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rayatii · 2 years

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Raya Recounts: a brand-new series of overly-detailed opera summaries with unsolicited commentary!

Yeah, I have pulled yet another massive hiatus on these, but hopefully you’ll forgive me.

Episode 4: I puritani

I puritani (“The Puritans”) is a 3-act opera by Vincenzo Bellini. Bellini was one of the big BIG names among composers of the bel canto era, which also include Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti (the composer for our first selection). Bel canto is Italian for “beautiful singing”, and Bellini was no stranger to that; in the world of opera, he is mostly applauded for the vocal lines he wrote, which tend to be absolutely beautiful, especially compared to his instrumentals (subjective opinion, sorry). Bellini’s works are significantly more obscure to the general public than those of the previous composers I have covered, but some people might be familiar with the aria “Casta diva” from his opera Norma.

Today’s opera was Bellini’s final work before his untimely death at age 33.

The libretto was written by Carlo Pepoli, based on the play Têtes rondes et cavaliers (“Roundheads and Cavaliers”) by Jacques-François Ancelot and Xavier Boniface Saintine (GOD, they have like sixty million different forms of their names on their works, so I went with IMSLP’s input). There doesn’t seem to be anything else that these three guys came up with that is less obscure than today’s selection.

The plot is known for being kind of flimsy, but the quality of the vocal music definitely makes up for it, and for the longest time it has been, and still remains, a favorite of the big opera houses to put on to show off their greatest stars’ vocal virtuosity.

You know the drill, same as always: bolding the solo characters’ names and giving potentially bad Italian translations for the important numbers. They are a bit more difficult to divide than the previous installment, so please bear with me.

This is for @carlodivarga-s, who suggested this title. Let me know if any of you have an opera you would like me to give the Raya Recounts treatment to!

Spoilers, of course!

Because this is a historical opera, let me clarify the historical context before I start; this is set in England during the English Civil War, which was a conflict between “Cavaliers/Royalists”, i.e., supporters of King Charles I, and supporters of the Parliament of England (or “Roundheads”, named such because of the cropped hairstyles that many Puritans, who formed a important number of members of that group, tended to sport, in contrast to the long ringlets that were fashionable at the royal court at the time). As you may have guessed, the conflict was about whether or not England should continue to be a monarchy and ruled by the so-called “divine right of kings”, and the whole shtick was followed by the monarchy being overthrown in favor of the Parliament, Oliver Cromwell ruling as Lord Protector for nearly 5 years, and the monarchy being restored years later with Charles II, son of Charles I.

You may have noticed that I am very much anti-monarchy (this is Tumblr, this is hardly going to get me cancelled), but please know that Puritans in this time and place remain known today for being humongous killjoys, who outlawed things such as theatre and Christmas on the grounds of these practices being supposedly sinful and whatnot. No wonder the term “puritanical” nowadays represents unreasonably rigid strictness. So historically, I'm not sure I would want to stand on either side.

I have to admit that I got most of that historical knowledge from the show “Horrible Histories”, though I did use more than this as a source in my research!

Anyway, back to our opera!

After a prelude in D major (which I noticed is a key very frequently used throughout the opera), Act 1, Scene 1 opens on a fortress in England, sometime in the 1640s or so, at dawn. According to the libretto, there are sentinels marching. We hear an offstage chorus setting the scene (Chorus: All’erta! All’erta! L’alba appari; “On your guard! On your guard! The dawn is appearing” or something like that). Then, the reveille sounds, represented in the orchestra by French horns; it is followed by a lengthy drumroll, after which a chorus of soldiers, led by Bruno, a tenor who somehow never gets a description in other summaries of this opera beside his name (I’ll assume he is a leader of the soldiers), enter while carrying weapons and anticipating a victory over the Stuart clan (i.e., the Royalist side). We now know that these people are Puritans.

Church bells and some organ music are heard. As the soldiers kneel down in prayer, singers offstage (who are somehow listed in the score as the principals) praise God and all his glory and stuff (O, di Cromvèl guerrieri; “O, warriors of Cromwell”. Yeah, we’ll get a bunch more of English names Italianized to a pretty ridiculous degree throughout this opera).

After that, a chorus of people from the castle come onstage, mingling with the soldiers and calling for celebrations; everyone present then sings the praises of one Elvira, a young maiden who has found true love and is to be married today (A festa!; “Let us celebrate!” or something like that).

Everyone leaves except Bruno. Riccardo, a baritone and a leader of the castle’s army, comes onstage and starts lamenting the loss of his beloved Elvira. Bruno encourages him to tell him about his troubles. Riccardo explains that before he went off to fight, Elvira’s father promised him her hand in marriage, but when he returned the evening before, he was told that Elvira is in love with a Cavalier named Talbo (an Italianized form of “Talbot”), and that nothing can change her heart, meaning that he had to be released from his engagement (Recitative: Or dove fuggo io mai?; “Now where shall I flee to?”).

Bruno tries to get Riccardo to chill, but Riccardo insists on wallowing in his heartbreak (Aria: Ah! per sempre io ti perdei; “Ah! I have lost you forever”. Unusually for a baritone, he doesn’t seem to have any thoughts of vengeance and murder, at least so far, which is quite a massive relief).

After some vocal acrobatics woven rather well in a mournful tune, some horns and trumpets sound. Bruno tells Riccardo that it’s the army calling him (Riccardo), and tries, to not much avail, to get him to forget about his love issues for now and instead focus on the fire of glory and patriotism. They both leave.

Scene 2 switches the scene to Elvira’s bedroom (I forgot to mention that she is the daughter of whoever owns the castle, but it’s rather easy to figure it out). Present there are Elvira, a coloratura soprano (i.e., a soprano who specializes in crazy vocal acrobatics) who is moping around sorrowfully, and Giorgio, a bass and her uncle, whom she very close to. So close, in fact, that she literally calls him her second father in her first line. As he embraces her, Giorgio asks Elvira the reason for her mopey-ness, and when he brings up her upcoming wedding, she immediately recoils and goes on about how she will go insane and die of grief if she has to be dragged to the altar against her will (hmmmmm, foreshadowing of some kind???) (Aria: Sai com’arde; “You know how it blazes”).

Okay, so we now know that Elvira hasn’t been told yet of the last-minute bridegroom switch, but when Giorgio tells her that she will get to be with her beloved Arturo (said Talbo guy mentioned earlier), she absolutely rejoices and embraces him. She asks him how this came to be, and he explains that the night before, her tears and prayers touched his soul to the point that he managed to tearfully convince his brother, i.e., her father, that she would die if she were to marry someone other than Arturo (Aria (at least listed as an aria for Giorgio in the libretto, though Elvira has a few lines): Piangi, o figlia; “Cry, o daughter”).

Horns are heard; it’s a signal of the guards. Elvira and Giorgio listen carefully as an offstage male chorus announces the arrival of Arturo Talbo. Elvira is so absolutely overjoyed that she claims not to be able to believe it (Duet: A quel nome; “At this name”).

Scene 3 takes us to a weapons room, where Elvira, Giorgio, Valton (Italianized form of “Walton”), Elvira’s father and a bass just like his brother, as well as a chorus of the people from the castle all gather to welcome Arturo. The chorus sings in praise of Elvira’s beauty and Arturo’s valor and the love match between them (Chorus: Ad Arturo onore; “Honor to Arturo”).

Then in comes the long-expected Arturo, a noble tenor, accompanied by squires and pages carrying wedding presents, including a veil. Arturo starts singing to Elvira all about his happiness stemming from his love for her, which used to make him sad back when they were not an approved match (Aria (tho with quite a few lines from the principals and the chorus, which makes it often labeled as a quartet in some sources): A te, o cara; “To you, o darling”, one of the most famous bits in the whole opera. It actually contains a written high C-sharp (C#5) for Arturo!!! Tenors gotta have some flexible highs to sing this role, and that will only become more prominent the farther we go). Elvira and Arturo express their joy, Giorgio and Valton ask for not a single shadow of sadness to cloud this happy moment, and everyone, including the chorus, calls on Heaven to smile upon this union.

After that, Valton says that he won’t be able to attend the ceremony, and gives Arturo a pass that will grant him safe conduct up till the church (the libretto calls it “tempio” (“temple”), which I know is a name for a Protestant church in some contexts, but I’m not really sure when it comes to the Church of England specifically), asking Giorgio to accompany them. He then addresses some unknown lady, telling her that the Parliament is asking for her, and that he is to escort her there. Said woman, a mezzo, despairs internally, then asks what the Parliament wants from her. Valton replies that he must obey this order without question.

Arturo asks Giorgio about her, and Giorgio explains that she is a prisoner who is believed to be a spy for the Stuarts. Arturo is struck with pity for the mysterious lady, and she internally notices his pitiful expression. Valton calls for the wedding preparations, as well as his departure, to proceed, and everyone leaves except for Arturo (after making sure he is not seen) and the unknown lady.

After briefly assessing him internally, the lady addresses Arturo, who tells her that if she needs anything, she can trust him. She confesses that she is in danger of dying soon, and he mentions that his father died supporting the Stuarts, and affirms his intention of saving her. She says her fate is already sealed, as she is none other than Enrichetta (Henrietta Maria), daughter of Henry IV of France and the widow of Charles I of England, which makes her the (former) Queen of England!!

Arturo, ever faithful to his Royalist duties, immediately insists on escorting Enrichetta to safety (man, it’s rare to see a tenor who puts duty above love), but she firmly believes that there is no hope left for her, and begs him to think of the danger, and especially of Elvira, whom he is literally meant to marry in mere minutes. Arturo begs her not to weaken his courage by mentioning the one he loves, and both go on and on about all this, until they are interrupted by an incredibly cheerful Elvira, who comes in all dressed in her wedding clothes and carrying her veil.

Elvira compares herself to an April lily and basically just describes her appearance, which includes roses in her hair and a pearl necklace (Polonaise (in this case, an aria in the style of a polonaise, which is a type of Polish folk dance with a 3/4 time signature (i.e., like a waltz)): Son vergin vezzosa; “I am a charming virgin”. Vocal acrobatics galore). As she sings, Arturo, Enrichetta and Giorgio (who has also come by this time, I guess) compare her disposition to a nightingale and the moon appearing through clouds at night.

Elvira asks Enrichetta to help her with the ringlets of her hair, and places her veil on Enrichetta’s head as Arturo and Giorgio ask her (Enrichetta) to excuse Elvira’s playful behavior. As Elvira continues to fool around, Enrichetta and Arturo continue praying for safety while Giorgio internally compares Elvira to a zephyr, a rainbow and a sylph. Then, Valton and the chorus come in calling for Elvira to get ready. She entrusts Arturo to give her back the veil later, before she leaves with Giorgio and nearly everyone else.

As Arturo and Enrichetta are left alone, Arturo notices that the veil hiding Enrichetta’s face might just be the thing that will help her escape safely, but before they can make a move, in comes Riccardo to stop Arturo from stealing his beloved (he thinks the woman under the veil is Elvira; ah, the operatic classic of not recognizing someone with a concealed face!), and he challenges Arturo to a duel to the death by swords, which he smugly accepts (Trio: Fermi! Invan, invan rapir pretendi; “Stop! In vain, in vain you try to kidnap” or something like that. This one was difficult to translate so I copied it from the aria-database). But Enrichetta steps in between them to stop them from fighting, at which point her disguise gets shed and Riccardo recognizes her as the prisoner.

Riccardo suddenly decides to let the two of them escape, and as Arturo bids an internal farewell to Elvira, we hear Elvira, Bruno, Giorgio, Valton and the chorus approaching. Of course, given the situation (opposing clans, rivals in love, etc.), Arturo asks Riccardo if he’s gonna snitch on them before they go beyond the walls of the fortress, and Riccardo swears that he won’t. Well, as the three characters briefly speak to themselves internally, we learn that Riccardo does not intend on keeping this promise and looks forward to Arturo’s downfall, while Arturo himself internally proclaims his everlasting love for Elvira, and Enrichetta looks forward to seeing her son (Charles II, I guess??). Arturo and Enrichetta finally leave, and Riccardo watches them escape (this is a fortress, after all).

Then in come Elvira, Bruno, Giorgio, Valton and the Chorus. Everyone asks Riccardo where Arturo is, and OF COURSE, the jealous snitch tells everyone that he is long gone, and everyone else sees that he has escaped with the prisoner. As Elvira cries out in despair, Riccardo and Giorgio call for soldiers to catch the two traitors, and everyone else joins in the call to arms.

But then, Elvira notices that the woman with Arturo in the distance is wearing a white veil, and that he is treating her as his bride and calling her Elvira, and this messes with her mind and makes her really, REALLY upset. Everyone around becomes incredibly worried about her. Then, she hallucinates Arturo coming back and she repeatedly tells him to come with her to the church. It becomes clear to everyone that Elvira has officially lost her mind in true operatic fashion, and they all pity her. Of course, they blame that traitor Arturo for this whole fiasco, and remark on how pure Elvira’s heart is for her to still love him as much as she does.

Then, Elvira’s mood suddenly switches again, and she sees (here, I’m not sure of she actually sees or “sees”) Arturo fleeing, and starts cursing him for abandoning her. As she expresses a delirious sort of rage growing inside her, everyone else continues cursing Arturo, and the curtain falls as they swear revenge.

And then Elvira dies of her insanity because it is a known fact that sopranos who have a mad scene in an opera ALWAYS die. :)

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you-

Raya, stop messing around and misleading your readers, this is only the first act, no one has died, the opera is far from finished.

Sorry, sorry. Anyway, here it goes:

Act 2 (only one scene this time) opens in some random room in that same fortress. A chorus of people of the castle sing (to a tune that’s a slight tad joyful imo) in sadness about poor Elvira’s (who hasn’t died, by the way) insanity; she is crying all the time, and at one point she was seen wandering in nature, screaming “Have mercy! Have mercy!” (Chorus: Ah dolor! Ah terror!; “Ah, what pain! Ah, what terror!”).

Giorgio then comes in, and the chorus people ask him for updates on Elvira’s condition; she is currently resting, her mood keeps switching between sadness and happiness, and she sometimes has temporary moments of clarity. The chorus asks for more details, and Giorgio initially refuses out of sadness, but at the chorus’ insistence, he describes Elvira’s behavior, including wandering around with flowers around her hair while crying out “Where has Elvira gone? Where has Elvira gone?”, hallucinating herself getting married and then crying for Arturo to come back, as well as mistaking other people for Arturo, then realizing her error and crying and wishing for death, ye typical operatic mad scene stuff (Aria: Cinta di fiori; “Garlanded with flowers”). *Sighs in psychology ho*. Of course, everyone continues cursing Arturo.

Then Riccardo comes in with news that Arturo has been sentenced to death by the Parliament. Everyone considers this a rightful punishment for his betrayal, and Riccardo adds that Valton has been declared innocent of the whole thing. Riccardo asks Giorgio about Elvira, and Giorgio explains that according to doctors, only a sudden emotional shock, joyful or tragic, will restore Elvira’s state of mind (wait, isn’t that how amnesia is represented in media??). Riccardo gives orders that should Arturo (who is still on the run) ever be seen around here, he must be treated with no mercy.

The chorus leaves, and we hear Elvira offstage, asking to either be given back hope or to die. Riccardo and Giorgio pity her, of course. Then Elvira comes onstage, looking disheveled and clearly disturbed. She angsts about Arturo’s betrayal as Giorgio and Riccardo continue pitying her (damn, half of this opera is basically people crying for Elvira!!) (Aria: Qui la voce; “Here, the voice”). Then, Elvira notices Giorgio, whom she doesn’t recognize at first but then mistakes for her father, and joyfully assumes that he’s here to take her to get married. Then, she notices Riccardo (whom she seemingly mistakes for Arturo? I’m not sure) weeping. Their brief conversation leads her to acutely remember her heartbreak.

Then, Elvira smiles suddenly, and she hallucinates Arturo being here and calls for him to come back to her, seemingly in a mix of joy and pain, as Riccardo and Giorgio continue pitying her (Cabaletta (as we said 2 episodes ago, the more animated section of an aria, complete with vocal acrobatics): Vien, diletto; “Come, beloved”). The men tell her she should go rest, and she eventually leaves.

Giorgio tells Riccardo that he must save Arturo (Duet: Il rival salvar tu dèi; “You must save your rival”, still not 100% sure if this is how to spell the Italian “dèi”). Riccardo replies that he cannot, that it’s in the Parliament’s will for Arturo to die, and that he does not abhor him in any way. But Giorgio correctly guesses that Riccardo doesn’t actually want to save Arturo, because he is still jealous. Giorgio continues to insist on his point, saying that if Arturo were to go down, Elvira would go down with him, and that their ghosts would haunt him (Riccardo), but this does not move Riccardo.

Eventually, Giorgio manages to win Riccardo over, because of the fact that patriotism comes hand in hand with mercy. But they also agree that should Arturo ever come armed among the enemy ranks (there is a battle scheduled at dawn on the next day), he will perish at Riccardo’s hand. Both end the act singing a duet all about patriotism and the glory of dying in the name of freedom for the nation (Duet: Suoni la tromba; “Sound the trumpet”, another of the more famous bits of the opera).

(Fun fact: the melody of Suoni la tromba was used in my first school’s anthem, tho taken one half-step down. For privacy reasons, I obviously won’t make you listen to the school anthem, so have instead the whole actual Act 2 finale from Il rival salvar tu dèi to Suoni la tromba, sung by Samuel Ramey and Sherril Milnes. I used this specific recording in my 5th “Opera(s) as Vines” video. But just so you know, they take a few cuts.)

(Also, I think I read somewhere that this opera was meant to be only 2 acts, but the second act was split into two after Suoni la tromba. But I’m not sure, tho this might explain why Act 1 is longer than Acts 2 and 3.)

After a brief prelude in D minor that alludes to a hurricane (at least according to the score), Act 3 (also only one scene) opens in a wooded area near the fortress. We may or may not see some armed people walking around at some point, looking for someone, but they leave soon enough. Finally, a very exhausted Arturo runs in onstage. Seeing that he is all alone, he allows himself to take a break (Recitative: Son salvo, alfin son salvo; “I am safe, finally I am safe”). We learn that he is still on the run, and so far he has managed to outrun his pursuers. He expresses deep love for his homeland, which he remarks is especially prominent for him as an exile.

Suddenly, he hears the sound of a harp, followed by Elvira’s offstage voice, singing a song about a sad troubadour sitting at a fountain and singing a love song (Aria: A una fonte afflitto e solo; “At a fountain, afflicted and along”). Arturo immediately recognizes this tune as a song they used to sing in these woods back in the days of their still-not-really-approved courtship. He calls for her, but no one responds, so he resorts to singing that same song about that same, constantly-depressed troubadour sitting at a fountain, striking a harp and singing a sad song.

Suddenly, Arturo hears drumrolls and a military march, as well as an offstage male chorus, and he realizes that he is still being pursued, so he hides away as a bunch of men-at-arms come onstage, looking around for him, and he manages to remain unseen until they leave.

As soon as the men are gone, Arturo comes out of hiding, and he considers entering Elvira’s place and telling her everything, but then he realizes that doing that would be too dangerous for both himself and Elvira, so he decides instead to continue singing their song, hoping that it will reach her somehow. He now sings about an exiled pilgrim who is also constantly depressed, and whose story seems to mirror Arturo’s own situation, at least in my opinion.

At some point either during or after the song, depending on the director’s choices, Elvira shows up. She gets sad when the singing stops, and goes back to longing for Arturo, at which point he shows up in front of her, asking for her forgiveness. A joyful reunion between the lovebirds ensues.

Arturo goes on about how happy he is to behold her once more after such a long time (three months, to be exact). Elvira describes all the pain she experienced during his absence, which felt like not three months but three centuries for her. He then explains to her the whole shtick with the prisoner woman from Act 1, who was none other than the Queen herself, and about how he ran away with her in order to save her from a death sentence. Elvira is so struck by this piece of info that she feels a sudden clarity in her mind. He assures her that he loves her with all his heart and they sing a passionate love duet together, reaffirming their love for each other over and over, and promising to stay together forever (Duet: Vieni, vieni fra queste braccia; “Come, come into these arms”. It contains 2 written high D’s (D5) for Arturo!!! the latter of which can be shared with Elvira, depending on the singer). They may or may not kiss at the end, depending on the production, because, I mean. The music.

But this moment of ecstasy is short-lived for our lovers, as we hear a horn followed by some more drumrolls and that same military march from earlier. Arturo immediately knows it’s his pursuers, and Elvira starts speaking incoherently, which makes him realize her state of Operatic Insanity™. We hear a male chorus from offstage singing in praise of Cromwell’s England, and Arturo tries to get Elvira to go hide with him, but she believes that he’s trying to leave her again for that woman he ran away with, and so she physically blocks him and calls for reinforcements while he tells her to be quiet.

The entire chorus of soldiers and castle-people, as well as Riccardo and Giorgio, show up onstage, and when Riccardo and the soldiers announce that Arturo has been sentenced to death, Elvira’s shock is so intense that literally everyone notices; this seems to be the emotional shock required to cure her insanity.

One of those large ensembles typical of bel canto operas, where everyone is singing something different, starts: Arturo announces that he’d be happy to die alongside Elvira, Elvira basically says the same thing, and Giorgio, the female chorus and even fucking Riccardo himself all feel pity towards the lovers (Quartet with chorus: Credeasi, misera; “She believed, the wretched one”). But the soldiers demand to proceed with the execution, much to everyone else’s despair. After embracing Elvira and bidding her farewell, Arturo chides the soldiers for upsetting Elvira and begs them to keep it together for just one moment, to not much avail.

(Fun fact: this piece is known to contain a high F (F5) for Arturo. Yeah, you read it right, a fucking high F!!!!! It’s so borderline impossible to hit that most tenors resort to singing a D-flat (Db 5) instead, which is already pretty high. Even so, those who can reach the high F usually sing it falsetto. Listen for example to the ever-legendary Luciano Pavarotti sing it (high F at 4:51).)

But then, we hear the sound of horns, announcing the arrival of a herald, and therefore a message (Finale: Suon d’araldi?; “The sound of heralds?”). Letters are brought in, and after reading them, Giorgio and Riccardo announce to everybody that the Stuarts have been defeated, and the Royal(ist) prisoners have all been pardoned; England has been liberated! (well, I mean... given, well. Everything that Puritans at this time and place stood for, I’m kinda calling this into question. But for the sake of the opera, I’m gonna allow myself some suspension of disbelief.)

Wait, what?? A happy ending??? In my non-comic bel canto opera????? More likely than you think!!!!! Anyway, everyone celebrates and sings the praises of Cromwell, before wishing long days of happiness to the extremely joyful and more-in-love-than-ever Elvira and Arturo (who has therefore now been freed of his death sentence), the curtain drops of these joyous festivities and everyone lives happily ever after as far as we know, given that I’m not super-familiar with more of the deeper details of the historical context.

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you enjoyed ;)

- Raya / rayatii

(PS: I wanna give a quick shoutout to the production of this opera by the Opéra Royal de Wallonie-Liège from 2004, which was the first (and so far only) production of this opera that I watched, and which really helped me with the making of this post. Having only watched one production while writing this made it more difficult than the previous installments, and I had my doubt at times, but I’m really glad I pulled through.)

(PPS: fun fact: okay, I hate the British royalty just as much as the next Tumblr user, but this was apparently Queen Victoria’s favorite opera, and she would refer to it as “dear Puritani”. It also apparently the first opera that she and her beloved Prince Albert attended together before marrying.)

(PPPS: while I was doing some deeply detailed translation research for this post, I accidentally learned that the Italian word “pompa”, as well as meaning “pump”, also means “blowjob”. I probably will never be able to look at this opera the same way again, and I’m really frustrated that Tumblr doesn’t have a spoiler option like Discord, meaning that I won’t be able to protect your eyes from this...)

#raya recounts #opera #opera summary #overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary #i puritani #bellini #vincenzo bellini #too many links #which opera do you want me to do next? give me your suggestions #i literally sacrificed so many hours during which i should have been practicing my singing in order to write this #even after having an opera-related stress-dream last night (of the being under-prepared kind)

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shadowsong26fic · 2 years

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Coming Attractions!

I haven’t gone to bed yet so it still counts as Monday, lol. XD

Plug for my writing discord--it’s pretty quiet, but mostly intended to be a slightly more interactive version of this blog.

Also, open question night, though I can’t promise I’ll get to it before tomorrow ((I also still owe at least one prompt fill from a meme I reblogged like...a week ago...))

Anyway.

This is going to be short because I got very little done last month, whoops.

Star Wars:

- Not really much has changed from last month; still poking at Precipice!verse and possible ideas for next year’s SWBB. Pretty much everything else is on the back burner.

BSG:

- Didn’t get as much writing done as I’d hoped over the last month. But in order to Motivate myself, I’m going to shoot for a Halloween debut for The Other Battlestar, which means I need to finish. Like. Naming people. And come up with a title I actually like, lol...

- Maybe I’ll do some preview/etc. posts here as bonus content; giving some details about the fourish OCs who will end up playing major roles? To both keep me on task/motivated and hopefully pique some interest...we’ll see.

Castlevania:

- If I could just get this next chapter to cooperate, lol. There are so many things I want to get to! I just have to get past that...

Original Fic:

- I don’t think I wrote anything original this month, alas. Other than poking at things in my head, as one does. I did go to a library booksale, which reminded me that I have at least three half-planned projects that I need to finish researching (an alternate history where Henry VIII dies in 1536; a novel about Judas Iscariot; a novel about What If Mordred Was A Girl) so maybe I’ll see some movement on that front. For the stuff I already post on an origfic community on Dreamwidth, I really should. like. post something plot-advancing, shouldn’t I...

NaNo Plans:

I’m still figuring out exactly how I want to play it this year. And I think a lot of it depends on what I get done re: TOB and Incinctus and Protectors/Preludes over this month, because I might decide to just narrow my focus onto one of them. But most likely I’ll do what I’ve been doing the past few years, which is set myself a wordcount goal (which may or may not be greater than the 50k standard) but I can fill it with Any (fulltext) fiction writing (I think I decided outline/bullet-point form fics counted for 2/3 the wordcount when I did one during NaNo a couple years back? We’ll see if it’s relevant).

...and, yeah, I think that’s about it. Like I said, a short update...hopefully the next time I do this I’ll have more to report!

What are you guys working on?

#miscellania #coming attractions #shadowsong writes star wars #shadowsong writes castlevania #shadowsong writes bsg #shadowsong writes original fic #open question night

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everydaydg · 11 months

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It is my eternal goal to be the best Fantasy Zone 2 16c player or at least be comparable to a good player by achieving a 4+ loop (or at least beating the game on max diff.)

A bit of an explanation of what makes this special and a bit of my planing behind how I play the game

To start my main release of the game is the 3DS due its implementation of analog control and widescreen

I have done some runs on the arcade version before and its def doable but I simply prefer the wider view and analog (it actually brings and incredibly useful technique).

Ive made it to a third loop a few times on arcade but sadly kept dying on it (two clears is not half bad).

Loop = 1 Clear

The game lets you clear the game as many times as you can as it resets after beating evil Opa-Opa

The game takes all your lives and it converts them into score and the game increases the difficulty by 1 (max of 5, usually I start out at 3), the increase in difficulty brings faster bullets and more enemy spawns (which means more bullets)

Its also worth keeping in mind that the price inflation between runs stays, if you bought the laser beam twice it will increase in price slight. the game will keep the increased price for the second run.

so those are the main things to keep in mind. now onto my usual loadouts for each stage

Base Build = Jet Engine/Turbo Engine, Twin Shot, Double Big Bombs

When possible/necesary: Laser, 3 Way, Wide, Twin Big Shot

to tank one hit and have a higher damage output... mostly the former. they are all relatively cheap options too.

Loadout/Changes to loadout per stage:

Stage 1 = Jet Engine + Double Bombs (not enought gold for engine, big bombs not selectable on stage 1)

Stage 2 = Heavy Bomb

Stage 3 = Fire Bomb/Heavy Bomb (I usually replace heavy bomb with fire bomb in advance to prepare for stage 4)

Stage 4, 5 and 6= Same set up as stage 3 (stage 5 prefferable with 7 way shot... theres no real advantage from using it lol, I just like using it when I can. You can save your cash on that)

Stage 7 = Laser + Fire Bomb

If you can tell, fire bomb is the best bomb in the entire game.

it does HUGE damage, can be used as many times as you want, its useful for nearly all bosses.

Even on the boss rush the quick kill on the round 2 boss can be neglected in order to just stay with fire bombs

The boss rush is kinda just keeping fire bomb and sometimes equiping laser.

Super important note if you are shooting for constant bright endings... dont buy drop tears when the boss rush starts. Kill yourself with a nenon on the prelude to the final boss and THEN buy it... do buy a laser shot there too, it helps with the nenons and if you are fast enought it can do big damage to evil opa.

So yeah thats the usual idea. I do tend to buy guns for the sake of it at times... I never need fire shot but its always fun to use hehe.

Regarding the price increasing per purchase

There are some things that are always affordadble (which is why loops in this game are even possible- I genuinelly refuse to believe someone can casualy beat the game with small wings)

Stuff like the jet engine always staying at a comfy 1000g is a huge help.

Wide Beam is always an affordable choise. Due to me never buying triple bombs (unless I die on a late stage), I often find them a great tool for second-third loops.

Oh yeah real quick, regarding that technique I mentioned that was introduced on the 3DS ver. you can move backwards while shooting foward. If you move your circle pad slightly back you can just move backwards without changing directions, this makes the stage 1 and 3 bosses a complete breeze with bomb and shot spam.

I could go on and on in more detail about certain things about the game but at a certain point you just have to figure things out yourself... and im a bit tired of typing, its kinda late.

Good luck.

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musikat18 · 7 years

Text

Light of Valhalla, Fire of Hel: Prologue (Skurge x Reader)

Pairing: Skurge/Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of combat, meet-cute and other fluff, SLOW BURN

Summary: You’re the best friend of Thor and Sif, a high-born Asgardian lady with a penchant for running off into battle, enchanted halberd blazing. The battle of Vanaheim brings your secret close to being discovered, but when the goddess of death arrives in Asgard, you must examine how far you are willing to go to preserve both of your lives when her new assistant happens to be the one man outside the Royal Family who knows the truth about how you spend your time.

AN: Soooooo...I accidentally posted this, deleted it, finished it, and now here it is for real this time with a promise for more in the future, since I came up with an idea to flesh it out into a longer multipart story. That Would Be Enough’s next part will likely be up before Christmas, so keep an eye out for that, too!

Prologue: Day Breaks In Vanaheim

-- Next>

“I’ve got this completely under control!”

“Is that why everything’s on fire?”

“There’s a lot of reasons for that, Thor!”

The prince of Asgard did not quite understand what his warrior friend was referring to until he saw you storming the battlefield. He smiled and shook his head, not sure what else he expected as he watched you decapitate and dismantle monster after monster.

Your father was the head of Odin’s Council of Defense. Lovely and elegant, you had more than your fair share of suitors chasing after you-- Thor once remembered a time, long ago when he was a younger man, when his mother spoke of a possible betrothal to the distinguished daughter of Asgard’s finest strategist, kindly assuring him it would certainly work out.

Oh, how he had been sorely mistaken.

“I REFUSE, FATHER!!!”

He remembered hearing the shouting match from the other side of the door, and stepped closer upon hearing the clanging of some metal object on the wall.

“Prince Thor is the heir to the throne of Asgard!” he heard your father pleading. “There is scarcely a more worthy husband. If you marry the prince, you’ll-”

“I’ll be forced to live and die as a lady of the court, making no greater impact than the courtly gossip over my feast dresses, while you get to call yourself the Queenfather of Asgard!” you snapped. “Your intentions may be pure, but I will not marry anyone without having a say in it, and my say of Prince Thor is no! I cannot sit idly by as a courtly trophy, Father. I refuse to. I want to forge my own path.”

“Y/N-”

Your father’s voice quieted as he saw the door open to reveal the young prince.

Blond and blank as ever, you thought to yourself with some bitterness.

“Prince Thor...” your father bowed his head. “My daughter, Y/N, Lady of Light.”

Thor noticed how you made no motion to acknowledge him. Prideful, defiant you, wrapped in gold and white, stood firmly in place.

“If she protests, I won’t ask for her hand,” Thor insisted. “Her calling lies...elsewhere, it seems.”

Your Y/E/C eyes widened only slightly at this. Thor seemed to notice this, offering you only a friendly smile and a nod of camaraderie; a bow of the head reserved only for the warriors of Asgard.

You smirked in your pride. Perhaps the prince wasn’t as blond and blank as you thought.

“ARE YOU DAFT, THOR?!” you yelled across the battlefield at the reminiscing prince, swinging your halberd around your body as it burned through your attackers and pulling back your hood to properly express your fury. “What happened to the God of Thunder?!”

“You do realize your father would have my head if he found out I let you come here,” he chuckled as you crossed the field to meet your closest companions.

“Nobody lets me do anything,” you quipped. “Why do you think I stowed away?”

“I let you do plenty of things,” Sif offered.

“You know I’ve always beaten you fair and square,” you said, “because I am the only one who is able to think any sort of plan through.”

Thor and Sif were holding back laughter. You, in turn, did not hesitate to let loose your impending eye roll.

“We just need to get this mess cleared up in time for me to get home before the council dinner,” you pointed at the prince and the warrior before you ran off to the next cluster of creatures. Pulling your hood back up, you sprinted at a small band of warriors that all dispersed when you launched your weapon through the monster, save for a man with tattoos on his head and an ax in hand.

“Oy!” he yelled as you roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. “I had that under control!” The creature behind him teetered, seeing as it was no longer operating with a heart or head, and moved to come crashing down. With a swift motion, you grabbed the man and rolled to the side with him, your hood falling out of place in the process.

“And what, pray tell, was your grand plan for having that under control?” you asked. He let out a gasp as he recognized you and dropped to his knees.

“Lady Y/N...I didn’t...wait, what are you even doing here?” he stood again. “Shouldn’t you be back in Asgard having a fancy garden party or something?”

The look you shot him told him you weren’t amused.

“Say nothing,” you glowered, replaced your hood, and returned to battle.

You felt striking hazel eyes on your back, ignoring the stare as you went. You had more important things to worry about.

Skurge stood among the wreckage, watching you converse with the Prince of Asgard, arms crossed and stance defiant.

The day had been won, of course, but something was sticking in the man’s stomach. Even as the people of Vanaheim were reuniting, gathering their belongings that had survived the struggle, it wasn’t all sitting right with him.

“Hey,” he stopped one of his passing comrades. “What’s the deal with the masked soldier? The tiny one?”

“The wielder of Daybreaker?”

Skurge watched as his fellow warrior pointed along your back at the halberd strapped to it, gleaming gold and even giving off a rich shimmer in the sunlight. The ax-wielder nodded in confirmation.

“No one knows. Some say he’s the champion of the head of the Council of Defense. His identity is unknown, so that’s what we call him. Daybreaker.” The warrior chuckled, “A kindly name for so fierce a warrior.”

Skurge remembered the ferocity in your eyes. He was certain he was getting the right information.

“And you’re certain it’s a he.”

“The Valkyrior are long extinct, Skurge,” his companion said, “and Lady Sif is a rare case. Who else could Daybreaker possibly be?”

Out of the corner of Skurge’s eye, he noticed Thor gesturing his way. A dreadful sickness settled in the tall man’s stomach when he saw your frown set harder on your face.

“I pray for your soul, Skurge.”

Not even the words of his comrade could comfort him for what he knew was to come.

Many an Asgardian warrior would be up to the challenge if there was ever a conflict brewing, but Skurge felt his apprehension was justified by the very dangerous position he was in.

You were staring him down, fury burning through your eyelashes as you looked up at him. Even though your hood was down, it didn’t stop you from appearing intimidating. You were shorter than him, yes, but with toned arms set on defiant hips and legs planted like the roots of Yggdrasil, it would be hard for even the fiercest warrior to not be a little chastened.

“You understand I can’t allow you to tell anyone that I do this,” you insisted. “I can’t have my father finding out I steal his great ancestral weapon to run amok with the great warriors of Asgard.”

“’S not stealing if it’s your family’s.”

“I’ll have you know--” you paused as you processed his words. “Pardon?”

“I said what I said,” he shrugged. “Don’t believe me?”

“It’s not like this is a standard hobby for high-born ladies.”

“It’s easier to just let you do what you want and not say anything.”

You frowned at his words.

“So, that’s it then,” you said. “You’re not going to tell anyone because you’re more afraid of me for insulting a lady than you are of me for me.”

“D’you want me to be afraid of you? ‘Cause that’s not hard, either, angel.”

“I never said-”

“That’s basically what you said.”

“Well, it’s not what I meant!”

“I told you, I can be scared of you, if you’d like, m’lady,” he offered. “But I’m not gonna run around spilling your secret. Some people are into kinkier stuff than others, and that’s alright by me.”

“I’m not playing around! Do you think I’d be in battle if I just wanted to play at war?”

“You’re pretty. Pretty people get what they want more easily than others.”

His tone had gone from understanding to stony, and you set your jaw hard.

“If you think I’m just doing this because I’m a bored heiress, you’re sorely mistaken,” you snarled.

“All the more reason to believe you may as well be, angel,” he shot back.

Your hand clenched Daybreaker for a moment, but you thought better of yourself. It would be much harder to hide your activity if you were caught with the blood of a warrior on your father’s supposedly-retired weapon.

“Tell a soul, and I’ll give you reason to take me seriously.”

His eyes burned into your back again, but this time, you weren’t so sure it was something you were happy about.

Tagging: @boldlywritingtrek @skosmo @dirajunara @goodnightwife @waterbabybel @gladheonreads @annathewitch @atomicdna @aubinkey @space-helen @lauuerodz @goingknowherewastaken @bkwrm523 @eyeofdionysus @andfeelmyroarrrr @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse

(Let me know if it didn’t work for you b/c tumblr is weird about tagging people sometimes)

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industriallyinsecure · 2 years

Note

I know you're not taking nsfw request but is it okay if it's implied? Like, the request is not nsfw but the "prelude" is? (If you feel uncomfortable please feel free to ignore!) So about the actual idea: What if the La Squadra men ended up being some strangers rebound for the night that slipped away while they weren't paying attention (asleep/showering/gone for a smoke/...), and the only trace left is a little "thank you" note. But they can't seem to forget that stranger... what would they do?

Yeah, that’s totally fine! I just stay away from nsfw in general because I don’t like it and on occasion it can trigger me,but implied stuff is alright. In this case I’m just writing the day after, rather than the coitus itself. Thank you for asking though!

Tw: suggestive themes (nothing outright said)

No Pesci bc he’s not a fuckboy like the others

Risotto never usually indulges himself, but last night he slipped. He wakes up with his feet dangling off the bed, clothes missing, and a pounding headache from the liquor. Of course his first reaction is to rip the covers off and check if his kidneys (among other things) are still there, which they were. His clothes were folded neatly and placed in a stack on the bedside table, his loafers lined up on the floor. Next to his clothes was a bottle of pain reliever, a glass of water, and a handwritten note thanking him for the previous night. A man of few emotions, Risotto could feel the heat creep up his throat and face. He hadn’t had something this considerate done for him in a while. Small doubts lingered as he tugged his clothes on and exited quickly, but they were overshadowed by the need to know more.

Ghiaccio tried to convince himself that it was a mistake or that he was too drunk to fully comprehend the situation. He’s not really a fan of a relationship with no emotional attachment or chemistry. Of course he knew very well that he hadn’t even touched a drop of alcohol last night. He’s too upset with himself to really notice the money they had left him to take a cab, or the small snack set out for him on the counter. Even as he stomps back home, he’s still berating himself. Berating himself for not getting their number, that is.

Melone, contrary to what most believe, doesn’t have casual sex very often. He’s mostly embroiled in his work or too interested in the scientific aspects of procreation to consider the sexual and romantic sides of it. Genetic probabilities, the chances of a parent’s personality being transferred, just about anything relating to genetics. But he wouldn’t beat himself up over having a one night stand, not at all. He would, however, beat himself up for letting you get away from him without even asking for your number. It was nothing that Babyface couldn’t fix, what with your hair (among other things) being left in his bed, but he would’ve preferred to go about this the pragmatic way.

Prosciutto had gone off for a smoke but came back to find the bed barren and your clothes and shoes gone. He wasn’t surprised, but he was a little disappointed. Normally, he didn’t give himself to just anybody. Usually he intended to make plans for future rendezvous with them. His standards were high, so anyone who caught his eye was definitely worth seeing again. But you seemed to linger in the bedsheets, filling his smoky lungs as he dressed himself. The allure of a stranger captivating him so much likely came from one of the romance novels he read on occasion. Prosciutto is a no nonsense man that takes what he wants, and the way you ran around in his mind was just irritating enough that he had to seek you out again.

Illuso refuses to believe he’s captivated by a total stranger. Outright denies his feelings for you even after searching extensively to try to meet you again but coming up empty. He had never thought he’d be this enamored in his whole life, but here he was searching through Passione’s many civilian files in the off chance you had appeared somewhere. No one had ever done him the kindness of leaving out a Tylenol and glass of water for his hangover. He could tell there was something special about you. But, no, he definitely didn’t have a crush. No way.

Formaggio has so many one night stands that the others have taken to betting on what type of person he’ll bring home. Only this time he went home with the other person instead. He didn’t remember much, he hardly ever did, but he remembered enjoying the other person’s company as well as their body. He’s not quick to redress and exit, but instead takes his time to browse the various things in their room. He finds himself wanting to know more and shirks his work to try to find them again.

#formaggio #illuso #prosciutto #melone #ghiaccio #risotto nero #la squadra di esecuzione #la squadra x reader #formaggio x reader #illuso x reader #prosciutto x reader #melone x reader #ghiaccio x reader #risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #yandere if you squint?#tw suggestive

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autumnslance · 3 years

Text

Enclosed Letter: A long time ago, Master Louisoix left a little troublemaker in my care. At his behest, I taught the boy everything I knew in the ways of survival and infiltration. Enclosed Letter: After years away from these shores, the boy has returned a man. By the set of his face alone, 'tis plain he has matured greatly. Enclosed Letter: A product of his time with the Scions, I do not doubt. I thank you for being there for him, and ask that you continue to do so. Enclosed Letter: Lastly, I ask that you forgive me for not saying this directly. In spite of myself, I've never been good at expressing heartfelt sentiments in person, hence this letter. The manner of its delivery, at the very least, I wished to make interesting, and I hope you derived some enjoyment from it.

Someone was talking about the “Secret in the Box” quest on twitter, an Old Sharlayan side quest without map hints where you must solve some riddles and do a couple tasks to resolve it…and it turns out to be from a certain Scion’s former instructor, who taught and greatly influenced him.

And it’s one of those things that when I realized what it was, I had to snicker a bit, as I have that entire story of Thancred writing letters to express his thoughts and feelings, to go along with my long-held headcanon (from my childhood backstory fic for him, even) that with his “bard” cover, he’s always used writing, usually to himself, that way as expressing and discussing emotions is difficult (and his friends know something is wrong when he isn’t composing poems, songs, or just writing anything in general).

So now added to that headcanon is that Thancred learned a bit about writing as a means to express himself while keeping safe emotional distance from his instructor. Especially in a way young Thancred wouldn't really have realized he was doing yet perhaps, in his childish scrawl in my "Rogue's Prelude" fic (where he mostly wrote made up stories and poems for others' amusement).

Also yeah; Thancred was roughly seventeen when he first went to Ul'dah and experienced all those events around the parade where he first met Minfilia and F'lhaminn, set fifteen years before ARR began. Left a boy and returned a man, indeed. Especially after what MSQ's thrown at him each expac, particularly Shadowbringers.

Anyway, it was one of those “this expac was written for/validated me” moments so many of us seem to have had with Endwalker!

#Final Fantasy XIV #Endwalker #6.0 Spoilers #Thancred Waters #Old Sharlayan #lore #backstory #side quests #Lyn Writing #Lyn Meta

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devildomimagines · 4 years

Text

Asmodeus Reacts to MC Getting in a Fight

Prelude

Asmo jumped and gasped, “MC!?”

He looked you over and tears gathered in his eyes, angrily he asked, “Who did this to you?” Looking around as if they were nearby.

You hated seeing Asmo cry, it’s like his tears had some kind of magical effect on you. “Uh, I guess it’s kind of my fault, I’m ok though.”

He recounted your injuries and guessed, “Were you in a fight?” All signs of tears gone.

You looked down ashamed at his accusing question. He wasn’t wrong so you nodded.

“I can’t believe that!” Asmo shouted.

“Sh!” You hush, not wanting to make a scene and have one of the other brothers see and get involved.

“Don’t shush me MC!” Asmo pointed a finger at you.

“Sorry,” you placated, “I just don’t want to make a big deal of it, I’m fine.”

“MC,” He whined but did quiet down. He started really looking at your wounds. As a tactile person, he runs a gentle hand over your cheek and the other down your arm to your hand where he inspected your knuckles.

You wanted to pull away from his prying eyes and gentle touch, not feeling worthy of his worry.

He sensed your hesitation and pulled you closer.

You stumbled slightly, not expecting the pull and Asmo caught you with a smile, having played right into his game. That is until you wince away from his hand at your side.

“Ah,” you look up at him and try to recover, “Ha hah ha, that tickles?”

Asmo frowned deeply, not buying it. He takes your wrist to drag you to his room. As soon as the door is closed, he’s close again.

“A-Asmo!” You shouted as he began pulling at the hem of your shirt. He pulls it up just enough to see the dark discoloration on your abdomen.

He reaches out to touch it and you flinch away. “I-I’m fine, just don’t touch it for now, ok?”

Asmo nods and steps away. You let out a sigh of relief as he went to his bathroom and looked at a shelf of what you thought were all perfumes. He picked out three bottles and brought them back to you. He placed them on his desk and then picked one back up.

“Here, smell this,” He uncorked it and extended it to you.

You tilted your head, then leaned in trusting him.

“It’ll help with pain,” and as he said that you felt an uncanny abatement of the throbbing pains throughout your body. You eased forward to get a second whiff but Asmo pulled it away. “Not too much though,” he looked away, “don’t want to overdose.”

The next bottle was small and he uncorked it and smelled it himself, like how one would check for spoiled milk. “Drink this one,” You placed it gently in your hands.

“What does this one do?” You’d like to know before putting it in your body.

“It will help promote healing.”

You shrugged, you trusted him and threw the drink back. “Ugh!” the terrible taste lingered.

Asmo giggled, “Yeah, not the best tasting sorry I didn’t say anything. Consider it part of your punishment.” He winked.

“That’s fair.” You sighed as you sat down on the edge of his bed. Truly exhausted from the day. “What’s the rest of the punishment?” You eyed the last bottle on his desk.

“I’ll think about it while you rest,” Asmo teased, “This one is topical, for the cuts.” He pointed to his own face to remind you of the busted lip and scratch.

“Thanks,” you held the bottle while you thought for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Asmo came to sit with you.

“Nothing!” you chirped. “You’re really kind Asmo, do you know that?”

He sat up straight, surprised. He’d been called many things, mostly related to his good looks, not often did he get such a genuine compliment.

“I didn’t ask for all this, and I certainly don’t deserve it for getting into a fight, but I appreciate you taking care of me,” You smiled sweetly at him.

His heart melted, “Oh MC… I’m happy to help but I’d rather you not get into fights in the first place.”

“Hahaha, me too but you should have heard what they were saying! They were trash talking your family, the exchange students, even Lord Diavolo!”

“No way! There are some pretty extreme consequences for openly contesting the royals.” He absentmindedly took the bottle from your hands and opened it. He began applying the liquid to your scratch, “What did the demon look like? Someone important?” He had you describe everything you remember about the demon and decided to share the information with Barbatos later for handling.

With the pain taken away and Asmo’s caring hands working away, tiredness swept over you, your eyes drooping. Asmo chuckled as he offered, “You’re welcome to stay here for a nap but let’s get that dirty uniform off, ok?” You nodded as you removed the jacket and Asmo got you a pajama set.

You came back from the bathroom and collapsed into bed, almost instantly asleep. Asmo laughed as he set to work cleaning your clothes of the dirt and blood and mending the tears.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #my writing

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blossom-hwa · 4 years

Text

Skipping Stones - KEVIN

This was the second full scenario I ever finished for The Boyz and I think it was pretty nice to start with some soft Kevin :D THANK YOU KAI FOR LETTING ME YELL TO YOU ABOUT THIS ONE I HOPE IT LIVES UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS.

Anyway! Happy (slightly early but only by a couple hours??) birthday to one of the best boys in the world, the one and only wonderful beautiful lovely Kevin Moon! I hope you all enjoy this <3 please reblog if you did!

Pairing: Kevin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, teacher!au

Triggers: cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 7.8k

Falling in love with you, Kevin thinks, is a bit like skipping stones.

Alternatively:

Five times Kevin felt himself falling deeper in love with you, and the one time he knew he was gone.

TBZ Masterlist | Touching Stars | Breathe, and Live

prelude.

Kevin knows he exists to be clowned. His sister says it’s something about his face – there’s something undeniably meme-y about his reactions, apparently, that makes him very clownable. His students tell him it’s in his demeanor – he comes off as pretty chill, according to them, which makes him easy to tease because they know he’ll react in some hilarious way, but it won’t affect him too deeply.

(Changmin just says he’s stupid, which makes him clownable to the highest degree, but Kevin refuses to take information from the teacher who still scares him every other week with whichever horror movie mask has recently caught his fancy.)

So Kevin knows he’s just a clownable human being, and he’s resigned himself to that fate for the rest of his life. But around you? His calm, collected, hilarious, wonderful partner? He expected a little less clownery and a little more loving.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, trying to get Kevin to turn around. Honestly, he’s already feeling the effects of withdrawal from not seeing your smile for more than a few minutes, but he refuses to budge, lips curved downwards in a semi-permanent pout. He knows he won’t be able to keep this up for long (he’ll miss looking at your face too much, and really, he can’t be mad at you about anything), but he can make a scene. “Kevin!”

“You’re so mean,” he whines, still resisting your efforts to make him look at you. “I just poured out a very embarrassing part of my childhood to you and instead of comforting me, you laugh?” His pout deepens. “I don’t know why we’re dating.”

Your hands leave the back of his shoulders. For a second, Kevin thinks you’ve given up and he’s about to start whining about that too, but then you appear in front of him, fingers clasped placatingly. “All right, all right, Kevin.” Still grinning, you grab his hands. “I won’t tease anymore. But seriously, how could you expect me not to laugh my ass off when you told me you learned to skip stones for the –” you make jazz hands, presumably to emphasize your point – “aesthetic?”

Kevin sticks his lip out childishly. “I didn’t think it was that funny,” he mumbles.

“It’s not, not really.” You squeeze his hands. “But it’s a move that’s got Kevin Moon stamped all over it.” As if to accentuate your point, you snort. “Of course you’d learn to skip stones for the aesthetic.”

“Y/N,” he whines.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” Your teasing grin melts into an eager smile. “Hey, teach me?”

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

It feels like Kevin’s physically crumbling to pieces with the way your hopeful voice and sparkling eyes just attack him from all angles. Grudgingly, the deep pout on his lips stretches into a smile, the starstruck smile that all of his friends like to tease him for. “Fine, let’s go.”

He spends the rest of the afternoon stepping around small children and younger couples, trying to find suitable rocks for skipping and teaching you the right angles, the right stance, the right way to hold the stone in your hand before sending it into the water. You learn fast, something he envies – where it took him at least a couple of weeks to perfect the art, you (mostly) pick it up in a matter of hours – but he can’t feel too jealous or too bad when you look up at him after your stone skips once on the water. “Kevin, I did it!” You shake him slightly. “Did you see that?”

The softest smile spreads across Kevin’s face as he kisses your forehead softly “Yeah, I did.”

When he pulls away, you give him the brightest grin before scrambling away to find more stones to skip. Kevin just watches, taking in the way your figure looks against the setting sun, bright gold and pale pink light streaming over your body, almost making you glow.

This is why he fell in love with you, he thinks. Your character, your tenacity, the way you throw yourself into every task you’ve been assigned so that you can complete it as best as you can. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to treat a new cancer case at the hospital or trying to skip a stupid rock across the water. You always give it your all.

Idly, Kevin picks up a stone of his own. With a practiced flick of his wrist, it goes sailing onto the lake, skipping three, four, five times before sinking beneath the surface.

Falling in love with you is a bit like skipping stones, he thinks, watching the stone disappear from sight. Someone had to force him into that first blind date with you, much like making the first toss of the stone into the water, but every skip after that was quick, effortless, the way he felt himself falling for you, step by stumbling step, until his heart finally gave in and sank below the waves of your warmth.

It’s hard to imagine a time when he wasn’t in love with you, even though such a time did at one point exist. But the way you make him feel with the smallest things you do – the way you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, the way you rest your chin on your hand in thought – it feels like he’s known you for an eternity and loved you even longer, loved you before time existed.

Your stone skips twice across the water and you shout with joy, racing up to Kevin to celebrate. He catches you when you leap at him, arms wrapping around your waist automatically, smiling into your shining face. Yes, he thinks, he’s in love.

He’s so in love with you.

. . . . .

Kevin, by all definitions of the word, is panicking.

He’s been dreading this blind date for almost a month now, circling the day on his calendar and marking it D-Day, begging Jacob and Changmin to come along and hide in case he needs to be bailed out, relentlessly praying that he’ll be able to leave the stupid date in one piece.

(Look, as much as he appreciates Mrs. Park’s kindness and her brownies, she can be… a little overbearing. To say the least.)

Just a few hours ago, he was putting on his yellow sweater and bemoaning the existence of his pushy coworker. Just a few hours ago, he was lamenting his fate to his two friends (friends is a term he will use loosely for today – all they did was laugh at him). Just a few hours ago, he was cursing the existence of Mrs. Park and her brownies for getting him locked into this date with her sister’s kid. Wait, was it her sister? Or her brother?

(“Yes, her sister,” Changmin says, rolling his eyes. “Pay more attention, won’t you, Kev?”

Kevin groans. “Why couldn’t either of you be chosen by Mrs. Park, huh? Why me?”

“Because I have a partner and Jacob is good at disappearing.” Changmin grins that evil, evil grin he always has on just before he’s about to execute a prank on someone (usually Kevin).

“More like the two of you are good at leaving me to fend for myself against Mrs. Park, even though you know I can’t say no to shit,” Kevin grumbles.

“Give up her brownies,” Jacob suggests.

Kevin gasps. “No way in hell.”)

But now, he’s actually sitting across from you in a café not too far from his apartment, holding a cup of coffee between his (visibly shaking) hands. And he can’t even think of why he was dreading this date so much because you’re just… really, really perfect.

Why are you so sweet? he’s screaming inside. Why are you so funny? Why are you literally the perfect mix of snark and kindness and just – everything?

“So my aunt told me you work with her,” you say, seemingly oblivious to Kevin’s jitters. The smile on your face is really sending electricity racing through his heart. “I know the children must be fun, but I know she can be a bit… overbearing.” There’s a hint of apology in your eyes, like you know your aunt must have pressured him into this and you’re sorry that he had to come on a date with you.

Kevin’s stomach flip-flops. Okay, so Mrs. Park maybe did severely pressure and sweetly blackmail Kevin into a blind date. But Kevin also doesn’t want you to feel bad for it because it’s not your fault at all, so as usual, when he finds himself in a tight spot, his mouth decides it’s time to run.

“No, your aunt is really nice,” he starts. “I really mean it – she’s always very kind to the kids and to the rest of us teachers. I’m still kind of new compared to the rest of them – I’ve only been at the school for a few years now – but she helped me feel welcome that first year when I was still figuring things out. And she also likes Beyonce! You know, the greatest female artist there is? She let me play my entire playlist of Beyonce songs for her last year and she liked every single one of them!”

Kevin’s babbling now. Rambling. Whatever he wants to call it. His brain is screaming for him to stop talking but his mouth won’t stop running because this is what he does when he’s nervous. He talks. Endlessly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the table where Changmin and Jacob are situated in case they need to rescue him from mental or physical harm. The top of Changmin’s head is barely visible behind a huge menu so Kevin can barely see his friend, but somewhere in his babbling haze, he notices a phone camera poking out from behind the menu.

If he wasn’t blushing before, he definitely is now.

Finally, his mouth listens to his brain and he trails off on his last thought on why Beyonce is the best artist in the entire world. There’s a second of silence.

“Sorry,” Kevin finally squeaks. “I… tend to ramble when I get nervous. Or when I talk about Beyonce.”

Your smile flashes even wider. Kevin is torn between wanting to melt into the ground out of embarrassment and staying upright to keep seeing that grin on your face.

“Don’t be sorry,” you laugh, fiddling with your cup of coffee. “I thought it was cute.”

Kevin’s face burns so much that he misses what you say next. “Sorry?”

You grin. “I’m always interested in hearing about a new artist to add to my playlist.”

Kevin lets out a theatrical gasp. “You don’t have Beyonce in your music library?”

A sheepish look spreads across your face. “… No?”

“Oh my God.” Kevin pulls out his phone. “Okay, I’m about to educate you on the artist of our time.”

The afternoon, then, passes in a flash. Changmin and Jacob eventually just up and exit the café (presumably with enough blackmail to last the rest of Kevin’s life – he knows he was acting like a complete fool, but luckily, you didn’t seem to care), leaving him alone with you. Under any other circumstances, he probably would’ve started crying, but you’re so sweet and so interesting that Kevin thinks he could stay and talk to you in this café forever.

He learns you’re an oncologist at a nearby children’s hospital, that even though the work is hard and tiring and sometimes overwhelmingly depressing, the strength of the children and the families you work with inspire you to keep going every day. He learns that you don’t have too much of a sweet tooth (though you won’t say no to ice cream or cheesecake, both of which he notes in his head), he learns that you love coffee, and he learns that you like to take walks in the park whenever you have a little bit of free time.

He also learns that you’re snarky, intelligent, driven, hardworking. He learns that you’re something far beyond the beauty of your face – that underneath your skin, there’s a heart that’s warmer than the sun.

Kevin understands that this is only the first date and that he maybe shouldn’t be making judgments so quickly. But he’s been told that he’s a relatively good judge of character, and the genuine look in your eyes when you talks speaks volumes about the person deep inside.

Even though you live further away, Kevin takes the bus with you to your home, citing that it’s only polite to walk one’s date to the door (in reality, he just wants to spend a little more time with you). As the bus rattles along the road, Kevin lets you listen to the songs on his phone, delighting in the way your head bobs to the beat of his favorite tracks.

Kevin’s a bit sad when you reach your apartment, sad that your time together is over for the day. He lingers outside the building for a moment, trying to work up the courage to ask about a second date.

Suddenly, you lean forward. Kevin jerks back – he briefly wonders if you’re trying to kiss him – but you just pat a spot on his sweater, frowning slightly at your fingers. “Is that… paint?”

Oh my God.

Kevin tugs the material of his sweater forward so he can see the spot you’re pointing at. Sure enough, there’s a small patch of red paint on the yellow fuzz. He groans. “I didn’t even notice.”

“Well, that’s what people like us get for working with children.” You roll your eyes comically, and Kevin bursts into laughter that’s definitely too loud for the small joke you made. Then silence falls again.

You break it. “Listen, Kevin.”

He perks up. “Hmm?”

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this date because my aunt has been trying to set me up with people my age for several years now.” For the first time today, you look shy. “She was probably really pushy with you too, so I’m sorry about that. But I really enjoyed this afternoon.” You meet Kevin’s eyes. “If you’d like, I’d love to go on a second date.”

Kevin’s heart explodes. It really does. Sheer excitement courses through his veins, and he has to stop himself from smiling widely enough to mimic a god damn clown. “I’d love that,” he says trying to hide how eager he really is. “Um, I’ll say that I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this either, mostly because my experience with blind dates has had… limited success. But I’m really glad I met you. You’re a wonderful person.”

Your smile grows wider at Kevin’s admission. “Thank you, Kevin. You’re wonderful too.”

“Do you kiss on the first date?” he blurts out because his brain has no filter. Then he backtracks. “Um, it’s totally okay if you don’t, I was just asking, please don’t think I’m a creep –”

You briefly press your lips to his. Kevin shuts up.

When you break away, Kevin honestly thinks you’re glowing. “Does that answer your question?” you ask, bravely trying to hide something – is that embarrassment? Whatever it is, he thinks it’s adorable.

Kevin blushes. “Yes.”

People probably think he’s insane with the way he’s smiling on the bus ride back to his apartment. He can’t help it, though – the tingling touch of your lips, gentle against his, plays over and over in his mind, along with memories of your lovely voice and your lovely smile and your lovely, lovely disposition. Some people are giving him weird looks, and Jacob and Changmin are sure to tease him to no end when he comes in to work tomorrow.

But who cares? Kevin’s got a second date in the works with one of the most wonderful people he’s ever met.

In his mind, he’s on top of the world.

. . . . .

ii.

Usually, when Kevin gets lucky and scores a second date or a third, he suggests taking his date somewhere with children to gauge how they feel about small toddlers tearing up the place. Children are a huge part of Kevin’s life – he teaches elementary school and knows he wants kids when he gets a bit older – so one of the silent standards he’s set for potential significant others is that they have to like and be good with children.

You work at a children’s hospital, Kevin knows, so you must at least be good with kids, even if you might not like them (hey, it’s possible – Kevin has known many people who are good at things they hate). That fulfills half of the standard. He just needs to gauge the other half.

There aren’t many events at the school coming up, though – no plays, no art exhibitions, nothing he can really invite you to. He’s racking his brains for a third date somehow involving children when you unexpectedly call him about an event at the hospital.

“I know it’s last minute,” you apologize profusely, “but the guy who was supposed to come today for the kids’ music hour called in sick. I don’t want to cancel the event because they always look forward to it and I know you play the piano – would it be possible for you to fill in?”

It is possible, it turns out. He may not be able to pack his Yamaha upright into the back of your car, but he does have an electronic keyboard that fits into your trunk. The whole way there, you’re apologizing, but between reassurances that it’s totally fine, Kevin can’t help but anticipate how you’ll act around the children once the two of you arrive.

Setting up takes more time than he’d like (the extension cord that comes with his keyboard is too short, so you disappear on a twenty-minute manhunt for a longer one while Kevin just stands there awkwardly), which makes him feel slightly like a burden on the rest of your coworkers. They’re so polite, though, so genuine and kind, that Kevin eventually starts to feel more at ease.

(He’s still endlessly grateful when you return, extension cord clasped victoriously in one hand.)

Then the kids start trickling in, and Kevin’s heart immediately both breaks and melts. Some are in wheelchairs, others have lost their hair, but they’re all smiling with so much excitement, chattering to their parents and the staff around them as they settle on beanbags and pillows on the floor. Several look at him curiously and he smiles at them, prompting several questions about who he is, why there’s a keyboard and not a guitar, and why the normal guy isn’t here.

“The usual guy got sick and couldn’t come,” Kevin says to one sweet girl with chubby cheeks and shining eyes. “I’m just here to replace him for a day.”

“Do you play the piano?” she asks, shyly pointing at the keyboard, which more than a few curious souls are standing around.

Kevin smiles. “Yes, I do.” He would say more, maybe offer to show her the instrument a little, but then you’re walking over, and her eyes brighten. “Dr. L/N!” she cheers.

With a loud laugh, you swoop her up carefully, cradling the girl against your shoulder. “How are you, Daeun?” you ask, lips spread in a smile that Kevin knows can’t be faked.

The girl – Daeun – grins. “I’ve been good!” she announces proudly. “Are we going to start soon?”

You laugh again, settling her back down on the floor. Kevin thinks his heart melts with the way your eyes sparkle. “Yes, we are,” you say. “I see you’ve already met Kevin?”

“Your name is Kevin?” Daeun looks at him curiously. “Your name is strange.”

Kevin has to force himself not to coo. “I was born in Canada,” he says. “My Korean name is Hyungseo.”

Daeun’s nose scrunches. “I like Kevin more,” she decides with finality.

Kevin feels brave enough to pat her on the head. “Then you can call me Kevin.”

“All right, Daeun. Go find your mom, okay? Kevin and I are going to finish setting up, and then we’ll get started.” With a soft kiss on the forehead (Kevin makes a sound he really hopes you don’t hear – the scene is just too adorable), you send the small girl off, turning back to Kevin. “Shall we get started?” you ask, grinning widely.

It may only be the third date, but he’s falling in love, Kevin thinks, falling in love with your shining face and sparkling eyes, with the way you shower love upon the children you’ve placed under your care. Right now, you’re everything he’s ever wanted in a future partner – beautiful in character, kind, gentle, fiercely loving.

His heart pounds a little faster.

Belatedly, Kevin realizes you’re waiting for a response and nods quickly. “Yeah,” he breathes, eyes glancing over the sea of children waiting (somewhat) patiently. A smile to rival yours spreads across his face. “Let’s get started.”

. . . . .

iii.

Kevin loves the last Friday of every month, he really does. It’s been tradition for several years now to go out with Changmin and Jacob on what he calls nights for “the boyz” to eat cheap food and get drunk. And no matter how much the others complain about the stupid name (Kevin will admit it sounds stupid now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll change it), he knows they enjoy the nights all the same.

Sometimes, though, Kevin just wishes he had more of a filter on his mouth. If not that, then maybe his brain could stop remembering every single dumb thing he said or did on drunk nights out. It would make his life a lot easier if he could just forget being stupid.

But no, God decided to be mean when making Kevin Moon. So Kevin, as a result, is an emotional drunk. He cries a lot when he hears about sad or adorable things, he says a lot of stupid stuff to (badly) express his overwhelming feelings, and worst of all, he remembers all of it when he wakes up hungover the next morning.

(None of this stops him from getting drunk anyway. Kevin Moon doesn’t learn lessons when it comes to alcohol. When he falls on his face (sometimes literally), he just gets up again, even if it’s with a bloody nose.)

Luckily, the night doesn’t end in chaos. Even though Jacob, who’s half of Kevin’s impulse control, leaves after an hour (he’s meeting with his family the next day, so Kevin is obligated call him a noob – it’s like a law of physics or something), Changmin doesn’t seem to be in the mood to do weird things without Jacob there to stop him, so the night passes relatively smoothly without Kevin throwing, like, a tantrum or anything.

He gets close, though. Because damn, if Changmin isn’t so fucking adorable when talking about his partner. Buried in his purple hoodie, black hair peeking softly over the top, it’s impossible for Kevin not to tear up when Changmin begins gushing over his beautiful, amazing, wonderful significant other whom he just compared to stardust.

Stardust.

Kevin wants to scream, that’s so romantic.

When you come to pick him and Changmin up, Kevin can’t resist relaying all of this to you as soon as he gets in the car. Vaguely, he thinks he should be worried about Changmin hearing it and hitting him, but the boy is mostly asleep in the back, eyes only fluttering slightly when you go over a bump or something. After Changmin gets dropped off at his apartment, Kevin turns the gushing on full force.

“Y/N, the love of my life, he called her stardust,” he’s still babbling even as you strongarm him up to his own apartment. “He’s so adorable. Changmin is so adorable. Oh my God.”

He thinks you snort. Probably. It would be a normal response. “Didn’t you call him the spawn of Satan just a few days ago?”

Definitely a snort, Kevin thinks, but he’s too invested in Changmin’s loveliness to whine about you making fun of him. “Y/N,” he pouts instead, “listen to meeeeee.”

“I’m listening, I’m listening.” You grunt, catching him just as he misses the next step and almost falls forward. “Hey, be careful.”

“’M trying.” Kevin manfully does his best to stop the world from tilting on its side. “But Changminnie.”

“Yes, yes, Changminnie.” Even drunk, Kevin can make out the playful exasperation in your voice. “Keep going.”

“Thank you, love of my life.” Kevin tries to give you a kiss but his lips hit air instead of your cheek. “Heck.”

You burst into loud laughter. “Kevin Moon, you never told me you were this adorable when drunk.”

“Changminnie,” he says more insistently.

“Okay, yes, I’m listening.” You kiss his cheek instead, and Kevin almost topples over right then and there. “Hey, you can’t fall over whenever I kiss you. Tell me about Changmin.”

Kevin starts flailing his arms around as best he can. “He’s so cute!” he half-yells. “He told me his partner was like stardust because she’s so perfect and warm, but she’s also like stardust because… because…”

His lip juts out.

“Oh, no, don’t cry, Kev.” You stop moving, then Kevin registers you bundling him into a hug, patting his head. “I know you’re a sad emotional drunk, but don’t cry.”

“Not crying,” Kevin protests, visibly crying.

“Mhm.” You pat his head one last time before letting go. “Hey, give me a second, I’m going to unlock your door.”

There’s some fumbling and a quiet snick, then Kevin obediently follows you through the door of his apartment. Once inside, you press a thumb to the side of his face, brushing a tear away. “Tell me what Changmin said to make you sad.”

“Changminnie said he’s afraid she’ll… she’ll… slip away between his fingers. Like stardust.” Kevin feels like he’s going to start sobbing any moment now. “He’s afraid she’s going to leave him eventually because she’s too perfect and he’s not good enough.”

“Oh my God.” You sit down on the couch. Kevin follows suit, albeit a lot more ungracefully as he collapses onto a cushion in a tangle of limbs. “Oh my God, that’s so sad and cute at the same time.”

“I said he should call her his star,” Kevin mumbles, turning slightly so he can burrow into your side. “Because stardust. Texted them about it. Both of them.”

Your laugh sounds like music even to the drunken haze of his brain. “Wonder what they’ll think when they see a drunken keysmash on their phones first thing tomorrow morning.”

The two of you sit in silence for a bit. Kevin feels his eyes beginning to get droopy, and he almost falls asleep before a thought strikes him with lightning force.

“I need to give you a nickname!” he almost yells, sitting bolt upright. The movement makes the room spin, but he doesn’t care. This is urgent. “Changmin’s going to call her his star, but I haven’t given you a nickname yet!”

“Kev, Kev.” You hold him by the shoulders, and he relaxes a little. “You can come up with a nickname for me in the morning. Right now, I think you need to sleep.”

“No,” he whines, shifting in your grip. “This is important. You need a nickname.” He sinks into deep, drunken thoughts, the kinds of thoughts he has when he ignores everything around him in favor of getting philosophical after having drunk too much alcohol.

Then it hits him.

“Oh my God,” he gasps. “Oh my God.” It’s his turn to grab you by the shoulders, now. “Oh my God. You’re the sun. Because I’m the moon. Get it? Kevin Moon?”

Through his drunken haze, Kevin thinks he sees you smile, maybe. It looks like a smile.

Your eyes are sparkling. You look happy.

Probably a smile.

“I’m a genius,” he whispers. A genius for coming up with the nickname and for making you happy.

“Sure, Kevin.” You grunt a little as he shifts his weight. “Come on, get up. We’ll see if you’re still a genius tomorrow if you wake up and remember all of this.”

Kevin doesn’t register much for the rest of the night, just remembers falling into his bed and forcing you to lie down next to him. The next morning, he wakes up with a throbbing headache and the vague, ever-present worry that he said something stupid last night.

You’re not in the bed with him anymore. Kevin blinks once, twice, before trying to sit up so to figure out where you went. Then he remembers you don’t live here. You probably went home.

Which is why he nearly goes into cardiac arrest when you appear in his doorway, holding a mug of coffee and a glass of water.

For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. Kevin’s not sure what thoughts are running through your head, but he knows he’s trying to piece together what happened last night, and whether or not he should be hiding under the covers out of embarrassment.

Then it hits him.

Sun.

Moon.

Genius.

Oh, God.

Kevin wants to die.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, using your new nickname in the desperate hope that it’ll distract you from remembering the rest of what he said last night.

A catlike smirk curls your lips as you walk over, pressing the glass of water into his hands. A feeling of dread fills Kevin’s heart as he takes it.

“Morning, genius,” you say with enough evil delight to power Changmin for a year.

Kevin groans. “I was drunk.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Your teasing smile melts into something gentler as you place your mug on the bedside table, turning to bring the glass of water in his hands to his lips. “Coffee’s mine, don’t touch it or I’ll break a bone. Drink the water. I made some breakfast, so come into the kitchen whenever you feel up to it. After you’ve brushed your teeth.”

Warmth courses through Kevin’s body, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol from last night and everything to do with how you’re here in body and mind, sweetly helping him recover from a stupid hangover even when it’s definitely not your problem to take care of and you probably have better things to do. His heart thumps, loud enough that he thinks you could probably hear it.

In this moment, Kevin doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for anything than you coming into his life.

“Got it.” He awkwardly tries to salute, but he does it with the hand holding the glass and the water nearly spills onto the bed. As his cheeks flush, you break into snorting giggles.

Even though it’s at his expense, Kevin thinks he would do anything, anything in the world, to keep that wonderful smile on your face and that musical laughter in the air.

. . . . .

iv.

Only when you move in together does Kevin realize just how taxing your job is. He had an idea from when you sometimes had to cancel or move around dates, but when you did meet up, you were usually energetic and cheerful. Of course, there were the token dates where you just came over to Kevin’s apartment or he came over to yours and you just flopped around for a few hours. Outside, though, you always showed a bright face.

But that was because dates were mostly on your days off or when your hours were short, and as a result, you felt good enough, energized enough to show Kevin your brilliant smile. When you first moved in together, Kevin felt a bit surprised – well, maybe not surprised, but saddened – that you didn’t have the energy to smile as brightly as he saw before.

It’s fine by Kevin, though. You smile often enough, and if your teeth don’t show as much as they used to, there’s something beautiful, something calming and sweet in the slower curve of your lips, the gentle, lethargic way you lean up for a kiss. After all, Kevin has enough energy to compensate for when you might lack some of yours.

(It helps that he can cook, he thinks. Even when the kids at school sometimes wear him out, the brief sparkle in your eye that spreads across your lips when you walk through the door to see him stirring something on the stove is more than enough to make up for it.)

You’re cute, too, when you’re tired. Though Kevin loves it when you’re energetic and ready for whatever the day has decided to throw in your path, there’s something so peaceful, so pleasant about feeling you lying lethargically against his side on the couch, scrolling through your phone or reading a book or just resting, doing nothing but breathing softly. Kevin cherishes those small moments, the soft atmosphere where he kisses your hair and you smile, reach up, and press a kiss of your own to his cheek.

Tonight is one of those nights, a night of soft, comforting silence, words few and far between. It’s been a bit warm lately, so Kevin’s elected to wear one of the tank tops he keeps for the warmer months instead of his usual sweater.

You sit next to him on the couch, back pressed to his side as you send off emails on your phone. Kevin’s working too, inputting grades on his laptop. He hums a little under his breath to take his mind off of the monotony of his task.

At some point, you finish, putting down your phone with a sigh and slumping into his ribs. Kevin starts at the sudden movement. “Sunshine,” he whines, even though he could really care less.

“Moon boy,” you parrot in the same tone of voice.

Kevin’s attention turns back to his laptop, so he barely registers you shifting on the couch to a new position. He does notice it, though, when your fingers start trailing along his skin, exposed by the lack of sleeves on his tank top, because your touch tickles.

You completely ignore his resulting twitch of surprise, only keep tracing the skin of his rib cage. Kevin looks down, confused as to what’s caught your attention.

Oh. His tattoos.

“Sunshine?” he asks softly, watching your fingers shift along his skin.

“Mm,” you hum, eyes still fixated on the ink decorating his side.

“Sleepy?”

Slowly, you shake your head, fingers paused on the image of Mickey Mouse. “Not yet.”

He goes back to inputting grades, all the while still aware of your fingers tracing the lines, the curls, the swirls of black ink along his side. When he finishes, he looks over before closing his laptop to see your eyes still focused on his skin.

Something in his heart explodes, spreading a tingly, comforting warmth throughout his body. It’s a feeling he’s come to associate with your presence, a feeling of absolute security, absolute trust, absolute warmth that comes with falling in love with you.

You look up, noticing his lack of movement. “Finished, moonbeams?”

“First moon boy, now moonbeams?” Kevin teases you lightly, picking up the hand you were using to trace his skin and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. Just like every other time he’s ever done it, a wide smile spreads across your face and a shyness sparkles in your eyes, as though you still can’t believe the bliss of the moment.

(At least, that’s what Kevin feels every time you do something to remind him that he’s yours.)

Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “Can’t call you moonshine, that’s an alcohol.” You shrug as best as you can in your stretched-out position. “Moonbeams, moon boy… whatever feels right.”

Kevin puts his laptop on the coffee table. As he leans back into the couch, you curl up into him, one hand still lingering against the Mickey Mouse tattoo on his side. “Tell me about these?” you ask, pressing your fingers a bit more firmly against the ink.

His tattoos are personal, serving as reminders of the past and inspiration to keep moving. Rarely does he share their meanings with anyone (not that people usually ask, because the tattoos are mostly covered by his clothes), and only with those who mean the world to him.

Kevin thinks you qualify as one of them.

Touching your shoulders, he turns you around slightly, just enough to press a short, sweet kiss to the top of your head. “Of course, sunshine.” He smiles, gazing into your eyes, feeling the warmth of your love travel through his limbs. “Which one first?”

. . . . .

Kevin Moon, for the majority of his life, has hovered in between being classified as a morning person or a night owl. Yes, he gets up at six in the morning for a cup of coffee, but he also stays up past midnight doing… stuff. Grading, writing reports, watching cat videos, wasting time.

(When Changmin judges his lifestyle, Kevin just reminds him that he fell in love with his roommate’s hookup and is on a dance team with the parent of one of his students.)

Honestly, if Kevin didn’t remind himself every so often that he’s currently a full adult, his lifestyle would make him think he was still in college. He certainly still acts like it when he isn’t working. Procrastinating? Check. Crying over reports he needs to submit at three a.m.? Check. Flopping around on the floor when life is going badly? Check.

And most importantly: nonexistent sleep schedule? Check.

You put a stop to that real quick when you move in, both directly and indirectly. Directly, you make an appointment for him at a sleep clinic after figuring out his shitty sleep patterns, and Kevin finds out he probably has mild insomnia. The aftermath is horrible – you put him on a strict sleep schedule and all but ban caffeine from his diet (goodbye, morning coffee) – but it helps, after a couple of weeks. He sleeps better. Perks of having a partner who works in medicine.

Indirectly, though, you probably make a bigger difference.

See, the way Kevin thinks about it, he just never had a lot of reasons to stay in bed very long. Even though he appreciates sleep, really appreciates it on long days, it’s just that he can’t really force it if it doesn’t want to come. He’d also rather be doing something productive (or not productive, depends on the asker’s perspective) than lying awake for hours, anyway.

But now that he’s waking up to a face he loves?

Well, even if you sometimes disappear before he wakes (hospital hours are whack as hell, but sadly, you can’t ignore your job), Kevin will just say your warmth is a powerful incentive to stay huddled under the covers, even if he can’t fall back asleep.

He still wakes up every morning to grey light beginning to peek through the window. No matter how hard he tries to sleep in just a little longer, his body can’t seem to stay unconscious past six in the morning, so both of you have just resigned yourselves to the fact that Kevin will always be an early riser.

Before you walked into his life, he would’ve rolled out of bed almost immediately, stumbled to the bathroom (and maybe knocked his knee against the doorframe, who knows), then started brewing coffee in the kitchen to start the day.

Now?

A drowsy smile begins to make its way across Kevin’s face, soft as the morning light, when his brain catches up to the present and he registers your warmth under the covers. Sleepily, he blinks, taking in the sight of your peaceful face buried halfway in the sheets.

You shouldn’t look this beautiful, Kevin thinks, not with your hair strewn all over the pillow, blankets rumpled around your shoulders, arms outstretched so that one sort of curls over his body while the other is held up to your chest. It’s the morning – no one should look pretty and put-together. That isn’t natural.

(Unless you happy to be Kim Younghoon, but that’s another story.)

Yet you somehow look like a sleeping deity in Kevin’s mind, even with your hair a mess and drool drying on the pillowcase. As the drowsiness clears from his eyes, as the light from the window grows brighter, Kevin can barely even think of moving, of disturbing your peace.

He dislikes your alarm. It’s loud, annoying, and hits him with a jolt when he’s just trying to take these stolen morning moments to admire your beauty. When he complains about it the first time, you tell him to serve as the alarm, to wake you up himself.

Kevin counters that he’s an artist, that he needs peace and quiet to give beauty of such a degree the respect it deserves. You just roll your eyes, telling him that if he isn’t going to wake you up, the alarm’s going to have to take that job. The smile on your face, though, and the brief kiss you press to his lips right after, speaks volumes for the emotions Kevin’s words make you feel.

(He loves flustering you like this, even if you pretend his words don’t make you feel some sort of way.)

So eventually, you wake, eyes fluttering as the alarm brings you back to the conscious plane. Kevin’s heart feels like it’s bursting when your eyes fully open, blearily blinking at the world.

“Morning, sunshine,” he whispers, running one hand through your hair.

You lean slightly into the touch, the corners of your lips twitching up. And every day, as he stares into your sleepy eyes, lips curling as you whisper a quiet “Morning, moon boy” in reply, Kevin knows he’s falling, falling in love with every part of you.

. . . . .

+i.

Kevin’s waiting in front of the school when you pull up at the curb. Smiling apologetically, he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek as you step out of the car. “Sorry, sunshine.” He gestures at the two small boys standing beside him, absorbed in their own world. “Their uncle’s running late and Changmin and Jacob have things to do, so I need to wait for Sangyeon to pick them up before we can go.”

“No worries.” You return the kiss, smiling as bright as the sun. Kevin feels a flash of pride for coming up with a nickname that fits you so well. “We have the whole afternoon, don’t we?”

“That, we do.” He grins, squeezing your hand.

“Mr. Moon, who’s that?” a small voice asks closer to the ground. The two of you turn to see Sunwoo and Eric trotting over, curious looks on their faces.

Kevin looks over at you, but you’re already bending down to get to eye level with the two boys. “Oh, hello!” Your grin, if possible, grows wider. “I’m Y/N, Kevin’s significant other. What are your names?”

“I’m Eric,” Eric pipes up. “This is my brother, Sunwoo.”

Sunwoo just stares with round eyes. Well, he’s always been the shyer of the two.

“Those are lovely names,” you reply smoothly, giving Sunwoo an encouraging smile. Kevin feels his heart melt completely at how well you interact with the kids. “I’m just going to be waiting with Kevin until your uncle picks you up, is that okay?”

The two kids nod and immediately go back to babbling in their own little world. Kevin notices the fond smile on your face, and his heart melts even more.

“They’re so cute,” you whisper to him.

“I know, right?” Kevin clutches his heart dramatically. “Can you imagine teaching them every day?”

Just as you’re shaking your head in comic disbelief, another car pulls up behind yours. A harried-looking young man quickly exits and Eric and Sunwoo cheer, distracted by the arrival of their uncle.

“Sorry about this,” Sangyeon says, absentmindedly patting Eric’s head as the boy hugs his leg. Sunwoo seems to be attempting to climb onto his uncle’s back. “Traffic wasn’t the kindest when I was getting out of work.” Then he notices you. “Oh, hello. Are you Kevin’s partner?”

“That I am.” You stick out a hand. “I’m Y/N, and I’ve been told you’re Sangyeon?”

Sangyeon nods, smiling. “Nice to meet you. And to see that Kevin’s found someone to deal with his antics.”

Kevin blushes as you laugh. “Hey,” he complains. “No jokes at my expense, please.”

“Sure, moonbeams.” You roll your eyes, then turn back to Sangyeon. “It’s nice to meet you. Your nephews are adorable.”

The smile that Sangyeon gives the two boys clambering around him says it all. “They are, aren’t they?” He checks his watch. “I’m sorry, I have to go now. My sister’s expecting us back soon, and I’m already a bit late.”

Kevin breathes a sigh of relief. No more teasing at his expense from Sangyeon, at least, though there’s no guarantee from you. “Nice seeing you, Sangyeon. And have a good day, kids.”

A small chorus of “You too, Mr. Moon!” sounds, and Kevin expects that to be the end. Sangyeon will herd the boys into the car, Kevin will follow you into yours, and then you’ll go your separate ways. What he doesn’t expect is for Sunwoo to look out at you from behind his uncle’s leg, round eyes cautiously curious, and ask you a question.

“Y/N?”

Immediately, you turn around, teasing smirk melting into a gentle smile for the small boy. “Yes, Sunwoo?”

Sunwoo’s eyes dart between you and Kevin. Then, softly, shyly – “Do you love Mr. Moon?”

Time seems to stop as Kevin’s breath hitches in his throat at the sudden question, but you only look back at him, eyes soft and sparkling in the sunlight.

Your answer glitters in your gaze.

Though you’re supposed to be talking to Sunwoo, your eyes stay fixed on Kevin, strong and unyielding, yet gentle and affectionate, as you answer. Your voice is soft when you reply. “Yes, Sunwoo. I do love him.” The smile on your face grows wider as you turn back to the child. “I love him very much.”

Indescribable warmth floods Kevin’s chest and tears prick his eyes. And as Sangyeon hurries his nephews away, as you turn around to unlock your car, one truth burns with absolute, crystal-clear certainty in his mind.

He isn’t falling in love with you, not anymore. No, he’s far past that stage.

Kevin Moon is completely, wholly, irrevocably in love with you.

“Kevin?” You look at him from the other side of the car. “You coming?”

A wide grin spreads across his face as he meets your sparkling eyes. Love blooms in his chest.

“Coming, sunshine.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for kevin’s whipped ass ksjdkgsdhjk)

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bbugyu · 4 years

Text

daddy’s little monster + lee seokmin & yoon jeonghan

the story of your side hustle, that both pays well and had some very lovely benefits.

prelude | part one | part two | part three | epilogue

wc.5195 | SMUT, like DIRTY SMUT, threesome, sugar daddy!jeonghan and musician!seokmin, aka my worst nightmare, hard dom vs service sub vs service dom, aka my other worst nightmare, fem reader, daddy kink, marking, cream pie, please use condoms, lk cucking? happy halloween!

i was gonna say this is porn without plot but in reality idk how to not make smut way too personal. and i have not stopped thinking about my seokhan sandwicch fantasies and desperately needed to get it out, so take my shame and run with it. gif literally does not match this at all but DONT WORRY ABOUT IT

seokmin knew that jeonghan, the prolific and sought after architect whom he considered a close friend, had a less than conventional relationship with a young woman, but he had never met her. didn't know what the two did beyond appear at fancy industry dinner parties together, or the occasional sleepovers that had been offhandedly mentioned when seokmin and him get drinks and grilled meat. he believed she was real - he had been told she was real, by a mutual friend who had attended said parties - but had never seen a picture of her. never been introduced. he dropped architecture, afterall, deciding instead to get a teaching degree while jeonghan continued his artistic engineering. he had no reason to attend the parties that jeonghan paid her to accompany him to.

so when he was slightly drunk at a halloween party being held at the architect's beautiful home, he thought nothing about the pretty girl giving him attention, other than the fact that she looked incredible in her cheerleading outfit and that she was sitting far too close to him to not be flirting.

"how do you know jeonghan?" you asked, perched on the sofa next to seokmin, fingers mindlessly fiddling with the zipper on his red and blue bomber jacket.

his arm was over the back of the sofa, and you were comfortably sitting in the negative space, your feet tucked beneath your baby blue pleated skirt. "we went to college together," he said.

your eyebrow quirked. "are you also an architect? i've never seen you around."

he smiled and shook his head, wondering why a pretty girl like you was wasting your time getting to know a guy like him if you frequented industry parties. "no, i dropped the program. too much math. i'm a music teacher."

he watched your eyes light up. "what kind of music?"

"piano and guitar, mostly," he said, shifting beside you when your knees brushed over his thigh. "i do some vocal coaching, also."

you gazed at his profile as he looked anywhere but at you, eyes briefly focusing on the little black heart drawn under his eye. "you do have a lovely voice."

"thanks," he said, smiling when he turned to look at you, almost faltering when he realized you were leaning into him. "but you haven't heard me sing."

you paused, staring at his lips. "i'd like to," you breathed, and seokmin's hand dropped from the couch to find the small of your back, a shiver running up your spine when his fingers ran over the waistband of your skirt.

"y/n."

with great difficulty, you looked away from his lips to the source of your name being called, smiling lightly when you saw who had summoned you. you put a hand on seokmin's chest.

"i'll be right back, okay?" he kept watching your lips as you spoke. "promise me you won't go anywhere?"

seokmin gave you a lopsided smile, fingers brushing over your skin still. "promise."

you pulled yourself off the couch, purposefully giving him a bit of a view as you leaned over to slip your feet back into your sneakers, walking over to the man that had called your name. seokmin watched you swing your hips side to side, then cursed under his breath when jeonghan's hand snaked around your waist only a few meters in front of him, putting the pieces together in his mind.

"i see you like my friend," jeonghan muttered, handing you the drink you had asked him for. he was dressed as a man in black, which was wholly unoriginal considering he wore many suits regularly, but you figured your cheerleading costume wasn't leaving much more to the imagination than any of the dresses he usually picked out for you.

"you never told me you were friends with a musician," you teased. "afraid i wouldn't call you?"

he laughed, sneakily pulling up the hem of your skirt and watching over your shoulder as seokmin tried not to stare. "you'll always call me."

you bit at your lip, smiling. "yes, daddy."

"are you sure about him?"

you peeked over your shoulder, giggling when seokmin looked away from you and tugged at the knees of his black pleather pants. "isn't he perfect?"

"i like seokmin," jeonghan said, drawing your attention by taking off his sunglasses, hooking them in his lapel pocket. "he's one of my closest friends. i want you to be absolutely sure."

you paused, considering his tone and looking into his amber eyes. "i'm positive."

jeonghan smiled, pulling you into him for a quick kiss. "go tell him the good news, sweetheart."

you grinned, pulling away from him as he put his sunglasses back on and teasingly clicked his prop neuralizer at you. you giggled and sauntering back to the couch that seated the most adorable harley quinn you had ever seen.

"i'm back," you said, sipping at your drink as you settled back into seokmin's side. "sorry, you know how sugar daddies are. so demanding."

he choked out a laugh, still unsure despite your joking tone. "so, you and, uh, jeonghan-"

"yeah," you sighed, setting your drink down on the table beside the sofa and adjusting your posture, putting your knees on his thigh but keeping your shoes off the couch. "he likes my company, i like not paying for tuition."

"what are you studying?" seokmin asked, jumping at the opportunity to change the subject.

you smiled, tugging at his arm until he took the hint to put it back where it was before you were interrupted. "musical theory and recording arts."

he almost laughed. "you're unreal."

"i could say the same," you said, fingers fiddling with the opposite collar of his jacket. "can i ask you something? no pressure."

his eyebrows quirked upwards. "there's a little pressure."

you giggled, tugging at the collar lightly and smiling when he shifted to face you better. "genuinely, don't say yes just because i want you to, okay?" you only continued when he nodded, taking a deep breath. "so, jeonghan and i have been wanting to try something for a while, and he asked me to find someone tonight."

seokmin swallowed. "am i someone?"

you bit your lip. "yes."

his finger scratched at his cheek. "and he approves?"

your eyes flickered to where you and jeonghan had been standing, but the older was nowhere to be found. "yes."

"i-" he cleared his throat suddenly. "i just haven't- i don't know what i'm trying to say." he paused to collect himself. "i've never even considered doing anything like… that."

you giggled sweetly, and seokmin tried to not notice the way your hand ran over his chest. "i haven't done anything like this either," you assured him. "jeonghan's a little bossy, but he'll only be that way to me if you don't ask for it, i promise. and you don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with, seriously, we can stop whenever, i just-" you bit at your lip briefly. "i just really want to make you feel good."

despite you telling him to not just say yes just for your sake, he had a hard time saying no after hearing your dark tone. any idea of saying no slipped his mind completely when you kissed him, slow and deliberate, your tongue tasting like cola and whiskey against his. he even went as far as pulling you into his lap, forgetting the context of the party surrounding him, his only thoughts about the way your thighs split over his lap and how soft your skin felt when his hands ran under your skirt.

"is this a yes?" you asked breathlessly, trying not to grind down on his pleather covered thighs.

he nodded at you with blown out eyes. "i'll try anything with you."

you grinned, finger brushing over the purposefully smeared lipstick across his cheek. "you're so cute."

he smiled at you, a hand running up your side as you leaned into him again. "not all the time," he muttered, and you couldn't help but gasp lightly when he bounced his leg under you. "want me to prove it?"

you kissed him again, unable to form any words to say yes but desperately needing to. when a hand landed on the back of your neck, you moaned into his mouth and pulled away, trying to catch your breath.

seokmin's hand pulled you into him again, and you whimpered lightly against his lips. "we need to go."

his lips barely left yours when he asked "where to?" and your fingers intertwined with his as you stood, pulling him off the couch to follow you.

you spotted jeonghan in the next room, and despite not knowing for sure if he noticed you two, you spun around playfully and pulled seokmin into you again, letting him kiss you deeply with his hands exploring your bare waist before you pulled away again to continue leading him away, the lopsided grin on his face never leaving.

the noise of the party dissipated as you pulled him up a flight of stairs and down a hall, stopping a few times to kiss against banisters in areas of jeonghan's home he had never been in.

"is this-" seokmin stopped himself as you closed the bedroom door, looking around at the grand but minimally decorated room - the main focal point being the large canopy bed against the far wall.

"jeonghan's," you said, pulling seokmin into you and resuming your feverish kisses. "it's the only bedroom i'm allowed in."

he briefly wondered what other rules the two of you had, but all but forgot about them when you were pushing his jacket off his shoulders, hands running over his chest. you tried to catch your breath as seokmin's mouth worked its way down your neck, but you couldn't stop whining.

"fuck, do you work out?" you asked breathlessly as he backed you up against the door, your hands not so subtly gripping at a bicep.

he chuckled against your neck. "i tune pianos, sometimes."

you briefly thought about him moving an upright to access the strings, and how you had to recruit the help of three friends to move the one jeonghan had bought for you. "you should come to my place, i've been meaning to get mine tuned for a while."

"you can just say you want to see me again," he said, a teasing smile on his lips as he pulled you off the door.

"you're sure about this, right?" you asked between kisses. "he'll notice we're missing and come looking. i don't want you to be surprised."

seokmin considered the concept of jeonghan walking in on his friend between your thighs, laid out on his bed, and the way his length flinched in his pants assured you that it was the best idea he had heard in a while. "i'm sure, i promise."

you bit at your lip again as you grinned, letting him overtake you with kisses as the back of your legs hit the bed.

"this little skirt, i swear to god," seokmin groaned, large hands squeezing at your ass through the fabric.

you gasped, your open mouth making seokmin groan deeper as he pulled you against his tented crotch. "jeonghan picked it out."

"i can tell," he said, staring down at the supposed team name you were meant to be cheering for. "angel, huh? does he call you that?"

"sometimes," you breathed, lips nipping at his neck. "he calls me the name on your chest more, though."

seokmin chuckled, almost completely forgetting about his own costume that he had mostly only picked because the shirt was so easy to find. he brought your lips back to his, kissing you deeply before pushing you down onto the soft mattress. "i want you to get comfortable."

you nodded excitedly, kicking off your shoes and watching him unbuckle his belt as you backed yourself up against the pillows. he kneed his way onto the bed, pants unzipped and shirt discarded, but stopped his undressing to crawl towards you, hands running over your split thighs. you groaned, hips rolling towards him just at the sight of him between your legs, and he gazed up at you sweetly.

"you're soaking through your panties."

you took a heaving breath. "you're super hot."

his lips skated over your inner thigh, and you gripped at the duvet as you tried to stifle a moan. his hands went under your thighs, squeezing at your ass before hooking under your panties, and you bit your lip to keep yourself from whining as he slowly pulled them off you, your skirt falling over your waist when you lifted your hips for him.

"oh, baby, look at you," he cooed, tongue darting out between his lips as he took in the sight. "is that all for me?"

you moaned, rolling your hips off the mattress again, staring at his shoulders as he settled. "fuck, seokmin, please-"

your pleas were interrupted by your own garbled moan as he put his tongue against your inner thigh, biting down on the soft flesh. your hand found his scalp, gripping as he sucked a sweet red rose into your thigh, kissing it gently before moving to repeat the action a little closer to your core.

"oh, god, s-seokmin-" you whined, bucking your hips against him. he gently held your wily hips down as he continued until he was satisfied with the marks, hoping they would stay a while. remind you of him when he wasn't around. his breath hit your core and you keened, desperately asking for his lips, but he only barely teased his tongue over your clit before planting his lips on your other thigh, drawing a shaky moan from you as you gripped his hair.

"fuck, please," you begged, wishing you could move your hips more freely, but his strong grip on you held you in place.

when seokmin decided he was happy with the delicate roses between your legs, he looked up to you, observing the way your chest heaved and you panted, your eyes blown to all hell. your fingers tightened in his hair when he rolled out his tongue, slowly dragging it through your folds.

you moaned, your voice sounding choppy and desperate even to you as your neck stretched out in pleasure. "g-god!"

he hummed against you, his lips kissing at your clit and tongue running over you alternately. you shook as he lapped at you, and he pulled his hands out from under your ridden up skirt in order to push your thighs back, allowing him more comfortable access as you groaned, blue stained fingers leaving his hair to grip at the duvet.

"fuck, seokmin, i'm already so close-"

he hummed again, pulling away but putting two fingers over your core instead, spreading your arousal through your folds and over your clit as he licked his lips. "is my mouth that good to you?"

you arched your back as he continued running his fingers over you. "it's so good."

he lapped at you again, making you let out a high pitched whine as he slowly slipped his fingers into your sweet, tight hole. your eyes shut and you moaned, squeezing his fingers as your arousal seeped out from around them. "your pussy is so cute," he muttered, eyes darting up to your face as you panted. he slowly began to curl his lean, long, instrument trained fingers in your core, pulling more pleas from your lips. "i bet it's cuter when you cum."

"fuck, please," you begged. "please make me cum."

seokmin groaned lightly as he sucked at your clit, rolling his hips against the mattress to relieve some of the pressure he felt from your fingers digging against his scalp, your taste on his lips, your whining moans in his ears.

you noticed the sound of the door, almost processing the meaning before your pleasure interrupted your own thought. "fuck, baby, right there!"

he groaned, digging his fingers further into you to spur your squealing as he flicked his tongue against you, and you practically thrashed against him as you came undone, your thighs pushing into his shoulders as your back arched against the mattress.

you whined dully when he pulled his mouth away from you, your fingers loosening their grip in his spray dyed hair. he never pulled his fingers out of you, not even as he crawled slowly over you, continuing to gently curl into you as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into your chest.

"you started without me," jeonghan said finally, and seokmin smiled into your neck as you watched your sugar daddy pull off his tie, still whining lightly at the fingers in your cunt. "that wasn't what we agreed on."

"i- ah-" you gasped, thigh pressing against seokmin's arm when his thumb pushed against your clit. "i couldn't wait," you said, hooded eyes watching jeonghan approach.

"found yourself a cute toy, huh?" he quirked his eyebrow at the younger, noticing the way his shoulders rippled under your desperate fingers as he stood at the end of the bed. "are you gonna treat him nice, sweetheart?"

you nodded quickly, fingers finding seokmin's scalp again as you kissed him, loving the way you tasted on his lips. you gasped when he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, his hand running up your waist to hold you stay as he rut his clothed bulge into you, the feeling of cool pleather against your hot core making you moan against him.

"what do you want to do, sweetheart?" jeonghan prompted you, gently leaning against a bedpost as he adjusted himself in his pants

"i wanna ride," you said, breath fanning over seokmin's face as he blushed slightly. his red ears just made you move your hips again desperately. "fuck, seokmin, i need to ride you."

his movements stopped for a second, mind whirling with the idea of you bouncing on him. his thoughts were only interrupted by a voice.

"you heard her, seokmin."

he snapped into action, kissing you again as he shoved his slightly too tight pants down his hips, and you pushed him until he allowed you to roll him into his back. you tugged his pants down his legs, gulping at the bulge in his underwear.

"jesus, seokmin, you never said you were packing," jeonghan chuckled, observing the way you faltered when you noticed his length.

seokmin sucked in a labored breath when you ran your hands over his hips, teasing a thumb over his erection. "you never asked."

you tugged his underwear down over his hips, taking care to pull him gently out to avoid harm. you rolled your tongue out to draw a wet line up the underside of his heavy cock, enjoying the way it flinched up against you.

"he likes tits," jeonghan said, shrugging off his blazer and walking to the side of the bed to toss it onto a chair. "lose the top, angel."

you smirked up at seokmin, suddenly extremely happy that the only one that interested you at this party was someone jeonghan knew. you slinked up his body to straddle his lap, the hem of your skirt teasing the head of his cock as it peeked out from under it. you kissed him first, and his hands ran up your thighs as he bucked his hips up to meet your bare core, but you hovered just out of reach. you sat up again, pulling the cheer top over your head and tossing it to the side.

seokmin groaned, hands finding your waist and running up your sides to squeeze gently at your breasts with his thumbs. "fuck, you're gorgeous."

"and you're huge," you said, finally grinding down against his length, pulling a deep groan from his chest. you backed up to stand his cock on end, pulling it against your stomach and practically choking when you saw how tall it stood, the tip far past the waistband of your skirt.

jeonghan whistled. "how are you gonna stuff all that in your tight little pussy, sweetheart?"

saliva gathered in your mouth at the thought. "like a good girl."

seokmin groaned again, hips bucking up to fuck into your hands. "stop teasing and take it, baby."

you got on your knees, positioning yourself over the head of his thick cock, and he practically bucked up into you when he felt your wetness at his tip. you gasped, sinking slowly, eyes watering slightly at the stretch and seokmin moaned, hands on your waist in support. you looked at jeonghan briefly, and he smiled, cock in hand, watching you as you sank slowly.

"stop," seokmin said, grip tightening on your waist. he panted as he held you in place, and you had an idea as to why he stopped you as you felt him pressing against your cervix. "i don't wanna hurt you."

his gentleness was a welcomed juxtaposition from jeonghan's usual intensity. you nodded, hands on his chest, then leaned forward to kiss him, gently fucking yourself on as much of his length as you could manage, readying yourself. his grip on your waist tightened, and he let out a beautiful whine when you dipped a little further onto him.

"careful," he breathed, and you sat up. your hands ran down his chest and over his stomach, then up your own body to gently coerce his fingers out of the deathgrip on your waist. he took the hint, running his hands up your torso and running his thumbs over your hardened nipples.

you groaned, your hips inching closer to his every time you bounced on his lap. it took everything in him to not take control, your pussy squeezing and pulling him further into you, the only sound in his ears your musical moans as you started to get desperate.

"fuck, you're so big," you said dumbly, unable to think of anything else.

"you're so tight," seokmin said back. he hooked a thumb under your skirt, tugging it up to reveal how tightly your cunt hugged him. "fuck, you look so good filled up like that."

your hands found his thighs, leaning back as you rolled your hips over his. you choked out a moan, the angle nearly making you fold an instant. "d-daddy, can i cum?"

seokmin groaned and almost responded before jeonghan did. "go right ahead, angel. let him feel how good you are."

you sank down, your hips meeting seokmin's and a whining moan leaving you lips as he choked slightly. you fell forward onto his chest, giving him desperate, open mouthed kisses as you rolled your hips, your sensitive nub rubbing against his pelvis. you gasped, clutching at his hair as he pushed his hips up into yours, the coil in you snapping in you all while he muttered how good of a girl you were against your lips. his grip around you tightened as your grip around him did the same, the feeling of your tight cunt pulsating around him almost enough to get him off despite him steadying his hips as you shuddered on his chest.

"beautiful," jeonghan commented. "she looks good when you fuck her."

seokmin tried not to groan, but the involuntary movement of his hips triggered an unhidable moan from you. "never thought i'd enjoy being watched."

"i always knew you were a freak," the older said, continuing to pump himself. "you okay if i take a little control?"

seokmin finally looked over to his friend, eyes dropping to his cock as he gulped. "y-yeah."

"alright. sweetheart, time to get up. i want that skirt off."

you whined, grinding down on seokmin. he choked, and you dug your face into his neck.

"three..."

you whined again, louder this time, gripping a bicep as you took in a breath. "please, he feels so good-"

"two..."

you curled your toes in protest, and seokmin had the least control when you rolled your hips on his again, both of you letting out shaky moans. you heard your name as a warning, and you practically started crying from how badly you didn't want to remove yourself from him.

"y/n. one."

you caved finally, not wanting jeonghan to punish you in front of a guest, sitting yourself up suddenly and gasping at the feeling, seokmin's hands gripping your hips. you looked over to jeonghan, who had a smile on his face as he bit his lip gently.

"off, angel. you can have him again in a second."

you slowly pulled yourself off of seokmin's hard cock, and he had one hand keeping your skirt out of view, the other kneading reassuring circles in your thighs as you did. you both groaned when you managed to lift yourself off of him completely, and jeonghan watched your arousal drip from you onto seokmin's flushed cock.

"c'mere, sweetheart," jeonghan said, gesturing for you to come to the side of the bed where he stood.

you unzipped your skirt and let it fall to the mattress as you weakly kneed yourself over to him, thighs shaking. seokmin tucked one hand behind his head and wrapped the other around his cock, watching you intently as you came up to the eldest. he gripped your chin first, opening your mouth before him, and you rubbed your thighs together as you vocalised.

"embarrassed?" jeonghan asked, chuckling darkly when you nodded lightly. he spat in your mouth anyways. "don't let me make it to one next time."

you heard a groan behind you as you swallowed, then gasped when jeonghan's free hand found your ass, pulling you against him. he kissed you, and you had almost forgotten how his lips felt against yours, how his nimble tongue brushed against the back of your teeth in a way that made your knees wobble on the edge of the bed.

"i want him to ruin you," he muttered against your lips, grip tight on your jaw. "i want to see you fucked out on his fat cock, choking on my cum."

you nodded fervently, and felt the bed shift as seokmin sat up behind you. jeonghan smiled as he let you go, and you quickly backed up against the younger, gasping when his cock slipped between your thighs and his fingers pinched at your nipples, kneading your breasts tightly.

"fuck, she's incredible," he said, against your neck, and you couldn't help the sustained whine you let out. "i can't believe you never told me, han."

he chuckled, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "i knew she'd like you too much. but you'll always call me, right, sweetheart?"

you whined again, watching as jeonghan gently kneed onto the bed, just to brush his lips against yours.

"answer me."

you quivered, grinding down on seokmin's cock and feeling his lips on your neck, but still focusing on the face before you. "yes, daddy."

he smiled, placing a gentle kiss on your nose before backing up again. "hands and knees. give us a minute, okay, minnie?"

the younger nodded, but groaned when you dropped forward, watching the way his cock fit snugly between your thighs. "tell me when."

you stared up at jeonghan as he put a hand on his cock, another in your hair, and slowly guided himself towards your lips. you puckered your lips to meet him, then opened your mouth and rolled out your tongue, lapping at the tip of his cock, tongue gliding under it as you desperately tried to suck him into your waiting mouth.

"oh sweetheart," he said, watching you with hooded lids. "you really want this, don't you?"

you whined, pushing back against seokmin, making his breath hitch. jeonghan finally pushed his hips forward, fucking once into your wet mouth, and you moaned on his cock as it hit the back of your throat. seokmin couldn't help but buck into your thighs, slightly desperate for friction as he watched you drip all over him. he tested his voice once, then quietly asked if he could finger you.

you moaned again, and jeonghan smiled as he fucked your mouth. "sounds like she wants it."

you let out a muffled whine when seokmin slotted two fingers into your pussy, your mouth too full to properly vocalise how good it felt. when he added another finger, you almost collapsed, and likely would have if jeonghan hadn't been holding you up by your hair.

"fuck her," he commanded, holding you on his cock and watching the way you looked up at him as you realized what that meant.

seokmin pulled his fingers out of you and placed himself at your entrance in their stead, sinking into you slowly. your eyes rolled back, drool dripping from either side of jeonghan's cock as seokmin filled you out.

"fuck," he said, gripping your hips and trying to stop himself from pushing all the way in. "fuck, you're so wet."

you let out another muffled noise, pushing back onto him as he choked. jeonghan watched the tears well up in your eyes, mouth stretched around his cock.

"angel," he paused, pulling from you slightly. "are we still green?"

you nodded, rolling your tongue around him to prove it. he smiled at you, then quietly told seokmin to fuck you full.

and he did. you whined and babbled, every thrust of seokmin's hips pushing you onto jeonghan's cock until he hit your throat. you didn't know how long it continued. you heard a honey voice you were familiar with, but you couldn't tell if the teasing words were directed towards you or the man behind you. you couldn't even register fully what was happening when you felt fingers circling your clit, and you wailed as you came, thighs quaking and throat full.

"oh, fuck, i'm gonna cum," seokmin said quickly. he gasped. "fuck, can i cum?"

jeonghan grinned, one eye closing more than the other as he huffed, feeling close to his own release. "fill her up."

seokmin jerked into you three more times before he steadied his hips and let out a deep, melodic groan, buried deep in you as his cum leaked out around his thick cock. you were still moaning, unsure if you could ever stop making noises, but quickly pulled yourself together as jeonghan came down your throat.

you choked once, but swallowed around him, and he gripped his fingers against your scalp as you did. when he finally removed himself from your mouth, you panted and collapsed onto the bed, unable to catch your breath with seokmin still hilt deep in you.

"what a perfect girl," jeonghan muttered, brushing his damp hair off his forehead, gazing down at you. "smart, funny, and an angel in bed. and you-" he said, smirking at seokmin when he finally lifted his head from your spine, even if it was only for a moment. "you surprised me. if you're down, i'd like to do this again."

he tried to catch his breath, but couldn't help the way his hips involuntarily pushed into yours, fucking his cum deeper into you. he just nodded against your spine as you moaned, feeling his cum drip down your thighs.

jeonghan tsked. "you got your hair dye all over my white sheets."

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scrawnytreedemon · 3 years

Text

Can’t sleep, mind going precisely 56 miles an hour, so I think I’ll finally get around to writing this.

Couples days back, I went ahead and finally psyched myself up to do the Zant bossfight.

Because I’d picked up where I’d left off yesterday, which was just before the boss room, obviously I was taken back to the beginning of the area. This gave the whole ordeal a trek, if a short one, what with the Palace of Twilight’s laughable length, and me more time to think.

I didn’t want to do this.

It sounds stupid, but I really didn’t want to do this. I’d cried the day before trying to psych myself up and failing, and I’d cried then, before the boss door, stalling by sweeping away the crystal-fog as best I could-- A meagre attempt at housekeeping, and a futile one. Of course I couldn’t. This isn’t that sort of game. This isn’t a game for failed attempts at kindness, at least trying to clean this awful, awful place for an awful, awful man going through awful, awful things. I was supposed to be a hero.

Heroes don’t make beds.

They don’t wash dishes, or hang laundry, or hold a rival’s hand,

They kill.

The trek didn’t stop past the door, either.

We still had to walk up the stairs. To the throne.

To him.

And I was there, laugh-crying, wishing I didn’t have to. That I could skip this pathetic ordeal.

I tried to turn around and leave.

Despite it only looking like a larger one of the many, many doors we’ve passed through this awful, nonsensical, poorly-designed excuse for a palace that no one could ever live in, it didn’t budge. There wasn’t any turning back. I had to go forward, because this is an action game, and violence is key.

The game takes the reigns. Link walks up to the throne, sword drawn, despite my deliberate decision to sheathe it. The narrative begins again. Midna sneers, and throws a taunt at him.

Zant sits, and smiles. Smiles like he thinks he still has some form of control, or knows full well he’s lost it.

You know, when I was working through the Palace of Twilight, I’d come to the realisation that... Zant locked himself in the throneroom. From the outside. Logistically, despite the good laugh I had over this guy locking himself in from the fucking outside, where his opponents can grab the key, he could get out easily-- teleportation and all. But even that aside, it still spoke to a level of hasty panic, that he would even keep the key outside, behind a waterfall of yet more shitty fog-crytals in the hopes that would deter them. Deter us.

How long had the guy been here, alone in that room?

We all know what happens next. Despite this being my first playthrough, I’ve probably seen this cutscene a dozen times. Zant has what amounts to an overly-dramatised autistic meltdown expositing himself and his motivations. That he was upset and felt like everything he’d worked for had been taken away from him. That he was angry, angry and fed up of being relegated to a half-existence. Midna retorts, Zant wails some more.

What gets me is that, when Ganondorf visits him, engulfs him in this flaming ball of fucked-magical-fuckery, he just. Stares. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything. Ganondorf speaks as though he’s already decided that, yes, you will do, we will make a pact and rule Everything together; I will live on through you.

Did Zant even agree to this?

I think, subconsciously or not, he accepted it, but it begs the question of whether or not Zant was capable enough to partake in it.

Whatever the answer, he’s clearly not capable enough to partake in this. This fight.

It’s laughable, that I’m expected to find victory in this.

The fight was a fucking slog, 90% of the time. Some of these boss-battles I hadn’t played in nearly two years thanks to the impromptu hiatuses I’m so fond of taking, so I didn’t know what the fuck I was meant to be doing half the time-- And when I did, it lagged to shit everytime this poor bastard fired projectiles, because I was playing on the gamepad, because why on earth would I play this on the goddamn TV? It was a sad, pitiful encounter that I had to laugh my way through and also mumble “what the fuck“ on several occasions because I guess somebody at Nintendo ate cheese before bed and the dev team were so desperate to patch something together for this guy’s sudden crisis that they threw it in-- I’m obviously having a good laugh, but What The Fuck.

I knock the guy down in the last phase of the battle, the only one where he isn’t mimicking something else and dizzies himself spinning like a hyperactive child, and the game takes the reigns again. Midna prepares her hair. I look away-- I’ve seen it before, many times before, and it’s cartoonishly grotesque for a game that relies heavily on somber semi-realism. Midna has her own crisis-- And yeah, yeah bossbabe, I feel it.

It cuts back, and there’s a Heart Container on the guy’s throne.

I killed a guy, and now I’m collecting his lifeforce. I stormed into the bunged-up attempt of a fortress conjured up as a last defense by a man who’s fallen head-first into insanity, tore through any meagre security measure like butter, murder the guy when he’s having an episode, he dies a fucked up death, and then I collect his lifeforce.

Is that fucked up or what?

For all of Zelda’s endless violence, rarely do you actually kill “people.“ It’s the kind of stuff reserved for the end, for Ganondorf, or some other corrupted nigh-demigod on the brink of losing their humanity, or never having possessed it.

We kill Zant.

Zant barely puts up a fight, and we kill him. Zant gets summoned from the netherworld by Ganondorf in Hyrule Warriors; we put him there in the first place.

If we were to view this from a literal, like this shit actually happened and these characters are to be held accountable standpoint, then what we did was justified-- If not wholly, then mostly. Zant got power-hungry, committed what amounts to a bio-terroristic coup on the government, disfigured his rival, a woman notorious for her beauty, then proceeded to attempt the same thing with Hyrule, leading to the indirect death of at least the people who got transfigured into Shadow-Beasts in Kakariko, and attacks you first, then yeah, no biggie?

But I’ll be fucking real with you chief, I don’t find it... I don’t know, persuasive? Effective? Compelling, would be the best word, to think of it that way?

What Zant is, is a narrative tool. One that was set up to be this big, bad interloper who you need to Take Down and Save Everything, as per usual Zelda format. The justification for why we should hate him, if I’m going to be honest, feels contrived, most of the time. He does some bad thing off-screen, Midna gets pissed, Midna and everyone within a 12-mile radius explains why we should be pissed in a way that often feels borderline developer-hand-y-- And that’s. Well that’s how Zelda usually is.

It’s justification to commit violence.

--To be clear, I don’t say this in a political sense. I mean it in the very literal “hit/kill a guy“ sense. And in all honesty, that’s kinda inherent to the ethos of action games. We enjoy catharsis-- We enjoy taking down big things, it’s satisfying! I’ve played a little Hyrule Warriors-- Loved the feel of it. Violence is inherent to even the most benign of action games, and it is what it is.

Where it falls short for me, is that with Zant, I don’t feel like I’m taking down some great foe that I should justifiably hate.

I feel like I’m a clearly more equipped person breaking into a room, and bludgeoning a mentally ill person.

I’m autistic. I may slot in easier to NT society than most, but I am autistic, and it makes me deeply uncomfortable to see something I’ve fucking gone through be used carelessly as flavour for a prelude to violence. I have meltdowns. They’re relatively rare, and mostly in my room, alone, but I’ve also experienced one out in public. It was only sobbing, but there’s a special kind of horror, of humilation in knowing other people, strangers, family, what have you, are seeing it, and all you can think is how much you failed.

I can’t fully articulate why I cried so much during this, quite frankly, menial ordeal. I’m half-embarrassed to even talk about it-- Because then that means caring too much, and I can’t care too much over a poorly-justified character that wasn’t even intended to be sympathised with and that most of the fandom laughs at. And I can’t say I blame them.

I guess at the end of the day it comes down to the ever-present pity; some strange, childish commiseration I’d indulged in ever since I was six and cooing over Bowser and how awful everything was for him, that despite my continuous efforts, I can’t ever seem to explain.

I didn’t like the Zant fight. It felt empty,

And all did was sweep cobwebs and try to turn back.

#scrawny rambles #scrawny speaks #tloz #twilight princess #zant #back at it again with anotherhgkjhgjkhgkhj #thoughts #i'm tired of how violence is used to handle everything i guess #i feel like i'm walking around with a hammer wanting to buils a little shed and maybe set it down and make soup and hand it out #but the game goes NO bludgeoning ONLY you MUST KILL ALL THE WRONGDOERS VIOLENCE IS THE ONLY WAY--#cAN WE MAYBE??? N O T?? FOR ONCE???#AGAIN to get onto another thing. fuckign. mnish cap. and how e/zlo i n s i s t s the only thing to do about v/aati is kill him #you know.#his child student. that HE TUTORED WHAT THE FU C K #AND EVERYONE??? THINKS IT'S F I N E??#(slashes employed so it doesn't show up in those tagshdjjhgjkhg)#BUT YEAH WHAT EVEN #i suppose another part of this is just how. violence is glorified so much even in everyday culture. even in progressive circles.#[especially in progressive circles.]#ugh. god i really am a soppy little lawful good pacifist aren't i???#hhgjhfjgjl #it's 12am forgive any typos

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imagine-darksiders · 4 years

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 15 - The Storm’s Prelude.

Words: 15,264.

You can read the rest of the story on AO3 here :)

Summary: Three heart stones are required to wake the Guardian. Your group manages to find the first two without a lot of difficulty, save for a moment of bleak realisation that rattles your perception of yourself and brings out a side to Death you haven’t yet seen. The Horseman realises a few things about Karn’s perception of you. And then, you find the final stone....

---

The passage of time, if overlooked, can often prove to be a ubiquitous inhibition. Walls can crumble and fall in your path, great swathes of the earth can be torn apart by shifting, tectonic plates. Rivers and streams carve through even the toughest rock, eroding it away over millions of years to form the steep walls of a gorge that impedes your progress when you stumble upon it – a gorge much like the one you find yourself at the edge of now.

You, Death and Karn stand silently on the precipice of the escarpment, peering across it to the far side of a great, long hall. The western wall has completely collapsed in on itself after having suffered through centuries of faulting and erosion, and the stone blocks that once stood so strong have fallen into the wide gorge sitting between you and progress.

Death's eyes are fixed ahead, occasionally flitting back and forth in search of a way to cross, all the while aware that he's being watched expectantly by a human and a maker. He knows precisely what the pair of you are waiting for, and the longer he fails to come up with an alternative route, the more irritable he becomes, because it means that he'll have to once again reduce himself to a horseman-shaped projectile.

Still, he does appreciate that you've both stayed quiet whilst he stews. It takes him a few more moments of bitter contemplation before he finally concedes and accepts that if he wants to get across, he'll need the youngling's help. “....Fine,” he growls.

Teeth grit, the Horseman turns his frightful glare onto Karn, who at least has enough sense to keep his lips firmly sealed as he moves to the edge of the escarpment and wordlessly lowers his hand.

“You know,” Death grumbles, clambering into the maker's waiting palm, “I'm beginning to suspect that you two enjoy this far more than I do.”

Karn doesn't reply, merely peels his lips back and flashes you a grin.

“Hey, I'm just glad it's you and not me,” you say, holding up your hands appeasingly, “I don't have your knack for sticking a landing.”

If he wasn't so certain you'd accuse him of hypocrisy, he'd call you a coward. After all, he'd made it abundantly clear that he doesn't even want you to be thrown by the maker.

Biting his tongue, Death merely expels a weary sigh. “Let's just get this over with, Pup.”

Bracing himself against Karn's thumb, he twists his head around to catch your gaze and holds it firmly, waiting until he's sure you're paying attention. “Stay close to the maker,” he tells you, then as an afterthought, he adds darkly, “And if either of you go wandering off, you'd better pray that the Corruption finds you before I do.”

Then, with that thinly-veiled threat still ringing in your ears, Karn tips his arm back and launches the Horseman into the air like a boulder fired from a trebuchet.

Admittedly, your heart skips several beats at the sight of Death sailing gracefully over a plummetless gorge, but just as before, Karn demonstrates that he has impeccable aim and judgement, for the Nephilim lands on the far side with practiced ease and little more than a low grunt of exertion.

Only then do you release the breath you'd been holding.

Standing up, the Horseman dusts himself off and throws a quick, backwards glance across the gorge, eyeing his two protégés for a moment longer before he turns on his heel and strides onwards, disappearing through a set of dilapidated, wooden doors.

With Death gone again for the time being and little else to do but wait, you venture back towards the edge of the escarpment and peer down over it, at once noticing the pull of gravity as it tries to tempt you into that dark, fathomless chasm. A stone that had been resting on the very lip is nudged loose by your boot and you anxiously watch it tumble down the side of the cliff, feeling decidedly nauseous that you can hear it bouncing off rocks and debris long after it has disappeared into the darkness below.

“Heck of a long drop,” Karn chuckles nervously, shuffling a little closer to you.

“Yeah. It is...” Seemingly lost in a world of your own, you're quiet for a minute longer, and the youngling opens his mouth to make another observation, only to find himself cut off when you suddenly ask, “Hey, Karn? Do makers ever feel l'appel du vide?”

“La.. apple doo... Eh?”

“It's the call of the void,” you explain with a faraway smile, “A lot of humans get it, I just wondered if the feeling was universal.”

His ears prick forward with interest and he admits, “Never heard of it, what's it do?”

“Well, mostly it's this phenomenon where you get the urge to jump from high places-”

You nearly choke on your own spit when gloved fingers suddenly curl around you and you're hurriedly ushered back to what Karn deems is a safe distance – right behind his boot. “Don't say stuff like that!” he all but howls, agitation turning his breaths shallow.

Amused, you raise a brow at the ruffled maker and say, “...If you'd have let me finish, I was going to say it's the urge to jump from high places, but knowing that you never actually would.”

All at once, Karn blinks hard, and some of the colour rushes back into his cheeks. “O-Oh, right. I knew that,” he tries to save face, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck.

“You didn't really think I was going to jump in, did you?”

“No, no! O'course not!”

'Liar,' a voice whispers at the corner of his mind. Fumbling for an excuse, he glances around rapidly before his gaze falls on some loose pebbles gathered on the cliff's precipice and he gestures to it, eager for a distraction. “But the, err... The.. the ground's weathered away right near the edge. Don't want you fallin' in by accident, ey?”

Poking your head out from around his leg, you cast a wary eye over the drop off and hum, “No, I suppose not.” Then, in a more jocular tone, you flash him a grin and add, “I don't think I'll be able to save you from Thane a second time if anything happens to me.”

Karn's face instantly pulls into a grimace. “Ach, don't remind me of that. Thought he'd never stop yellin'.”

The youngling hesitates for a few beats and you watch curiously whilst he rolls his tongue around in his mouth, a thoughtful expression drawing his brows together and puckering his forehead. After another few seconds, he angles himself so that he's turned away from you slightly, his stare pointed towards one of the holes in the ceiling. “Actually, I've been meanin' to thank you for that.”

“Thank me?” you echo, “For what?”

Rain trickles down from above in sporadic patches all across the chamber, allowed in through the gaps where the ceiling has eroded away. Karn just watches it fall for a while before his shoulders raise into a shrug and he lets them drop heavily again, sucking in a breath that seems to glue his throat shut. Still, he manages to admit, “For stickin' up for me - against the Horseman, and against Thane.” Pausing to scratch at his chin, he stammers, “I – uh... I've never really.. had a – a friend who'd do that for me before...”

He still won't look at you, but you can't hold that against him. So, rather than try to catch his gaze, you instead follow it up to the ceiling whilst one of your hands lifts surreptitiously and gives the side of his leg a few, companionable pats. “Well, you've got one now,” you tell him, “Just... please don't go riling anyone else up for a while, yeah?”

“Ha! You're one to talk! Maybe I’ll tell ol’ Eideard about you standin’ so close to cliff edges, eh?” he retorts with a smirk, at last dragging his gaze down to look at you, finding that you're already peering back, the corners of your eyes forming pretty crinkles that seem to hold a boundless supply of sincerity.

“You would not,” you challenge.

Without really knowing he's doing it, Karn's face slowly tries to mimic your expression in the hopes that it might convey to you the immensity of the gratitude he wishes he could say out loud.

All too soon though, movement on the other side of the hall draws your attention and you break eye contact with the maker to squint across the gorge, your face brightening at the sight of Death as he emerges from the far doorway. “Hey!” you wave, raising your hand high into the air before the stretch sends a twinge of pain down to your side and you wince, trying to casually lower your arm again.

From his relatively safe distance, the Horseman allows some of the tension to seep from his shoulders when he notices that you and the youngling are still standing where he left you, and in one piece, to boot.

“Didj'ya find a way around!?” Karn hollers.

“No luck, in that regard!” Death replies, “We'll have to turn back and try a different path! The heart stones must be elsewhere!”

His response elicits aggravated groans from the pair of younglings and he finds himself letting out a chuckle that comes dangerously close to the realm of fondness. Snapping his jaw shut, he's quick to catch it and stuff it back down before he clears his throat, continuing, “Just stay where you are – I'm coming back across!”

He sees you share another confused glance with Karn, then you turn back towards him and shout, “Um – How're you going to get back over here?! It took a maker just to get you to that side!”

Death doesn't seem nearly as perturbed as you think he should be. “Let's just say... this wasn't an entirely wasted journey!” Beneath his mask is a self-assured smirk and it remains plastered on as he takes several, calculating steps backwards, away from the precipice he stands upon.

“Wait!-” he hears you call, “ - You're not going to?! -”

Before you can even finish your sentence, the Horseman is on the move, darting forwards into a reckless sprint and garnering a yelp of alarm from the other side of the gorge.

“Death! What are you doing!?” you can't help but shriek, throwing your hands up to bury them in your hair, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

The Horseman leaps clear from the edge, sailing out over the gaping maw that lays in wait below him.

Then, he begins to drop.

Blinded by panic, you dash around Karn following some, misguided thought that you could stop Death's fall. Even the maker jerks his arm up, stretching it towards the descending Nephilim, although he at least has the presence of mind to throw his other hand out in front of you to keep you away from the edge.

Whilst you watch, your stomach drops alongside the Horseman, plunging into your shoes and you wonder if this is the kind of panic that Karn had felt when you mentioned the Call of the void.

All of a sudden, to your astonishment, a brilliant flash of purple light erupts from Death's outstretched hand.

You'd almost think you were seeing things if you weren't already standing in a different plane of existence next to a giant.

What looks to be a large, ethereal hand explodes out of a gauntlet strapped to Death's wrist and stretches up towards the roof, riding on threads of coiling, purple smoke. Translucent fingers wrap around one of the ceiling beams and the room fills with the sound of creaking wood as Death launches himself across the vast gap, thrusting his body forwards at the apex of his swing and you gasp when the purple hand abruptly lets go of the beam.

The Horseman's momentum carries him the rest of the way and you stare agape as he lands lightly on the plateau in front of you, straightening up without a care in the world.

For several, quiet moments, both you and Karn blink owlishly at him, whilst he merely peers back until at last, his brows dip into a frown and he snaps, “What?”

With the spell of shock broken, you shake your head rapidly from side to side and adopt a scowl of your own. “What do you mean, 'what!?'” you bark, gesturing to his arm, “Why didn't you tell us you could do that? Karn and I nearly had a heart attack!”

At that, the maker clears his throat, picks his jaw off the ground and breezily attests, “Ah, I knew he had somethin' up his sleeve the whole time.”

“Quite literally, in this case,” Death muses and holds up his arm, showing off the new accessory adorning his wrist – a gauntlet carved into the shape of a screaming, silver skull.

Unnerved by the blank-eyed face staring back at you, you drag your eyes away and turn them to Death, softly admitting, “I thought you were going to get seriously hurt.”

“Yes, well...” He pauses to shove aside an ensuing burst of warmth and folds his arms tightly, partially obscuring his gauntlet from view, “I hardly think you're in any position to be casting judgement after some of the stunts you've pulled.”

Your mouth opens despite having nothing of any real substance to say in your own defence, and the flat look he's giving you is enough to extinguish the fire in your belly. Biting your lip, you glance away from his pointed stare and mutter, “Touché.”

With a smirk, the Horseman claps you on the shoulder, steering you around and giving you a guiding nudge back in the direction you'd come in from. “Now then, if you've finished sulking, I'd like to get a move on,” he says firmly, “We need to hurry if we want to get these heart stones before nightfall.” He strides ahead of you to once again lead the way, leaving you sandwiched between himself and the maker at your rear.

“I reckon we'll manage,” the latter pipes up, “Should be easier now that you've gone and found yerself a new toy.” Struck by a sudden thought, the maker trails off, frowning down at his boots for a few steps before he murmurs, “S'pose that puts me out of a job, eh?”

Craning your head over a shoulder, you shoot him a quizzical look and ask, “What d'you mean?”

“Well-” He gestures to Death “- He's got that fancy new trick now. He can get about on his own just fine. Won't be needin' me anymore, will you.”

“Of course we'll still need you, Karn,” you assure him, smiling when you see his ears perk up at your words, “You're the group muscle, after all.”

Death can practically hear Karn's chest swell up with pride and he stifles a scoff at the notion that a youngling could be stronger than the eldest of the Four.

“Huh. Reckon you might be right there,” the maker agrees, hooking his thumbs into the straps of his pack, his ego adequately stroked, “We adventurin’ types tend to carry muscle more than most, y’know.”

The Horseman's low, grumbled comment is lost underneath your ensuing chatter.

“That must make me the brains of this outfit....”

Fortunately, neither you nor the maker seem to hear him and he lets out a sigh, shaking his head as he continues to lead you through the Foundry, back in the direction of the Guardian.

---------------------------

Your journey through the enormous structure's depths soon brings you to another, dead-end chamber. This one however, unlike the first, at least contains one of your sought after quarries.

Stretched out before you lies a long, marrow catwalk that stands mere meters above a roaring moat of lava, and at the far end, suspended high above the ground by a vast, metal clamp, is the first heart stone.

Unfortunately, much to the Horseman's chagrin, it doesn't look to be quite as accessible as he'd assumed it would be...

Upon stepping through the doors of the chamber, the heat encompasses you like a heavy blanket and you let out an audible gasp, instantly raising your hand to fan yourself. “Ugh, god, it's like hell's sauna in here!” you complain, earning a chuckle from the maker behind you.

After taking just a few steps into the room, you stop in your tracks and begin to fight with the hem of your jumper and Karn's amusement swiftly turns to a grunt as he's forced to come to a dead-halt as well, lest he trip over you. Curious, he tips his head to the side and blinks down at you, watching you tug the fluffy garment up and over your head...

….And then, he promptly swallows his tongue when your tank top is pulled up as well, giving him an uninterrupted view of your midriff. For a few, glorious seconds, the sounds of the chamber, nay, the whole world seem to dip to a graceful hum.

Perhaps it's because this is a part of you he's never been privy to before. Perhaps it's because the flash of skin he catches sight of feels so... intimate, as though this is something he shouldn't be allowed to see, and now that he has, his heart has set to pounding like a war drum on the brink of a fearsome battle.

Then all too soon, your head pops out of your jumper and you breath a sigh of relief, and Karn is given no time to regain his composure.

If he thought your midriff was entrancing, he's wholly unprepared to see the rest of you.

In the rich, golden and orange light cast by the churning lava, your skin glows like it's on fire, every pore seemingly beset by thousands of tiny jewels that sparkle when you move and the sweat beading on your collar bones appears more like a cloak of shimmering stars to the young, awestruck maker.

All the magic in the realm couldn't have held his attention the way you do when you twist your head back to smile up at him and he catches the delicate bob of your throat, his ears twitching forwards in anticipation to hear the sound of your voice.

“Hey, would you mind hanging onto this? It's way too hot to wear it, even if I tie it around my waist.”

Seconds tick by and all you receive as a response from the maker is a long, dazed blink.

“Karn? You... don't have to if you don't want to...”

“PUP!”

The two of you jump at Death's abrupt, authoritative bark and you whip your head over a shoulder to find him glaring up at the maker with a look that's cold enough to send icy fingers dancing up your spine, despite the heat surrounding you.

“I believe she asked you a question,” the Horseman drawls, his casual tone a million miles away from matching the rigidity of his stance.

Raising a brow at the unexpected hostility rolling off him in waves, you turn back to Karn and see that he's giving his head a hard shake, blinking back into focus. Fumbling over his words, he reaches out and takes your proffered jumper between two, colossal fingers, gingerly lifting it out of your grasp. “A-aye, sorry.”

At his stumbled apology, you put on a heartfelt smile and say, “Thanks, Karn.”

The youngling only manages to gulp, “Yup,” in response.

You try to catch his gaze again, but the effort is futile and your confusion only grows when his lips tug into a troubled frown that he punctuates with a sigh, flipping open a pouch on his belt and carefully tucking your jumper inside as though it were made of glass. Giving a mental shrug, you turn back towards the heart stone and you can't help but notice that Death keeps his glare trained on Karn until you pass him, and only then does he tear his eyes away from the youngling to watch you instead.

“So,” you declare loudly, eager to ease the unplaceable atmosphere that has descended over the room, “How in the world are we going to get that stone down from there?”

At your side, Death regards the heart stone with equal perplexity. From the corner of his eye, he notices that Karn has sidled up next to you as well, the youngling's face now a rather satisfying beet-red and his eyes fixed on the ground at his feet. It's almost laughable that the look of quandary plastered on his face has nothing to do with the heart stone's inaccessibility. Death only hopes he doesn't hurt himself by thinking too hard on it.

The Horseman is no fool, and unlike you, he can see all too clearly that the young maker is struggling to get to grips with his fondness for you. Actually, after having witnessed the conspicuous glances that Karn has been shooting you every five minutes ever since he first laid eyes on you outside the Cauldron, Death is inclined to believe that this may have surpassed the realms of fondness.

No... unsettlingly, the territory being trodden upon here has begun to border the realm of something far stronger, something the Horseman can no longer ignore.

Karn is immutably, unflinchingly besotted with you...

The very idea causes Death's lips to curl in distaste. After all, the foolish notion has only come about because you've been overwhelmingly kind to the youngling, and now, what he thinks he's feeling is nothing more than an intense need for companionship, garnered after such a long time spent being lonely.

However... Now is not the time for Death to let himself be distracted by such matters, he reminds himself sternly, not that he should ever have been distracted by them in the first place. What does a Horseman care of the tender friendship being cultivated right before his very eyes?

Brushing the thoughts aside, he focuses on the heart stone dangling high overhead and narrows his eyes, musing, “I could knock it loose, if I could get up there.”

“What about using your new gauntlet?” you ask, but the Horseman only shakes his head.

“It's reach is impressive, but I don't think it'll carry me that far....” Trailing off, he swivels his eyes around to contemplate the maker, humming deep in his throat as his mind begins to form an idea. Seconds later, he barks, “Pup, don't move.” “Eh, what-?” The youngling goes rigid when Death begins stalking deliberately towards him, his concern mounting with each step that brings him closer. Still, he remains obediently still, only just suppressing a shiver as the Nephilim suddenly scurries up his back and onto the bewildered youngling's shoulder where he straightens up and smirks at the look on your face.

“You know, if you wanted a boost, Horseman, you only needed to ask,” the maker huffs, though he finds his complaint largely ignored by Death, who simply lifts an arm over his head.

From his gauntlet, spectral, purple limb bursts forth and flies up towards the ceiling. Ethereal fingers snag around one of the clamp arms that hold the heart stone in place and then, Death kicks off from the maker's shoulder and zooms into the air, dragged up by his unconventional grappling hook. Just before he crashes face-first into the stone, he throws out his real hand and catches the flat top of it in a vice-like grip.

Fascinated by his feats of acrobatics, you watch raptly as he braces his boots against its side and dangles there, one hand keeping him suspended far above your head whilst the other pulls his scythe off his back, and he flips the weapon upside down to use its blunt edge like a hammer, slamming it violently down on top of the heart stone. Each strike produces a resonant chime that rings in your ears.

At first, you don't think Death's strength alone will be enough to dislodge something so well-secured to the ceiling, but after a few more hits, the whole thing suddenly comes loose and falls at an alarming rate to the ground far below. With a deafening 'WHUMP', it lands, and not a second later, Death follows, though his impact is carried out with far more grace and poise, thankfully.

“I've got it,” Karn declares, stepping around you and sauntering up to the heart stone. He crouches down beside it and wraps both hands around each side, his teeth grit together tightly as he lifts the gigantic load up, throwing it up and onto his sturdy shoulder, one hand keeping it steady whilst the other is free to use his hammer, should he come to need it.

Death rolls his eyes at the maker's obvious peacocking, but you at least seem entertained, clapping your hands appreciatively when Karn checks to see if you witnessed his impressive display of strength.

“All right, enough showboating, the pair of you,” Death grumbles, placing his scythe back on his hip and striding past you along the catwalk, “We need to get this stone back to the Guardian.” Pausing mid-step, he casts the youngling a sly, appraising glance, “Or... we could head straight for the second stone... if Karn thinks he can carry two of them at once?”

The youngling seems to visibly wither under Death's cool observation, but he still sputters, “O'course I could!” all too aware that your gaze is also trained on him.

To his relief however, he's let off the hook after you rather kindly suggest, “One stone at a time, Death. Karn needs a hand free to fight constructs, right?”

Putting on a dramatic sigh, the Horseman replies, “Ah, but of course. Sensible as ever, aren’t we.” Sarcasm drips poignantly from his lips and he half expects you to offer a retort, so it's somewhat disappointing when you don't, at least to his knowledge. With his back to you, he misses the obnoxious face you pull, though he does have to wonder why Karn suddenly begins to snicker.

-------------------------------------

You can't ignore the strange feeling that the Guardian has been awaiting your return as you all stroll across the courtyard and between its legs before coming to a stop in front of it once again.

No lights bloom in the construct's carved-out eyes sockets, but in contrast, the heart stone begins to pulse with a dazzling, blue light, as if it knows its purpose is just moments from being served and its host is finally, finally within reach after centuries spent apart.

There's also a sense of anticipation in the air whilst you wait for Karn to raise the stone from his shoulders.

“So... what happens now?” you ask, wondering how you're ever going to scale the Guardian to fit the first heart stone in place.

All you get in response is a secretive smirk from Karn and a whisper of, “Watch.” He doesn't tarry any longer though.

Lifting the stone into two hands and heaving it over his head, the maker offers it up to the Guardian, and while at first you regard his antics bemusedly, your jaw promptly drops open when the stone is simply lifted out of his hands by an unseen force.

It floats gracefully through the air and eventually slows near the construct’s left shoulder where it snaps into a carved hollow and seals itself in place with a flash of dazzling light.

“Magnets?” you blurt out, so busy trying to rationalise what you're seeing that you momentarily forget the magical occurrences you've already witnessed. “Sadly, no,” Death sighs, “Only magic, Plain and simple.”

It's a strange reality you've found yourself in where magic is considered run-of-the-mill.

At the look of of perplexity on your face, the Horseman snorts and jerks his head towards one of the remaining doors you haven’t tried to enter yet.

“Shall we?”

-----------------------------------------

“Okay. Let's try again. Ready, Karn?”

Death's thumb and forefinger reach into the sockets of his mask and he indulges himself in a moment of massaging his twitching eyelids. As much as he's privately grateful that Karn had set you upon his broad shoulder after you started falling behind, he wishes you hadn't taken it as an opportunity to entertain the youngling by teaching him one of your juvenile 'earth games.'

Keeping to the head of your bizarre group, the Horseman tries to focus on the twisting cavern path that stretches out ahead, eyeing the corruption that grows from its walls in the form of pustule-yellow crystals, each one oozing rivers of glistening, black liquid. He picks his way carefully around a puddle of the vile substance and tosses his head over a shoulder to check that Karn is keeping his eyes peeled as well.

A scowl darkens his glare when he notices that the youngling barely gives the puddle a fleeting glance and just steps lazily over it in one, gigantic stride before returning immediately to the human on his shoulder.

You have an arm stretched out before you, fingers curled into a loose fist and after regarding your appendage closely, Karn lifts his hand and does the same. Giving him an approving smile that turns his ears beet red, you begin yet another round of the strange game, exclaiming, “Rock, paper, scissors, GO!”

On the word go, your fist bursts apart and you thrust it in the maker's face, your fingers pressed together and held flat like the 'paper' you're trying to emulate. At the same time, Karn lifts his bulky arm and holds his own fist up for you to see, earning himself an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, now I think you're just letting me win.”

Perplexed, the maker lowers his hand and frowns down at it. “How come I lost that time?” he asks.

“Because!” you laugh, “That's the fifth time you've chosen rock!”

“Aye, 'cause rock's the strongest,” he retorts matter-of-factly, crossing his arms and tipping his chin back.

“That's not – I mean, that isn't really how the game works.” Pausing to chuckle at the absurdity of explaining the logic of such a simple game to someone who'd never even heard of scissors five minutes ago, you continue, “Okay, so the rules are, scissors cut paper, paper covers rock, and rock breaks scissors.

“Aha!” The maker's exclamation is so abrupt, you can't help but flinch as his head whirls sideways to look you in the eye. “There, you see? Rock breaks scissors! Rock's stronger!”

“Yes, but I didn't choose scissors, I chose paper,” you explain, patiently.

“....But... rock could just tear through paper!” The pitch in Karn's voice raises a little alongside his mounting confusion, prompting Death to finally interject.

“Perhaps, Y/n, it would be sensible to stop this game before the amount of brainpower it requires to play literally kills the Pup.”

Sticking out his lower lip, Karn glowers at the ground, but the quick pat you give his neck is enough to put the maker's smile back in place. “Don't worry,” you assure him, “There are plenty of other earth games I can teach you.”

“All of which will have to wait, I'm afraid,” Death quickly interjects, shuddering at the prospect of another minute spent listening to Karn fail to grasp even the most basic of concepts, “Whilst I understand that you two are having... ugh, fun, we can't afford to lose focus in this place.”

Like a switch has been flipped, whatever good mood had taken hold of you is promptly snuffed out.

'...Fun?...'

Something uncomfortable accompanies that word. It hits you more jarringly than it logically should, and your laughter tapers off to an uncertain chuckle, which in turn becomes a smile that fades slowly until an invisible weight settles itself over your heart and wipes any semblance of enjoyment clear off your face.

'I'm having fun...'

It doesn't seem... correct, somehow. Fun implies an instance of happiness. ...And happiness... Well. The term sits like a bad taste in your mouth and you can hardly believe it took the Horseman’s throwaway comment to draw your attention to it. You can't be happy, can you? How can you be happy after...

A ball of anxiousness starts to form in your stomach. 'Y/n,' your horrified mind seems to whisper, accusing and cold, 'Are you getting over them so quickly?'

“Oi?”

Your leg is given a gentle shove and you flinch, startled to see Karn's finger slowly pulling away. He has his sights set on you, his jaw hanging open in a way that radiates concern and when you flick your eyes ahead for a second, you notice that Death's head is twisted to the side, just enough to give you a glimpse of white bone behind his ebony hair.

“You okay? We lost you there for a moment,” the maker urges, quietly adding, “...again.”

It comes far too easy, the knee-jerk reaction to throw yourself into an overenthusiastic response. Kicking your heels against his shoulder, you huff out a quick laugh that grates at your ears. “I'm still here, buddy. Just thinking about how you and the others are going to react to Monopoly.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“Seriously, Karn,” you chirp, the grin stretching at your lips uncomfortable and awkward, “I'm fine.”

God, isn't that just becoming easy now? Far easier than it ever used to be. 'I'm fine' rolls off your tongue like a lie that you're desperate to convince yourself is in fact, a truth. Still, it at least seems to have placated your gigantic companion, whose smile has returned within moments of seeing your own, so ready to accept that his friend really is okay.

Or perhaps, he's just desperate to believe it, like you are. You wish Eideard was just as difficult to lie to, thinking back on the conversation you'd had with the Old One in Tri Stone yesterday.

Stalking ahead, Death is once again turned away from you, but you aren't sure if he's ever been an easy man to fool.

The network of vast corridors finally come to an end as you turn another corner to see dull, grey daylight pouring in up ahead.

With you still sitting astride his shoulder, Karn follows the Horseman through an arched entryway and out into a spacious, grandiose courtyard, where you're pleasantly surprised to note that the rain has finally started to let up, leaving you all doused in little more than a light drizzle.

Shielding your eyes, you squint up at the blanket of clouds overhead and spot the pale suns hiding behind them, trying to break through. You appreciate their effort, but the courtyard is still bucolic without the suns' rays shining down on it.

Like its sister, the stone is held fast to the gazebo's roof by a great, metal claw. “How come you makers all put the heart stones in such hard-to-reach places?” you gripe, raking your gaze over the area to search for anything that might be lurking in the shadows, unaware that Death has already done the same and found the coast is clear.

Karn's boots splash through puddles as he stomps after the Horseman and replies, “If a maker lives long enough, their soul gets too old to pass through the Well. N'when that happens, they'll seek out an empty vessel - like a heart stone. And what would you do if you had your hands on a stone that held a human's soul, hm?”

You consider the question carefully for a moment, then lift your arm in a shrug. “I... guess I'd try and keep it as safe as possible?”

“Exactly!” Karn grins, snapping his fingers, “Those heart stones ain't just powerful artefacts – they carry the life force of our ancestors. We keep 'em up high like that for their own protection. S'a way to stop wee beasties from scratchin' em up, and the like.”

Up ahead, you fail to notice that Death's fingertips are creeping up to gently touch at the wound on his chest. He ascends the steps into the gazebo and comes to a halt directly beneath the suspended heart stone, tipping his head back to regard it pensively with half of his attention on the surrounding area whilst the other half idly hones in on the faraway voices that whisper in the dark recesses of his mind. To quiet them, he brushes his fingers over the amulet's remains that are imbedded in his skin, just above the spot where his heart used to beat.

Suddenly, the Horseman is yanked from his thoughts by a loud splash and a cold spray of rainwater spattering on his leg. Cranking his neck around slowly, he glares hard at the human who has appeared unexpectedly next to him.

Evidently, Karn had lowered you down from his shoulder and – like a human would – you'd elected to jump the last few feet to the ground, landing squarely in a puddle beside Death. The Nephilim's icy glare has you ducking your head and pressing your lips together.

“Pup,” he growls, never taking his eyes off you, daring you to let a grin slip onto your face, “Come over here. I'm going to need another boost.”

The young maker strides forwards, raising his boot as he passes you and giving it a threatening jerk towards the puddle you're standing in, causing you to let out a gasp and leap backwards, shooting him a playful glare once you're safely out of the splash zone.

Showing off his tusks, Karn stops at Death's side and offers his hand. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the Horseman gives it a dirty look before he eventually steps onto the glove, his pride taking yet another hit. Karn however, is beaming from ear to ear as he lifts Death up past his head, more than likely glad to be of help.

The Horseman's scowl recedes ever so slightly at the young maker's expression and with a bit of difficulty, he manages to swallow some of his pride and dips his head in an almost imperceptible nod, as close as he'll ever come to admitting thanks. He doesn't see the maker's reaction, but he does feel Karn bounce excitedly on the balls of his feet, prompting him to turn his eyes skyward and heave a sigh as he sends his phantom appendage up to snag the heart stone.

As soon as the maker's hand is free, he shifts his gaze down and sweeps it across the ground at his feet, heart rate spiking when he doesn't immediately spot you nearby. Opening his mouth to call out, he raises his head and suddenly, your name catches in his throat.

It turns out you haven't wandered far at all. You've only moved several steps away and turned your back on the maker, currently busy staring down at your reflection in a puddle. Curious, but erring on the side of caution so as not to startle you, he carefully leans sideways and tries and get a look at your face, hearing the telltale ‘shing’ of scythes being drawn above him.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded, yet they remain transfixed upon the water, its placid surface casting a grubby and hazy reflection back up to you, and Karn wonders what you must be seeing in there that has caused your face to grow so haggard.

Are you merely seeing yourself? From his angle, all he can see is the vague shape of a human.

Just then, a loud clang shatters the peace of the moment and you suck in a gasp, snapping to attention once more.

Death raps his scythes mercilessly against the heart stone until it comes loose from its metal bindings and plummets to the ground just as the first had, causing Karn to grimace at the treatment. Whoever's soul has inhabited the stone, he only hopes they don't take umbrage.

“Well, Pup,” Death grunts as he drops down beside it again, bending his knees as he lands, “I believe you know the routine by now.”

Brushing a thumb under his nose, the maker nods and waddles over to hoist the stone up into his grasp whilst the Nephilim begins to head back the way you’d all come from, only faltering in his step when he finds you staring down into the puddle once more.

Karn doesn't notice this time. He's too focused on digging some dirt out of the heart stone's notches with the tip of his forefinger and then using the back of his hand to sweep it clean.

It's only when you finally speak up, your voice quiet and subdued, that he tips his head towards you and begins paying close attention.

“Can... can I tell you guys something?”

“Well, o' course you can!” Karn booms eagerly. In contrast, Death merely spares you a curious, sideways glance.

Picking absentmindedly at a nail on your left hand, you try to speak, only to find the words aren't coming as easily as you thought they would, so you let your jaw fall shut again and swallow thickly before making another attempt. “It's just something that's, uh, well, it's bothering me. I feel guilty about it, but – Christ, I hope you guys don't think less of me for saying this but – I think I… I'm actually having a -.... a good time?”

The heavy weight of their stares presses upon you until, after a moment, Karn's face brightens and he announces, “Well that's great,” moving the heart stone further up his shoulder so he can beam down at you, obviously failing to see why your having a 'good time' might be causing you distress.

“No, it's not, Karn! It’s wrong.” Sighing roughly, you rake your hands through your hair and try to explain in a way the young maker would understand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, I just... I’ve been feeling a bit guilty lately.”

“Guilty?” he asks, “For havin’ fun?”

“No, no. Well, kind of but... I mean, It’s only been a few days. How can I be feeling happy after losing so much? It just doesn’t seem....” Fishing your hand through to air as if you might pull the right words out of nowhere proves futile and you eventually give up, letting your hand drop back to your side.

“...Right?” Death's voice flutters into your ear and you pull your gaze up off the ground to stare at the swaying, ebony hair in front of you, uncertain whether he'd intended for you to hear him.

All the same, you answer. “Yeah... Exactly.”

You fail to notice that Death's jaw has set into a hard line, teeth clenched tighter than a vice underneath his mask.

The Horseman remembers vividly how he'd been nigh inconsolable the day he took Absalom's life. His own brother... Every fibre that made up his wretched, twisted body had come alive with a rage unlike anything he'd ever known.

Creator... He'd been so angry - at the Nephilim, at Absalom, at the Charred Council and his siblings... It had taken centuries before he'd been ready to admit that all he was doing was distracting himself from the real target of his ire. Death always liked to believe he was above falling victim to guilt, yet there it was – still is, in fact - settled in his chest like shards of glass, and no matter how much time passes - centuries, eons or a hundred thousand years – it will never be enough for the Horseman to escape the shadow that guilt casts upon him.

It bears no significance how often he tells himself that his shame is foolish and unnecessary, that he and his brothers and sister did what had to be done. The Nephilim could not go on the way they were. They had to be destroyed, or else the rest of Creation wouldn't have survived.

They had to be.

In moments that are few and far between, Death catches himself wondering what his un-life would have been like if someone else had taken up the mantle of 'Kinslayer.' No, he doesn't regret what he did. He would never choose to go back and change the past... But that doesn't spare him from experiencing the residual shame of what he'd had to do, even so many years down the line.

He almost envies you, in a way.

How easy had it just been for you to admit that you're haunted by guilt? What kind of bravery is that and where in the nine hells had it even come from? How could you say – out loud – something that had taken Death centuries to even admit to himself?

Well, at least in that regard, you're less of a coward than he is.

“It sounds as though you’re clinging to guilt,” he murmurs.

His words strike you hard in the chest. “Clinging?” you echo, “Death, I don’t like feeling guilty!”

“No,” he concurs, patient as ever, “But you don’t like feeling happy either. Because feeling happy makes it seem as though you’re coping. And feeling you’re coping is almost worse, because who could possibly be coping after they’ve lost so much?”

The Horseman’s question is rhetorical, you know, yet still your mouth falls open to respond, though you soon find nothing emerges other than a silent breath in place of words. When you don’t offer up a reply, he turns to the entrance and tilts his head over a shoulder, regarding you from the corner of his eye, adding, “You think being happy after a tragedy makes you a bad person?”

Swallowing down past a thick lump in your throat, you give a hesitant nod.

“Well...” he huffs, “From what I’ve seen, I think I can safely attest that you’re not.”

“Definitely not,” Karn agrees with a decisive bob of his head.

You have to blink hard a few times to chase away the tears that threaten at the back of your eyelids. “Thanks, guys... Doesn’t make me feel any less guilty though.”

“And it likely never will,” Death says matter of factly.

“That’s a bummer.”

The human colloquialism is lost on him but he gets the gist of your expression and lets out a soft snort before he replies, “Perhaps. But grief and guilt do become easier to bear.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“Well, maybe not for a long, long time, and perhaps, every so often, they will rear their heads and strike with a vengeance, but it does get easier, because you will learn to live alongside it. I’ve seen it time and again in humans. You’re nothing if not a resilient little species. You will live with anything, if you give yourselves time to learn how.”

And with that, he faces forwards again and begins the long trek back across the courtyard to the tunnels that brought you here. It isn’t long before you catch up to him and keep stride for a few paces, followed, as always, by the loyal maker at your back.

“Huh... thanks, Death,” you smile earnestly up at him. The heaviness hasn’t shifted at all from your chest, but you find that it isn’t quite as difficult to carry as it had been moments ago. “I think that’s one of the most comforting things you’ve said to me yet.”

“Hmph. Yes. Well,” he grumbles, “Don’t get used to it.”

---

With the second heart stone offered up to the Guardian and sealed into place, the three of you turn your attention to the third and final tunnel - the one you’ve yet to travel down, and not least because, emanating from the entrance is an eerily familiar, yellow glow.

Still, with little other option, the three of you gradually make your way through the open doors and find yourselves in a lower subsection of the Foundry. Karn is almost suffocatingly close to you, causing even the maker-intended tunnel to feel cramped and claustrophobic, although you have to admit that having a giant walking so near to your heels does leave you feeling adequately protected from behind, that is, until you come upon a relatively small, nondescript chamber. Or, it would be nondescript and wouldn't even particularly stand out from many of the Foundry's other chambers had it not been for the dozens upon dozens of corrupted, crystalline growths that burst like a fungus from every, available surface.

Death's eyes narrow upon them. “Stay close,” he warns, leading the way down the narrow staircase and keeping as far from the crystals as he can, more for the sake of the two younglings behind him than any sense of self-preservation.

He hardly needs to tell you twice.

The light from those terrible growths of corruption almost seems to burn at your skin as you pass them, and for a moment, you begin to wonder if it's radiation that causes the unnatural glow. Then, you decide you don't know enough about chemistry and put it from your mind. There are far more pressing matters to worry about, after all.

“Death?” you hum, feeling the familiar, winding knots of unease begin to coil around in your stomach.

The Horseman's eyes zero in on a dead construct sitting slumped in one corner. “Stay close,” he growls, but even then, he reaches a hand backwards and blindly grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging you until you're very nearly stepping on the heels of his boots.

On an unspoken whim, Karn closes the distance to an even more claustrophobic degree.

Dangling from a clamp set into the ceiling overhead just like its brethren, you spot the third and final heart stone, and from just one glance, you know you'd been right to worry about things that come in threes.

“Uh, isn't that supposed to be blue, like the others?” you ask, nodding towards it.

“Aye.... It is,” Karn mutters darkly, ears flattening to his head, “There's somethin' very wrong with this one...”

The heart stone glows the same, pus-like yellow as the crystals growing all around it. Black gunk oozes from within it, dribbling down the patterns carved into its surface until each rivulet converges right at the stone's pointed tip, forming one, big globule of corrupted liquid. Eventually, it grows too large and you watch in horrified disgust as it finally relinquishes its hold on the stone and drops to the ground with a loud, wet 'Plop!'

“Ew,” you declare.

“At least this stone doesn't require that I use you as a springboard, Pup,” Death remarks, rolling his shoulders and lifting his arm towards the ceiling.

Recognising the steadily increasing glow emitted by the gauntlet around his wrist, you dart out a hand and snatch his arm back, earning yourself a fearsome glare in return. With the Horseman's golden eyes boring down into you, your nerve begins to waver until you eventually pull away, yet the question bubbling up inside your throat still manages to find its way out. “What are you doing!?” you blurt, “The stone's corrupted!”

“I can see that,” Death coolly replies, making to raise his hand once more before he catches the fleeting look of alarm that you send up at the maker beside you. Sparing you a brief sigh, Death forces his glare to soften, if only a fraction. “Y/n, if we stop here, we'll have come all this way for nothing.”

“But if we put that thing in the Guardian, something could go wrong!” The Horseman subjects you to his most uncompromising glare, one he's often been driven to use on his petulant siblings.

“And if we do nothing, then nothing will change. Corruption will continue to spread across the Forge Lands, Tri Stone may eventually fall, and we'll be no closer to the Tree of Life.”

“But-” Hesitating, you chew on your lip and glance up at the maker. “- But Karn will have to carry it... You said we shouldn't let Corruption touch us!”

Death's expression turns grave and you can see the pinch of his brow, hidden as it is beneath his mask. “I know,” he admits quietly, “It’s a risk. But unless you can think of another way to get it to the Guardian -”

“I don't mind carryin' it!” Karn interrupts, jabbing a thumb into his own chest, “Corruption'll have a tough time gettin' under this thick skin.”

You tip your head back to look up at him, worry laying heavily across your brow. “But, Karn-”

“Oi, don't you go worryin' about me.” The unexpected gentleness of Karn's voice is anything but typical and reminds you more of the dulcet tones you might hear from the soft-spoken shaman, not your zealous and excitable young friend. “I'll be all right.”

Helplessly, you turn a pleading look onto Death, but you find no reassurance in the Horseman's calm and enigmatic eyes.

Your acquiescence comes in the form of a resigned sigh, and once he's satisfied you won't protest further, Death hums approvingly and raises his hand once again towards the heart stone.

It seems so baffling to you that the ghostly appendage that flies from his gauntlet can be so strong and solid. Long, skeletal fingers latch easily onto the stone's uneven surface and clamp down, hard, seconds before Death is pulled up towards the oozing stone and clings to it, withdrawing his scythe.

As he knocks the stone loose of its clamp, you can do little but hold your breath and watch, hands jumping into closed fists when it suddenly crashes to the ground with a dull but tremulous 'whump!' and a moment later, Karn is using the back of his gloved hand to nudge you away from it, giving him enough room to step protectively between you and the corrupted heart stone.

Death drops down to the earth beside it and moves around the maker, keeping a close eye on him whilst he bends down and slides his hands around the stone, braced and ready to react should anything begin to happen. After a few moments of regarding it as though he expects it to spring to life at any second, Karn sets his jaw and with a strained grunt, he hefts the cumbersome load up and settles it upon his shoulder.

The tension in the chamber is thick and oppressive enough that you can almost feel it lend a heaviness to the breaths that enter your lungs. Whatever time-stream this realm rides upon seems to grind to an abrupt halt and you're all left in perfect stillness, watching.... waiting.....

… But nothing happens.

One of Karn's eyes cracks open, having been squinted shut after he first touched the heart stone, and he glances down at himself, letting out a muted 'oh,' of surprise.

“There, you see? He's fine,” Death tells you, “Now, let's get this stone back to its host.”

Barely needing to be told twice, Karn begins to pick his way around the crystal growths and heads back toward the entrance whilst you and the Horseman walk in line with one another, following his path.

“So,” Death starts, folding his hands behind his back, “Are you learning to trust me yet?”

“I already trust you, Death. I mean, it took a while but, I am there.” You're too busy admiring the broken construct you pass by to notice the shock that flashes across Death's eyes.

You trust him?...

And you really think a few days is a while?

He drags his gaze off your face and elects to frown pensively at the straps of Karn's boots. At his silence, you continue, “Just because you trust someone doesn't mean you don't think they can be wrong sometimes.”

The old Nephilim huffs, uncertain of whether he should be insulted that you think he makes mistakes, or impressed at the philosophical side to your argument. After all, he himself would trust his siblings, but is more than aware that they're capable of erring from time to time.

Appraising you thoughtfully from the corner of an eye, Death opens his mouth to accuse you of spending too much time around the puzzling and sagacious Eideard when, all of a sudden, Karn lets out a startled cry, disturbing the relative peace that's fallen over you.

Yelping his name, your eyes snap up to the maker, whereas Death's immediately land upon the reason for his alarm.

From deep within the heart stone, Corruption's hideous consciousness had sensed a fresh, unwitting host, and temptation spurred it to send an insidious part of itself forth in search of the body it yearns to inhabit.

Blood rushes into your ears at the sight of the black, oily tendrils that stretch out of the heart stone and you barely register that you've taken several steps towards Karn before a hand is suddenly hauling you back and you soon find yourself gaping up at the bristling shoulders and jutting spine of a predatory Horseman.

However, much to your shock and dizzying relief, Corruption’s target isn't the youngling.

The heart stone lurches in Karn's grasp and he digs his fingertips into its callouses to keep it steady as the tendrils detach from their main cluster and drop to the ground near his feet. Rankled, the maker back-peddles up the steps and away from the writhing mess of darkness, whilst all you can do is watch from behind Death's guarding arm as corruption slips and gurgles its way across the room like a grotesque slug, heading straight for the broken-down construct slumped in the corner.

By the time Death realises its intent, he's too late to stop it.

The flailing ball of corruption reaches up with its tendrils and slides them underneath the stone plates that make up the construct’s chest.

“What is that thing!?” you exclaim.

When Karn takes in the pieces of stone on the ground, his face turns pale and he sucks in a sharp breath, his stomach sinking like a stone. “It... it’s a custodian,” he utters, his horror lending to your own.

“Karn!” Death barks, and you suddenly find yourself grabbed yet again and shoved none-too-gently towards the young maker, “Get her out of here!”

Acting swiftly, Karrn drops the heart stone and dashes back down the steps, clumsily curling his fingers around your torso and ushering you back to the entrance, away from the shuddering custodian.

A pair of brutally strong hands that look well-equipped to dish out some serious, blunt-force trauma pound into the earth, gripping fistfuls of stone as the thick and undulating strands of corruption knit the broken body back together. The arms are first, dragged across the ground and slotted into the shoulders whilst a blocky head is set into a round, open cavity on top of the custodian's torso, which in turn, is lifted onto the last component; a rotating, stone sphere.

Suddenly, the crevasses where its eyes would sit fill with the sickly yellow light you've come to know so well, and they lock straight onto the Horseman, who stalks backwards further into the room, deliberately drawing the construct away from you and Karn.

With his quarry's attention fixed wholly on him, Death whips out his scythes and splays his shoulders out wide, offering himself up as a challenge, though you can't help but think that bait would be a more appropriate term. Eerily, the hulking beast doesn't utter a sound from its stony maw, it merely pivots its body towards Death and begins to roll like a charging bull across the room, carried by its spherical base.

It reaches him and rears itself back, arms thrust high over his head, ready to pummel the Nephilim back to dust. You're ashamed of the way his name leaves your lips in a helpless, desperate cry.

Less than a second before he's flattened however, Death strafes expertly to the side and skirts around the custodian, leaving mere inches of space in his wake as its fists obliterate the ground where'd he'd been standing.

Lightening-quick, the Horseman strikes out at its exposed back, though it doesn't stay exposed for long.

The custodian's size and weight give the impression of a creature that should be slow, it's movements cumbersome, yet the ball that bears its mass allows for a much broader range of movement. Namely, within a split second, the custodian whirls around on its axis to face Death, swinging its arm out in a wide arc, a move that would have bowled him clear off his feet had he not leapt back out of the way in time.

Even from halfway across the room, you can hear the growl of frustration that escapes from underneath his mask as he makes another attempt to get close enough to the wildly swinging construct to even land a single blow on it, yet every time you start to think he may have found an opening, he's sent careening back by a sweep from one of the custodian's fists.

“We have to help him,” you realise after the construct once again bludgeons one of the yellow crystal growths to smithereens in an attempt to reach Death. Glancing up at Karn, you find him staring grimly out at the battle with his lips peeled back over gritted teeth and it soon becomes evident that he hadn't heard you.

Jaw setting, you turn about and begin to falteringly make your way down the steps. No sooner have you made it to the bottom than Karn suddenly snaps to attention and he lunges after you, throwing out a hand and slamming it to the ground right in your path, blocking the way forward. “What're you doin!?” he barks, frantic, “You tryin' to get yerself killed!?”

“We have to help him, Karn!” You attempt to sidestep his hand, but the maker is persistent, moving to stop you wherever you go. Grabbing his leather-bound thumb, you pull yourself up onto your toes and peer over the appendage, catching sight of Death just as he deflects a particularly savage blow that sends him skidding backwards for several yards until he's able to regain his balance.

Now borderline hysterical, you cry, “He can't do this alone!”

“He's Death! He's always done things by himself!”

Even as Karn speaks, a foul curse is spat from the Horseman's mouth as he tries and fails to sever the beast's hand as it makes a clumsy grab at him. You twist your neck around and peer up at the maker behind you, causing his heart to thunk down into his stomach when he sees tears welling up in your eyes.

“He shouldn't have to, though,” you utter, your fingers curling tightly into his glove, “Please, Karn?”

The youngling stares back at you. There's not a force in the universe that could move him to action quite like the sight of your tears. Hesitating for all of a second, he sets his mouth into a determined line and his eyes grow as hard and unyielding as the stone underfoot.

“I'll help 'im. You stay here,” he growls, nudging you back and standing to his full height.

You get the impression that he's not asking.

Death's scythes are battered by the custodian's fist yet again, though they still hold strong, even as their wielder's patience is quickly wearing thin. Unleashing a furious growl, the Horseman holds his ground, his back to the staircase as his assailant rolls like an unstoppable steam train towards him, its arm raising high into the air.

Unfortunately for the corrupted construct, due in part to its one-track mind, it's so focused on Death that it doesn't even see the new and far larger threat barrelling in its direction.

There's a gut-wrenching instance in which you're convinced that Karn has entered the fray too late, and the Horseman will surely be unable to counter the coming strike. As the custodian's fist begins to descend, Death braces himself, crossing his scythes in front of him and wondering why he's been unable to call upon his Reaper form during this fight.

All of a sudden, something enormous whooshes past his mask, and from the corner of an eye, he sees a hammer, swinging up through the air to meet the construct's downward swing in a head-on collision that throws the enormous beast off balance and, more pressingly, away from Death. Momentarily stunned, the Nephilim risks a quick glance up to see Karn standing beside him, rolling his shoulders.

“What do you think you're doing?” Death hisses venomously, “I told you to get-”

“Suck it up, Horseman! She's right - You can't do this one alone.”

Curling his lip at the maker's snappish interruption and your insinuation, Death discovers that he has no time to retort because the custodian is suddenly upon them once more.

Karn, although slower, is at least equipped to totter the construct on its axis with every swing of his hammer, and his addition to the battle allows Death more opportunities to get in close and tear a chunk of stone off its arms, back, anywhere that he can reach.

Following only a few minutes of combat, it becomes clear that the speed and unrivalled agility of the eldest Nephilim, coupled with the sheer, brute strength of a maker is too much of a challenge, and the sinister force driving the custodian pauses, rolling its host back a few yards and assessing the threats ahead of it in search of a weakness, an opportunity, a chance.

Karn and Death have planted themselves directly between you and the construct, the maker quivering with adrenaline and the Horseman just as calculating and cold as you expect him to be.

Suddenly, the custodian's head stops swinging back and forth between the two and comes to rest with its yellow gaze pointed straight through the middle of them.

“Why's it just standin' there?” Karn rumbles, an uneasy feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach at the custodian's decidedly thoughtful pause. Next to him, Death's eyes are narrowed to thin slits as he considers the stone behemoth warily whilst it simply peers back, unmoving.

A sensation that he's still unaccustomed to hits him in the chest at full force when he finally realises what – or rather, who – the construct has turned its sights onto.

He's too late to shout a warning, or to try and stop it as the custodian suddenly explodes into motion and lurches forwards, hurtling straight for them and keeping its shoulders low like a battering ram, forcing both maker and Horseman to dive instinctively out of its way rather than risk being mowed down, just as it had planned.

Within a fraction of a second, Death is wheeling about, a cry of outrage lingering in his throat. Karn is quick to follow suit and the maker's entire face drains of all colour once he sees the disaster about to occur right in front of them.

Corruption – fuelled by hate and spite – had spotted the group's vulnerability, and they had just stepped aside to let it pass.

Fear is not something that Karn ever likes to admit to feeling, but in that moment, watching you trip backwards up the steps and land painfully on your backside when the custodian careens towards you with hellish intent, the maker is certain he's never felt so afraid in his life.

Deep below the crashing waves of fear however, there's something far more reactive bubbling to the surface. He's never been an especially aggressive maker, not in temperament at least.

That all changes in a split second at the realisation that you're in imminent danger.

Without even taking the time to think, the maker discards his hammer, leaving it forgotten in his wake in favour of charging after the custodian as though a fire has been lit underneath his boots. But even though he's running at a speed he's never reached before, down in a dark, frightened corner of his heart, Karn knows he's too slow to get there in time. That doesn't stop him from willing himself forwards though, a bellowed shout of 'NO!' blasting from his mouth and a hand reaching out to you.

Behind him, the Horseman's own arm shadows his movements, lifting towards you as well.

Death is aware of only two things.

The first, his Reaper Form is suddenly trying to return with a vengeance, bucking against the magics that keep it shackled. And secondly, even if it manages to emerge, neither it nor the youngling will make it to you in time.

He doesn't even register that he's sent out the mental command to his gauntlet, hardly notices the flash of purple light or the phantom hand that lunges forth and flies across the room towards you, long, disjointed fingers splaying out wide, reaching, stretching to their limits in a desperate attempt to win the terrible race.

Scrambling futilely backwards and blind to everything but the construct bearing down on top of you, your mouth falls open, but no sound escapes, throat too tight with terror to even scream. There are fists as big as cars lifting high above you and all you can think about is how much the next few seconds are going to hurt.

They do hurt. Just not in the way you'd expected.

Pressure suddenly cinches around your torso and you don't even have a second to take a breath before the air is knocked from your lungs as you're ripped forwards violently, your head snapping back from the abruptness of the motion. You collide with something hard and cold that immediately curls itself around you, and when your head stops spinning and you can open your eyes again, you look up to see the underside of Death's chin.

Confused as to how you've come to be in his grasp, you turn your gaze outwards and find yourself staring in horrified awe at the brutal scene playing out in front of you.

The custodian's fists had all but demolished the steps where you'd been sprawled mere moments ago and the beast appears just as confused as you are to find that you're not a blood-stain beneath its hands.

Without slowing for even an instant, Karn rams into the construct's back and digs his fingers into the grooves around its neck, wrenching it back and hurling it sideways into a cluster of crystals that shatter upon impact. You hardly recognise the youngling with the way his teeth are bared, revealing the real extent of his formidable tusks as he bellows resoundingly and unintelligibly, casting aside all decorum to bend down and engulf the custodian's head in his fists.

With you pinned protectively against his heaving chest, Death tries to block the view with his arm, but you still manage to peer over the top of his limb, watching raptly whilst Karn squares his shoulders and gives the head a nauseating and vicious twist, wresting it clean off the custodian's shoulders and effectively severing the corruption from its host.

An awful screech turns your blood to ice, yet you still stare agape at the oily rivers that slide down the custodian's body and sink into the floor, followed moments after by crumbling remnants of limbs and stone plates that are no longer held together by tendrils of corruption.

At last, the chamber falls still and quiet once more, save for Karn's guttural grunts and your tentative sigh of relief.

Flexing his hands, the maker glares hatefully down at the mess and gives it a dismissive snort before he whips his head around to face you, his chest convulsing with every breath. Suddenly, the body curled over you begins to unfurl as Death straightens up again and lowers his arms, letting you take a shaky step out of them before you turn around to face him.

The Horseman doesn't even bother to stop his eyes from darting over you from head to foot in search of any fresh injuries.

“So...” you croak, rubbing at the back of your neck where an ache has already begun, “That was-”

“-Close?” he guesses.

“I was going to say terrifying, but yeah, it was pretty close.”

Booming footfalls alert you to Karn's approach and you turn to meet him, only to be startled by a pair of gigantic hands that curl around you, hovering just close enough to keep you trapped amongst trembling fingers.

“Are you all right!?” Karn blares, beads of sweat trickling down his forrid, “Did 'e hurt you!? Tell me you're okay!”

He's still shaking as the last threads of rage seep out of his bones and you're quick to place a calming hand on his thumb, raising your voice to be heard over the maker's babbling. “Karn, I'm okay! Chill! Death pulled me out of the way in time.”

The youngling's ears remain plastered to his skull and he doesn't look even remotely reassured, his eyes roving up and down your body as though he expects to discover a hidden injury.

After yet another near-death experience, you aren't quite sure where you find the capacity to crack a joke, but somehow, your lips manage to quirk up into a faltering grin and you say, “I-It's a good thing Death found that gauntlet, huh? It.. uh, it came in really handy back there.”

You may have tripped over your words, it may have been awkward and clumsy and you may be subjected to a very unimpressed glare from the Horseman, but for the time being, your focus is on the crumbling maker in front of you.

Karn's heavy breaths pause for a few seconds whilst he takes in your words, blinking at you with a perplexed frown. Then, he draws in a long, shuddering breath and expels it roughly again, his chest deflating as the warm air washes over your face until his exhale turns into a rough, throaty chuckle. “Ha... 'handy,” he grins.

Not even Death's deadpan stare prevents your shaky, wheezing giggle, if anything, one glance at the Horseman and you dissolve even further, breathlessly leaning against one of Karn's hands.

It's clear that the thrill of surviving another potentially fatal encounter has left you feeling giddy, something that Death can't fault you for, and in fact, he even lets a flicker of an indulgent smile bend the curve of his lips. Glancing up at him, you suddenly fall silent, peering at him as though he's sprouted a halo. “Death?” you say, incredulous, “Are you smiling?”

Quick as a flash, his face drops into its usual scowl and he crosses his arms, cocking a hip and drawling, “And why on earth would I be doing something like that?”

Undeterred, you lift a finger and point to one corner of your mouth. “You smile with this side. Your left eye sort of half-closes and gets all wrinkly whenever you do it.”

To that, the Nephilim can't come up with a response, more-so because he's taken aback by the knowledge that you've obviously been watching him far more closely than he'd assumed. Fortunately for his pride, you don't press the matter and rather than wait too long for a response, you let out a hum and push yourself away from the maker's glove as he gets back onto his feet, giving you a clearer view of the now destroyed custodian.

“Talk about putting the 'Karn' in 'carnage,” you say, appraising the pile of rubble before raising a brow at the youngling, who returns the look with a sheepish smile.

“Aye, sorry 'bout that. Hope I didn't scare you none.”

“Don't worry, you didn't. It was weird to see you angry though.”

Pressing his lips together, Karn makes a sound at the back of his throat, something between a hum and a grumble. “Doesn't happen often,” he admits quietly.

As the pair of you absently start to make your way back towards the entrance together, walking side by side, Death goes entirely unnoticed. He considers you both in silence, catching everything from the way Karn lazes into each step which gives you the chance to keep pace, to the lack of distance between you both, always staying within reach of one another...

You make... rather good friends, he realises, stubbornly ignoring the pit that opens up in his stomach at the very thought, reminding him that he wouldn't know friendship if it came up and slapped him around the face. He might not be any kind of expert, but he does recognise it when he sees it.

Earlier, when he had been searching for a way to open the fall gate, he had heard you through its thick stone, his keen ears picking up on the muffled conversation held between you and the maker when you thought yours' were the only ears listening.

You planned to stay with the makers.

Well.... Fine.

Good, even.

The Forge Lands... will make an adequate home for you, Death can't help but privately admit. And the makers will be perfect guardians. Of course, he shall have to have a word with Eideard before leaving, to ensure that the Old one keeps you and Karn out of trouble, as much as he can.

Yes... It's the perfect solution. You'll remain here with the giants, and Death can carry on, alone.

Karn will be happy to have you all to himself. Perhaps in time, you’ll actually even notice the way he looks at you.

“Death?”

The Horseman blinks and looks up, tugged back to the room by the sound of your voice. You've stopped on the staircase and twisted around to face him even as Karn continues on to cautiously retrieve the heart stone.

“Are you coming? Or are you just gonna stand there until the end of time?”

With an air of nonchalance that only Death could summon, he shakes his thoughts away and saunters over to you, using his knuckles to prod you up the stairs once he reaches your side.

“Get moving,” he grumbles, though the command has no real heat behind it, “I'd like to get this stone back to the Guardian before we run into any more surprises.”

You're walking ahead of him, so he doesn't see your smile wither and die as you make it to Karn's side, the youngling already having reclaimed possession of the corrupted heart stone.

----------------------------

The heavens had once again split open during your short walk back to the courtyard and the rain drums mercilessly down on your heads as you all emerge from the tunnel and step out into the courtyard. Aside from nature’s downpour splashing noisily against the ground, your journey has passed in relative silence, although Death gets the sense that there are several, burning questions you're dying to vocalise, and he doesn't miss the surreptitious glances that Karn keeps sending your way, the maker's lip trapped between his teeth all the way back to the Guardian.

Much, much too soon for your liking, you soon find yourself standing before the monstrous construct once again, your neck craned painfully in order to look up towards its head where, right in the space above its stony brows, there sits a hole, framed by a bronze surround which is obviously meant to house the heart stone laying across Karn's shoulders.

The skin on your thumb is subjected to a vicious torment by your other hand as you absently pick at it until cold fingers suddenly wrap around your wrist and tug your hands apart. Sheepishly, you peer up at Death and tuck your thumb into the hem of your skirt, hiding it from view. After a few more seconds spent underneath the Horseman's chiding frown, you let out a sigh when he finally releases you and turns to Karn, who's teeth haven't stopped worrying at his lip.

“Pup,” Death calls, causing the maker to give a start and whip his head down, releasing his welted lip in the process, “It's time.”

The small puddle of dread that has been sloshing around in your gut ever since you arrived at the Foundry promptly turns into a flood that rises into your lungs and squeezes at your heart.

As if he's fine-tuned to the same wavelength as you, Karn hesitates, furrowing his brow before twisting back to regard the heart stone and pressing his palm gently to its surface. You could almost swear the yellow light pulses in response, which makes you wonder how deep the connection really runs between these giants and the stones that supposedly hold the souls of their fallen brethren.

“We've seen its work, Horseman,” the youngling says, his ears drooping as he speaks, “Corruption fair weeps from it. Maybe....” He falters, and when he looks down at you, you notice that his forehead is etched by worried lines. “Maybe Y/n's right. Maybe this ain't such a good idea.”

Death's head swivels from the maker on his right to the human standing to his left. Just like that, it dawns on him that he's amongst not one, but two younglings.

“I have a theory,” he begins, impressed that the patience in his tone could match Eideard's, “The other two heart stones were pure. I'm wagering that their radiance will cleanse the third.”

After a pause, the youngling tips his head back to stare apprehensively at the Guardian. “Mayhaps.”

“Not, uh.. Not that I'm any kind of authority on corruption and magical stones and whatnot,” you offer in the ensuing silence, “But have you ever seen what happens when you put a drop of ink in a glass of water?”

The Horseman lifts a brow, retorting, “I hardly think this is the time for -”

“-The water doesn't turn the ink clear, Death,” you press, pleading. When he glances down, he notes that your hands are wringing together. “It's so often the other way around.”

Surprised, he can't help but admit that your analogy raises a rather compelling argument, and a troublesome point. Yet even so, the plain and simple fact of the matter is that by choosing not to act, then the valley and perhaps even the whole realm will be condemned to a slow, but inevitable death.

At least, if things change, there is a chance that they may change for the better. But first, the have to change at all.

Death steels himself against the strangely affecting look you're giving him and he clears his throat, gently putting, “You both know that the greater risk is to do nothing.”

A somber moment passes between the three of you and you finally lower your eyes to the ground, conceding without uttering a word.

Seeing your silent, if not reluctant acceptance, Karn too gives the Horseman a solemn nod and sighs, “Aye.”

Without further ceremony, he steps forward and heaves the mighty stone from his shoulder, offering it up to the Guardian.

Seconds later, your head snaps up when the stone is promptly ripped from his hands and shoots like a bullet up towards the enormous construct's head, propelled by whatever magic resonates underneath its surface.

Teeth grit, you wince as the projectile crashes right through the wooden scaffolding and into its destined slot with enough force to jolt the Guardian in its struts, shaking the gigantic chains that keep its wrists secured to the Foundry walls.

Immediately, golden light explodes from the stone, though it's soon drowned underneath a blinding, brilliant blue.

And then, your heart is thunking down into your shoes as the Guardian's colossal neck plates begin to rattle and at long last, the great beast raises its head, twin flickers of pale light bursting to life in the carved eye sockets. Its heart stone pulses in response with the same blue light and there is, for a moment, the brief hope that perhaps Corruption isn't strong enough to breath this construct's will.

Suddenly, the entire world around you begins to shudder and shift and the air fills with the deafening sound of a mountain trying to move.

Death's hand appears from nowhere and grabs your shoulder, holding you steady when you almost teeter sideways as the Guardian wrenches at the chains, straining against them until a thunderous CRACK rings out across the courtyard.

To your horror, the rusted metal gives way completely, falling from the Guardian's wrists and crashing to the ground with one, final heave.

Over the din, you can hear Karn shouting excitedly. “The corruption has burned off like rain on a hot forge!” Beaming at Death, he exclaims, “You were right!”

However, one glance at the Horseman, and you can tell that the enthusiasm is far from shared.

Death's fiery eyes narrow to slits as he looks up at the Guardian.

Before you can ask what the matter is, he rasps a phrase that turns your blood to ice and sends panic sweeping through your veins.

“I was wrong.”

You turn to meet Karn’s horrified gaze over Death’s head, the youngling’s expression perfectly conveying your own thoughts - at least those that consist predominantly of nonsensical screaming.

Seconds later, you're clapping both hands over your ears to protect them.

From somewhere deep in the Guardian's cavernous chest, there booms forth a roar so powerful, it feels as though a thunderclap has gone off right beside you.

Turning your focus up once again, you can't help but to gasp at the sight. No longer is the final heart stone shimmering with the blue radiance that the others share. Now, the unmistakable, yellow glow of corruption is prominent, drowning out any trace of blue, whilst thick tendrils sprout from within it. At an alarming speed, they grow larger and longer, so much so that in no time, they start to wrap themselves around the Guardian's neck and dig their pointed tips underneath its plating.

One of the colossal arms gives an almighty shake, as though the beast is attempting to rid itself of the tendrils that are now snaking their way down to its elbow, coiling and spreading in every direction until a thick webbing of the stuff has engulfed its solitary hand.

But tragically, whatever fight the construct might have put up was already over the moment the heart stone entered its head.

Helpless, you can do nothing but stare and cover your ears against another, ear-splitting and haunting wail as the lights inside its eye sockets lose their pale hue and turn the colour of pus, flashing and flaring like a pair of suns on the brink of going supernova.

You're so distracted by the somewhat mesmerising display of such an effective, parasitic takeover that you hardly notice the titanic leg moving towards you until it smashes through the stone and wood scaffolding built around it and hurtles straight for you, Death and Karn.

Dragging your eyes down to what can only be described as an entire tower speeding in your direction, you try to choke out a gasp and your brain chooses that moment to freeze up, failing to provide you with a direction in which to dive.

Lucky then, that Death's brain is still functioning perfectly.

Whilst you and Karn stare agog at your impending doom, the Horseman, driven by sheer instinct, throws his scythe out towards the youngling and a hand towards you.

The weapon's edge curls around one of the straps on Karn's backpack, and at the same time, Death's fingers wrap around the neck of your top.

Without a split second to spare, the Nephilim leaps backwards out of the Guardian's path and subsequently drags you and Karn right along with him.

The maker lets out a grunt as he lands on his rucksack, whereas you find your spine hitting Death's chest when he falls to the ground beneath you, and not a moment too soon, as the construct's leg goes sailing over your heads before it pounds into the dirt again just a few, scant feet from where you all lay.

To you, the world had almost come crashing down on top of you.

To the Guardian, it had done little more than taken its first step into the world for which it was created.

All around, pieces of debris continue to crumble and fall as it approaches the cliff walls that hem the Foundry in, walls that bear no obstacle for a creature that stands twice their height.

Trembling against Death's chest even when he pushes himself into a sitting position, you stare after the Guardian, your teeth chattering to witness it step over the cliff wall like you'd step over a stick in your path.

The thunderous foot falls recede into the distance, and only then do you scramble to escape Death's hold and shoot up onto your unsteady legs, a sudden, awful realisation hitting you harder than a slap to the face.

“I-It's – it's heading for Tri Stone!” you struggle out, your exclamation followed by Karn's accompanying cry of, “The others!”

The youngling doesn't hesitate. He breaks into a lumbering run, bee-lining for the courtyard's primary entrance without even glancing back to see if either you or Death are following.

“Karn!” the Horseman barks.

“I have to go back!” the maker bellows in return, never slowing his gait, “I have to make sure they're alright!”

Fatigue is blessedly exchanged for adrenaline and you're able to forget all about your aching body as you break into a run and start after your friend in stubborn spite of the instinct to sprint in the opposite direction. The Guardian is an impossible obstacle that you have no way of hurdling.

And still, you run.

With a snarl of frustration, Death spits an old Nephilim curse and follows suit. For a human, you manage to kick up a bit of speed as you chase after Karn through the Foundry, a Horseman hot on your own heels.

Hitting the enormous, circular chamber, you almost think you’ve somehow gone the wrong way, but the chains hanging down from the walls and the lava spitting and bubbling below you are so, unmistakably familiar, you have to do a double take, roving your gaze across the room as you hurtle along the curved catwalk. When you notice the rather worrying change, you nearly stop dead in your tracks.

“The hammer's gone,” you breathe, following Karn at a sprint through the doors, your voice raising in pitch until it's an alarmed shout, “Are you shitting me? The hammer! It – It took the hammer!”

Karn’s feet pound like thunderclaps against the stone ground whilst Death’s are hardly heard at all. However, the cold that chases the back of your neck is reassurance that he is there, always behind you, even when you burst through the Foundry’s main entrance and spill out onto the bridge.

Smoke plumes rise ominously from beyond Tri Stone’s outer walls and all you can do is keep running until the wind stings at your eyes and the icy rain hits your skin like tiny sparks of fire.

The sky suddenly lights up and just moments later, from somewhere further down the valley, there’s a boom of thunder, indicating a swiftly approaching storm.

#Darksiders #Darksiders 2 #Imagine Darksiders #Death x Reader #Karn x reader #one sided pining #jealousy #fluff #angst #worry #Guardian #dealing with guilt #grief

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