adjustment period.

“No?” Supervillain asked, dipping his head to catch Hero’s eyes again. Hero swallowed the dryness in their throat. “Well then, perhaps we can have breakfast together. I can show you around.”

“How lo—” Hero’s voice broke and they coughed, trying to clear the clog. Supervillain grabbed the glass of water off the table and reached it towards Hero. Hero shook their head initially, but their throat was raw, burning and they took the glass from his hands. They almost dropped it immediately, and would have too, if not for Supervillain’s hand catching the bottom on his open palm.

“Sip,” Supervillain said, scoldingly. Hero gripped the glass with two shaky hands. They continued coughing and they couldn’t lift the glass from Supervillain’s hand, so Supervillain moved leaning forwards as Hero hacked. He was beside them in the bed, a hand on the back of Hero’s neck, cool and clammy against Hero’s burning skin and Hero hated how good it felt.

Hero leaned in and sipped some of the water. It settled the burning slightly and all too quickly Supervillain pulled away. Hero cleared their throat as best as they could, and Supervillain waited, patiently, until Hero nodded and Supervillain brought the glass back to Hero’s lips and they repeated the process.

They felt disgusting having their enemy so close to them, having to need his help to fucking drink water because their body was weak. Their muscles atrophied.

“Enough?” Supervillain asked and Hero nodded. Supervillain’s thumb ran over the back of Hero’s neck. “Good.”

He moved on the bed, getting off and letting his contact with Hero drop which Hero was grateful for. Their body was exhausted from that little exertion. They leaned back against the wall and watched as Supervillain placed the glass on the table again.

“How long?” Hero asked, their voice a little stronger than before. Supervillain smiled a little, as if Hero told a stupid joke.

“It’s coming up to the year anniversary since the world changed.”

The confirmation hit them like a train to the chest, like a bowling ball was dropped from the empire state building into their stomach from their ribs, far too heavy and crushing to comprehend.

“What?” Hero asked with a breath, tears pinpricking the backs of their eyes. “You left me in stasis for a—” they swallowed back a sob, “a year?”

Supervillain shrugged, turning his back to Hero and walking to the wardrobe beside the door. “It was necessary, Hero. I needed to solidify my hold on the world, make sure the memory was ingrained deep enough that it would take, and work to destroy records and such.” Supervillain continued, hangers clanging together as he looked through the clothes.

Hero swallowed. Was their brain slow or was Supervillain talking nonsense? “What do you mean ‘make sure the memory was ingrained?’ What did you do?”

Supervillain paused in his movements. He cast a glance back at Hero who was barely hanging onto their threads of consciousness and he started to laugh. Hero wished he were dead in that moment. They longed to grab their swords and spear them through his stupid throat and his lungs, and keep stabbing until he stopped breathing.

“Oh, Hero. I completely forgot. I never did tell you my power, did I?”

Hero blinked at him. They wouldn’t give Supervillain a show. They refused.

Supervillain smiled and turned to face Hero, two hangers with clothes in his hands. His smile was wide and dashing, and pleased and friendly. “I have the ability to alter memories.”

Hero stared. “What?”

Supervillain continued towards Hero, laying the clothes out on the bed. A hoodie and a tracksuit. Neither of which were particularly interesting to Hero at that moment. Supervillain set the clothes down and sat down on his chair again beside Hero’s bed.

“I altered the world’s memories of Heroes and Villains, of powers and the powerless. I made it normal for some people to be born with powers, and didn’t try and hide it from the world like Superhero wanted.” Supervillain said, his eyes glinting with corrupt pleasure, like he was enjoying seeing Hero’s entire world shatter on their face.

“And you know what, Hero?” He said leaning in. “Nobody batted an eye about it.”

“No fucking shit!” Hero seethed, leaning forwards despite their body groaning at them for the effort. “You altered their memories so they wouldn’t bat an eye about it, you dick!” Supervillain chuckled. It chilled Hero to the core.

“No, Hero,” he said softly, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. It’s hard to implement memories that people don’t already want to accept. Well, granted, it’s harder but still do-able. Although, you’ll be happy to know that Superhero’s idea of revealing powered individuals while maintaining their secret identities, made it an easier pill to swallow.”

Hero glared at him, clenching their teeth to stop themselves from screaming, their fingers curling into fists by their sides.

“You can’t just make the everyone forget about our past! The war, the heroes—”

“Oh, yes I can, Hero. Not alone. That’s what the amplifier was for.”

Hero frowned. Amplifier? Their mind scratched back to yesterday— no… it wasn’t yesterday. It was only yesterday to them. But Hero remembered when Supervillain was on stage, Villain keeping Hero on their knees at the back and the— “the boy.”

“Yes. The boy. We had to look high and low to find him, but find him we did. Everything had to go to plan otherwise the war would be for nothing.”

“Why would he help you?” Hero demanded.

Supervillain leaned back into his seat. “Because he wanted to protect his family from it.”

The two of them fell silent. Hero was struggling to fight back tears at Supervillain’s casualness. They wished they believed that Supervillain was lying. They wished they could hope that he was, but Hero knew. They knew that Supervillain was telling the truth, and that fact was attempting to swallow them whole.

“Did you protect them?” Hero whispered.

“I did.” And Hero knew that was true too. It didn’t make them feel better about it. “But that’s not the important thing I want to show you, Hero,” Supervillain continued with a small smile. “I’m sure you’re wondering about what happened to the rest of your heroes, hmm?”

Hero’s heart lurched in their chest. No, they weren’t, and they were horrible for nothing thinking about them, but their mind was so focused on Vigilante, would he remember them? Would he still… would they still?… Fresh tears pricked Hero’s eyes, both from guilt and an overwhelming amount of pain at Vigilante’s possible altered state.

Could Supervillain make him forget about their relationship? Their love? Icy eyes drank in Hero’s obvious hurt and helpless grief. He couldn’t imagine waking up after a year and being told the world has changed.

“Please…” Hero whispered, tears falling down their cheeks as they raised their head. “Please make me forget.”

“No,” Supervillain said softly. Hero fisted their hands in the bedsheets.

“Why?!”

“Because Hero, I need someone who doesn’t agree with me to keep me in check.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you murdered Superhero!” Hero seethed. Supervillain’s expression darkened.

“Hmph, yes. Well, Superhero would be far too meddlesome. He would have found a way to undo all my work.”

“And I won’t?”

Supervillain smiled. “No, Hero. You won’t. I have you tangled in a web that you don’t even realise yet. But, don’t worry, I am willing to show you. As soon as you are dressed.”

Hero glared at him. They weren’t ready to see the new world. They didn’t want to go with Supervillain.

“Can’t you put me back in stasis?” Hero asked, their voice a harsh, breathy wish. Supervillain’s smile turned sad. Hero swallowed the lump in their throat, their nostrils flaring as their eyes drifted to the stupid, ugly tracksuit bottoms and hoodie.

“I want a shower.”

“You can have a shower.” Hero nodded. “I had a wet chair placed in the shower for you. I don’t want you fainting on me.”

The forethought that Supervillain had put into Hero’s awakening turned their stomach. Why had he thought of everything? Considered every possible discomfort and ensured Hero wouldn’t feel it? How long had he been planning this?

“Are you ready?” Supervillain asked, standing and extending his hand to Hero. Hero didn’t look at him, didn’t reply, but they grabbed his hand and let him help them towards a door in the corner of the room. He opened it and helped Hero in, and Hero didn’t apologise or care that much that they were leaning all of their weight on Supervillain. Their legs were numb and unused to carrying the load of their torso.

Hero saw the chair eventually, alert eyes scanning the shower, searching for a razor or something g that would let them hurt themselves but of course, there was nothing. Hero shrugged the thought away mentally, they could always slam their head against the ground until they were dead.

Supervillain set them down in the chair. “I won’t insult you by staying, so I have made a couple other safety measures.”

Supervillain pulled a pair of cuffs from his pockets and Hero recoiled, but their body was too slow and weak to respond, to fight against Supervillain as he cuffed their left arm to the right arm rest of the chair. He did the same with Hero’s ankles and Hero didn’t fight him anymore. They didn’t have the energy to fight a battle they knew they wouldn’t win.

“How will I take my clothes off genius?” Supervillain smiled. He held up a scissors and Hero rolled their eyes. “Of course.”

“I won’t look,” Supervillain said kindly, as if that made a difference. As if it would be less humiliating for him to cuff them and cut their clothes just enough so Hero could shimmy out of them in their current state with only one hand free.

“I can’t do anything like this,” Hero said through clenched teeth.

“You needn’t worry, Hero. Grieves made sure you were clean, he let you do the essentials like drink water and use the toilet.”

“Couldn’t have let me eat during that time, no?”

Supervillain dipped his chin back. “You and I both know how resourceful you are. What if you accidentally brushed Grieves and his power failed? You will be fine with just this for today. You’ll understand more about your time in stasis later, but you can rest assured, you’re not dirty.”

With that Supervillain turned the water on and left. It was refreshingly warm, not too hot or cold. Just enough that it returned some heat to Hero’s body that seemed to be seeping from every pore. Slowly they removed the shirt, which was hanging only by the loop of the collar, up and over their head and let the water touch their bare skin.

They sat in the water motionless for they didn’t know how long, long enough for their fingers to prune and only then did they open their eyes. A shelf was near their left hand and on it some shampoo and conditioner and soap. Hero rubbed it everywhere, too tired to try and fight to take off their trousers, they just slipped the soap bar underneath and scrubbed until their skin was red raw.

A knock at the door after Hero was done. “Are you finished?”

Hero thought about not answering him. “Hero?”

“Yes.”

Supervillain walked in and turned off the tap, his eyes closed and wrapped the towel around Hero’s chest. Hero wrapped it further, and told him it was okay to look when their modesty was satisfied. Supervillain unlocked their cuffs and escorted the dripping Hero back to their bed, the towel wrapped firmly around them now. It was soft, white and fluffy.

“I already laid out your clothes. I’ll turn around,” Supervillain said once Hero was sitting on their bed again.

“I assume you can’t make yourself new memories.”

“In the same way I doubt you can negate your own abilities, no. Why?”

Hero picked up the tracksuit, their nose scrunching with disgust. “Shame you can’t just make yourself memories of being stylish.”

Supervillain laughed. Hero glared at his back as they pulled on the half zip hoodie. “Of all the things you have to be angry at me for, Hero. I didn’t think fashion would factor into it.”

“Don’t worry,” Hero answered, yanking their trackies up their legs and tying the drawstring. They were annoyingly comfortable and soft. “I have plenty of anger to go around. And fashion always comes into it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Do I get shoes?”

“Are you finished?” Supervillain asked. Hero half expected him to turn but he didn’t until Hero said, yeah, I’m done.

“You won’t need shoes for the time being.”

Hero stared at him. “Do you seriously think I’m in any state to run away?”

“Hero,” he said, gently scolding. A tone that set Hero’s teeth on edge. “You can’t even stand up by yourself. I have a wheelchair for you.”

Hero paused, frown drawing their features down. “I am not going around in a wheelchair!”

“It’s either that or I carry you like a child, Hero. It’s your choice.” Supervillain shot them a look and Hero glared back. They didn’t need a wheelchair. They could— Hero could stand up on their own! And they would fucking prove it.

Hero didn’t break eye contact as they grabbed the headboard of the bed and pushed themselves up to shaky feet. Supervillain watched them, saw their shaking muscles and weak legs and their determination as they took a step.

Their ankle folded and Hero almost fell but they caught themselves and let out a startled: “wait!” to stop Supervillain from swooping in and saving them from falling flat on their face. Hero swallowed and pushed themselves back up, sweating from the effort as they pulled themselves to their full height, wobbling only slightly as they lifted their burning gaze to meet Supervillain’s.

“See? I’m fine.”

“I’ll carry you then,” Supervillain said with a shrug, starting towards them. “It makes no difference to me. I just thought you’d want to retain some semblance of dignity.”

Hero backed up. Fear immediately wiping away the determination from before and Hero stumbled back, falling onto the bed and kicking up a leg to keep Supervillain back but he kept coming.

“OKAY! OKAY! Fine! I’ll— the wheelchair,” they said, trying to smother their panic with rage. They hadn’t felt this weak in… well, ever, and it scared them more than Supervillain did. “I’ll take the wheelchair.”

As if on cue there came a knock on the door. Supervillain straightened with his chilling, friendly smile, his eyes twinkling with an awful knowing that turned Hero’s stomach.

“Enter.”

The door opened and a wheelchair rolled through. Supervillain stepped out of Hero’s line of sight so they could get a full view of the door as Grieves walked through, grinning at Hero, followed by a familiar head of jet black hair.

“Medic?” Hero whispered, surprised they could get that word together with the lack of oxygen in their chest. Medic looked at Hero and no recognition flashed across his face. He was wearing an apron, with a bucket and a mop. His eyes narrowed when he saw Hero.

“Who are you?”

“Medic,” Grieves chastised and Medic winced. Grieves turned and placed a hand on Medic’s shoulder. “Don’t be rude.”

“Don’t touch him!” Hero growled, shooting to their feet. The world swam and they grabbed the headboard for support, but Supervillain caught them and started pulling them away, towards the wheelchair.

Medic’s eyes turned quizzical as they caught Hero’s, frowning as Supervillain turned Hero and shoved them into the chair. Hero’s lips curled back into a snarl, about to curse Supervillain out of it when Supervillain shot them a look, his icy eyes freezing Hero in their defiance.

“Would you like the same treatment as the shower or will you behave?”

“You’re a fucking monster,” Hero spat, tears welling up on their lower lids, blurring edges into colours and shapes. Supervillain didn’t move, his expression didn’t change.

“Will you behave?”

Hero grabbed the arm rests of the wheelchair, arms shaking from their white knuckled grip. They couldn’t answer, not verbally, so they nodded stiffly. Once up and once down, almost imperceptible, but Supervillain saw.

“Good,” he said, and Hero could hear the smile in his voice. Medic walked past Hero towards the vomit by the bed and set the bucket down, dunking the mop in. That’s all Hero saw before Supervillain turned their chair.

Grieves was by the door, arms behind his back, a grin on his papery face. Hero glared at him as Supervillain wheeled them out the door, their face flooding with shame. Only when they saw that the hallway was empty did they let the helpless tears fall.

Hero would right this, they vowed.

They would fix everything. They’d kill Supervillain and Grieves, and Villain and all other villains that were conscious to the change— the ones that remembered the old world — but first, they needed to get their strength back.

They needed to learn how the new world worked. They had to play nice with Supervillain while they learned exactly what this world they had woken to was. What a world looked like in Supervillain’s image.

If Grieves had Medic, he probably had Teleport too, but Hero couldn’t know until they saw her with him. And if Grieves had them, then Villain probably had…

Hero swallowed. Surely Vigilante would remember them? Medic and Hero were friends, but— but isn’t love supposed to survive every trial? Hero stared at their knees dejectedly. If Supervillain wiped everyone’s minds… nobody, none of the heroes or Hero’s friends would remember who they are. They’d just think Hero’s another of Supervillain’s generals.

“Does anyone remember me?” Hero asked. Their voice came out so quiet that even Hero wondered if they had asked a question out loud at all.

“No,” Supervillain replied, just as gentle as before. “Superhero is a villain in their eyes, the darkest days of our lives, so I wouldn’t try and cosy up to them by throwing his name around either.”

Hero sucked in a breath. “Did you enslave every hero?”

Supervillain chuckled. “Not all of them. My generals got their first picks. You can guess who Grieves chose.”

Hero clenched their jaw. “You did that on purpose.”

“I did.”

“Why?!” Hero demanded, slamming their palm on the arm rest of the wheelchair.

There was a pause. Supervillain stopped walking. Hero’s heart thumped loud in their chest. They felt Supervillain remove his hands from the chair, and he walked around to the front of Hero. Hero refused to look at him, but it didn’t matter. Supervillain tilted Hero’s chin up with the pads of his index and middle finger, until Hero’s eyes met piercing blue.

“I want you to acclimatise to your new life quickly Hero. Superhero would have run around and tried to form connections and rally his friends in vain to revolt against me. I want you to know that that idea will not be tolerated.” Hero felt their eyes burn with hot, frustrated tears that they refused to let fall. “And it won’t be you who is punished for your insolence.”

Supervillain leaned down, his hands going to the armrests of the chair, fingers wrapping around Hero’s wrists and pinning them as Hero shrunk back in the chair. Supervillain stopped a hair’s breath away from Hero’s face.

“It will be your friends. Medic and Teleport, and the little traitor Vigilante.” Hero struggled against Supervillain’s grip in vain, their blood rushing like a waterfall in their ears, deafening. “And I’ll make you watch as they are hurt for your petty defiance. Do I make myself clear, Hero?”

Hero was shaking. Their lips shut resolutely. Supervillain squeezed their wrists in warning. “Hero.”

“Yes.” Hero hissed. Supervillain smiled, leaning back. Hero swallowed the lump in their throat, grabbing their wrists and putting them in their lap when Supervillain pulled away.

“Good,” he said, chipper and happy. His mood changing as suddenly as a day became a year for Hero. “Let’s get some breakfast then. All this excitement has me working up an appetite,” he said, and he was pushing Hero’s wheelchair through the halls again, as if he didn’t threaten everyone Hero loved.

Everyone Hero loved. People who didn’t remember them anymore. The only person they had vaguely on their side right now was Supervillain, much to their chagrin, but that’s the way it was and would be until Hero was strong enough to fight back.

First, breakfast.

Then they could figure out a plan.

Find Vigilante and they could fall in love all over again, if that’s what it takes… Hero was ready to abandon being a hero during the war for Vigilante, they could do it again now. Stop being a hero and just find Vigilante and be happy.

It would be what Supervillain wanted. What Supervillain asked of them; Not to be an upstart like Superhero, not to fight back futilely. Hero closed their eyes and let Supervillain push them through unfamiliar halls.

They could do this. They would survive this.

End of Arc 1

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll-call: @micechomper @aarika-merrill @silentpotat0 @dutifullykrispyland @gloriousqueen101

GUUUYYYYSSS!!!! It’s finally gotten to the part of the story where the title makes sense now~ hehe, also, would recommend for those that want little tidbits/sneak hints/easter eggs I would listen to Jann’s song Gladiator on Spotify for the clues to the next arc of the story

Thank you for reading my happy fic, I love you all so much cause this one’s special, my poor lil baby, Hero is all alone :( with only their nemesis for safety and comfort :(

[blueberrypancakesworld]

hello! I've seen your work for the Targaryens, you write beautifully! Can you write a viserys iiii x f reader where the reader is his wife and tries to keep him in line?

The dragon's own chaine

Viserys iii x wife!reader

warning : comfort, kissing, implied violence, no use of y/n

Summary : The marriage offer was one, he was the prince, the heir to the throne the hope of the realm the thing he had only ever been whispered about. But a dragon can also get burnt by the vastness of the horse lords and the only love that can hold him back from roaring was his beloved wife.

info : first of all thank you anon and i'm sorry it took me so long i just didn't have the time and motivation. I hope you like it and have fun reading it.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was something he actually liked, the warmth it radiated heralding a new dawn, the bright light reminding him of an eternally burning fire, a symbol of his home and its centuries long past.

A fire that spread from the terrible dragons Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes to the beauties like Sunfyre and Syrax, not that crippled last thing that died miserably.

He was the prince of Dragonstone, the blood of the dragon and the promised prince so the words had been from his father to his people to his sympathisers for as long as he could remember…even his love had told him so when the marriage between them was consummated.

She was different from him her brightly coloured hair shimmered reddish as a sign of her recognition of his house symbol and the reddish bleeding lips reminded him of the spilt blood of rebellion when he kissed her.

She was the cousin of the Archon of Tyrosh not only sympathetic to his house but the value he and his sister had was in great demand. ,,I will make you my Dragon Queen…you will no longer have to be a pink slug my beautiful wife" he had told her as he held her hand, drawn by her violet eyes, a sign of her blood that had been infused with Valyria thousands and hundreds of years ago. ,,I am sure of it my husband,” she replied, gazing into those bewitching eyes.

It was a marriage of pure political power, whether it was love between them both was doubtful at first, one did not need an heir immediately and it was about the exchange of alliances, strength and power..but the longer she rode with Viserys and also rode with the horse lords out of devotion to her husband the more she learnt to pity him.

For every promise like ,,I will give you a crown of Valyrian steel once this is all done" she saw him scowling, angry and shouting at his sister and the Mormont about the incompetence of others.

He was handsome, a handsome dragon no question when she had seen him her heart had beaten fast with attraction…but her Viserys was a dragon in chains who had forgotten his own strength.

Riding with the Khalasar, she and Viserys were initially in front behind his sister, ,,She is his star, as I am your heart give them this needed respect from one ruler to another" she had whispered to him as he had sped up his horse several times and Khal Droo had already given him several nasty looks.

Visery's gaze was loaded with contempt not because of her but because she saw exactly how his own temperament bothered him, ,,But not for too long…your words always find their way," he said and even though he looked away she felt his fingers gently run over the gold ring with the purple edeletin she had given him.

There were little moments when she saw him almost secretly rejoicing, whether it was looking up at the sky at night and talking to himself in Valyrian or hearing him say a poem and hearing her name.

Even though she could only faintly understand his former language, she heard the word for gratitude all the more, ,,Words sometimes don't seem to be enough to say the whole thing" he had whimpered out of the moment, but the pink cheeks when she had caught sight of him and the little smile on his lips had given her not only joy and love but also hope for a betterment of her beloved.

A betterment she thought she had achieved when he shouted less, his commands to his sister were at least more discreet and he changed his sword to a dagger so as not to defy Khal Drogo.

It was weeks of joy as they rode together, bathed, listened to his stories about his family, at least the members who hadn't gone mad, ,,A tragedy and a power at the same time" he said casually and she saw the trembling fingers he tried to hide in the water.

,,A dynasty with powerful and beautiful rulers, don't be ashamed of where you come from Viserys you are my dragon, the most beautiful" she revealed her feelings, her inner self to him and saw his gaze lift.

He looked at her before his fingers gently embraced her face, caressed her cheek and a soft ,,My love is yours" came from him, despite the loss of his family and his home, for the first time there seemed to be hope for better times.

However, no luck kept ewgif from the moment Daenerys had been given the three petrified dragon eggs, neither the sisters nor his wife could contain him, the envy and madness, the anger and lies came over the young prince who seemed to become obsessed with the idea of power.

It was one night when an agitated Daenerys came to her in the tent, ,,Dearest, what has happened?" she had asked, getting up from the pile of furs and pillows to pull her sister-in-law into a brief embrace.

The young girl seemed completely shocked, ,,The eggs-the dragon eggs are gone I…I was only away for a short time with my moon and then they were gone," she sobbed and her hands trembled with grief and anger at what had happened, but the older girl knew who it was.

Daenerys was given a cloth for her tears and told to stay with Drogo, who surprisingly gave her a promising nod for protection.

Before the high-born lady mounted her own horse and rode off into the darkness of the grasslands, wearing a dark pink cloak of her house and holding a torch in her hand. She would find the dragon eggs and Viserys.

The grassy landscape, the endless expanse, offered her no points of orientation. Viserys was not easy to miss in the flat desert, but the darkness and coolness made it all the more difficult. At dawn at the latest, she would try to come back and ask for help.

She knew that even Daenerys was worried about Viserys, for this brief period of improvement was something between conditions that seemed peaceful for the first time.

She urged her horse on, which was doing well on the grass and the dry, dusty ground, and rode on and on, holding the torch in front of her, which soon ached as it must have been hours of barely being able to do anything, and wrapping her cloak tighter around her.

Her voice called his name incessantly and she would not give up hope of finding him, she had faith that she could sort it out but his death would only bring more jest.

A hope for taste remained in the early morning hours as she saw the outline of a town on the horizon and the sun that would rise in a few hours, she saw a horse, a small silhouette of someone sitting slightly slumped over, ,,Viserys! My dragon Viserys do you hear me!" she shouted and spurred her horse on one last time knowing that the way back would be difficult.

Her cries must have reached the shouted man, at least he straightened up and looked behind him in confusion until he saw her and brought his horse to a halt, ,,My queen? Wh-What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice dry, his lips slightly chapped and she saw that he must have suffered a sunstroke and at the same time the cold night had taken him by surprise.

But in the saddlebag he was still clutching like a dragon his treasure, she could see the three outlines of the dragon eggs. He hadn't sold them yet.

Standing in front of him with her horse she carefully reached for his hand warmth met harsh cold, a dragon met his only wanted chain of love, ,,Viserys…I followed you out of concern for me and your sister…even the Horse Lord seemed troubled by your absence" she said calmly seeing that his violet eyes showed fatigue and he looked like he would only get crazier after another coin toss.

She saw that the answer only half suited him, ,,Daenerys the leader of this brutal savage, an army…that isn't mine, futility and your family that was neutral…What! What else do I have but the prospect but them?" he shouted but his voice broke as he clung to the dragon eggs as if they were his last hope for anything, for what he wanted.

A fact she did not forget Viserys had nothing, he was only the blood of a woman who had even a share of power with a promise, but what could a verbal promise mean in a world like this…the prince had finally unravelled the chains of lies and looked into the gruesome world with no prospect of the throne he was born to.

Placing herself next to him she placed her hand on the saddlebag, ,,Your pain and anger is justified my husband, but take advantage of this hour, Daenerys honours you as a wise brother as a dragon, let her see the beauty of Sunfyre and not Balerion the black dread" she said placing her hand from the saddlebag to his cheek.

She saw how he looked at her, the anger in him trying not to give in, saw how his hand lay on hers, trembling with rage and she thought he would even lash out, but when he saw her pink coat, the rings she had made and maybe he saw in the dragon eggs a distant memory of himself, Daenerys and Rhaegar.

Whatever it was that made him take her hand in his and his lips gave her a kiss seemed to have calmed him. In the end, it was love and hope that calmed the dragon's anger and rage, ,,I love you," he said to her before helping her off her horse and the two of them, holding hands, walked to the Khal's tent where a relieved Daenerys and a nodding Drogo waited for them.

They may only be a small alliance with problems and no certain future, but they would do anything for love to get Viserys on his rightful throne and show the washed out Targaryen bloods of Baratheon what happens when you try to destroy a dynasty…and all this would begin where Viserys had learnt that hate and anger was not always the way to go and love and loyalty was all the more powerful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[gingerbreadmonsters]

HEART EYES CRY BLOOD!!

or: yours sincerely, wasting away.

gn!reader, blood, violence, and extended discussions of death, the world’s worst stress dream with a happy ending, i promise. life and limb and all that. my undying and eternal gratitude to @zozo-01 and @androgynouspenguinexpert, who sacrificed their time, laptop battery, and brainpower to feed my delusional mind, and all my love to @sincerelywhistler for creating possibly the most beautiful vega on earth and inspiring the barbie ponytail agenda. warden not wanting to miss a thing in 16,800 words or less.

this fic is the combination of two other series of mine, human nature and peaches and cream – it’s entirely possible to read this fic without having looked at either of those, but i think you’ll enjoy it a lot more if you know what’s happened so far in both of them!

human nature masterlist

peaches and cream masterlist

main masterlist

Recipe for undying love:

Add veneration, sacrifice, and subversion to a small saucepan, and simmer over medium heat until thick enough to coat the back of a teaspoon.

Stir in devotion until fully dissolved, then immediately remove from the heat.

Mix blindness and faith together in a separate bowl, then add slowly, mixing until fully incorporated.

Transfer mixture to clean bowl, then sift in persistence, stirring continuously until mixture becomes thick, smooth, and glossy.

Add fortune to taste, then transfer mixture to a greased and lined tin. Bake for 35 minutes at 180°C, or until a skewer comes out clean.

Leave to cool slightly on a wire rack before turning out. Best served warm with cream and fruit, but can be kept forever in an airtight container until you are discovered, or until all escape conditions have been met and the universe can begin again.

It starts…

…to be honest, you don't actually know how it starts. It's a total mystery, as far as you're concerned – it could have been anything. You're not sure if you were even there at the time, or if you just stumbled in by accident. You don't know when it starts, or who starts it, or why it even starts at all.

More importantly, you also don't know how to get out.

The first time was a total accident. You'd not gone far, only for a little walk down to the park for some fresh air. It’s kind of a weekly thing, you see. Both of you have to do it – it’s important that the neighbours see you two doing ordinary human things like shopping and walking and laundry, so they don’t get suspicious.

Obviously, you have to modify your human form a little bit so that you can’t be recognised by anyone who might be looking for you, and it’s a little bit annoying. Hiding your demonic features is less comfortable than it used to be, so you’re always grateful to come home and shed the disguise. It’s just so itchy, so stiff and awkward – your gums ache with the quiet pressure of suppressed fangs, and your skull cries out for the horns that it knows should be there.

Sometimes you go together, and other times you go one at a time. Going alone is fine, even if it gets a bit tricky trying to field questions from your neighbours. The two of you came up with a cover story when you moved in, and you've done your best to stick to it – it's kind of a silly story, and you had to watch a lot of television to make sure you got all the details right, but it seems to be working.

You did your best to make it as bland and generic as possible – no details that anyone could use to try and track you down. Forgettable. You never mention how you met, or even anything close to it – in fact, you and Vega have never even heard of Dahlia. As far as your neighbours are concerned, you're newlyweds from the other side of the state, looking for somewhere to settle down. That’s a pretty normal thing, right?

Vega's job – you still haven't really decided what it is, but definitely some sort of dull office thing – lets him work from home a lot more than it used to, and your job (Vega suggested ‘copywriting’, which is apparently some sort of bookish computer-y thing to do with adverts) is mostly online too, so you thought you’d take the opportunity to get a bit further out of the city. Both of your families live out of state, which is why nobody comes to visit you, and nobody saw you moving in because… um…

…oh, because it was very sudden! Yes, that’s it. You’d heard from a friend of a friend that the family who used to live here had to move because of a work thing. Some sort of exciting opportunity that had come up, maybe? Or a promotion? In any case, they’d practically jumped at the chance to sell their house to you so quickly. You and Vega had been living in a tiny flat in the city, so you hadn’t really had much stuff – no need to pay for a huge moving van, right? It’s not surprising, then, that nobody had seen you arrive.

Yeah – yeah, it’s like you just appeared out of thin air. Yeah, that’s so funny. Haha.

Unfortunately, everyone seems very chatty in this tiny little town, and keeps asking difficult questions. It got a bit awkward when one of the neighbours asked about why you didn’t have a car – luckily, Vega had been there at the time, and managed to make up some lie about having taken it for repairs a few days ago. That evening, you’d both spent several hours on the computer trying to figure out what sort of car you were supposed to have, and you’d even gone on a little reconnaissance mission around the neighbourhood, to see which types and colours of car people living here tend to have.

It’s in the garage now, some generic-looking shiny thing in some inoffensive colour or other that Vega magicked up with the help of a very complicated-looking repair manual. Unfortunately, neither of you actually knows how to drive, which makes it a bit hard to actually look like you’re using it – the whole driving thing is much less intuitive than either of you was expecting, and neither of you have been able to make it do anything useful! It’s a nightmare!

You could probably make it go with magic, but if you’re honest, that’s a lot of effort and energy for not a huge amount in return. For now, you’ve just settled on leaving the garage door open and conspicuously washing it with a bucket of water and a sponge every so often, to make it look like you know how to use it. That’s probably enough, right?

It was kind of difficult, trying to figure out what things you needed when you first arrived. All those mundane human things that they like to keep in their houses, like lunchboxes and pianos and those bicycles that say they’re for exercising but don’t actually go anywhere. When you’d arrived the house had been furnished with all the stuff that the, uh, previous tenants had owned, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. If that means having to drag Vega all the way to the closest garden centre at 9am on a Saturday to go and choose a suitable plant for the empty space on the front lawn, then so be it.

(Obviously, it’s a peony. Dark pink and white stripes, big flowers with soft petals. What else?)

You know what, it doesn’t even matter. You’re just rambling, now. The important thing is that you’d not been home when you felt it, that very first time.

You’d been about five or six minutes away, walking back through the park. It was busy, so many humans around that you couldn’t do anything suspicious – but you’d felt it, all the same. Gravity failing, air rippling around you, something deep and vital being snatched away. Silence where it shouldn’t be, a dry sort of cold, bitter and biting. No moisture in the air left to freeze.

Panic – pure, unfettered panic, turning your body to acid. All you could do was run.

Fighting your way through the slow, stupid humans that blocked your path, streets flying past as you pushed yourself faster and faster. Something had been wrong, so incredibly wrong, pulled out from under you. Running across the road without looking, footsteps loud against the pavement, turning the corner, and-

You’ll never get your hands on us again. Either of us.

Yellow caution tape, stretched across the street, fluttering just outside the boundaries of a tall, solid ward. It’s enormous, a huge dome that ripples and pulses with power. If you were human it would probably have been imperceptible, but to your demon’s eyes it was more like frosted glass, obscuring what was inside but not quite hiding it. You could make out the blurred shapes of people inside, but no more – the magic was almost unbelievably strong, all thick and liquid. What could have been happening?

You’d known you had to get inside. But how? It didn’t feel like Vega’s magic, there was none of that familiar sherbet fizzle on your tongue, it didn't bleed into your aura in that seamless, easy way. This had been something else, something wrong – grim and cold and clumsy, more of a sledgehammer than a switchblade.

Ducking underneath the tape to face it, your stomach lined with lead. Someone else was doing this.

It recoiled from your nervous touch, or maybe it just pushed you away? It was like gravity, or maybe magnets – like poles repelling, your own face in the mirrored surface of the ward.

Gritting your teeth, you’d forced your hand into the seething mass of magic up to the wrist, and though it screamed for you to leave, you didn't give in. He’s taught you too well for that. The world swam around you as you fought your way inside, and it was like trying to walk through oil, sticky and solid.

Closer, closer. Your body, getting impossibly heavier the further you go, laden with the iron weight of so much magic pressing in on you from every direction, and oh, it hurt, it hurt. Crushing, grasping, squeezing pain, trying to trap you in its brutal fist – but with every torturous step, the picture got clearer. Cars, more than normal, parked haphazardly in the street. Trees, still and unmoving with the lack of breeze. And humans, all dressed alike, swarming around the middle of the street, running into one of the houses – wait, that’s your house – the sound of shouting, screaming, gunfire—

Are you there, darling?

Delta uniforms. It’s the Department.

They’d found you.

If you’re being entirely honest, you don’t really know what you did next.

You didn’t scream, you’re fairly certain, but you think you froze. Paralysed with panic, all you could do was stand and watch as the shrieking carnage began, a crashing wave of blood and death and fire, and the whole new life you’d built for yourself turning to ash in the summer sun.

Hidden behind a parked car, you’d watched in horror as more and more humans poured into your house, descending upon the eye of the storm. Windows breaking, walls crumbling, your lovely front garden set ablaze and trampled into nothing. Magic coursed through the air with every breath, every fabricated cell of you singing with vicious power as wards formed and shattered, as the earth slipped and shuddered, as pure, seething energy tore through brick and bodies alike.

Pain, raw and ravenous, the sort you thought you’d escaped from long ago. Flooding your body, lighting up every simulated nerve – the hateful heaviness of your physical body binding you to the ground. You couldn’t make sense of it. Falling down inside your own mind, dizzy spirals in the riptide of anguish that swept you away.

Away from home, away from him. How could you have been so stupid?

I can feel you, darling. You are there, aren’t you?

Vega’s voice in your head, fainter than you’d ever heard him, fault lines in the asphalt. Staked to the spot, waist-deep in the sand. You couldn’t say a word.

Precious thing, you have to leave. Leave now, and you must not return. This place will never be safe for you again.

Something building in the ground, in your core, in the atmosphere – magic, but whose? His words, fractured glass in your shattered mind – how you’d fallen to the ground, ears ringing, crushed under the incredible pressure. How you’d tried to crawl, dragging your pathetic form out from behind the car, brittle claws snapping and breaking on the ground.

A word that wouldn’t form, desperate and terrified. The liquid mess of your face, the bloody puncture marks in your lip. Panicking, panicking, all your insides turning out. You’d screamed aloud in agony, uncaring and unknowing of who might hear – your only thought was him.

I know it hurts, my sweet. I know. And I’m sorry.

Wanting him, needing him, every molecule of your existence set ablaze in horror. You’d been so utterly blinded by fear that you couldn’t even think about fighting it, so absolutely consumed by this new, most instinctual panic. A frightening crescendo in the Spellsong, so unbearably loud in your core. Drowning, drowning, clawing at your own throat for something that wasn’t there. Voice breaking, heart breaking, teeth and gore and hatred.

If only we’d had more time.

A celestial being, struggling to breathe. The unfeeling terror of the vacuum of space. Every nerve singing with pain, overwhelmingly bright and crushingly dark all at once – your skin peeling away, blistered and burning as your heart turned to diamond and your eyes turned to ash, and this world and this plane and everything in it—

Goodbye, my darling.

-ceased to be.

I love you very, very m—

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It starts…

…wait, it starts?

What?

Fuck, it feels like your head’s about to split in half. You crack one eye just barely open, before clumsily slamming your hands over your eyes with a weak hiss – it’s so bright, that single slice of sunlight, and it hurts.

Blinded, you can’t tell what’s happening at all. It feels like you’re lying down, something rough and painful scraping against your face and all down your right side, and through the insistent ringing in your ears you can hear something…. rustling?

It takes a few minutes for the worst of the pain to subside, but before long you’re able to peel one hand away from your face and push yourself up to sitting. Your head won’t stop spinning, but it’s progress, at least.

Timidly, you blink one eye open, peeking through your fingers just in case, but the worst of it seems to have passed. As your eyes adjust to the light, you realise where you are.

You’re… back in the park.

The roughness you were lying on is the paved path that you always follow on your way back home, and the unusual sound you could hear is coming from the trees overhead, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. It’s just as busy as it was earlier, and the humans walking past seem to be staring at you warily, collapsed in the middle of the path – hurriedly, you check that your human disguise is in place, but it turns out you didn’t need to worry. You were already camouflaged, just as you were when you last walked through here.

But – but how?

The terrible aching in your head is the only sign – you can’t find anything else wrong with you, physically or magically. How did you get here? What happened to you? And what’s that – that feeling…

Staggering to your feet, you ignore the stupid human onlookers and their stupid whispers. It doesn’t matter what they think, and it doesn’t matter how you got here. None of it bothers you, nothing can touch you now. All that matters is what happens next.

You’ve got to do what he said, you’ve got to run – there’s nothing left for you here any more, is there? They’ve taken it all, haven’t they? This place isn’t safe anymore – the Department will be hunting you now, they’ll be here any second, and you aren’t far enough from where – from where they – they—

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

Looking away from the gates in the distance, back into the park, you can see the dark nest of trees that you’ll have to reach if you want to rift away unseen. It’s not far, maybe a little more than a hundred metres. If you ran, you could be gone in less than a minute. You don’t know where you’d go, but anywhere has to be better than here, right? You couldn’t possibly stay here, a fly desperately clinging to the web – he’d want you to escape, wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what he said? That he wanted you to be safe, and leave him behind?

Can you leave him behind?

It’s ridiculous. Even if you went back, what would you do? You’d be walking straight into a trap for nothing. Demons dissolve when they die, magic scattered back into the universe – there’ll be no body for you to find. Even now, at this very moment, everything that made him will have already disappeared, never to return to you again.

He’s gone, he’s gone. You try to suppress it, but you can’t – in your mind’s eye, you can’t help but see it – your house, your lovely warm house, with the photographs you took hanging on the wall and the flowers blooming in the garden that he grew for you. Perhaps they’re still there, or perhaps they’re destroyed – perhaps you’re the only one who remembers them now. Are you all that’s left of your love?

You look towards the trees.

You’ll leave. You’ll leave this place and never come back, and they’ll never ever find you. You’ll leave and live and forget him, forget this cursed place and this cursed plane, and you’ll become something new. Something different and demonic and utterly unrecognisable.

It’s what you ought to do. He wouldn’t want you to be so… so sentimental.

The air freezes.

What’s happening? What’s happening? Déjà vu hits you hard and fast – your insides turn to ice as you reel, knocked backwards by the sudden weight of the memory.

Floating, falling, lighter-than-air. The balloon of your skull pops and you spiral into silence, unknown claws tearing at your middle and all your insides falling out. All the warmth is sucked out of the air in a second, your skin raw and tender as all the nerves there start to sing.

It’s that same thing you’d felt before, that crippling, burning absence that had told you something was wrong before. It’s exactly the same, every agonising ripple of loss that tears through your core – and before you can even realise what’s happening, you’re already running as fast as you can towards the house.

You’re definitely going too fast for anyone to think you’re human, but you really don’t care, leaving a trail of shouts and curses behind you as you push people out of the way. At one point, you’re fairly sure you phase right through a man who doesn’t get out of the way fast enough, and the almost-certain car crash that you leave behind as you dart across the road isn’t exactly the most subtle thing you’ve ever done, but there’s no time for that now.

The ward looms above you as you turn the corner, stretching up into the sky, and you tear aside the caution tape to hurl yourself against it with a bitter snarl, clawing and biting at the bouncy, stretchy surface until you can slice a gash big enough to let you through. It repels you at first, but you bare your fangs and push, jamming your body into the gap and squirming inside.

Briefly, you laugh to yourself – you’re doing it exactly as he taught you, but with none of his finesse or elegance. What would he say, if he could see you now? Something clever, you’re sure.

The ward tries to force you out, just like before, but you won’t be deterred. The Department’s warding is no match for the white-hot force of your desperate fury, slashing blindly at the thick layers of magic over and over again until they crumble away in front of you. Gradually, the blurriness of the barrier gets clearer and clearer, and although your core aches with the effort, you keep throwing yourself at it until it finally lets you through.

The scene that greets you, stumbling from the suffocating grip of the ward, is no less horrifying than it was before. Deltas everywhere, laden with guns and sprays and shock sticks, filling the street and advancing on the house. It’s like a nightmare, those terrifying dreams that humans have when they sleep – it feels like watching the end of the world. Unmarked vans full of faceless, heavily armoured soldiers are parked haphazardly across the road, a peaceful suburbia turned to a terrifying prison.

But hold on – why are they doing this? It doesn’t make any sense. Why would they be going back into the house, when you know they’ve alre—

Are you there, darling?

Blindsided, you stagger backwards as his voice echoes through your head. How is he…?

I can feel you, darling. You are there, aren’t you?

You must be going mad – what magic is this? It feels like him, exactly like him, as if he’d never been taken from you at all. How can this be happening?

Precious thing, you have to leave. Leave now, and you must not return. This place will never be safe for you again.

As the soldiers descend on your house, the same buildup of magic as last time fills the air, yet it barely registers in your frantic mind, smashed flat against the ward as the painful pressure swells and swells. Once again, you try to struggle against it, but it’s too strong. You can still see more humans throwing themselves at the house, even as others are engulfed in flame, or crushed by invisible force, or thrown screaming from the upstairs windows.

In the back of your mind, you realise that he’s saying it all again, the exact same way he had the first time.

I know it hurts, my sweet. I know. And I’m sorry.

The sound of gunfire, humans shouting, Your physical body starts to falter under the incredible force of magic pressing down on you, soft tissues disintegrating into nothing, and you watch in horror as your body starts to break down. Frantically, you flood your form with healing magic to try and reverse it, but it’s no good – the more magic you use, the less stable your body is, and the faster it erodes.

Is this how it ends? It would be poetic, you suppose. A second chance to live, and all you could do was die with him.

If only we’d had more time.

It’s getting harder and harder to think, crushed backwards against the unrelenting surface of the ward. As your body melts away, you smile with what’s left of your mouth, and close what’s left of your eyes.

Goodbye, my darling.

It’s not so bad. If you really concentrate, you can almost feel his arms around you once again.

I love you very, very m—

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It starts…

…well, you know.

Gasping for air, your eyes snap open as you sit bolt upright – the familiar sunlight sears your eyes, but the pain isn’t quite as bad as before. Air rushes back into your lungs, back inside your body and free of the suffocating force that only moments ago had held you, and even though you don’t technically need it, you’re pathetically grateful for the learned relief.

The pavement scrapes your palms as you push yourself to your feet. You’re here again, dumped back in the park just like last time, and as you look around – really, properly look around this time, you start to realise what’s going on.

It’s the same humans as before, the same breeze in the trees, the same clouds in the sky. It had been the same ward and the same soldiers, the same words in your head said in the exact same way. Déjà vu, on an unbelievable scale.

It’s a loop.

That’s what it’s called, right? A timeloop? Like the thing from that film you saw on the television, the one where the same day keeps happening over and over again, and they had to find a way to stop it. You’re stuck inside until you find a way to do some specific thing, and you’re supposed to keep repeating the day until you figure out the perfect way to do it.

(You’d asked Vega if these timeloops were real or not, some quirk of some branch of magic you’d never tried before, and he’d said they weren’t – just human flights of fancy. Oh, the irony.)

You can’t be certain that that’s what’s going on here, considering it’s only happened twice, whatever it is – wait, or is it three times? Should you be counting the number of resets, or the number of times the same things happen? Because they’re not the same, and if this is going to keep happening then you should probably make a decision on that sooner or later…

The air pressure plummets around you, earth swaying underneath your feet, and your mind is made up. Not about the stupid counting thing, that can wait – but about what all this means, what you’re going to do. For you, right now, the choice is clear.

You don’t know why this is happening, but you must have been put here for a reason. There must be something important you have to do, something that the universe can’t do without – something must be wrong, and you must have to fix it. Why else would this be happening to you, and why else would you, specifically, even know about it?

Nobody else seems to be clutching their head in timeloop-induced pain, nobody else seems to be crying and screaming about the existential horror of being forced to, perhaps indefinitely, repeat the same fifteen minutes of their life again and again. As far as you can tell with your limited knowledge, you’re the only one who knows.

There’s only one thing it could possibly be, one reason that you might be trapped here.

Vega.

You’ve got to save him. Whatever happens, wherever this leads, you’re going to get him out of there, no matter the cost. He’s too important to lose – to you, and seemingly to the rest of the universe as well.

Most likely, it’s something to do with his plan, his grand scheme to take back the Sovereigns for Aria. Could they be doing this? You can’t rule out the possibility. Who else would have the power to even try and pull off such an enormous magical feat? Time travel? You can’t even imagine how much magic it must be taking.

Then again, it’s not like it really matters who’s behind all of this. You’d do it no matter what. If there’s any chance that this could work, you have to take it. There can’t be a world without Vega – there just can’t be. It’s impossible. There’s just no way.

Goodbye, my darling.

You’ll fight for him, as hard as you can, for as long as it takes. He saved you, once before, and in doing so he gave you everything. You won’t fail him now.

The ground shakes again, and you start to run.

I love you very, very m—

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You keep running, and running, and running.

Loop after loop, you keep learning.

How many has it been, now? Fifty? Sixty? You’re starting to lose count. Every time, you try something new. You’ve given up on trying to maintain any semblance of humanity – something’s stopping you from rifting, but you abandon your disguise and let your demonic form take over, reaching the ward in about a minute and worming your way inside. After some experimenting, you’ve discovered that the weakest part of the ward is actually behind one of the houses on the opposite side of the street, so you’ve started aiming for there instead – it’s a little more difficult to get close to the action from there, but you’re iterating your way through finding a route.

You’ve tried to leave things behind, or leave yourself notes between loops so that you don’t accidentally forget anything, but nothing you do is ever permanent. Unfortunately, it all gets washed away at the moment you’re reset, so you can’t set things up in preparation for a future loop. It would be helpful if you could, but apparently it’s just not meant to be.

Right now, your focus is on trying to get into the house in time to help Vega escape. Something about the structure of this particular ward is designed to suppress magic use inside it, so you’re not as powerful as you should be, and it’s not possible to rift from inside the barrier either. You know you’ll have to get him out of the house and outside the barrier in time – but it’s not as easy as you’d hoped.

It feels like he’s set up a barrier of his own around the house that you’re not strong enough to break through on your own, and it’s blocking out almost all outside magic. That means you can’t talk to him and ask to be let in, or tell him about your plan, and it means you have to wait for the Department to break through before you’ve got a chance of actually entering the house.

You haven’t been able to figure out where in the house he’ll actually be, for when you do manage to get inside, but you suspect he’s in your bedroom, upstairs at the back of the house, overlooking the garden. It would make the most sense – even before all of this, it was one of the most heavily warded rooms in the house, and the physical distance between that room and the front door that they’re mainly attacking from gives him just that little bit more time to react before they reach him.

If he is there – and you’re fairly sure he is – then you can’t actually see him. It’s probably a good thing, because it means the Department won’t be able to see him either, but it makes your job a lot harder as well. You’ll have to figure out a way to sneak inside and convince him to come with you, then escape without being seen.

Goodbye, my darling.

If you could just get up to that room… but how?

I love you very, very m—

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It’s been days. Weeks, perhaps, or maybe months. You’re not sure.

Loops upon loops, the same neverending fifteen minutes. Four hundred, five hundred, six hundred – or is that six hundred thousand? It’s a good thing you don’t need to sleep.

You’ve managed to get a little closer, but it’s still not enough. You’ve tried to get in through the garden, through the back door, through the secret entrance to the basement Vega made that only you and he have ever known about. No matter what you do, you just can’t reach him in time – gunned down in the kitchen by the Department, burned alive as the hallway fills with fire, blown to bits when a grenade comes sailing over the fence and scatters you across what used to be your very neatly-kept lawn.

There’s just so many of them, filthy rats swarming through the street, flooding your house like the disgusting vermin they are. The stupid magic-dampening effect of the ward makes it almost impossible to cloak yourself for long enough, and there’s almost nowhere to hide once you get close enough to the house.

Electrocuted, clubbed, impaled, dismembered – and not enough magic to put yourself back together. You die every time, and you remember them all.

(You don’t know if the loop resets when you die, or when he dies – but with no way to record any proof for the next loop, there’s no way to tell. It doesn’t really matter that much, seeing as you – for obvious reasons – can’t do anything after you die, and whatever magic Vega does seems to wipe out everything inside the ward, including you and him at roughly the same time. So, in a very real sense, there’s no actual benefit to knowing. You’re just curious.)

Vega still says the same thing, no matter what you do, and you always hang on to his every word, no matter how much it hurts. It feels… comforting. Knowing that he’s so close, that you’re almost, almost there – a hopeful reminder that one day, this will all be over, and he’ll finally be yours again. He says goodbye as your broken body fizzles away into nothingness, and the agony of death is almost worth it to hear him again.

Goodbye, my darling.

It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? Two immortals, cursed to hear each other die over and over again. There’s a joke in there, one that if you weren’t so tired, you could probably think of. You’d say something clever, and Vega would laugh. He’d give you that mischievous, knowing smile, and slip his hand around your middle, and lean down to kiss you even though you’d have to hide your demon fangs and tongues because there's humans watching.

Waking up doesn’t hurt any more, though. So, you know. That’s something, at least.

I love you very, very m—

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It feels like years. Centuries, even.

You feel old. The blinding, neverending sun, dust gathering in the tiny creases of your palm. Your body doesn’t age, but your mind feels ancient – you haven’t seen the night in what feels like a million years. Has your life been longer inside the loop, or out of it?

You don’t give in.

Iteration after iteration, you keep trying. At times, you can’t help but feel like you’ve tried everything – that every possible option has been exhausted, that there’s just no way. That you’ve searched everywhere, killed everyone, heard and seen and done it all, and yet still it’s not enough.

Everything is always exactly, exactly the same. It used to be comforting, but now it’s just infuriating.

You’ve wondered if the secret might be to stay outside the ward altogether – if maybe you going inside distracts Vega in some way that means he always dies, or if you should try to dismantle it from the outside in the hope that it would force the Department to retreat and regroup. But, alas, neither of those ideas work either, any of the hundred or so times that you try them, and all that happens is you end up right back at square one.

There have even been loops where you don’t try anything at all. Instead, you’ve tried to make sense of the loop itself, figuring out how it works and where its limits are. As far as you can tell, the loop is always reset at the point when Vega dies, expending all his magic to shatter the ward from within, killing anything and everything that’s inside. You don’t know what happens after the ward breaks – presumably all of that force escapes outwards, devastating the surrounding area and likely wiping half the town off the map.

The loop also seems to have a sort of physical boundary, one that you’re unable to cross by physical or magical means. It’s roughly circular, with the house at its centre, extending about three or four kilometres in all directions. You can travel freely within it, but you can’t leave and you can’t signal anyone or anything outside.

You can’t rift – you can’t even open a rift, let alone travel through it, which you privately suspect to mean that there’s someone or something very powerful running this whole thing. Like this, you’re entirely cut off from Aria, and far away from anyone who could help – even the Spellsong sounds weak and strange, on the edge of changing key. How could such a thing be possible – what could have the power to do that?

Throwing yourself against the wall, the same impossible wall, forever. Who do you have to thank? Who do you have to blame?

The memories are a little less clear than they used to be, but it doesn’t stop you from dreaming. Dreaming about the life you used to have, the slow, golden days from before it all began. Are those days still there? Will they ever come again? Or is this all that’s left, now – is this the most you’ll ever have?

He still says it, even now – even when you’re not inside the ward, his voice still finds you. He tells you to go, to save yourself. To leave him behind. He says goodbye, time and time again, and you never let it stick.

Even after all of this, every torturous decade that passes in the prison of your stolen time, you can still picture him exactly. Every detail of his face, his form, his smile. As if he were right there, right in front of you. As if this had never even happened at all.

Goodbye, my darling.

The tiny bubble of eternity, stretching out in all directions. Does he smile as he says it? Or does he cry, and you’ve just never known?

 I love you very, very m—

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The park, again.

You’re fairly sure you have the first part nailed down. After an uncountable amount of tries, you’re certain this is the fastest way to reach the ward. You need to revert back to your demonic form, with its elongated proportions and affinity for speed, and brace yourself to phase through the humans and cars and buildings that stand between you and the weak point in the ward.

This time, you’re going to try mind manipulation again. If you can just get a few more of them under your control, and take out the one who shot you to death from across the street last time, you might be able to hold them back a tiny bit longer…

Your human disguise disappears in an instant – teeth splitting and sharpening into fangs, bloody horns piercing through your scalp as they bloom out of your skull, and the screams around you begin. Good. It means they get out of your way quicker.

Smiling to yourself in grim satisfaction, you turn to run. There won’t be any obstacles in your path until you get closer to the gate, so you can just—

It’s you.

…What?

No, no, no.

This can’t be right.

You’ve seen this all before, every single part of it, every moment in excruciating detail. A closed system, a circular world, repeating over and over again. Nothing ever changes, and nobody but you can remember it.

Something must have gone horribly, horribly wrong. Never in a million million tries, a million million loops – not once, not ever has this happened before.

There’s a voice in your head. You can’t move.

Of course it’s you, the voice marvels, and you can feel someone behind you. Someone magical. But how? There’s never been anyone magical here before. Ever.

Your nonexistent blood turns to ice at the sound of quiet footsteps, starting to circle slowly around you. Sharklike. Predatory.

I should have known.

Slowly, whoever-it-is steps into your field of view, and you frown as you try to figure out where you’ve seen him before. Because you have seen him before, haven’t you? Why does he seem so… so familiar?

He’s a demon, that much is clear – his tail sways slowly behind him as he walks, and long, pointed claws catch the afternoon sunlight as he flicks his hair out of his eyes. His horns aren’t as tall as Vega’s, but they seem to be well-maintained and shiny. For some reason, it takes a little more effort than it should to make your eyes focus on him, like the world goes a little bit hazy around his edges.

He reminds you a little bit of a Concubus, although you can’t quite put your finger on why. Maybe it’s something to do with the way he walks, effortlessly smooth and steady, or the way his presence seems to draw you in without even trying. He’s not especially tall or short, and his features conform to mostly-human proportions – his fingers aren’t so inhumanly long like Vega’s are, his fangs not nearly as sharp or numerous, and his eyes don’t have the black sclera that you’ve come to favour. There’s just something so irresistibly, fascinatingly beautiful about him that leaves you unable to look away.

(Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you remember Vega saying something about an incubus. Or did you read it in his file? Oh, come on, come on – what did he tell you? It’s right there, on the tip of your tongue…)

(Hm. It’s probably nothing, and you’re probably wrong, but you just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something you’re forgetting.)

It’s weird, though. He looks so much like a demon, but he doesn’t feel like one. There's emotion there, certainly, but which ones – and why can't you tell? Your aura fizzes and pops as it touches his, like it’s unsure what to make of him, and the air tastes like a strange kind of energy you feel like you should recognise. It soaks into the song of your being, the invisible space between the stars, like something primaeval and powerful – an ancient, inevitable force.

He catches your eye, and something splinters in your mind as he smiles. Involuntarily, your legs give way underneath you, and if his magic wasn’t still keeping you upright, you’d be in a graceless heap on the ground.

Maybe you were wrong. He’s no demon, no ordinary one at least. He’s something new, something strange and ethereal, reality bending around him like light around a black hole. A walking, talking law of the universe – wearing a demon’s crown, and looking so very, very familiar.

You’re not… His mind is uncomfortable to speak into, multicoloured static filling your head like an ache, but you struggle through it anyway. You’re not from here.

I suppose.

The not-demon raises one perfectly-manicured eyebrow, looking you up and down. But, to be fair, neither are you.

A twinge in your chest, a niggling, scraping feeling in the back of your brain. You’re hardwired for the adrenaline of the chase, for the mission you’ve been fixed on for so long – it’s unnatural, to still be here in the park for so long.

I have to go. He needs me.

Is that so? muses the not-demon, pretty lips twisting into a wicked smirk. Are you sure?

He opens his hand to reveal what looks like a pebble of some sort, perfectly round and black and smooth, before tipping his palm and letting it fall.

I think he can wait.

Shocked, you stare as the pebble doesn’t fall at all – instead, it just hangs immobile in the air, frozen at the very moment that it left his hand. There’s no telltale ripple of psychokinesis that you can feel, no illusion cast over your senses. It’s like time just… stopped.

Seeing your surprise, he sighs, and leans slightly to the right. Behind him, the rest of the world is frozen, too. Humans caught mid-step, mid-smile, mid-breath. Trees that blow in the unmoving breeze, clouds that hang suspended in the breathless, staring sky.

A creature who controls time. Is he the one who’s behind all this?

I – I don't understand.

Your voice is so small as you try to push down the fear, the instinctive sense of danger that flickers wildly in your core. Who are you? And how did – what do you mean? How do you know me?

He shrugs, strangely casual. I know everyone.

But – but…

I know everyone, and I know everything, he says evenly, unblinking as he walks slowly towards you. I know every word in the world, every note in the Spellsong, every drop of blood and blade of grass that there ever was or will be. Little demon, I know every thought you’ve ever had, every speck of stardust that ever formed you, and I know how every single moment of your entire existence will end.

Paralysed, all you can do is watch as he stops just in front of you, expression utterly impassive. What is this? What is he going to do to you?

So, I have a question for you.

He leans forward, closer and closer, until his face is right in front of yours. Staring up at him in terror, you want nothing more than to back away – but you can't, you can't, trapped in his inescapable web and entirely helpless.

He sighs, sadly.

Does it ever work?

…Hang on.

Well, you’re not sure what you were expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn't that.

The not-demon continues, inspecting every tiny facet of your confused face like he might find his answer written there. It's not that I don't think it's admirable. It is. But don't you ever get tired?

Does it… work?

He nods. Yes.

I don't… You're so, so lost by this whole conversation – what on earth is he talking about? I don't know what you – what do you mean, ‘it’?

Oh, don't lie to me.

He says it lightly, waving his hand like it's a joke, but there's something sharp and steely just under the surface. Call it ‘professional curiosity’, if it makes you feel better. I want to know, and I’m asking you nicely. Does it work?

His gaze has turned hungry, almost manic in its intensity – reflexively, your magic recoils from the tidal wave of power that surges inside him, towering over you like a tsunami, jaws open to swallow you whole.

Tell me, little demon, ‘cause I want to know. Is it worth it? Is it better?

This change in him – is it mania, or is it madness? The realisation blossoms in the back of your petrified mind, fault lines in the frozen surface of the sea. This – this creature, whatever he is, that feeling that you couldn’t quite explain.

Does it make you happy, hm? Holding on so tightly to your quest, forever. Tell me the truth, if that's what this is – because your ignorance doesn't look very blissful to me.

It wasn't just fury, and it wasn't just fear. Yes, yes, you can taste it now, sweet and tart on your paralysed tongue. It's heat and blood and savage need, it's sweet revenge and desperate, ravenous desire – this is a man driven out of his mind with passion.

You’re not scared, are you? Of a little question like that? the man spits, like sour acid splattered across your skull. No, I don’t think so. So answer it, and answer me – are you pleased with what you’ve done? Is this the eternity you always dreamed of?

You can't move, can't breathe, can't think. It's like staring into a black hole, this incredible force looming closer and closer. You have to run, why can't you run? Your mind stutters, buckling under this crashing, crushing weight of stress and terror and confusion.

I don't know what you mean, you sob, wanting nothing more than to rub your eyes as hot, scared tears finally spill over. What is this – who are you? I don't know, I don't know – I want – please, Vega, I – I just want – Vega, Vega, I need—

The not-demon says nothing, face utterly blank as he just watches you cry. It's embarrassing – you can't help the awful wailing that tears its way out of you, every fraction of your being screaming out for help. You want him to go away, why won't he just go away? You don't want to be here, you don't want to talk about it, you don't want to be alone – you want Vega, Vega, Vega!

Lovely Vega, wonderful Vega – he's so safe and kind and precious to you, and you need him so much. You don't want to be scared. He keeps you safe from being scared. He should be here, but he isn't, and it’s not right, it's not right! Why can't he just be here?

Nothing moves. You cry and cry and cry, and it's the only sound in the whole wide world.

So you don't know.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, before he reaches out to slowly take your hand in his. Of course. Of course you don't.

It's strange, but he doesn't feel warm or cold – it's like his skin is exactly the same temperature as yours. All you feel is the pressure as his fingers fold around yours, both hands enveloping your own, and sweet magic ripples across your face as your tears suddenly dry up all on their own, as if they were never even there.

I’m sorry.

Why does he look so… so sad? It's frightening.

I thought….I thought that maybe you could have been like me, he says quietly, his thumb stroking slowly back and forth over your knuckles. Apparently not. Although, maybe it's for the best.

He smiles mournfully, and tosses his head in a mock show of vanity. You can have too much of a good thing, you know.

There's a sudden sort of crumbling, crunching noise, like an eggshell cracking, and your whole body drops to the floor like a stone as the paralytic magic holding you up collapses. Caught unawares, you only just manage to avoid landing flat on your face – he's still holding one of your hands, and you barely manage to get the other one underneath you in time to save you from a very nasty nosebleed.

Careful, now.

He watches you scramble to your feet in amusement, before swiftly looping his arm with yours and guiding you the wrong way down the path – well, the wrong way to you, seeing as you always go in the opposite direction. Walk with me, won’t you?

It’s not exactly like you have a choice, but you nod anyway. Okay.

As you walk, time begins to move again, but much more slowly than it should. You pass a jogger, running in slow-motion in the opposite direction, and for some reason you get the tiniest, nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right about her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the not-demon reaching out a curious hand towards the ground, and you watch as a dandelion growing by the side of the path is plucked from the earth and summoned to his fingers.

You’re confused. Was that psychokinesis? It looked like it, but it didn’t feel like it. If you had to be specific, you’d say it felt less like a physical manipulation and more like a psychological one, closer to telepathy or dreamwalking or something. But that can’t be right, can it? What kind of magic could he be doing, that seems one way but is actually another?

Regardless of your astonishment, he catches the dandelion out of the air and twirls the stem between his fingers, to the left, then the right, then the left again.

It’s a lovely world, isn’t it?

You nod warily, unsure what to make of all this. It seems best to just let him talk.

He holds the dandelion up to the sunlight, narrowing his eyes as he examines all of the little fluffy seeds, a soft white bubble atop the skinny, green stem, neatly sliced at the bottom from where he’d picked it.

I wonder…

Bringing it back down, he blows gently on the puff of seeds and watches as they come loose, fluttering in slow-motion through the air and leaving the bare stem behind. Some begin to fall to the ground much more quickly, while others are carried away by the wind, slow like air bubbles rising through thick honey.

So detailed, he murmurs, as he watches the seeds tumble away with the breeze. It’s remarkable.

Surprised, you turn your head to look at him. Detailed?

It's a strange word for him to choose – surely the world is just… like that? This is just how Elegy is, with all its rules and laws and creatures. What an unusual thing to say.

He doesn’t elaborate, but just keeps walking. You’re carried along by his arm in yours, a melancholy mockery of the way Vega used to walk with you, and you can’t help but close your eyes as the sense of loss swirls up inside you once again. So near, and yet so far.

I wish things had been different, you know.

At first, you’re not sure who said it. Then, you catch sight of his face, and realise he’s wearing exactly the same expression as you.

It’s not that I regret it, as such, he says wistfully, but I wish it hadn’t come to… this. To all of this.

His tail curls thoughtfully from side to side, just barely noticeable at the edge of your vision. When I noticed it, I thought that this might have been the answer I was looking for. A solution, at last. Or the model for one. A way that I could fix everything, for good.

Sunlight glitters off his fangs. All I wanted was what I used to have. What was taken from me.

There’s something hard and ruthless in his voice as he says it, form blurring ever so slightly at the edges. Not enough to really notice, but you feel the tremors of escaped emotion stirring in your own core as if they were your own.

Perhaps they are. You must not be as different as you’d first thought.

His words in your mind, full of longing, rhythmic like a prayer. I wanted it back – that life, that world, where nothing ever went wrong. I thought I would be willing to give it all up, if I could just have that world back.

Your shirt flutters in the slow breeze as you pass a woman walking a dog, holding the lead in one hand and her phone in the other. She shivers slightly as the two of you stroll past, and that irritating feeling of forgetting something tingles again in the back of your mind..

I wouldn’t want power. What would I need it for? the not-demon continues, a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes as he gestures mindlessly in front of him with his free hand. I’d give up everything. I’d let the universe spiral off in its own direction, let it tear itself apart the way it always seems to want, and I’d just keep that tiny little piece all for myself.

Idly, he reaches up and flicks his hair out of his face with a single, pointed claw. He seems distracted. You’d wager that he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

I’d keep just enough to hide myself away, keep my little, perfect world protected, and I’d live forever in that little bubble of time where nothing could ever go wrong again.

He laughs humourlessly to himself, a quiet, grim little thing. Sorry. I think what I mean to say is… thank you.

Time stops.

You’re not just saying that – it really does stop again. Nothing moves except for you two, no sound except for your quiet footsteps on the path, slowing down.

Me? But I…

Something like dread crawls up your spine, slow and creeping. I haven’t done anything.

No, he replies calmly, you haven't. And I understand it now. Your little experiment – it hasn’t worked, which means I need to find another way.

Sorry, your what?

You must have heard him wrong. You must have. There’s no way he actually – there’s no way he means that.

I’m sorry, you manage to choke out. ‘Experiment’?

He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t say anything. In an instant, you’re seeing red.

You mean this whole time – time thing? The looping? you hiss, suddenly furious. It’s been nothing but an experiment?

He shrugs, suddenly cagey. In a manner of speaking.

How did you…? You don’t care who he is, or what he is, anymore – all you care about is tearing his stupid fucking head from his shoulders. This has all been a test? Hundreds of years of torture, losing your mind in the prison of this neverending spiral, and it’s never meant a thing?

What have you done to us? you scream, words turning to raging radio static as you hurl them into his head. What have you done?

What have I done? I’m hurt, little warden, he gasps, and that name, that name – right word, wrong voice, and it burns your skin like hot oil. For once, it’s not my fault.

Then whose is it? you snap, fingers twitching, simulated blood simmering with rage. Who do I have to blame?

Infuriatingly, he has the nerve – the nerve! – to just roll his eyes and keep walking. You won’t like it when I tell you…

You won’t like me if you don’t fucking say it, you spit, sharp claws digging into his skin as you try to struggle out of his grip on your arm – but he’s stronger than he looks, practically dragging you along by the elbow, and you can’t even draw blood. Who is it? Tell me!

Of course it’s got to be difficult, he mutters to himself, and your aura flares in fury at his exasperated tone – like you’re just a child throwing a temper tantrum. Why does it always have to be difficult?

He finally lets you go, and you skitter backwards away from him on pure instinct, your form swaying and changing constantly as magic rolls beneath your skin. Claws lengthening and shortening, blood freezing and melting, bones stretching and contracting. You can feel your magic surging, pressing against the bounds of your physical body, seething with your desperation to destroy.

You’re making a scene.

The man stands still, regarding you with what you can only describe as a miserable sort of rueful pity, and it makes you even angrier. Actually, I suppose that’s sort of the problem.

He knows you won’t respond, head too full of rage and mouth too full of fangs. I thought you would have realised, by now, but I guess not. Didn’t you think it was odd, how nobody noticed us?

The question takes you momentarily by surprise, before you realise what he’s talking about. Of course. You’re always in your demon’s body nowadays, so you quickly learnt to tune out the screaming. It hadn’t even occurred to you that nobody was panicking, at seeing two adult demons, horns and tails and all, walking through the park.

I thought it might be better if we weren’t disturbed, he says gently, hands raised slightly like he’s trying to soothe a cornered animal. I thought you might want to be alone when I told you.

Your laugh is a horrible, screeching thing, wild and frenzied as it forces its way free of you. Told me what? Told me that none of it was real – that this has all just been a game to you? That you’ve been playing with us for some sick amusement?

That’s not—

The air around you starts to shimmer as it heats up, grass just barely on the edge of catching alight. You say you know everything – you have no idea what it’s like! How many times I’ve died for this, for him – you don’t care! It doesn’t matter to you how much we’ve suffered, how hard I’ve tried, because it’s all just some fucking joke to you, isn’t it?

You think you can just take him from me? you spit, venom pooling in your mouth and dripping down your chin. He’s mine. And you could never understand what it’s like, to do what I’ve done – what I’ve had to do! Do you think it’s easy, to have him dangled just out of my reach, dying over and over again when I can’t save him?

The earth stands still and watches as you howl your grief at this monstrous, stone-faced stranger, utterly silent except for the ragged breaths you don’t even need.

The only creature in this world I could ever truly love, and he’s dead, you laugh, manic tears running down your face. He’s dead! He’s gone, isn’t he? He’s just gone, and I can’t follow him.

Shuddering with rage, you stalk forwards, thinking only of one thing. Is that what you wanted? Is this what you wanted to see? What it looks like to be cursed with false hope, forever? Your fucking experiment worked, then, because you will never, never know how it f—

I do know!

The man’s voice shreds through your body as he screams, a shockwave of sparking, glitchy static forcing you back several metres into the grass. Of course I fucking know!

Stunned, all you can do is reel as your mind is overwhelmed with emotion, washing over you like a tidal wave and knocking you flat on your back. Something like electricity courses through you, locking up every muscle, the stinging crack of a lightning bolt as it spears you to the ground, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—!

Is this how he truly feels? Is this what drove him mad? You gasp for air against a raging torrent of grief, white-hot and agonising, consuming every atom of your being in torturous fire – images flash by, too fast to see, leaving only the impression of a handful of flowers and a lonely, sunlit grave.

It feels like your mind is too big for your skull, excruciating pressure as it fills with voices, vying against the Spellsong for control of your form – you feel as though even your demonic nature, that most base of things that creates you, begins to falter under the hellish weight. It’s morphing, changing, all the magic in your body burning up as it turns from the bubbling, aching lust that formed you into something else, into this starving, sobbing desire that roars into the empty sky.

You are made again, full of fury and love and sorrow. You are your mission, single-minded in your quest, a ravenous force and a never-ending power, seeking only to regain a world that is no more. This universe is yours, turned inside out at your will, and… and…

…hang on. This isn’t right.

Blearily, you try to force yourself back into your own brain, struggling to form the thoughts that you know should be there. There’s a lie – a false memory, that you should have seen coming from a mile away. That’s not how you came to be, that’s not the right story. You weren’t formed from lust. You’re an Inchoate, not a—

Concubus, you breathe, and the illusion shatters.

It takes a little while to come back to yourself.

When you do, you’re still lying there in the grass. Your tail is digging uncomfortably into your back where you’re lying on it, and your gums ache from your fangs constantly lengthening and retracting, but you’re still you.

There’s the soft sound of footsteps, and a hand appears in your vision. Grudgingly, you take it, and the man pulls you to your feet.

Sorry about that, he says sheepishly, the tip of his tail curling from side to side in faint embarrassment. I, um… well. You know. Sorry.

Time seems to still be frozen – no feeling of the breeze in your hair, or sound of the leaves in the trees rustling faintly. The sun is high in the sky behind you, and you wonder how you ever missed that he casts no shadow.

It’s you, isn’t it? you marvel, as the pieces fall into place. The incubus he told me about, the one who brought him to the Department in the first place. That was you.

It’s strange. You don’t have nearly enough evidence to prove it – it’s not like he’s the only incubus in the world, and Vega never showed you what he looked like, or even told you his name. He only ever mentioned him once or twice, back before you escaped. But for some reason, it just feels right, something instinctive deep down inside, telling you that it’s the truth.

He nods, wry smile playing across his face. I think his exact words were ‘you human-loving pathetic little upstart worm’ at the time, but yes, ‘incubus’ will do. That was me, a very long time ago.

Did you know, back then? you ask, curious. That he would come to me?

Not at the time, no, he replies. But, well – you know what they say. Everything happens for a reason.

You gesture vaguely with one hand at the lazy world around you. Even this?

Even this.

He ducks his head, looking strangely remorseful. And I meant what I said: I am sorry that I have to tell you. But you deserve to know, and it wouldn’t be right to keep it from you.

You’re about to protest, but he shushes you first. I know. I’ll explain everything, I swear. All you have to do is close your eyes.

Warily, you look around, but nothing has changed. Yet.

What are you going to do?

I won’t touch you, if that’s what you’re worried about, he says. Close your eyes, and just listen to me. Listen to my voice.

Hesitantly, you do as he asks. You can still vaguely sense your surroundings as your aura gently reflects off of them, feeling the grass beneath your feet and the leaves of the trees above you, and you can feel that the incubus hasn’t moved at all.

(Is he still an incubus, after everything you saw? Probably not. But he still hasn’t given you his name, so it’s the best you can do.)

I don’t want you to think, he says solemnly, I just want you to answer me honestly. Alright? However feels right – the first answer that pops into your head.

Okay.

Good. Where are we?

You nearly open your eyes out of reflex, caught off guard by the bizarre question. …What?

Nope, it wasn’t a joke – he sounds serious. I mean it. Where are we? Where is this place?

It’s – it’s the park. Near my house.

The incubus clicks his tongue in understanding, like he hadn’t known. The park, right. And your house! That’s very good. But where is your house, exactly?

Well, it’s close to the park, you reply, still confused. Shouldn’t he know that too? It’s only about ten minutes’ walk from here, back the way we came.

Ten minutes… I see. You can’t see it, but you’re fairly sure you can hear the minute sound of him nodding his head – the tiniest friction of skin and hair and fabric, and you strain your ears to try and focus on it. But if I want to go there and visit you, I’ll need more than that. Remind me what street your house is on?

Uh… I mean, it’s definitely nearby… It’s just on the tip of your tongue – fuck, what street do you live on? You know how to get there, but the name… If you turn right, then left, then keep walking, it’s sort of straight ahead.

Right and then left? Ah, I know the one, he muses, before his voice turns all puzzled. He sounds sad, and that feels… wrong, somehow. You don’t want him to be sad. But there are lots of houses on that street, aren’t there? And I wouldn’t want to get the wrong one. So what number is your house, then?

Oh, it’s number… You go to say it, but the answer isn’t there. Lost in thought, you snap your fingers like it’ll help you remember – because you do remember, obviously. It’s your house! Of course you know which number it is!

It’s, um…

There’s an uncomfortable pause, as he watches you try to rack your brain for the right number, and you start to get more and more embarrassed the longer it goes on. Come on, come on, why can’t you think of it?

Eventually the incubus just gives up. You know what, it doesn’t matter, he murmurs reassuringly. That was kind of a difficult question. Shall we do some easier ones?

Relieved, you hastily agree. Yes, please.

Alright. Alright, we’ll do that.

He thinks for a second, before humming quietly in satisfaction. You know what, why don’t we talk about Vega for a little bit, hm? That sounds good. You like Vega, don’t you?

Mmm, Vega. You smile dreamily at the name, letting the incubus’s low, calming voice wash over you. Yeah.

Yeah? Mm, I know, he laughs, not unkindly. And I can see why. He’s so handsome, isn’t he?

Mm-hmm. Vega…

Without even having to try, the thoughts fill your mind – the image of Vega’s form here on Elegy, and the warm feeling of being bathed in his astral aura. He looks…

Even after all this time, you can picture him as clearly as if he were right here in front of you. The gentle curve of his horns, long hair pulled up high, falling messily past his face and down his back. Tall and lithe, elegant fingers tipped with savage claws, the sly curve of his tail as it sways lazily back and forth. In your head, sweet blood drips from his fangs, gore smeared indulgently across his face and down his neck, running down over his chest, a slick, shiny trail that leads lower, and lower, and lower…

  Dark eyes and a darker smile, ever knowing – ever hungry. Vega’s is a cruel sort of beauty, and no matter how long his absence, it never fails to captivate you.

He’s so pretty, you mumble, only barely aware of the words. He looks so nice.

Oh, I’m sure he does, replies the incubus, and you can hear the indulgent grin in his voice matching your own. And he’s so clever, too! Don’t you think he’s clever?

You nod, because it’s true. Very clever.

Clever and beautiful… I see, I see.

The incubus gasps theatrically, like he’s surprised himself, and you find yourself hanging onto every little sound. Ooh, but he’s got big plans, hasn’t he? Lots of ambition! And I do like that, in a man.

You can’t help but laugh delightedly at the way his voice dips all low and flirty when he says it, like a special secret from a best friend. But he’s not all work and no play, is he? That would be pretty boring. I bet he knows how to unwind, when he wants to. Is that right?

Absentmindedly, your hand drifts up to your neck, fingers pressing gently over the tender shape of Lyra that you know is there. It stings slightly, fresh as it is, the deep bite of his namesake star sitting just where your pulse ought to be.

Yeah, you breathe, only slightly embarrassed. Yeah, he does.

Obviously you can't see it, but you can practically taste the wicked smirk that spreads across the incubus’s face at your admission. Mmm, I thought so.

He starts to move, circling slowly around to your left, the quiet echo of his footsteps on the concrete floor. He even found the time to get married, didn’t he? That’s pretty impressive. And he found himself a real catch, too – you know, I heard the wedding was something very, very special indeed.

Your wedding ring suddenly feels like it weighs a ton as he mentions it, enormously conscious of the weight on your finger that you’d almost forgotten was there. So sorry I couldn’t come, by the way. But is that true? Did you have fun?

Oh, your wedding day… Hadn’t it been so wonderful? Flowers and ribbons and confetti everywhere, like a great big birthday party, and all those floaty, happy feelings you got to gobble up from all the people watching you. Vega’s lovely words to you – the special promises you made, to be together forever and ever. And the music! That big piano thing that the lady played for you, so loud and sweet-sounding, the whole song of your being singing along.

Even after you and Vega had left the ceremony, you’d still had fun. He’d carried you in his arms back into the room you’d passed through earlier, the one with all the balloons and chairs and decorations, and shown you the cake he found – it was the tallest cake you’ve ever seen! It had so many layers, and it had lots of flowers made of pink sugar stuck to the sides. There were two little figures made of sweet-smelling stuff on top of the cake as well, that were shaped a bit like humans, but you hadn’t really been paying attention to them.

You’d really really wanted to try some, but you hadn’t seen any sort of spoon to eat it with, or a knife to cut it with. And perhaps you could have made one with magic, but you couldn’t really be bothered – so instead, you’d reached out and excitedly clawed a handful of sweet cake out from the front, scooping it up into your mouth and enjoying the rich, buttery redness that had been hiding inside.

Vega had refused at first, but he’d relented when you’d taken a second helping and offered it to him, neatly taking a bite out of the red and white chunk of cake and icing sitting in your palm. He hadn’t wanted any more after that, though, so you’d helped yourself to the rest, burying your face in your palm until half your face was smeared with all of that sticky, gooey goodness.

Oh, it had been so delicious! You’d been tempted to take the whole thing home with you, but that would have been quite greedy – and you did already have plans for dinner, so you’d just settled for taking one more handful, as well as some of the sweet flowers from the sides of the cake as a snack.

Red velvet flavour, Vega had said after you’d got home, sugar flower dissolving on his tongue, peering at the list of cake flavours he’d found on the computer screen. How…. unpleasant. Why would humans even want to eat that?

You’d been so confused. Is velvet the shiny one? I thought they made music out of that.

No, I think that’s ‘vinyl’, dear, Vega had replied, although he’d looked a bit unsure. It’s the one that’s mostly smooth, but a little bit fluffy. Like a sort of fabric, I believe. Did you think it tasted like that, darling?

You’d shrugged, too preoccupied with licking the sugary, cakey mess of crumbs and icing from underneath your claws, making sure not to get any of the red stuff all over your nice white clothes. Whatever it is, it’s nice. We should find some more.

Lost in the lovely memory, you startle as the incubus quietly clears his throat, the sound echoing off the walls and bouncing around the room – shit, you were meant to be answering a question, weren’t you?

Lots of fun, yeah, you say happily, rocking softly from foot to foot in content. He’s so good to me.

Yeah? Oh, I bet he is, laughs the incubus, slowly coming around to your other side from behind you. Real husband material – you want to hang onto that one, for sure. And I bet he took you on a hell of a honeymoon, didn’t he?

You start to reply, but then you realise you don’t know what to say. Did you have a honeymoon? You must have done…

The air is cold and still, and you can hear every near-silent swish of the incubus’s tail as he walks, the tiny sounds of the building settling around you. No? Hm. That’s funny. I could have sworn you two went on holiday somewhere… And pretty recently, too. Don’t you remember?

Holiday, a holiday… why does that sound familiar? Did you go somewhere special with him lately? Did he take you anywhere unusual…?

It would have been pretty late at night, wouldn’t it? the incubus continues, thoughtful, and you let his voice lead you back into the maze of your memory. Yeah, that’s right. It would have been dark outside, and he’d have led you inside, wouldn’t he? Maybe by holding your hand? Or asking you to follow behind him?

Now that he mentions it, that sounds… yes! Yes, you remember! Walking side by side with him in the dark, streetlamps overhead as you’d got closer and closer to the building – oh, and how he’d said to stay close to him…

You remember going inside, don’t you? You’d just gone inside, and you were looking for the stairs. Do you remember the stairs?

He’s right, you had been looking for the stairs. How could you have forgotten? You’d been trying to find a way to get downstairs, to see what was going on. You’d been curious. Why had you been curious?

But you didn’t find the stairs. You saw someone instead, didn’t you?

Someone unexpected, someone who shouldn’t have been there…

A strange man, someone you didn’t recognise.

He’d been so odd. Saturated with magic, but no sound at all – singing with no voice, a terrifying emptiness where something ought to be.

The incubus speaks again, low and gentle. And he was scary, wasn’t he? You were so, so scared. Because it was frightening, there in the dark, talking to that strange, scary man.

Yes… you murmur, shivering in the chill of the empty room. Yes, I remember…

But it was okay, wasn’t it? he asks, and there’s something indescribable in his voice that you can’t quite name. You got away. You held Vega’s hand, and you turned and ran, as fast and as far as you could. You ran all the way outside into the night, and you kept running until you could run no more, and then you rifted away.

You start to agree, but there’s a strange sort of friction in your mind when you do. Is that not what happened? Why does it feel wrong?

No, you manage to force out, but the words are slow and painful as your eyes fill with tears. No, I didn’t hold Vega’s hand.

The incubus nudges your aura gently with his own, a silent question. You bite your lip to stop it trembling so much, and let him take you in his arms as you start to shudder uncontrollably.

Why not? he whispers sadly, and this time, you know he already knows the answer.

Streetlights flickering outside. I couldn’t.

Why?

Cold concrete under your feet. There was nothing to hold.

Why?

Because he wasn’t there, you wail, and the corridor is filled with the airless song of your grief. He was already dead.

Silently, the hazy spell of the incubus’s voice falls away, and you open your eyes. Not to the trees and sky and earth of the park that’s near your house, but to the grim, dark grave that is the CloseKnit headquarters, and the moment that the world itself ceased to be.

You’re back.

The incubus holds you softly as your body convulses with awful, aching sobs, lowering you gently to the ground when your legs start to give way and you can’t hold yourself up any more. I’m so sorry, he murmurs into your mind as he kneels with you, rocking you back and forth as you cry uncontrollably into his shoulder. I’m so sorry, little warden.

It’s torturous, how the memories come back all at once, as if they had never gone away. The sheer, absolute panic of that moment, of seeing the empty space where Vega had been only a fraction of a second before. How you’d felt something give way deep inside you, some buried well of power so immense and vital that to even think of it was to fall apart – all you remember was a sharp flash of light, brilliant and blinding, and the sudden feeling of falling.

A sickening crack, your body and your mind splitting open as magic poured from your being, rending the very sky and the entire universe that hid behind it. Nothing had been real, nothing had mattered – only you, only the murderous, vengeful fear that filled you, the agony of your terror and the fury of your fear.

How? you weep through tears, not trusting your voice to come out as anything but a screech. How could I forget? I thought – I really, really thought he – that it…

That it was real?

He quietly shushes you as you start to keen, pressing his face to your hair. I know. I know you did. And it’s not your fault. It did exactly what you designed it to do.

You couldn’t bear it – couldn’t bear to believe that it could even be real. That such a world, such a cruel and awful world, could ever come to pass. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be allowed.

Your body spasms and twitches uncontrollably as you cry, all messy and wet. Just another thing that’s out of your control.

You couldn’t believe that he could be taken from you, the incubus whispers, words full of the terror you can’t say. It was impossible, surely? For him to just… disappear? For everything he ever was or ever would be to have vanished in an instant, leaving you behind?

It had all been so fast. Trembling behind him, peeking out over his shoulder at the horrifying, empty shape of that – that creature, that thing. One second he was there, and the next…

Dissolving into the air, returning to the Spellsong as if he had never existed at all – the ring on your finger that suddenly had no pair. You hadn’t even seen his face.

Poor, sweet little warden. The real world was too horrifying, so you dreamed a new one for yourself instead. You needed comfort, you needed to be safe – so your mind took you to the one place in the world where that could be true.

But you couldn’t quite forget, could you?, the incubus muses, sounding strangely proud. Or perhaps… fond, in a bizarre sort of way. You had to make sense of it somehow. You had to explain to yourself why he wasn’t there, and why he never said goodbye. So you dreamed that too – a Vega who was still alive, but always out of reach, and whose last words were that he loved you more than anything.

Held tight in the incubus’s arms, your form trembles erratically, magic desperately melting and setting over and over again to try and keep up with the emotions that flood through it – even the air temperature starts to change, heating up and cooling down with every wave of grief.

Your hair grows long and limp, hanging miserably to the floor to hide your face, before suddenly getting shorter again with every spike of rageful sorrow that flares in your heart. Layers of fat and muscle writhe like snakes under your skin as it flickers between colours, freckles splattering themselves across your back before they fade just as quickly, and your whole face aches as everything moves – your eyeballs changing shape in their sockets, your cheeks splitting as your mouth widens, then sewing themselves back together when it narrows again.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, again and again forever, just to hear those precious few seconds of his voice again. To hear the words he never got the chance to say.

What do you look like now? Would Vega even recognise you at all? Acid tears burning trails down your face, searing tiny divots in the concrete when they fall. Try as you might, you can’t make your body stay still.

The incubus shakes his head sadly. You just couldn’t let him go. You couldn’t accept that there might ever come a time where you and he would have to be parted, so you clung to whatever pieces of him you could, whatever hope you could find.

His voice comes to you as if underwater, muffled and dim, and you feel as though you truly are lost in the darkness of the sea. A creature of the deep, sunken to the seafloor, tiny fish picking at the soft tissue until there’s nothing left but bones. Soon all you’ll be is sand, nothing but grit and stones rolling in the current, floating adrift and never to be put back together again.

The ultimate escape, your very own one-more-chance – if the only way out is to do the impossible, then you never have to leave. What else is grief, but love that doesn’t realise it’s already dead?

He smiles blackly, and you feel the still-tender bite marks on your neck start to burn. The most perfect prison, for the warden of demonkind’s worst. You really do never fail to impress.

A car that doesn’t go, and a cake you didn’t make. It’s all gone now, and you’re the only thing that’s left – an impossible spectre, risen sobbing from the grave. Buried under the weight of the life you thought you’d have, crushed under the rubble of a peony and a picket fence.

You don’t know how long you spend there, a puddle of limbs splayed across the concrete, crying your endless eyes dry. Perhaps it’s a day, or a year, or a century. Perhaps you’re there forever, never leaving, never stopping even for a moment. It’s impossible to know.

What do I do?

Brokenly, you nudge the words into the incubus’s mind, begging that he’ll have an answer. I don’t – I can’t, I don’t know how…

The words don’t come, but the incubus seems to know exactly what you wanted to be able to say. You don’t know what comes next, he says softly, and perhaps you don’t even know if there is a next. What could possibly come after this? The world has already ended. All you know is grief, and you can’t imagine a time when that grief is not your entire mind.

Creatures of emotion, and the magic that follows it. The great curse of demonkind, that we must become our love.

You feel sick. There’s nothing left. He’s gone.

The incubus pauses for a second, before sitting back slightly and tilting your head up so you can see his face. Gone, you say?

Where else could he be? you mutter, with a voice like smashed glass. He’s nothing, now. I can’t feel him, not at all.

He shrugs, face carefully blank. I guess.

Your sore eyes narrow. What’s that supposed to mean?

You’d do anything, wouldn’t you? Whatever it takes, whatever has to happen, for you to see him again.

He lets out a deep breath, a faraway look in his eyes. You don’t care what it is. You don’t care what it’ll cost. Reality means nothing, if it keeps you from him – you’d tear the world apart to find him again. In fact, you already have. He’s the only thing that could ever matter any more, and he’s the only thing that could ever satisfy the awful emptiness inside.

The half-smile on your face probably looks more like a grimace. How did you know?

Didn’t I tell you before? I know everything.

He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. You and I aren’t as different as you thought, little warden.

Does it change anything? you scowl, pathetically trying to cover your pain with frustration. No matter what I say, he’s no less dead.

Yes, well… His gaze flicks to the right, sliding sideways off of yours. About that.

He sighs.

I have a… a theory, I suppose. Untested. I can’t say it’ll work for sure.

A theory? you repeat, suspicious. What theory?

Look, he admits, it’s something of a work in progress. I think it does what it’s supposed to, but I haven’t had the chance to try it out yet.

What does it do?

The incubus clicks his tongue, claws drumming quietly against your arm.

I’m looking for someone. Someone I lost, a little bit like you.

He blinks, suddenly thoughtful. Actually, a lot like you, now that I think about it. Hm. In any case, I want to bring them back – and I think I know how.

You stare up at him, perplexed. If you know how, then why wait?

There’s… well, there’s a lot that could go wrong, he replies gingerly. Messing with reality is a tricky business, little warden. If I’m not careful, it could do all sorts of… unpleasant things. Things that I can’t allow to happen.

There's an unspoken question there, and you have a horrible feeling that you know what it is. That you know what this has all been leading up to.

You want to try it out on me, you say. On us.

If you wouldn’t mind…

He says it so casually, picking lazily at his claws like he’s talking about the weather. Not to be rude or anything, but when we’re talking about magical experiments that might permanently delete us from every dimension of the universe, I do have some suggestions as to which of us should go first.

Ah. There it is. That’s why he’s hesitating.

Is this really what you want to do?

If this goes wrong – and for all you know, it will go wrong – you might end up completely destroyed. Past, present, and future. You’d be removed from time entirely, and the world would simply go on as if you’d never existed. You’d never have coalesced, never have gone to Elegy, never have met Vega at all. A new universe, one less star in the sky.

Would that be better? Would you even know you’d disappeared? Would anyone really miss you, if you had never existed in the first place?

For a rational mind, it’s dangerous – too dangerous. But what’s the alternative?

If you say no, what comes next? You’ll have to pick up the pieces, and learn to live with everything that’s happened. Knowing what you know now, you’ll have to find a way to live without him. You’ll have to make your own way, on the run from the Department – will you take up Vega’s mission in his stead, to fight for the survival of your species? Or will you crack under the pressure, faltering and failing alone, abandoning the fate of demonkind to someone else?

A world without Vega. You can’t even imagine it.

By all logic, you should say no. You should – but this chance! How could you live with yourself, if you threw away your only hope at bringing him back? What could possibly be left for you, in this new, terrible world, that you wouldn’t trade for the chance to see him again?

You’ve already lost everything. There’s nothing left to risk.

I think…

The incubus raises an eyebrow, pointed tip of his tail brushing his hair out of his pretty face, and your broken heart aches.

I think you already know what I’m going to say.

He smiles, wide and only a little sinister. I can see why Vega likes you.

In the back of your mind, you can very nearly hear some sort of dull, droning noise – a low, glitchy buzz like electricity. Your skin starts to itch, and you can feel some of your hair start to float as it goes all staticky.

The demonic mind is a funny thing, the incubus continues solemnly. If you had the choice, would you want to remember this? Or would you rather not know?

I don’t want to forget.

The answer is obvious – you don’t even have to think about it. I don’t regret it. Any of it. I don’t regret fighting for him like that, and I don’t regret who I’ve become. And if the chance ever comes for revenge…

The incubus nods, and you can feel his satisfaction mirroring your own. You want to know why you’re doing it.

Of course.

And all it cost…

He trails off, lost in thought, and you have the strangest sort of helium feeling in your head, your body growing almost imperceptibly lighter. You really do love him.

Light sparkling off the diamond on your finger, shattering into streaks of bright red and electric blue. I do.

Then remember him, little warden, the incubus murmurs, as everything begins to flicker and fade, colour leaking out of the world around you to leave only black and white and grey. Remember him, and let me do the rest.

He closes his eyes, and the humming, buzzing sound in your head gets louder. It clicks and cracks like the radio, a familiar sort of whirring sound underneath it, like the soft friction of something spinning. A record, perhaps? Or is it something else?

As the noise thrums through your body, you fix Vega’s image in your head as hard as you can, filling your mind with thoughts of him and the world you want to wake up to. His voice, his face, the feeling of his form curved around you as he holds you close to him. The song of his being, sweet and swirling, harmonising with yours.

Bloody fingerprints on the fridge door, claw marks gouged into the arm of the sofa. Wisteria growing up the trellis, stacks and stacks of spare hairbands in the bathroom cabinet. The shape of Lyra brands itself into your mind, the dim light of a fading constellation – and the radiance of your own namesake star cries out in return, reaching into the chattering sky like a lighthouse staring out to sea.

The static feels like a storm, strange winds blowing you from side to side as the noises grow. It’s getting more and more difficult to see, but you feel it as the incubus lets go of you, standing up and starting to walk away. Something about it sends an instinctual pang of fear through your body, and you hurriedly call after him.

Wait!

The figure in front of you turns, features beginning to blur until you can barely picture his face in your head – even though he’s right in front of you, you find yourself struggling to remember what he looks like.

Is this the end? you shout, desperate in a way you don’t really understand. Will I ever see you again?

He laughs, summer light and sunshine easy, and it sounds like a farewell. Who’s to say? he calls back to you, and you notice that he’s unmoved by the wind that beats furiously against your body. Perhaps, if this works, we’ll meet again someday. In a world where both of us can get what we want.

The gaps between your thoughts are getting longer, splintering and stretching, dissipating out into the universe like stardust. Reality twisting beneath you, swallowing you up, ever expanding and entirely unknowable. You can feel it, just barely – time turning back on itself, things and places and people not the way they were before. A new world. A new reality.

As your body crumbles into electric dust, you can feel that you’re almost gone. Your voice has nearly vanished, a blocky jumble of noise that tumbles away in the storm, but you know he hears you all the same.

I look forward to it already.

As your mind begins to dissolve into static, through the sandy, glitchy storm you can just about make out the shape of the mysterious incubus, silhouetted against the collapsing universe, and blowing you a kiss with the tip of his tail. Then I’ll be seeing you soon, little warden.

01001001 01000110 00100000 01010100 01001000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01000010 01000101 00100000 01000101 01010010 01010010 01001111 01010010 00100000 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100000 01010101 01010000 01001111 01001110 00100000 01001101 01000101 00100000 01010000 01010010 01001111 01010110 01000101 01000100 00101100

And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

01001001 00100000 01001110 01000101 01010110 01000101 01010010 00100000 01010111 01010010 01001001 01010100 00101100 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010010 00100000 01001110 01001111 00100000 01001101 01000001 01001110 00100000 01000101 01010110 01000101 01010010 00100000 01001100 01001111 01010110 01000101 01000100 00101110

Recipe for undying love (REVISED):

Add dread, rage, and sorrow to a bowl, and mix until a smooth dough forms. Chill in the fridge for at least one hour, then roll out it on a flat surface until thin and use it to line a loose-bottomed tin.

“I… I think I did the wrong thing.”

Line case with baking parchment and cover with baking beans. Bake at 200°C for 20 minutes or until crisp, then leave to cool completely on a wire rack.

“I can’t make a mistake… but I made one.”

Mix together denial and agony in a large bowl, then slowly add faithfulness. Stir continuously until fully incorporated. If mixture splits, add a small amount of vengeance and continue stirring.

“His magic is still there. At least part of it. Maybe enough.”

Separately, add misery, regret, and a pinch of self-loathing to the bowl of a stand mixer, and beat until soft peaks form. Fold in beaten ingredients to original bowl, then transfer to case.

“I have to go back.”

Dust generously with terror, and refrigerate for at least four hours, or overnight, until fully set.

“Doc.”

Remove from fridge approximately fifteen minutes before serving. Best served chilled with double cream, caramel, or chocolate sauce.

“Will you come with me?”

You knew the risks. Can be kept in an airtight container for as many cycles of your self-inflicted timeloop as you can stand, or until the reality you came from is manipulated enough to force your husband’s killer into bringing him back from the dead.

01010111 01001000 01000101 01001110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01010011 01000001 01011001 00100000 00100111 01000100 01001001 01010011 01000001 01010000 01010000 01000101 01000001 01010010 00100111 00101100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01000100 01001111 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01001101 01000101 01000001 01001110 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000001 01010100 00100000 01000001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01000001 01001101 00100000 01010111 01001001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01000010 01000101 00100000 01001110 01001111 00100000 01001101 01001111 01010010 01000101 00101110 00001010 01001101 01011001 00100000 01010011 01001111 01010101 01001100 00100000 01010111 01001001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01001010 01001111 01001001 01001110 00100000 01010111 01001001 01010100 01001000 00100000 01011001 01001111 01010101 01010010 01010011 00101100 00100000 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100000 01011001 01001111 01010101 00100000 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01010111 01001001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01001110 01000101 01010110 01000101 01010010 00100000 01000010 01000101 00100000 01000001 01010000 01000001 01010010 01010100 00101110 00001010 00001010

human nature masterlist

peaches and cream masterlist

main masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute.

[ezomind-the-other-one]

A few months ago I read the delightful "We shall have the world forever for our own" fic by @quitequaintrelle and commented that the country shenanigans of that story made me think of P. G. Wodehouse. It only took me a few minutes to then go "wait ... what about an actual Good Omens Jeeves & Wooster AU ???"

Anyways, here's my take on Aziraphale as a 1920's country gentleman, his nephew Bertie Wooster, and the rakish Mr. Crowley. Hope you enjoy those first two chapters !

Rating: Explicit (currently posted chapters are T-rated)

Summary:

The year is 1921. Aziraphale is enjoying a quiet and happy summer in Eastgate Abbey, barely troubled by the ramblings of his brother Lord Havensworth about exercise and healthy diets. Bertie Wooster is also enjoying a quiet and happy holiday in Eastgate Abbey with his dear friend Pepper. This is about to change, because there is no stopping progress, and there is certainly no stopping Mr. Anthony J. Crowley.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, English Aristocracy, Alternate Universe - Historical, in which the 1920's are not so much roaring as purring contentedly, Jimbriel, Houseguests, Aziraphale's food noises, Crowley: read me like one of your French menus, Pepper believes in peace, but she will cut a bitch if you come at her with period-typical misoginy, Horseback Riding, Chivalry isn't dead, landlines are the new hot stuff, physical exercise, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, if the British aristocracy didn't want to be objectified they shouldn't have built an Empire, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Fishing, diet culture, Implied/referenced Academia, Bertie is just coming along for the ride, Jeeves has all the braincells, She/Her Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens)

Beta'd by Kuri_Risu (@ my eternal gratitude)

tagging @goodomensafterdark even if the meme shaming would be fun

[writeroutoftime]

hey! can I request sam winchester x demon!reader where their love is forbidden, but he just can stay away from her and realizes he's fallen and hard for her 🥺

pairing: sam winchester x demon/morally gray!reader

warnings: mentions of torture/going to hell, you are a morally gray individual (read: demon)

words: 1.3k

a/n: okay I am in love with this request, and this is what came out. there WILL be a part 2 where it actually gets more into the relationship between you and sam, but I wanted to set up the backstory to start off. please let me know what you think, and I really hope you enjoy! (also, I am SO sorry it's taken me so long to post this story)

oOoOo

Our story starts, as so many do, with once upon a time. Though, as a warning, there is no princess in this story who gets rescued by a knight in shining armor from the evil dragon that locked her away in the highest tower. There is no happily ever after as the two ride off together into the sunset.

No, this story starts with you - just a normal girl who took a wrong turn and fell in love with the wrong man. What felt like love at first sight to you was lust at first sight for him. But despite the warnings and the whispers around town, you ignored the naysayers and dedicated your life to this one man.

So much so that you would have done anything to keep him from harm's way. (Though the same could not be said about his loyalties.) And when danger came knocking on your door in the middle of the night, looking to collect their dues, you knew you had to step in.

It took endless nights of searching, but you finally found an answer that would solve all your problems. When you told him what you found, he didn't plead for you to keep yourself safe, instead he scoffed in your face and went out to lose himself in the drink - again.

More determined than ever, you found your crossroads and nearly screamed when you saw the flash of red eyes standing before you.

"Well, well. What is a pretty thing like you doing out here? It seems you may be out of your element." the demon taunted as he looked you up and down.

"I-I want to make a deal." you stuttered out. "My boyfriend, he needs help. His debts need to be repaid."

The demon merely smirked. "And why isn't he the one here begging for my help?"

"This is what you do for the people you love. Now, can you help me or not?"

"I can." he smirked. "But it's going to cost something pretty big - your soul. And in ten years I'll come to collect." he explained, no trace of humor on his features.

"Deal."

Stepping closer towards you, the demon chuckled. "Well then, let's seal this deal, sweetheart." he said and suddenly pressed his lips against yours. You could feel heat inside your chest, like your soul had been branded. "See you soon." he spoke, disappearing and leaving you alone.

The next day, everything the demon promised came to fruition. Your boyfriend's debts had been paid, and you felt it was going to be a new leaf for the two of you. But instead of eternal love and gratitude, he repaid you with sleeping through half the town and leaving you high and dry only three weeks later.

When ten years passed and you started hallucinating, you wished you could give anything to go back in time and change your fate. However, fate was not that kind, and so, you were dragged down to hell in shreds, kicking, screaming, and cursing his name the whole way down.

The decades you spent on the rack were literal torture. Just when you thought there was no other ways you could be taken apart and put back together, they managed to find a new one. Every day you were told the hell could end if you just gave in. At first, you tried to hold onto the tiny shred of humanity you had left.

But after so many decades, it just was so much easier to give in.

And, so, when you whispered a timid "yes" when asked for the nth time, it all changed for you. Whereas you used to be the one tied up and torn apart, now you got to be on the other end. Each cut and slice into a soul was like a weight off your shoulders.

You thought of the man you had given it all up for. The man who abandoned you after you sold your soul for him. The man who you were going to pay a visit to as soon as you got strong enough to get topside. After a few more decades you finally broke the surface, cracking your neck, smiling devilishly.

It didn't take long for you to find him, drunk and stumbling out of the local bar. Hiding in the shadows, you leant against the cool, rough bricks of the building, biding your time. While he fumbled with the keys to his car, you slowly stalked behind him, hovering over his shoulder until he noticed your reflection in the window.

"What the fuck?" he shouted, dropping his keys and furiously scrubbing at his face. "How much did I drink to start seeing fucking ghosts?"

"Not quite a ghost, but also not quite human." you said, flashing him your deep, black eyes.

He let out another scream and dropped to the ground, pieces of gravel sticking into his skin. As he tried to scramble away, you rolled your eyes and hauled him up by his jacket, scoffing at this pitiful excuse for a man.

"What? Didn't think you'd have to come face to face with the woman you cheated on and left high and dry after I sold my soul for you?"

"No, no. You died, got mauled by an animal or some shit."

A humorless laugh left your lips. "Is that what they called it? That's putting being dragged to hell and tortured for decades mildly." you growled. "But don't worry I pulled myself out just to see you and thank you after all this time."

Your words were punctuated with a fist to his jaw, relishing the resounding crunch that echoed into the night air. Fist after fist was thrown in his direction using every ounce of anger you ever felt towards him boiled over the surface. When you grew weary of throwing punches, you flicked your knife out, cutting into his skin regardless of his please to stop.

It wasn't long before you knelt over his crumpled body, a satisfied smirk curled on your lips. This was the moment you had long since pined over, waiting to end his miserable life, hoping his time in hell would be even worse than yours.

But something in the back of your mind wouldn't let you finish the deed. The knife in your hand clattered to the ground, unable to plunge itself deep into his chest. He laid there, a whimpering mess, as you pushed yourself out of the gravel, and smeared the blood that coated your hands across your clothing.

You thought of this moment for so long. Assumed it would bring you a sense of closure. Of vengeance. Instead, you only felt empty, confused, purposeless. Without looking back, you left him there to pull himself together - a small act of mercy.

As you roamed the empty streets, you kept thinking of what brought you to this moment in the first place. Why didn't it feel right? You knew there was no going back, this is what you were now. But maybe, just maybe you could stop what happened to you from happening to anyone else. A way to use this curse for good.

And from that moment on, you roamed the state, looking for players, cheaters, and guys who liked to manipulate those around them. You'd get wind of their deeds, pretend to fall for their charms, and then go in for the kill, offering them the same pain they caused others. You knew most people probably saw you as a criminal, but you saw yourself as a vigilante.

In fact, your little routine worked quite well for the next few months. It seemed to bring you the senses of purpose and justice you were looking for. That was, at least, until you heard through the pipeline that the Winchesters were on your trail. Shit!

oOoOo

Dun, dun duhh!! To be continued in part two, I hope you enjoyed!

[11queensupreme11]

To my marvellous Queen,

Your Majesty, it is with profound humility and boundless gratitude that I extend my deepest thanks for the unparalleled ingenuity and sovereign might you have so graciously employed in the cultivation and development of this tale. Truly, the craftsmanship of your narrative is nothing less than a tour de force, an opus that defies the boundaries of ordinary creativity and ascends into the rarefied stratospheres of unparalleled artistry. It is a beacon of inspiration and an unassailable testament to your preeminence within the domain of storytelling, illuminating the hearts and minds of your loyal subjects.

Consequently, it is with the utmost solemnity and an unshakeable resolve that I, along with my steadfast companions, pledge our allegiance to Your Majesty. Though the task that lies before us is formidable, an odyssey fraught with tribulations and challenges as treacherous as the labyrinthine shadows of the fandom realm, we are undaunted. The path may be strewn with obfuscations, the adversaries shrouded in perfidy, and the very fabric of our purpose tested by vicissitudes, yet our fealty remains unbroken.

We recognize that to serve as your shield is not a mere privilege but an imperative born of our devotion. We shall guard against the hydra-headed specters of dissent and the tempestuous gales of contention that threaten your sovereign dominion. We vow to wield our words and wit as both armor and sword, striking down any who seek to besmirch the sanctity of your reign or diminish the grandeur of your legacy.

As knights bound by the codex of unyielding loyalty, we shall act as your aegis, a living bulwark against the tumults of an ever-changing fandomscape. Our efforts will be as relentless as the ceaseless tides, our purpose as immutable as the lodestar that guides mariners across uncharted seas. We shall stand as sentinels, ever vigilant, and as heralds, proclaiming the magnificence of your vision to all who dare to listen.

Your Majesty, may you find solace in the knowledge that your realm is safeguarded by those who hold your sovereignty as sacrosanct. We are resolute in our mission, unswerving in our allegiance, and indefatigable in our commitment to upholding the eminence of your throne. Let the world bear witness to our oath, for it is not merely spoken but inscribed indelibly within the annals of our hearts.

Thus, as I stand before you as both supplicant and sentinel, I offer this solemn vow: no hardship shall dissuade us, no peril shall deter us, and no opposition shall overcome us. We are, and forever shall remain, your unyielding bastion, an impervious rampart against the vicissitudes of the fandom world. My Queen, your light shall not waver, your legacy shall not fade, and your reign shall endure unto eternity.

From another of our knights.

PS:Please read the letter that my ally sent to you, although it won´t be nothing compared to Our Sovereign Queen.

please you guys HAVE to tell me how you learned to write like this, i might actually need it for formal scenes 🥺💖💖💖

[bloodinwine]

hi hi lovely! goodness theres so many i want to ask ❤️ so curious about your answers for most of the prompts, but let’s see… 12, 29, and 58. 🫶

Hi friend! I hope you are well! Thank you for reaching out <3 12. How does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you? I've been very fortunate. The friends I've made in this space are amazing. I had a beta reader for most of UY who supported me immensely. I didn't have a beta reader this last chapter and that was an interesting experience, to proceed without someone to hold my hand and say it was okay to let go. I thought I was going to continue without one, because let's face it...asking anyone to beta read one of my fucking longass chapters is, I'm pretty sure, unethical. But a friend of mine really wanted to be a part of the process and I'd realized I really do enjoy the collaborative aspect that can come with writing. It can feel quite lonely at times. I have a small community of friends who are also creators who just...are so, so wonderful. The feedback and support has taught me so much and I keep learning more and I am eternally grateful. I want to have fun. I want to stay in love with writing. And the support has helped me to stay reminded of this. I wish I could express my gratitude better. 29. What's your revision or editing process like? Oof. Well. It's a very long and tedious process let me tell you. I'll use Chapter 18 as an example since I'm 10 pages away from being finished with the final revision. My drafts are skeletal usually, where I'm just laying down the groundwork of what is actually happening in the scenes. It's basically an outline really. Then the first revision for me is all about adding, this is where I see my word count skyrocket (and where I can get carried away...). The second revision is where I try to check that everything makes sense, that there aren't any pieces that make you go huh? The third revision is about making everything sound pretty lol.

I'll do a final edit of course where I just check for typos and other small things. But funny enough, sometimes I wind up adding a new line or two in that stage as well.

58. What part of the writing process do you enjoy the most? It's hard to say, I love each part of my process for different reasons. But I think the third revision is where I start to get what I call a writer's high lol. I can see the vision I had finally come to life and it's really satisfying.

Thank you for the asks!!! <3

[pelagaye]

that distant shore

fandom: honkai star rail pairing: gepard landau x reader summary: oceans don't exist on jarilo-vi anymore and there’s really nothing for gepard to change that. but the way how you speak fondly of that distant shore none of you have truly seen influences the affections he holds for you to do something about it. notes: it makes me unhappy that the eternal freeze on belobog might not ever disappear and this fic is just here to comfort me through that fact

there's an abundance of reading materials within qlipoth fort for anyone to delve themselves with.

you're one of the many few, along with pela, who actually takes advantage of this and bronya insists that you pay no mind about the hours that practically glues you to the pages of the novels you read, reassuring the fact that you may actually stay much longer than necessary when your responsibilities are accomplished.

it's not an issue in any way to the newly assigned supreme guardian because aside from the fact you are one of her appointed head officials, she's pretty much aware of the fact that the only thing that can make you pause from your reading is a captain of the silvermane guards who'd lean on the entrance of the door frame with all of his duties finally done to let you know it's getting darker outside.

gathering your things, gepard helps you up from your seat on the floor cushion, his hands lingering onto yours longer than intended before a phrase of gratitude parts from your lips.

it's a routine for the both you at this point. occurrences that you both are secretly thankful for to have in your lives while everything is constant.

such as the wind that caresses your cheeks during the start of your late night walk with gepard, the soft smile you offer to your favorite companion as a conversation makes an opening between yourselves, the consistent cold that envelopes belobog–

ah. the consistent cold that envelopes belobog, the eternal freeze. others would even call it the ice age. but no matter the name it holds, the infamous snowstorm will always leave a bitter taste on your mouth.

because how is that, even when it has ended thanks to a group of trailblazers that saved the planet, its ecological effects remain constant with everything else.

"have i ever told you about the ocean?" you inquire the blond beside you.

gepard gives you a short nod knowing you already had, at least more than a hundred times before already.

you always loved the ocean, despite haven't even seeing it.

so you tell gepard everything you've learned about it.

you’d tell him about the sand that meets with the mass of water on the other side and how its waves, described to be water that moves in rhythm as if they were dancing, would apparently wash up beautiful treasures of various kinds known as shells and possibly corals.

gepard doesn’t fail to admire you as you continue your rambling about the body of water despite the cold that’s freezing your outsides. he listens to each and every detail you continue to share. it does make him wonder if it had ever keep you up at night as you can only yearn for the ocean shore that may serve you as the lullaby you heavily desire for those sleepless nights.

"but if you really think about it, not one person in belobog knows the basics to swimming."

"and you do?"

"is my obsession not enough to convince you?

chuckles dispersed from the both of you and it is enough for gepard to relax himself that despite everything, the ocean is still a source of your happiness. what a tough rival he has before him, indeed.

"when the time comes where i no longer need the novels to tell me about that distant shore, you'll be the first to tag along with me."

the expression on gepard's face changes. nothing too extreme but with one brow rising up, he had to seek your reasons.

you're the only one gently laughing now as you turn to him. gepard feels his ears burning at how precious you appear in front of him before you speak again.

"to see if the rumors are true, of course! you'll be like my second witness, and we'll confirm information together like- like if the sea is really blue! just like the sky-"

just like your eyes.

"and how salty the ocean can be! it'll mean the world to me!"

knowing you'll also be there too.

gepard shakes his head with a smile on his face, he can't just say no to you with every endearment he has saved for the person that you are.

this brings a similar smile to your own and it stays there for awhile, that is, until the cold weather makes its presence known once again, forcing the expression on your face to turn.

"if only we would still be young enough by then to reach it," you sigh. "oh aeons, what a childish dream it actually is."

it is anything but childish, gepard thinks to himself. but you are foolish to say the least because he's more than willing to grow old with you and make that dream of yours come true.

but for now, the both of you can only find such satisfaction with only each other. and in some way or another, it was enough.

—

four days. it's exactly four days after since that night with gepard. he continues to walk you home, of course. with an exception of last night that is, saying he had to run around for some errands.

you, having no need for the blond to elaborate any further, still wonders about it. not that it bothers or anything, definitely not, but eventually the theories in your mind fades upon seeing a tiny box on your office desk.

beside the box is a note indicating it's fragility, the messy handwriting almost too familiar.

and when you do open the gift, the item inside flusters yourself, making you want to treasure the miniature sphere for life.

"oh? another letter?"

to the ocean's beloved marine admirer,

if i had all power in the galaxy, i'd drag multiple body masses of water to where we are today for the sake of your adoration for them, as my adoration for you exceeds that. to tell you the truth, these oceans you speak of makes my heart experience jealousy at times with the way you are so passionate about the idea and concepts surrounding them. still, it has not stopped me from crafting this ornament you hold now. it's called a "snow globe" according to writings but instead of snow, i got help from my sister with assembling it to resemble a sunny bright beach with the distant shore you hope for. may it be to your liking. and oh, do tell me what you think about it the moment we are to cross paths again. you see, i may have been working on it these past days so i apologize if the secrecy had made you suspect badly of me but i have done it with all of my genuine sentiments.

i look forward on taking your offer of witnessing the sun reflecting its rays on the ocean and the irresistible smile that'll loom on your face right after as the scent of the saltiness reaches our noses.

sincerely yours, g. landau

the moment the letter ends, all we may surmise now is an unsuspecting gepard who is confronted by you, his face turning red. gepard, who no longer received a thank you from your lips, instead, it's a soft impact you had on his cheeks. and you, who has fallen deeply in love with the ocean, can say this much: that your heart belongs where it has to be.

[2baddiesfanfics]

Time is Relative, Love is Eternal

Pairing: Ei x Miko

Tags: Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Elemental Magic, Vaginal Fingering, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex, Banter

Summary:

Ei is back, and Miko is conflicted. Wasn’t this the moment she had been waiting 500 years for? If so, why does she feel so…upset? In an attempt to keep things professional, she agrees to a meeting that ends slightly differently than what she may have been expecting.

Read on Ao3

Yae Miko was not typically the sentimental type. As editor-in-chief of Yae Publishing House, she had read so many light novels centered around fairy tale romances that she thought she had become immune to the way her heart would race when she thought of…the Raiden Shogun.

At times she despised hearing the woman she knew intimately as Ei be called by that damnable title - one that should be reserved for someone more…responsible. Someone who actually thought of the well-being of her people and hadn’t run away and left duty to a puppet, of all things.

Miko thought she was over it. That she’d be so filled with gratitude to the Traveler for bringing back the woman she would have gladly waited 500 more years for if she had to. Perhaps it hadn’t fully sunk in at the time. When their eyes finally met in the Plane of Euthymia, Miko was…frightened. Frightened by what she felt at that moment. These were eyes that had a soul, unlike the empty vessel that had been sitting in Tenshukaku doing the dirty work.

As she walked the streets of Inazuma City, she couldn’t help but wonder: Now that the dust had settled after their whirlwind of a reunion, where did it leave them? How, after centuries of not so much as a proper goodbye, could her heart betray her like this? The mere thought of seeing Ei’s gentle smile directed at her once more made her chest throb.

And yet…she had agreed to an audience with her. There was much to discuss, and Miko planned to keep things strictly professional. Above all, they had a country to run. Personal feelings aside, they both had a duty to the people of Inazuma.

“Guuji Yae,” the guard at the gate addressed her with a deep bow. “The Shogun has been expecting you.”

“Oh, dear. Hopefully I didn’t keep her waiting longer than 500 years,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Unsure of how to respond, he wordlessly moved to the side and opened the door. She swiftly made her way to the inner chamber, took a deep breath, and entered.

Ei glanced up as she heard her enter. “Leave us,” she instructed the two men serving as her personal guards. They didn’t hesitate to remove themselves from the premises.

Miko took a seat in front of her. “Stoic as ever, I see,” she commented. “I’m sure you didn’t call me here just to catch up on the latest gossip. Can we get to the point? I’ve got manuscripts piled on my desk that need my impeccable eye for detail.”

Ei’s expression softened. “Miko…we must talk. Ever since I returned you’ve seemed…distant.” The kitsune felt every hair on her body stand on end. She rose to her feet in fury.

“I seem distant? ME? Distant! Hah! Imagine that. It’s not like I haven’t seen the woman I swore to serve in centuries. Heavens, no,” she strode over to the archon and brought her face closer than she should have dared to. “Tell me, oh great and mighty Shogun, why might that be? Hmm?”

“Miko…I-I don’t understand. Aren’t you happy we can now pick up where we left off after all these years?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Do you hear yourself, Ei? Are you really that naive? I spent the last 500 years loyally doing my duty as best I could. Unlike you, I didn’t run and hide from my responsibilities.”

Ei narrowed her eyes. “Hold your tongue, Miko. You have no idea the weight I hold on my shoulders in this position. The responsibility, the suffering, the losses I’ve faced…”

Miko felt as if she’d just been slapped across the face. “The suffering? The losses you’ve faced, Ei? What about the losses I’ve endured?” Despite her attempts to remain strong, tears began to fall.

“Were you truly so terrified of change that you would hide for all eternity? That you would take advantage of the knowledge that I’d wait for you as long as it took? I loved you, Ei! I loved you and would have done anything to keep you here with me, but you ran like a coward. Eternity may have seemed like heaven to you, but it was hell for me! Do you still not understand?”

Ei stared wide-eyed at her. “Miko…you…love me?”

Miko stared past Ei, focusing on the pattern of the walls behind her instead of the god - her god - before her. She didn’t mean to say those three words…they’d just slipped out.

“Miko,” she whispered as she reached for her hand. “I swear I never meant to hurt you. If I would have known…”

“Ha! Hurt? What clued you in? I’m not just hurt, Ei. At first, I was hurt, angry, frustrated…but at a certain point, I….” her voice trailed off, not daring to give her the satisfaction of knowing there was a different emotion that emerged stronger than any of these.

Miko had already said the words she could never take back. She wasn’t going to tell her about the loneliness she felt across those endless years. How she longed for their playful banter. How she yearned for her late at night when she looked out at the Inazuman sky. How she wanted to feel her soft lips brush her own under the Sakura trees of their home country. But no. Ei wasn’t entitled to these thoughts and feelings. She had left her with instructions and a puppet in her place, lifeless compared to the woman she thought she once knew.

“Miko,” Ei whispered, “I was selfish…I know that now. But you must understand - I lost the person I cared for most and was uncertain of how to handle living in such despair.”

Miko’s ears folded back and she began to cry harder. “I just confessed that I love her, and she has the gall to tell me I’m not the person she cares for most,” Miko thought as her vision blurred.

“I understood your need to grieve. But I was still there for you. She was your twin; that is a bond not easily broken. I understood needing to go to a quiet place for a while, but when days turned into months turned into years…,” she choked on the last word. “You abandoned me, Ei.”

The Shogun stepped close, placing her hands gently on both sides of her face. Her thumbs wiped at the tears Miko had tried so hard to keep bottled up inside.

“During those centuries in isolation…” she paused, thinking of how to word what she was trying to convey. “At first, all I thought of was my sister. But as time ticked on, I realized she wasn’t who my heart was truly longing for. While I will always love and miss her fiercely, it was your voice I would hear and your touches I’d think of to help bring me back from the abyss of despair I found myself in.”

Miko looked up at her and rolled her eyes, desperately trying not to cave. What she wanted more than anything was to collapse into her arms. “You don’t have to say those things just because it’s what you think I want to hear,” Miko whined, her bottom lip quivering.

“The funny thing about trying to run away from your feelings is that you’ll always be fighting a losing battle. Try as I might, I was never able to escape them. It was always you, Miko. By the time I finally came to my senses, I was ashamed and didn’t know if you would ever want anything to do with me again. Yet here I am, baring my soul as you did to me. To hell with eternity. Eternity without the woman I love by my side is not somewhere I ever want to be.”

Miko broke. She had gone into this resolutely thinking she would make Ei regret leaving her behind, but now that she was here in front of her admitting she reciprocated her feelings, there was no need to play games. They had 500 years of passion locked inside of them, and it was high time they acted on it.

Miko leaned in further, close enough that Ei could feel her breath on her lips. “If we’re going to do this, I need you to swear on your life you’ll never leave me again, Ei. I can’t give you my heart if you’re just going to shatter it.”

At that point, no words were needed. There was zero hesitation in the way their lips met in a searing kiss that sealed the promise between them.

Miko’s ears pricked up at the sound of her soft moan of appreciation. She became hyper-aware of the sensation of Ei’s hands entwined in her hair as she drew her closer. Testing the waters, Miko took her bottom lip between one of her sharp canines and bit down lightly. Ei let out a noise that encouraged her to proceed, her tongue flicking out to lick her fang. The kitsune elicited an animalistic whine at the daring move.

“Ohhhhh Ei…that’s dangerous…you better watch it or I might not be able to control myself,” she whispered threateningly.

Ei opened her eyes and met her challenging gaze fearlessly. “Don’t hold back on my account. I can handle it, I assure you.”

“Is that so, dear?” she said as she moved her hand to Ei’s neck to keep her steady. Shifting to whisper in her ear, Ei could feel her nails dig just a bit deeper into her skin, enough to make her wince in what a weaker woman might feel as pain. “Then I hope you’re prepared to make up for lost time because we aren’t leaving this room for a while.”

Ei felt her march her back until her shoulders hit the nearest wall. “Since you’re so tough, I don’t think you’ll mind standing for this,” Miko said, a wicked grin appearing on her face. “Let’s call it a test of endurance. But first, we’ll need to do away with this…”

She reached down and undid the belt of Ei’s kimono with one swift pull. Miko’s eyes went wide as she took in the sight of her. How she longed to mark her unblemished skin with signs of possession that only she could leave behind.

Ei let out a soft chuckle. “My, what big eyes you have.”

“Oh hush,” Miko chastised as she rolled her eyes then leaned down to bite her shoulder. “You humans and your silly little fairy tales. I may be a fox rather than a wolf, but that only means I’m more cunning. Now open your legs for me,” she commanded.

A deep scarlet blush spread across Ei’s face as she did as she was told. Miko continued to nip and lick down her chest as she brought her hand lower. Ei’s hips twitched in anticipation.

“That desperate, hmmm? Tell me, what kind of sounds does an archon make when they come? I suppose I’m about to find out.”

She dropped to her knees in front of her and Ei was thankful she had her back against a wall for support. Miko grabbed and spread her thighs further, inserting herself in between them. Staring up through her lashes, she directed, “Look at me, Ei. I want you to watch me.” She did so defiantly until Miko’s tongue met her sex in a long, languid swipe.

“Ah…Mikooooo,” she hissed.

Savoring her taste, Miko hummed in approval. “You’re going to need to be louder than that. Am I really doing that poor of a job?” she said with a mock pout. “Perhaps I need to be a bit more…forceful.” She pressed her face in deeper, her nose now hitting her clit as her tongue thrust inside of her.

“Fuck! M-m-miko!” Ei shouted as she gripped her head just above her ears. A pulse of pleasure shot through Miko at her touch, but she wasn’t quite ready to let her in on that little secret of sensitivity.

Instead, a muffled “that’s better” came in response. She continued to lap at her folds until she could feel her begin to shake. Shifting her tongue to focus on the bundle of nerves at the top, she began to suck just hard enough so Ei’s grip on her hair intensified.

“Miko! Agh! I’m coming…” she moaned as her knees buckled. Luckily Miko was no weakling and caught her with ease, cutting off her scream of ecstasy with a deep kiss. Despite being depleted of energy, Ei showed her appreciation by delving her tongue into Miko’s mouth once more to trace across both of her fangs.

Miko’s moan reverberated against her lips. The fact Ei cared enough to show some love to her non-human side made her melt into her arms. The two pulled apart, gasping for air. Ei’s index finger slid across Miko’s lips wiping away a string of saliva that still connected them.

Running her hand through her pink hair, Ei’s fingers once again grazed Miko’s ears. This motion earned her a soft whine from the kitsune and she made a mental note to ask her about it later.

“Ei…I need you,” Miko whispered, her eyes sparkling with lust.

The Shogun spun her needy lover to sit facing the wall she was writhing on just moments ago and pulled at the belt that held her kimono together. With a snap of her fingers, a mirror appeared in front of Miko. Ei leaned down and kissed her cheek before settling behind her and placing her between her legs.

Kissing down Miko’s neck, her lips grazed her shoulder as she strategically selected where to stop to nip and suck. Sharp red marks rose to the surface of Miko’s skin as Ei’s hands massaged her breasts and played with her nipples.

“Ah…ahhhh…it’s been so long, Ei…”

“I know. I’ve missed this, my little minx,” she said as she smiled against her shoulder.

Ei removed her hands, deciding instead to place them on Miko’s thighs, slowly parting them. “Now, be a good little fox and stay like this,” Ei instructed.

Miko raised her hooded gaze to see herself in the mirror. Her reflection revealed flushed cheeks still damp with traces of Ei’s sweet nectar, her spread legs exposing her own arousal dripping onto the floor.

“My, my. Look at you, all needy and ready for me in no time at all,” Ei cunningly said as she took in the beautiful scene in front of her. Moving her hands back to Miko’s breasts, she continued her ministrations.

“Ooooo Eeeii…I want more,” Miko whined turning her head to seek her lover’s mouth.

“Patience, my love. We’ll get there. I promise not to keep you waiting this time,” Ei responded as she placed her lips on hers.

Ei’s eyes glowed a deep violet and Miko could feel sparks prick at her skin where her lips and hands touched. Her fingers now slid from her chest down past her stomach to rest on her hips. The other hand followed suit, but traveled further south and parted her lips with two fingers, spreading her open to an even greater extent. With the pulse of her abilities still coursing through her fingertips she moved the other hand to the bundle of nerves and lightly rubbed it.

“Unghhhhhh!” was the only sound Miko could muster. Ei toyed with her as her moans became louder.

Ei’s lips brushed against her ear as she whispered, “Now watch.”

Miko focused on the mirror as she watched two of Ei’s fingers disappear inside of her. She let out a sharp gasp as Ei started to pump and curl her fingers inside her. Slight jolts of electricity pulsed in time with her rhythm.

“Oooooooh Ei! Yes! Fuck! Right t-t-there!” Miko shrieked.

Ei quickly moved her other hand to Miko’s mouth. “Shhhhh. We must be quiet; we don’t want the guards to think something is amiss now do we?”

Miko shook her head in the negative as she moaned into Ei’s hand. With a few more thrusts, Miko threw her head back onto Ei’s shoulder shaking as she came. Ei kissed the side of her forehead in reassurance before withdrawing her hand.

As Miko’s panting slowed, she could feel the beating of Ei’s heart where her chest met her back. This wasn’t just a dream. She was here again. A living, breathing being, not some puppet with a faraway gaze who acted on orders without argument. After 500 years, the woman she would have waited a millennium for was finally back where she belonged - by her side.

[birbliophile]

Hello, I hope you don't mind me sending this to your asks box. I couldn't really figure out where to best send the message, but I really wanted to express my heartfelt appreciation for The Taste of Goodbye, so I just decided to send it as an ask. I cannot properly express my gratitude with words alone, but it's worth a try.

First of all - and I'm starting to sound like a broken record here - I obsess over so many aspects of Dungeon Meshi and its characters. One of those aspects I obsess over is Marcille, and how she'd cope with inevitably outliving everyone she holds dear. I think she'd manage, but I wanted to see more stuff exploring that in particular. I've seen comics about it. Beautiful little snippets that leave a hole in my chest and a rope neatly tied around my lungs, but this is the first time I've discovered an actual story about it. And not just any story. No, no no… It's an expertly crafted masterpiece, written in a way that makes me feel emotions I didn't even know I could still feel.

I can't go into detail without spoiling anyone in case this is responded to, but what I can say is that each chapter is unique. With each passing comes a new banquette, and with each new banquette come valuable memories, which can be cherished forever. Sure, they're gone, but their memories and legacy remain. Even if everybody who remembers you has passed away, the world is ever changing and worth exploring. It is worth it to cherish every moment, even if you're the last one standing. You only live once, and every moment of life has meaning. I think Chapter 9 and 10 have some of the most touching, saddening and simultaneously beautiful and hopeful conversations ever. After dwelling on Marcille's lifespan for so long, I'm almost kind of ashamed I never discovered this story before, but now that I've read it, I am eternally grateful.

Your writing style is so perfect for this, the narration describing each action worked wonders for my vivid imagination, and I had no trouble whatsoever imagining these scenes as though they were actually happening. Reading about Marcille's reaction to each passing, as slowly but surely she outlives everyone she loves... It's heartbreaking. The agony of parting is almost palpable. Like a thick smog clogging up my lungs as tears stream down my face. But with each passing, there's a silver lining. Their memories and legacy remain. The people they met, the friends they made, they hold onto those memories and cherish them.

On a more personal note - which I think is necessary to properly convey my gratitude for having read this story - it's almost like coming full circle with the story of Dungeon Meshi and how it affected me. I've attended plenty of funerals, and I felt just as distraught, yet simultaneously hopeful reading this story as I did when I was attending those funerals. At some point though, I stopped caring. I was tired of mourning and shedding tears, and so I stopped crying. I desensitized myself so I no longer had to face the pain of loss, and it's made me very out of touch with my emotions. Dungeon Meshi was the first story I ever read, where I resonated with its characters as deeply as I did. For the first time in years, I was crying, and it hurt. Physically. I genuinely thought I was having a heart attack or broke my ribs, because I hadn't actually felt true sadness in such a long time that my mind and body almost felt like they were at odds with one another, as though my mind was out of practice with emotions, and my body was all too eager to teach it.

Dungeon Meshi has so many themes that stuck with me, and it drove me to feel something again. Something more than weird sensations stapled down under years of desensitization. In a sense, reading this story, about Marcille attending her friends' funerals, is like coming full circle. I was looking forward to reading this because it explored a topic I'm deeply interested in, but now that I finished it, it feels like it completed the story for me in a way not even the post-ending comics could. I wasn't expecting that, but I'm very glad.

I'm sorry if this is kind of an awkward rant, and I'm sorry if it's way longer than actually necessary, but I really wanted to express just how grateful I am I found your story. I am privileged to have experienced this, and my only regret is that I'll never be able to experience it the same way again. I look forward to reading more of your stories.

Thank you.

Wow! Imagine my surprise and delight to get such a kind and extensive comment about The Taste of Goodbye in my inbox! I needed quite a bit of time to compose my response, so here it is:

Marcille’s lifespan being so integral to the themes of Dungeon Meshi is something that also captivated me when I read the manga, and part of the reason I started writing TTOG was because at the time, the fandom was still growing exponentially and there weren’t a ton of fics on ao3 about Marcille and outliving her friends. 

Grief has always been a major theme in my writing, which I honestly only recently kind of figured out. I often say I like happy, fluffy stories, and that is still true—a lot of my works are rather comedic in nature. But grief—the pain of loss, the way it can tear you apart and ache like a wound that will never fully go away, it’s something I find deeply human and fascinating to explore. 

But it’s not really the pain that I find myself drawn to. It’s the love. There’s a quote from the game God of War: Ragnarok that stuck with me a lot and that I’ve thought about every time I write a new grief piece, and it goes like this: 

“The culmination of love is grief. And yet we love despite the inevitable, we open our hearts to it…To grieve deeply…is to have loved fully. Open your heart to the world as you have opened it to me, and you will find every reason to keep living in it.”

It’s a fantastic summary of everything I adore when I write about grief. To write about grief is to write about love, about remembering everything that was good and bad that will never be again, but will always be carried in the hearts of those that survive. Similarly, when I write about death I like to highlight the beauty of life, of change, of what makes life worth living.  

Every life is celebrated, wonderful in its own way, and no life is wasted if there is love in it.

I’m so glad that Dungeon Meshi was such an important piece of art for you, to get you to experience sadness and catharsis in such a powerful way. It’s so cool that art can do this kind of thing! I think good art is deeply important to humanity for this reason—it’s like carving out a piece of your soul and having it resonate with others like the song they never knew they were aching for. 

TTOG is one such piece of my soul, and I’m both immensely surprised and grateful that it’s touched so many people. It might come as a surprise to many that I wouldn’t consider it my magnum opus—I didn’t set out to make it the best thing ever, I just wanted to write a story I hadn’t seen yet in the fandom, and like you said, to bring the story full circle regarding the themes around Marcille, life, and food. In fact, there are a few lines that I’m like “hm, I could’ve done better” and often I’m like “has no one noticed that I forgot the beach I mentioned in Chapter 5 does not exist?” 

But I was very genuine when I wrote it—with all my writing I approach it with emotions that it would be easy to play cool or be ironic about. And I think it’s very clear in my narration how much weight and feeling I give to grief and to love. Which means I’m pretty satisfied with TTOG in the end! 

You absolutely don’t have to apologize for sending me this, I can’t express enough how happy it makes me to get comments from people about how much they enjoyed the writing I create! To have your creation be so meaningful and inspire such deep emotions in others is truly one of the greatest achievements for an artist. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever write anything that hits that hard for so many people again, but I do have a few concepts cooking that might end up having a similar energy to TTOG if I find the energy to complete them. 

Since I mainly write for the Dr. Stone fandom, it may take some time for me to come back to my Dungeon Meshi projects. But I’m happy to see that if/when I do start posting more Dungeon Meshi writing, I’ll definitely have an audience of people who really enjoy my style and themes.

Thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts about TTOG with me, and I hope you have a lovely day.  

Oh, and to anyone wondering, the fic mentioned here can be read on ao3 as The Taste of Goodbye by Birbliophile (that’s me, of course!) Warning for BIG end-of-manga spoilers!!

[wellhalesbells]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @piratefalls! Yay, wasting time - I've been doing so much of that today and thank you for giving me another way to! (Seriously, I would've just been watching more Youtube compilations without you.) That's probably why these answers are so long. Procrastination? Wellllll don't mind if I do!

How many works do you have on ao3? 154

What's your total ao3 word count?

1,280,205

What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily Teen Wolf and Harry Potter. HP was my original homeslice and I kind of sharpened my teeth on fic-writing in general there, found what I liked and didn't like, how to engage with fandom, what I found attractive and what turned me off (for characters and plot beats), honed my craft and made my mistakes there and then with the advent of AO3 and the finding of Teen Wolf, I feel like I blossomed and built a home and am hopefully making fewer oopsiedoosles. Though I have also written a fic or so for: Hannibal, The Meg, Mr. Robot, X-Men, Star Trek, and Breaking Bad.

Top five fics by kudos:

There's Monsters at Home, Sterek, Teen Wolf. (15,285)

Time to Eternity, Drarry, Harry Potter. (8,416)

Option C) Some Bad Guys are Werewolves, but Not All Werewolves are Bad Guys, Sterek, Teen Wolf. (7,759)

Of Bananas, Babies and Buzzkills, Sterek, Teen Wolf. (5,134)

Instructions for Dancing, Sterek, Teen Wolf. (5,099)

Do you respond to comments?

Not anymore. Occasionally one that asks a direct question I'll answer, if that answer isn't already somewhere on or in the fic.

Though the last one I answered was someone who didn't read my tags or notes, telling me I didn't warn for something that was in the tags and notes, and I was so polite, like, "How can I make this clearer?" instead of saying, "#!@%^&$@$@#^$%&$^&^&$%^@#$%" like I fucking wanted to and they then said: "Oh yeah, I didn't read any of that, guess you don't need to change anything." Which was exactly what I expected would happen and I took the time to answer because I want more than anything to teach that person a lesson, even though I am absolutely certain they learned nothing from the interaction. But I tried, I did my part, and I wasn't even an asshole about it. (Please, please, please, the amount of times I've been told in the snarkiest damn fashion to tag for something that is already fucking tagged...... like, how do I have to say: read the tags before snidely chastising me for what isn't in them?? And it's not like.... I used different language or anything, they will ask me to tag for the EXACT DAMN TAG already on the fic. My collection of these comments is genuinely getting out of hand.)

And there is one I kind of want to answer that I got in the last month or so because it's one of the nicest and most vulnerable things I've ever been told but there aren't enough letters, or strong enough ones, or big enough ones to hold all the gratitude and care that wants to pour into them so I just... haven't.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hrm, I think these are just the most obvious of those and if I actually had to sit with this and go through my catalogue of fic, I would come up with a way more off-center answer because the angst is much subtler but harder hitting but that sounds like it would take brain power and, wow, is it that late already *coughs*

Either I Smoke My Friends Down to the Filter or But the Mess Prevails. I think maybe the latter because it's kind of triumphant in ISMFDttF, Stiles stands up for himself, but in BtMP they both want to be together but it's just another way for Derek to punish himself if they are.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Similar caveat to the one above as I'm not really focusing on ending (because more brain power) as much as just happy overall. Either [Hilary Duff Lyric Redacted] or Instructions for Dancing - they are both just fluff bombs almost entirely from start to finish.

Do you get hate on fics?

Mostly no. There's one fic that I have comments turned off on (THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS FUNCTION, AO3, 10000000% THIS FIC WOULD NOT STILL EXIST IF NOT FOR YOU) because people would yell things at me I already explicitly stated I agreed with? Like I wrote a fic for a fest (back when I wrote in a lot fests, lol), it was a dark prompt and I can't remember if the prompter wanted a happy ending or if it was a stipulation of the fest that it couldn't end badly but it's a dark prompt so while I could get the two characters to the point of co-parenting, I did not get them back together. And the comments I mainly got were: how dare you get them the fuck back together? To which I was like: um, I didn't, also if I was forced to keep going with this fic, this character would end up with this one instead. And then I got a deluge of comments that were like: how dare you get them back together!? And for a while, I explained that you read into it, which is understandable as - to satisfy whomever's requirement - it is an impression I wanted you to walk away with, but as you'll notice at no point are they back together or romantically involved again, they're in the same room and have reached a ceasefire, that's it. And that's as friendly as I see that relationship getting, and no one read any of that and kept yelling at me for the same reason and mentally I was like: fuck all of you, either the fic goes or I do so I turned off the comments so I wouldn't delete it. I find since commenting is off (or "hidden" rather, I can still see it and have the option to approve or nuke it), people have to really engage with a) what I've already replied before and b) whether or not it's worth it to leave a review that will literally only be seen by me. Suddenly everyone has reading comprehension and no one is just yelling to yell because the only one you're engaging with is *jazz hands* me, and I am obviously not the audience for that.

Do you write smut?

Yep!

Craziest crossover:

I have a Hunger Games/TW one that is one of two unfinished fics on AO3 because every time I even think about it, it intimidates me. And since I don't read crossovers, I have no idea how you're supposed to do them or how much of the other IP you can take on without it seeming like you've just rewritten with different characters or how much you should change when everyone knows what you're working from anyway - it's all a mystery to me and I am flummoxed by it.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

People post my old HP shit that no longer exists on the internet to Wattpad quite a bit and I am not savvy enough to figure out how to get it down. The few times I've contacted people who posted it under my name to take it down, instead just remove my name and fully pretend it's theirs. On some, I've found the people on LJ who have saved the fic in question and are giving it out and quietly asked them to stop because they were ending up as stolen fic on Wattpad.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, many!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Em and I have started one but never finished - it's me, I'm Mr. Ambrose: "I start, I don't finish things."

All time favorite ship?

I think it's Stiles and Derek, man??? I don't know, I have a lot of niche ones too that I feel like if there were more content/interest, they would be it but there isn't sooooo....

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

That THG/TW fic - it scares me so much. Like, who was that confident girl who didn't understand things at all and was like: yeah, that's fine? Don't know her. PvW - I have a lot written in the future and for the next chapter, plus an outline, it's just a matter of getting my attention to stay on it and I have the next chapter of WDHGsGA written and an outline for the next two, I just don't want to post it until it's totally finished so I don't have to worry about losing the atmosphere/tone again and, again, I just have to get my focus back to it but the chances of me letting that writing go totally down the drain? Unlikely.

What are your writing strengths?

Um, I think I have a good understanding of how humans work. I think writing is definitely made a lot easier when you have a handle on the psychology and a gut sense for people. It's not hard to craft fake scenarios when you have a pretty decent understanding of how people would react in them.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Grammar-wise, commas throw me completely. I have no idea where they're supposed to go and I do my best, okay?! I really only got Florida public school education on this and it was: wherever you feel like you should have one, do that.

More generally, I also feel like I don't have the same needs to satisfy as a large percentage of readers - I need a relationship at the core of a fic to feel significant and weighty to want to write a story about it, but that doesn't mean it needs to survive to the end of said fic or that characters need to hit certain relationship milestones for it to feel worthwhile to me. I think this sometimes leads me to endings that some people feel are unsatisfying because I got what I needed but maybe some readers didn't?

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Totally neutral. Doesn't bother or thrill me to any extent.

First fandom you wrote in?

Harry Potter.

Favorite fic you've written?

Favorite? That's hard. I'm, as mentioned, super shitty at finishing things so the fact that TMaH is completed - even without going into any of its content (all of which is made to order, absolutely my favorite stuff) - makes it a top contender.

I also still really love A Fine Foray into Fashionable Fellatio, the last Harry Potter fic I wrote, which was Draco/Ron. I love that to kick my brain into gear, I would start mentally painting the scenes, from oranges and reds to beiges and cool winter blues - I don't know I've ever used color so much in anything. It hasn't worked since and I think it's because - having been away from those characters and that fandom for so long - I had such a crystal clear image of them and because Draco, especially, was so different from how he's usually pictured in fic/fanart (curly-haired, absolutely swank as fuck Muggle style) that the lines were so defined it was easy to paint within them.

And I think my favorite writing piece right now is He Speaks in Petals. It's such a short fic and I reread it in the last year or so and it's so much more lyrical than I remember. I knew that was what I was going for and I did not think I managed it but it's got some really soft, kind whimsy to it that I like a lot and find very calming and reaffirming.

No pressure tagging @kikiroo, @rosieposiepuddingnpie, @literaryoblivion, @yodas-yo-yo, @clotpolesonly, @callunavulgari, @andavs, @i-sveikata, @alocalband !