#so many songs I've kept close to my heart and soul for years

[this-love-is-delicate]

Fake fan alert: I haven't listened Speak Now TV because brother I am so scared to

[1-800-kami]

agnes, just stop and think a minute

gojo satoru x reader (1.2k)

" you're gone but you're on my mind, i'm lost but i don't know why. ,,

warnings: CHAPTER 236 SPOILERS, reader and shoko r going THRU it, i wrote this during a mental breakdown, denial, semi-comfort at the end

a/n: when i found out about what happened i just spent 2 hours on social media just. watching everything gojo related and i kind of wanted to reflect my reaction through this word vomit of a drabble. i haven't cried at all but i just feel so devastated and oh my god it's been terrible. rest in peace to my bb </3

based off of one of my favorite glass animals songs (agnes) that i've always associated with gojo.

you like to think that grief in your life always comes and goes.

it’s a part of being a jujutsu sorcerer. each day, new people are trained to become one, and others die the same day. there are new beginnings, and people who meet their ends. you know sorcerers out there who have completely closed themselves off just so they don’t have to experience the soul crushing feeling of grief. 

it’s like a bud, they say. a bud that forcefully plants itself in your heart, and you can do nothing but watch it grow as it takes hold of every part of your being. people describe the feeling in many ways: a weight on top of your chest that won’t cease, or a part of your heart that’s been ripped away, and nothing in your life seems to fill the remnants of it. 

you’ve experienced grief in your life many times. loss is so normalized as a sorcerer that you’ve almost lost count at this point, but the ones that have hit you the hardest are the deaths of your closest friends: kento nanami, yu haibara, and geto suguru. they haunt your thoughts every day, up until the point where everything feels asphyxiating and you sometimes want to join your friends too.

you think that geto’s death hit you the hardest. 

you remember geto’s disappearance and the night parade of a hundred demons like it was yesterday. the hardest pill to swallow about his death was the fact that it could’ve been prevented. geto’s lifeless eyes made you see parallels from the weeks leading up to his disappearance. he just needed a push in the right direction, but then you couldn’t even do that and you didn’t see all the signs of his deteriorating mental health. you just felt so guilty, even though your friends assured you that it wasn’t your fault.

seeing geto’s body for the first time after 10 years made you wail uncontrollably–and you had to be forcefully pried off of him despite your screams of protest. the most prominent thing about his body were his lifeless eyes–and guilt coursed through your veins as you knew that they were probably devoid of life even before his death.

that guilt stuck with you for a long time, and you felt it until you thought that it would consume you whole.

that’s why shoko was hesitant to show you gojo’s body.

she knows that you would have an emotional outburst again, like last time. actually, she knew this one would be worse, because geto was a best friend to you, but satoru was the light of your life. he was your lover. your soulmate, even. the reason why you were excited to come home everyday. he grieved about geto with you, and you held each other when you both cried… usually when december 24th was nearing again. you think that, without satoru, you don’t know what you would do. you kept each other sane and grounded.

so you don’t understand.

why is his body in front of you right now? why are all your students crying around you and mourning gojo’s loss? it’s all the sorcerers are talking about right now, and you just don’t get it.

he’s the strongest, so why did he fucking leave you behind like this? no, no. he wasn’t supposed to lose that fight. he said it himself. he said he’d win, right? he’d win, and he’d come home, albeit injured, but home nonetheless. he’d celebrate his victory with you, and life would go on. so why did he lie?

that’s the only word coursing through your head. why?

you tried not to think about anything right now… like how there was probably so much crimson red on that battlefield. if you saw it, you’d think that the red would leave an everlasting stain in your mind, to the point where you’ll never forget about it. no matter how many times you’d wash your hands, all that red would still be there, and you hate to think about it.

you like to think that grief in your life always comes and goes.

people describe the feeling in many ways, but if you had to describe how you felt right now, the only word you’d use is empty.

you feel so utterly empty and hollow, that you can’t even bring yourself to cry or scream.

shoko’s surprised at your reaction. when she told you what happened, you became eerily silent. your eyes and gojo’s were practically identical. both so devoid of life, that all she can bring herself to say is, “im sorry.”

what do you even say at a time like this? what do you say to someone who’s had their heart ripped apart again and again as they watch each of their friends die? for you and shoko, it’s happened four times now. four is too much. you can’t bring yourself to believe it anymore.

no. this isn’t real.

this isn’t happening right now.

you move for the first time in what seems like ages, and you place your hand in gojo’s open casket, tucking a stray pearl white strand behind his ear. you observe him for a minute. he looks so peaceful, now that he doesn’t have to worry about his infinity or constantly being on his guard anymore.

“shoko, i think he’s hungry.” you say, feeling the ice cold veins in your chest stilling.

your words catch shoko off guard. “huh?”

“he’s hungry,” you repeat simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. you look away from his body and turn to leave. “i’m going to go buy kikufuku for him.” 

you suddenly remember all of the dates you’ve had with satoru, where you buy many sweets like kikufuku, but he always made sure to save you some. he’s known for his notorious sweet tooth—putting one too many sugar cubes in his drinks, but he’ll always share his sweets if it’s with you. even if it was kikufuku.

“it’s his favorite after all.”

you walk out of the funeral, leaving behind the confused and sympathetic looks of everyone there. shoko sighs at your reaction—she’ll let you go for now. everyone’s processing this in different ways, so she can’t blame you for how you’re dealing with satoru’s death. she’ll just hope you’ll learn to accept it soon.

on the way to get kikufuku, you spot a pet shop nearby. there’s a fish tank on display, and you notice that one of the tanks has a white betta fish inside. it’s the same shade as satoru’s hair, and you feel your feet moving on its own as you walk to the glass. you exhale with a shaky sob, placing a hand on it. i love you, satoru. i won’t say goodbye, though, cause i’ll be there eventually.

you make sure not to say “soon” because you knew that if you took your life with your own hands instead of letting fate choose your death, satoru would never let you hear the end of it. so you’ll keep living. you’ll keep living for yourself and satoru, even though you want to join them. every single day hurts and it also hurts to even breathe sometimes. though you know, somewhere out there, satoru and your friends are cheering you on with every step you take.

wait for me… okay?

the betta fish suddenly notices your presence, and swims up against the glass. so close, yet so far. you take that as satoru’s answer. it was like you could hear his voice directly speaking to you.

i’ll always wait for you, no matter how long it takes.

you smile for the first time today, even if it was barely a smile. you felt a familiar presence with you on the other side of that glass, even if it was just for a short moment, and it gave you what strength you had left to keep moving.

[navstuffs]

No Ordinary Love

Pairing: Leon x SuccubusFemale!Reader

Summary: Leon Kennedy is addicted to you.

Warnings: songfic, SMUT, touch-starved leon, needy!leon, reader does feed on him

Author's Notes: hello! this fanfic is so important to me due to the song that inspired me to write: No Ordinary Love by Sade. if you don't know Sade, please go and listen to her. it was super hard to edit this fanfic cause the song is so freaking good and i kept getting distracted. anyway, reader is a succubus, but she might not be a "proper" succubus, i will adapt for my writing needs. this fanfic might have a prequel (how they met, after re2 events) and a sequel, so we shall see. i hope you enjoy!

leon's masterlist

"I gave you all the love I got I gave you more than I could give Gave you love"

It is late when Leon Kennedy knocks on the familiar door after just landing from Spain. He is exhausted, with images of the last days tormenting his head. Ada. Ashley. Luis's death. As a loop, he sees their faces over and over again. He shakes his head, trying to focus on the door before him and the person who will open it. Some part of him knows he shouldn't be there, something deep inside his soul is telling him to leave, he doesn't deserve you, but when the door flies open, all thoughts inside his head disappear.

Everything else disappears around him.

There is no more Ada. No more Ashley, Luis, or even Leon S. Kennedy. Only you.

"I gave you all that I have inside And you took my love You took my love(...)"

You wear an oversized black shirt that goes just above your knees. Your beauty always seems to leave him breathless because no one should look this stunning. It is unfair. Leon forgets how to speak and how to act. He is just a rookie all over again. The hopeless rookie who met you years ago, desperate for some comfort, any comfort after Racoon City. Only you matter right now. Shit, he hasn't realized how much he missed you. Your touch. Your kisses. Your warmth. 

"Do you know what time it is, Kennedy?" You yawn, crossing your arms. Understandable, he woke you up in the middle of the night. You had all the right to be angry if you wanted; Leon feels like shit about it, though he couldn't wait until the morning to see you.

"Yes. May I come in?" His voice way is softer than his usual tone, but again, he is different when it comes to you. He is not the same person around you.

Your eyebrows arch, surprised, and Leon notices your nipples harden against your shirt. Perfect.

"I don't know. Can you?"

"When you came my way You brightened every day With your sweet smile(...)"

Please, let me in. Please, Leon begs mentally, and you smirk as if listening to his silent pleas. As if you could read his mind, knowing precisely how much he needs you.

"Please?" Leon murmurs, looking at your bare feet, not believing how fragile his voice sounds.

Not after all those things he had killed or everything he had gone through, he would still be clay in your hands. It didn't matter how many times he saved the world or how many he killed, you would still be the one who put Leon on his knees, this invisible force pulling him for you. 

Leon doesn't know what would happen to him if you deny him. He might die as a thirsty man who got close to the oasis but failed to drink the water. Or got so close to the sun and burned himself before touching it. All those thoughts rush through his mind before your feet finally, finally give him passage, and Leon thanks mentally for your benevolence.

Leon starts walking into your house before you stop him, hands on his chest. You stare at his expression for a second, and Leon's heart beats so fast that he finally feels like living again.

"You don't look well. Was it hard this time?"

Leon's mind flashes with everything that happened to him in the last couple of days. He doesn't have to say anything: you know Leon better than anyone. You nod as if reading his mind again, closing the door.

"I will take care of you. Come."

"Didn't I give you All that I've got to give, baby(...)"

Leon's mind drifts away. He would lie if he said he didn't like the taste you left on his body, his heart, on his soul. You were like a drug, the strongest he had ever tasted. 

"Leon."

Oh, how much he missed your moans. Your desperate sobs of his name as he pushed his cock inside of you, as a madman. There is nothing, nothing in this world that would separate you from him. 

"Leon."

"I keep trying for you There's nothing like you and I, baby(...)"

He doesn't know what happens when he is inside of you, a feeling he can't describe. It is different from everything he tried before: you delight him. You keep him there while you take away the pain, sadness, and anything he had inside. You amplify all his senses as you empty them. He watches as your boobs bounce and your eyes light with a strange glow, but he doesn't care. Leon only cares about being yours.  

He moans a lot, too: he begs. Begs for you not to leave him, begs you to stay with him forever, and implores you to love him. Tells you there is no else for him, except for you.

Leon can feel you are close, and he trembles under your power, trying to match your thrusts. All he can focus on is how tight you are squeezing him now, how delicious you look on top of him, how much he loves being yours, being loved by you.

"This is no ordinary love No ordinary love"

When Leon cums, his vision gets hazy. He holds your ass down rougher than he would want, so you don't move. He likes to feel his seed inside you, his eyes rolling to his head.

Leon Kennedy ceases to exist to exist again only because of you.

When you fall to his side, Leon can't move. He never moves after cumming inside of you, that feeling of you squeezing tight, taking all that he has. Leon feels your gentle hand taking his hair from his sweaty face, kissing his lips, and savoring it. He moans in your mouth, grabbing your hips with the bit of strength he still has. 

"Feeling better, Leon?" 

Leon nods, his big blue eyes begging him not to leave you. To stay with him forever. He is more exhausted than when he arrived, but he is grateful. You smile compassionately, the strange glow in your eyes slowly disappearing, laying your head on his chest. 

"I lo-"

"Shhh, Leon. You have to rest now. Everything will be okay in the morning. Sleep, my love."

As a command, you watch Leon Kennedy sink into darkness. You sigh, listening to his heartbeats, the sensation of satisfaction and fullness in your veins not enough to dismiss the tiny feeling of worry you had before. Or the happiness when you saw him. Or the feeling that he belongs to you and only you. There were too small to consider but not small enough to ignore. You shake your head and find yourself foolish as you make circles on Leon's chest. Now, after all the years, was not the time to get sentimentalist. You fall asleep, ignoring the sensation of comfort of being in Leon's arms.

"Keep trying for you Keep crying for you Keep lying for you Keep flying and I'm falling

And I'm falling"

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Hello I'm back again 😭😭 I cannot get enough of your writing, its always gorgeous. Can I be 🪶 anon btw?

Can I request ❛ your body was made for mine. ❜ with Joseph necromancer please? (Or d.m., I've never seen anyone write for necromancer before)

Thank you and have a nice day/night!!

OMG, HI ＼(≧▽≦)／ ! For starters -- your writing is AMAZING, and I wanted to ask if I could request Necromancer Joseph with ❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜ Thank you sm, hope u have a great night/day !!

Joseph has no idea how many ppl want to rail/be railed by him lol

Rated Mature | Warnings: putting the romance in necromancer lol

heres a song i thought of him to

“You are mine,” Are the first words you hear, your heart beating slowly as it remembers what it is supposed to do, “And I take care of what belongs to me.” The promise he kept from the moment he saw you at the funeral. It was a for someone cannot or could not put a face to but they were important enough you were there standing beside grieving family members and friends. Someone important enough for him to be there off in the distance standing beside a tree that lost its leaves. You turned around ready to be the first one to leave when you saw him, his eyes not on you as they likely were on the coffin being lowered to the ground by the grave keeper. Then they shifted to you, you had only looked away thinking you were rude for staring. The gathering was when you spoke to him. It was a small conversation that led to many more, then led to him courting you.

Then you died.

You remember something happened, there was pain, then nothing. It was like someone cut out that piece from you, was it save you the pain?

“The embalmer did well to preserve your beauty.” His hand caresses your slowly warming up skin, “My heart.” Joseph, you remember his name because it means ‘He shall add’, and being a romantic you told him you wanted to add to his life. It is silly but his smile meant so much along with the small laugh, he hoped the same for you. “You have been asleep for too long.” You stare at him as your body is far too stiff to move, but you are able to look around. From what you can see around your beloved, you are in his castle? It is the part where all of his family members are buried. The candles are blue, a special candle he burns in this area.

“Can you speak for me?”

You try to open your mouth but it hurts, you close your eyes for a second then open them.

“Do not worry, it will take time.” His hand moves to your neck where he presses two fingers to check your pulse, “Good, I told him not to remove anything from you.” He must be that man you met the Embalmer. It must seem strange to others for a Lord like Joseph to be friends with someone like Aesop Carl, but you only saw it as he likes his friends to be from all walks of life! Well, the ones who assist in sending those off to the path of death in a respectful manner.

When his head goes back to lovingly touching your face, you tilt your hand as much as you can toward his hand. The small gasp and the way he drives in the coffin to grab you in a desperate hug make you wish you could move to hug him back. You smile at him.

“For years we have been trying to bring you back,” His confession against your chest, “I fear the worse… I feared you crossed over but I had to remain faithful.” He lays you back down before climbing into the coffin full of roses of white. Most would freak out, fearful of the love he gives, but you are not most. “Your body was made for mine.” Hovering over you with the kindest gentlest of smiles, “Your soul mine to claim.” He leans slowly down, “And the proof is you are here.”

[bananami]

haikyuu characters as taylor swift songs (the break ups)

a/n: time-skip canonically exists and that's what i'm clearly using

in honor of the eras tour starting up, here are some t swift songs that would encapsulate what a break up with certain haikyuu characters would look like; i only did a few because this shit took some tiiiime ok

i'm gonna hurt myself with this one.

masterlist

would've, could've, should've

"god rest my soul, i miss who i used to be" "give me back my girlhood, it was mine first" "and now that i'm grown i'm scared of ghosts, memories feel like weapons, and now that i know, i wish you'd left me wondering"

the effects of a break up with him lasts longer than you would like, following you for months after and even into the relationships you try to have afterwards. everything reminds you of him. if loving him meant you were left feeling like this, you would've rather never loved him at all. the break up with him literally breaks you.

-oikawa, atsumu, suna

midnight rain

"he wanted it comfortable, i wanted that pain" "i broke his heart 'cause he was nice, he was sunshine, i was midnight rain" "and he never thinks of me"

you're the problem. he was the nice guy that you should've chose, but you didn't. years of bad relationships had scarred you for the worse. the problem was that he was perfect, too perfect, and you were broken. better to run while you still had the chance, you convince yourself it was inevitable and he was just too nice to end things. you would ruin it for the both of you, he would find better.

-hinata, bokuto, suga

cardigan

"you drew stars around my scars, but not i'm bleeding" "i knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss, i knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs" "i knew i'd curse you for the longest time...i knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired" "i knew you'd come back to me"

it's a constant game of back and forth that you grew sick of. you were done being a second choice. there are a lot of regrets after the break up, but you get over it faster than he does. it takes longer for him to realize it, and by that time, you've moved on. he's texting you, begging you to take him back, blowing up your phone with voicemails, sending flowers to your work. eventually you block him. you still love him, but you choose yourself this time.

-osamu, ushijima, kageyama

exile

"i think i've seen this film before, and i didn't like the ending, you're not my homeland anymore, so what am i defending now" "i can see you staring honey, like he's just your understudy" "you never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)"

the fallout is slow, you've fought and broken up so many times recently that it's no surprise this last time. what is surprising is when he sees you with someone new, looking happier than you ever did with him. he thought it was like every other time, he thought you'd get back together. the confusion on his face is clear, the anger is quick. how could he have missed the resentment growing within you? he'd never stop trying to come back into your life. sometimes you'd let him back in. every time, you'd regret it.

-kenma, akaashi, kita

all too well

"you kept me like a secret, but i kept you like an oath" "maybe we got lost in translation, maybe i asked for too much, maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up" "you call me up again just to break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest"

it's perfect until it's not. the worst are the conversations toward the end of it all. he's hurting you, but he won't let you go, sacrificing your happiness for his comfort in a dead relationship. you cry loaded tears and he makes barren promises. the break up isn't even the end of it. you can't escape him, having to share your friends with one another and working so close to each other. you want so badly to be over him, but the wound rips open at every reminder of his constant presence in your life. he won't let you go completely, but he won't ever love you the way you deserve.

-kuroo, iwaizumi, sakusa

[binniesoob]

the plan was to write a fun and light-hearted review but i guess that's not in the cards for me today ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ here's a bunch of feelings instead!

(no lore, literally just a lil rambling. feel free to ignore ofc - i'll probably post some unhinged reviewy thoughts later anyway :)

soooo... since this morning I've been trying to write a fangirling review full of memes for the name chapter: freefall like i've done before for other albums or their previews. you know, to have fun and scream about how good they sound or that line that made me go feral! and i do have something for a couple songs that i'll probably post later, but overall i kept failing because honestly that's not what feels right right now.

apart from back for more and do it like that (that are like an ass shaking break from dehydrating yay), i honestly sobbed my ass out with this album and i'm on the verge of doing it again as i'm writing this and listening to it.

the aspect that affected me the most was the lyrics and the way they delivered them. you can hear and tell how much txt grew musically. their vocals are really really great in every track, their styles more defined, and their overall group color too. they got back to the genres that fits them best (i think) - rock and disco -, experimented new ones - 80's new wave -, and something in between - rnb with dreamer that literally devastated destroyed demolished me btw, in more ways than one. when txt said in interviews and at the comeback showcase too that they keep trying to deliver relatable lyrics about their own struggles and feelings as well as their peers and the young, they weren't joking or overestimating themselves, they really are.

this album feels very personal to me. txt's songs always did, but with this i think we reached a new peak. i connected to it heart and soul.

personally, probably the one thing i love most about txt is how we share being in our twenties at the same time and how, despite different ethnicities, backgrounds, experiences etc, we are connected by our feelings and are able to sympathise with eachother and help eachother out, like, ahh... it just warms my heart. their music feels so close to me and that's honestly what any musician needs for them to become my favourite. once i connect on a deep level with their music that's literally all it takes.

I haven't opened up about this on tumblr before, but i've been pretty depressed this year. that's also part of the reason why i haven't been that active, together with being busy with uni stuff. i did had good days, i've been hanging in there, trying to focus on the good things in my life, but overall it's been hard, and i'm trying my best to get better soon because it's been tiring. i get so angry at myself because i have so many things in my life to be happy and grateful for, but i still get anxious and i'm still unsatisfied. i've been so frustrated about where i am in life, all the things i expected to be different by now, that i want to change but still can't, i've grown beyond impatient.

so, today, this album felt like the kind of understanding hug i've been looking for this year. growing pains is probably going to become what can't you see me was for me during the pandemic - an outlet to vent my anger and frustrations. chasing that feeling is going to be what take me home by ateez also is for me - my reminder to keep chasing what feels like home despite the hardships. dreamer is literally me condensed into a song (!?). deep down is there to remind me that even if my peculiarities can feel like a burden they're part of my identity and they shouldn't feel like it. happily ever after says it's okay even if things didn't go as i planned them, to embrace my failures and keep going even if life it's not a fairytale and it's unpredictable. i'll find my way. skipping stones feels like reading one of my journal entries where i write to my past and future self. and blue spring, a promise, has been here for me everyday since i heard it at the concert. with this album i didn't feel alone anymore, i felt that company and reassurance in a way i struggled to find until now, and i'm deeply grateful to txt for that 🤍

[ilikecrocssuckit]

weird asks: 1, 21, 31, 33

Thanks for asking, friend!

1. Comfort character: Right now, Waymond Wang from Everything Everywhere All At Once. He just embodies everything I want to be in life and his philosophy matches mine very closely. And Ke Huy Quan just gives him so much wonderful heart.

21. Something I've kept since childhood: So many things. But the thing I've had the longest is my stuffed elephant Elwie. I've had her since we were the same size and she's like 8 inches long. And she looks worse than me for being 26 years old. Idk she's my oldest friend.

31. Music the keeps me grounded: No specific genre, but whenever I need some emotional commiseration, I turn to The Mountain Goats' discography. I truly believe there's a Mountain Goats song for everyone and every emotional state. The songs just reach into my soul and are anthemic without necessarily being anthems. And there are a lot of them so there's lots to look into.

33. Last adventure I've been on: My gf and I went on a trip to Denver last year. Neither of us had been before and we wanted to experience something together that neither of us had any idea about. It was a great time. We enjoyed our new experiences and we got closer than ever. We ate great food, did some things we never expected to, faced some challenges, had laughs. We learned a lot about each other and it made us stronger. It was a great time. :) Denver has an excellent zoo, btw. Def a highlight and highly recommend.

[candyscry]

I'm the youngest of four, only ever lived with three. Oldest got lucky enough to be only half related. She's better than the rest of us, I think. She's smarter, kinder, a better person than any of us have ever been. She's the lucky one.

I never knew how to hold my tongue. I grew up too close to my grandma, she had wandering hands and talked too much about things she should've kept her mouth shut about. She likes to tear into you, she's cruel and bitter and mean, and I was her favorite. I was soft and small and loud and put on songs and dances for my family, laughing and acting. I wanted to be a star.

She stole that. My grandmother, I mean. I think she killed me. They took my coffin out of her house when I was twelve, and tried to take me out. They didn't explain anything to me. They didn't explain why I couldn't breathe anymore, or why my heart didn't beat. They just gave me a word for what happened and moved on. I had to figure it out myself. I bled quietly onto the floor, trying to relearn how to move and walk. I didn't know what death meant. I was too young. I no longer thought about dancing or being special, not as anything more than a daydream. I was mean. I was angry. I was my grandma's, covered in gore and exhausted from it. Nobody told me why I was bleeding. I had to find out myself. I had to stitch myself together again. Everyone applauded me on figuring it out. I was a dumb kid, so I grinned and twirled and thanked them.

I was thirteen when I took the corpse and saw that the little girl was dead. The little girl who'd sang and played on the cheap electric box in her neighborhood was gone. And I put her back into the casket and made myself a new body, one made out of wood and cloth and air. My mother was sad, because she'd named the corpse after her own mother. My brother was sad, because he'd given me a name too, you see. My middle name, or well, the corpses now. I can never keep track. Hope. Because he's always wanted a little sister.

My grandmother killed his little sister. When I was eleven, his little sister died. She reached into her and pulled her apart.

I've been quiet since then. Everyone tells me I should speak up. If I do, they hate what I say. They decide I'm ungrateful, or bratty, or asking too much. It doesn't matter how little I ask. I am not the girl she killed, and she wasn't enough for them either. That's just how it is.

I'm praying one day I can move out. I don't know if that's possible. I don't know if I have the strength to be on my own. I'm small and broken and there's just thorns that tear at my insides where flesh is supposed to be, and I never wanted to be alone.

Is it worth being happy if I have no one to share it with?

My family says they respect me. They're horrible liars. They never hear what I say. They only follow my requests when it's convenient. I am just a corpse, after all. That's how they'll always see it. So I sewed my own mouth shut so they wouldn't hurt me for it anymore. They complain about how much they miss my voice.

It's been years. I'm still watching the that little girl rot.

Dying gets boring after a while. Did anyone ever tell you that?

I'd love to do it again sometime. Being near these people is exhausting.

That's the thing about family, right? They always find a way to make you want to be gone. I wonder how many of them even realized that girls dead.

Ah well. One day they'll figure it out. One day, I'll be moved out with my friend in a nice place laughing and dancing to songs we wrote, and our hair will fall out of messy buns and we'll scream along-

And my family will realize that the girl in the coffin won't wake up, and the one with her soul is long gone.

I don't know if I want them to miss me. That's the hard part.

I think I do. I just hope they'll miss me where I can't see them.

Please tell me about your place in your family

[ppinp]

WIPJohn

John – Chapter 1 - July

> It’s been too long Staring into your eyes While my thighs Suffocate you I moan Your name in pleasure.

> I’ve been set free Years? 3. I’ve been settling Settled, playing house With a game(r) boy Begging for sex Like it used to be Sloppy All-night I ride Into the sunrise Your face Between my tights.

> Liberated by touch With questing hands Got me questioning realities Clear communication And transparencies In exchange for emotional guaranties. In exchange for hands clasped like piano keys. In exchange for Tongues entangled in between kisses discussing theories.

And when you’re not kissing me head to toe- Talk to me Babbling profanities Knowing exactly what you’re doing without knowing anything about me.

Shaken, after a night of shaking rubbed raw from a never-ending anticipating a closely pending breath take-in. Back arching to the heavens whispering His name in vain screaming yours for your vanity but I don’t mind the insanity when you thoroughly nurturing my soul with no self-serving end goal.

I didn't cum Yet you left.

In the wake of the aftermath I back into the sterile white light of my apartment, crying Not because of your emotional unavailability but grateful that you set me free.

//// Fuck walking I couldn't give a shit if my feet never touched the floor again Don't stop playing with my clit

Drop of color, in a see of non My eyes seek you when I'm on the run

Addict Bad habit It's been 3 months And I have it

Bad case of the shakes Can't fall asleep Can't stay awake

The feeling of having nowhere to be Keeps follow me The feeling of having nowhere to be Keeps follow me Cries for help masked beautifully

Bro I'm falling for you heavily You got me unstable mentally

I'm loosing my self Never had religion

empty my mind empty - your heart fill my void tear me apart

I miss you But I can't say I crave you But you can't stay Hide from the feeling It's so healing

I'm tired of screaming your name Tired of crying in vain tired of living in pain caused by your unavailability game

Kiss the sunrise, still intertwined. Vulnerable conversation, to keep us aligned.

Yet another Saturday I greet the sunrise privately Honey coated words ringing rapidly All the horid things you said to me repeatedly

The look in my eye The bend in my back Trying to communicate how badly I wanted you Wanted you to stay Wanted you

The pain in my chest the very next day Crying on the phone Not understand why You didn't want me as well

Smell of sex Seduction Soft eyes gazing up Malfunction A no is a no by any other name Even when your voice dictates kindness Even when your eyes project softness Even when your perfect symmetrical lips quirk into happiness, or surprise at my attempts to make you uncomfortable in the shower. A no is a no from day no.1 when you made your interest clear that your love is conditional, on the conditions of your health. Well, baby I accept. I accepted every single no and pushed myself further into madness How many times can you tell me no before it starts killing me You saying no to me fits comfortably Any excuse to hang with you Cut my nails like you want me to Teach me the song I already knew Different cities, different lovers Strings attached, doors opened I don't want to be yet another Hopeful hoe delusional that it's not over It was a no before it started We fizzled out before we started Spending Saturdays without you feels like a sin The sadness from last Sunday is embedded in my muscle tee I hate that I'm still thinking of you I hate this ongoing conversation that I keep having in my mind with you Telling you stories about myself When last we spoke I had kept you on the shelf For two days of radio silence Where I tried to wrap my brain around what had happened And I hate myself for scaring you You being scared, scared me too Standing in front of the mirror Now you see me clearer The cracks are so evident That's why I've been keeping you and everyone else at arm's lenght To avoid observing All the intricate ways I'm broken But I appreciate the nail you gave me The final bed you laid my emotional outreach The coffin you placed mine and your emotions in The final no of the series Buried deeply A parallel universe where we could finally be Away from the anxiety of past realities Away from the perceived coolness of silence Intertwined as two lovers unearthed and preserved in Pompey Where you could be mine And I could be yours Away from gender Away from social rules and constraints Away from benchmarks Where you could be mine And I could be yours I bury this feeling In this sacred chest Away from mine, I take you out Out of sight out of mind Don't worry in just a few we'll forget this ever happened I'll forget your last name and substitute it with a Doe - your image will become empty, a placeholder for a no In just a few you'll forget how to say thank you in my own even if it did remind you of your home. Like my body once reminded you Like my lips forced you to Like the eyes, you got lost into Like my touch you liked because it reminded me of you Why am I waking up with tears in eyes Wishing for another series of goodbyes Wondering if I can message you Is it ok to tell you that I wanna see you Is it appropriate to tell you that I miss you Killing myself for not saying that I wanted you A healthy doze to bind us two I find my mind wanders to you Wondering if you see the same sunset as I do But then I snap myself out of it Scribe 10% as a reminder I'm not comfortable with living in the shadows of your ex-partner I want to respect your verbal ques but I can't ignore the energy pulling us two SEPT-OCT You saying no to me fits so comfortably

Unrequited love Feeling less than Feeling inadequate for the reactions you've had Feeling like you've fucked up something potentially amazing before it even started

Remind myself: This isn't especially for you This is a curated performance he developed at 19 - he does the same thing to every vagina he encounters Now we're not on speaking terms But religious story stalking turns Couldn't give me 10 % But you're swimming in Portuguese pussy instead

[starrprincesss]

December 10 2022 

I used to be so devoted to you. I think back to the day I first saw you, because that's the truth, I saw you before you ever even saw me, before you ever noticed me. I loved you without knowing you, I watched you from across the studio, I listened to the way you spoke, I watched only for you. I kept my journal by my bed just so I could tell it all about you, I wrote about you as if you were a god, something untouchable, unattainable, out of reach, so close yet so far away, still so distant. That's what you were to me, that's what you've always been to me. You are like that song on the beach from the movie, Her. When you finally saw me, it felt like my life had a purpose, when you finally noticed me. I tried to get your attention for so long, it was in that pursuit that I fell madly in love with you. Because I felt accepted in your eyes, I couldn't explain it to myself or anyone else, just quite what it was. Even now, I still remember our first interaction, the first words you spoke to me, out of disinterest and confusion, yet I kept it with me, forever, as if those words were the most beautiful melodies, but they weren't. And as the days stretched out, and my chair was positioned right in front of yours, it felt like it was meant to be. It felt like the universe was gifting me something so special, I knew it all along, I knew what it would be. I wanted you, only you. I tried to play the game, I even dated other people, to distract myself from you, but it always came back to you, I always came back to you. I would find myself excited to share something with you, because the truth is, we became friends before we ever became lovers, you didn't know me as a "girlfriend" or a "lover", you knew me as a friend, as your friend. And I loved that, I loved you for it. I've lost track of the many nights we spent alone in your apartment, all those intimate moments shared, where you never once made a move on me, you never once mentioned my body, you never made me feel like an object of desire. I was free to be me, in all my glory. I would tell you about my childhood, and my brothers, and then I would leave, and we'd see each other again in class, and spend our breaks talking about what our mothers would cook for us when we were little. It was those moments, it was going to the grocery store together, it was that look we'd give each other were something would just click, we didn't even know, but we understood it. The day you asked me to be your partner for our midterm project, I felt my soul leap out of my body. I couldn't believe that life was playing out so smoothly, I couldn't believe my luck.

Hmm it's funny, I have horrible memory, I forget everything, but, I remember everything with you, everything. You're the only thing I can't forget, I kind of wish I could forget you though, but I just can't.

That's how it went, little moments, pure joy, innocent, a pure connection. I shared Plantasia with you, and your cold apartment didn't seem so cold anymore, I bought you a couple plants for your birthday. I remember we went out on a full moon, in your courtyard, and we planted an onion, we giggled as we dug our hands into the dirt, because neither of us had a shovel, we felt the soft earth in our hands, together. We planted a tiny seed of our being, into the soul, into our hearts. Then we looked up at the moon and asked for it to guide the little plant, to help it grow, nice and strong. I was a kid when I was with you, I was 10 years old again. I was Elizabeth, before all the childhood trauma, before the issues with my parents, before my brothers crippling drug addiction, before the control issues, and the eating disorders, the crippling anxiety and depression, before all of that. Because when I was with you, I would forget about it all, I was in a new world, I was hidden, in a random town in a country I never imagined I'd end up in, and I was there, with you.

I could never forget you. Even now, I smile as I write this. Because I loved you, I really did. I could never regret it. It is not the same anymore, but that's okay. It's been a while since we've talked, I've made peace with our ending, I've made peace with our goodbye. The truth is, you were only meant to be in my life for that amount of time. The amount that we both needed, the amount that was important. I've stopped looking for your face among strangers, I've stopped trying to find you. Because I know where to look, but I won't be going back there any time soon, or even in the future. I let it go, I've let you go. Don't be sad, it was beautiful. But I must move forward, and so shall you. There will always be a part of me within you, and there will always be a part of you within me, in all the new countries I venture off to, you will be there, in every horizon, and story, in every adventure. I wish you nothing but love, always, always, and always.

I love you, M.

Love,

(your dear friend and occasional lover)

Elizabeth Sainz.

[polarisbibliotheque]

Devil May Dance: Golden Dreams Were Shiny Days

Pairing: Dante x reader

Summary: Dante thinks about his life with brand new company at the DMC, but the jukebox plays songs that are too good to be ignored

Notes: I think eventually "Devil May Dance" is going to be a series - a dance series with the DMC crew. It was originally a short something for my DMC OC Week, but I figured I'd love to read fanfiction dancing alongside my DMC family - so here it is for everyone to enjoy as well!

Happy Dante is the best Dante, as I've stated before ^^

It was quiet at the Devil May Cry that day, except for the jukebox playing some tunes.

Luckily, Dante had managed to pay the bills that month. You were helping with his monthly budget planner, and he never ceased to be impressed by your managing abilities – even though Dante knew you had developed that in order to survive on your own.

It was impressive, because he also had to deal with life on his own and never once had his bills up to date.

Dante took a bite of his pizza, sitting by his big desk at the middle of the shop. He watched you while you were oblivious of it – observing how calm and cool you looked while reading one of your many occult books. You resembled Vergil in many ways, but you had a faint smile on your face, tapping your feet on the floor in the rhythm both of you were enjoying.

You looked at peace. Dante liked that.

It wasn’t much, really. All he could offer you was to stay at the shop and work with him, but it seemed like the time of your life. You had been through years of loneliness and pain: as long as you had someone by your side, you couldn’t care less if he paid his bills or not. “We’ll find a way to make it through the month”, is all you’d say.

And you never complained about the pizzas too.

Soon a 70’s song flooded the little shop. Dante raised one eyebrow, glancing at the jukebox. It was perfect, actually… And his smile turned to you, who already were staring at Dante, your book still in hand.

“Do you remember, 21th night of September?” Dante started singing, making you laugh out loud. He dropped the pizza back on the box, cleaning his hands while turning his whole body towards you. “Love was changing the mind of pretenders, while chasing the clouds awaaaaaay…”

“Our hearts were ringing, in the key that our souls were singing…” You kept singing, leaving the book on the couch. Dante was already getting up and you knew what he wanted to do. “As we danced in the night, remember?”

“How the stars stole the night away, oh yeah!” He was too hyped now to stop. Dante held your hand, pulling you up from the couch, laughing alongside you while both moved through the floor of the Devil May Cry.

“Ba-dee-ya, say do you remember?! Ba-dee-ya! Dancing in September! Ba-dee-ya, never was a cloudy daaaaaaaay…!” You sang together, as loud as you could, using the shop as the perfect dance floor.

Dante had his eyes on you, both smiling as you moved your bodies with the song. You might have a lot of Vergil, but when it came to dancing, you were the most perfect partner Dante could’ve ever asked for.

Moving from side to side, You didn’t mind when Dante held you close, following your steps perfectly. You didn’t care about looking like goofs or being caught having fun like that: you were together. Life was never better.

“Now December! Found the love we shared in September!” Dante pointed at you, making you laugh. “Only blue talk and love…”

“Remember?” You held his hand, tangling your fingers together. Dante never smiled so much in his lifetime – at least that’s how he felt. His chest was about to burst with a feeling different than anger or grief. It was love. “True love we share todaaaaay…!”

Dante was happy. He hoped that moment to last forever.

“Ba-dee-ya, say do you remember?! Ba-dee-ya, dancing in September!” It was so suddenly, you could only laugh in his arms: Dante grabbed you, holding you so close to him, spinning around the floor – one hand still entangled on yours, the other firmly wrapped around your waist. Your chests were pressed together and you could easily feel each other’s heartbeat: in the same rhythm, in perfect synchrony, not only with the song but with each other. “Ba-dee-ya! Never was a cloudy daaaay!”

He kept on singing and laughing while you did the same, keeping one of your hands anchored on his shoulder – your world was spinning, and you both were glowing. Life was never that good, for both of you. If time could stop, you were certain it would feel like that.

“The bell was ringing, oh oh! Our sooooouls were singing!” Dante put you back on the floor, admiring how your eyes were shining. Not only yours, but his sky-blue eyes were about to rain – a beautiful rain on a sunny summer day. “Do you remember? Never a cloudy day, yow!”

As you turned around, Dante hugged you from behind, never losing your rhythm or a beat from the song. You fought together in synchrony, but danced even better. And as much as he liked what he did, he loved dancing. Maybe you could dance forever?

Dante kept looking at how much you were having fun, holding his arms around your waist but one hand sliding up to rest on his neck. You turned her face to look at him, finding Dante’s glowing smile while singing. You had your head over the clouds to know you weren't alone anymore – but seeing Dante bursting with happiness like that made it even better.

He deserved it. He deserved everything.

“Ba-dee-ya, dancing in September; Ba-dee-ya, golden dreams were shiny daaaaaays!” You sang it for him, and Dante knew. Holding your hand, Dante turned you around on a quick double spin, making you laugh so much at how caught by surprise you were.

As you was facing him again, Dante didn’t get too close, but kept on holding your hand. And you didn’t let go: moving in synchrony but with your own steps, you and Dante kept singing and dancing as if there were no problems in the world. As if that moment was the only thing, the only feeling you had ever known.

You looked at each other with complicity in your eyes; such a different feeling than hunting and killing demons together. It was a feeling of knowing you could tackle life together – and it was so much better than going through it on your own.

“What the…” Nero muttered as he opened the door of the Devil May Cry, hearing the party going on inside. As he and Vergil returned from a hunt together, they were certainly caught by surprise.

Vergil didn’t say anything – he just noticed how Dante looked happy. He wished their positions were switched when they were children, yes, but he knew his twin brother’s life wasn’t exactly easy. He knew about all the dark places Dante had been… And Vergil never thought watching his brother being the goof he was when they were children would make him so… Content.

“Oh, I’m gonna pester that old man about this for so…” Nero was about to get inside the Devil May Cry, ready to annoy Dante for days, but he was suddenly held back by his father. Vergil’s hand grasped the back of Nero’s coat, almost dragging him out.

“Nothing to see here, Nero. Leave them alone.” The Dark Slayer muttered, already thinking where he would take his son to give Dante some privacy. Vergil knew Dante: that fool would dance by himself if he wanted to, but that was the catch: he had to want. Dante wanted a lot of things, but never really acted on it because he usually lost heart midway – it was good to see Dante’s heart back.

While Vergil closed the door, though, Dante’s sky-blue eyes met his brother’s steel silver gaze. Vergil nodded briefly, as if saying they could keep on dancing and no one would bother: the Dark Slayer had the Devil May Cry door guarded. Dante smiled at his brother, mouthing a “thank you” before turning his attention back to the music.

As the door closed, a faint smile appeared on Vergil’s lips – his chest being taken over by a warm feeling of care he didn’t experience in quite a long time. Indeed: golden dreams were shiny days.

[multiverseofwonders]

Much needed comfort

Hal Jordan GN Reader

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.🌌🌟🌙🌟🌌.* :☆ﾟ.

Genre: fluff/comfort

Long AN, skip green to go to the fic//

Hi, I have orientation in about 5 hours and I've never been more mentally stressed in my life because I realized how deathly afraid I am of people but I'm not allowed to go back to full virtual so I kinda just wrote this as a comfort fic so I'd stop, panicking. It's a general fic and the thing bothering the reader is kept vague. The reader is also kept vague so any gender and and race can read 💚💚💚

Word count: 874. It's shorter than my normal stuff but I'm tired and stressed out. I just really needed to write something to make me feel better. This isn't proofread so my apologies for any mistakes.

Oh and psst, here's a song i listened to while writing this. I always associate it with Hal and when i listen to it i go :)

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.🌌🌟🌙🌟🌌.* :☆ﾟ.

"Hey, sweetheart I'm baaaack!~"

A familiar and sweet voice sang out. Hal set down his keys and held a bouquet of assorted flowers; his own way of saying 'Sorry I'm home late... again.' Even if they were discounted he thought you wouldn't really mind. The house was dark but he didn't pay much mind to it. It was summer, not to mention one of the hottest days of the year. You, his beloved, were probably just hot and decided to turn them off.

"Sorry for being late again, I had to deal with something for the Justice League. Carol had my head for disappearing so suddenly again but the look on Sinestro's face when Guy flashed him was priceless. Oh and don't even get me started on how fun chasing him was. For someone who gets strong from the fear of others, you'd think he wouldn't be such a coward. I wish I could take you with me at times but…" he paused. A feeling of dread began to sink in. He realized that the house was silent. It was never this quiet.

Even on days when you were napping or asleep, the TV would be on for background noise. He carefully put down the bouquet and balled his fist. In almost an instant he donned the green, back, and white suit you loved so much. 

"Ring…" he said quietly, sternly, yet worriedly. "Scan the house for any entities." His breath hitched in fear of hearing something like a 1 or 3. What if something had happened to you while he was gone? What if today was just a distraction? 

"There are currently 2 conscious life forms in this house."

Hal paused for a second before asking another question 

"And how many of the 2 are not intruders?"

"There are no intruders. All conscious life forms present live here."

A brief moment of silence passed before the sound of Hal powering down his ring broke it. 

Hal hastily maked his way from the living room to your shared bedroom. The door was closed and he saw no light from underneath the door. He tensed up a bit. He had silently hoped that today you just left the TV on mute or something while asleep. 

Hesitantly, he turned the knob and cracked the door open, still afraid that somehow, someway, something had happened. His mind raced thinking of the possibilities as the door creaked loudly, as a rush of cold air hit his exposed skin. Instead of seeing some big monster waiting to jump him, he just saw you.

Your rarely moving form curled up on your shared bed, beneath the covers you picked out when you two were getting furniture. Your back was facing away from the door, something you rarely did, as your side of the bed was on the far end and you said a long time ago that you wanted to see Hal whenever he came back.

He closed the door behind him silently and approached for a better look before something had broken his heart.

You weren't asleep. You were crying…

He wanted to tell you not to cry, to tell you that everything would be okay but instead, he just took off his shoes and jacket. He lifted the covers and placed his jacket you had loved so much on your shoulders before he joined you beneath the covers of your shared bed. You had flinched a bit and the initial feel of his touch, though you had heard everything and was aware that it was him, it somehow didn't click with you that he was actually home with you. 

Hal shifts slightly, wrapping his arms around you and burying his head in your shoulder, and placing his slightly calloused hand over the back of yours. He doesn't say a word, doesn't ask what's wrong, and doesn't even dare think about asking if you want to talk about it, because sometimes those are the last things someone wants to hear.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand and he placed soft kisses on your shoulder and the back of your neck. He's not completely sure of what to do, hell, he can't even tell if this is the best option, but he just wants to be there for you. He just lets you cry it out for now while he stays there with you. 

He didn't think less of you for your broken sobs or whimpers. He didn't judge you for needing time to yourself. You weren't a bother to him and he wanted you to know it. For you and you only he'd spend all of his time and energy, his whole life even, to make sure you were okay. After all, he loved you. You were his one and only, his soul, and he'd rather die a million horrid deaths than let you stay this way.

He stayed there for hours just comforting you, even long after you stopped crying after you had shifted and brought his hand closer to you and kissed his hand ever so softly. After you had fallen asleep next to him. He stayed. 

And for you, he'd spend more than a million eternities doing it again.

[antihero-writings]

If These Walls Could Talk (Ch7)

(^^ Art commissioned from Junki Sakuraba on instagram and deviantart!!)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too. The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Notes: Hey all! I am SO sorry this chapter took so long to come out. My perfectionism really got the best of me with this chapter. But I saw that S4 was on its way and that really lit a fire under my butt because I really do want to post my season 3 chapter before s4 comes out. I’m highly doubt I’ll accomplish it as it almost always takes me longer than I have to get a chapter out, let alone two, but I'll try, at least.

I really really hope you enjoy it!! If you enjoy this chapter, please please consider commenting. I assure you it’ll be more likely I’ll post the next chapter faster the more people comment on this showing you still enjoy this fic. Each comment is a little shot of energy and motivation for me.

Important! This chapter is meant to have aesthetic indentation in some places. So if you want to read it as-intended, please look it at on Archiveofourown at I_prefer_the_term_antihero on your computer or tablet!!

If you get here and are thinking “Wait, what was this fic about? What were the main themes?” then this would be a good time to reread/skim back through the earlier chapters. This is the climax of the fic and will (hopefully) be more impactful the more you remember about the rest of the fic and its many themes.

Chapter Summary:

"Go back whence you came! Trouble the soul of my Mother no more!" "How? How—How is it that I've been so defeated?" "You have been doomed ever since you lost the ability to love." "Ha—Ah... Sarcasm. 'For what profit is it to a man if he gains the world, and loses his own soul?' Matthew 16:26, I believe. "Tell me. What—What were Lisa's last words?" "She said 'Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, then at least do them no harm. For theirs is already a hard lot'. She also said to tell you that she would love you for all of eternity." "Lisa, forgive me. Farewell my son."

Chapter 7: “Heart”

Hey there, Sunshine, the Room adds with a smile.

The Room forgot the sweet tang of breath. How gentle, how vicious. Like honey, like relief, like a cozy blanket and a fireplace. It came in great, gulping gasps, and living was painful after such long breathlessness, but hurt far less than being half dead.

The Room rushes to Castlevania, shaking it, saying, Open your eyes! Open your eyes! It’s Adrian. It’s our boy. My master. My sunlight. And Castlevania limply flickers open its eyes, for it cannot help but obey.

Obey to see the golden man standing in its doorway.

And it feels a jolt of warmth in its broken chest.

Alucard has returned home. He arrives at the doorstep with resolve in his closed fists and a sword on his tongue. The threat to the war they all knew he would be, and the Room promised it would rear him to be.

But he isn’t alone this time.

There are two humans by his side. One with fire in her fists—quite literally—the other with a barbed tongue at his hip.

Castlevania recognizes a crest on the clothing of one of them, gold and proud: The Belmonts. The ones who came with whips and scourges to defeat its master long ago. The ones whom Dracula and his Castle were bound together against in their undead war. The ones whom Dracula trusted his Castle to protect him from. The owner of the hold now beneath Castlevania. He has come to defeat its master like the rest…but this time the boy is by his side, and for that reason, the Castlevania is unsure how this will end.

“I terrify them,” the Belmont explains the plan, “Sypha disorients them, Alucard goes over the top and we support him.”

“Yes.” The Speaker confirms.

Alucard holds his sword out horizontally in front of him, unsheathes it, and speaks:

“Begin.”

Alucard is with the Belmont.

And Castlevania knows when it sees them, the fire in their eyes, that they are the intent that brought it here. That they have indeed come to kill its master once and for all. It had wished when the boy returned, it would be with the promise of hope. But there is no promise of life and the sparing of it this time.

They bring death inside with them; the war room is filled with war, blood and burns on its floors, but it is different this time, because this is not an ambiance, a continuation, a fact of life, it is a swift and fatal kiss—the end they said he would bring, once. The blood is rotten on the floors, but it doesn’t itch or burn. And the boy uses those techniques his father taught him on brighter nights about turning into things with teeth, and the ones his mother once taught him on sunnier days about how to make metal listen.

They did not bring life inside this time, not life of the same kind at least. The war, the death, has followed and swallowed them too, but not in the same way it has its master. They are not bloodthirsty. The cold the dark and the death are merely clothes they wear, they have not reached the deepest parts of them; there are still light-starved Rooms in their hearts waiting to breathe.

There is a song at their heels as they dance in rings of fire, with the wind and the moon, upon the blood and water Castlevania isn’t sure will come out of the carpet. It is a song that is all too familiar. It has been played here before, when other, more, less, holy Belmonts barged in long ago. A song of blood and tears.

Bloody tears its master cried once, for his wife when he realized they had taken something that could not be borrowed, bartered, or souled.

They’re bringing an end to the strife, and all the undead lives that facilitated it, and vice versa. They are cutting the puppet strings, and not all puppets can live without them.

Isaac fights the nameless soldiers on the staircase for its master…until he sees someone who is far from nameless.

Isaac’s reddened eyes meet Alucard’s golden ones. Alucard’s sword aims at him, but it hits the deadened flesh of the nameless instead.

Isaac runs to tell its master—Dracula, busy ripping out the heart of a nameless—who’s here; that his sun has returned, and at his side is magic and might.

Dracula knows the prophecy.

He’s willing to die—Issac. He stands before Dracula, his form barely able to shield three-quarters of Dracula’s, willing to give his feeble human life for Dracula’s indefinite undead one. He believes knowledge and will are more important than the blood of a good man. He believes in love, and loyalty is love of a sort. And it is Castlevania’s understanding that when someone is willing to live for something, they are also willing to die for it. This is the noblest of causes.

“You are the greatest of your people, Isaac. You have a soul, I think.” As Dracula says the words, he raises his hand, and the mirror shards behind them begin to rise. “Perhaps that is more valuable to the world to come than a dusty collection of books and apparatus.”

Lisa looks on from the portrait, and Castlevania thinks it is a look of pride. She always did stand for saving human lives rather than destroying them. Isn’t it funny that in what will perhaps be the deciding battle of this war, the one where his goals should possess him stronger than ever, it is the human who he values more than himself?

“Or perhaps you simply deserve a better fate than to die instead of me.”

“I choose my death, as I chose my life.” The words are stronger than iron.

“Then I regret only that I have taken a choice for you.” A hand at his shoulder.

Dracula throws him halfway across the world, to the kind of place Isaac was born in, and the kind of place Isaac least wants to die in.

Isaac believes in love. And it is for this reason, this belief, that Vlad saves his life, Castlevania knows. Saves his life, by denying the choice he so desperately wanted to make—perhaps his whole life—and had no regrets or apprehensions about making, rather a lot more in being kept alive.

And when the mirror shatters and falls, his son is standing there, like he did a year ago, though this time he is not backed by sunlight. The only light in the room is the fire glinting in his eyes.

A pause. To remember the dead.

“Father.”

A word. To remember the living.

“Son.”

This should be a reunion, perhaps. Better people would think they should happily hug each other, and say they missed each other, and that they love each other all the same. Better people would say that the sunlight should plead with the dark to come back into its embrace. All the sinners know there was no chance of that the moment Dracula scrawled fate on his son’s skin with his own claws.

Instead, there is nothing but bitter, fighting words:

“Your war is over.”

Dracula tilts his head to the side. “Because you say so?”

“It ends.” Alucard looks at his sword, the one she taught him how to use. “In the name of my mother.”

Dracula looks at his son, the one she gave him. “It endures in the name of your mother.”

“I told you before I won’t let you do it.” Alucard’s voice is so soft, yet solid and unwavering. There is no anger, but he will not step aside. Not this time. Even when the claws come. “I grieve with you…but I won’t let you commit genocide.”

“You couldn’t stop me before.” Dark assurance in soft words.

Footsteps. A cue to the magic and the hunt behind the curtain, who step out on either side of him.

“I was alone before.”

And Castlevania understands. Understands that they are not here to talk things out. Understands that they are not here to save Dracula, to appeal to the good in him, as Lisa once had, and the Room once thought. Castlevania itself even hoped, when the boy returned, the song would be a bit more inspirational. But, beaten and broken and bloody, Castlevania understands now, if Alucard stands with the intent, if Alucard brought a Belmont—

Then they do not believe there is a chance. They are not here then, to talk him out of it. They are here to halt this war in its tracks, make it rear up, lose its balance, and fall.

—(And Castlevania knows, deep down, that to do this… they must end something else)—

Alucard is bringing back the sunlight. But there is only one way he can do that, and goodnight is not quiet.

And make no mistake he does intend to bring the full, the warm, the life, and the light back, just like Castlevania and the Room wanted. But there is too much cold, dark, death, and emptiness here to do this quietly. They are here to kill Dracula—the master now puppeteered by Death’s strings rather than his own soul.

The Speaker raises her fingers to her lips as if to say a prayer, or perhaps take a heavenly name in vain for the sake of a little silence. The Belmont’s whip clinks in his hand. Alucard’s sword sings as he raises it.

Alucard drives it towards his father: a bolt of golden lightning through the room, pinning him against the fireplace as books fall to the floor. Castlevania, wincing at the pain, knows that will bruise in the morning.

The picture of his mother cracks and falls, as if she has to close her eyes for this.

Alucard, growling with fierce resolve, pushing the sword into him with all his might. But Dracula has the sword in his hand, rather than his heart. He steps calmly forward, barely having to use any of his strength to combat so much of his son’s, as if he’s about to tell him to put the toy away.

A glint of golden eyes. Alucard pulls back the sword. A slash. Two. Three.

Dracula raises his arm as if to knock the sword from his shoulder.

Instead he bashes his son’s head into the fireplace—and Castlevania cries out at the feeling, feeling its stomach burn.

The Speaker and the Belmont ready for a fight. The floor splinters—(Castlevania grimaces, tasting blood)—as Dracula flashes through the room, and pins the Belmont into the hall, against the wall, sending his sword out of his hand. He keels over onto his hands to cough up blood, the puddle crawling on Castlevania’s skin.

Castlevania never had any qualms with the blood of Belmonts on its floors before, so this hurts less, but this is different, and Castlevania still wonders if Dracula could be a little gentler with his Castle.

A flash of light at his side. He raises his cloak as the Speaker sends tongues and teeth of fire at him.

“Speaker magician!” Its master realizes.

He rushes at her, knocking her hand out of position. She creates an ice shard before her with the other.

He scratches up with a claw, sending her flying with the broken pieces towards the ceiling, and angry gashes appear on her arm as she rolls along the floor.

“Sypha!” The Belmont calls.

He must love her in some way, because in a fit of some sort of emotion—instead of picking up his sword—the Belmont uses his fists. They probably haven’t failed him before. But this is Dracula, and his punches don’t cause the king to so much as flinch.

“You must be the Belmont.”

Castlevania laughs a little at the words; it too thought the method was rather common of his line.

It’s Dracula’s turn, and his punch doesn’t just cause the Belmont to flinch, the sound is as if he hit rock, sending him into the air with the force. He doesn’t give him a second to breathe, rather reaches his claw is around the human’s neck, holding him there.

He raises his other claw level—a blade, more trustworthy than any.

“The end of your line.”

Before he can make these words true, another blade stops him: his son’s, driving itself through both his arms.

While he is pinned the Speaker, knowing this is an opportunity she will not get again, rushes forward—still bleeding, mind—a bead of fire between her fingers. Dracula cannot move to protect himself, and the magician, knowing this, lets the fire loose to lick his face raw.

Dracula drops the Belmont, attempting to get away, deciding his own life takes precedence, but it is hard to get away when your hands are tied together with metal.

The Speaker, seeing that her fire is about to hit Alucard, falters. And in that moment Dracula wrenches his arm off of the blade and uses it to knock her down, before sending his other fist into his son, who goes flying along with his sword hitting the wall. This one may not be so hard as to bruise, but, with everything aching and breaking, the smallest tap hurts Castlevania.

The Belmont pulls a blade of bone from his back-belt, and as Dracula turns he drives it into his chest.

It’s not close enough to his heart, but red distaste fills Dracula’s eyes. He thought this was a game, but they have some amount of ability, and he may have underestimated them. As Alucard and the magician get up he attempts to grab at the Belmont in quick motions, but he has some skill in dodging.

The Speaker rips off her shirt and cauterizes her wound as the Belmont and Dracula dance in the hallway, neither weapon hitting flesh.

Dracula sees the Speaker’s intent over his shoulder, and as the Belmont lunges at him grabs his arm and throws him into her, stopping both their attacks. An effective move, if Castlevania does say so itself.

Alucard sees his opening and rushes forward, pinning his father to the wall, which shatters behind them with a painful lurch.

Dracula puts his hands together and brings them down over his son’s head with such force the floor cracks.

And Castlevania coughs blood.

Alucard pushes his arms away and slaps both sides of his face, getting a grunt this time. Dracula sends him back with such force it almost seems like a shockwave, creating wind and smoke curling around them all.

The Speaker roots him in place by sending ice spears into his leg. The Belmont clears the smoke by spinning his whip, before creating more by sending that whip—the one he fed the vampires that didn’t agree with their compositions—sizzling into Dracula’s chest. There’s an explosion to be sure—a rather big one—but after the smoke dissipates, and a wait with bated breath, Dracula is still standing just as he was before—as Castlevania knew he would—like all he threw at him were words.

…At least at first, to show he isn’t taken down so easily. He does fall to his hands thereafter.

“The Morningstar whip.” The words are scratches in the carpet. “Well played, Belmont. But I am no ordinary vampire to be killed by your human magics.” The words sizzle on his tongue. “I am Vlad Dracula Tepes,” he crosses his arms with purpose. “and I have had ENOUGH!”

His voice is a shockwave of its own across the sea of stone and bone. He sweeps his hands to the sides, his cloak rising like wings as he floats into the air, and creates a ball of magma: the cheat that will end the game. He was going easy on them until now.

It rumbles towards them, eating the carpet as it goes—and Castlevania can feel the burning in its chest. The Belmont’s eyes widen with fear at last. The Speaker rises to the occasion without hesitation, and holds out her hands to stop it with the force of her magic. It’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure: at first she succeeds, but, though it may be slowing, it isn’t stopping, and her feet are slipping. The Belmont puts his back to hers, as any good friend and comrade would. Alucard phases in front of them, the burning wind rushing against his face. He calls his sword, which sings as it reaches his hand, poises it, and drives the point into the magma ball.

They each fight with all their might, the Belmont and the speaker begins to grunt with the weight of it. The ball gives a falter their way, and Castlevania is sure even three cannot match Dracula’s strength, but the Speaker gives a final push, which gives Alucard just the right amount of momentum to drive it back toward his father, who is as caught off guard by the display as Castlevania is. He needs no sword or magic to stop it, however, and puts his hands out to hold it. Gold and red push against each other, until Alucard gives a deciding motion, then another, another, each chipping away at the ball until the sword goes flying and it’s just Alucard’s arm against Dracula’s throat, and their momentum creates a sizzling tunnel in the wall.

Castlevania may not know what guns are, but it knows what it feels like to be shot.

The two burst into the library, shattering the already shattered mirror.

It was so quiet in here. Must they sully the silence with the sound of strife? They read here, once. Sometimes alone, sometimes to each other. Whispered to each other of history and mystery.

Dracula lands on the floor and Alucard floats above him in the room in which he once stood on his level and told his father calmly he wouldn’t stand for genocide.

There’s anger in his eyes now.

Dracula hisses, then gives a war cry, and the two allow their hungry fists to attempt to devour each other as best they can in the air, red and gold flashing.

The Belmont picks up a sword in the other room and, deciding it’d be best not to follow them through the tunnel—(Castlevania is glad for that decision. The wound is still raw and would more than likely sting tremendously if they walked on it)—he and the Speaker run up the stairs to follow them.

They’re on the floor now and their punches fly like starlings—their duel reflected in the shards of mirror fluttering, jittering about, ever awaiting their command, as if attempting to tap their shoulders and ask what they should do, and why they are hurting each other—until they are hitting the bookshelves they once were gentle with—lest the pages rip and the silence tear—the ones they once smiled and discussed philosophy beside.

Castlevania’s head aches, nausea in the back of its throat.

A smiling boy and his father handing him another book, saying if he liked the first he’d like the second too, are all but gone now.

Dracula throws Alucard into the ceiling, and enters the room above with an unearthly sound, in an unearthly way: only his cloak is visible, moving like slime. As his hungry footsteps lick the floor behind him, Alucard is heaving on his side that same floor, his hair falling across his face. He turns around, fear coating the sound he makes as he, without his sword, grabs the nearest block of wood that happens to have a point on the end.

Dracula laughs, like they’re playing a game—(they did once, do they remember? Humans and monsters. Sometimes there were princes, and knights, or pirates. Even a princess or two. And the wolves and the bats were free in the night wind)—and stops.

“You mean to stake me?”

“You want me to.” Alucard murmurs, turning around with some difficulty.

“What?” Dracula chuckles, still with that put-the-toys-away intonation.

“You didn’t kill me before.” Alucard breathes. “You’re not going to kill me now. You want this to end as much as I do.” The look in his eyes is almost crazed.

“DO I?!” The tone is almost crazed in response, the nonchalant edge gone, the words resounding with power and grief.

Alucard scrambles away like an animal, causing Dracula to punch the floor instead of his head—Castlevania’s body lurches. It feels a gentle touch at its chin, someone trying to wipe the blood off perhaps.

“You died when my mother died. You know you did.” He reasons as Dracula’s breathing gains weight. “This entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.”

Castlevania jerks its head up, eyes wide at these words.

And Castlevania understands.

The cold, the dark, the empty, the death. They all make sense now.

Alucard rushes at him, Dracula knocks the stake out of Alucard’s hand with ease, but, in a moment of extreme dexterity, Alucard manages to grab it from the air and drive it into his chest still. The look in his eyes is almost pleading, like he’s going to ask “Daddy did I do a good job? Did I do it right? I’ve gotten better at fighting haven’t I?”

“Not quite close enough.” There is a gurgling quality to Dracula’s enunciation.

No more playing.

He shoves Alucard so hard its into the next room.

Castlevania keels over onto the floor, it’s stomach aching and prickling.

Dracula pulls the stake out and heaves before rushing after.

Floors below the magician and the Belmont can hear them, and are trying their best to catch up, to have a say in this fight.

But Castlevania isn’t sure they have much chance of that, as they are flashing through the halls now, Alucard, a foot off the ground, zig-zagging between the walls in the narrow hall as Dracula keeps punching bloodless stone—

—(The stone may be bloodless, but god this hurts)—

Until Alucard punches him back, sending them into a room, a bedroom—(but not that one)—and the room is a pile of rubble with just that. And Castlevania can feel the splinters. That furniture was nice.

Dracula grabs Alucard’s face and shoves him into the dining room, pinning him to the table like he’ll eat him too if they’re not careful, and those chairs were perfectly nice too—

And Castlevania sees a little boy waiting at the table for his birthday surprise, and his father pulling out a burned cake, and his mother laughing. There was no fear then. Though its master was a creature of blood it never thirsted for theirs, and they knew this full well. Can they see it too? Why would they destroy this room if they did? Why would they destroy each other if they did? Are they even the same creatures as those in the memory?

At this point Castlevania is pretty sure they broke a few of its ribs.

Alucard kicks his face and gets on the table on all fours, rushing him into the next room still.

Castlevania’s bleeding, broken heart skips a beat. Surely they must have broken a few ribs, for how else could they get into Castlevania’s heart? The control room, where its gears still lie dripping, glowing as orange as a brand, once beating organs now blazing stalactites.

They punch each other along the platform, Dracula’s cloak whipping about, like a cat’s fur trying to make him look bigger and scarier.

They are framed in the paneless window—those bones have been all but broken too now. The frame where the picture—that is to say, the die—no longer sits. For Castlevania’s heart didn’t just break, it was destroyed when they brought it to this place, the place where its enemies once lived, and still stand today.

—(So why can Castlevania still feel it beat?)—

In the frame now is moon drunk on blood, a night soaked in tears—and the wind whispers to their cloaks, bidding them to whip around them.

Dracula draws in a hissing breath.

Alucard stands tall, his eyes aglow, gold melting into something new in this forge, his hair whipping about him as he raises his fist yet again.

They are getting tired. Their snarls have a weakened quality to them now.

—Can they see the father and son in this room, the father teaching his son that his Castle is special?—

But instead of just punching him, Alucard teleports beside his father, hitting his shoulder, sending a gust of wind to his face, then teleports around the room to send his fist into him over and over, from every possible angle, and some of his kick-offs create cracks in the already breaking bindings of the room.

It feels like pins and needles, but it’s okay. It’s okay.

Why?

Dracula’s grits his teeth, sharp as ever, his eyes alight with bloody determination, his hair playing about this gaze. To end it, on the next hit he grabs his face, shoving him by it onto the stone platform. He shoves him once, twice, a third, the metal cracking, the metal creaking—

Castlevania’s gut lurches, and it can taste bile and iron at the back of its throat, and it’s hard to breathe.

Then its master raises Alucard back up, holds him by the face in the air a moment, and punches him with such force he is blown across the length of the platform and through the thick stone wall into the next room—

And Castlevania vomits blood.

Dracula bolts after him, the dust creating patterns in his wake—and Castlevania could gaze in the clouds if it weren’t for whoever’s trying to slap it awake.

Alucard coughs, and it sounded deep.

Its master is nothing human now. There’s a growl in his throat as he marches towards him, and another cough in Alucard’s as he struggles to stand.

Another punch, but this one is not fast like the rest, nor is it blocked. Alucard tries to stand up, to rush towards him, but he is getting tired, and Dracula hits him again. Another growl. Alucard takes a single step back, soft against the floors. An exhale. Another of both, and as Dracula raises his fist the murmur—plea?—on his son’s lips sounds a lot like “Father,” as if he’s reached his limit, and has to stop the game.

It’s too late to hit quit now.

The vampire king doesn’t grant the plea—or perhaps even hear it; with a belabored punch he sends him into the next Room, rolling this time, instead of flying, the contents of the Room staying in tact…all except the bed, which catches the boy.

The next Room. But this one is not like the rest. It is not just a room.

This one breathes.

A gasp, another growl, a scratch against the wall, and—

Castlevania burned today in this bloody fight, on this bloody night. Its skin, its legs. Even its heart broke.

Castlevania. The thing that Vlad Tepes brought to life with a little bit of lightning, several gears, and a few words. No magic words, just words: the ones he spoke on lonely nights to the walls about how he’d like to be something more than ruthless.

Castlevania did everything it could. It lies burned and broken and unable to fight now because of it.

But none of that burned half as much as those scratches on its walls.

There have been many stories told about Dracula, and there will one day be more stories told about Dracula, books written, enough that one could fill libraries with just the retellings of his story. And Castlevania has no doubt that one day these scratches will be on their covers. This growl, these scratches are the signet of a vampire, of a monster: the disfigurement of his Castle, bloody intent directed at his son. The dark, the death, and the emptiness have overtaken completely. That is all a monster is, really. That is all he is now.

He marches into the Room, his cloak flowing, dipping and twirling in the broken wind. The sound of Alucard’s breathing fills the Room as he heaves against the bed.

Or maybe the breath is the Room’s own.

The Room has seen all that happened, it has been watching Castlevania beaten bloody till it could barely breathe, or see through the blood dripping down its face, let alone move. Castlevania could barely feel the comforting hands on it, the attempts to bandage the wounds, or at least stop the bleeding that it knew could only belong to the Room. Castlevania could barely hear the Room’s frantic, desperate calls to action, to get up, or just ask if it was okay. And now the Room stands, fists clenched at its sides. The Room wants to fight back. It will fight back.

The Room is not violent. From the very beginning it stood against all the violence, the dark, the empty, and the death. That was what it was made for, after all. As much as it would like to, it does not wrap its hand around Dracula’s throat, claws digging until it draws blood, and demand “How does it feel?! How does it feel to be on the receiving end?!”

The Room’s footsteps are soft as it comes up beside Dracula. It puts its hands over the king’s eyes and whispers in his ear, gently as it can:

“Remember me?”

Then, quietly as it came, it removes them, as if playing peekaboo, revealing that it was there the whole time, his eyes were just covered for a while.

It may as well have been removing scales, because Dracula freezes, his eyes wide, as if he’s seeing, not just the Room, but the whole world for the first in a long time—And he is. The first time with living eyes. And one sees things very differently with living eyes. And Castlevania was his world and it hopes he sees the world differently, for Castlevania is not a thing for him to beat and break. Just when Castlevania thought there was nothing left…there is something more than anger in his eyes now.

Dracula’s angry cloak quiets, falling docile at his feet: a sign of reverence towards the Room, and all it stands for.

Alucard, after allowing his breath to regain itself, looks up, his eyes widening too at his father. His father. No anger, no fear, not even determination now. Not in this Room. This Room is different. He remembers now: in the hush that has fallen across the world like freshly fallen snow, this is his father.

The Room kneels at it’s boy’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder feeling nothing but life and love, so much so it extends to the creature that created the scars on its throat, and on its boy’s chest.

“It’s okay. You can go to him now.” The Room says.

And it knows what that means.

It knows that sometimes peace comes at the price of war.

Dracula curls his hand, the one with the claw that just made marks on the walls that are written in stone, and will never be undone. Within the glow of the window, his reddened eyes too are no longer angry. For so long those eyes sat dormant, empty, and glazed in his skull and at last they contain something. The Room’s words have gotten through the glaze, shattered the glass.

“It’s your Room.”

It’s more than just a statement. He made a promise when he made this Room. This Room was to be his son’s Room. There would be no violence, not in this Room. Not ever. Not today in as much as not ten years ago. He will not hurt this Room. He will not dare touch it, for fear those claws will mark more than just the walls; that all the memories will come crashing down.

The words are not angry. They are not dark. They are not empty. They are not dead. They may seem dry, and stated, but they are dripping with such longing and loss it might fill the whole Castle.

The desk where Vlad taught Adrian of letters, and of numbers, and of the borders of the world. The wardrobe where Lisa dressed him up in fine clothes, and casual ones depending on the occasion—Dracula had so few special occasions to celebrate alone, they were a lovely thing. The bookshelf full of all the knowledge of immortals, and the stories of mortals. The carpet where the boy sat and played with his toys. The nightstand, still with a potion bottle upon it, and the cards of a game they’ve no doubt forgotten how to play, right where they left it long ago. The shelf above it with another bottle, and a tiny satchel of even tinier precious things, and a little toy lamb. The bed upon which Vlad and Lisa once sat and told stories, and sang lullabies, or else lay curled up next to him when the nightmares got too vicious to bear alone.

—(How many did he have to face alone?)—

And Castlevania can see them all. The father teaching his son to count, and to write. The mother running after her naked toddler, trying to convince him clothes really aren’t so bad. The careful pouring of the potions so they change color, or explode just right, the father smiling proudly when he gets the questions correct. The pride of the mother when her son won the game, and the way her husband said “again” like if they just played another round he would win this time. The boy playing with the lamb and the wolf; they they got along in his stories.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart…was it?

Alucard stands—the motion fluid now—blue light caressing his face as he raises his eyes. Vlad too looks up. But they’re not looking at each other, or the Room, rather into the stars. Not the ones outside, the ones they painted—brushing paint upon each other’s noses, so long ago, and Castlevania can see that too—as if those stars hold all the bottled wishes of childhood. It always was crowning jewel of this Room.

Adrian’s eyes oscillate like perturbed waters, because he knows, he knows he’s about to lose it all. And yes, there’s a sort of childlike yearning in Adrian’s eyes, as if he’s wishing upon those stars that he didn’t have to do this, because he’d really rather find another way to spend this night.

The stars wipe the bloodstains off of Dracula’s eyes. The blood drains off the moon too, as if he is so powerful he can bid the sky to bleed.

His lips shake with long-forgotten words—(or maybe they were just buried, and not everything buried in a grave stays there)—and he holds his hands to his chest, if nothing else to stop them from hurting innocent boys and castles, and shuts his eyes.

“My boy.” The words are said like everything in him is breaking

And it is.

—(The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. Does that mean it never broke?)—

“I’m—I…” The word falls to the floor, so soft, like it’s the only apology he has to shed. “I’m… I’m killing my boy.” And the truth is so gentle and broken its almost more painful than all those punches to the walls.

He steps across the Room, and this time his footsteps are not foreboding, not marching nor stalking. They are soft. He is only walking. This boy is not his prey. Not in this Room.

He walks to the picture on the wall, the one called “Happy.”

Castlevania remembers the day they took it home. The painter really did do a good job, Lisa had said, and Castlevania agreed. Castlevania soon learned that even when they were not here, even when the boy was not small, even when they were not happy, that moment would still be captured upon the wall to return to any time they missed it. Long ago Dracula had no need of pictures and paintings. But those pictures have been everything to him, and everything left him, now that Lisa is gone. They are all the traces left of what they once were in this Castle. That picture—the one Dracula buried and tried to forget existed—that picture bottled happiness, and it gives Vlad back his happiness now. And it makes him so very sad.

“Lisa. I’m killing our boy.” Vlad says to the memory. “We painted this Room. We…made these toys.”

His eyes as they dart around the Room—to the books, to the basket with the wolf and the blocks—are glazed, but not in the same way as before, this time it is with memory, and that makes them more alive than ever, as are his words. And in that moment she is alive too, and he is Vlad, Lisa’s husband, and Adrian’s father.

“It’s our boy, Lisa.”

And then as he looks down his eyes are not glazed at all, rather they hold understanding. He understands what must be done.

Alucard’s foot pushes off the ground, bends the knee, stands, and, no, he is not Adrian, for there is a cracking, a cracking like lightning, a cracking like the world breaking.

And it is the most horrible sound either the Room or Castlevania have ever heard. More horrible than the squelching any heart Dracula ever ripped out. More horrible than the desperate pleas of his victims. More horrible than the cackles of his friends. More horrible than the crying of the child that Castlevania can still hear echoing through the Room.

—(The sound Castlevania hated so so long ago, and now longs for far more than anything else in the world, longs for that painting to swallow the universe and bring it to life again)—

Castlevania and the Room can both feel that sound like a thousand splinters and spider bites, like both of them shattering as if they were made of glass after all. Even the furniture here bleeds.

Vlad backs up, putting his hands over his face—Don’t hurt them, they don’t know what they’re doing—

—(Yet…he hurt them all. So much so he didn’t just disgrace her words, he tried to kill her gift, their son, her blood)—

“Your greatest gift to me. And I’m killing him.”

He lifts his hands from his face and looks into his son’s eyes, his own so alive, despite their glass, tilting his head to the side. Everything slow and gentle now. He is Vlad. He is Adrian’s father. Not the vampire king who put innocents on stakes. But they all know something happened to Vlad on the night Lisa died.

“I must already be dead.”

And Castlevania, burned and bleeding, understands. The final piece of the puzzle has been put into place. It has been dead too. It’s life, bound in red to its master, will break to the call of a stake. Because a reflection cannot exist without the thing it reflects.

Because…they are mortal.

That was the trade, all those years ago: immortality for mortality. Lisa would gain an immortal mind, and Dracula a mortal soul. He would teach Lisa the knowledge of immortals, the methods of healing that must be kept secret to live with a vampire like time held no grip on them. And she would teach him how to live as a man, how to travel as a man, how to care for his son, as a man, as a father. And in that moment his soul was bound to hers.

She brought the undeath in him to life, and Castlevania understands; only things that are alive can die.

It learned through Lisa, through Adrian, what it was to be alive. And it knew that undeath, while not death, is not life. Dracula was undead and his body could not die. But now that she brought him to life, he could die. His soul already died with her. He’s been rotting in an empty shell—no wonder Death could tie those puppet strings to him. That’s why the emptiness in him was so active; cold and dark and empty were only adjectives before, now they are nouns; he was emptiness, death, walking around. And that, too, is what Castlevania has become. It too is mortal. It didn’t die with her, but something in it ceased to tick when Dracula came back without a soul in his chest, and it knows, bruised and burned, broken, and bleeding that that stake in his son’s hand is calling them both.

You knew all along, didn’t you? Castlevania asks the Room, and there is no malice, no blame, there.

The Room jerks its head up to look at Castlevania, then its eyes soften and it grimaces. I hoped I was wrong. The Room replies softly. I…I hoped there was another way.

Alucard’s eyes hold some sympathy, some semblance of the boy they once knew, in fact rather too much, for both threaten to pour out of those eyes and stop all this. He doesn’t want to. But it’s too late for anything else.

Vlad eyes hold some semblance of the man they once knew, so much so they threaten to make him something more than ruthless, something that doesn’t deserve to die. He closes them tilting his head. He knows what must be done.

There is no anger in either of their eyes, no determination, not even resolve. Not anymore. Adrian wants to free his father in the only way he can.

A step forward, and this step has purpose, that stake is silently growling, drooling at his side as he stalks his prey. Another. Another. Like the beating of all their hearts, and the atmosphere is so silent that everything can only break.

And Dracula will not stop him, will not fight back. Not this time. Like all those times he let his son win, because even though he was more skilled at at the game, it was more satisfying to see Adrian smile.

He is not here to talk things out.

Alucard barely raises that stake—

A second horrible cracking, this one in flesh.

This time he aimed higher.

Dracula’s mouth fills with blood, it seeps through the cracks in his teeth. The blood from his chest drains down the stake—the broken piece of childhood—down his son’s arm, collecting on his elbow, and when it hits the carpet a burn begins to appear on the Room’s chest.

A grunt as Vlad leans forward, the blood dripping from his mouth to the floor—another angry gash upon the Room’s skin, and the Room is trying to pretend it’s okay, but it can’t hide the hurt in its eyes.

It knew what had to be done…but the violence goes against its nature.

His eyes fill with blood, but not from undead purpose. The moon is still clean. These are those bloody tears, the ones from the song earlier today. He is free, relieved…and he will never see his son again.

“Son.”

To remember the living, and those who will live on without him.

And the word is spoken very differently than it was earlier today. Then it was solid and hollow. Now it is ghostly, and so full it could hold all the world. Their world, at least.

This Room, this Castle, that word. They are their whole world.

And it is an honor to have been a world to such terrible, wonderful creatures.

“Father.”

To honor the dying, and what they once were while alive.

The word on Adrian’s tongue is the same, though more solid, more alive, and thus able to hold more pain. A faltering breath, a cracking forgiveness.

The word means something now, at the end, where before they were nothing more than titles. They are pleading with each other. They are bleeding with each other.

They don’t want to do this. They shouldn’t have to. It is far too cruel.

Mothers shouldn’t have to bury their daughters, and sons shouldn’t have to kill their fathers. It’s an unspoken rule of life.

But Alucard can’t stop there. He must finish this. The fire, the resolve regurgitates in his eyes, and he pushes harder, like with the magma ball, and, no, this cracking is worse, because Castlevania can feel it in its own chest now.

Castlevania can hear its master’s heartbeat, can feel it with the drops of blood dripping and sizzling on the floor, and it thinks it might just be its own heartbeat.

Alucard does not hate his father: there is pain on his face. But he cannot stop there.

He must end this war. And unlike those given with kisses to his forehead once, this goodnight is not gentle. Not this time.

He inhales,

closes his eyes,

and breaks his father’s chest.

That stake goes right through Castlevania, and something in it involuntary breaks.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. The destruction of the die was merely the amputation of both its legs, still bleeding out. This is a breaking, not of skin or bone, but of something deeper. It thinks this might just be what it feels like to cry.

And something happens in the breaking. A change of some sort. Castlevania isn’t quite sure what—pain and disorientation are the best of friends—all it knows is that the world is smaller now, and hurts less.

And as Castlevania’s heart breaks, the reflection in the painting shatters, the reflection of the bond between father and son severing with a stake.

The world is so much smaller now.

Dracula’s head jerks back and, eyes now seeing something other than this world.

Dracula is no ordinary vampire, so he does not die like an ordinary vampire. Rather than catching on fire, there’s just smoke and ash; his face drains, turning from ghostly pale to a charcoal, black without flame, before it really is ash, sliding off his face, his cloak like sludge.

There’s no orange, just the red stain, and the grey his life was marred of. Ash and smoke. The true undeath.

Alucard turns his face away, still holding the stake in place.

Dracula lifts up a hand, a skeleton hand, and Alucard turns to see the skin sloughing off around his ring. Though his spirit may have left, it seems his body won’t quite let go of this world; with mere bones Dracula reaches out, takes a step forward, as if to touch his face, to hold his son one last time, to catch the last embrace he was not afforded.

Adrian has shed that resolve, now he can do nothing but take slow and careful steps back away from the monster he has no sword or shield to fight. He the child again, the one who belonged in this Room, shying away. He is Adrian, the one who didn’t like the stories that were bloody. And in all the years the boy spent in this Room, the sheer fear in Adrian’s eyes as he looks up to see his father’s rotted face, with mouth agape, leaning bloodlessly towards him—an image that Castlevania fears will haunt him the rest of his days—is matchless.

Hurried footsteps at the door. The Speaker and the Belmont, at last, have made it to the show, though it seems they paid for only the final song. They step upon the threshold to see the rotting corpse of the king stepping towards his fearful, tearful price.

The Belmont draws his sword, and Dracula’s deflated head—the one that seemed so alive moments earlier—lies in a bloody pool on the floor. And as the neck bleeds and the Belmont watches the body fall to the floor, he isn’t sure if that was enough.

And Castlevania can’t feel its heartbeat anymore.

“Alucard. Step back.” Sypha’s voice is tempered. “Let me finish this.”

He does, the steps cautious and small, sorrow in his gaze. He holds the unbroken bedpost till his hand shakes.

Castlevania never liked children, the crying, the leaving, the guests, or being controlled.

But it did like Lisa. It did like Adrian. And—be it a sting—it did like the sunlight. And always and forever, it loved its master. A reflection cannot help but adore the thing it reflects. A creation cannot help but be a worshipper of its creator. A dream cannot help but revere its dreamer.

“You want me to.”

Smiling a little at how true the words were, in the end, Castlevania found it quite liked the relief.

Castlevania puts a hand on the Room’s cheek, smiling, and its mouth tastes less like blood now. It looks at the moon—bleeding no longer—and blue calm fills every part of it.

“What a wonderful night to have a curse.”

The Room stares at the castle, a little horrified by the sentiment.

“What…What should I do?” The Room stutters, fear and realization coating its words, for it knows what’s happening.

Castlevania smiles wider than ever, and its voice sounds softer; “The children.”

“What?”

“You should let them in. Any child who needs refuge. Along with as many guests as your master wants to welcome. And you should cry. Cry when you need to—and let your master cry too. Stay, but let him leave, if he must, knowing he will always come back. Let yourself be controlled at times, because sometimes that which feels the least right is the most right.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“Be warm. Let the light in every window. Be full, and most of all, live. Can you do that for me?”

The Room holds onto the Castle to keep it from falling, tears already descending its cheeks.

“I—I will try.”

The Speaker lets the flame loose to eat the pieces, to engulf its master’s body in the fire he stared at all along, as if yearning for its embrace, creating a spiral of flame upon the circle in the carpet.

They were right to assume it wasn’t over, at least, because there are shapes in the flames; from the smoke and ashes rises a tower of skulls, a legion of spirits, more than a one king’s soul should hold. They’re all crying havoc, war, blood and pain from a yesterday long forgotten. Their smoke snuffs out the flame, blight covering the Room, blocking out the stars that so enraptured them earlier. Sypha and the Belmont cover their faces, but Alucard is unsurprised and undaunted by the darkness lurking in his father’s chest, and faces it without looking away. This darkness bursts out the window like a flower bloom, flows like a river out into the hall—the one cracked and bruising—flying over the war Room where the war resides no longer, and escapes into the night, fluttering, spiraling around Castlevania’s parapets like butterflies.

On the charred floor, the only thing left of the king is his wedding ring.

Castlevania sees the vampire king as he once was; young and restless. The skeletons eating stakes. Castlevania remembers what it once was: lightning, books, gears, and a few lonely words. It sees the woman with the knife at the door. It watches them build the Room. It watches the boy grow up into this beautiful thing.

Castlevania always wondered if it could breathe. It was never quite sure. The Room always seemed to possess a kind of life it never had; a life that hid in the breath.

“Take good care of him for me,” Castlevania murmurs to the Room.

“Have I ever failed you before?” The Room tries to smile, wiping its eyes.

As the sun rises over the hills, a single ray filters in through Castlevania’s window, touching it, filling every part of it, and for once it doesn’t sting.

And with the last sigh of the last ghost circling the parapets, Castlevania exhales its last breath.

[whitestaghere]

Paris in the rain - Edmund Pevensie x reader (Oneshot)

Sksksksksjjjsk.. had this idea for a story the second I started listening to Paris in the rain by Lauv. So here you go! I hope you all enjoy it!!

Warnings - none

Song :- Paris in the Rain

Peaceful.

Sitting up on a hill which gave a beautiful view of narnia. Down below you could see the battle field. Where it all had happened. Where I, Caspian, the Kings and Queens of Old and many Narnians had fought to save their home, to save their people, and won victoriously.

The sky highlighted with an orange hue, with clouds swirled in various directions. Like that of a painting.

A light breeze sweeping past me; I let out a sigh, closing my eyes. Yes. Peaceful indeed. The silence almost making me want to drift off into dreamland.

But soon that silence was broken with a clear of throat. Eyes shooting open I looked around me to find the source of the sound only to lock eyes with those warm chocolate like ones.

Edmund.

"Your majesty," I stand up bowing down to him.

He chuckled. Placing a hand on my shoulder; he slowly pushed me down back onto the grass, making himself comfortable next to me.

Scrunching his nose and furrowing his eyebrows, he scoffed, "I thought I told you not to call me that.."

Giggling to myself I rolled my eyes playfully, looking back at the view laying infront of us.

"It's beautiful isn't it?"

"Yeah.." he sighed.

Shifting my gaze towards him I couldn't help but smile to myself. Breathtaking. Eyes closed, lashes fluttering against his skin ever so lightly. Brown locks gently dancing around his head with the breeze. Freckles on display almost like art. And his plush pink lips slightly parted.

Yes. Breathtaking.

Years of friendship, doing absolutely everything together. In and out of the Pevensie's house and them the same with mine. In time I had managed to catch feelings for the boy. Lucy being the first to notice. She was more excited than I was, which was absolutely adorable to watch. Susan and Peter catching up on it a little later, after they caught enough of me stealing glances at him constantly. And soon enough, that developed to something more. The feelings grew stronger.

But fear washed over me. The friendship we had was so precious to me and so to him as he and his siblings say. So thinking of the million possibilities, I didn't want to ruin what we had right now. So I kept my feelings to myself.

Turning his head towards me he smiled softly. Oh that smile. That damned smile.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm?"

He tilted his head a little raising an eyebrow, "you've been staring at me quite a while now.. I'm beginning to think you like what you see." He wiggled his eyebrows now.

Heat rising upto my cheeks, I nudged him gently while rolling my eyes, trying to hide the blush on my face. But with the way he was boring his eyes into me I couldn't really help it. Clearing my throat I tried to make up a sentence.

"Ooh look! You're blushing!" he pinched my cheek. "You really do fancy me huh Y/N?"

Swatting his hand away I replayed that sentence in my head. Fancy him? Part of me wanted to think he was flirting with me the second he sent a playful wink my way. But the other part of me just knew it was normal in our friendship for him to be a little bit of a brat sometimes.

Oh but that didn't stop me from being a blushing mess around him of course.

"I-I-" looking away from him, I stared at the setting sun in awe, "look! The sun's setting!"

He let out a chuckle. Looking at him from the corner of my eye, I could see his gaze back on the setting sun.

Smiling to myself I fumbled with my hands.

"I see why you like coming up here.." Edmund broke the silence.

Humming I didn't break my gaze from the view in front of me. "I feel at ease here.. feels like a moment away from all the worries of the world. Just peaceful." Letting out a sigh in content I continued, "It's like I finally feel-"

"Free.." he said along with me.

Looking at eachother without a word, I smiled at him softly.

"I wonder if the skies are like this in Paris," the sky now turning into a pinkish colour. I laughed to myself. Edmund knew very well how much I love to go to Paris.

"Well, when we go back home, I'll take you there," he flashed me a grin.

Raising my eyebrow at him I laughed, "you? Take me to Paris?"

Smirking he nodded his head, "yes me!" My heart fluttered at the thought itself.

Honestly speaking, with Edmund here, everything just feels right. I really had nothing to fear. He's helped me uncountable times. Picked me up whenever I fell, and always pushed me to do my best.

"Edmund?"

"Hmm?" his eyes still fixated in front of him.

"Thank you.."

"For what?" he tilted his head a little, this time eyes focusing on me.

"For believing in me.. being there for me."

He hummed in response. "What friends are for.."

My smile dropped at that. Friends. What was I even thinking? That's what it always was. What it always will be.

Like I said, that flirtatious nature was just something normal when it came to being friends with Ed. It's too good to be true anyways. Maybe we're really better off friends.

I was so caught up thinking about the term he considered us, that I hadn't noticed the pair of eyes almost literally, burning holes into the side of my head. The change in my expression not going unnoticed by him.

He was always observant. Knew exactly what was going on around him.

Feeling an odd warmth upon my hands I looked at them. Inhaling a sharp breath my eyes shifted back towards the owner.

The way he looked at me, felt like he was staring right into my soul. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing Ed.. there's nothing wrong." I faked a smile at him.

Now intertwining his larger hands with mine he shifted so he was sitting right in front of me. Obviously not buying my answer.

"You're a terrible liar you know? Years of knowing eachother and you really think I can't tell when something is wrong?" he laughed.

Trying not to look into his eyes I gulped. Hooking a finger under my chin he turned me to face him.

"Now tell me what's wrong silly," he smiled at me softly. "Tell me love."

I blushed at the nickname. He had called me this before but this time it hit me harder. He really isn't making this any easier for me. Mindlessly I spat out what was at the tip of my tongue, "am I your friend?"

Oh Aslan.

I mentally facepalmed. Way to go Y/N.. out of all the things you could've said, this? Really?

He laughed. "What world have you been living in all this time to not know?"

I looked away in embarrassment. "Of course you're my friend silly. Actually, more like family at this point."

Well that was enough to show that he only considers me as a sister. I hope my inner self has that clear enough now. I felt like punching myself for even giving him the opportunity to rub that at my face.

I chuckled bitterly and nodded my head in response, "yeah.." He shrugged shifting once again to make himself comfortable. Hands still in his he traced circles on mine with his thumb.

That's it. I really need to tell him. With a sudden wave of confidence I looked at him, "you really don't see it do you?"

"What do you mean?"

I let out a laugh of frustration. Taking in a breath I began, "I've always been thankful for you and your siblings. I absolutely love and adore the bond that we have. But I umm began to feel something different. Feelings come and go they do, but with you it's different. Anywhere with you feels right. When I'm with you, I feel so happy, I feel like I can finally be myself, I feel safe.. I really hope this won't ruin our friendship but I feel like you have a right to know.. I-I.."

He sat there in silence, listening with eyebrows slightly furrowed. Hoping he wouldn't hate me after this I continued.

"I-I-I like you.." at this he widened his eyes a little and looked away, scratching the nape of his neck.

Panicked I looked away, "listen I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Please, please just forget it, I hope you don't hate me. I'm so soo sorry."

No response.

Sighing I stood up trying my best to hold back my tears, "I-I have to go.."

"Y/N, wait.."

Stopping in my tracks I mustered up all my courage to face him. Turning around my gaze locked with his. The look on his face was absolutely unreadable.

"Edmund I-"

He shook his head. Coming closer to me he placed a hand on my cheek. It took all the strength I had in me not to squeal. He began to lean in. What is he doing?! My body refusing to make a move, I watched as his eyes momentarily flicked from my eyes to my lips.

Finally closing the space between us he brushed his lips against mine. Just for a brief second. But even when he pulled away, the feeling of his lips still lingered.

I couldn't believe it.

Edmund Pevensie. The Edmund Pevensie kissed me.

He pulled away smiling shyly, "I hope that answers everything?"

I looked at him in confusion. What does this actually mean? "I.. Ed I don't get i-"

Placing his lips on mine once again he shut me up. But this time he didn't pull away. His hand still on my cheek and the other now snaking around my waist; he pulled me flush against him. Slowly moving my lips against his, he smiled into the kiss. Tilting his head, he deepened the kiss. The breeze brushing past us, time seemed like it was slowing down around us.

As soon as he pulled away in order for us to catch our breaths, I covered my face in embarrassment, wanting to run away. But my body said otherwise and decided to stay.

He laughed removing my hands off my face and holding them in his, "you don't know how long I've been waiting to do that, how long I've waited to hear you say those words."

"So.. it's umm.. it's mutual?"

He nodded his head.

"B-but.."

"I'm sorry," he cut me off. "For not saying anything before. I was just so shocked when I heard all that. I just couldn't believe it. Truth is, I've liked you for a long while now."

Widening my eyes my mouth fell open, "you-you what?!" At this point I swear my ears were just playing tricks on me.

As if reading my thoughts he nodded his head, "isn't it obvious? I like you too. I really wanted to confess before, but I was just too afraid. Afraid that I'd scare you off if you didn't feel the same.. I tried to brush it off several times for the sake of our friendship. But well, that.. didn't work. So yes. Conclusion is, I like you too. And since the feelings are mutual I guess it's safe to say, I always have and I always will."

All of this. It was like a dream come true.

"Love is a strong word they say. But with you, love it is."

As if on cue, we both cringed visibly. Looking at eachother without a word, we burst into a fit of giggles.

"When did you get so cringy Ed?" I managed between laughs.

"Cringy much, I thought so.." he laughed.

"But," he paused. "But its true. How I feel."

I smiled at him softly nodding my head, "guess I could say, you fancy me too?"

He laughed heartily. "Yes, you can. So miss Y/N.. now that we both fancy eachother, to make this official, may I- may I court you?"

Smiling widely I nodded my head once again, "yes. Yes you may."

He pulled me into his arms. Snaking my arms around his torso I breathed in his scent. He rested his head upon mine, "my best friend, is my girlfriend. I like the sound of that."

"Yeah, I like it too," I giggled.

Placing my head on his shoulder, he slowly began to sway our bodies together. Under the night sky. Together. It felt just amazing.

"I love you Y/N," he whispered.

"I love you too Ed," I sighed contently. Anywhere with Edmund, feels like Paris in the rain.

Okay wow... I literally wrote half of this while listening to Paris in the rain. It really is a lovely song.

I hope you all enjoyed this! ��️ I'm sorry if there were any mistakes. Please do send in requests. Love you all and stay safe <3

[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 8 | " AFIRE LOVE "

starring: enhypen ft. i-land daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

word count: 3.8k

warning: very mild swearing; brief arguments

taglist: @serendipitysung (betareader) @angeljungwon @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @gyeraniee @fluffi @stxrryemxlys @jungwon-luv-bot @lost-lepord-beanie @hyunsunge

[ PREV. CHAPTER ] | [ M. LIST ] | [ NEXT CHAPTER ]

a/n: this has been the longest chapter in the series so far and i'm loving it. grateful for taylor swift's songs that helped me through this chapter also,, please listen to exile as it ideally expresses the ruination between jungwon and y/n (and also an addition to the burning feels,, ㅋㅋ)

~

Daniel paid a visit to the Royal Garden to fetch his brother, Jungwon, a few Catalpa flowers that were freshly scattered on the royal lawn. In hopes that his brother could still mend the book’s soul by giving a home to the fallen blossoms, Daniel obliged to help when he saw Jungwon’s crestfallen state the moment he got home from Kielder Forest the other day.

The tall, plump gent hums a tune, oblivious enough to the presence of the pair that were roaming around the garden prior to his arrival. He peeks through the side as he noted the familiar voice, gently tiptoeing through the crisp, dried leaves and twigs sprawled along the ground. He soon realizes it was the marquess and the young miss, sharing careful whispers that made him eager enough to eavesdrop.

He could hear everything but dare not open his eyes. Daniel knew he must keep still while he waited for the perfect opportunity to run back to their manor, bearing the newfound knowledge he grasped.

If it was Sunoo, he wouldn't have second thoughts. Though Daniel's ordeal prevented him the first time, he soon remembered how menacing Sunghoon was and grew concerned for the young miss’ innocence, all the while hiding among the shrubs for a determined snoop.

“So long as Jungwon keeps his emotions repressed, this ruse shall continue on.”

Daniel’s eyes widened in horror upon hearing the young miss’ affirmation to Sunghoon’s statement.

Without wasting any more of his time, he cautiously bore the silence until he reached the Park’s manor to apprise Niki of such mischief.

“Niki! Niki! Niki”

“What?!”

“Y/n’s made a deal with the devil himself.”

START OF YANG JUNGWON's POV

I sat and observed you reading with your head bowed. The world was quiet and peaceful that night, and your small hand was wrapped around my finger. Your touch brought forth an omnipresent coolness, sending electric tingles throughout my body. My longing for you fitted perfectly in the palm of your freezing hand. We quietly sat there, your head on my shoulder, in a perpetual moment of tender affection; beautiful and serene. The silence was wonderful, and it was utterly a whole different level of ecstasy.

We were ten, and you were starting to doze off.

I was awake and I watched you breathing with your eyes closed and parted lips. You held my Austen book closer to your chest where it can feel your thumping heartbeat. Your newly untied braids were all over your face. Wavy locks everywhere. I gently stroke them away from your cheeks that were of rosy hue due to the chilly night’s air. And because you were dreaming, your little eyelids fluttered. I noticed that. So I tucked you inside our self-made fort, and positioned us in front of your favorite night light— the moon. I sat and observed you, taking note of everything you did and did not do.

Do you recall how we were sitting by the lake that morning? It was the first time I draped my arm around your shoulders. The golden sun reflected on your tinted cheeks just perfectly, gradually seeing them come to a blush. I don’t know if it was a color of a burn from the summer heat, or just simply out of shyness from the flirtatious gesture and dialogues we had shared over time.

That was something I'll never forget. And because it's all I've ever known, I prepared myself for the anticipated goodbye. You caught me off guard, "I'll never depart from you," you said.

We were ten, and I was foolish enough to take those brief moments for granted.

Three years flew by right before our very eyes and the parting of ways came upon us. You begged me not to leave because If I do, you’d curse me for the rest of our lives. But what am I to do? It was university, it was my future… our future, if not dubiously relevant. I may have only been thirteen at the time, but I was certain of you.

But I didn’t listen. I never did.

I left.

And it was then that I realized, my future wasn’t there. It was sitting among the grassy lawn, reading poesies and verses to each other under the incandescent glow of the sunny daze. It was sharing silly whispers and passing secret notes of flatteries, tucking Catalpa flowers behind your ears, or making a beautiful crown out of it for the beautiful princess that’s been hopelessly sitting right under my nose this whole time.

I said, “I won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay.” But you did ask me. And I was never ready, so I watched you go. Selfish as I was then, I knew you’d come back to me.

So there I was, sitting in my new room in the dormitory in a big city. I remember I couldn’t sleep the first night. All I did was toss and turn; sheets were shuffling on and on for hours. Like a typical little boy who was taken away from his family. Homesickness as they call it. But I guess mine was sickness for an undeclared love left hanging like our sheer fort on the hopeless branch of the Catalpa tree.

It was colder than I thought it would be. I kept recalling myself leaving. You gave me a yearning look, your gaze bore into my eyes, I swore I heard my heart break into little shards. But the deafening echoes couldn’t be compared to the shattering of yours, and all I ever gave you was goodbye.

I bet you were still up sitting on your chair by the window overlooking the majestic moon, wondering about me. So I tried the hardest to tuck myself in and face the window where your favorite night light was. I kept whispering empty wishes. I wished that I could run back to you.

Many days I thought of writing you letters. It took everything in me not to, as a string was tugging me back, telling me that the little notes I tucked in between the pages of the Austen book that I lent you could suffice for my five-year-long absence. The said string being the educational pressures that were gradually sucking the memories I had left of us.

I hope you know that every time that I didn’t, I almost did.

You embodied many, different ways of every emotion that crept through me. Though I knew it was going to hurt me, I went ahead and did it anyway.

Five years flew by so fast. Or maybe just for me. I finally graduated from university together with your brothers and mine. So much has happened while I was there that I almost didn’t notice the changes in me. There were several fooleries that the boys and I went through just to have a taste of the uncivilized life we weren't raised to have. There was this time I even helped your brother, Niki, with a gruesome fight against some kid who was foretold to be the next duke of our country. Those may be silly times to ponder now, but the damage it did to us and mostly to Niki was inexpressible.

I was eighteen, and the last memories I had of us were from we were ten. Maybe I tried to forget that day badly. That day where I stood and watched you hide behind the trees from afar, keeping those tears to yourself without me anywhere near you to wipe them all away like I always do.

I vowed to not hold myself back and not be held by the agonizing memories of a thousand yesterdays. I never realized how much it still pains you even upon my return.

Both our families held a welcoming back dinner at your place. There we were, after five long years of separation and silence, traipsing down the halls that we once ran through, forcing laughter and faking smiles just so we won’t ruin the genuine delights in our dear mothers’ eyes.

I was only eighteen, I didn’t know much but I knew I missed you. I’d tell you but I don’t know how. I do, however, know where it all went wrong. I just couldn't find the courage in me to approach and ask you for an apology.

Where was I? Where was the boy who’d throw a mantle over your braided locks, pretending to be the wizard to your witch?

Do you still remember? The notes I shamelessly tucked between the Austen book I lent you just to get my silly feelings across? Do you still have these little memories of us collected inside your imaginary heart-shaped locket?

I left many notes there, and though you possibly forgot most of them, they still hung around me, and I could vividly recall them like it was yesterday. From the flirtatious dialogues and striking remarks to the underlined phrases I wholly dedicated to you, the following parchments started to become like an entire page of paper with my inconsistent handwriting.

I vented out my daily adventures and mundane activities into those stained parchments that I stole from my late father’s study. Until suddenly, all the letters were about you. It collected all my immature yet genuine emotions. It was always about you, seldom me, and hardly ever us.

For the many years that I’ve hurt you, left you hanging, and witnessed our promises get constantly broken, I could only hope for better days waiting ahead for us. If not to me, at least to you. You deserve more than I could even offer. You always have, and I'm afraid I may not be a potential candidate to meet you halfway.

A year has passed and we’re now about to be offered for marriage. Not to each other though. There we were, standing in a crowded room under the bedazzling chandeliers and along with the tunes from the people eliciting them.

I felt my hands trembling in fear that eventful night. We exchanged brief and stolen glances and I was desperate to know, was the yearning killing you too?

I saw you nervously pulling your dress in an attempt to look busy, while I was doing my best to avoid you. I’ve never heard silence quite this loud.

Jay gave me the chance to redeem myself. You had no idea how much I desired to secure you in a long and firm embrace the moment you walked closer to me in that library. But you said those words. Yes! Those words were made up of aching memories that lingered around my soul for a while, but I dared not to give any of my attention to.

My deepest apologies for leaving you behind, again.

I dropped your hand while dancing and left you standing there in an awfully eerie room in such a woeful state. I let you slip beyond my reach, and I fear I can't give you any reasons in the aftermath. I was nowhere to be found then, and I hate the crowds, you know that. But I wanted to return to you after I'd composed myself in the powder room, though it utterly shattered me the moment I ran back to the hall.

I saw you dance with him. With the boy who was now a man. The man who was chosen by Niki’s old flame. The old flame that caused the gruesome fight between the two boys several years back. And the man who’s now trying to take you away from my reach; the unreachable string I couldn’t ever pull passionately close to me.

I heard my heart smash to smithereens. I was hopelessly wishing in the back of my mind that you wished it was me. You wished it was me you’re holding firmly in those little, flimsy fingers, lovingly waltzing you to your wildest dreams.

While I just stood there, under the dimly lit corner of the court, dreadfully gazing upon the sight that gave the entire ton heart-shaped eyes and promising prophecies.

My dearest, Y/n. For dearest you will always be. I want you to know that I’d wilfully live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time.

Because I held my pride like I should've held you.

END OF YANG JUNGWON's POV

The hot topic immediately spread among the Yang and Park siblings the following morning, excluding Y/n’s awareness of such matters. The boys were determined enough to keep their knowledge unsuspected to the mischievous pair. Although Jay and Niki were aggravated by the news, they saw it best to confront their sister in a more fortunate time.

On the contrary, Jungwon is enraged enough to retreat from their manor to give the young miss an impulsive lecture. He sets off with his horse, speedily galloping to the heart of the Kielder Forest.

“Y/n! I know you're here! You and I need to talk!” Jungwon aimlessly calls out as he takes quick steps to where her fort was situated, “Y/n!”

“What?!” The lass crawls out of her sheer fortress, looking utterly pissed with the boy’s sudden commotion.

“Have you lost your wits?!”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Jung.”

“You made a ruse with Sung- god, Y/n! What were you thinking?!” Jungwon runs his fingers through his ebony locks with definite frustration plastered all over his face, making Y/n flinch from his sudden whine.

“How did you-”

“How I discovered such a ridiculous act isn't of concern right now. Goodness, Y/n, I expected more from you!”

“Well, you should've expected less then!” She fiercely retorts.

“For god’s sake! You don't even know that man!”

“More like I know you? I couldn't even recognize you anymore!”

“That man has set his record with your brother-”

“Do not put Niki into this so as to protect your dying ego.”

“Then what’s all this? What's in it for him, huh? What did you offer Sunghoon that got your mind twisted?”

“A piece of my fucking mind because you were too dumb to even care! And don't you dare speak of him like you're mighty enough to reproach the man whose only desire was to help me!”

“Tell that to your brothers who feel shamefully betrayed right now by your reckless behavior!”

Jungwon heaves a sigh the moment Y/n goes quiet. The atmosphere suddenly went numbingly silent for a while. What with all the nonstop outbursts they both threw at each other, they forgot to stop and catch their breaths in the maddening heat of the moment.

Y/n breaks the deafening silence with light sniffles and soft sobs, tilting her head away from Jungwon’s sight. He witnesses her tears again for the first time in a very long while. It pains him to see her like this, but what shatters his soul, even more, is that he's the reason why her tears keep falling… and he couldn't take a step closer to wipe them away knowing they hadn’t resolved their previous fight.

So he stands there, mere inches away from her, hands so close yet so far, fists clenched tightly to stifle the urge to touch her, until Y/n feels a sudden rush of electricity through her entire body; Jungwon pulled her into a comforting embrace, making her snurfle into the warmth of his chest.

“Forgive me, I… I’m just very disappointed. For the longest time I’ve known you, not once did it ever occur to me that you would go this far to get my attention. I’m just worried for you.” With a hand holding onto her waist tightly, and the other, resting on her nape, Jungwon softly whispers against her ear while stroking her hair gently until her breathing calms down.

Y/n couldn't help but gradually crawl her arms around his slim waist, crumpling a handful of his jabot shirt from the back in desperation to suppress further sobs from embarrassing her. All of her raging thoughts suddenly came to a halt the moment their bodies connected with each other.

It was as if she's meant to be in this moment with him, to bathe in his comfort, to be in this dreamy embrace. It would be a lie for Jungwon to say he didn't want this. He was, after all, anticipating for such a moment to hug her like now. It's quite unfortunate that it had to be under such circumstances.

“Why does my involvement with Sunghoon bother you so much? Is it only because of Niki?” Y/n looks up to Jungwon, making the two merely inches apart from brushing their noses. Jungwon knew that he'd get lost in her compelling eyes, so he stared down at her parted, pinched lips-- though he wished he didn't at that moment, but he was too late. He finds himself running his tongue across his lips, all the while parting it as he tries to think of any far-fetched reasons to answer her question.

He lifts his thumb and grazes it over her flushed cheeks. Her tear-filled eyes still glisten as Jungwon leans closer, making Y/n shut them in an instant. Although she’s quite in a chagrin in their current position, Jungwon finds her unshakable figure as a sign that she's relaxed in his presence, making him feel less deterred from keeping her in his arms a little longer.

The chap plants soft kisses on her closed eyes that made Y/n inhale sharply. The fleeting, feather-like touches on her eyelids were more than enough for the lass to bathe herself in such momentary bliss. The moment she flutters her eyes open, her gaze meets his as he rests his forehead on hers.

“I hate seeing you cry. These beautiful eyes aren't meant for such miseries.” He whispers to which his breaths fan against her exhales.

“You always make me cry.” Jungwon softly chuckles at her slightly pouting lips, simultaneously thinking how lovely would it feel to have his lips locked on hers.

“Jay would genuinely torture me if he sees us right now.” Jungwon scrunches his nose as he playfully bumps it with hers.

“What would he do if he found us out? Let me go then.” She teases. Her hands find their way from his waist, to his nape, while playing with the little mullet he outgrew since the summer.

“I could never.”

Y/n sighs. His words had two meanings and fortunately, she's smart enough to know what he really meant. To answer her previous question, he wanted to tell her how much he loves her-- but his tongue is tied, and he can only let out gentle breaths and husky whispers. He couldn't find any words that would perfectly encompass his brimming emotions to her.

So he fails himself again with a shrug of his thoughts.

“Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?” He asks.

“What do you mean?”

“All these silly banters and stolen, longing stares. Could you be happy here with me?”

“The past few weeks have been nothing but emotional for me, Jung. You shut me out, then you take me back. You anger me lots yet in one swift move, you knock the wind out of my lungs. I’d be lying if I told you I’m not on top of the world sharing this moment with you right now. Because I am. I am happy. I don't think I would be if not with you.”

Then let’s run away right now. Let’s leave everything behind and run away together. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. That was what he wanted to say. But he gulps down all other thoughts and lets out the opposite.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home.” He says.

The trip home was merely nothing but laughter and barbs as Jungwon shares embarrassing stories of her brothers while they were in university; trying their very best to ignore the desperate elephant in the room.

With hands constantly brushing against each other as they take their every step, Jungwon was downright close to seizing her hand completely and interlocking it with his.

“To be fair, this has been the only thing that's made the past agonizing weeks bearable.” He concludes the uplifting momentum as they walk closer to her humble abode.

“I'm ready to try again if you are?” Y/n mutters under her breath, but Jungwon clearly caught every single word. He slowly pulls away from the almost closed gap between them, looking at the ground like he always does when he's conflicted.

“What is it, Jung? Have I said something wrong?”

Jungwon shrugs his head in disapproval, though he wishes she hadn't said those words.

“I… I’m sorry. It's just…”

Jungwon thought there should've been a time and place, but this wasn't it. He doesn't want to take advantage of her vulnerability right now especially when Jay's trusted him enough to not fuck things up. With Sunghoon in the way and Niki's emotions in turmoil, he couldn't bear inserting himself in the middle of chaos, insinuating confusions any further when he could've been a better friend to Y/n rather than putting her feelings in silence.

Y/n was expecting this. Every time she and Jungwon would share a rather momentous moment, he’d chicken out and ghost her for however long he desired until he felt the need to pop back into her life again and tug at her heartstrings.

She stares at Jungwon's figure almost disappearing into the wild night. He ran away with deafening thoughts, while she stood there with a crushed heart… again.

With sadness, she realizes they need some time apart.

It's been a long, dragging week for the ton. Tranquil for some, as not many revelations from the Daily Tattle have been uncovered as of late.

The Park siblings have yet to talk about the matter of Y/n being a quisling to Sunghoon's endeavors. As of the moment, the young marquess continues on with his dilly-dallying courtship with the young miss, obliviously promenading her with genuine intentions this time around.

Jungwon and Y/n had only been apart for a week and already, he had a new lover hanging off his arm.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, Jungwon was having troubles with his thoughts and feelings as he saw her, yet again, traipsing around the park with an arm comfortably hanging onto Sunghoon.

With Y/n, he'd had some wonderfully stable times. But seeing how her smiles go from cheek to cheek and echoing laughter with the marquess’ presence makes her genuinely happy, Jungwon thought it’d be best if he stops himself from holding her back and enjoy her liberty without the past binding her like a prisoner of what could’ve been.

Sunghoon looks at her the same way he does. It churns his insides just thinking about it.

Yet he fears this might have to be his time to back away.

That week-long separation seemed to last forever for Jungwon as he finally concludes that he is no longer deserving of her hand anymore. Now that it's apparent that it’s about to be promised to another.

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series' taglist!

ㅡ © ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

[softxhariana]

34+35 live stream

description: ariana’s live stream before debut of 34+35 remix music video.

word count: 2.22k

A/N: little piece based off this live stream that ariana did in the countdown to her releasing the 34+35 remix music video with doja and megan. obvs not included every question but just a few fun bits and harry mentions for you x

also disclaimer, this is NOT real, if u don't wanna read about these two then don't, i’m not tryna act like they’re together it is fiction.

❤ anywayz hope u enjoy luvs xox

❖   "HELLO EVERYONE! thank u for coming to this premier,” ariana smiled sweetly at the camera, as the video cut to a shot of her for the beginning of the countdown.

“we had so much fun making this 34+35 remix video for you, and uhh, we hope you love it.” she continued, playing with her hair. no matter how long she did this for she swore she would never cease to get slightly nervous in these situations. where it was her alone, in front of a camera. but her fans made her feel at ease, and she felt she owed them something, as she hadn’t done many quarantine interviews like other celebs have.

“i thought i would come celebrate and join the countdown with you guys. which is something that I've never done before, but i’m very happy to be here and i was very excited to get some questions from you all...” she held up the sheets of twitter questions she had received, “um that i’m gonna be answering while i’m here so, i cant wait to celebrate this together and countdown and answer some of your questions!” she finished with a smile.

and it was genuine. a real smile that her fans were thrilled to see.

ariana was genuinely so happy and content with her life right now. with her family, her music, her friends, harry. harry her FIANCE!! might she add.

everything just felt perfect, and after all the shit the last couple years had thrown her way, she appreciated the break.

 she got her love back, she was making music that she fully loved, and put her whole soul into, and she had fans who had stuck with her and supported her through some of the darkest times in her life, that were now able to experience her happiness and personal growth with her. so truly, little things like this, felt like the least she could do for them.

“ohh this is a good one because its 34 35 related” she tucked her hair behind her ears, “@noirgrande said ‘ummm its just i wanna the end of 34+35 is it awww shit or nooo shit, i just wanna sing the song right”

“umm it is indeed no shit” she confirmed, smiling matter of factly at the camera before reciting the closing line of the song.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“@arianalocks1223 said ‘will we get to see the track list before the songs release?’” she paused for a second to process - which turned into a few more seconds, she was a bit slow today. she had told harry with full sincerity that she thought it was because she was getting old but he had just cracked up at her absurd statement, and told her that if that was the case he’d still think she was a milf

“you will!” she nodded with certainty, “indeed. ummm... i can tell you them now” she blurted, oops.

“i suppose thats not like... is that against the rules? can i do that?” she turned, to question scooter who was supervising off camera, not wanting to get her label mad at her for releasing too much information, something she has a tendency to do. 

after getting the nod of reassurance from him she turned back to the camera, “so out of ‘POV’, you go into, um, an interlude called ‘someone like u’. after that is a song called ‘test drive’, after that is the 34/35 remix with doja and meg” she smiles lightly, “and after that is a song called ‘worst behaviour’, and after worst behaviour is... a song called ‘main thing’...” she finishes, a shy smirk forming on her face, dimples appearing, “so that’s the tracks.” 

continuing with the countdown, ariana felt her heart warm at the love her fans were giving her and this album. she loved interacting with them and making them happy and proud of her so knowing she had done just that, was an amazing feeling.

“umm hesbloodsline... @hesbloodsline ... i’m really fond of this question because its really to the point, ‘where's the pig and where the fuck is harry?’” she smiled, holding in a laugh.

“piggy’s here, she's great, she's really doing so well and life is really good for her right now, she's really thriving and doing her thing” she ranted, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, “um, i make her big salads everyday that she likes, she's doing really great. she asked me to stop posting her as much because she's actually really offended by a lot of your jokes that you make on twitter, she asked me to have a word with you guys” she continued to joke, well aware that she probably found herself more funny than anyone else did right now.

“she doesn't like the jokes about being eaten, they really hurt her, umm yeh, and she asked me to convey that... no she’s great...” she finally decided to answer, “and harry, is on set today, so um, yeh thats where he is... but don't worry i will tell him to keep you in the loop, i’ve got you” 

ariana unconsciously let a small smile take over her glossed lips when talking about harry. he had been so excited about this new project and seeing him passionate and happy about anything he’s doing, always made her happiest.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“nicole! @nastyctrl. nicole said ‘who helped come up with the concept for the positions music video, love u sm ari’ love you so much to, i love you so much more” she paused, she loved this story,

“um this is actually a really funny story, dave and i had been going back and forth on several different concepts, and i couldn't, like... marry one... i couldn't really, like, really commit to one, i wasn't 100% sold. and it was missing a certain element of empowerment. and i kept, you know, trying to think of things that would make it more impactful cause i wasn't loving what we had...”

“anddd then me and harry were on this huge hike, and he just turned to me and was like, ‘what if you were the president?’ which was like, not at all fitting cause i was dying and complaining the whole time. but i was like,” she tried to imitate a shocked face through her smile and laughed 

“and when i called dave he was like ‘oh... kay, ill call you guys back’ and had the whole production team redo everything, and i had mimi pull completely different outfits and we completely started over cause that idea was what i was, craving and missing. and i was like, wow, thats so perfect” she smiled, shrugging her shoulders, “so yeh, honorary directing credit to harry styles, if you liked that”

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

“this is from @borderlinevinyl, who said ‘how much of the album was recorded at your little home studio?’ ummm..” she sang, looking off camera in thought, everything in quarantine had honestly just blurred into one so she was struggling to remember what exactly she recorded where,

“um... a lot of it was... i think i did parts of everything here and parts of things at tommy's i know i did, um, the final chorus ad-libs for positions at home” she began listing in her head, “i know i did all of off the table at home... i know i did the final chorus of my hair at home because we- i-” oops. she had to control the laugh threatening to leave her lips at the lack of subtlety in her correction

“-i got out of the shower and he was like ‘oh your whistles are really here right now’, and i was like y’know what... yeahh they are aren’t they” she laughed as she squinted her eyes and recited that part of the conversation, even trying to imitate his deeper accent.

she had been singing in the shower - as she always did - and harry joining her never seemed to stop her from belting out any whitney or old one direction classic she wanted to. he would even join in sometimes and they'd end up with their own mini concert, dancing around naked, shampoo and conditioner bottles in hand singing their hearts out to everything from high school musical to nicki minaj to fleetwood mac.

while it felt like too bold of statement to make as she truly revelled in and enjoyed everything they did together, showering with him was truly one of her favourite’s. whether it was steamy shower sex that had all glass surfaces in the room fogging up or letting loose and dancing and singing under the pouring water, every moment felt so intimate and sacred. it truly made her feel like they were they only people in the world. 

of course he would claim she was out singing him every time she whistled and would jokingly try to replicate the note but he was truly just in awe off the sounds that came from her mouth (in all senses of the word;)

"-and so i opened ‘my hair’ and just randomly did that” she continued, “um what else did i do here, i did the a lot of the backgrounds and ad-libs for 34+35 here, um, obvious was done at home, a lot of six-thirty was done at home”

caught in her own thoughts she only realised she had probably been droning on for too long when she caught scooters eye across the room and with a blush she shook her head as if to clear it, “this is an annoying answer, everything was kind of all over the place but i did a lot, a lot, a lot of the vocals for the album at the house" she finally finished the long answer, moving on quickly as she realised she didn't have long until the premiere and she wanted to answer as many of the questions as possible.

“ok, second last question from hannah, ever- @everdxystxless, im sorry i don't know how to pronounce that” she laughs looking up at the camera with wide eyes, not sure how exactly how she was supposed to go about pronouncing the username, 

“im sorry, um, but anyway she say’s ‘ari baby, how do you feel about harry getting to do a movie with florence pugh, we know your a big fan of hers, ps. i love you so much!’ well hannah, i love you too” she replies, as she thinks back to when harry first introduced the two, after she had gotten over the initial fangirling, the pair became amazing friends. florence struck ariana as such a genuine, loving person and they shared the same dry sense of humour. plus ariana might of been just a little obsessed with her accent - not that she would ever admit that and scare the girl off.

“and... um, yeah, it literally, made me beyond happy, i was fully like, fangirling when i met her the first time” she laughs as she plays with her hair, “she honestly, probably was like, ‘who the fuck is this girl? what is she doing?’”ariana imitated, a faux scared/weirded out look on her face, playing the part of a mildly pissed off florence - which she luckily had never been on the receiving end of, “im sure i was being the opposite of subtle about it but, no, she really truly is the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful, talented human being” she emphasises, the thought of any news outlets of fan’s trying to spin a ‘jealousy’ story about this making her internally role her eyes,

“midsommar is, like, one of my all time favourite movies, and she's amazing in it, and harry’s like so fucking lucky its crazy. so yeah, thats insane”

~~~~~~~~~

"...so yeah... thank you so much! this was so much fun!” ariana exclaimed as she wrapped up the Q&A, smiling wide at the camera, she knew her fans were going to love the music video and she couldn't wait for them to watch it, plus interacting with them in this way always made her happy.

“i love you guys, i miss you” she reminded, “i am so appreciative of everything you've done for this album, for these singles, for this music. i hope that, um, that this makes you super happy, i hope it makes you smile...we had so much fun shooting it and um, the girls are so fantastic, so i hope you love this and i hope you love the deluxe!” 

ariana didn't know how many more ways she could say thank you and express her gratitude but she still had over a minute and a half so she’d have to come up with something, even if it meant she’d sound like a broken record

“i am so thankful for everything and for the love that you've shown this music i cant even begin to articulate it properly so, thank you! i appreciate it so much” she breathed out all in one, “but anyway, the video should be starting soon, so... i hope you like it, don't refresh! it’ll be here soon... i promise... just don't refresh” she urged dramatically, she was really dragging this out, “but yeh” she got out through laughs “the video should be starting anytime now, i love you guys” she blew a kiss to the camera before moving as close to the lens as possible “byee”.

🖤 there u go!! i hope you liked it, and any feedback would always always be welcomed and so so appreciated pls and thanku x