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aaagustd · 5 months ago

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freaky friday | myg (m)

title: freaky friday pairing: min yoongi x f!reader genre/rating: smut, horror, f*ckbuddies, friday the 13th au; 18+ summary: they were right to be afraid. wc: 2.6k warnings: m*rder, mild description of d*ad bodies, blood, weapon play, outdoor s*x, mentions alcohol, slight power play dynamics, ch*king, multiple org*sms, squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, a bit of dark humor, i think that's all...will update later. can be triggering so please proceed with caution. release date: september 13th, 2024

note: hi! i'm back lol. had some downtime so I whipped this up. slightly edited but this was just a quick drabble i wrote. mask credit.

September 13th, 2024

Snap.

You stop in your tracks so another twig doesn’t crack beneath your feet. The forest becomes eerily quiet as you await your fate. After seconds of standing somewhere within the forest surrounding Camp Crystal Lake, you unclench your fists and cautiously tiptoe to the nearest tree.

Relief washes over you but doesn’t erase the fear pumping through your veins. You’re not safe until you reach the lake so there’s no time to celebrate a victory this small.

“Clap!”

Fuck.

You hear one of the seekers call out in the distance, and abiding by the rules, you clap your hands once to pinpoint your location. The caller is far from your area, but that doesn’t mean another isn’t nearby.

You brace yourself as you hear the sticks being crushed by someone’s footsteps behind the tree that shields you and you brace yourself for the jump scare that comes with being discovered.

Holding your breath, you close your eyes and wait—but the moment never arrives. Sighing, you turn slowly to scope out your surroundings.

The moon provides enough light to see what’s in front of you, but the night is gloomy and does an excellent job of concealing you in the darkness.

Camp Crystal Lake has always been a popular summer camp location. You and your friends have run through these woods more times than you can count. Now as counselors, you still haven’t grown up entirely.

This place brings out the kid in you, but like quite a few attractions, it comes with a dark history.

The story of the boy who drowned in the lake has always been the camp’s employees' favorite spooky bedtime story. It’s a way to get the kids to bed early so that the adults can have some fun. Although it’s just a scary story, you can’t help but feel like there’s some truth to it.

You can never really shake the feeling of being watched, but you won’t let your paranoia ruin your last night of fun. Camp ends tomorrow, and then it’s back to long nights of studying for you. Hopefully, you can snag a victory this time around and have some bragging rights for next time.

After looking in every direction twice, you take the first step. Looking around you again, you don’t see or hear any sign of movement. So, you make a run for it.

You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast. You cover over half the distance within a minute. You nearly slip and burst your ass when the ground becomes steeper.

“Better slow down,” you tell yourself.

You wouldn’t want to slide right into the lake. You’d be covered in mud by the time you climb out.

Before you continue, you look around to make sure you haven’t been spotted, and this time—you aren’t so lucky.

“Oh, shit.”

Your heart drops when you see the figure standing no more than 15 to 20 feet away from you. You’re frozen because you know you’ve been caught, but what you can’t determine is by who.

After they’ve moved closer, you can make out the white mask and clothing.

It’s Yoongi.

None of you know him too well. This is his first summer working here. You’ve heard stories about him but to you, he’s just a guy trying to make some extra cash. You don’t think he knows any more about this place than the rest of you. The kids have already given him every scary name they could think of, and that’s mainly because he doesn’t talk much and sticks to himself. It took you weeks to get him out of his shell, and he’s been fucking your brains out ever since.

“You still have that on?”

Like you, Yoongi pulled the short straw and they made him wear a hockey mask to scare the kids. You thought he went to bed after his little show, but maybe he couldn’t resist the opportunity to fuck with everyone.

He doesn’t reply or answer the question. Instead, he continues to make his way towards you.

“Yoongi?”

Still, nothing comes out of his mouth and worry starts to build in your gut. You almost make a run for the campgrounds, but then he decides to speak up.

“Damn, you look scared.”

If you had a rock, you’d probably throw it at him. “Why would you do that?”

Yoongi laughs and lifts the mask. His skin seems to glow underneath the moonlight, fueling your attraction. His hair is pushed away from his face, giving you a full few of his forehead and slit eyebrows.

“I was about to kill you, but I changed my mind,” he shrugs.

Your mouth falls open.

“You would not!”

You smack his chest as he snakes a hand around your waist. The other clutches his prop—a machete he probably got from Party City.

“Maybe I won’t,” he replies. “It depends, really.”

“On?”

Another shrug of his shoulders serves as a response, an indicator that your question is probably one you already know the answer to. However, he still doesn’t hesitate to enlighten you.

“Are you going to be good for me?”

Your skin feels on fire as his lips move against your cheek. He invades your senses with the smell of s’mores and liquor mixed with his familiar scent of shampoo, detergent, and nature. His body is warm, his heart beating rapidly from his adrenaline. Yours is racing just as swiftly, anticipating another heated encounter with the mysterious stranger who knows your body better than anyone.

“I can try.”

Yoongi guides you closer to a nearby tree, gently pushing you against the bark. He pulls down his mask before he speaks again.

“I sure hope you can.”

His blade touches your thigh and you let out a small gasp because of how cold it is. It feels real. It looks real.

“Wouldn’t want to make me mad tonight, love.”

“Why not? You’re gonna use that?” you ask him, now entirely aware of how huge the prop really is.

Yoongi pauses and tilts his head. “Sounds like you want me to.”

You can’t deny how intrigued you are by the object. You’ve experimented with all kinds of toys, but this would be a new one for you. However, another opportunity like this won’t come often—if at all.

“And what if someone sees us?”

“What if they’re already watching?” he counters.

Even Yoongi notices your reaction despite it being dark. Your hands clutch the bark, hoping your knees don’t buckle or give out.

As Yoongi moves the machete further up your leg, you know he wants to know where the skin stops—when will he reach the fabric of your shorts? However, you just threw on some shoes and ran outside when you got the text. He’ll never find what he’s looking for.

Realizing at that moment, he lifts your oversized shirt slightly to confirm his suspicions.

“Should have known.”

You give him a little smirk, letting him know it was intentional. You never know when a quickie will present itself around here. You have to be prepared at all times.

“You should have,” you repeat. “Wanna see the back?”

Yoongi nods and lowers his weapon so you can turn away from him. When you’re facing the tree, you lift your shirt, knowing he’s expecting you to stop at the waist. Instead, you remove the item entirely and drop it beside you, leaving you standing there in nothing but your panties.

Yoongi whistles and you scold him playfully. “Shh! What if someone heard that?”

“Trust me. No one did,” he promises.

Once again, he’s all over you. His arms around you, his lips kissing your neck and shoulders, his body shielding you from the breeze in the air. You’re drunk from his touch within seconds, and the way he speaks in your ear only intensifies the throbbing between your thighs.

“Don’t worry about them. I need you.”

No, he needs to be in you.

You can feel his boner getting harder the longer you stand there naked before him. You would tease him, make him chase you for it, but who knows how long before the others come looking for you?

“Well, it’s right here. Just take it,” you reply.

Yoongi doesn’t waste a second. He tears off your underwear, causing you to cover your mouth to capture your startled shriek. You would have just taken them off if he just asked, but you have to admit the manhandling is kind of hot. You’d put on seven layers of clothes just to watch him rip them off you.

The sound of his belt buckle and zipper lets you know what’s to come. You feel the thick tip of his dick touch your ass when he steps behind you, and just from the small contact, you know he’s standing at attention.

You spread your legs for him and he slides his cock between your thighs. Both of you exhale, already relieving some of the tension. Your wetness is already pooling at your entrance so he slowly slips inside of you in one motion.

“Fuck me.”

He’s momentarily caught off guard by your eagerness but recovers quickly and fulfills your request.

“Can’t wait, huh?”

Yoongi begins to thrust his hips, causing a skin-slapping noise to resonate through the woods. You can only hope no one hears the obscene sounds coming from the two of you. You try your best to suppress your cries of pleasure but Yoongi doesn’t hold back as he moans in your ear.

“This pussy’s so good,” he mumbles against your flesh. His hand wraps around your throat and he begins to squeeze, making your head spin. “I’m going to miss this.”

“Not me?”

Your voice comes out rough and shaky. You can barely finish your sentence because the words are getting trapped in the back of your throat. Yoongi chuckles sending vibrations straight to your core, the sensation leaves you trembling.

“Enjoy the moment, baby.”

He knows you’re joking. You barely know each other. This is fun, but that’s all it is. You know you’ll probably never see him again.

“Oh, I am.”

You can feel yourself getting hotter. Each snap of Yoongi’s hips takes you closer to the edge. Drool and tears roll down your face but you don’t bother wiping them away. You barely know they’re there.

“You like getting fucked in the wood? Butt ass naked, hm?” he growls. “Such a little freak?”

“Fuck, Yoongi.”

He laughs.

“No shame at all, baby. You’re really enjoying yourself, huh?”

You try to nod but you realize that you can’t so you croak the best response you can give in your position. “I am. It’s good.”

“I know.”

As he fucks you from behind, you almost forget about what he’s holding in his right hand. It doesn’t cross your mind until the blade touches your skin. He drags it across your skin, leaving goosebumps all over your body. Only one question comes to mind.

“Is that real?” you ask through your labored panting.

Yoongi pauses and brings the machete to your throat.

“Move and you’ll find out.”

Your eyes widen as your soul threatens to leap out of you. Excitement mixed with fear and curiosity makes you release the moans you so desperately tried to conceal. You can feel the sharp edge threaten to break through your fresh as Yoongi begins to fuck you again. You aren’t sure how much you have left in you, but you know it’s not much.

“I feel you clenching,” he reveals. “You’re just as fucked up as me.”

He’s no longer controlling himself. He goes deeper and deeper with each stroke, touching your cervix and making your back arch. Your head tilts back, resting on his shoulder for support. Your nails dig into the bark as you stare at the moon, mind racing with a flood of disgusting thoughts and possibilities.

You wonder if someone’s watching, or recording you. If the blade will leave a mark, making you remember this encounter forever. Everything just hits you like a whirlwind. You barely have time to warn Yoongi.

“I—I’m cumming!”

The leaves and dirt become damp with your juices squirting all over the ground beneath you. Yoongi has to drop the machete to keep you on your two feet. He fills your ears with the filthiest things, intensifying your orgasm. You have no idea how long you’ve been cumming all over his dick, but Yoongi’s only a few thrusts away from reaching his peak.

“This pussy’s so good. Give me another one,” he demands, fucking you harder.

“Wait a minute!”

You try to bargain for a month to recover from your last orgasm but Yoongi’s ready to blow his load. He grabs your hips and drills into your sensitive cunt with only one thing in mind. All you can do is hold on and hope he doesn’t have to carry you back to camp.

“Fuck!”

He curses loudly into the night when another wave of pleasure causes your walls to squeeze around him. This time he has no choice but to pull out and release his seed all over your ass. He moans and groans as the ropes of cum paint your skin. Soon, the only noises you hear are the crickets and both of you breathing heavily.

“Where is everyone?”

You can’t help but notice how besides the two of you no other voices can be heard. The game of hide and seek doesn’t even seem to be going on anymore.

It’s dead silence all around you.

“Probably dead,” Yoongi answers.

You roll your eyes and grab your shirt, shaking off the dirt before putting it on. You turn to Yoongi who’s adjusting his pants. His mask lies on the ground beside his machete, and you can’t help but notice the red stains splattered all over the white object.

“You really went all out, huh?”

You point towards the items and he laughs. “Yeah, you can say that.”

Both of you stand there for a minute before you decide to head back to camp. You assume everyone forgot about you so technically you have a victory.

“I’m gonna head back but this was really fun.”

Yoongi nods. “Tell your bunkmates I said hi, yeah?”

“Uh, sure. Okay.”

Everyone calls Yoongi a little weird, but you like that about him. You talk about all kinds of things that others would find strange. However, you don’t ever recall him speaking with the people you share a bunk with. They don’t even work with your group.

The walk back isn’t a long one, and on your way to your cabin, you take a peek at the kids. Some are actually sound asleep while the others are pretending to be. You smile thinking about how you and your friends did the same thing as kids.

You leave them to continue doing whatever it is they were doing, giving them a last taste of summer before the return home and school begins.

For some reason, the counselor quarters are unusually dark tonight and you struggle getting in the door. You don’t turn on the light, noticing that there’s someone slumped over the couch asleep. They look hammered so you leave the be. In your room, you notice that your bunkmates are all asleep. You tiptoe so you don’t wake them, but slip on something wet as you make your way to your bed.

“Shit, what the fuck?! I’m sorry guys.”

You carefully get up, covered in some sort of thick goo. You struggle for several minutes to find the light switch and when you do, nothing but horror awaits.

Blood.

The entire room covered in it. You try to shake everyone, trying to wake them up from the sick prank. However, the longer you examine the state of their limp bodies, the realization finally dawns on you.

“He wasn’t joking.”

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts x reader #suga x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #bts imagines #yoongi imagines #aaagustd.fics

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rd0265667 · 24 days ago

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Magenta x Reader: Of Seasons and Symphonies

A/N: This is a fic that might not catch as many of your eyes, given that Qwer and Magenta aren't as big as the usual groups I write for, but I do hope you guys read this and hope this helps to kickstart the QWER fanfic community

Spring

This isn’t a fairytale. Not even close. Fairytales don’t begin in places like this, where hope feels like a ghost, faint and fleeting, like it’s forgotten why it came in the first place. Once upon a time, the world was flawed but breathtaking—messy and wild in a way that almost felt intentional, like it was daring us to do better. We had room to grow, to screw up, to try again. Choices, too—ones we didn’t always get right, but at least they were ours.

But now? Now, you look out the window and see what’s left. A fractured mosaic of humanity, held together by threads so fragile they shimmer, ready to snap under their own weight. Down there, in the shadows of something that used to matter, people don’t live so much as survive, clawing their way through each day because the alternative isn’t any better. And up here, in a palace of glass and gleaming steel, you just watch. Helpless. Or worse—complicit. You wished you could do something about it. But everything had changed too quickly, and now, there is nothing to do but watch.

The world didn’t fall apart slowly. It didn’t even give us time to grieve what we were losing. One moment, there was a path forward; the next, the ground had disappeared under our feet. But even then, we had a chance to fix it. We could’ve fought for what was left, planted our feet, and rebuilt. Instead, we ran.

We turned our backs on the flames and pointed to the stars. Mars. It started like all big ideas do—idealistic, hopeful, wildly expensive. A handful of the world’s wealthiest pooled their fortunes to terraform a planet and call it paradise. And in a way, it worked. Mars became everything Earth could no longer be—pristine, abundant, perfect. A utopia, if you could afford the price of entry.

At first, it was just the billionaires who boarded the ships, their wealth carving out seats for their families and a few carefully chosen friends. Then it was the upper class, the “almost rich,” their one-way tickets bought with every penny they had. The rest of us stayed behind, watching the rockets vanish into the atmosphere, one by one, taking the future with them.

Governments tried to step in, to level the playing field, but the math never added up. The cost of salvation was always just out of reach. What remained of Earth became a pyramid scheme of survival. At the top, the upper-middle class lived comfortably enough to forget how bad things really were, literally living upon mountains, as if to emphasise their self supposed superiority. Below them, the rest of humanity scraped by, scavenging scraps of a once-golden age, living more like cave dwellers than citizens of the 21st century.

“Focus,” your mother snapped, her sharp tone slicing through the room like the crack of a whip. You dragged your gaze away from the window, back to the banquet table, its surface an explosion of opulence. Gilded plates, sparkling crystal, an array of dishes so rich and vibrant they almost looked alive. Lifeless. It was suffocating. Just like everything else here.

“Apologies, Mother,” you murmured, though the words felt as hollow as the polished silver centerpiece. You should be used to this by now. The rigidness, the rehearsed movements, the unspoken rules that turned every family meal into a performance. And yet, it still felt foreign.

“As I was saying,” your mother continued, turning to the butler who stood stiffly in the corner, “the trespassing problem. What’s the latest update, Beakley?”

Beakley cleared his throat, his voice as measured and flat as always. “There has been an uptick in attempts to breach the mountain barriers. The enforcement units have dealt with the intruders.”

Dealt with. Such a tidy little phrase for what he really meant.

“And those trying to leave?” your mother pressed.

Beakley didn’t miss a beat. “A few individuals have been caught attempting to descend into the slums. They were… managed.”

“Sneaking into the slums?” your father scoffed, his voice thick with amusement. “How utterly moronic.” He chuckled, low and earthy, and your siblings joined in, their laughter ringing out like the clink of champagne flutes.

You didn’t laugh. You couldn’t. You just sat there, hands clenched in your lap, forcing your face into an expression that wouldn’t betray the disgust curling in your stomach.

They laughed. Laughed as the world burned.

The dinner continued with that lifeless conversation, you and your siblings finally being excused. As you gazed out from your balcony, you sighed, looking out at the open lands below you. It smelt of Spring. You used to love Spring.

You leaned against the railing, letting your gaze drift across the dark landscape. That’s when you noticed it—a break in the fence. Small, almost unnoticeable, but there. A jagged edge where the metal had bent or rusted away. No guards patrolled nearby.

And then, you heard it.

A voice, soft and low, carried on the breeze, accompanied by the twang of a bass guitar. A song, lilting and sweet, threaded with melancholy so raw it made your chest tighten. The melody danced just beyond reach, but the voice—hers—was unmistakable. It wasn’t just singing; it was an invitation. A tether to something real, something alive, somewhere down there in the darkness.

You pressed a hand to the cold railing, your pulse quickening. For the first time in ages, you felt something stir in you—something reckless, something alive.

The song lingered in the air, tugging at you like a thread unraveling a tightly wound spool. You gripped the railing, your knuckles white against the polished metal, and stared at the jagged tear in the fence below. The world up here, pristine and glittering, suddenly felt suffocating—an artificial cage that smelled of rosewater and desperation. Down there, in the shadows beyond the break in the fence, was something raw and untamed. Real.

Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat urging you forward. You stepped back into your room, quickly pulling on a dark coat over your dinner clothes, its hood heavy enough to mask your face. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess what you were about to do.

The halls were silent, their marble floors gleaming under soft, calculated lighting. You moved quickly, your steps light, your breath shallow. The guards wouldn’t expect anyone to leave the compound. Why would they? No one in their right mind would trade gilded cages for the chaos below.

But the chaos was calling you.

You slipped through a side door near the kitchens, your pulse quickening as the cold night air wrapped around you. The fence wasn’t far, the jagged edge glinting faintly in the moonlight. You crouched low, keeping to the shadows as you moved closer, every rustle of the wind making you freeze in place.

When you reached the fence, your fingers brushed the rough metal, and you hissed as a sharp edge nicked your palm. You ignored the sting and pressed on, tugging at the damaged section. The metal groaned, loud enough to send a spike of panic through your chest.

“Come on,” you whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Finally, the gap was wide enough. You slipped through, the jagged edges catching on your coat as you emerged on the other side. The ground here was different—uneven and raw, dirt kicking up beneath your shoes. You were outside the perimeter for the first time in your life.

For a moment, you just stood there, your breath clouding in the night air, the fence a silent sentinel behind you. And then you heard it again—the song.

It was closer now, the voice clearer, rich and haunting. The melody wound through the darkness like a ribbon, pulling you forward. You followed it, your steps cautious at first, then quicker as the song grew louder. The air smelled different here, earthier, filled with the sharp tang of something alive.

She was sitting under a cherry tree, the blossoms stark and ghostly in the moonlight, her bass guitar resting across her lap. Her fingers moved over the strings with a practiced ease that made the song feel effortless, though you could hear the ache in every note. Her head tilted slightly, the movement revealing sharp cheekbones and the soft curve of her mouth, a contrast that stole the air from your lungs.

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped until the music did.

Her head snapped up, and her eyes—dark and unflinching—landed on you. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then she stood, the guitar hanging loosely from its strap over her shoulder, and planted her boots firmly on the ground.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the stillness.

The warmth of her song was gone, replaced by a razor-sharp edge that made you hesitate. She crossed her arms, her stance radiating defiance, as if daring you to take one more step.

“I…” You faltered, suddenly feeling foolish. What could you say that wouldn’t make this worse? “I heard your song.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You heard my song?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “And you thought that was an invitation to waltz on over like this is your backyard?”

“No,” you said quickly, your heart pounding. “It’s not like that. I just… I couldn’t stay up there anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed, her gaze dropping to your coat, your shoes—both of which were far too clean, far too well-made for anyone who belonged here. “Up there,” she echoed, her voice thick with disdain. “Of course.”

She stepped closer, and you could feel the tension radiating off her in waves. “Let me guess,” she said. “You got bored of your glass palace? Thought you’d come slumming it with the rest of us for a little excitement?”

Her words hit like a slap, but you held your ground. “It’s not like that,” you said, your voice firmer now. “I left because… because I needed to. I can’t explain it, but when I heard you—”

“Oh, I see,” she interrupted, her tone mocking. “You heard a pretty song and decided to go on a little adventure. Must be nice to have that kind of freedom.”

“It’s not freedom,” you said, your chest tightening. “There’s nothing free about it. You think I don’t know what this means? That I don’t know what’ll happen if they catch me down here?”

For the first time, her expression faltered. Her eyes flicked to the fence in the distance, then back to you, as if weighing your words against her instincts. “Then why risk it?” she asked quietly, the sharpness in her voice giving way to something softer. “Why come down here at all?”

You hesitated, struggling to put it into words. “Your song was the first real thing I’ve experienced in, ages.” You took a step closer, your voice dropping. “It felt real. Like I could finally breathe.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her guitar. “Well, that’s poetic,” she muttered, but her voice lacked its earlier bite.

“It’s true,” you said, taking another step. “And I think you know it too.”

She glanced back at you, her eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether to trust you. “You’re really not like the rest of them, are you?” she asked, her voice softer now, tinged with curiosity.

You shook your head. “No. I’m not.”

For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees. Then she sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. “Magenta,” she said abruptly.

You blinked. “What?”

“My name,” she said, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Figured I should tell you, since you’re apparently risking life and limb to hear my music.”

“Your real name is Magenta? What’s the meaning behind it?” You ask.

“My parents weren’t poets, neither am I, my name’s Magenta, that’s that.”

“Magenta,” you repeated, the name settling on your tongue like a secret. “It suits you.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” she said, though her smirk lingered. “You’re still a rich kid trespassing in my world.”

“And you’re still just a singer with a bass guitar,” you said, unable to hide your grin.

Her laugh was quiet but genuine, and it sent warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re trouble,” she said, shaking her head. “I can already tell.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, your gaze locked on hers. “But so are you.”

She didn’t deny it. Instead, she looked at you with a mixture of exasperation and intrigue, her walls cracking just enough to let you see the person beneath. The distance between you felt smaller now, the night pressing in around you, making the world seem impossibly close.

“What song was that? An original creation?” you asked, sliding down to sit beside her. You leaned back against the cherry tree, your eyes drifting toward the fields stretching before you—worn paths of dirt and grass where people like Magenta’s family likely lived, their lives tethered to the earth in a way you hadn’t known in years.

“It is. I call it Rough,” she replied, tossing you an apple from her bag with a casual flick of her wrist. “You like it?”

You caught it, weighing the fruit in your hand before biting into it. The sweet juice dripped down your chin as you spoke, your voice laced with the faintest amusement. “You do realize I’m risking my life to hear it, right?”

Magenta raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. “Guess I’m just that good.”

You chuckled but didn’t let go of the question lingering in your mind. “I have to ask, though… is that song for anybody? It sounds… kind of romantic.”

She hesitated, her fingers absently picking at the strings of her guitar. The night felt suddenly heavier, as if the air itself were waiting for her answer. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, her voice softer, almost unsure. “The lyrics just came to me one spring day, you know? Like they were already there, waiting to be sung.” She turned her gaze away from you for a moment, staring out over the fields. “Guess sometimes the songs write themselves. Maybe I’ll know why the song chose me one day.”

“And you say you’re not a poet.” You say, your eyes with a teasing glint.

“Oh shut it rich kid, or I’ll stop singing.” Magenta teases back, nudging you with her shoulder, her velvet smile more beautiful than anything you had seen in years. Perhaps the most beautiful thing you’d ever see

Summer

The summer sun hung heavy in the sky, draping the orchard in a golden haze. Everything smelled like ripe fruit and freshly turned earth, the kind of heady sweetness that clung to your skin long after you left. You wound your way through rows of cherry trees, the bag over your shoulder growing heavier with each step, though you couldn’t quite summon the energy to care. You already knew where she’d be.

And you were right. Magenta sat perched on the low branch of that same old cherry tree, her guitar resting on her lap, its worn wood catching the sunlight like it belonged there. Her hair shimmered as though she were something out of a dream—or maybe something sharper, something too smart and too fleeting to pin down. She glanced up when she heard your steps crunching over the dry grass and gave you that grin—the one that always landed somewhere between playful and cutting, like a dare and an invitation rolled into one.

“Took you long enough,” she said, her voice lilting in that teasing way that made it impossible to tell if she was actually annoyed or just liked keeping you on edge. Probably the latter.

“I had to smuggle this past a fence, you know,” you said, jerking your chin toward the overstuffed bag weighing down your shoulder. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to climb while also keeping contraband intact?”

Her gaze flickered to the bag, and for the briefest moment, her expression wavered. Her walls went up so fast it felt like watching shutters slam closed. “I told you not to do that anymore,” she said, strumming a soft, dissonant chord. “It’s not like I asked for this. I don’t want—” She stopped, exhaling hard like she was trying to push the words out. “I don’t want this relationship to feel transactionary.”

“Good thing it’s not,” you replied easily, setting the bag down between you and dusting your hands off like it had been some monumental task. “It’s not even for you. It’s for everyone. You just happen to be the only one sitting under this particular tree…the tree I always come to.”

Her lips twitched, but she stubbornly fought the smile threatening to break free. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Funny. That’s not what you said last time,” you quipped, brushing a hand across your brow for dramatic effect. “If I remember correctly, you called me a saint. Or was it an idiot?”

Magenta snorted, finally setting her guitar aside. “Definitely an idiot.”

“Yeah, that tracks.”

For a moment, the air between you held its usual electric charge—the one that always felt just shy of sparking, like a storm that hadn’t quite gathered itself. Then she hopped down from her perch, landing with a soft thud beside you. Up close, she was all sharp edges softened by the sunlight, her quick smile disarming even as her eyes stayed guarded.

“So, what’s the grand prize today?” she asked, nodding at the bag but keeping her hands conspicuously to herself.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you teased, unzipping the bag slowly, savoring her impatience. Her eyes darted toward the contents like she couldn’t help herself. “Honeycombs,” you said, pulling a jar out.

“This is your big smuggling job? A honeycomb?” she asked, though she didn’t put the peach down.

“That’s not what I brought for everyone. For everyone, I brought just a variety of foods, whatever was free at the kitchen and pantry. I got you the honeycombs because you were complaining about your throat that one time, besides, it’s sweet, kinda messy, and a pain in the ass to deal with, just like you.”

“Wow, thanks for the compliment.” she said dryly, plucking the jar from your hand.

“You’re welcome,” you said, leaning against the tree and watching as she twisted the lid open with her bare hands. She dipped a finger into the jar and took a bite without hesitation, her expression carefully neutral as she licked the honey off her finger. “Good?”

“It’s fine,” she said, shrugging, though the way she reached for another taste betrayed her.

“That’s the highest praise I’ve ever gotten from you,” you said, grinning. “I think I might cry.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible,” she muttered around a mouthful.

“And yet, you keep inviting me back,” you said, leaning back against the trunk of the tree and crossing your arms like you’d won some kind of battle. “Why is that, Magenta?”

“I don’t,” she replied quickly, almost too quickly. Then, softer: “You just keep showing up.”

“Same thing.”

She groaned, throwing her head back, but there was a smile pulling at her mouth now, something genuine breaking through her carefully constructed defenses. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet, here we are,” you said, plucking a peach for yourself and taking a deliberate bite. “Speaking of exhausting,” you added, gesturing to the guitar she’d left lying in the grass. “What’s the latest masterpiece?” You asked, settling back against the tree trunk, your voice light but with just enough weight to make her feel cornered. You knew she hated being put on the spot almost as much as she loved proving people wrong.

Magenta stiffened, her fingers twitching toward the guitar before stopping, like it wasn’t worth the effort. “It’s nothing,” she said after a beat, her voice quieter now, the bravado she always wore peeling away like old paint.

“Oh, come on.” You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, the teasing edge in your tone softening. “I know it’s going to be good, like all the other songs. What’s it called?”

Her jaw tightened like she was chewing on the answer, debating whether or not to spit it out. Finally, with a sigh so dramatic it should’ve come with its own sound effects, she muttered, “Summer Rain.”

“Wow,” you said, letting out a low whistle as you bit into the honeycomb you’d been holding. “Summer Rain for the season of summer. Truly groundbreaking stuff, Magenta.”

She shot you a glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “Do you want me to play it, or do you want me to murder you?”

You grinned, sticky honey smearing the edge of your mouth. “I mean, ideally neither. But if I had to pick…” You dragged the words out just to get under her skin. “I’d say play it. We can revisit the murder option later.”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but the way she lazily slung the guitar strap over her neck betrayed her. She was going to play it, and you both knew it.

She adjusted the guitar on her lap, her fingers brushing over the strings like she was coaxing them into cooperating. The first few notes came softly, tentatively, like they weren’t sure they belonged. Then her voice slipped into the gaps, low and unpolished but so achingly real it made your chest tighten.

She didn’t look at you while she sang—not at first. Her gaze stayed locked on the space just above her hands, like the music might fall apart if she acknowledged you were there. But as the song stretched on, her eyes started flickering in your direction, fleeting and sharp, like she was daring you to say something, to ruin it, to tell her it wasn’t enough.

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

When she finished, the orchard seemed to hold its breath, the buzzing of insects and the rustle of leaves suddenly muted, like the entire world had paused to listen.

“That,” you said softly, the word feeling too small for the moment, “was incredible.”

Magenta scoffed, her fingers still resting on the strings. “It’s nothing,” she said, her tone casual, but the way her hands fidgeted betrayed her. “Just something I’ve been messing with.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insisted, leaning forward like you could physically close the distance she was trying to create. “It’s you. And it’s beautiful.”

She froze, her fingers tightening around the neck of the guitar. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, her expression unreadable, and then she turned her head sharply, her gaze flicking to the horizon like she couldn’t handle the weight of yours.

“Shut up,” she muttered, but the words came out softer than usual, and her lips were already curling into that faint, shy smile she always tried to hide.

“Make me,” you teased, leaning back against the tree with a grin. “Although, fair warning, you’ll have to use some pretty impressive insults to top that song.”

Her eyes snapped back to you, her smile gone but the light in her gaze unmistakable. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” you shot back, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she set the guitar aside, her hands finally free to pluck the jar of honeycomb from your lap. “That’s because I haven’t figured out how to get rid of you yet.”

“Don’t bother,” you said, your voice dipping lower as she unscrewed the jar’s lid with a deliberate twist. “I’m like this orchard. Sticky, sweet, and entirely too much in the summer.”

Her laugh burst out before she could stop it, a real, unguarded sound that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. “God, you’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” you said, watching as she dipped her fingers into the jar and pulled out a small chunk of honeycomb. “But I’m also right about the song.”

She popped the honeycomb into her mouth, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she chewed. “You’re exhausting,” she said, but her voice had softened, the edges worn down by whatever it was you managed to get past her walls.

“And yet, you wrote a whole song about me,” you said, crossing your arms like you’d just won the argument.

“Summer Rain is not about you,” she shot back, rolling her eyes so hard it looked like it might hurt.

“Oh, sure,” you said, raising a brow. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about me every time you sang about love.”

She groaned, leaning her head back against the tree, but this time she didn’t fight the smile. “Shut up, or I swear to god, the murder option is back on the table.”

“Make me,” you said again, your grin wide and shameless.

Autumn

Summer came and went, and soon, Autumn dawned, and all you could think of was, what new symphony had Magenta cooked up

"Your father has requested your presence. You will head to the main hall immediately," Beakley’s voice came through the door, as crisp as ever, a reminder of everything you couldn't escape. His uniform, perfectly pressed and stiff as always, made your stomach tighten, like you were already expected to be something you weren’t.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair and quickly straightening your shirt. You hoped your nerves weren’t showing as you hurried downstairs. Your father sat at the large mahogany table, his expression a perfect mask of authority. Across from him was Mr. Suputhipong, a businessman whose smile didn’t reach his eyes, and beside him—Natty.

"Where are your manners?" Your father’s voice snapped, making you wince. "Come, greet Mr. Suputhipong’s daughter."

You gave a stiff bow, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. "Good morning, Mr. Suputhipong."

He gave a sharp nod, his voice booming but empty. "Ah, lovely. Now, if you would, take my daughter for a walk in your garden." It wasn’t a request. It never was.

You nodded and motioned for Natty to follow you, and the two of you stepped outside, the heavy door closing behind you like a lock clicking into place.

The garden, with its manicured hedges and perfectly laid paths, felt like yet another gilded cage. You didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to walk with Natty like this—playacting under the watchful eyes of parents whose plans were already made for you both.

"So…" Natty’s voice cut through your thoughts, light and easy, as though it were nothing at all. "Guess we're stuck with each other for a bit."

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Looks like it."

She shrugged, her hands slipping into her pockets, her posture relaxed in a way that seemed effortless. "At least we’re outside," she added with a small grin. "Could be worse."

You chuckled at that. It was true—things could always be worse—but Natty’s casual ease made you feel like she didn’t take any of this seriously. You had to admire that, even if you didn’t feel the same way.

“So... this is what we're doing now, huh?” she said, her tone more dry than curious, but there was an amused look in her eyes. “Walking around pretending like we care about all this nonsense?”

You couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, pretty much." It was like living in a play where you were always the understudy, never the lead. “I can’t say I’m a fan of these… arranged encounters.”

"Arranged, huh?" Natty’s voice was playful, but there was an edge of weariness to it. “Guess we both know why we’re out here. Both are just tokens in their little plan.”

Her bluntness surprised you, but it also made something inside you snap into place. "Yeah," you said, trying to keep your voice light. "Pretty much. Just pieces in a game."

Natty snorted softly, her lips curling into a dry smile. "Funny how they pretend it's all about alliances and family pride when it’s really about keeping us where they want us. Like we're anything but chess pieces."

You didn’t have to think hard to agree. It wasn’t something you’d ever quite put into words before, but Natty had said it exactly right. You both knew the truth, even if neither of you wanted to say it aloud.

"You’re right," you said, your voice quieter now, the weight of it all pressing down on you. "They want us to fall in line. To just... follow the script."

Natty leaned against the garden wall, her gaze drifting across the horizon as if searching for something beyond the perfectly neat rows of flowers and trees. "Yeah, well. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the script," she said, her grin playful but with a hint of rebellion. "I’d rather be anywhere else right now."

You chuckled, though it felt more strained than you wanted to admit. "I’m getting there too."

The conversation fell into a comfortable silence. You both stood there for a moment, side by side, the shared understanding hanging between you, unspoken but undeniable. The arrangements, the alliances, the families using you as pawns—it all felt suffocating. But as much as Natty was easy to talk to, to be around, the truth was clear: she wasn’t her

There was someone else. Someone who wasn’t part of this world.

Magenta.

You thought of her, and your chest tightened. It wasn’t just a passing thought, either. She made you feel like you could breathe, like you didn’t have to conform to the rigid mold that had been set for you. When you were with her, you could be yourself. Unpretentious. Untethered to expectations.

She was real.

And you couldn’t get her out of your mind. The way her laugh seemed to make the flowers sing back in a harmonious melody, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she loved. The way she never tried to make herself something she wasn’t. You thought about her when you woke, when you closed your eyes at night.

You thought about her now.

But Natty, standing next to you, was just... easy. She wasn’t Magenta, and it wasn’t fair to either of you to pretend that she could be.

"So, what about you?" Natty’s voice pulled you back into the present, her eyes suddenly sharper, as if she had read the shift in your expression. "Anyone in your life?"

You hesitated, the weight of her question lingering longer than you would’ve liked. Magenta’s face flashed in your mind, her smile, her energy, and your chest tightened all over again.

"Yeah," you said finally, keeping your tone neutral. "But it's... complicated." You didn’t need to say more. Natty didn’t press.

She looked at you for a moment, her gaze softening, as if understanding the layers behind your words. "Yeah, me too," she said with a small, knowing smile. "We all have someone, don’t we? It’s just… in this world, it’s never really about what we want. It’s about what fits. Like we’re jigsaw puzzles first and humans second."

You nodded, the unspoken truth between you both like a weight that refused to lift. "Exactly. It’s never been about us."

The silence that followed was comfortable in a way, but it was also heavy. You both knew what was coming, even if neither of you wanted it. The arrangements. The alliances. The marriages.

And the truth you couldn’t ignore: you were both stuck with futures that weren’t yours to choose.

"I guess we just have to play along for a little while longer," you said softly, breaking the silence.

Natty gave a small, resigned nod. "Yeah. For now."

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, a resigned look as you lean on the railing.

“I’m sorry too.” Natty responds in earnest, the both you stuck in this sick game

“You’re late,” Magenta said, her voice teasing but warm as her fingers strummed effortlessly across her guitar, the sound carrying lightly in the cool evening air. She didn’t look at you as she played, but you could hear the smile in her voice.

You chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I swear, you always know when I’m running late. Are you watching me from the window?”

She smirked, still not looking at you. “I’ve got my ways.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, sure,” you teased, walking closer to her, boots crunching on the wet grass. “And what’s your excuse? You were probably waiting here for ages already.”

Magenta finally looked up at you, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I don’t need an excuse. Time doesn’t pressure me the way it does you.” She grinned, letting the last note of her guitar linger in the air before she added, “Though, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I made it before you started your solo concert,” you said, raising an eyebrow as you took a step back, mock bowing as if she were the star of the show. “Should I be impressed?”

Her lips curled into a playful smile. “Oh, absolutely. But if you’re so impressed, you better be ready to hear my new song.”

“New song?” you asked, leaning against the nearby tree, intrigued. “Well, I’m all ears. What’s it about this time?”

Magenta’s fingers moved with ease over the guitar, the chords shifting into a new pattern. “This one’s called All About You.” She said it matter-of-factly, but there was a hint of something behind her words, something she wasn’t quite sharing.

You raised an eyebrow. “All About You? Seriously? Sounds a bit... on the nose, don’t you think?”

She shot you a playful glare but didn’t respond, letting the song speak for itself. The melody was soft at first, a gentle flow that pulled you in, but it quickly became clear that the song was filled with emotion—warmth, longing, and something far more intimate than you were expecting.

By the time the chorus hit, the words were unmistakably romantic, and the way Magenta sang them made it feel like she was pouring every bit of herself into the song. You couldn’t help but grin, listening closely as the lyrics unfolded, each one wrapping around you like a thread tying you to something she couldn’t hide.

When the song finished, you couldn’t help but give her a knowing smile. “Wow, that’s definitely... all about someone.”

Magenta set the guitar down with a light laugh, but there was a faint blush on her cheeks. “What? You think I wrote it for you or something?” she asked, her tone defensive, though it only made the blush on her face more obvious.

You smirked, crossing your arms as you raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I didn’t say anything. But if I’m the first one that came to mind…I mean, it sounds like it’s about someone. You really think you can write a song that sappy and not have it be about... well, someone?”

She rolled her eyes, clearly flustered, but she wasn’t backing down. “It’s not about you. I didn’t even mention your name.”

You held up your hands in mock surrender, trying to suppress your grin. “I didn’t say it was. But it’s obvious, right? All those lyrics about being captivated, about waiting for someone—come on, Magenta. That’s practically an open declaration.”

She huffed, looking away, but her lips betrayed her with a tiny smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” you said, stepping a little closer, not wanting to push too much. “But that song is definitely about someone. I mean, I could see how someone might get the wrong idea with all that heartache in it.”

Magenta’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—perhaps annoyance, perhaps embarrassment. “It’s not about anyone specific,” she muttered, but even as she said it, you could tell she didn’t quite believe it herself. “Just... inspiration.”

You chuckled, knowing full well that she was trying to brush it off, but it was clear from the way her fingers tapped nervously on the guitar that she was a little more rattled than she was letting on.

“Well, whatever it’s about, it’s a beautiful song,” you said, smiling genuinely this time. “But come on, it sounds like you’re secretly in love with someone. Or... at least have a crush.” You teased, nudging her shoulder lightly.

Her cheeks reddened again, and she shot you a glare. “I don’t have a crush on anyone, okay?” She said, voice slightly tight, though the amusement was still there in her eyes. “It’s just... a song. Not everything has to have a backstory.”

“Sure,” you said, holding her gaze, though you couldn’t help but push a little. “But it’s pretty obvious that you’ve got feelings for someone. It’s a lot of emotion packed into one song.”

Magenta shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to laugh it off, but you could see it. That flicker of something. She liked someone. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want you to know about it.

You decided to drop the teasing for a moment, though the thought of her love life still hung there, unexplored. Instead, you let the moment sit in the air, both of you feeling the weight of it in silence. Magenta, with all her bravado, wasn’t as immune to vulnerability as she liked to act.

“Well,” you finally said, breaking the tension, “whether it’s about me or not, I still think it’s a great song. Really.”

She sighed, exhaling through her nose with a soft laugh. “You’re impossible,” she muttered again, but there was no malice in it this time. She was just... flustered.

And honestly, you found it endearing.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re definitely hiding something,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

Magenta turned her head, pretending to ignore you as she picked her guitar back up. “Not everything needs to be about me, alright?”

You laughed, but there was something else there now, something more... serious, between the two of you. Magenta had a way of hiding her emotions behind that tough exterior, but you weren’t fooled. You weren’t sure what it was—maybe it was the song, maybe it was just being here together—but it felt like something had shifted.

Then, without warning, you decided to bring up something else entirely, something that had been weighing on your mind since you’d gotten here.

“So, there’s this girl,” you started, and even though you hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, it felt important to say. “Natty. My father wants me to... well, to marry her. It’s all part of some arrangement with Mr. Suputhipong.”

Magenta’s fingers stilled on the guitar strings, the air around you suddenly feeling heavier. She looked at you, disbelief flickering across her face before it quickly morphed into something more guarded. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, her gaze piercing through you like she was trying to make sense of your words.

“Marry? As in, marry, marry?” she finally asked, her voice flat, though there was a quiet tension in her tone that you couldn’t ignore.

You sighed, leaning back against the tree as the weight of the situation settled back on you. “Yeah, that’s what I said. I mean, it’s not definite yet, but with how my father operates... it’s probably gonna happen. My siblings are already being set up with other kids from Mr. Suputhipong’s family too. It’s all this whole arranged marriage thing. Mass marriage bullshit, really.”

Magenta’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought she might say something sharp or dismissive. Instead, she just let out a breath, looking at the ground as if she were weighing her words carefully. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, though—a mix of frustration, confusion, maybe even jealousy. It was there, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath. “So just like that, you’re supposed to be... what, married off to some stranger? All because your father says so?”

“Pretty much,” you said, trying to keep the tone light, but inside, it was anything but. “I don’t know. I don’t want it, but... it’s just the way things are going right now. It’s all about business and alliances and all that. My feelings don’t even come into play.”

Magenta shook her head, her expression a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something that looked almost... hurt? “And what about you? What about what you want?”

You hesitated, not really knowing how to answer that. How could you explain that you felt trapped, like your life was being decided for you? You wanted to fight it, but at the same time, what could you do against your family’s expectations?

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, trying to brush it off. “It’s just something I have to deal with. You know, family stuff.”

But Magenta was still staring at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she were trying to find some clue in the way you were talking, some hint of how you really felt. She bit her lip, frustration clearly simmering under the surface. And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, that defensiveness slipped away, replaced with something that almost looked like vulnerability.

“You’re... not serious about this, right?” she asked, voice quieter now, almost uncertain. “I mean, you don’t actually want to marry her, do you?”

You felt your stomach churn at the question. There was something in Magenta’s voice—something fragile—that made you pause. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you standing in the clearing, everything else fading away.

“No,” you said quickly, trying to reassure her. “I don’t want to marry Natty. I don’t want any of this, Magenta. It’s just... expected. You know how it is with my family. But I’d never just go along with it. I don’t want a life like that.”

Magenta’s eyes softened, but there was still a shadow of uncertainty there. She crossed her arms, her gaze flickering away from you as if she were trying to collect herself. “So... you’re saying, if you could choose—” She hesitated, as if the question was harder than it should’ve been to ask. “You wouldn’t marry her? Not if you had the choice?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Of course not. I don’t even know her, Magenta. I don’t want to marry someone just because my father says it’s a good idea. I’ve got... other things I want. And if it were up to me, I wouldn’t go through with any of it.”

Magenta took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if trying to process everything. Then, after a long pause, she looked at you again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then what do you want?”

‘You.’ You opened your mouth to speak, but for a moment, the words didn’t come. There was something in the air between you, something unspoken that made the moment feel bigger than it was. You didn’t know what you wanted, not entirely—but in this moment, with Magenta standing so close, you had a pretty good idea.

“I want...” you started, then paused, considering how to put it into words. “I want to be in control of my own life, Magenta. I want to make my own choices, not just follow what other people think is best for me. And right now, that means I don’t want to marry Natty. I don’t want to marry anyone unless I really choose to.”

Magenta’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, she just nodded, her arms still crossed as she looked down at the ground. Her expression was harder to read now, a mix of relief and something else—something more subtle that you couldn’t place.

“Well,” she said quietly, “I’m glad to hear that. I just... I don’t like the idea of you being stuck with someone you don’t care about.” She shifted, avoiding your gaze for a moment. “And I definitely don’t like the idea of you marrying some stranger.”

You took a small step closer, your voice soft. “I promise that I’ll do what I can.”

Magenta finally met your gaze, the tension in her expression easing just a little. “Good,” she said, a small but genuine smile tugging at her lips. “I mean... if anyone’s going to marry you, it better be someone who actually matters, right? Someone good with the guitar at least.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the way she said it, the mix of playfulness and something deeper that made your heart flutter just a little.

“Right,” you said, your voice light, but underneath it, you both knew there was more to it than just words.

Winter

The winter wind cut sharp, carrying whispers from the upper levels down to where the air always seemed a little heavier, a little colder. Magenta had heard the news—everyone had. Mr. Suputhipong, the head of S2, had announced a new round of transport capsules bound for Mars, seats reserved for his family and their extended network.

Magenta hadn’t cared at first. Space travel was a rich person’s game, nothing to do with her. But then someone had mentioned the list, rattling off names like they were celebrities. One name had stopped her cold.

Natty.

Magenta’s fingers froze over the guitar strings, the name ringing in her ears. You’d mentioned her not too long ago, but it made sense now, all the talk about marriage alliances, the quiet weight in your voice when you’d brought it up. This wasn’t just a rumor. It was real. You were leaving.

You were going to Mars.

You were leaving her.

Magenta let out a low grunt as she slumped back against the gnarled tree. The bark pressed into her spine, grounding her even as her thoughts spun out of control. Her fingers moved again, plucking lazy, dissonant notes from her guitar, but her mind stayed stuck, clouded, frantic.

She couldn’t let you go. That much was clear. But how could she stop you? How could she even begin to ask you to stay? Her mind raced, sifting through excuses, schemes, anything to keep you here, on this Earth, in this moment with her.

But for all her sharp wit, for all the teasing comebacks she always had ready, Magenta couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

She shouldn’t ask. It was selfish. Even by the standards of the upper levels, Mars was the closest thing to heaven. To deny it was stupid, and as much as she’d tease you and prod you for the slight bursts of stupidity that she often found more endearing than anything, you had to jump at any chance to go to Mars. Even if it meant leaving important things here back on Earth, it only made sense to leave. What would you most mind leaving on earth? Magenta wondered if she made the list.

You hadn’t mentioned it to her, this move to Mars, not once. All winter, she’d been waiting for some small hint, some casual drop of your plans. But it never came. A tiny, bitter part of her wondered if you’d ever planned to tell her. Maybe you were just going to disappear, leaving her sitting here under the wish tree, strumming her guitar and waiting for someone who was never coming back.

She glanced down at the scratched notebook in her lap. Her new song, Wish Tree, stared back at her, the ink still fresh, the lyrics mocking her now. It had come to her on the same wind that had carried the news, and she’d written it in a rare moment of hopefulness, her fingers moving faster than her doubts.

Her songs had always leaned melancholy, romantic with an edge of longing, but this one was different. Wish Tree was a hopeful ode, a soft prayer for staying together, for finding a way through the chaos. And now, just as it had started to sprout, the news had come, ready to uproot everything.

Magenta closed the notebook and leaned her head back against the tree, exhaling a shaky breath. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d written about wishes, but she hadn’t made one. Not yet.

She wondered if she’d waited too long.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the familiar crunch of your boots on the soft mud.

“I’m early! Right?” You asked with an almost joking tone.

Magenta smirked, a quick, automatic reflex, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Depends what you mean by ‘early,’” she said, her fingers idly strumming a chord. “You missed the winter solstice, but I guess you’re on time for… Tuesday.”

You grinned, hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets, the wind making a mess of your hair. “Guess I’ll take that as a win.”

Magenta’s gaze drifted back to the guitar strings. She didn’t know why her hands were still moving, picking out a quiet, aimless melody, but it felt safer to look at the guitar than at you. “I wrote something,” she said, almost too casually, like she wasn’t sure the words should leave her mouth.

You tilted your head, curiosity lighting up your face. “Yeah?”

She nodded, brushing her thumb over the strings, the sound soft and tentative. “It’s not finished,” she added quickly. “Probably needs, like… a bridge. Or a chorus that doesn’t sound like a bad diary entry. But I—” She hesitated, her usual teasing confidence faltering just enough to make you take a step closer. “I could play it for you. If you want.”

Your smile softened. “Of course I want to hear it.”

As Magenta began to strum, the light breeze carrying her harmonies, your mind began to whir. The song was hopeful, uncharacteristically hopeful for Magenta’s music. Did she really not know? Not heard about the new capsules? You had been pondering for weeks on how to properly tell her, but now, sat in front of her, mesmerised by her symphonies as you gazed into her eyes, you wondered if it would be better to give it all up. Attempt to run from your family, gargantuan task as it is, risky too, but if there was anyone you’d do it for…

“Did you like it?” Magenta’s voice pulled you out of your reverie.

“Of course I liked it, Magenta. It was exquisite, just like you.” You almost whispered the last words, catching Magenta’s gaze.

You shook your head, stepping closer until you were standing just a few feet away. “It’s perfect,” you said, your voice quiet, almost reverent.

Magenta’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away, brushing her hair back from her face like she could shrug off the compliment. “You always say that. You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, grinning slightly. “But I mean it.”

The silence stretched, the winter wind tugging at the edges of it, neither of you quite ready to fill it.

And then, so softly it was almost lost to the breeze, she asked, “When were you going to tell me?”

Her voice was quiet, almost steady, but she wouldn’t look at you.

“Tell you about what?” Magenta was right, you really were stupid.

“The Capsules. News travels down here too, you know.” Magenta replied, scoffing, her mood clearly having taken a turn for the worse.

“I…I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure how to tell you, I was-” You tried to explain, but Magenta quickly turned toward you, glaring at you.

“You were what? Going to Mars? Leaving without a word or even a goodbye?” Magenta challenged as she stepped closer to you, almost cornering you into the cherry tree.

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to go.”

Magenta didn’t move at first. Her eyes were locked on yours, disbelief rippling through her like a wave about to crash. Then she laughed, sharp and humorless, the sound cutting through the cold air like broken glass.

“You’re not sure if you’re going to go,” she said, her voice dripping with incredulity. “Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?”

“Magenta—”

“No, don’t ‘Magenta’ me,” she snapped, stepping closer, her words coming fast and fiery now. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? You’re telling me you’d give up Mars—Heaven, for God’s sake—for me?”

“Yes!” you said, the word bursting out of you like it had been trapped inside too long. “Yes, Magenta, for you. I—”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You don’t get to say that! You don’t get to stand here, under this stupid tree, and act like I’m worth that. I’m not.”

“Stop,” you said, trying to close the gap between you, but she stepped back, shaking her head.

“No, you stop,” she said, her tone sharp and cutting. “Do you even hear yourself? Mars isn’t a vacation. It’s a whole new life. A better life. And you’re telling me you’d throw that away for what? For me? For some girl who spends her days sitting under a tree and writing songs no one even hears?”

“I hear them,” you said quietly.

Her mouth opened, then closed, her breath hitching for just a moment before she threw up her hands. “Well, great. One audience member. Guess that makes me worth uprooting your entire future.”

“Magenta,” you said again, your voice softer now, pleading. “I don’t care about Mars. I care about you. You’re worth it. Can’t you see that?”

Her eyes burned as she stared at you, her jaw tightening. “No. No, I can’t, because it’s not true.”

“It is—”

“Stop!” she yelled, and the force of it made you freeze. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her voice trembling now, even as she tried to keep it steady. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re just—you’re just trying to make this easier for me, and it’s not. It’s not easier.”

“I’m not—”

“You are!” she cut you off, her voice cracking at the edges. She sucked in a shaky breath, her anger slipping for just a moment, just long enough for you to catch a glimpse of the hurt underneath. “You think this is what I want? You staying here, wasting your chance, looking at me like I’m worth more than heaven?”

“You are,” you said firmly.

She laughed again, bitter and cold, and it broke something in you to hear it. “God, you’re so stupid,” she muttered, shaking her head. Her voice dropped, quieter now but no less sharp. “You’re going to regret this. Maybe not right away, but someday. You’ll look at me, and you’ll see all the things I can’t be, all the things Mars could’ve given you, and you’ll hate me for it. And I can’t—I won’t let that happen.”

“Magenta—”

“Just go,” she said, cutting you off one last time, her voice tight, her eyes refusing to meet yours. “Go to Mars. Forget about me. It’s better that way.”

You stared at her, your chest tightening, words piling up in your throat that you couldn’t force out. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest like she was holding herself together, her jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt.

You turned and walked away, your footsteps crunching against the frozen ground, the distance between you growing with each step.

You didn’t see her crumble the second you were out of sight. Didn’t see her drop to her knees under the gnarled branches of the tree, her hands clutching the cold earth like it could anchor her to something, anything.

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking, her breath coming in broken gasps. She did the right thing. It had to be the right thing. Or else, that would mean…mean that she ruined the only thing she ever really loved.

She pulled herself up from the ground, dragging herself onto the tree that had been your meetup point for so long. Your cherry tree, your Wish Tree.

Spring

(Imagine the pre chorus but slowed down and sang through sobs)

It had been a year—a whole, impossibly short, impossibly long year—since you appeared out of nowhere, stumbling into her life like some cosmic accident. A stranger, in a place where strangers didn’t just happen. A year since she’d looked up from her guitar, startled by the sound of boots squelching through the muddy ground, and seen you standing there, impossibly wrong and yet somehow exactly right. Like you’d been meant to find the cracks she hadn’t even realized were there.

She’d told herself she wasn’t counting. Not really. But she knew. Knew it had been exactly one year since you wandered into her orbit and tilted everything, just enough to let the light in.

Now, lying beneath the gnarled branches of the cherry tree that had become yours—not hers, not yours, but yours, together—Magenta couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you. About the capsules.

The capsules.

Her eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep the image out. It didn’t work. Her fingers dug into the damp grass beneath her as though holding on tight could somehow stop the inevitable. She didn’t want to see it—the sleek, gleaming capsules with their yawning doors, ready to whisk you away. To lift you up, out, beyond. Somewhere she couldn’t follow. Somewhere she wasn’t sure she could even imagine.

She should be happy for you. That was what she told herself, again and again, the words looping endlessly through her head like a melody she couldn’t escape. This was what you’d been waiting for. The chance to leave, to start over, to escape the heaviness of this place. To find something better.

It was what she deserved, wasn’t it? She’d told you to go. Pushed you to go, her voice steady even when it felt like the weight of it might break her in half. She’d told you she couldn’t be the reason you stayed, couldn’t let you throw away a shot at something brighter, something easier, just because she wasn’t brave enough to let you go.

But lying there, staring up at the branches shifting against the pale winter sky, Magenta felt the truth settle deep in her chest, heavy and sharp-edged. She wasn’t noble. She wasn’t selfless. All she wanted, in the quietest, most desperate part of her heart, was for you to stay.

And then it came. That low, growing hum, the sound that swallowed everything else. The capsules, rising in the distance, their engines roaring as they tore away from the earth and into the sky. Magenta’s breath hitched as she watched them climb, higher and higher, until they were nothing but a distant speck. Until they were gone.

Her hands found the guitar beside her, her fingers brushing against the strings like muscle memory. It felt wrong to play it now, cruel, even. The song she’d been playing the day you first appeared. What had once been the beginning of everything now felt like a cruel epilogue to what she’d lost.

Still, the melody spilled out of her, her voice soft and trembling: We are revolving because we can’t meet

We are like parallel lines

If I could run through time and become an adult

I will hold your hand in this cruel world

We aren’t closing in, that one tiny bit

We are like parallel lines.

When the last note faded, Magenta folded forward, her body curling into itself as the tears came, hot and unrelenting. She pressed her forehead against the guitar, her shoulders shaking, her breath coming in broken gasps.

And then, softly, the words she’d never expected to hear again, carried on the breeze like an impossible dream:

“Would it be too much to ask for an encore?”

Her head jerked up, her breath catching. And there you were, standing beneath the cherry tree, the same tree where it had all begun. Your face was sheepish, almost apologetic, as you took a slow step toward her, then another.

Magenta blinked, her tears blurring the edges of you, but there was no mistaking it. You were here.

Before she could stop herself, she was on her feet, her fists against your chest, her sobs spilling over as the words tore out of her.

“Why didn’t you go?” she shouted, her voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “You could’ve had it all! You could’ve gone to the closest thing to heaven, and you stayed—for what? For me?”

Your hands found her shoulders, steady and warm, and when she didn’t pull away, you pulled her closer, wrapping her into the kind of hug that felt like it could hold her together, even as she fell apart.

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft and lingering, and when you spoke, your voice was quiet, like a secret meant only for her.

“Oh, my love,” you murmured. “What’s heaven got that beats a picnic in spring, just you and me?”

#qwer #rd0265667 #fluff #qwer x reader #qwer magenta #magenta x reader #qwer magenta x reader #kpop #kpop fanfic #Spotify #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop idol x reader #kpop writing #kpop fic

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see-arcane · 2 years ago

Text

Cards with the Count

Thinking about how Jonathan is trying to pass the time during Vampire Hell Staycation with all the books in the library (a guaranteed Dracula Zone), no stationery (bastard), and a finite amount of secret pen ink and secret diary pages left at his disposal (shit). Reading and writing and art are all out. What’s left?

I like to think, in this order:

1) He remembers that he has a pack of playing cards in the general luggage Dracula didn’t snatch. A gift Lucy had bestowed on him and Mina, a pack apiece, as she insisted that it was the best way to pass an hour in dreary company that wasn’t to do with gossip or politics.

2) He doesn’t normally play, if only because he doesn’t have the coin to meet any real gambling stranger at a table. Just a ‘for fun’ thing.

3) Fuck it. Solitaire. Card towers. It’s something to keep his mind off the…everything.

4) He gets exactly one (1) day/evening of peace with this. Then:

5) “Whatever are you up to, my friend?”

(He didn’t even use the door to give Jonathan time to hide the pack. Misted in. No shadow to give him away. Fantastic.) Jonathan staples his smile back in place and rattles off something apologetic, so sorry, was he keeping the Count waiting? Let him just put this away, he wouldn’t be interested—

6) Smash cut to the library. The cards are now unofficially confiscated/a staple of the Dracula Zone, alongside the fancy crystal chessboard the Count loves to crush him with on a semi-regular basis. Jonathan is walking him through the rules of sundry card games. Unsurprisingly, he latches onto the concept of American poker readily. The game is a soup of similar European predecessors that light up his eyes with recognition—primero, poque, brelan—sewn together with England’s game of brag into a medley of the initial rules, both written and unwritten.

7) “A game of skill, then?”

“Skill, acting, and luck.”

Dracula grins as he produces a ransom of gold coins to use as chips. Jonathan deals.

(What are the extra rules here? Does he throw every hand? Does he play in earnest and inevitably lose anyway? Does it even matter? It isn’t chess, after all. Not a proper strategy game. Cards happen. Guesswork happens. A winner and loser every turn. What does it matter?)

8) Jonathan realizes two dozen hands later that what matters is, apparently, his face. One that, likewise apparently, cannot be read by the Count in this game. Out of those two dozen hands, Jonathan has won eighteen. Of those eighteen, his hand was the clear dud for nine. Through it all, Dracula’s eyes keep jumping from his own hand to Jonathan’s tired gaze. When Jonathan wins the twenty-fifth hand and the mountain of gold on his side of the table risks toppling off the edge, Dracula bites out a word Jonathan is sure is too caustic to have a spot in the lost polyglot dictionary.

9) “You have a gift for schooling your face, my friend.” Every word is an icicle; each as sharp as the canines jutting out of the rictus grin.

“I don’t,” Jonathan says.

And it’s true. Now he’s schooling his face—first lesson of anyone destined for the realm of serving others—but in the game, he’s barely thinking of anything else beyond the ticking of the clock. To punctuate this, he slides the heap of gold back to Dracula’s side of the table.

“This is only a game for the fun of it. In a game with stakes, there would be something worth playing and worrying for. When you get to England,” his face is very, very schooled as he says this, “you’ll find a much more varied competition at gambling tables. The players who really train their expressions can do so with fortunes at stake, while novices reveal every victory or loss plainly on their face.”

10) Dracula considers this. And smiles.

11) “Ah, then there must be stakes before we can play the game properly. Still, you have won the bulk of these rounds, my friend—” his hand seems like it wants to be strangling something when it drums atop the gold heap, “—and done me the charity of not taking your rightful winnings.” He throws down his cards. Ace and deuce of spades. “I shall have to speak with the kitchen about producing a stand-in prize.”

He leaves. Jonathan doesn’t blink when he hears the door lock behind him. A card pyramid is erected.

12) Paprika hendl for supper. As excellent as he remembers. Huzzah.

13) The next time he’s herded into the library, he sees what looks suspiciously like his travel paraphernalia flimsily hidden behind a bit of drapery. Dracula is shuffling the deck.

14) “A true prize on the table this time, my friend. I know you are one to appreciate the splendor of our beautiful country, just as I know it is, for your own safety, quite impossible to go exploring alone in the wild. Too many wolves about. But if you win the majority tonight, I shall see to it that my driver takes a leave from his own many errands to escort you beyond the castle for a time, if you so wish.”

“…And if I lose the majority?” He can’t help it: “I’m sure there’s little from me you’d be interested in.”

Dracula grins.

“We shall think of something, I’m certain. Here. Deal.”

15) As expected, Jonathan’s face isn’t effortlessly unreadable in its misery anymore. He has something to play for, even if his trust in Dracula’s dangling carrot on the stick is nigh nonexistent. He loses more. He struggles more. He worries more…

16) …But the wins and losses remain surprisingly even. On into the dawn they play, matching victory for victory. Even the Count seems puzzled. Jonathan is just tired. He was never going to win. The ‘driver’ will fall to some mysterious ailment, his possessions will disappear the moment he’s sent out of the room ahead of the Count. To Hell with it.

17) “I forfeit. We remain tied, so neither has to lose.” A sour smile curls. “Besides, I have kept you up too late again.”

“One more.”

“We can say you won—,”

Dracula gives him a Look.

Jonathan sits again. Plays again.

Wins again.

Dracula hisses several words the polyglot dictionary would be scandalized to translate. Jonathan feels the first genuine smile he’s wanted to make in a month and a half try to creep up on his lips, and stifles it.

18) Dracula turns over his cards and thumbs though the deck as if looking for a conspirator. He even scowls at Jonathan’s forearms, both bare through the whole game as he’d rolled up his sleeves. Still grumbling, his thumbnail finally hooks a card that makes a cloud pass over his face.

19) “What. Is this?”

Jonathan looks.

“Oh, that’s just a Joker.”

“Joker?”

“Yes, I thought I’d taken him out. He’s not a usable card in this game, but he’s sometimes used as a trump or wild card in others. That is, he’s there to turn the tide for whoever gets to play him.”

Jonathan reaches for the card to tuck it back in the box. Dracula pulls it out of reach, walks to the fireplace, and flicks it into the flames.

“Say what you will, but I recognize a symbol of sabotage when I see it. It should not be in the deck at all!” Still watching the little harlequin turn to cinders, he flaps his other hand at Jonathan. “Go rest, my friend. Take that infernal game with you. It is not a respectable pastime for men of our like.”

20) Jonathan gathers up the deck, gives his travel kit a last mournful look, and leaves for his bedroom, knowing not to ask after the walk in the forest as he goes. In his bed, he empties the deck into his hand again and thinks on four things.

Skill.

Acting.

Luck.

And…

21) He turns the deck’s neglected second Joker over in his fingers, the impish face seeming to hold a secret in its grin.

22) When he wakes next, he isn’t surprised to find the deck has been stolen. It doesn’t trouble him. Somehow, it even produces a tired grin on his face. It nearly matches the painted thing hidden, wild and powerful, in the pages of his journal.

#in which time is passed and you should always consider stray cards in the deck #jonathan harker #dracula #re: dracula #dracula daily #poker #playing cards #joker #my writing

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gx-gameon · 2 months ago

Text

I’ve been thinking about the post-canon digital world arc for this au. I don’t know if this will ever be officially I’m just playing with some concepts right now.

But some of the DM crew and some of the GX crew are pulled into a digital world and forced to use the deck master style of dueling.

Here are the pairings I’m playing with (this is after the Gx crew knows Jaden’s identity as Jaden Moto.

Yugi and Jaden - Yugi, upon realizing that they are in a digital world and will be using deck masters again and dueling for their lives, makes a mad dash for his son. He’s been through this song and dance before. He knows they are about to be split up. Right as the ground opens up below Jaden’s feet Yugi tackles the kid and the two go down together. He’s sat on the sidelines for to long. If these people want to attack his son then they are getting both of them.

Atem and Jim - this one might seem out of left field. But I wanted so weird pairings. I think Jim is calm and collected and him and Atem would mash well together. They handle business and keep moving forward. Jim is also someone who will give his all to help his friends and is very loyal to Jaden. Both traits earn him Atem’s full approval.

Seto and Chazz - Chazz is determined to impress Seto Kaiba. (He’s basically already family but he’s never got to duel along side Seto and this is a big deal) however he needs up with Ojama Yellow as his deck master through their usual shenanigans. (He loves to Ojamas but he’s trying to show off here) but they do turn out to be quite helpful especially when paired with Kaiba’s crush card. I can also see them having a cool moments since they both play XYZ canon cards.

Joey and Jesse - these two are having a blast. The Crystal beast are out and roasting every opponent that comes towards them and Joey is loving these spirits. It takes a bit to get their decks to sync up but over all the two are having a great time. There is a little stress because Joey has seen what Jaden will do if anything happens to Jesse. But he quickly forgets that worry because who’s taking down Joey Wheeler? Nobody that’s who. They spend most of the time talking about Jaden and Joey roasting any opponent sparing the Crystal beast to join in.

Tristian and Axel - Tristian is a weak duelist and while he’s learned quite a bit over the years he’s still not a duelist. I wanted to pair him with someone strong. Both are fighters. Tristan is always willing to through hands. They are also to characters who are willing to make the sacrifice play. (Tristan more that Axel) Axel is also super intense and not every character from DM would be able to play off that. While Tristan is giddy he can also buckle down and get things done.

Téa and Alexis - while I don’t normally like “pair the girls together cause they’re girls” but I think Alexis deserves to be with another girl for once. Also I think the character work here could be really fun. Alexis misses her friends (this is probably the first time they have all gotten together since the tournament arc) she’s struggling with her desire for things to go back to the way they were and her need to move towards the future. She started to learn this lesson with Jaden in their final year, but I think talking with Téa and learning how friendships change over time but that doesn’t mean they are gone. Friendships also require both sides to put in an effort. There is a lot of growth to be had

Mokuba and Hasselberry - honestly this is probably the weakest pairing. Mokuba has been head of torments for years now and Hasselberry has just graduated. Hasselberry is a charge ahead break down all obstacles kind of person, while Mokuba is a lot more meticulous. He’s used to dealing with long game business buyouts. He can duel well but not at a professional level. He does however know the rules inside and out. I can see them having a great moment when Hasselberry want to charge ahead in their duel only for Mokuba to slow him down. Pointing out a super obscure rule that leads to a winning combo. They are opposites that work well together

Duke and Atticus - the “pretty boys” of their series. Defiantly putting on a show every time they have to duel. When they meet up with the others everyone is a little haggard from their experience and then these to strut out like runway models

Serenity and Aster - once again this might be a strange pair but hear me out. Serenity, while far more knowledgeable than she was in battle city, is still not a duelist. Pairing her with a pro makes sense. Also Aster is a gentleman, he also loves being a hero. I can see him trying to duel for both of them and trying to protect Miss Serenity. (Although doing so might put him in over his head) Serenity is also nowhere near the Novices she was in the digital world arc in season 3. She has a working deck. She just doesn’t play on the level of Joey, Yugi, Atem, and Seto. I like the idea of her also having a fusion deck. Maybe one themed around angels.

Again right now this is just an idea. Let me know if you think any other pairs would be fun. I’m open to some changes.

I also need to figure out everyone’s deck masters.

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cabinetofquriosities · 15 days ago

Text

Everybody Wants to Rule the World || Chapter 4 || Vernon

Agatha x Rio || TW: Smut and violence

Fic Masterpost || Please leave a comment on ao3

—————————————————————

Agatha surveyed her surroundings as she drove into Vermont. Everything was frozen, but beautiful all the same. Webs of small branches were encased in ice. Their trunks were stained with snow. The sky was matted with grey clouds that cast a mask of gloom over the town.

The town was charming, filled with spread out neighborhoods of wood paneled houses. As she drove past a white church with a slanted roof and square tower, she looked across the water to see a looming structure. It was a dark grey cube topped with light grey. Something about the cold structure was out of place in what was in the otherwise warm town. Her phone’s harsh ringtone shocked her out of her trance.

“Harkness,” she said.

“You know, you don’t need to pick up like that on your personal phone.”

“Wanda… Sorry, I got them mixed up. How’s it going?”

“Pretty well… I know it’s short notice, but can you come over tonight?”

“I…” Agatha sighed, “I don’t know. I’m all the way in Vermont…”

“Nope, not taking no for an answer.”

“What?!“

“We haven’t hung out in person for over a month. You’re coming over for dinner.”

“We can hang out this weekend with the boys,” Agatha said, turning onto a bridge.

“It has to be tonight,” Wanda said.

“Why? What is so important about tonight?”

“I want you to meet Nat.”

“O-oh! Natasha? You never introduce anyone. So, things are getting serious with you two,” Agatha said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Stooop. I just… it’s been four months and I thought she should meet my best friend.”

“Has she met the boys?”

“No! Not yet. Thats at least a few months away. Buuut, I want to get your take on her.”

“My… take? Are you sure?” Agatha asked.

“You may be tactless sometimes..”

“Thanks.”

“… But you’re always honest with me. I need that. I get-“

“You give people way too much benefit of the doubt,” Agatha stated.

“Excuse me, I like to think I see the best in people.”

“Even when it’s barely there.”

“Agatha.”

“Fine. I’ll be there at seven.”

“Thank you. I think you two will get along well.”

“Eh, last time you said that, the girl tried saging me the moment I walked through the door.”

“Well, Nat doesn’t have an affinity for crystals or spiritualism. You should be safe from Palo Santo for now.”

“Silver lining,” she said dryly, “I gotta go, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“Alright, don’t be late!”

Agatha smirked as she hung up, happy that Wanda finally found someone who stuck around for longer than two months. She always seemed to find people who never deserved her.

She pulled up to a line of caution tape well outside of the bounds of the grey building. It was the last vestiges of the former Yankee Nuclear Power Station that had been closed years back. She stepped out of her car and was met by Officer Claudia Hawley. She was a short Irish woman with pale, freckled skin and murky red curls peeking out from her tightly wound bun.

“Agent Harkness. Thank you for making the trip here.”

“No problem. Glad to help.”

“A few things to go over. You will need to limit your time onsite and wear protective gear.”

“Sorry, what now?” Agatha asked, her brows shooting up.

“The plant was decommissioned, but the soil and area is still contaminated. The rest of the plant has been demolished, but the only part left standing is the reactor building.”

“Why was it closed?” Agatha asked a bit warily, “Did something happen?”

“I mean, there were a few incidents where radioactive material was found in the groundwater. Parts of it failed at certain points as well, but it never fully melted down.”

“No wonder they pulled the plug.”

“Oh, that’s not why they closed it,“ Claudia said with an air of disdain, “The plant wasn’t making enough money.”

“That tracks. Gotta love capitalism at work. So, what do I need to wear?” Agatha asked.

“A protective suit, boots, and a mask,” she said, “Your partner got here about thirty minutes ago and is already putting hers in at the tent.”

“My what?”

A tall, striking black woman with intensely judgmental eyes walked over. Well, they were typically only judgmental towards Agatha. Her lips were pursed as she looked her up and down. Jenn shook her head.

“Nope, not happening,” Jenn said, turning to leave.

“I’m not happy about it either, but here we are,” Agatha said.

Agatha pulled her phone out, making sure it was her work phone. She called Lilia who answered immediately.

“I know what you’re going to say, Agatha. We’re not doing this.”

“Why her? Out of every agent, you have to pick the most stuck up-“

“I’m, like, ten feet away. I can clearly hear you,” Jen said.

“Agatha. I know you two can’t stand each other, but you are my two best. Like it or not, you make a good team. Do your job.”

“Lili-“ Agatha began before her phone returned to her lock screen, “What the hell, she hung up on me.”

“I guess we need to get through this,” Jenn said, “There’s no use bargaining with that woman once she’s put you in a time-out.”

“What did you do to earn yours?” Agatha asked.

“I called out another agent when he made a wrong move,” Jenn said, pulling her thin, white protective suit up, “I also… may have made a snide comment about him during a briefing in front of the team.”

“That’s not a huge deal,” Agatha said as she took her own suit and kicked off her shoes.

“I know. It didn’t help that his daddy was a higher up, though,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Not Jenkins…”

“Yep. Little worm. Why were you put in time out? Did you tackle another unsub?” Jenn asked dryly while sliding her arms into the sleeves.

“I maintain that guy already broke his collarbone when he jumped the fence,” she said, looking away with a smirk, “No, I didn’t rough anyone up this time.”

“Bribery?”

“I wouldn’t be that messy.”

“Got it. You may be dirty, but never messy. Tampering with evidence?”

“They’ve never been able to make any of those accusations stick,” Agatha pointed out while zipping the front of her suit up.

“How the hell are you still an agent?”

“Because I get results… and I’m careful not to expose how I get them.”

“You haven’t told me. What did you do to piss Lilia off this time?” Jenn asked.

“You know that case in Englewood about five months back?” she asked, grunting as she yanked the black, heavy boots on.

“The one with that guy beaten to death in the garden?” Jenn asked while pulling her gloves on.

“Yeah. Aaron James. I - allegedly - threatened the local authorities when they gave me the runaround about his background. I also may have ignored Lilia’s order to not look further into the guy and dug up some privileged information using some outside help… again, allegedly.”

“What did you find?” Jenn asked.

Agatha arched a brow at her.

“Oh, come on. I know we’re not best friends or anything, but you know you can count on me to be discreet,” Jenn said.

“Let’s get through today. Maybe I’ll tell you later if there’s a connection.”

“I’ve looked over the case files. I know about the connection to the other murders. I’m not looking to take you down professionally.”

“Only emotionally.”

“Well, yes. But when it comes to our work, I know things can be a bit more grey. It may not be my way of working, but at least the rules you break are the ones that need to be broken for some cases. I can respect that enough to look the other way as long as it’s more helpful than harmful.”

Agatha pursed her lips, her brow furrowing as she considered her options. Jenn may have been a a rival of sorts, but it was undeniable that she was extremely intelligent and capable. She was the only agent apart from Lilia who could spar with her on equal footing.

“Fine. I found out that Aaron wasn’t exactly a saint.”

“How so?” Jenn asked, crossing her arms.

“He had three stalking charges on his record. One was a classmate in high school. She filed a restraining order before dropping out to be homeschooled.”

“Geez, poor girl…”

“They managed to seal that one since he was a minor. The second was his roommate’s girlfriend. He terrorized her for the whole of college, but the school talked her out of reporting it a number of times. A few years after graduating, he began ‘bumping into’ her nearly every day. She caught him idling in his car outside of her apartment building. She filed a restraining order that didn’t do much. When he violated it, his mother - she is a shark of a lawyer - got him off. He kept following her for another two years before she moved to another state.”

“And the third?”

“Ended up in the hospital. They briefly dated for five months in his early thirties. When she broke up with him, he harassed her at work, home, and anywhere she went.”

“For how long?” Jenn asked.

“Six years,” Agatha replied.

“Fuck…”

“She moved from city to city, but he always caught up to her. The police didn’t take her seriously and just told her to keep track of what he did. One morning, she went on an early run and was pulled into an alleyway where he beat her within an inch of her life. From the pictures I saw, it wouldn’t be surprising if he thought he had killed her when he left.”

“And how the hell did he get away with that one?” Jenn asked.

“That last city was the one his father served in as a cop.”

“Of course.”

“That in addition with his mother’s help… it didn’t even go to trial. I wouldn’t be surprised if his victim was intimidated out of pressing charges.”

“Then what?”

“He was dead a month later with tulips shoved down his throat,” Agatha said.

“I mean… I sort of want to find this killer just to buy them dinner or at least a coffee. Is that awful?”

“No. I feel the same way. So far, all of his victims have been terrible men,” Agatha said as the two of them trudged up the hill towards the grey cube that stood in the distance, “It makes me wonder if we’re dealing with a killer who has a moral code of their own. Or someone who’s been abused by men in the past.”

“Lilia didn’t tell you much about the crime scene, did she?” Jenn asked as they pulled their masks over their noses and mouths.

“What do you mean?” Agatha asked.

She opened the door to the reactor control room. It was painted a mint green and filled with grey desks that curved into the center of the room. Along the walls were control panels that bent into an “L” shape halfway down. The bottom half of the panels were resting atop cabinets almost like a slanted kitchen counter that bordered the entire room.

Each panel held switches and dials. On the walls were small circular dials that looked almost like compasses. The red needles within rested on zero. What was once a hub of vital decision making and monitoring was now a rotting relic.

Agatha’s eyes scanned the space before seeing the body bound to a steel chair. The head was slumped forward and the wrists were raw from fighting against restraints.

“She’s a woman.”

Agatha walked closer to the body. The woman was in her late fifties. She was blonde with a once pale face having now turned a slight shade of grey. There were empty plastic gallon containers for water strewn about. Her lips were blue and her face looked swollen. Based on the bucket nearby, it was clear she had gotten sick multiple times while going through whatever preceded her death.

“What the hell did he do to her?” Jenn muttered.

“We don’t know it’s a he,” Agatha corrected in a distracted mumble, her eyes not leaving the haunting scene before them.

“Fair,” Jenn said, “I mean… the flowers are a good tell.”

“And the thought put into each kill.”

“Male killers can also be fastidious planners.”

“I guess, but there is a reason women get away with murder more than men. There is some serious emotional control up until the moment of the killing,” Agatha said, “Like they wait until the actual kill to release every bit of emotion before going cold again.”

Jenn looked over at her, her head tilting slightly. She could feel Jenn dissecting her. Agatha shrugged and rubbed the back of her neck.

“I don’t know. Just a theory,” she said.

“Sure…”

“So… do we know how she died?” Agatha asked as she stepped closer to the bound corpse, noticing the ragged marks around the rope tying her wrists and ankles.

“There’s no blood. No weapon.”

“Just water,” Agatha said, kneeling down to look at one of the unlabeled water jugs.

“Oh shit…” Jenn whispered.

“What?”

Jenn waved her over and pointed at one of the plastic jugs that had a word scrawled in dark blue Sharpie.

“Mason. The town.” Jenn said.

“Why does that sound familiar-“

“Agatha,” Jenn chided, “That town’s been on the news for a year.”

“I watch Netflix, not the news.”

“Really?” Jenn asked sardonically.

“Oh, like you don’t tune out after a day on the job.”

“Fine, whatever. As I was saying, they’ve been on the news because of a water crisis.”

“There was a lawsuit, right?” Agatha asked as her mind combed through vague snippets of overheard small talk.

“More than just one. This company had been polluting their drinking water for years without anyone knowing until it got seriously dangerous.”

“Did people die?”

“Twelve and counting. There’s also no telling if others in the area will end up with cancer down the line.”

“What was the company?”

“Meridian Pharmaceuticals. According to the officers who came on the scene earlier, this is Vivian Brook. The CEO of Meridian.”

“Someone is definitely making a statement here,” Agatha said.

“Laura, how was she killed?” Jenn asked the medical examiner.

The twenty something woman stood up from her crouched stance while looking at the corpse’s extremities.

“Dry drowning,” Laura said, her eyes moving over the woman’s bloated, discolored face.

“Drowning? As in, force fed water?” Jenn asked.

“Yep. I’ve never seen a case up close before,” the young woman said, bending down to look closer at the dead woman’s visage, “It really is fascinating.”

Jenn cringed slightly at Laura’s blatant curiosity before looking back at the woman.

“How long would it take to do that?” Agatha asked.

“From hours to days. Most likely hours with the quality of the water. It dilutes the blood and can confusion and central nerve dysfunction in the early stages.”

“And the later stages?” Jenn asked.

“Seizures, brain damage, and death. It’s incredibly rare for it to happen by accident, but I’ve never heard of it being used to kill someone else.”

“How would someone even do that?” Jenn asked, “I mean, logistically?”

Agatha looked down at the chair the woman was slumped over in. Her skin was cut from twine.

“They tied her down. Emptied jug after jug of water down her throat. Probably held her back by the hair,” Agatha said.

“I think I found the culprit,” Laura said, using her pen to lift a circular plastic ring, “She used this to hold her mouth open.”

“Is that the things dentists use?” Jenn asked.

“It probably made it much easier for the killer to make her drink. I’ll let you ladies know when I figure out anything new. This body has a lot more to tell,” Laura said, a little too happily.

“What about the flowers?” Agatha asked.

“Sorry?” Laura asked.

“There were flowers at every other scene for this killer,” Jenn answered, “Usually embedded somewhere in the body. Like.. in the wounds sometimes.”

“Well, there aren’t any wounds to put any in.”

“Check her mouth,” Agatha said.

Laura used a gloved hand to open her mouth. Jenn looked away. Though she was a seasoned agent, she avoided looking at gore when she was able to. Agatha had no such qualms, looking just as closely as Laura did as the tweezers dipped into Vivian Brook’s mouth. Laura narrowed her eyes at what she found. She pinched it and pulled it up, revealing a slightly crushed sphere of tiny white flowers. Jenn had looked back, seeing the plant.

“Water hemlock,” she said.

“What?” Agatha asked.

“Water hemlock. It’s a poisonous water flower.”

“How did you know that off the top of your head?” Agatha asked.

“I like botany, okay?” Jenn mumbled.

Agatha stood up, thinking to herself.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Jenn followed her out, grateful to get out of the radioactive area. Once they reached a safe distance, they stripped out of their hazmat suits.

Agatha smirked and said, “Maybe you do serve a purpose for this case.”

“Thanks a lot,” Jenn said with a roll of her eyes.

“No, I’m serious.”

“Thank… you?” Jenn said, tilting her head.

“I didn’t even consider the meanings of the flowers chosen for each murder.”

“Well, I can look at the other flowers to see if there are more connections,” Jenn said, “Maybe there are other aspects to the flowers that the unsub used to make their message.”

“They definitely have a lot to say.”

—————————————————————

Agatha pulled up to Wanda’s house later that night. She took the bottle of wine she picked up on the way down from Vermont and carried it with her. She walked across the lawn, forgoing the stone path from the driveway entirely. She knocked at the door, jumping as it was instantly opened by Wanda. Her delicate features were at a sort of ease that Agatha hasn’t seen in years. She smiled as her friend threw her arms around her in a tight hug.

“Geez, you’re acting like you haven’t seen me in years.”

“That’s what it feels like. We can’t go that long again. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Agatha said.

She looked over at a gorgeous woman walking out of the kitchen. Her red hair matched Wanda’s, though she looked different in every other respect. Her features were more prominent. Her eyes were bigger, her lips fuller. Agatha had to remind herself that this woman was already taken by Wanda. She reached out, taking her hand and shaking it.

“Agatha.”

“Natasha. Wanda has told me so much about you.”

“Uh oh. How much?” Agatha asked.

“She wouldn’t shut up about you. It had me worried, to be honest,” Natasha said with a playful smirk.

“No need. We already got that out of our systems in college,” Agatha said.

“Oh?” Natasha said with raised eyebrows, looking at Wanda.

Agatha felt the tension tighten the air as Wanda’s eyes widened. Natasha looked back at Agatha.

“She didn’t tell me that.”

“There’s really not much to tell,” Agatha said, desperately trying to salvage the relaxed mood from before, “We dated for a handful of months before realizing we were better off as friends.”

A few beats passed before the other woman arched a brow.

“The lesbian dating to friend pipeline,” Natasha said with a smile, eliciting a sigh of relief from Wanda and Agatha.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before. It’s so far in the past for us,” Wanda said.

“It’s alright. We all have friends that started out as something else.”

“Right… wait, we do?” Wanda asked as if she didn’t just admit to the very same thing.

Natasha’s hand rested on Wanda’s.

“I’ll tell you all about them later,” she said.

“Them as in nonbinary or them as in multiple exes who you’re friends with?” Wanda asked.

“I mean, you can’t say much about it now,” Agatha said, earning a dirty look from Wanda.

Dinner passed without further incident. Natasha told Agatha about her work at a defense contractor while Agatha chatted about the FBI. The two of them seemed to have more in common than Agatha had expected. Perhaps Wanda had a type.

She watched how easy Wanda breathed around Natasha, how comfortable they seemed with one another. The other woman always had a comforting touch whenever Wanda seemed to tense or worry herself. She seemed to be perfectly matched with the sweet mess of nerves that was Wanda Maximoff.

Once the night wound down, Agatha could feel her eyelids growing heavy from the long day behind her.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” she said, hugging her friend.

She turned to Natasha, saying, “It was wonderful to meet you.”

“Likewise. Wanda was right about you. You’re a fascinating person.”

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Wanda said.

Once they reached her car, Agatha turned to her.

“Okay, I like her.”

Wanda lit up, happier than anything that her best friend and girlfriend got along. Given how rightfully harsh Agatha had been on her exes, she was relieved to have someone who successfully earned her approval. She hugged her again before wishing her good luck on her own date.

————————————————————

Agatha groaned as she tossed her way through her closet. It had been far too long since she had been out with someone and she wasn’t sure what she owned that would actually fit the occasion.

She pulled on a dark green dress that hugged her figure. It was something she wouldn’t normally feel comfortable in. She was so used to throwing on jeans and a top that anything fancier than that felt foreign to her. She checked herself in the mirror, sighing as she felt doubt creeping in.

“That looks beautiful!” Wanda yelled from the propped up phone.

“Are you sure?” Agatha asked, looking back at her through FaceTime.

“Positive. You look gorgeous in that.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll wear this one.”

She did her makeup, keeping it understated save for a bold red lip. Her brown, wavy hair fell down her back, sweeping against the small of it. A wolf whistle came from her phone. She let out a snort while laughing at Wanda. Her bell rang and she looked like a startled cat.

“Hey, you are going to be fine. She already likes you. Just have fun,” Wanda said.

“I’ll try.”

—————————————————————

Agatha opened her door to find Alison wearing slacks and a dinner jacket with a silk top underneath. Agatha forgot how to breathe at the sight of a beautiful woman in a suit. She shook her head a moment before saying, “Hi… you look…”

“Thanks,” Alison said with a laugh, “You look… too.”

“Um.. so, where are we going?”

“This new place in Agawam. Vincetti’s. I haven’t been, but it’s supposed to be great.”

“I’m always up for Italian,” Agatha said.

“We’ve definitely earned the carbs from all of the gym time we’ve been putting in.”

“Definitely,” she said, “Lead the way.”

—————————————————————

The anxiety she had from before seemed to melt away beneath the dim light of the restaurant. The two of them talked and joked the way they did at the gym, effortlessly picking up their dynamic again. The wine loosened her up enough to relax, even when Alison showed her glimpses of physical affection. A touch to her arm, holding her hand gently atop the table, leaning over to brush a lock of hair out of her face.

“So, any top secret FBI business you can divulge?” Alison asked with a playful air.

“To the enemy? Nothing.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I would rather not have a group of protesters at my next crime scene, no matter how cute the protester is.”

“I would never!” Alison said before correcting herself, “I would never do that to you. Come onnn. I know there’s something interesting going on if you’ve been skipping your workouts this week.”

“You don’t want to know the grisly details, even if I could talk about them.”

“Are you kidding? I live for morbid details. I bet it’s a serial killer. Am I right? I bet I’m right,” she said.

Agatha hesitated, clearly giving away that Alison had guessed correctly.

“I really can’t. All I can say is that it’s one of the most interesting cases I’ve worked in a while.”

“Okay, you can’t tease me like that without delivering,” she said, her eyes darkening.

Agatha felt a soft blush burning her cheeks. She took a sip of her wine before speaking.

“It’s a very intelligent and impressive criminal. I can’t go more into depth than that.”

“Oooh. Sounds like I have competition by the way you talk about her,” she said.

Agatha’s smile disappeared at the statement. A more manufactured one took its place.

“I never said they were a she.”

“I mean, intelligence with the ability to get away with stuff seems more feminine than not,” Alison said with a shrug, “Sorry. I’m a bit of a true crime junkie and I forget to be tactful about it with people who work in it.”

“It’s okay. And we don’t know the killer’s gender yet,” Agatha said.

“So it IS a serial killer.”

“Shit.”

—————————————————————

Once they were at Agatha’s place, she sat in Alison’s car. They were talking, Alison’s hand on her knee. Alison was cracking up at a story Agatha told about making a TA cry.

“That’s so awful!” Alison laughed.

“He deserved it! He was up his own ass and barely understood the material in that class. I’m sure he healed from being chewed out. He’s a big boy.”

“Well, I bet he never messed with a student after that,” she said.

“He was definitely less condescending to the women there after that.”

“I guess it’s not surprising that you’ve always been a badass,” Alison said.

“That’s one word for it. Other people have been a lot less flattering with how they describe me.”

“Other people are weak. They get intimidated easily.”

Agatha looked at the other woman, her eyes resting on her lips. Alison stopped speaking as a loaded silence fell between them. The question of who would move first hung in the air.

Before she could overthink it, Agatha dove in first to capture her lips. She combed her fingers through Alison’s dark hair as the other woman hummed into the kiss. She pulled it gently as it deepened, coaxing a moan from Alison.

As their kiss grew more frantic, Alison suddenly ended up straddling Agatha in the passenger’s seat. Agatha reached up, undoing her jacket and sliding her hand down her chest.

“I normally have a rule…” Agatha breathed, “To not invite anyone inside on the first date.”

“Good thing we’re not inside, then,” Alison whispered back, kissing her again.

Agatha smiled as she pulled Alison’s shirt from her pants, skimming her fingers over her bare skin beneath the fabric. Alison reached down, sliding a hand up her inner thigh, the dress gathered up around her hips.

Fumbling hands undid Alison’s pants followed by Agatha’s hand sliding inside. Alison let out a moan as she felt her fingers grinding over her. Her own hand reached the apex of Agatha’s thighs, pushing her panties to the side and pushing two fingers into her. Agatha gasped sharply, her back arching.

The two of them moved in tandem, their breathing filling the silence. Agatha looked up into her eyes as she felt pleasure winding itself into a coil within her. Alison bit her lip to silence herself as she shuddered. The sight of her in that moment pushed Agatha over the edge. She squeezed her eyes shut as that coil snapped within her, sending her into a spiral of ecstasy.

The two of them caught their breath, panting and letting out soft, broken laughs at their own messy state. Alison gazed down at her before leaning down, kissing her once more before moving back into the driver’s seat. The two panted, smiling goofily at each other.

“So… did I earn a second date?” Alison asked.

—————————————————————

Agatha felt like she was floating for the next few days. Alison and she texted like a couple of teenagers. It seemed that whenever she had a chance, she was sending something to her.

She finally returned to the gym that Monday, bringing a glow with her that had stuck with her since their date. She looked around the largely empty place for her before getting a text.

Ali: Meet me in the sauna 😈

A smile broke out across her lips. She rushed to the locker room, changing into a towel in record time. Walking into the narrow hallway, she found an abandoned towel mere steps from the sauna. She looked up at the window on the door and felt her heart stop.

There was a crimson stain smeared across the glass.

She held her breath as she opened the door. Steam poured out, revealing the sight of Alison covered in blood. Her eyes were open and lifeless. Red handprints and streaks painted the sauna. The blood streamed down with the precipitation caused by the humidity. Her body was riddled with stab wounds.

In her hands was a rose, the thorns biting into her palms. Agatha stumbled back, slipping on the wet floor. She hit the floor, the impact radiating through her. She let out a scream as the horror of it all set in.

Her screen lit up with one last text.

“Alice left for Wonderland.”

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princessfoxington · 25 days ago

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Sing headcanons part 1

Maybe..... I don't know! this is my first time doing this because I express myself with the fellow Sing Fandom! So here we go:

Buster Moon:

He is the hardest worker of the bunch, but I think even he likes to treat himself with a good nap.

He loves chocolate, but Miss Crawley makes sure he only eats sugar-free, keto, gluten-free sweets, or else he turns into a wild goose on Red Bull!

He gets along best with women and prefers to talk about personal issues with close friends like Rosita, Ash, Miss Crawley, and even Meena.

What am I saying?!?! You can't get this little man to open up about anything! He's locked up tight!

He loves hugs! He's a hugger! He's like a tinier version of Lotso from Toy Story.

He was frightened by Jimmy Crystal, but I don't think that affects the way he sees wolves. He's not going to have any problems with being around other people who are wolves or anything closely related.

He's got a coffee problem. So do I HAHAHA-

He and Ash have this connection with each other. I don't know if it's like a Father/Daughter thing, or a rule breaking best friends thing.

Also, I'm pretty sure he's gay, and that's okay. 🏳️‍🌈

ASH

Ash loves her friends in every way, but her closest friend is Buster Moon!

She loves to tease him or throw shade at him for fun, and he knows that.

She is also no stranger to participating in pranks with Clay Calloway. Hehe

She sleeps with blankets wrapped all around her body. Ha, I do that.

She prefers soda over coffee all the way.

I don't think she had much of a relationship with her parents, but she does seem to have taken in some of Busters' personality.

In Sing 2, she has more of his energy and determination than before. Breaking up with Lance was the best thing that could have ever happened to her.

She would totally go to a Rock & Roll concert in full goth! Maybe she would buy tickets for the Skunk Dolls. Which I think is a reference to the GooGoo Dolls.

She frequently visits Clay and sometimes brings Buster along with.

Clay Calloway

He sees Ash as a guardian angel sent from above and is deeply grateful to her for helping him find himself.

He knows a lot of facts about plants and cares deeply for each flower in house yard.

He has a knucke duster with Ruby's name on it, and he would totally kick your ass. I wish we could have seen him punch Jimmy in the face!

He doesn't like honey in his tea because it reminds him of how Ruby used to make it. Or maybe he just doesn't like honey.

He has a hilarious sense of humor and has a prankster side of him.

I could see him taking Ash on a boat trip across the lake in his backyard because he enjoys being on the water.

I don't see him ever signing a contract with any record company, and I don't think he ever has. He's always done his own thing.

Y'now, what would be cool? If he has old band mates that are all based on the members of U2.

The Moon Troupe is like a family to him now, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to keep them all safe.

Thank you for checking this out! Whether you're a Sing fan or you were just bored, thank you for your time.

#sing movie #sing #sing 2 #buster moon #sing ash #clay calloway #headcanons

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neuroprincess · 2 years ago

Text

Broken Rules - Larissa Weems/Female Reader

Larissa Weems/Female Reader

Summary: An unfair deal, that's all Y/N gets from Larissa and was enough until it wasn't anymore. After a few glasses of wine and sudden courage she questions the woman, this could work or ruin everything for good.

Classification: +18, Angst, Slight Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, arguing, harsh words, swearing, slight sex, injury, denial of feelings, unrequited love, jealousy, hurt/comfort

Word count: +6400

Unrevised

There are three essential rules for this deal, in black and white, very clear imposed since the first night they spent together. The third is crystal clear, not least, never spend the night, this one is understandable considering the academy and how awkward a teacher leaving the principal's living quarters so early would be. That's the excuse Y/N gives herself every time she has to sneak through the halls of Nevermore in the middle of the night. Second rule, never tell anyone. This kills her inside, in these months all she wants to do in good and bad moments is to share with someone about how she feels, not even with the blonde can she talk because it would imply the first and most important rule. No falling in love, which means they don't talk about anything but professional matters, they don't kiss unless they are having sex and that is all Y/N can get out of this deal. Sex. Stress relief. Sometimes some sexual gift, nothing personal.

The teacher repeats the rules mentally as she serves herself with a glass of wine, standing with back to her mistress who finishes paperwork at the office desk. Well, she arrived at the appointed time, but Larissa ended up delaying some important matters and now has to finish. Y/N asked if she should leave, receiving only a negative nod. The week was more exhausting than usual, a visit from a couple of parents for an unexpected situation, some student managed to break the plumbing of the bathroom sink and a gorgon accidentally petrified his friend, all problems that earned her complex resolutions, headache and extra paperwork to fill out.

"So, why the parents came here?" she asks, still not turning around, putting the bottle in the same place and raising the glass to lips, sipping the sweet liquid "Both Nikolas and Lucinda are great kids."

"They really are, but none of their families support the relationship between vampires and werewolves. Nothing that you, being a normie, understand."

"Well, I may not be an outcast, but I live with them every day and I am in this world. You are one of those who advocates harmony between normies and outcasts, I don't understand..."

"It's not the same thing." the blonde says simply and shrugs, her tone of voice unchanged, eyes still fixed on the printed words.

Y/N huffs and takes a generous sip of wine, feeling the burning in the throat from alcohol, sorrow and a little bit of anger. She stares at her boss, clothes perfectly clean and well ironed, the red lipstick highlighting her fleshy lips, hair styled, long fingers wandering across the surface and blue eyes standing out in the whole scene, literally a sight to take breath away and maybe the rest of the sanity the younger still possesses after swallowing the entire contents of the glass in seconds. The glass is filled again and soon is empty, this repeats until she drinks the fourth in a row, the burning no longer bothers her, the heat rises through her body, head spins for a millisecond before turning to face Larissa again. She sighs and walks at a slow pace until she is in front of the large desk, her mind once full of things to say slowly becoming blank, void, just as it always is around the tall woman. Perhaps this is the spell and reason for them to continue in this unfair deal, it's like the white witch has put a spell on the simple peasant human, who would kiss her feet in adoration.

"What?" Weems asks raising her gaze for the first time since the other entered the room, a little annoyed by the sudden proximity "Did you drink before coming here?" the teacher just denies with a nod, continuing to stare at her with a neutral expression "So why do you look like shit? You know, I don't care, as long as you didn't show up in front of the students like that."

The words sound normal to her, but to Y/N it's a painful feeling in the chest similar to an anvil being thrown, hurts, weighs down and she can't move staying in the same place. The neutral expression falls apart, eyes instantly getting watery and whole face burning as she fights the imminent cry, in fact she only realizes she is crying when a drop hits the document in front of her, the first of many that start to fall even though she tries to contain them. She knows she doesn't look like shit but at most blushing after drinking. There is no way she looks like shit because between the end of classes and going to the principal's office passed by her own dorm to get ready, try to look impeccable for their weekly "date", put on her new dress bought a few weeks ago on a visit to Jericho, touched up the daily makeup, brushed hair and put on her favorite perfume, the only one that didn't make Larissa complain.

"Y/N?" the voice is low and nonchalant when she calls her, with a hint of concern that goes unnoticed.

"I don't look like shit...I've tidied myself up, my hair is in place, I'm smelling good.... Why the hell do you hate me?" she asks finally after trying to defend herself uselessly, they are simply unimportant words when a dull expression takes over the blonde's face and then surprise at the question "You always act like I'm inferior, then say I look like shit and accuse me of getting drunk around the students, something I would never do because I love and respect them. Am I such a cheap person to you?"

"I didn't mean that..."

"Then what did you mean?" the question is angry, totally emotional, and the voice comes out ragged, raw with genuine desire to understand the other woman.

"Y/N, you are on dangerous ground, this is against our deal." Larissa says gently after pulling herself together from the initial shock "Don't do something you'll regret."

"Damn, so that's what I am to you? I try to lie to myself that I am someone for you, someone you can.... Just can..." she tries to find words that get stuck in the throat and mind turns to blank mist again when she realizes that the principal is staring at her, an almost smile rising on lips, not a smile of encouragement, seems almost cruel like a hunter waiting for the hare to fall into the trap and the younger would not give her this taste or reason to smile "I am and always will be just sex for you, right?" the blonde just nods in agreement "Right."

The teacher just nods while kneeling, which leaves the taller one momentarily confused until she finds her crawling to the middle of her legs, no longer caring about the condition of the dress, makeup drips down cheeks, eyes are distant and face is flushed, not in a positive way, now Y/N looks like shit and it's not a good feeling knowing she's the cause of it. Something presses Larissa's chest making the smile that was rising die instantly. Everything is too fast, the usually gentle fingers of the younger are quick and imprecise, desperate to lift the gray dress up to waist length. The woman lifts her hips helping, soon the lace panties are exposed, framing the path between the long pale legs. The fabric is just set aside as the head disappears under the table and fabric of the dress, the principal's hands grab a handful of the girl's hair pulling her to herself hoping to feel more pleasure, but there is nothing but a shiver and the slight sensation, she simply cannot delight in the skilled tongue circling the clit, nor touches that usually make her melt. A nagging sensation seeps into her chest and stomach churns, even as she closes the eyes trying to erase the pitiful image of the younger, unsuccessfully, the blotchy and weeping face invades her mind, it's intrusive and strangely... painful. Blue eyes open, she stares into the ceiling mirror feeling a little nauseous at the sight and a hand pulls Y/N's hair back, stopping her from continuing, also making her unbalanced falling on the floor and hitting the back of head against the wooden end of the desk. She just groans in pain, confused in a drunken state and not understanding exactly what had just happened.

"What is it?" she asks taking a her own hand to head where it hurts, a little surprised to find the part slightly moist, but she doesn't care, everything hurts and that's the lesser of it "Isn't that what you wanted?!"

"It was, actually it is. But not like this. Clean yourself up first, look decent."

"So I have to look decent to fuck you? Got it." Y/N laughs humorlessly but stands up to do it, hands resting on the woman's thighs to stand without caring that she is being ignored, the blonde looks at some specific spot on the wall avoiding looking down "I'll be right back." she walks with slow steps to the bathroom attached to the office, closing the door behind her.

"Shit!" Larissa lets out the air she didn't even realize was holding and lowers her gaze, the memory of the girl there still present, a shiver runs through her body and eyes widen as she notices contrasting crimson on the pale knees, the perfect mark of fingers stamping across skin. She barely has time to think about it as the sound of something falling in the bathroom makes her jump out of the chair "Y/N?" without an answer.

She waits a few seconds still unanswered until walking quickly to the bathroom, opening the door without knocking or asking for again, extremely relieved to find the younger bent over the sink rubbing her face with the running water, black mascara staining the white sink, a little red mixed in. A decorative plant is scattered on the floor, that is the less important thing. The image scares Weems, she freezes in place for an instant and the next is running around the bathroom looking for a towel or something that can wipe the head of her, grabbing a white hand towel from the cabinet. Without a second thought she pushes Y/N lightly, opening space so she can moisten the cloth and gently presses it where the injury was.

"What are you doing?" the teacher asks confused as she lifts the face, finally seeing her condition clearly in the reflection of the mirror, feeling even more miserable.

"You hurt your head..."

"And? Not like it matters." she shrugs, grabbing another towel from the cabinet to dry her face, wiping the last remnants of makeup off "You can drop it and go back to your place, I just need a moment."

The woman drops the towel and walks away with hands outstretched in surrender, almost rolling the eyes at such stubbornness.

"I'm going back to the paperwork, you can go to your dorm."

"You don't want to anymore?" Y/N asks with head down, not having the courage to look her in the eye.

"No." she replies simply and walks away, her conscience seemingly clear that she seems to be physically fine despite everything.

She sits down in the chair again, staring at nothing, and eyes wander to the table in the corner of the office, the bottle of wine reserved for the night practically empty. That explains everything. Y/N is weak to alcohol, one glass is enough for her to be a complete mess for the rest of the night, one bottle can be... terrible. After two minutes without any movement or sign of life from inside the bathroom the worry takes over, what if she fell in the bathroom? No, there would be noise. Or she sat down and lost consciousness? If she is feeling sick... Larissa interrupts her own thoughts trying to tell herself that Y/N is a grown woman and can handle it, while she can barely control the panic with the idea that something serious is happening. It is a bloody cut, the one on the back of the head, one of the most fragile and dangerous places to hit. She is brought out of thoughts when she hears the door being opened, immediately looking for the younger and sees her struggling to walk, barefoot with the shoes in one hand and the other holding the towel. Face now clean, hair pinned up and she looks a little more sober, only looks, because legs cross each step, causing her to almost fall over after losing the support of the door frame.

"Leave me..." she whispers when feels the presence of the other woman, who has run in stride to support her "I'll handle this on my own."

"Fuck off, stop being stubborn." the tall takes her in arms ignoring the protests to leave her on the floor and walks quickly to the other door attached to the office, this one leads to a private bedroom "Be quiet." she says harshly when the younger doesn't stop complaining, trying to get out of her arms. That manages to make silence reign.

Everything goes by like a blur, Y/N being placed on the soft bed, large elegant hands working to push the hair aside so that the severity of the injury can be checked, to great relief discovering it to be something superficial, but still needed some extra care. The small cut is carefully cleaned with cotton, saline and antiseptic, then gently dried, Larissa improvises a bandage with gauze and adhesive tape. The pain makes the girl moan from time to time, no matter how hard she tries to hold herself together it's almost impossible, the drunkenness that washes over her body also takes away any extra resistance. When the bandage is finished she tries to get up, being stopped by the same hands that took care, making her sit against the mattress again. They stare at each other for a few seconds before the older one turns her face away not supporting the eye contact.

"Now can I leave?" Y/N asks after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"No. Lie down." the blonde orders and gets up, walking to the closet from where she pulls out extra pillows and blankets, when turning around she almost drops everything on the floor at the sight "Please, put your clothes back on."

Y/N props herself up on elbows and stares at her confused, sex is the only thing Larissa wants from her, she has made that clear many times and half an hour ago too. It's just sex. That's what sums up the "relationship" and the reason for the deal that makes her days miserable. And in the same night the woman denies it twice, in fact now seems even disgusted to look at her. She rises feeling defeat coursing inside, from flesh to bone, everything hurts, but nothing compares to the pain that forms in her chest every second she spends in this place. Soon her underwear and dress are put back on, the fabric already crumpled, a bit mismatched, very different from how it was before.

"Here." the principal places two pillows on the left side of the bed, fluffing them and indicating with a hand for the other to lie down, which she does without asking questions despite the extremely confused look, as if it were nothing more than a strange dream "You need to stay awake for at least an hour, to make sure it was nothing more serious, after that you can go. " the younger just nods, carefully laying down, a groan of pain escapes as head reaches the pillow, soon a pill is placed in front of her "Painkiller."

"Is it dipyrone?"

"No, ibuprofen, I know you are allergic to dipyrone."

"Thank you."

"Okay." Larissa shrugs and walks to the other side of the bed, sitting up "You know we can't continue after today, right?!"

"Why?" her voice comes out broken, a lump forming in the throat at the mere thought of not being with the woman anymore, even if only for sex.

"We broke the rules, you talked about feelings, I took care of you and now I'm letting you spend the night, none of that is part of the deal." they don't look each other in the eye for different reasons, the blonde sighs before continuing "That breaks the idea of friends with benefits."

"To be friends with benefits we should be friends in the first place, but I don't think we ever were. You despise me." Y/N whispers bitterly and turns away, she would not give the other the pleasure of seeing her cry.

"You're right."

Time passes torturously slowly, Y/N tries not to cry again, which becomes impossible with the indifference and tension that builds more and more every second, then concentrates on not letting it become obvious, holding back sobs and shaking body. Everything hurts, face, chest, hands gripping hard on the pillow and an annoying headache, despite having taken ibuprofen earlier. For an hour and a half Larissa calls her sporadically to check if she is awake or not, occasionally asking if she feels nauseous or anything else, soon discovering that these are symptoms of post-drinking so she stops asking little by little until is completely quiet. That's when the teacher finally falls asleep, the blonde and usually kind (to others) principal in her mind, still trying not to believe it's over. Trying to fool herself with the idea, maybe the slightest possibility, that it's a nightmare where everything they had just slipped through her fingers because of a bottle of wine.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A week later Y/N finds herself running through the halls of Nevermore, dressed impeccably in a casual women's suit set in her favorite color, high heels tapping against the floor, hair brushed presentably, makeup light and she was glad to finally have the bandage off, it would surely spoil the perfect look to finally meet her students' parents. It has been six months of preparation for this moment, of course there are parents who were not very receptive to the idea of their children being taught by a simple normie who was not even raised in Jericho, just as there were those who supported her hiring and seem equally excited to meet her. Parents' Weekend is the opportunity to do that. She stops in front of the door and sighs, smoothing the fabric of the suit so that it is totally flawless, then smoothed the thin tank top under the blazer, for some reason it seems to be looser against the chest and dangerously close to the edge of the neckline, a few necklaces adorning majestically. The teacher knows she should be feeling fabulous with this look and the greetings she has rehearsed for hours memorized, but nothing takes her away from the miserable state she has been in for a week since she woke up alone in Weems' bedroom, with only a note on the bedside recommending that she go to the doctor and the best way out, without the danger of being seen, would be through the side door. Since then she has been trying to pull herself together, which means trying to avoid the woman as much as possible until it stops hurting.

"You can do it, Y/N. You can take anything for 10 seconds, so just start over and everything will work out." she whispers to herself, closing the eyes in concentration "Allons-y!"

And it all worked out, better than she could have imagined, the principal was nowhere to be seen, at least not in her field of vision. The first parents to show any interest were a vampire's parents, of the youngest, who complimented her highly on how she helped him adjust away from home, the three greeted each other happily before a gentle conversation. Which caught the attention of another vampire family, these were quieter, but equally kind. After an hour of the event she couldn't even count on fingers how many parents she managed to talk to and captivate, all making clear that despite initial reservations they had a good surprise and results with her hiring. This cheered the younger up a bit, at least something seems to be working out in her life, it's that saying, lucky in gambling and unlucky in love.

"So you are the beautiful young lady my son talks so much about?" a voice comes up behind her after saying goodbye to Ajax's parents, when she turns around finds a tall man with striking features, sculpted body highlighted by the cut of his suit and a pair of mesmerizing chocolate eyes "Lucien Corbyn..."

"Elijah's father?!" the parental connection between them is obvious, the boy being a souped up image of him "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Corbyn! Your son is a great student and very kind." she extends a hand expecting the man to shake, being surprised by the touch of his rough hand leading hers to his lips, where he leaves a lingering kiss, staring her in the eyes the whole time.

"The pleasure is all mine." he whispers and smiles lowering his hand, still holding hers "Of course Eli is, he's my son and was raised by me...only me. All credit to his father." and blinks, trying to hint that he is a solo and consequently single father

"I'm not surprised, you two are so much alike. Strong genes." Y/N comments nonchalantly, not realizing how this affects the instinct of the werewolf, who raises an eyebrow feeling audacious and also lucky to have finally found the perfect woman after the former wife's leaving.

She may not have noticed, but the tall woman across the courtyard did and felt extremely uncomfortable at the sight, Larissa was present at the event the entire time, the first 40 minutes spent solving small problems and talking to the parents who donate money to the academy funds. Trying to be as invisible as possible, at the same time her eyes were always on her, the girl who torments days and takes away sleep at night with the simple fact of existing. Sometimes she got lost in the topic of some parent because her focus was too much on the teacher interacting with the families and giving attention to each one of them, after she pulled herself together, she excused and tried to dissipate it from mind, uselessly, since in the next second she was already doing the same thing. And she mentally thanked for repeating the behavior. Corbyn is a wealthy werewolf, leader of the wolf pack, they went to university together, in fact the man was a great conqueror until he married and had the son, but werewolves like big families, have lots of children to make the pack bigger, and he has made it clear in the last two years that he is in search of another mate to give him that.

She greets the mother of some siren she can't even remember the name of, and walks slowly over to where the pair are talking, watching the interaction from a distance. Lucien still holds her hand, his other hand caressing her elbow, but Y/N barely notices because she is too excited talking about his son, one of the favorite children. His eyes are no longer on her face, the blonde can see the lust stamped on the werewolf's face as he stares at a lower point, the teacher's breasts. The two mounds are partially exposed by the neckline of the tank top she wears under her blazer, showing flushed skin and a small part of her lace bra, shit, even she can't look away and has been there, she knows every detail by heart, the softness to the touch, the nipples and how sensitive they can be tearing out sinful moans. Everything about her is sinful and Larissa was once the greatest sinner. As approaches she unconsciously takes off the gray coat, which is landing on Y/N's shoulders in seconds, she is startled by the touch and almost cannot believe it when she hears the familiar voice beside her, nor that the soft delicate gloved hands she misses so much are around shoulders holding her tightly, if it were someone else she might say it feels like a possessive touch.

"I believe Elijah is expecting his father to spend time with him and not with the teacher." she says with venom in voice, a huge fake smile on the lips, staring at his hand hoping the man gets the hint.

"You are right, Principal Weems. I am here for my little wolf." Corbyn agrees with an even more fake smile as he understands the message, instead of letting her go he squeezes the hand even tighter and brings it to his lips again "I hope to see you soon, beautiful young lady. The pack can't wait to host a dinner on your behalf." he winks and finally lets her go, looking directly at the blonde "See you later, Principal!" and doesn't get a response.

Y/N keeps a neutral expression until Lucien disappears from sight soon after finding his son in the crowd and as soon as she doesn't see him uses the arms to try to get rid of the coat, but the long arms stop her and Larissa turn around so that they are face to face, without saying anything she adjusts the piece against the girl's body, covering her breasts and then fastens the buttons quickly. They stare at each other in the process, feeling the strangeness of the moment hit the pit of their stomachs, one feeling nauseous and the other boiling with anger inside, sunk in a feeling similar to jealousy, even if she denies it to herself.

"It's cold." she says shrugging and adjusts the collar of the coat, not failing to notice how big this looks on Y/N, like a big fancy dress, it's almost.. cute to look at.

"I have coats, you can have yours back." her voice comes out in a whisper and she tries to take off the coat again, but is stopped by the taller one, arms wrapping around her again so she doesn't do that "Principal Weems..."

"Let's go inside."

Before she can refuse she feels herself being held by the hand and dragged across the courtyard, barely able to keep up with the woman's steps, partly because of the height difference and also the heavy piece of clothing larger than her, which drags along the ground, none of them caring. On the way some parents observe the scene, from curious to pitying looks, thinking that maybe the teacher was in trouble for some reason, none of them had seen this angry expression on the principal's face before. She just lowers the gaze as just lets be led, knowing that there is no point in arguing, making a scene in front of parents is the last thing she wants.

"What the hell were you thinking flirting with a student's father?" Larissa asks loudly, holding herself back from screaming, once they enter her office.

"I wasn't..."

"Yes, you were. Corbyn is the leader of a wolf pack, an alpha looking for a wife and someone to have his little wolves." she interrupts the younger angrily dumping the facts on the table.

"And?" the answer is simple and mocking, increasing the tension in the room. The blue eyes fill with more anger.

"You don't really know the werewolves, the alphas...they are...you are more than that. More than a trophy to exhibit, than a... breeding slut." the words coming out of her mouth surprises them both, vulgar language compared to her exquisite vocabulary.

"What if marriage and children is something I want? At least Lucien would treat me well, not even hide me." Y/N teases and shrugs, even though she is completely disgusted inside at the idea of that man touching her in this way, besides, she really doesn't know much about werewolves and the classes of the species "And maybe I would be loved."

In less than a second she finds herself practically lying on the armchair with the woman's body on top of hers, kneeling on the floor not caring about the expensive dress, faces inches apart, warm breath against lips and their eyes meet once again, there is fragility in both, many buried feelings suddenly showing. One hand of Larissa's holds the smaller wrist to the top of the armchair, above head, and the other lands below thigh, lifting the leg for the younger to wrap around her waist, so she does instinctively.

"I can give you all of this, right now if you want me to." the older whispers without leaving her eyes, for the first time since they met she showed some vulnerability and to their surprise tears emerged, falling down her face faster than it came "Y/N, I can and want to give you all of this, whatever you wish."

"Then why?" she is confused and shocked, for the past few months the thing she wished most is that someday hopefully her feelings would be reciprocated, receiving only coldness and indifference, accepting the crumbs of the deal they had, it was enough until no more, "Larissa, you despised me for months, as if I was nothing, invisible, even professionally, doubting my abilities just for being a normie. You made me feel...worthless, unworthy of love."

"And I'm miserable for doing that to you, it was never my intention, but when I realized I was already putting up barriers and more barriers to keep you away, yet I couldn't. My romantic past is terrible, I've been hurt a lot by people whom I gave myself to and trusted blindly. For a blind person, as I was, pushing you away and hurting you seemed better than letting myself be hurt once again. I know, that's no excuse for all the shit I put you through. But I was broken emotionally when I met you, so that's why..." the principal stops talking when she feels Y/N's free hand gently wipe away her tears, thumb resting on the now flushed cheeks "I'm not trying to justify it, but I really was afraid to let you in, then when you were gone I realized that being afraid of losing you is bigger, also hurts more. That night I cried hiding in the office after you slept and uselessly tried to convince myself that it was the best thing for both of us, even if it was burning me up inside. And now that I saw that disgusting man touching you hurt like hell, I realized that I can't stand the idea of someone else being in your life like that."

"I..."

"Please forgive me, you were never worthless, I never despised you, never thought you were any of that, fuck, I don't even care that you are normie and I hired you precisely because you are fucking bright, a great teacher and role model for our students. I just can't say I'm sorry for being an asshole and for all the cruel words I've said, if you want I'll wash my mouth out with soap. Y/N, listen very attentively to my words now." Larissa leaves the wrist and long fingers run across the girl's face, admiring every detail, feeling her chest heavy as she remembers that damn night when she was a complete idiot, hurt her in so many ways and made her cry, when she thought lost her forever "You are worthy of all the love in the world, all the happiness, all the affection and you deserve only good things, I made a lot of mistakes, I was the worst person. But..." she sighs and tries to wipe the new wave of tears, anxiety taking over mind and heart "Can you give me a chance? To reward you and show you how much I appreciate you, if you want the world I'll try to give you just to show how deeply I love you."

"You what?" both are shocked at the sudden declaration.

"I..." red painted lips quiver and her eyes become clearer, like crystal water, Y/N sees the pure truth about her feelings behind them "I love you." she finally says, word for word, loud and clear.

"I love you too." the younger whispers, those words meaning more than that, it's forgiveness. They draw closer and slowly bring their lips together.

It's gentle and soft, as if this is the first time and they are discovering each other, very different from the real first time their lips touched months before, which led them to start everything. Neither can believe that this is really happening, or how amazing they feel with a simple kiss after having done so much more than that before. Lips move in sync, hearts racing and they engage in a tight hug, the blonde's arms taking the smaller body to herself, holding her lovingly by the waist and the back of neck. What makes Y/N groan in pain between the kiss, they separate momentarily only for Larissa to check if she is okay, that injury haunted her for a whole week, only reassured after threatening the doctor to tell about the health condition of her beloved. She soon discovers that the teacher is fine, as she is pulled in by Y/N to continue kissing, this time more intense, tongues meet immediately, feeling and exploring each other's mouths with affection and desire, so much desire that makes the skin burn, feverish with love. It's a kiss that is full of all the feelings hidden for months, of the pain they have gone through in different ways, but about the same thing, the desire to be together.

"What are we now?" Y/N asks as soon as their lips part and they are looking at each other again, this time instead of tears there are genuine and almost shy smiles "And what are we doing?"

"Well, I was planning to take you on a date and propose formally..."

"Really, Weems? I thought your silly hand was driving us to another thing..." she points to the long fingers under the coat, between the fabric of her tank top and the waistband of the pants.

"I'm sorry." she is about to take the hand away from there, but is stopped and feels the soft lips against hers again in a quick kiss.

"It's okay..." the buttons are slowly unbuttoned, the tank top showing and when Larissa moves closer to kiss her the fabric is accidentally pulled, exposing even more breasts along with the lace bra that almost drove the principal crazy earlier.

"If I didn't know you I'd say it was all planned." the two laugh and the taller one nods in denial, then pulls on the coat wrapping herself in it, bodies pretty much attached inside "Please, never let Lucien come near you like that again. Just seeing him touching and looking at you like that made me boil inside, I wanted to kill him."

"He wouldn't have come close if I already belonged to someone."

"Fair enough. And that brings us to the previous question, are we more than girlfriends?" the blonde asks a little fearfully afraid she's jumping the gun, they've been sleeping together for about six months now, but under her stupid terms, fruits of damn insecurity "Or...?"

"We are whatever we want to be." she thinks of an objective answer, but not even she, who has always wanted this relationship, knows how to define what they have.

"Then you will be mine, in every way. Body, soul, and mind." they intertwine fingers and Larissa has to fight back new tears when the other nods in agreement, the fear of speaking this fading, her heart speeds up even more "We have a lot to fix, I have a lot to make up for, but I want to be better for you, to be worthy to call you girlfriend and one day wife."

"You are already worthy, you just didn't know it." Y/N whispers with emotion in voice, fighting back her own tears as she faces the woman she loves in the same state, their heads touch and both close eyes just enjoying the moment, feeling the calm after the storm "It's okay now."

"It's okay now." she agrees opening a smile and they gap a little, staring at each other "Damn, I can't believe I finally had the courage to say I love you."

"Neither do I, it's like you're a different Larissa, a better Rissa, who talks, gives affection, knows how to express yourself." the younger's hands run down the principal's neck and rest on the soft face, caressing cheek, then the temple, eyebrows, nose, chin and finally the fleshy lips that quiver at the gentle touch "And love me."

Their lips come together again in a delicate and emotional kiss, still a new feeling to be able to touch and be like this after all they have been through. What they are doing is no longer relieving stress or satisfy horniness trying to control all the built up sexual tension, there are no sloppy kisses, rushed hands, cold touches and even less the usual neglect. It's exactly the opposite of that, affection is conveyed with every touch and the kisses seem simply addictive, like they could live this moment forever and if at some point they parted it would fade away, just like their dreams before.

"I knew I couldn't kiss you this way before or I would fall to my knees in love..." Larissa murmurs between the kiss and points to how she stands in front of the armchair, on knees between her legs, hands holding her "And I was right."

"You're such an idiot, Rissa." they smile and the blonde pulls her around the waist, rubbing hips against Y/N's intimacy, both moan at the friction "My Rissa..."

"Only yours. And you only mine."

"I have never been so happy to break rules in my life."

"And I thank you for it."

They feel deep happiness and peace, nothing matters around, Parents' Weekend, not even the rowdy students, this is their moment. As soon as their lips touch again calmness hangs over heads, there is no more fear, pain or anything like that, just the feeling of being realized and complete after letting love speak louder.

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

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foxes-that-run · 21 days ago

Text

British GQ - One Direction

This One Direction interview got us death threats

One Direction are the biggest pop stars on the planet and the faces of a 100m commercial empire. They are also the focus of millions of teenage girls' fevered fantasies, a fact we learnt first-hand when we began to receive death threats from fans after our interview below was published. Here re-read one of the most controversial cover stories GQ has ever had...

(x) "It's definitely less than 100... Harry He's been up all night to get lucky" Jonathan Heaf. 24 August 2013

"Two people"

[..]

The rules of The Interview were crystal clear long before my arrival in Fake Disco Narnia: two 15-minute slots, with the five band members split into two separate groups - Liam and Niall, followed by Louis, Zayn and Harry. An application for a proper, grown-up chat with each of the boys was vetoed by their scrupulously efficient PR man: "No time." As I know the dangers of interviewing band members together - their cubbish jovial inter-band mumbling always cloaking any sort of straight answer - I suggest I interview each of the members for six minutes alone. No ball. Which makes any journalist wonder whether the talent has something to hide or, in fact, nothing to give. Aside from the time restrictions, there were two other cast-iron "no-go areas": "In terms of parameters for the interview, Taylor Swift is off limits for Harry. And Zayn will not discuss the story from earlier this year alleging he had cheated."

[...]

It comes as no surprise that Styles is, of course, fiercely protected by the 1D team. And as I'm waiting to meet the three remaining members, I get the distinct impression that the whole group-interview scenario is more for Styles' benefit than anyone else. Of course, the gods have a punchy way to deliver happenstance. And this morning, for GQ at least, it comes in the form of a road-traffic accident inside the Blackwall Tunnel, the main traffic artery from inner London to the O2. This means that although Harry made it through, the other two, Louis and Zayn, are held up. Harry is, at least for a glimmer, all by himself, alone.

GQ: Does this job get any easier?

Harry: I don't think it's easy at all. The fear of it has turned into adrenaline. Definitely the first few shows you're scared as that's when all the mistakes happen. And then once you get your bearings and you know what you're doing you can enjoy it more. Every show is different so you can't entirely relax, although sometimes I do wonder what I'll be having for tea that night. I try to remain focused.

GQ: What do you make of the rumours about you and Nick Grimshaw?

Harry: What rumours would they be?

GQ: That you're an item.

Harry: Oh, really? I didn't even know. We're not dating, no. We're just friends.

GQ: So you're not bisexual?

Harry: Bisexual? Me? I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I'm not.

GQ: Do these rumours feel at all intrusive?

Harry: Some of them are funny. Some of them are ridiculous. Some of them are annoying. I don't want to be one of those people that complains about the rumours. I never like it when a celebrity goes on Twitter and says, "This isn't true!" It is what it is, I tend not to do that. The only time it gets really annoying is that if you get into a relationship and you get into a place where you really like someone and then things are being written in the papers that affect them and how they see you. Then it can get annoying.

GQ: Do you worry about going off the rails?

Harry: No. I'm not a big drinker, really I'm not. I don't go home and open a beer or have a glass of wine to relax, I'm just not that sort of person. I'll drink if I go out with friends and if I've got the day off, yeah, I'll go out. I don't like alcohol enough.

GQ: Are you getting more used to being this famous?

Harry: I don't think you can ever get used to being this famous. I've learnt how to keep things separate or at a distance.

I've nothing to hide. But seeing this as work, like a job, means I can take a step back. It's me right now in front of you and in the papers but it's not all of me. If you give yourself entirely to the business, you'd end up going mad. And I'm not mad. Not yet.

GQ: Do you know how many people you've slept with?

Harry: I know the number of people I've slept with, yes.

GQ: What is that number?

Harry: I'm definitely not telling you!

GQ: Can you give me a rough, ballpark figure?

Harry: No!

GQ: Say "yes" or "no". Less than 100?

Harry: No!

GQ: So higher than 100?

Harry: No, it's definitely less than 100...

GQ: Lower than 50?

Harry: Yes, lower than 50.

GQ: Lower than 30?

Harry: I'm not doing this! You're cornering me!

GQ: Come on you're a rock star. OK, less than ten.

Harry: Yes. Two people. I've only ever had sex with two people.

GQ: I don't believe you.

Harry: Well, that's my answer. Read from it what you will!

At this point, Zayn and Louis walk in. Which is a pity, as Harry is just getting into his stride. He's confident and can handle himself well. He's charming, funny and you can see why the girls (and boys) swoon. If One Direction have ambitions to broaden their audience they are going to have to learn to reveal a little more of themselves - or be allowed to. With the other two in the room the talk reverts back to "band issues".

#Print Interviews #Haylor Media

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onebadpunspoilsabunch · 9 months ago

Note

The biggest issue that I have with g5 is all of the unanswered questions about what happened during the time frame between g4 and g5. The biggest ones are:

What happened to the alicorns?

What happened to the other sapient creatures? Donkeys, mules, zebras, horses, cattle, sheep, buffalo/bison, deer/reindeer, hippos, yaks, griffons, hippogriffs/seaponies, dragons, Changelings, kirin, anthro cats, diamond dogs, anthro birds, etc etc.

How was Equestria able to function with the magic gone? And who's been raising the sun and moon this whole time if the magic has been gone? Is it someone outside Equestria?

They're never going to answer any of those questions.

The only reason why I watched MYM all the way through is because I was waiting for a proper explanation for all of the questions the movie didn't answer. I think the majority of us were under the impression that the TV show or comics would provide those answers.

Well... they didn't. And, let's face it, they probably never will. And if they do, the explanation will be bad.

The explanation they gave for the Unity Crystals and ponies dividing in the comics was... dumb.

The explanation they gave for the Unity Crystals and ponies dividing in the TV show was... dumb. And inconsistent.

Sunny in The Traditional Unicorn Sleepover:

Sunny Starscout: But then one day, a magical accident happened! An Earth pony got hurt by a unicorn! Everypony started fighting with each other! The princess, wanting to protect her kingdom and all of the ponies in it, decided to put all magic into three crystals before it got out of hoof. After that, Earth ponies only felt safe with other Earth ponies. Unicorns with unicorns. And Pegasi of a feather flock together. The ponies galloped, trotted, and flew as far as they could with their crystals, settling in what would become Zephyr Heights, Bridlewood, and Maretime Bay. And that's where they lived forever... until now.

Spike in the Isle of Scaley:

Spike: Twilight's reign was peaceful for many moons until Opaline Arcana appeared. She'd been banished from Skyros.

Sunny Starscout: The Alicorn land?

Spike: She wanted to rule all ponies. She thought that Alicorns were superior.

Spike: But my friends were strong. Our friendship had created such powerful magic that Opaline had to resort to dark ways to overthrow Equestria. She even attacked the dragons to transform into a Fire Alicorn!

Spike: The crystals were created to hide the magic of Equestria in them. All of pony magic. And all of dragon magic inside the Dragon Stone. Twilight sent us here to protect us and put a spell around Equestria to hide it from Opaline.

G5 is basically implying that Opaline was a much bigger threat than all of the other major villains the G4 characters had faced, which I don't believe for a second. Even after she powered herself up with the dragon's magic.

There's no implication that Opaline had mind controlled and used the dragons as an army back when she faced Twilight and her friends. Twilight and her friends could've just used their Element of Harmony powers to take away Opaline's magic, or turn her to stone, etc etc.

The series finale showed that they didn't need the physical elements or tree to access that magic...

So why didn't they use it on Opaline?

I think the moment where I started to become disappointed in G5 was when they released that TYT short showing the dragons before they were properly introduced in Chapter 6.

And when I saw how horribly they were designed, I just got angry.

And then I saw how they looked in the main show, and my disappointment grew...

And then I saw that Spike had the same horrible model as the other dragons (with minor changes) and I wanted to throw up XD

And then I finished Chapter 6 of MYM, and I realized that I had wasted my precious time on G5.

#the only enjoyment that i get now from g5 is ranting about how awful it is #not a good sign #ask #my little pony #mlp fim #my little pony friendship is magic #mlp g4 #mlp g5 #my little pony tell your tale #mlp: tyt #g4 vs g5 #mlp dragon #opaline arcana #twilight sparkle #sunny starscout #spike the dragon #spike mlp #mlp critical

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britcision · 3 months ago

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By the way in light of today’s events I’d like to remind my fellow Canadians to sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and get some goddamn legwork in, because we’re at most a year out from our own next election

And voting goddamn Pierre in will be at most marginally less stupid than a second Trump term, so let’s take the important lesson here:

Nothing is safe, nothing is assured, and there’s no point thinking “oh no one would actually want that”

Clearly, some people will happily watch the world burn just to spite their “enemies”, not even for any benefit to themselves - and they live in every country on Earth

We have our own homegrown Trump supporters and we all know who they’ll actually vote for, so unless you want a real quick karmic turn around, stuff any moralizing back in your pants and do something useful

We have less than one year til our next election, Canada

Goddamn Pierre is leading the polls

We will have our own far right, extremist courting bigot at the head of our government unless we actually do something

Make sure your friends are registered to vote

Make sure everyone you know has a way to get to the polls, or to get an early voting ballot

Make sure you are registered to vote and have a way to get to the polls, because you know who votes every time, at every level? Bigots and assholes, and they will win if you do not show up too

Vote just so that one of them has no voice, if nothing else speaks to you

If you can, and someone close to you is a fan of the Conservatives, ask them what they think about his ties to Christian nationalists - not aggressively. Pretend you’re considering him, and you value their opinion, but you have some worries

Then lay out your concerns one by one. The goal isn’t for them to immediately swear off him and change their minds, it’s to make sure all his shady bullshit gets into their head and make them actually think about it

If all they have are justifications like “well all the parties are the same”, well, they’re not

Only one party thinks trans kids should be outed to potentially unsafe homes

Only one party thinks climate change is a good thing that we should be speeding up

So you gotta show up to vote in every single election, at every single level of government, because we’ve just had a crystal clear reminder that democracy only works when everyone participates

Bigots and assholes will put themselves in at every level to slowly take power and change the landscape until they can sweep a national election, and they will change every rule they can to make that sweep happen

One big dramatic vote for the federal government is not enough; you have to do the work or they’ll just keep coming back

Times are rough as fuck right now and we have a cost of living crisis, and for a lot of people who aren’t terminally online that means they’re more worried about putting food on their table tomorrow than a bunch of hypotheticals that might hurt people they don’t know and will never meet

That is a good and normal human survival instinct - there’s no point stockpiling food for the winter when the wells have all dried up and there is no water. One of those problems is more immediate

Moral superiority is alienating and will encourage people not to listen to you, so leave that at home too if you actually want to do anything useful

Anyone I catch bloviating, I’m going to assume you want an ego boost more than you want actual change

Have an outburst, get it out of your system, and then remember it will happen here too

It will be your friends, your coworkers, your family, people you love

Because when people are scared, they get angry, and if someone gives them a target for their fear and pain and say “hey just get rid of that guy and it all goes away”, people don’t go with it because they’re bad people

They need to be reminded to think, to realize that conservative blowhards do not care about them and will sell them for parts for a dollar fifty, and they need to see an actual alternative

A plan that will really make things better, for them personally

And, yeah, plot twist, better human rights protections? Will do that. Better labour regulations? Far more effective than building walls.

And, shit, especially with the latest listeria adventures in Every Goddamn Brand Of Eggs And Chicken Ever Apparently?

Remind them how much more deregulation will hurt them than price increases

Cuz yeah, it is hard to put food on the table right now

But at least most of the food will not kill you! And probably has 0 human fingers in it!

(And hey you’ll probably want some decent healthcare available since, again, Goddamn Everything Has Listeria I Guess)

Show them how Conservatives will materially, demonstrably harm them

Fuck, use their bullshit against them; convince THEM there’s no one worth voting for and they should stay home, then get your goddamn ass out there and vote

#democracy #us politics #canadian politics #democracy in general

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ellenneedscoffee · 9 months ago

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Welcome to generation 3!

As I've said in previous posts, Generation 2 ends when Lainey marries as an elder. she also has to have a bad relationship with Felix before the rose gen is complete. It will be a while until then so I figured we should get started with gen 3 while we wait.

The heir for the yellow gen is Felix Berry. He has recently aged up to a teenager and is about to start his first day of high school.

For this challenge, I’m following the updated rules created by @sweetlysimss.

Here’s a link to the updated challenge: XXX

Generation Three: Yellow

Growing up you never really had a close relationship with your parent. their workaholic nature has really put you off. however, dedication is something that runs in the family. you start to focus on your handiness skill and as you do so, you grow closer to your space-crazy family members. before you know it, you’ve found your greatest passion: woodworking! besides woodworking, you start to develop an interest in gathering collectibles as well, as they turn out to be worth quite a fortune! soon you’re able to provide for your family without having an actual job. ha! that will show [insert parent]!

traits: self-assured, art lover, loves outdoors

aspiration: fabulously wealthy

career: unemployed

Rules

master the handiness skill

unlock all woodworking sculptures/furniture

master the rocket science skill and built a rocket ship

complete the fabulously wealthy aspiration

Enter the secret lot in oasis springs (requires level 10 handiness skill)

Never have any real close friends except for one of the family members from generation 1 (e.g. the founder, if they’re still alive. if not, any other family member suffices)

Meet your future spouse while exploring a different neighbourhood for collectibles

There is no set number of children for this generation

Have at least “friend” level with all of your children

Make money by selling your woodworking and excessive collectibles.

Complete the following collections:

Aliens: 10 collectibles (found via the rocket science skill’s adventures in space)

Crystals: 20 collectibles (found while digging up rocks)

Elements: 15 collectibles (found while digging up rocks and then sending them to the Geo Council)

Fossils: 15 collectibles (found while digging up rocks)

Frogs: 25 collectibles (found via searching in logs, water pumps, and caught at ponds → rare frogs can either be found or achieved by breeding)

Geodes: 6 collectibles (found on the planet Sixam)

Mysims trophies: 20 collectibles (found in capsules)

Postcards: 14 collectibles (collected by finding pen pals on the computer)

Space rocks: 4 collectibles (found via the rocket science skill and venturing into space)

The collectables are going to be the death of me... 😫

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saynomorefic · 8 months ago

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Check out my fics! <3

One shots

Did you give yourself away again? / 7k words / Teen

She tilted her head back and laughed at something Wille said, her hand brushing against his arm as she did it. Simon vaguely assigned her to a group of girls that he’d heard whisper in the sidelines as they walked past. Part of him wanted to walk right up to them, inserting himself and staking his claim. His stomach twisted into knots.

From @CaramelPenguin's prompt for the YR Prompt Meme:

Wilhelm and Simon are in an established relationship in Hillerska, though Simon is hiding the true impacts of online hate from everyone. It doesn't help that somebody else seems to be flirting with Wille...a lot...

All the rules to this game I bend / 1.2k / Mature

A tweet about Simon and Wille's hands goes viral, Wille overthinks as per usual, and Simon (as per usual) makes it better.

Written for Day 25: Hands, Wille's Month 2024.

Like birds do, I need to fly south / 2.2k words / NR

Wille vacays with the family, and Simon is his attractive bartender

Erik and Silvia thought it would be a nice gesture to invite Wille along for the summer holiday, but it was very much the opposite. While he enjoyed lounging on the beach lazily, perhaps liked waking up early to do laps in a crystal blue pool, and having breakfast, lunch and dinner prepared for him, there was one small part that was decidedly torturous, and his name was Simon.

Written for Day 24 of the Wille's Month 2024 event on Tumblr.

Falling for you / 1.7k / NR

Wille hits his head, Simon comes to his rescue, and Marcus is very annoyed with it all.

Or the Nurse!Simon Fainting!Wille AU that Tumblr asked for.

Based on true events.

WIPs

You Kill Me (AU) / Explicit / 32k

Oil heir Wille, Music student Simon.

Simon was no idiot, either. He felt it when he would walk into practice (often late, with Felice in tow), Wille’s eyes burning the back of his neck. But really, it was nothing. There were no stalled conversations in the hallway, no real exchange. Simon had his head in the music; Wille, in his ass.

Nothing, except for the night before the concert, where Wille stumbled into Felice’s parents’ kitchen, drunk out of his mind, muttering an “oh, it’s you,” and colliding into Simon, making him catch the both of them on the edge of the counter. He still remembered the electricity in his body that slipped around when he saw the corners of Wille’s mouth go wide, his eyes glinting in the blue light.

Or, Wille turns up in Stockholm after moving back to America for years, and Simon still doesn't know what to do about him.

I wont treat you like you're oh so typical / 9k / Teen

Through the years, when Wille and Simon were feeling overwhelmed by the world around them, they would hold each others' hands carefully and squeeze three times. It's okay. I'm here. And I care.

Or, girl!Wille and girl!Simon are best friends who (not so) slowly fall for each other.

Let's take this overboard / 9.8k / Mature

Through bribery and a string of bad luck, Simon ended his school semester with nothing to do except an invitation to spend the summer on a yacht with Sara’s culinary school boyfriend, a crew of upper echelons Swedish strangers, and a very hot boy Simon has (accidentally) seen naked.

Or: the Mediterranean Yacht AU

#my fanfiction #saynomorefic #wilmon #wilmon fanfiction

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autumnwhistles · 1 year ago

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Middle Of Nowhere (from Last Life: The Unofficial Musical) – Song + Full Lyric Breakdown

youtube

(full lyrics without commentary here)

Lyric Breakdown

Ludo ludete (x3)

As I've said before, this is (hopefully) the Latin imperative to two or more people of "play the game" – the Life worlds are basically death games played out by the Watchers, with rules from them etc (whatever is said in Grian's intros)

Oh, gone, the kingdom fallen on the mountain Bare, the sands, their cacti alone Flowers razed and castles left abandoned Now we stage another show! So build up the frozen north! A south that shall fall to flames – Renew and repeat the game!

These are (obviously to some) references to 3rd Life – in this universe, as in Martyn's canon, this game did happen before the players arrived in Last Life. The Watchers enjoyed the emotional feast they had last time, so are now creating the new world of Last Life to continue harvesting the emotions they feed on. This is the first time it's referred to as a show.

Everything up to here is considered the prologue, since this is before Last Life's creation. The next two verses are going to be set after the Last Life game has already concluded, as it's commentary on it – it wasn't necessarily intentional, but you could say that by journeying through various instrumental themes that are going to be prevalent later on in the musical story of Last Life, it's us travelling through Last Life and eventually ending up on the other side.

There is an old, old tale to be told, Of green like the spruce, of crimson and gold. Of crystals and curses, lives swapped and sold, Stories we’ll now behold.

This is talking about Last Life, setting the stage for the story we're going to be told. As stated, this and the next verse are set somewhat after the events of Last Life, with the Watchers commenting on it and sharing it with us to partake in the experience of watching it. You could also say it's an 'old tale' because some versions of this have happened countless times before, so the Watchers pretty much know how things are going to turn out.

There is an old, old song to be sung/Look to the frozen north! Of victors that lost and victims that won/Look to the south in flames! Bonds forged in fire lie shattered and dull/Look to the fallen fort! All cast aside for one/Come on and play the game

Like the first verse, this is commentary on the first game. "Frozen north" mainly refers to Magical Mountain (there are mountains in the north, ie cold); "south in flames" is the Southlands (they literally burn it down); "fallen fort" is Lizzie's fairy fort. "Victors that lost and victims that won" is comparing actual victory to emotional victory, and basically saying how everyone loses in some way or other.

There is a land, in the middle of nowhere. It was too long ago there, Since last stories arose. So the tale is told, of the middle of nowhere: Watch and witness the show there, As our appetite grows!

Generally self-explanatory – "in the middle of nowhere" refers to how it's far away from any place that's known and how the world is isolated. The lines in bold are the first lines of a handful that directly reference Martyn's Last Life teaser, since this is directly from the Watchers' perspective ("Long have we waited/A hunger grows/Surpass them all/Take friends for foes/Live not for others/Invest in one/For if they fall/Ere will be done"). Future lines that reference this will also be in purple, and will mostly be in the choruses.

The last lines are also the segue into taking us back to the tale of Last Life in person. Everything after this (world creation, player arrival) will be in real-time.

There is an old, old world to be moulded, Flames to be doused and craters unfolded Forests to spread, dark shadows to sprawl-/ Look to the names! Herald the cue! Red leaves to mark the colours of the first to fall/Rise, rise anew!

This is the Watchers creating the Last Life world – in this, they're reforming the world of 3rd Life, as every game is in the same repurposed world in the musical's canon. The flames and craters are being erased, so this is a fresh start. "Herald the cue" – the cue for the players to arrive.

There is a call, and flocking, they come, Like moths to a flame or clouds to the sun! Ships to a whirlpool yet struggling still- Look to the trees! Look to the hills!

This is referring to how powerless the players are to heed to call and come to the games, and how insignificant they are in controlling their own fate. "Clouds to the sun" was chosen because it fit, rhymed, and created a gloomy atmosphere – however, something I thought of afterwards was that since (due to Martyn's lore) Watcher Grian ("the sun") is canon, it can also refer to how when he joins the game, his vision/watcherness becomes clouded, as he's part of events and doesn't have access to all his powers.

Look to them, all the same/Look to the peaks, Helpless to play their game/Good for defence, style’s just pretence/Gather the sand, gather all the cane you can! And look there, could be a home, let's form a plan!/Ahhh Six, five, four, three, two, one!

Again, pretty self-explanatory. The players are settling in, and again they're unaware and not in control of how things are going to turn out. "Six, five, four, three, two, one" is counting the potential lives people can have, as the maximum is six.

Look to their land, in the middle of nowhere!/There is an old, old right to be fought for: lives to be lived, and not lived for naught – Through the wants and the woe there/To laugh, be alive, defend our pride, Herald what must be done/To cause chaos, to protect, to attack!

Again, players settling in while the Watchers watch (heh) on.

Best all in this land, in the middle of nowhere/Strike one! Strike two! You're done! You're through! Take your friends for your foes there/No time for mercy Till a champion has won/when the only thing that you can do is-

"Surpass them all/take friends for foes" from the poem – otherwise not much to say. The players are already delving into the ruthless nature of the games – they've been through this before (according to Martyn canon, players keep their memories, but don't keep the emotions associated with them as they've been fed on).

Four for the traitor, four for the pawn, Six for the swindler selling the dawn; Five for the wolf and three for the mole, Two for the witness outstepping his role.

This is the start of lives being distributed. Note that for these, some titles were able to be thought of more than others, as I did need to pay attention to rhymes and scanning. Most of these titles refer to what they were in 3rd Life.

@linnight22 already guessed all of these correctly, but here's a list:

"The traitor" – Bdubs (he infamously betrayed Impulse in 3rd Life for a clock)

"The pawn" – Martyn (he's basically a pawn to the Watchers)

"The swindler selling the dawn" – Scar ("selling the dawn" refers to how impossible and exaggerated the things he claims to sell are. Again though I've used sun imagery so if you want to somehow link that to Grian, go ahead)

"The wolf" – Joel (he's frequently associated with wolf imagery and it fits personality-wise)

"The mole" – Impulse (mostly referring to him being a mole in Dogwarts in 3rd Life – and I'm still on the 3l!Impulse was never a traitor to the Crastle train – but also an animal pun. I do admit this one was one where I needed rhymes and syllables, so it unfortunately doesn't describe his personality very well.)

"The witness outstepping his role" – Grian, for obvious Watcher reasons

Four, the enigma and expert alike, Three, the beholder, avoiding the strike; Two for the martyr, six for the moon, Two for the fierce-hearted cynic, untombed!

"The enigma" – Etho (demeanour and how hard people find it to decipher and predict him)

"The expert" – Mumbo (partly because he's a redstone expert, mostly because it fits as a descriptor for how he comes off as pretty knowledgeable, and also sort of a reference to his fancy professor-like skin)

"The beholder avoiding the strike" – BigB (not a watcher reference this time, but referring to how in 3rd Life he was quite passive as opposed to throwing himself into the action. "Avoiding the strike" is partly a descriptor for that but fits more with Last Life!BigB, with him being too hesitant/fearful of killing someone with the Boogeyman curse until it was too late and he had to kill Cleo)

"The martyr" – Scott (most open/prone to sacrificing himself for someone/something else out of all the players, eg when he refuses to fulfil the Boogeyman curse this season. And additional unintentional symbolism: , and c!Scott (defying 'higher beings')

"The moon" – Pearl, for obvious reasons

"The fierce-hearted cynic, untombed" – Cleo, for obvious reasons

Three for the hero, four for the dame/There is an old tale, now soon to come, Six for the self-dubbed master of games/The stage has been set, the bell has been rung, let curtains soon rise, let lights dim as one! Two, for the king with no subjects to call/The audience trembles, anxious to know what joys and disasters they shall be shown in- Two, the canary, destined to fall.../-all, when the curtains fall...

"The hero" – Skizz (righteous, passionate – generally his atmosphere and the fact he is one of the more 'heroic' players, at least to me)

"The dame" – Lizzie (demeanour, the fact she's the Shadow Queen this season, and also the fact her username is LDShadowLady, "lady" usually referring to someone of a higher status)

"The self-dubbed master of games" – Tango (he loves creating games and bets to spice things up, see You Bet Your Life and Dare to Flare. Note that "self-dubbed" isn't shade on his abilities at all, just the fact that it's a title he tends to embrace/place on himself)

"The king with no subjects to call" – Ren, for obvious reasons (for people who haven't watched 3rd Life or consumed post-3rd Life Renchanting content, he declared himself the "Red King" there, and role-played as that for the rest of the season)

"The canary destined to fall" – Jimmy, for obvious reasons (for anyone not exposed to the canary imagery: he's always out first, there's lots of canary imagery especially on Tumblr around him due to canaries being used in coal mines to keep track of poisonous gases. If the canary died, there was gas and everyone else would be in danger, symbolising the beginning of the end of things)

And finally, more show/stage imagery from the lyrics being sung at the same time! "The bell has been rung" refers to the bells that are rung before performances (or at least I know they're rung in operas), functioning as the 10/5-minute call, etc – basically signalling that the performance is going to start very soon. And again, the Watchers see all this as a show for their entertainment. "The audience" here refers to both the Watchers and to us.

("when the curtains fall" doesn't mean the curtains fall at the start of the show, it's more what they will have experienced by the time the show has been completed)

Caught in this land, in the middle of nowhere. Will it still end in woe there? Will it all come undone?/Did you hear that sound? So many feelings so grand can arise from the middle of nowhere!/Did you hear that voice? But – let our stars lead the show there, Heeding: our will be done!

Again, Watchers being Watchers – they're speculating on how things will turn out (while knowing that yes, they most likely will) and sort of showing fake sympathy. "So many feelings so grand can arise" – again, they're doing this to feed on the emotions that arise from the players during the games.

"Our Will Be Done" is something the Watchers say to c!Martyn very frequently, it functions as their signature phrase – basically it's a sign to anyone who already knows about the lore that these are most definitely the Watchers singing.

"Did you hear that sound/Did you hear that voice" are sung by c!Martyn – as I've said, listener!Martyn is not canon, it's referring to the fact that the Watchers speak to him and are probably letting him hear this to mess with him.

#trafficblr #eyesandears #last life smp #3rd life smp #watchers life series #life series smp #traffic smp #third life smp #Youtube

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